I don't know how to prepare for anything. Much less an 11 month 11 country mission trip that I leave for in 12 days. I have no idea where to begin. So I've just turned into a complete wreck instead. It makes sense.
In the last couple weeks I have cried a lot.
In my car.
Sitting on my stairs.
In my bed.
In my best friends bed.
In my mommy’s arms.
In the movie theater.
In my exercise room.
On my phone.
On my bible.
In a coffee shop.
And probably into my cereal bowl.
My mind has been going crazy…
Trying to figure things out, like:
What all I need to do in the next 12 days?
What all I’m forgetting?
Am I a crazy person for actually doing this?
What do I need to check off my list?
Wait, where is my list?
It’s been an odd month to say the least.
I’ve tried to do normal things, like read, but my brain won’t let me. I’ve tried to write deep things, but it comes out looking more like gibberish. I want to go sit outside and think but I end up playing with leaves instead. My favorite things have become boring and now I'm on to rebelliously painting my nails with black fingernail polish. I’m also pulling out my inner grandma while making scarves and hats and headbands. I even, unsuccessfully, attempted to bake.
Who am I?
People ask me question about the trip all the time. I used to have composed and well thought out answers for questions. They should be getting easier, but it seems that everyday closer to the trip they get harder.
You see, I have no idea what I'm most scared of or excited about. I don't know what ministry will look like, or where exactly I will live. I don't know what time of day I will wake up or if I packed enough malaria meds. I still don't know if all my stuff is actually going to fit in my pack. And, quite honestly, I don't know If I will be open or scared as hell to accept what the Lord is going to do in my heart.
I don't know.
I want to be able to answer those simple questions, but instead everyday I have to ask God why he would want me to do the World Race. The conversation looks a little like this:
“God, dude, I know you made me, but have you met me? I’m the girl that likes to be by herself… most of the time. I’m the girl that has a hard time communicating what’s in my head with words. And yet, I hate to be misunderstood. I sometimes talk to myself. I don’t read my bible enough. I’m that girl. Oh… and I also am not a fan of bugs. Why the heck would you want ME to do something like THIS?”
Crickets. That's all I hear. But despite the tears, the worry, and the sudden interest in unique hobbies, I feel an enormous amount of peace. At least I think that is what it is.
Basically my flesh is weak
and my spirit is willing.
But no matter how many things I'm feeling, I know that I'm moving forward.
Towards a God who is working on my behalf, and far greater than I could explain with my hollow words. I'm sprinting towards a father who gives me peace, and cares less about what I know and more about who I am. A God who reminds me of who He is and doesn't define me by what I am not.
I'm Moving forward.
I'm Excited and nervous.
And I'm trying to grasp what I've gotten myself into.
I guess I'm "Preparing" – whatever the heck that means.
