I have spent almost two months trying to write this blog. I have tried and failed a dozen times to tell what could be the most important story of my Race. To tell the truth I still don’t know how to tell it; however, I believe it is finally time to speak.
I have been on the World Race for ten months now; ten months of joy, pain, community, loneliness, courage, fear, overwhelming love, and heartbreak. All of this I expected. When I left home last September I expected to be stretched, I expected to be pushed, I expected to be broken. Before launch I told people that I wanted to be thrown into the dirt and then kicked and spit on. I said I wanted to be completely broken so that I could be picked up by Christ as a brand new person. But, I didn’t expect to have my identity completely altered. I didn’t expect to discover that the beliefs I held about my character, preferences, and calling to be both false and inadequate. After I left home it didn’t take long for me to learn that I don’t know myself at all.
One of the beliefs is that contrary to the views of everyone I have ever met, I will not and never will assume the role of a mother. Seriously, the word “mother” sends uncontrollable shivers down my spine. Frankly children scare the hell out of me, everything about them screams danger. Beside the fact that they are a volcano that could spontaneously erupt in a shower of vomit; having children is a big responsibility and there are so many ways for me to mess them up.
Seriously, I am a messed up human being that struggles with depression and a bad case of faulty identity. If that wasn’t enough I am also emotionally underdeveloped, which makes my abandonment issues really difficult to deal with. On top of that I also struggle with body image issues and anxiety that leads to disordered eating. If there was a list of problems that should not be passed on to future generations all of those would be near the top. I am the product of generational sin and the thought of being the person responsible for handing down my sins makes me ill.
Basically, all of that stuff can be boiled down to my extreme fear of myself. Wow, that sounds weird but it is also very true. I am afraid of both success and failure. I am afraid of love and I am afraid of being hated. Basically, if any situation depends on me then I am afraid. As an example; and as strange as it sounds, I have always been to afraid to dream. That may sound crazy because it is easy to believe everyone has dreams; however, dreams require a desire for the future and enough courage to recognize and admit ones desires. Up until a few months ago I did not have that courage. I still struggle to claim that courage every day.
As can be expected; God being rich in love and always right, does not desire for me to live in fear. The last ten months have been a battle between me and the Lord over my fear. Month after month God has been calling me to dream. He has been calling me to trust him and throw out my faulty views on who he is, and in so doing eliminate the faulty views on who I am. Up until about a month ago I was resisting him with every fiber of my being. I thought I was winning, but then God stepped up his game. In Ireland God stopped asking me to dream and started inviting me to dream. He didn’t start me out with a small dream either.
What is this dream? Well I will explain it in more detail in another blog but I will give you a hint. God has called me to begin to search for the little Cambodian boy that stole my heart. Thats right; in spite of all my fear, God has called me to search for Rock.
