There’s a saying we have on the Race to describe how some months can feel, “The days are long and the months are short.” And in Month 7, the days have the opportunity to get even longer. Your mind is in the tension of feeling like you’ve been on the Race forever, thinking of home and trying so hard to stay present, to stay where your feet are.
They call it the Month 7 Slump. You’ve been on the field for 7 months and you’re faced with the decision to press in even harder or to mentally check out for the next 4 months.
Today has been especially hard. A few of our squad mates, teammates, and myself have a stomach bug that’s leaving us feeling not quite our best.
To be open and real, I want to be honest and tell you guys that I’ve wanted to go home this morning. I’ve been essentially whining to The Lord about how nauseous, weak, and sweaty I feel. And how does he respond? By inspiring a sweet little 3 year old boy to make me a bouquet of wildflowers.
This adorable boy’s family works here at our hotel to clean the rooms. His mom smiles with me each day as we head off to ministry. This morning, he has been hiding around bushes and fence posts, bashfully running away each time I say, “Sabaidee.” (That’s “hello” in Lao.) With the help of his older sister, he worked up the courage to put together a beautiful bunch of flowers. As he and his family where leaving the hotel for the day, he shyly yet proudly gave me the pretty petals.
Flowers are one of the biggest ways The Lord reminds me that he sees me, that he cares deeply for me, and that I am loved. He showed me that he does see how I feel, he knows the hard days really are hard, and he reminded me that I am exactly where he wants me to be.
So, Month 7 Slump, here’s to you. Thank you for thrusting me even further into the Father’s arms and, even if you didn’t intend to, you reminded me not wish away these next 4 months and to be where my feet are. And thank you for providing the perfect opportunity for my Daddy to give me a bouquet of wildflowers through a kind little boy.
