Expectation is the thief of joy. Ann Voskamp writes, “Our fall was, has always been, and will always be, that we aren’t satisfied in God and what He gives. We hunger for something more, something other.”
Entering month 6 in China, I thought I’d done a pretty decent job of releasing expectations. Yet, I left month 6 in China feeling slightly kicked and a little deflated. I’m realizing that I’d painted a picture of China in my head as this slightly dangerous, very glamorous month of ministry. I set China up for failure. I wasn’t willing to accept whatever God was looking to give, only what I was looking to get.
China is a country that is closed to the gospel, which led me to believe that everything we’d do all month would feel slightly edgy and rebellious. In reality, it seemed to make me feel stifled and constrained and uncertain. In my mind, China would surely be filled with delicious food and chopstick practice and visits to homes where shoes would be removed and life would be shared. I’d envisioned snuggling abandoned baby girls and being approached by handfuls of university students wanting to practice English and consuming lots and lots of tea.
Real life: nearly every traditional meal I tried to eat seemed to be cooked using some sort of unknown oil that kind of made my mouth feel numb. I basically suck at using chopsticks and the practice made my hand cramp. I visited exactly one home (in which we all wore our shoes). I snuggled no babies. One person hoping to practice English approached us, but he was a teacher not a student. My idea about tea wasn’t too far off, but that’s beside the point.
China kind of left me feeling heavy and beat up and exhausted and like I wanted a refund. It wasn’t what I’d signed up for. And sometimes, at the end of a challenging month, it’s kind of how the Race as a whole can make you feel; like the featured videos leave something out. There’s a lot of cliff jumping and dancing on the Great Wall and playing with cute babies and worshipping loudly before some beautiful piece of scenery. But you don’t see the move-in day tensions when you’re trying to fit six people and all of their stuff in a small bedroom. They don’t show the ugly-sob breakdowns because it just doesn’t feel like anyone on your team understands. You miss out on the 36-hour train rides with the squatty potty (yes…. A squatty on a moving vehicle! It takes some leg strength.) You aren’t compelled to sign up because of the days of ministry that exclusively consist of categorizing books or babysitting your contact’s kids.
“Choose in. Press in.” They say. And it all sounds well and good until the day that it feels overwhelmingly exhausting and you can’t possibly fathom accepting another piece of feedback or having another hard conversation without also having a nervous breakdown. You reach a point where growth feels utterly defeating and the list you’ve mentally kept of ways you’re being stretched and are still in need of change feels pages and pages longer than your list of valuable traits. You’re sick of change and sick of transition and every attempt at being flexible feels more like flat out breaking and trying to be easy-going seems like it’d be a lot easier to just go.
Yet there’s this small, quiet voice inside that fights to be heard over the ugly sobs and rattling train cars to say, “just don’t quit”. When words from teammates feel strange and harsh and you get the sense that you’re probably taking everything a bit too personally and defaulting to defensiveness, He whispers gentle truths and walks you through the process of growth. When ministry feels anything but glamorous and blog-worthy, He is faithful to remind your weary soul that the purpose is to love like He does, no matter the circumstances. When the food is uncomfortable and challenging to consume, He reveals that He is the true comforter. When the Race feels too hard and every bit of growth feels looming over you, He assures that His grace is sufficient and His mercies are new each day.
My soul quiets down from it’s temper tantrum and remembers why I’m here. I didn’t sign up for the Race because I thought that I could do any of it on my own but because I knew that I would need The Lord every single step of the way. From the very first mailing of support letters to final debrief in November and everything in between, I believe that He has promised to be with me. I’m learning to trust that in the moments that are challenging and the ones that are mundane and the ones that burst with extraordinary: “God is always good and I am always loved.”
In some ways, the Race is a lot like I’d expected it to be but in so many ways, I know that nothing could have fully prepared me. I peel my clinging hands away from my expectations and remind myself to give thanks. Count each moment as purposed and full of God’s grace and my joy begins to feel full and outweighs the feelings of lacking.
The Race is hard in so many ways but it’s also amazing in just as many. Both are blessings and both bring growth.
