One of the girls on my team was bitten by a spider while on the 16 hour overnight bus to Surunga, Nepal. At first, the bite was small, nothing more significant than a mosquito bite. With time, irritation, and the all around dirtiness of days spent in Nepali heat with no showers, it began to spread. Day by day, hour by hour, its poison was pumped through her blood until finally it was no longer a little bite but a huge problem. The original penetration point was now a few centimeters across and the redness that had encircled it now covered the majority of her calf. It hurt even to walk. It was 4 days and as many towns before we were able to get her to a pharmacist.
The pharmacist thoughtfully examined the wound before declaring it infected and began the necessary squeezing, pressing and cutting to removed all the puss, blood and poison trapped inside. The wound that was left when he finished was much larger than when we had originally walked in. In place of a dot, there was now a gaping, bleeding hole.
It would be an understatement to say that something has been brewing in my heart, but in order to explain it to you, I need to teach you a little something about World Race culture. The World Race is no ordinary mission trip (if you can call any mission trip ordinary). On the Race, the emphasis is placed on identity, on calling each other into greatness, on learning a confidence to walk in the person who God has designed you to be. Each and every night, we meet together with our team. The six of us sit and painstakingly comb through moments of our day, specific moments of choosing. We encourage each other for moments in which we acted from a place of love, of selflessness, of compassion, because it is in those moments we most glorify God, but we don't stop there; we correct one another for the moments in which we chose ourselves over others.
PAUSE. Imagine what that would feel like.
No, really.
Imagine 5 people who live, breath, eat and work in the same space as you picking apart your every action for the day and having free reign to do so.
Now imagine being uncomfortable. I mean REALLY uncomfortable. Imagine the hottest, most humid conditions. Imagine days of sweat with no running water to bathe. Imagine having no water to drink. Imagine hiking like this. Imagine sitting on 7 long bus rides like this with no air movement and someone sitting in your lap. Imagine dirt caked under your fingernails. Imagine snakes and spiders. Imagine being hungry. Imagine needing the restroom with no place to go. Imagine a different floor to sleep on every night. Now imagine days of this. Exhaustion. Weariness. Irritability.
With that in mind, let me repeat myself:
Each and every night, we meet together with our team. The six of us sit and painstakingly comb through moments of our day. We encourage each other for moments in which we acted from a place of love, but we don't stop there; we correct one another for the moments in which we chose ourselves over others.
But they don't do it to condemn you. They do it to reveal the posture of your heart, to show you truth about the way you are perceived and to help you to walk in Christlikeness in every moment. They know you aren't perfect. They don't expect you to be. In fact, they are the first to give you grace, but they do hope the best in you and press you to pursue that even when you feel too exhausted to try.
This process hurts. I have been so wrecked by it already. The pruning that Papa has begun in me is so painful I am tempted to double over and quit walking. I know for a fact that 9 1/2 more months of this is going to be excruciating. My flesh is dying and it hurts worse than I could ever imagine. All this yucky stuff has bubbled to the surface; all my junk is on display. I get to sit, exposed in all my imperfection, in all my inadequacy. I get to feel embarrassed, ashamed, and convicted by the extent of my own selfishness because when living in true community, there is no place for that stuff to hide. There is no alone time. Everyone sees your every move and when you are placed in day after day after day of discomfort layered on discomfort layered on discomfort, your own nastiness begins to wreak. Your decay is obvious to anyone even remotely paying attention. It is so clear that I have heart rot. Somehow, somewhere along the line I have collected bits and pieces of trash and made a place for it in my heat. I find myself wondering, what is this? Where did it come from? And how long have I been carrying it around without even knowing it was there?
How long have I been infected?
Feedback from my team has revealed the poison that has been making my heart its home and this community living is the squeezing that is forcing it out. It is messy. It is unattractive. It is painful. And yet, it is neccessary. Just as the wound on Jessie's leg needed to be pressed and squeezed, causing excruciating pain in an already tender spot, my heart needs to be squeezed so that the puss can come out and the wound can finally heal. It may look worse than it did before, but it is in the discomfort, in the squeezing, that true healing can begin to take place.
God, I give You full permission to examine me, cut me open, laser this infection out. It will hurt, I have no doubt, but the infection that has spread in me will surely consume me if You don't take pity on me and rescue me. Rescue me, Lord! I don't want it anymore. I want to forsake these sharp dirty bones I've been holding in my fists and run fast to You, the Lover of my soul.
"Search me, O God, and know my heart; examine me and now my anxieties; and see if there is any wicked way in me and lead me in the way everlasting."
Psalm 139:23-24
"Let the righteous strike me; it shall be a kindness. And let him rebuke me; it shall be as excellent oil; let my head not refuse it.
Psalm 141: 3-5
