Poisonous snake bites
Malaria
Falling off a cliff
Jaguars
Parasites
Drinking river water
Falling into said river
Spiders
Leaf-cutter ants
Flash Floods
Physical exhaustion and hunger
Disorientation and getting lost
The list probably goes on.
What is this list you might ask?
Oh nothing. It’s just all the things that could kill me or cause me bodily harm on this 32-mile hike (one way) into the village of Mojos, Bolivia.
Let me back up. When we get our assignments for our following month of ministry, they tend to be pretty vague. When my team got our set up sheet while in Argentina, it stated that they would need a physically strong team because we would probably be hiking to 3 remote villages through the jungle… That’s it. I loved my team. We worked really hard and really well together, but physically strong wouldn’t necessarily be my first choice in descriptive words of us.
Fear and questions immediately filled my mind.
Do I have to carry all my stuff for 60 miles?
I’ve actually been feeling pretty good about my Spanish. What if they only speak the tribal language?
How will we get enough water if we aren’t allowed to dink it in Bolivia?
What sort of large wild animals are in that area?
How in the world can we possible physically do this?
We can’t.
We are going to fall apart and hate each other.
I don’t want to go.
I want to go home.
It’s a little embarrassing to admit how quickly I got to defeat. I was so deeply scared.
Everyone not on my team was jealous. “You’re going to have the coolest stories of the whole month. No one gets to just hike through the Amazon.”
Right, but I have to survive it first to be able to tell anything.
The unknown was overwhelmingly daunting. This is the kind of stuff people are seeking when they sign up for The World Race! I was ready to start packing, but I knew I couldn’t.
From the beginning of the Race I had been reciting Psalm 91 on a pretty regular basis. The news of Bolivia definitely made that a more frequent situation, and I shared it with my team so that we could read it together daily. I asked the Lord to continue protecting me, and maybe add an angel or two on each side. But as much as I would ask, I was just craving more information. It was making me so anxious to not know where we would actually be, who would be with us, or what was our mission.
When we arrived in La Paz, where our host is based, I was still on edge. No one could tell me to be excited about this month until I knew what was happening. He is such a kind man, and so inviting that I started to soften. That is, until he started sharing about the hike. This is where this list comes in. All the information I had been craving, was now scaring me even more. I thought knowing would make me more confident in going. Instead I just had a list of 1,000 ways I could die on the journey.
I started pseudo-praying, but more so asking God why He was such a lunatic. Why would He send me to a place with so many ways to destroy me?
I heard His response pretty simply.
Boredom
Complacency
Lack of joy
No sense of wonder
Never seeing creation
Never experiencing the depths of my love for you
Never meeting people I have called you to love
Those things will kill your spirit and take you from me. So yes. This is a huge risk. It is seemingly dangerous. And you have a choice. No one is forcing you. You could die. You could die anywhere. You will die if you don’t come to me.
Comforts of home are often an illusion for safety. Being used to something doesn’t eliminate danger around you. There is danger of forgetting who you are, what you’re capable of, and who He created you to be. So yes. I was still afraid, the whole 13 hour drive to Apolo. I would be afraid all 11 days of the hike. But I knew that if I surrendered my fear of all the ways to die, He would show me 1,000 ways to live more fully in Him. And He did. Every step was a revelation of His protection of me, His desire to reach even the most far off, and how much I truly could accomplish through my God.
And I survived, obviously. I made it through all 64 miles, 500 bug bites, 3,000 bees, and 10,000,000 rain drops. He went before me and beside me, and I know He will forever. I was hyper aware of my need for Him every second, but also so aware that He was there. I hope I never lose that awareness.
Going home means no more swimming through rivers, leaf-cutter ants, jaguars, and cliffs. But it means my space, my people, my things, my norm. I pray He keeps me curious and bold; aware that indifference to Him is even more dangerous than the Amazon.
