Sometimes the World Race isn’t so glamorous. I’m not talking about the bugs or the squatties or even the unreliable water or sometimes stifling heat; those things I expected, those things I accepted before coming and prepared to face as each moment arrived.
They say month 5 or month 6 are the hardest for most racers. It’s the point where you’re the farthest from home as far as time. For our route, this month is also when we’re physically the farthest. There’s a 12 hour time difference for me to call home. Which means I have to stay out late (which isn’t permitted because they discourage walking back late) or get up early to walk to Internet before home goes to bed. I miss being able to pick up the phone and call the people I love. I miss the ease of hanging out, the random long conversations in parking lots after meetings and having a church community. Time differences, jobs and limited internet mean I’m missing out on lives at home.
This is the month that the missing out feels clearest. Hospice has come in for my Mamaw. She’s a strong and determined lady and the 24-48 hours to live has stretched into a week but she’ll be gone when I get back. I won’t go to her funeral because of the time lost from the race and the cost to get there and back. I don’t get to be with my mom right now and it’s harder than I expected.
I’m an emotional mess this week. I want to be here but I also want to be there. I’ve been sick pretty much since I got to Cambodia (with different issues) and I just want familiar food. I want ranch that tastes like ranch, ketchup that doesn’t look like jelly, and apples that I can afford. The food is good in Cambodia and I’m frustrated that I’m having such a hard time stomaching it. I’m sure I could if I could get past the sickness.
Food is trivial though. I can eat peanut butter and I will not starve. What’s not trivial is what I’m missing. I talked to one of my best friends, the closest thing I have to a sister, this morning. I talked about the race and she talked about the man she thinks she’ll marry. A man that I have never met; one that she started dating after I left for the race. I’m thrilled for them, but it’s hard knowing I won’t be driving to her soon in order to spend time together and meet the man who has become so important.
I’ve missed two engagements, other than the virtual sharing. I will miss the corresponding weddings. Another friend will be divorced by the time I get back. I’m not there to comfort or distract her.
Not that I have to be. They are fine without me. I have lived most of my adult life in different places than many of the people I love and I thought that would make the race easier. This month I realize the difficulty of not being able to travel the miles to get to those I love for the important moments.
And it’s just a year, not even a year. I’m sure that I’ll look back on the race and not be able to ever fully capture the joy of all God did. I know I won’t regret that I got to partner with Manna Worldwide in Kenya, that I’m getting to love children (adopted by a church but formally orphans) in Cambodia, saw a man healed by prayer in Uganda, or watch God in many other ways. It’s just that right in this moment, I’m missing being able to love the people at home by being there with them.
So this is the month that I’ve wanted to go home. This is the month that I finally feel the sacrifice of the race; the month that the excitement has faded and the cost of leaving is no longer hypothetical but tangible. I can give you all the “Christian” answers of what I should do: pray more, choose in, play the thankful game, and so on but I think sometimes we overlook the true depth of feelings when we give those answers. Choosing in doesn’t mean I stop missing home, and missing home doesn’t mean I can’t be present here. There’s a both and to this month. I wish I were home and I’m glad I’m here. I want to be able to hug my parents and be with my family but I’m so glad I get to hug the kids here and teach them English, play games and just be a part of their lives for this moment. It’s not about always being fully happy, rather it’s finding joy regardless of circumstance. It’s about the peace that comes knowing that God is taking care of the people I love and I don’t have to be physically present for them to know I love them and wish I could be. Christ never promised us comfortable lives but He promised us to walk with us through the discomfort. He promised joy despite affliction. I know that my discomfort isn’t nearly what it could be. I’ve never known genocide, poverty, or the kind of hardship many around the world know. I’ve met and befriended some of those people; I see their joy through faith where other humans might only find despair. That joy may be the thing I find most impressive about their stories and God’s role in it. Joy despite circumstance and peace in the discomfort are blessing God wants for us. Sometimes they’re hard to embrace but they are there.
Addendum: Between the time I wrote this blog and posted it, my Mamaw did pass away. She was a wonderful woman who loved her family well and was extremely proud of me for doing the race. In all things, but particularly in the race, she was one of my biggest supporters. Our family will miss her but she had a wonderful life and we believe she is now healthier and reunited with my Grandaddy as well as with other dear family and friends. I don’t have a great picture of her on this computer (another frustration of the race) but here is one of her with a dear family friend, Mr. Aultman who is also gone from this earth.
And on a far less important note…I am now feeling physically healthy and that’s making food and other experiences far more pleasant.
Thank you everyone for your support. Those of you who follow the blog because you know me in person, I look forward to giving you all big hugs when I get back.
