“What is my life?” I’m standing on a platform, 134 meters above the Zambezi River, about to bungee jump. Fear courses through my whole body. Everything sane inside of me is screaming, “Don’t jump! Don’t let go! Save yourself!” To jump off a bridge goes against all human instincts of survival. It’s then that I pray, take a deep breath, and brace myself for what lies ahead.
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1! BUNGEE!”
It’s moments like these that make my life look so glamorous. In the last 2 years, I’ve been able to overwhelm my social media accounts with stills and statuses proclaiming the greatness of the wandering, missionary lifestyle.
- Elephant rides,
- Safaris,
- Volcano boarding,
- Petting tigers and cheetahs,
- Mountain top vistas,
- Oceanic views,
- Zip-lining,
- and now Bungee jumping – just to name a few.
I’ve visited 16 countries on 4 continents. I live an incredibly blessed life full of adventure and love. I wouldn’t trade this life and these experiences for anything.
But to set the record straight, there are two sides to every coin.
Yes, I get to travel the world and have once in a lifetime adventure. But like a lot of us, I post the victories more than the defeats. So to be fair, here’s the other side of the coin:
Everyday I have to wake up and be open to anything and everything. Everyday looks different. It’s safe to say 70% of my days I don’t know what I’m doing. Planning ahead is something I’ve forgotten how to do. I’ve given speeches at the drop of a hat, taught actual classes at schools, given presentations, and preached sermons with a five-minute prep time. I’ve walked into homes where someone is dying and have had the whole family look to me to pray healing over their loved one. It makes for great stories in hindsight, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t stressful on the front end.
The longest time I’ve spent in a single place in the last two years has been five weeks. In the last 5 months, that number has been reduced to 10 days. Sometimes, there is a bed. Sometimes, there is running water. I never know until I get there. At the end of each location, I have to pack all my things and carry them to the next location. Can’t carry it, can’t have it.
Moving around so much has taught me how to acclimate to a new location quickly. Home isn’t a place. It’s a feeling. To be connected to a place, to have it feel like home, doesn’t ever go away. Once that feeling is achieved in a place though, the goodbye becomes that much harder.
Speaking of, goodbyes are the worst. Each “goodbye” doesn’t come with a guaranteed “see you later”. I give my heart to a place, a family, a group of people, children. Most of the time I walk away knowing I will probably never see them again. I have left huge pieces of my heart all over the world. Each time is more painful than the last. I’ve had to pry children off of me because they don’t want me to leave. Not because I’m anyone special, but because for some of them, it’s the first time anyone has shown them love. I can’t ever forget the look on their faces. It’s something you never fully bounce back from…
I’ve cried so hard some days, I’ve lost my breath.
I’ve taken kids (from 2 years old to 6) to street corners and dropped them off out of the back of a pickup truck because that’s where they live with their families. I’ve prayed they would be safe and I would get to see them the next day. We never know for sure though.
I’ve been in bars and seen girls bought and auctioned off for sex. I’ve talked to them and seen fear, death, numbness, and pain in their eyes. I’ve made friends with them, but will never know if they got out, if they’re safe, or even if they are still alive.
I’ve been awfully sick in foreign countries. It’s these moments I feel worst being away from family. Staying in bed to recover isn’t always an option. I’ve had to spend sick days traveling on buses in between countries. Nothing makes a sick stomach sicker than a 13 hour bus ride on curvy, bumpy roads.
Some days I’m tired. I want to stop. I want to be stationary. But I can’t. I can’t ever go back to a normal life. I’ve seen too much. No matter how tired, overwhelmed, exhausted, or broken-hearted I get, I can’t stop. I can’t stop fighting. I can’t stop working to further the Kingdom.
As hard as it is, I know that anything less would no longer satisfy. Some days I honestly don’t know if I will make it. Other times I feel like I never want to stop. In the extremes of my life, my God is always faithful. He sustains me. I’ve signed up for a life that’s bigger than me. I can’t do it on my own. I need Him every step of the way. But even more so, I want Him. I can’t live without Him.
I’ve traded independence and the American Dream for a lifetime of dependence and abandonment. I’ve sacrificed everything for the sake of knowing the Messiah. It’s not an easy place to be, but in the end, it’s worth it. In the end, I’ve gotten to fly.
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1! BUNGEE!” I fly. 111 meters of complete and total free-fall before the rope catches me. For that brief time, my mind gets to turn off. I get to check something else off my bucket list. My real life takes a backseat to the adventure. The struggles and trials of the past week melt away. I post the picture to social media.
