The Bolivian night sky was consistently breath taking; each evening ushering in a more marvelous spectacle than the last.
The stars aren’t merely for gazing upon, as if painted onto a canvas, but they are alive and glimmering and responsive; active participants in the reflective, deep thinking they so effortlessly provoke.
But it’s not these nights that change you, or even shape you, really. These nights provide a platform to examine the things that have, and they are all far less glamorous and tantalizing.
Pain shapes you. Conflict molds you. Experiencing heartbreak cultivates growth and facing fears with courage takes you to new heights.
The scariest thing about the World Race is that you can embark on it and return eleven months later, generally unchanged. Change doesn’t just happen. We have to choose to change, and often that comes with things we never wanted to encounter.
I went through a break up in Month two. Seven weeks into my World Race, the unthinkable happened.
But I learned so much from the downfall. I made mistakes that led to my relationship’s demise, and vowed to get better.
It was an emotional low point. But I remember telling some of my squad mates that if people saw me positive, and faithful, after a low point, then maybe it would help them get through their low points as well. A lot of my squad mates were going through harder things than break ups at the time.
We must have a sense of resiliency and fortitude. We must face our fears with courage. That’s how we grow. Our stories are interwoven with those around us, and resiliency, passion, courage, and bravery are all contagious. And so are their counterparts. We choose what we let into the atmosphere, we choose how we react when our story encounters a setback, and we choose what will radiate to the people around us.
On the World Race, you will experience set backs. There will be heartbreak. It’s all about how you choose to handle it. These are the moments both change, and growth, occur.
I’ve lost thirty five pounds on the World Race. I’ve been hungry, but of course hunger is relative. Hunger is redefined when you live amongst people who eat once every two days. Hunger takes on new meaning when you go hungry so someone else can enjoy a meal. All of a sudden, being hungry isn’t so bad. The temporary discomfort, gives way to a grander story.
We too often aren’t willing to sacrifice good for great. We gravitate too quickly towards comfort. If you can avoid that, you’ll live a better story. If you can avoid that, you’ll undergo change.
I read A million miles in a thousand years by Donald Miller on my Race, and that impacted my view on living life as a story. I highly recommend the book.
I’ve learned so much in the last ten months.
I’ve learned that when stallions gallop at fifty miles an hour and you’re riding bareback it’s hard to hold on.
I’ve learned that motorcycles and Nepali drivers in the Himalayas form a deathly combination.
I’ve learned that physical pain from having a parasite in Africa is indeed excruciating and nothing I ever want to experience again.
I’ve learned sometimes you make more friends hanging out with drunks and homeless people on park benches at 4am than you do in church on Sunday morning.
I’ve learned how truly imperative it is to consistently press into the things that scare you.
And I’ve learned that for some incredible reason, God craves us as co-conspirators in the raging battle against injustice. He doesn’t need us, but he wants us, desperately, to take a stand and partner with him. He uses us, and I’m blessed to have been able to partner with him daily, paving the way to incredible stories. But…
I’ve learned that the story is bigger than me. God uses my passions and my assertiveness, but equally uses me in ways I may not want to be used. He uses not only my failures, but the things I may not be comfortable with.
You cannot cling to comfort and expect to change. You cannot experience growth without first taking risks, and opening yourself to uncomfortable. The exchange is imperative.
One night, in Argentina, we were tasked with painting our faces and orchestrating a skit in the downtown square.
So as we made our way downtown on this crowded bus, with white painted faces, a teammate asks me if I was comfortable with this. And I said no, but that it didn’t matter, because we were trees in a story about a forest, which Miller alludes to in his book.
I told my teammate that God has a bigger plan than what I have for myself. It’s crazy that God would somehow use this to bring a person totally unrelated to me and my situation closer to him. That someone sitting in the park would be on the verge of giving up hope, and perhaps saying to the Lord “God, just speak to me if you’re real.”
Sure enough, as we concluded our skit, a woman sitting alone, watching our performance, came up and shared her story with some of our friends. In short, she was indeed at a spiritual crossroads, and eager for a sign of encouragement from the Lord.
So He decided to use five face painted dancing Americans to speak to her heart. The embarrassment of young ladies walking by on a busy Friday night giggling at how absurd you look subsides when you take your place in the Lord’s story. It’s an honor to be a tree in a story about a forest, because the story of the forest is always better than that of the tree. God loves creatively weaving us into other people’s stories. It just takes an open heart, some courage, and sometimes, a little face paint.
I think one of the most critical parts of experiencing change on the Race is living each month as one month, and not month nine, or whatever it may be.
People get tired by the time month nine rolls around, but I try to think of it this way:
If I were living in the States, and someone approached me with an opportunity to serve and travel to Bolivia, or Peru, or wherever it may be, I would be absolutely stoked and take them up on it in a heartbeat. I’d hit the ground running, press into everything thrown my way, seize each day and capitalize on each moment to make a memory and bless someone else. In short, I’d’ be enthralled to spend a month anywhere.
The sad thing is, as the eleven month marathon wears some Racers down, we may have the tendency to overlook how stupendous a blessing it is to be exactly where we are. Instead, as we may only think that this will be the third consecutive month without wifi, in a secluded village, accessible only by thirty plus hour bus rides, we may tend to miss the reasons we signed up for this thing in the first place.
If we see each day as one day, each month as one month, instead of month five or seven or ten, our hearts are more ready to grasp all a month has to offer. We must turn a blind eye to the discomfort and embrace the unpredictability, the adventure, the setbacks, the heartbreak, the pain, and the hard moments, and the beauty and growth inherent in it all.
We choose the stories we tell, and the ones we live daily. We chose to grow in the midst of our pain and setbacks. We choose to press in with courage. Change comes when we do so.
As Miller remarks, “The reward you get from a story is always less than you thought it would be, and the work is harder than you imagined. The point of a story is never about the ending, remember. It’s about your character getting molded in the hard work of the middle.”
This quote sums up the World Race to me. It is harder than it looks, and it’s not about the outcome, or the joy we experience when we overcome an obstacle. It’s about how we push through in the midst of our obstacles.
So put your best foot forward. Seize the day, and when you encounter setbacks or discomfort, face them with courage. Consequently, the better story you create, as well as the change you undergo as a result, will not only mold you, but inspire those around you.
