The past few days have been among the hardest
for me since returning home. For
whatever reason, the Race has been on the forefront of my mind lately and has
left me missing the people I came to love. From the women I met in the bars of Thailand to the friends
who sacrificed for us in Hungary, I can’t stop thinking about the Race. I miss the orphans I held, the classes
I taught, and the family experiencing it all alongside me.
A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to
travel to Minnesota with some squadmates.
On our last night there, we gathered together and prayed. And prayed and prayed. And prayed and prayed. Three hours later, we all looked at each
other with an understanding as each of us simply knew-we needed that.
It’s easier to pretend the Race was a dream
than to face the reality that it happened. Admitting it happened means accepting the responsibility of
all that I’ve seen, all that I’ve learned. Admitting it happened calls for that shift from who I was to
who I’m called to be.
I’ve been home 3 months tomorrow. In my 3 months home, I’ve done my fair
share of avoiding that reality.
But, eventually it catches up.
Lucky for me, I’ve started that process instead of letting it
sneak up and catch me by surprise.
The past few days, I’ve been working on a
project meant to help me process the good, the bad, the ugly of this past
year. I’ve spent hours rereading
blogs and journals and sorting through pictures in hopes of putting together
something that I can look back on in the years to come. As I’ve been doing this though,
something crazy has been happening in my head and my heart-I’ve been
reliving it. I’d be lying if I
told you the Race was nothing but rainbows and butterflies, one good day after
another. The reality is, it was
hard. It was hard a lot. But as hard as it was, it was good.
As I read through journal entries and blogs
from my darkest days of the Race, I can’t help but compare them to where I am
right now. I can’t help but smile
as I look at where I am compared to where I was. And as I do, I’m reclaiming more and more of that freedom I
fought so hard to have. As I read
my journal, I can’t help but praise God for His glorious redemption in my life,
for the instances He used my story-pain and all-to touch people around the
world. I can’t help but praise God
for the fact that I’m not who I was.
I started the Race in a place of bondage,
filled with insecurity and hatred, anger and confusion. With my mask securely in place, I
started my journey completely out of touch with who I was or what I was
feeling. I daily walked in guilt
and shame, unworthiness and condemnation.
But through a beautiful, though painful process, I changed.
To
some, it’s apparent; to others, I’m the same Daina I’ll always be. But the truth of the matter is, I have
changed and only the Lord and I know the depth of it. As I read over these words I myself wrote throughout this
past year, I am reliving the Lord’s redemption in my life. I am reclaiming that freedom, the
freedom of being His-worthy, loved, and accepted as I am-and I couldn’t be
happier for it.
(photo courtesy of Jenn Mitchell and an amazing time in Minnesota)
If you’d like to read more about how I’ve spent my 3 months back home, check out this blog.
