I’ve officially been stateside for two weeks now, and everything still seems strangely dreamlike. Sometimes it feels like I was gone for 11 days, other times it feels like I was gone for 11 years, and then there are those rare occasions when the reality of everything I’ve seen and experienced (and everything I’ve missed) over the past 11 months hits me like a cold bucket shower.
I haven’t had a meltdown in the shampoo aisle at Target yet (mostly because I’ve been mooching shampoo off of my mom…perks of moving back in with my parents!), but I was sent into a tearful panic when my best friend was visiting last week. Why? Well, I opened my closet and the sight of so many outfit options had never seemed so intimidating after months of living out of a backpack. And I thought Chacos were appropriate footwear for every occasion? To be honest, getting dressed in the morning is still a bit of an ordeal; I mean, seriously, what am I supposed to do with this many shirts? And I have to pick a new outfit every day? Getting dressed isn’t the only basic American life activity that’s threatened to send me into a panic. Though I’ve adjusted quickly, my first time driving a car (under the careful supervision of my rightfully concerned parents) was an interesting experience to say the least.
My thoughts and reflections have been all over the place these past two weeks. Sometimes, I seriously question if the World Race was just some figment of my imagination, and I am constantly asking the Lord for reminders of the things that He showed me and taught me over the past 11 months. He has been so faithful, and one such reminder came yesterday as I was on my way to Starbucks.
I was cruising through some backroads with my windows down (yes, I realize it’s December), and I had the radio tuned into a local Christian music station that has started to throw a few seasonal songs into their daily playlist. I’m grateful for this ushering into the holiday spirit, but I was completely unprepared for my mind’s reaction to the most heart-wrenching Christmas song of all time when the chorus of ‘Christmas Shoes’ began to slip out of the speakers.
When I heard ‘Christmas Shoes’ for the first time this year, my heart took me back to a little house in Zambia and I recalled the memory of a woman named Stella whom we met on a house-visit. When one of the pastors we worked with brought us to Stella’s house, I didn’t know what to expect. We only knew that we had been brought here to pray for someone. I met Stella on the floor of her home, struggling just to sit up, her body weak and frail, ravaged by AIDS. I did the only thing I could think to do – sat right down on that floor behind her and propped her body up against my own, supporting her body so that she didn’t completely exhaust herself during our visit. We prayed for her and with her. We cried with her. My teammate Rose took her eldest son, Daniel, outside and prayed with him too. We later gave him a brand new Bible because kids at school had stolen his last one. I don’t know if Stella is alive today or not, but I know that we played a role in ushering her to the gates of her heavenly home that day. I know that she is loved by a God who promises that He is making all things new, a God who promises that one day He will heal all our diseases once and for all.
As the memory of the afternoon we spent with Stella replayed in my mind, I let the tears slide down my cheeks freely. I thanked God for this reminder of the things that I’ve experienced over the past 11 months. I thanked Him for the opportunity to play even the smallest part in Stella’s life, and the privilege of sharing this story with the people who made this possible.
With love and wanderlust,
Cassady
