As a kid, I always wished I was a celebrity. All the money, all the attention, all the publicity, all the fame, it seemed admirable. As I got older, I wished that less and less. Fame messes you up over time. So many celebrities have mental health problems, broken families, and substance abuse issues. None of that seems admirable to me. But still, I kind of wanted to know what it would be like, even if only for a day.
Be careful what you wish for, folks.
The other day, our ministry plans were changed due to a funeral. We were supposed to encourage some pastors in the afternoon, but a death cancelled our appointment with them. Instead, we were told we’d be speaking to some 8th graders at a school down the road in the morning. We were bummed, because originally we had plans to meet another World Race team in Zomba for breakfast. Boo.
But, on the World Race, you learn to be flexible. Interruptible. It’s what you have to expect when you sign the contract. This Race isn’t about us. Neither is this life.
When we arrived at the school, it was recess. There were probably close to 2,000 kiddos outside running around, ages 5 to 18. Once enveloped in play with their friends, quickly, the whiteness of our skin distracted them. WHITE PEOPLE, I bet they thought. AMERICANS.
Not more than 2 seconds after we stepped foot on school property, hundreds upon hundreds of kids swarmed us. I’ve never felt more uncomfortable or claustrophobic in my entire life. I couldn’t see the ground I was walking on due to tiny feet blocking my next step. Sweaty hands grabbed my arms unsolicitedly, and snotty fingers ran through my hair. Quickly, I put it up in a top knot. I felt violated. Like I said, highly uncomfortable. Mzungu, mzungu (white person, white person)! They shouted, beginning a deafening chant.
Get me out of here! was my only thought.
I felt selfish for thinking that.
I’m on the World Race.
This is what I signed up for, isn’t it?
I prayed to be here in Malawi, ministering to school kids, sharing the Good News with them no matter when or where I go.
Why was this so difficult for me?
Then this thought convicted my heart: isn’t this how Jesus felt? Every day?
Everybody knew Jesus. If they didn’t know Him personally, they had heard about Him from a friend or family member. They knew who He claimed to be. They knew He performed miracles. They knew He had the key to eternal life.
With every step He took, there was a crowd surrounding Him. Tugging on His robe, aching for a word, a touch, an ounce of power to leave His body and absorb into theirs.
This was what Jesus’ life was like 24/7. Except for the moments He escaped to the mountain to pray.
I experienced this feeling only for a short time. I only got a glimpse of Jesus’ every day, yet I was wishing it away every second.
How did Jesus handle all these people on top of Him?
With grace. With compassion. With love. With kindness. With a heart that cared deeply for each and every soul who touched Him.
He didn’t ignore them. Not even for a moment. He embraced the chaos. He loved His people well. I want to be able to do the same gracefully and intentionally wherever I go.
When we entered the classroom where we were going to speak, about 200 kids flooded in, overcrowding the room ten-fold. Once the room was full (an understatement), kids peered in through any window they could find to get a glimpse of the Americans.
Two thoughts:
- Could you imagine this ever happening in America? The thought almost makes me laugh. This would NEVER happen anywhere in America regarding visitors from Africa, let alone in an American school.
- These kids were desperate to watch our every move, not because we were there to share the Gospel, but because of the color of our skin. It made me sick thinking about it.
Some of these kids have probably never seen a white person in their life. It’s fascinating to them. I can understand that. Some of these kids have only ever seen a white person on the TV, either in a show or in a movie. All they know about America is what Hollywood decides to produce. We know that TV shows and movies are highly skewed in regard to what America is actually like. For this reason, some things about Hollywood upsets me. Why do we idealize everything in America? Can’t we just show the real thing? What it’s really like for us average Americans? Nah. That wouldn’t be entertaining enough. Anyway.
These kids see Americans on TV, or they hear from their friends and family that Americans are wealthy (which we are, relative to the rest of the world), and they expect any white visitor to live up to that standard. HA. They’ve got the wrong idea about us poor missionaries.
They idolize us. Kind of like we idolize celebrities. They want to be like us. They want to live in America. They want what we have. Oh if only I could teach them a lesson.
I did.
When it was my turn to speak, I shared my testimony, like the rest of my team, but I also gave them a piece of wisdom. I told them that us Americans, my team and I, we’re no different from anyone in that room. God loves each of us the same. When He looks at us, He doesn’t see white or black, rich or poor, American or African. He sees His child. He sees His beloved sons and daughters whom He intricately designed and created in our mothers’ wombs. He loves all of us equally. I told them there was no use in idolizing us, because comparison is the thief of joy, and if all they do is spend their whole lives wishing they were Americans, they’ll lead depressing lives. I told them that Jesus is the answer, not America. Joy is found in Him. He is the only thing that satisfies. I told them that when they think about the day that “the white people visited their school”, I hope they remember Jesus. I hope they remember each of our testimonies, and although each is very different, they all show God’s abundant grace and mercy that is available to all of us freely. I hope that from now on, when they think of Americans, they associate us with Jesus. When they think of Americans, I hope they think, wow. I hope they think, if Jesus can save them, He can save me too. Maybe He can pull me out of my ugly situation too. I hope that’s what they think of when they think of me. Jesus. It’s all about Jesus.
Before ministry this day, I was frustrated. Plans were changed last minute. We were no longer able to get breakfast with our friends. Ugh.
After ministry, I realized how selfish that thought was. Why have I not still come to the understanding that this Race isn’t about me? That this entire LIFE isn’t about me? Our team speaking to these kids was exactly what was supposed to happen that day. God knew it thousands of days before we ever did. He planned it long ago. He also planned who would be impacted by our words that day. It was all planned. And that is beautiful. This is what life is about. Sharing the Gospel. Being interruptible. Being sensitive to Holy Spirit. Being obedient, and rejoicing in that obedience. We GET to do this. God so gracefully gives me day after day of life, so I owe it to Him to be obedient to His calling. Whatever and wherever that is.
And it’s a beautiful thing to walk by His side every step of the way. Thank you, Jesus, for this important lesson on perspective.
Xoxo,
Allison
