Before you come on the World Race, they tell you to drop your expectations. I had never thought about expectations as a concept before this year; now I think about my life in terms of them. This year has been a year of ups and downs, a tide that ebbs and flows and it seems like my expectations are the moon that controls the gravitational pull of the waters. When I walked into months expecting certain things – be that a bed, running water, easily accessible internet, an engaging contact, a certain ministry, a lot of rest and free time – I was choosing to walk in entitlement. I decided that I knew best and I knew what would make me happy and make me grow and hopefully Jesus would catch up and jump on this train, because I’m leaving the station.
Silly little me fails to recognize that I’m not the one driving this thing.
Like most things on the Race, this has been a process of continually recognizing my patterns of behavior and, tail between my legs, handing my life back to Jesus. I tend to kick myself and get annoyed with my behavior, whereas He just smiles and gently takes my hand and leads me a few more steps down the road before I inevitably mutiny again. Process. It’s a fun journey.
I’ve gotten pretty good at it over the last few months, if I do say so myself. Catching that balance between confidently expecting God’s favor as His beloved daughter and then humbly receiving whatever He actually has in store is not always easy, but I feel like I’ve been learning along the way and it’s becoming more natural, a rhythm of life that I now understand. “Abba, these are the things I would like – but I trust You. Have Your way. Make me into the woman who You created me to be, a woman who looks and thinks and acts just like You.” See? Easy.
So that’s what I’ve been praying a lot lately, especially in regards to going home. Except somewhere along the lines, my wires got crossed. What started off as very good, humble, God-honoring things [“Lord, You know my needs before I do… I need a job and a community of people to love and serve, and I would really, really love an older woman to mentor and disciple me, if You’ve got that.”] turned into more specific, but still decent things to ask [“God, I just want to be independent – I want to make enough money to support myself without my parents’ help. And I know that you are a God of favor and abundance, and I’m going to need a car… will You please bring something together so that I can own my own car when I get home??”], which then somehow, unbeknownst to me, rapidly turned into petitions that were demanding and spoiled and awful [“God, I just want to be an adult when I get home – not a lingering post-grad with crappy stuff and no money, but an adult who has nice things and my own car and an iPhone and a queen-sized bed, because we all know that real adults sleep in at least a queen-sized bed. I want to throw elaborate dinner parties – because you love community, remember? – and have a house with a porch and maybe a fireplace in my bedroom, where I can put candles and hang interesting art. Oh, and a boyfriend. But maybe he can come in September or October… don’t want to look like I’m rushing into anything. And if I could get those things delivered sometime in the month of August, that would be great. Thanks. Oh, oops – except the boyfriend. He’s coming later. Right. Laters!!!”]
It should come as no surprise, then, that I could literally feel my blood pressure rising during a recent conversation with my parents, where we talked about phone plans I could afford [read: not an iPhone, duh] and how they’re generously letting me take a car up to Grand Rapids to share with my sister [which is a stick and I don’t even know how to drive a stick] and the twin-bed I used in college is definitely available for me to take to an apartment.
Ummm… excuse me, Jesus? Hi, it’s me again. Yeeeah, I’m going to need to have a little conversation with Your customer service department, because this? This is not what I asked for.
I’m honestly embarrassed at how upset and subsequently confused I was. I think I maintained a pretty good game face via Skype with my parents, but good lord – things were stirring inside. “But God,” I shrieked internally, “You say to pray for specific things – and that detailed list in my prayer journal is proof of my obedience!! And You promised that You were going to take care of all of my needs! And God, I’m an adult – I need a car! I need an iPhone! I NEED THE QUEEN-SIZED BED!!!”
Gross.
That Jesus. He’s a sweet guy. Way sweeter than I deserve, that’s for sure.
The reality is, my life does not change in two and a half weeks when I get back to America. My circumstances will – thank God, right? But life, this process of waking up and breathing and eating and laughing and walking with Jesus, does not change. I’m not coming off the mission field, shiny and perfect with something to prove. I’ll certainly be new, but I will still be Carly.
And that means, simply put, that I’ll still be learning the dance steps to this new rhythm of life. I’ll still be in process, learning about trusting Jesus with all of me and surrendering expectations… except now, instead of releasing my expectation to live with an African pastor who speaks good English and will not try to marry me off to whoever offers the most cows, I’m learning to release my expectation that I will have all of the luxuries and financial benefits of someone who has been hard at work in their career for the past decade. I’ve realized just how entitled I’ve allowed myself to be in my daydreams about home. Just because I left my walk-in closet for a year does not mean that Jesus owes me a new wardrobe as of July 29th. Just because I willingly slept on inflatable pads or uncomfortable foam mattresses for a year does not mean that Jesus owes me my own Pottery Barn dream bedroom immediately upon arrival.
Jesus does not hand out swag bags full of material things, nor did He ever promise me that. He promised me my daily bread. He gives gifts that are meant to bless us and grow us. And sometimes His very best gifts require a small shift in perspective. Or a large shift in perspective, in my case.
So I’m letting go of my [very glamorous] image of myself where I’m driving a nice car and wearing beautiful clothes and laughing on my iPhone with my ridiculously attractive, Jesus-approved, seriously husband-potential boyfriend, while on my way to my deeply-fulfilling and well-paying job. That would be great and if that’s what Jesus secretly has waiting for me… well then. Bring it on.
But I’ve decided that I would rather have His peace and joy and eyes and priorities. So. If that means I sleep in a twin-sized bed for the rest of my life and I share a stick-shift with Shelby and continue to eat more than my fair share of rice for a while longer… well then. Bring it on even harder.
