The Messy Moments I Forgot to Blog About

I have seen a pattern in my blogging. I tend to blog when
I’ve had an amazing revelation, when I feel on top of the world. I write about
other people, how passionate I feel, and how AMAZING the World Race has been.
All those blogs are very true and very significant. But I have failed to show
the big picture.

There are moments that I haven’t mentioned; like the moments
I wanted to get in a taxi and go straight to the airport to fly home, the
moment I literally pulled my hair out, the moments I had to scream in my
pillow, the moments I doubted, the moments I cried until my eyes swelled, the
moments I judged, the moments I believed I wasn’t good enough for anything, the
moments I went weeks without reading the bible or praying, the moments I stayed
in bed lifeless and defeated. These are what a majority of the race really was.
The REAL things that shaped me to be who I have become and have defined a part
of my race.

So here it is – as much as I can do in writing.

In the back of my mind, I figured that traveling the world
would be this epic adventure where all my bad habits and insecurities would go
away. Where I would actually finish a
journal, want to get out of bed every morning, have an adventure everyday, and would
always feel cute in warn skirts and t-shirts. Why wouldn’t I think that? All I
saw about missions were the beautiful photos of a pretty girl holding five
African children and videos with bone chilling music and the perfect moments.

 I was wrong, in so
many ways.

This year has been a time of painful growth. I didn’t always
feel alive, but instead, my insecurities that did not stay at home crippled me
more than ever and my journals remain almost blank. Tanzania and Israel are two
National Geographic countries, but while I was there, I hardly wanted to leave
my room.

I have been constantly surrounded by an incredible group of
people who were going through the same process in their own ways, but it wasn’t
always easy. We argue, swear at each other, disagree, say the wrong things, compare ourselves, and
make the wrong decisions, of course never hating each other at the end. These
moments make you want to scream or actually scream, they have made me want to
pack my bags and adios Africa to isolate myself in my own air conditioned
space.

I look at the beautiful pictures I am in from the race, and
tell myself that I look so happy, but if only people new what that day was
really like.

There are many downer moments. Like when I thought I would
dance in the street with the kids in Africa, but instead get annoyed that they
are following me every where I go and make every run anything but peaceful by
yelling “Mzungu. Mzungu. How are you? How are you?”

Or my first day of Squad Leading, we were In Israel. I was
so stressed out with trying to figure out how to organize 42 people on a tour,
that I actually made a scene and yelled at my husband for the first time, in the
streets of Jerusalem (the HOLY land), threatening to get in a taxi to go home,
and then later telling him that I need therapy. HAHAHA. Ok. that’s funny.

Then in Tanzania, when Tamica and I (us two squad lead with
my husband Mike) told Mike that we both wanted to quit being Squad Leaders.

I thought that every run I went on was going to be beautiful
and glorious. Wrong again. Not fun to have men stare you down all the time and
try to touch you while you are running. A few times I ran straight home to cry.

Or our flooded tent and the time in rural Africa when Mike
was having asthma problems and I had to make a paper fan and fan him down for
three hours in the middle of the night in our not-so-cute-anymore grass hut. 

Or remember how I thought that I was always going to feel
pretty? Not when I have to eat rice and starches every day, have no mirror, or
a regular exercise schedule— trying to fight those insecure feelings over and
over again.

I always thought that having great travel stories would be
great. Not in the moment when I am almost in tears from fear of the bus rolling
and then having to march myself up to the front to give the driver some “SLOW
DOWN” lessons. Or getting of the bus to
have 30 taxi drivers grabbing and pulling me in the middle of the night with
only Tamica around to show I wasn’t alone.

It’s those moments. Those moments I lay in bed, lifeless,
telling myself I’m not good enough. I cannot do this anymore. I wasn’t meant
for this. I want my mom. I hate this. I’m such an awful wife. AIM doesn’t think
I’m great. I’m not in shape anymore. No one on the race thinks they can relate
to me because I am married and don’t have a “bad” past. More lies and more
lies, I would, and sometimes still tell myself. It’s those moments I forgot to
mention.

I could write on an on…..

…but this is a blog of hope. Not of complaining. It’s
hopeful because here I am. In my last month of the race, fully in God’s will,
loving each K squader, still struggling, but in this moment, stronger than
before. More secure in who I am than ever before. Still knowing that those moments will still come and feel just as hard, but certain they always end. More certain that those trials
teach us something, mold us into who we are suppose to be, make us more aware
of grace. God has taught me I don’t have to be perfect. I can mess up, and in
it, let the mess ups humble me so that he can become greater.

So that’s it, the core of my trip. It’s about kingdom, but
always about some extent of painful growth. Yeah, it lasted the entire year,
with its ups and downs. But I wouldn’t trade those moments in for anything. I
am a different person than last year, and I hope I can say the same thing every
year, as God puts me in more and more situations that will stretch my character
and my dependence on him.