It’s been a while since I’ve posted a blog. Frankly, I’ve spent the last several weeks trying to pep talk myself into wanting this. All of it. I know I should want to be here, loving on the people, playing with the kids, pouring into others. But the truth is, this last month has been the hardest on the race. I’ve experienced loss. I’ve failed people time and time again. I’ve been disappointed and distracted and distant.
There are countless reasons why this last month has been hard. But I’m not going to talk about those. Instead, I’ll tell you about our little town we live in.
When we first arrived in Poliçan, I loved it. I still do. Cobblestone streets. Quaint buildings. A little house at the end of a grass path. The mountains at our fingertips. The entire expanse of sky just a breath away. It’s lovely, truly. After four months of downtown Chiang Mai and busy Cambodian streets, this little town is just what my soul so desperately desired. Quiet. Peaceful. Charming.
There’s a path just a few minute walk from our house. It’s about two miles long and weaves around the mountains. My team and I run there in the afternoons. As you can imagine, it’s hilly. Really hilly. And it’s hard. There is one huge hill on the backside of the path. It’s the kind of hill that knocks the breath out of you. You get to the top, and you’re wrecked for the rest of the run.
For lack of a better way to describe it, I feel like that is where I am in these 9 months. I’ve made it through the hardest part of this journey. I’ve run up the big hill and I’m at the top. And it was hard. And I know that it’s all downhill from here. It gets easier, and the end is so near. But my lungs are still burning. My legs are still shaking. And I’m exhausted. I feel the shadow of pain from the uphill climb.
Before the world race, I anticipated this. I knew I would walk through hard things. I knew I would have to choose this despite everything seemingly spiraling out of control. I thought I was ready. And then the first six months of the race were way easier than I had pictured. Yes, there were hard things. There were messy “yes, Lord’s” and reluctant days of ministry. But overall, it was a time of celebration with my Jesus. And then month 7 happened, leaving me broken and confused and at a loss for an explanation. I feel sort of like the Israelites, freed from slavery, but left wandering in the wilderness. And like them, I too have so quickly forgotten the God who parted the Red Sea. The God that disciplines us for our own good. The One who breaks us in order that we may be restored in His holiness.
For the moment, all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it. Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight the paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed. Hebrews 12:11-13
My team and I have been talking a lot about communion lately. How we offer it in remembrance of Jesus’ ultimate sacrifice, taking part in his body and his blood. And if we, as a body of believers, are truly one with Christ, then aren’t we also broken and poured out for the world to see. It is our act of worship, to be broken like the bread to feed the hungry and poured out like the wine to satisfy the thirsty. We take part in Christ’s sacrifice, bearing on our bodies the marks of following Jesus (Galatians 6:17). The scars to prove that we belong to him. It’s an honor, to be broken for the gospel. To sacrifice ourselves to the world for Jesus.
This month has been one of brokenness. But I’ve made it to the top of the hill with Christ. I look down it, feeling the pain of the past month. But then, I get the privilege to be crucified there with Him. To be broken and poured out with the promise that He restores and fills up.
Now, with these 45 days I have left, 45 downhill jogs, I get the privilege to boast in the uphill climb. And that is, to boast in the cross, the purest of things. To boast in his sacrifice for me and for you. The cross was enough. And it still is.
