I come from a group of touchy feely friends. And I mean, abnormally so. I am always hugging on or cuddling with someone in my friend group. If we’re sitting on the couch, we’re touching. If we’re eating, we’re touching. If we’re out in public… You get the idea.
Enter the world race, when NONE of my teammates like physical touch. Like, at all. I’ve laughed about it for the past three weeks because it’s just funny– what are the odds ya know? I’ll just make do. Touch isn’t REALLY important to me.
But then picture the six of us in a rural gypsy (Roma) village for a four day visit. There’s no running water, no toilets, no beds, and lots of flies. The houses are dilapidated, and generally everything just feels sad and broken. We’ve entered into a scene of what we pictured the World Race would be, but really without any time to mentally prepare for it.
Now picture this scene with one particular redhead curled up on a couch made of plywood, lying on a jungle blanket filled with fleas. She has a fever and is in desperate need of a hug.
Yeah. It was booty.
I laid on this couch on the verge of crying tears I hadn’t let myself cry since leaving home.
“Go to your happy place,” I told myself. I closed my eyes and imagined being in my living room, snuggling with my best friend or my boyfriend. Although this soothed me, it created more homesickness than anything. Discouraged, I tried to fall asleep.
Suddenly, a peace came over me, seeming to come out of nowhere. I pictured myself with Jesus, in a garden full of daffodils, and he gave me the biggest of bear hugs.
I immediately teared up. I never considered to ask Jesus–the giver of peace and the lover of my soul– for a hug. I guess I thought Jesus couldn’t hold me. He’s too far away, too busy, too impersonal to want anything do to with me.
But He, who is nearer than our breath, asks us gently and lovingly to “stop holding on and just be held”. He steps into our mess with His majesty. “He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart” (Isaiah 40:11).
Y’all, I don’t want you to be fooled by my fun pictures on Facebook and Instagram. The Race is the hardest thing I’ve ever done and most of the time, it hurts. I still miss touching and being with my people every single day. But He is always near us, always with us, and absolutely willing to hold us in the midst of our problems.
Our time in the village ended up being my favorite part of the Race so far. God used it to refresh us and remind us we are intimately loved by a GOOD Father— even in the hard moments when all you want is a hug.
