Now that I’m home, the question I get asked all the time is: “What was your favorite day/experience on the World Race?”
They wait for me to respond, assuming my response will be epic. Maybe I’ll describe some adventure I had, a jaw dropping scene from a traveler’s documentary, like the day I watched the sunrise over Cape Town, South Africa from the top of Lion’s Head. Or maybe it will be touching, that “feel good moment,” like the day I heard the laughter of pure joy coming from a boy who is deaf.
They are shocked when I start describing the hardest day I ever had on the Race…
But it is this particular day that I learned the most incredible truth and the one day on my 16 month journey that put it all into perspective for me.
It was the day I wanted to give up.
It was month 15. To say travelers fatigue had set in, would be an understatement. I found myself in the remote village of Assafou, Côte d’Ivoire in West Africa.
Before our arrival, these villagers had never seen a white person before and were immediately curious to learn who these “visitors” were. Wanting so desperately to connect with them, but speaking completely different languages only made our interactions more frustrating.
We were always trying our best to greet everyone with a smile and friendly “Bonjour!” but sometimes it was so challenging to be the “local exhibit.” Children would run up to us and laugh and point, come right up and touch our faces and stroke our arms, so fascinated by our lighter skin. Teenagers would shove their phones in our faces to capture a picture or video to show their friends. The young women would play with our hair and try to braid it or smooth away the frizz, even when we would gently decline with a polite “Non, Merci.”
Personal space or places to “get away” and be alone were nonexistent. I spent many afternoons during our times of rest in my hammock, lined on both sides with kids and adults alike, just standing and staring. I wanted so desperately to always have grace and always be understanding, but sometimes, it was just hard.
It was hard to comprehend all of it, without a moment to clear our heads or process what we were experiencing with one another over the noise from the masses of children that would gather around us. There wasn’t a corner of this village we could walk to, to be alone, without being followed. We would get just a few hours of rest each night as the village grew quiet and slept.
We found little relief from the balmy and stifling 100*F weather in our tents that were set up in a clearing adjacent to the villagers’ mud huts and cinder block homes.
No electricity, no running water, a cockroach infested outhouse, and bucket showers with very little privacy were the routine after a long day of ministry.
On this particular day, I woke up hot and soaked in sweat to the unrelenting itchy mosquito and sand flea bites that had claimed most of my skin from the knees down and my forearms and hands. Imagine my surprise when my mosquito net failed me our first night in the village and I woke up to 6 mosquitoes inside the net with me. I was paying for it now.
I felt under the weather, exhausted all the time, but couldn’t put my finger on its cause. I wouldn’t get answers or a diagnosis of malaria until the following week.
The rash on my lips was now at its worst stage with burning and oozing blisters that made them swell to twice their normal size. I later discovered it was an allergic reaction to the local mangoes. Did you know mangoes are a distant relative to poison ivy? Me neither.
So that morning, as I finally came to, stopped itching, and glanced out my tent, my eyes were met by another set of eyes staring back at me. A pretty typical morning, as there are usually a couple curious children standing outside my tent peering in. I awkwardly smiled and waved.
“Oh, hello.”
I took a deep breath and as I released, I made my peace and determined that I would “choose joy” today. I zipped the rain fly on my tent so that I could change into my clothes for the day (it stays open at night to enable slightly more air flow). When all of the sudden, my tent was moving and a little boy’s head appeared under my rain fly!
“NO!” was all I could manage to yell as the boy and I stared at each other, both startled by my shout. He quickly scurried away as I was left to just sit, half dressed, on the brink of tears.
Tired.
Sweaty.
Itchy.
Dirty.
Defeated.
I was scheduled to take off of ministry for an admin day and decided I needed to clear my head and spend some time with the Lord that morning in my hammock before getting on a leadership call that afternoon.
It’s crazy to think that sometimes the only way you can truly achieve “alone time” is to put in your headphones and to close your eyes.
I took a very unflattering picture of myself that morning in my hammock that I will share with you, just for reference. There weren’t many days I felt this defeated during my travels. I have loved every moment of this journey and consider it the biggest blessing, but I knew this was my hardest day to-date and I wanted to document it.
I woke up like this.
But then, just after this moment was captured, something amazing happened. God spoke something so powerful over me, that radically changed the way I saw myself and my whole experience with the World Race.
To accurately recount this moment, I will share the actual excerpts from my personal journal entry from that morning of April 17th, 2017:
“It has been so hard being hot with no electricity or running water, sleeping outside in the heat and humidity, and never having any privacy with the village kids always hovering and staring. Then add the blisters and rashes…
But what always brings me back into focus is the fact that this remote village in Cote d’Ivoire, West Africa has never seen white people before and they have never heard the name of “Jesus” nor the good news of the Gospel.
As hard as this is, living in these conditions, Lord I’m thankful for the experience. I’m thankful that I get to truly observe and experience village life.
It is giving me a profound appreciation for the people of this village and what life is truly like for them, day in and day out, for their whole lives. This is it for them. This is as good as it gets…”
Then the Lord promptly cut me off and began to speak:
“But it doesn’t have to be… ‘As good as it gets.’ I can give them more. Hope for their future… for eternity. They can know me. They can have a relationship and communion with their Heavenly Father.
Tell them.
Tell them how much I love them.
Tell them about my son, Jesus.
Tell them how when I sacrificed my son, I was thinking about them; how I loved them too much not to save them.
That’s why I sent you.
You are my mouthpiece. Your voice, but my words on your tongue. I have called you higher and I believe in you to walk in obedience and boldness to declare this truth.
Do not be afraid of the enemy. He is aware of your presence and your purpose, but he has no power or authority over you.
Do not fear, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I know this has been hard, but hold fast to me. Remember my promise and that I am in control. I know what you need.
I will never send you out without equipping you. You were equipped for this battle. You have everything you need to fight and succeed. You will bring Kingdom to Earth in this place, in the name of Jesus.
I am with you always. I love you.
– Papa”
Did you see it?
Did you see God’s sweet message to me?
He “sent me.”
He
Sent
Me.
Who am I that the God of the universe, the One who made Heaven and Earth, is mindful of me?
He sees me.
He knows me.
He loves me.
He chose me.
He sent…
Me.
It could be ANYONE in this small, remote village in Africa, having the honor of telling them about God and His love for them, and about the salvation we find in Jesus…
But He wanted it to be me.
In that moment, I was overcome with a gratitude like I’ve never experienced before. And it reminded me immediately of the verse in Romans 8:
“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.” (Romans 8:18 ESV)
In that month in Assafou, Côte d’Ivoire, over 40 villagers came to know the Lord and accept Him as their savior. Their lives are forever changed.
It is humbling to be used in this way – to have the honor and privilege of being the one God chose to send out to the nations to declare the Gospel. (Mark 16:15)
But on that day, in that moment, I came face to face with the truth:
My life isn’t about me.
It’s about what God is doing in and through me.
And sometimes it’s hard. Really hard.
But it is so worth it.
**Financial Update – I’m now home, but I’m still in need of $1,558 in order to complete my fundraising which will allow me to follow through on my commitment as Squad Leader to this squad so that I may fly back out at the end of their race to meet up with them for their final debrief in November. Any amount would be a great help! Thank you for your continued support.
