Okay confession. I haven’t really been telling you the whole story. It’s easy for me to post the fun things; the truth my heart is learning and the joy that naturally comes out of it. I want to take you along on this amazing adventure with me and share all of the excitement with you. But I haven’t done a very good job at sharing the hard times with you too. And for that I’m sorry.
Yes, I am on an adventure. And it is amazing and exciting. Sometimes. But that’s not always the case. Sometimes things are hard. Really hard. Sometimes I get frustrated and wish these 11 months would go by quickly. Sometimes the romance of America takes my eyes off of my current location. Sometimes I know I’m suppose to have joy, but it’s just not there.
Take this month for example. I’m in Uganda, in a small village outside of Kampala. I’ve done some exciting things like raft the Nile and sports outreach in the community. But those exciting moments are just that, moments. They don’t last forever or even all day for that matter. And I find myself dwelling on everything that’s making me uncomfortable instead of the things that are giving me life.
It’s easy for me to focus on the mice in our room or the electricity being out for six days. I dread going to the toilet (outside hole in the ground), and not wanting to take cold bucket showers means I don’t know which smells worse, my body or my clothes. I get frustrated with the language barrier. And as much as I adore children, I don’t want them touching and climbing on me every second. We often have a packed day of ministry everyday all day, and I’m flat out exhausted by tea time.
And here’s the real confession: I’ve let all of these things steal my joy. All of these temporary fleshly desires have crushed my spirit and led to me counting down the days until the end of the month.
After a few days of enjoying my pity party and day dreaming about Target, Panera, and an American Christmas, I moved past unhappy and became frustrated. I was frustrated that this is hard and that I’m struggling. I’m having a hard time living for a month the way people here do every single day. I’m frustrated that I’m a princess and that I’m not selfless like Jesus. But right when all seemed lost, Grace came to the rescue.
“All beautiful you are, my darling, there is no flaw in you.” Song of Solomon 4:7
At first this verse seems a little cliche. Write it on a mirror and try not to role your eyes when you’re told God thinks you’re beautiful. But the part I love is that there is no flaw in me. None. God isn’t shaming me. He isn’t telling me to suck if up and deal with what he’s given me. He doesn’t tell me to get over it and press into the pain. Rather, he sees me suffering and still thinks I’m great. He sees my terrible attitude and selfishness and still loves me. He doesn’t make the problem go away, rather he has promised to be with me in it. He’s opened my eyes to the fact that he is madly in love with me and my hatred for the hole in the ground doesn’t make him love me any less. Instead, he goes with me and points on the stars I get to see that I would have missed if I had indoor plumbing.
In the midst of all the difficulty, my soul has started to relish in the effortless moments. In those moments, grace keeps me together just enough for The Spirit to flow through. It’s more than just joy, it’s a giddy excitement that I can’t help but think this is the life that Christ promised to give me.
It’s moments like learning to African dance to American Christmas music. It’s walking back home with village children as escorts. It’s preaching to a congrigation at 11pm during an all night prayer meeting. It’s snuggling children while we watch others play soccer. It’s marching in a parade in the pouring rain. It’s praying over a child’s broken leg even though it wasn’t healed.
Those are the moments I’m living for. Sometimes they last for ten minutes or two hours. And sometimes the other 22 hours of the day are really really hard. But everyday, I start by asking for those moments.
You see the thing is, even in the midst of the lack of comfort I can’t shake this feeling that I’m going to miss this. There will be a time when my heart will ache to be in an African church for 7 hours on a Sunday. There will be #tbt to the children I now get to play with whenever I want. A car taking me places will seem boring after the thrill of using motorcycles as taxis. And there will be tears when I no longer get to share a room with these six incredible women.
I’m trying to remember that now. I’m trying to let the future tell me how to live in the present. I miss comforts from America and my people back home. But my joy will no longer be dependent on physical things or comfort. Because I’m not the source of my joy and neither are those things. He is my source of joy and he freely gives it.
“You have filled my heart with greater joy than when their grain and new wine abounded,” Psalm 4:7
And back to the honesty, friends, this is a fight. It doesn’t happen naturally all of the time, and that’s why I have to tap into the super natural. But I’m getting there. I’m loving my moments, and I’m convinced after this month that I will proudly boast that it has all been worth it.
So yes, my Instagram will continue to show beautiful children, stunning landscapes, and epic adventures. It’ll show the moments that I love way more than the moments that are hard to love. And I don’t feel guilty for that. Because as much as sweat, rice, and dirt have become my reality, those life giving moments are also my reality. It just depends on which reality I allow my heart to live in. The discontent, easily frustrated, sinful flesh side or the reality that everything was settled on a cross and to live in the joy that only comes from such a Powerful Victor.
