When I left for the world race 10 months ago, I don’t recall being afraid. I mean I was/still am afraid of that moment after you take off in a plane and your stomach is just jostling around on the inside. Or that moment when you land and your pilot doesn’t judge the distance right so you bounce like a basketball off the runway and your stomach is just jostling around on the inside. I guess I’m still a little freaked out by flying, but that’s not the point of this blog. I was afraid of losing too much weight and my clothes not fitting anymore… Almost happened in Africa when I got sick, but it’s all good now.
I knew when I left that I would be put in some, well what we will call, “weird” situations. The word, “sketchy” would fit well here also. I still wasn’t afraid.
I’m writing this blog from a “restricted” country. Islam is the dominant religion by far. To be a citizen of this country means you are Muslim. Period. If you claim to be a citizen and convert from Islam then you lose your citizenship and all your rights. For example: your right to own property, or your right to vote. Some people on my squad are only allowed to worship this month when it’s raining outside, because then there is enough noise that their neighbors can’t hear them. Other teams this month are not allowed to say the name Jesus without fear of deportation or worse.
We knew what were getting into when we signed up for the race and I can say pretty confidently that we are not fearful.
I’ve gone face to face with a Kenyan holding an AK-47…
I drove 400 miles with a drunken sketchy cabby in the countryside of Romania at 4am…
I got Malaria (which SUCKED)
I got typhoid (didn’t suck as bad)
I stayed in the WORST prison like house for 2 nights in Africa. (There are no words to describe it.)
I ran from the cops…had to…long story.
Been extorted, a few times
I’ve shared the Gospel with more drunk people than I can recall.
I preached the gospel on the side of a road in Nepal with 50-60 Buddhist and Hindu men surrounding me holding machetes and shovels…
I’ve been grabbed at and groped in the red light district of Thailand…
And countless other “sketchy” moments
Out of all those events on the race, I can’t say that fear crossed my mind that often. But there is one thing I’m afraid of.
I’m afraid of coming home.
More specifically, I’m afraid of being made out to be something I’m not.
I’ve learned more than ever this year that I don’t have it all together. I’m obviously not perfect, but more than that I’m still pretty rough. I get frustrated over little things. I like my personal space. I like things to be organized. I like things to go my way.
I can deal with a lot, but I can’t deal with people making me out to be something I’m not.
I’m not a hero.
I don’t have it all together.
My life is messy.
It was before I left. It still is.
