A Racer has a lot of expectations when they start out. Whether they believe it or not, it’s true. You expect to eat everyday. You expect to have somewhere to lie your head at night to catch a couple winks and heck, you expect to have a hole to pee in or the very least a field to squat over. My life has always been very full of expectations. Being Southern, it comes with the territory. I’ve always expected my life should be a certain way, my children would have certain creative names and I would have a dog and a happy lifestyle that would make “The Jones’” jealous.
I was on my way with that ideal when I started college and joined my sorority. I continued down that path as I collected designer watches, the fratty boyfriend and prepster ways. But somewhere in the midst of my quest for perfection my imperfections began manifesting. My drinking got too rambunctious, my mandates for my boyfriend became more of a dictatorship than a relationship and my bank account could barely keep up with my shopping spree therapy routine. Before I knew it, I didn’t know the girl staring back at me. Life got nuts, literally, and before I knew it, I’d hit rock bottom, found Jesus and signed up for the Race.
This screams quarter life crisis and I’m totally ok admitting that.
Packing up your life and hauling out of town is anything but normal.
But then again, I’ve never been normal.
I got to Guatemala and would rarely leave my tent without applying mascara and foundation. Heaven forbid someone see a flaw in my skin. I usually dressed to match and found creative ways to cover the grease in my long locks. It’s funny now, because my hair basically dreads itself on the reg and I cant remember what foundation even feels like. Besides, why hide the acne I’ve worked so hard to achieve? Sheesh, manual labor, sweat and dirt is where it’s at. I’m almost convinced acne is beauty in its purest form.
Three cheers for zits.
As I’ve traveled all over the world, I’ve left bits of my old self in each country. There was Honduras when I shucked being painfully skinny. Then Nicaragua when I tried to get it back. Philippines I lost my pride and the right to privacy. Thailand’s where I realized what a snobby girl I used to be and Malaysia’s where I expected to have rights to just about anything and lost just about everything. Cambodia I caught a break though I cut my esophagus and couldn’t eat for a week and then Kenya I got body slammed emotionally by a contact that I thought I was the best of friends with. Each country has wrecked me and every time I’ve run to Jesus. This past month I gashed my foot open and should have gotten stitches but being in the bush of Uganda, it really wasn’t the best option. Each little nuance that happens usually leaves me laughing, crying or shaking my fist. I find some inner joy by Jesus alone and continue on my merry way.
Today I was talking with my family, trying to work out logistics of my arrival back on US soil, and I found my old self creeping in. I expected my homecoming to look this way and instead it was looking that way. I wanted my dog to greet me when in reality, it might be better for him to stay on as a permanent boarder with a family from church. I got annoyed, agitated (maybe enhanced by the two cups of Joe) and before I knew it, my fleshing was flipping over dumb details.
Get over yourself and your expectations, senorita.
Have I learned nothing over the past 9 months? Has Jesus ever let me down?
Has He ever said, “You figure it out, Christin. I’m on vacation”
Nope.
He sure hasn’t. Each country, each heartache, each happy, He’s been there. Even in college when I was attached to alcohol and the toilet, He was there. He’s never “checked out” or looked for the easiest escape route. So why get my feathers all ruffled by dumb details that I wont remember in 50 years? Or even in 50 days?
Perhaps it’s human nature to react versus rationally respond or maybe its entitlement that I want things to go a certain way. But regardless of what I want in the moment, its not necessarily His good plan.
Good, let’s emphasize that.
I didn’t want e coli. I got it and had a freaking blast in the hospital. Some of my favorite memories of the year.
I didn’t want to be embarrassed at debrief in Malaysia. Yet it opened so many doors, broke down a trillion walls and I met some of my bestest friends because of it.
I didn’t want a man to ram a stick up my dress in Nicaragua. But it allowed me to sympathize with a friend when it happened to her. I felt violated and because of that my heart breaks even more when I see abuse.
I didn’t want Althea to die. Because she did, Jesus’ name has been proclaimed and glorified to thousands.
I didn’t want to lose someone I loved deeply. Because I did, I found Jesus, lost myself and found true joy.
Just because I don’t want something in the moment doesn’t mean that Jesus can’t do something awesome with it.
He’s good because He can’t be anything but perfect.
So as life sparkles in front of me, I don’t look at it while biting my nails and trembling (well actually, if I keep drinking this much coffee, I may get those caffeine shakes) but I can look at it with assurance that no matter what happens, He’s got me.
Literally.
He’s got me. Whether I fly home from South Africa to Knoxville, Las Vegas, Nashville or St Pete, doesn’t matter. Whether my dog is sitting on my couch or sitting in some else’s yard, doesn’t matter. Whether my life turns upside down or spins around, doesn’t matter.
All that matters is that I trust Jesus and I rest in Him. And hopefully, as I do that, it rubs off on someone else.
That’s all that matters.
