When I say thank you to you, for your prayers and thoughts and encouraging words, know that I mean it. I have more appreciation for each of you than I can express.
This trip has consumed all of the past nine months of my life and then some. The time it took to prepare through fundraising and praying and worrying and waiting for it with excitement. I’m confident it will absorb a great amount of time afterwards, thinking about all of the different areas of my life that it continues to change. While I think of the magnitude of its impact, I know I’m not the only one influenced by this trip. I cannot call it my trip, because it is not just mine. It belongs to me as much as it belongs to you.
It belongs to all of the people who added “the Philippines” to their prayer lists when they heard that was the first country my squad was visiting. To all of those who donated money so that I could go, because that money was used for my flight, food, lodging as well as for the paint I used for ministry every day. This trip also belongs to those girls living in the safe house we worked in. The house where I painted that mural of flowers and a Bible verse about God’s love and redemption right in the middle of it. This trip belongs to those girls.
It belongs to Joy, the little girl living near the trash dump we visited, whose stepfather was hurting her every night. The same girl who sang every Sunday, proclaiming her faith in God and His goodness. When it would have been easiest for her to live in anger, she chose to live out her name.
The journey is for Enoch, the old man who could not walk, as well as for the supporters who blessed myself and my teammate with the opportunity to buy him new crutches and a meal that his mother used to make him when he was a child.
These nine months belong to the children living at the orphanage in the mountains of Swaziland we lived at for Christmas time, whose stories taught me about the redemption God’s love offers to those who have seen more than their fair share of pain.
This trip belongs to my squad. They taught me that a group of strangers can become a family very fast and you can learn to love anyone and appreciate them for their differences. They taught me that growing into a family is difficult because it means saying hard things and being honest and looking at each other for their potential rather than judging them on their actions.
It is for all of those mothers spending night after night sleeping on cardboard on the floor of the hospital in Manzini, Swaziland that we visited every day. Through their patience as they waited for their children to get better, I saw the perseverance of mothers’ love and care.
This belongs to all of my friends who followed me all along the way of this journey, cheering me on and showing their support daily. For all of them who wrote me “open me when” letters, designated for the rough, happy, or homesick days when they knew I’d need them.
This is part of the life of the lady we met at a grocery store in Swaziland. She expressed a need for her niece and nephew to get new shoes in order to attend school. To all of you back home who donated towards this trip, know that your money was spent on providing her niece and nephew with the ability to go to school this year.
It belongs to my church body, who prayed over me the Sunday before I left and fought for me to grow strong in the Lord ever since I was little.
A piece of this trip is owned by the Pastor who gave us a home in Pueblo Nuevo, Nica and made my team feel like family. In that little town, we spent hours and hours carrying bricks to build him a room for his radio station. That same town holds all of the memories of my team and I embarrassing ourselves as we struggled the language barrier to teach English.
This belongs to my brothers, Ben, Sam, and Aaron, for being the best big brothers in the world. When I first asked Sam what he thought about my signing up for the World Race, he told me that missionaries can be pretty lame and I might be too cool to be a missionary, but if it’s what I want, he’ll support me doing anything I love.
It’s as much mine as it is the kids’ at the Children’s Home we lived at in the Philippines for that week, where my team and I spent our days being their big sisters, playing games and pushing swings and singing Sunday school songs.
This journey belongs to all of the families we met and prayed for when we went around to communities around Manila to fill up bowls and cups with food.
This belongs to my Aunt Kate and Uncle Dave, who opened their home to me while I was preparing to leave and did not understand God’s timing. Through their love and care, I learned about how God welcomes us with open arms the way they did for me.
It belongs as much to me as it does to everyone who cried with me when we heard the news of my grandmother. To those who called and empathized and offered a hand to my family, thank you.
It’s also for Grmom, as she demonstrated what Jesus’ love looks like in a tangible way.
These months are my mother’s, from when she watched hours of Netflix with me while I packed my life into a forty-pound-backpack, to the times she let me cry to her over Skype about how this trip is too hard and me wanting to buy a ticket home, to the time she flew to Nicaragua to spend a week with me. It’s for how she spends her entire life encouraging me to be as creative and passionate and joyful as possible.
The more time I spend living out these nine months I’ve anticipated for so long, the more I realize that this time is not mine or for me. It belongs to God and everyone’s lives He chose to intertwine into this adventure.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Thank you for all that each of you have done. You have all touched the lives of people from the Philippines, Swaziland, and Nicaragua, just as how each of you have changed my life. I will never be able to express my thanks enough.
