This will be my final blog of the race. Originally this was going to go into a processing journal, but then I decided to write this on something I was able to erase in and now it’s a blog. So here is a little insight into how my brain works and what processing nine months can look like. I apologize in advance for how long this blog is.
Nine months ago I remember jumping on a plane that was going straight to Thailand. I was scared, excited, and not really sure what to prepare for. We got to our hostel and I took apart my pack and all of a sudden I became a racer. I was a missionary. I served, made, and shopped for breakfast and did a bunch of busy work in a hostel. I learned what happens when you put high expectations on something. I learned what it meant to be the hands and feet of Jesus. To be humble and find joy in the small things that we did every day. I was an obedient servant.
In a blink of an eye, I was in an orphanage. I was working with kids who had HIV. I washed rooms where loving mothers died. I tried to figure out why everything just felt so dark. Why is this story the one written for these kids? How the heck am I suppose to be able to help? I washed windows to give these children a new perspective on their surroundings. I washed the lenses I was looking through to see the real story around me. I listened to the stories that these children had and saw the hope the Lord had in each of their lives. I learned to see the true stories that the Lord was creating in them. I was a listener, a storyteller.
Then I was on a bus for what seemed like forever. Going toward an island in some closed country. I unpacked my pack to settle in to find out that I would be repacking my pack to go to a village. I learned what it’s really like to have full faith and strength in God. I watched women spiritually lead their community and families. I saw what it’s like to speak life into fellow believers. I was a voice of truth and hope. (Probably one of my favorite places on the race. (Even though we all got lice after)). Then I went back to that island and suddenly became a team leader and everything seemed to fall apart. Ministry host wouldn’t communicate. There was no place for my team to have a ministry. I was on an island with a group of girls who had no ministry. I learned to let things go and allow them to just fall into place. I was suddenly a small boat trusting that the giant wave in front of me wouldn’t destroy me.
Out of nowhere, I was somehow in Costa Rica. Finally, out of Asia and into something new. I was in a small town with the most adorable little children. I painted. At least I tried to paint…a lot. I had a plan of what I thought ministry would look like, but as luck would have it, nothing went as planned (don’t plan anything on the race. It’s just useless.) Instead, I went on crazy adventures and had animals steal my food. I felt as if I was doing nothing. Then, an entire church community loved on my team and I. I learned that we were loved for who we were, not what we were doing. I was humbled. I blinked and all of a sudden I was in the mountains. The team was in a rough spot and there was nothing I could do. I screamed off cliffs and felt like I completely failed. Little did I know the Lord had a gift for me on that mountain. I was about to meet some Ticos that would become lifelong friends. The reason Costa Rica will always feel like home. I learned about identity and what it means to just be at peace. No matter what is happening, to look for the story that is happening between the lines. I was still. I was vulnerable.
Finally, I was on my way to Ecuador. I ended up on another mountain, but this time it was a safe haven for women who were trafficked. Manual labor was my ministry for the next month and I oddly enjoyed it. I learned to enjoy the scenery of the mountains even though every part of me missed being in a city. I learned the Lord’s character in nature around me. Something I hope the women who live in that house will see as well. Then our parents came. It was weird but refreshing. Just a small taste of home to get me through the next two months. A small way for them to see what the race is like. I got onto another bus and I was in a different house. Finally back in the city. I got sent to an organization that worked with kids who had disabilities and instantly I fell in love. My kids couldn’t move, they couldn’t talk, and for some reason, all I could see was the joy they had. I never saw them as if they lacked anything. I was once again, humble. I was completely in love.
For the last nine months, I was hands of feet of Jesus. My team and I painted, we did bible studies together, we picked lice out of each other, we held hands of the most precious children, but the important part of the last nine months is not what we did, it was what we spread. We spread the Love of Jesus everywhere we went and is what made the difference.
Nine months later I am on another plane. I am scared, excited, and not really sure what to prepare for. I am going back home, but I am not the same person as I was before. America is not the same country as it was before. I have become an obedient servant, a listener, a storyteller, still, trusting, vulnerable, and completely in love. I have absolutely no idea what America has become, but I do know that whatever adventure is ahead I’m prepared.
Sincerely,
Lillian Son
