This is part two of a three part story.
For part one click here.
For part three click here.
Lessons Learned- Part 2: The Night I Found Myself in a Police Raid.
9:50pm.
My heart is racing. I’ve always wanted to be in some epic moment where I pull a James Bond, secret agent move on someone and save the day, or in this case find my phone. It was me, the men of my team (we felt it safe that if anything went down, the girls weren’t there; they stayed back and watched some chick flick or painted their toes or something. So glad I’m not a girl), and the police of the retirement community. It was pitch black outside. The stars dangled overhead. Here we were at the edge of the village, waiting for the clock to strike 10pm so we could hear my alarm go off and find my phone. I imagined scenarios in my head as I waited. I pictured myself walking around, and then hearing the alarm in some small crevice in between some huts, or a guy walking around it and when he noticed me and the alarm going off, he began to run through the village until I tackled him from behind like Cops episode. Yeah, that’d be legit.
10pm.
It was go time.
I searched through the village, believing that every step was closer to my phone. I honed into the sounds that surrounded me, hoping that I would hear that lovely tune of my alarm. Every now and then my ear was caught up in the noise, thinking that it heard that sweet tune. But minute after minute passed, and all hope for finding my phone became trivial. By this time the villagers see me and the cops and they begin to flood out.
10:05pm.
The village is awake and the cops are once again questioning the kid who stole my phone, asking where he hid it. He’s reluctant to tell the cops. There’s too many people around. He’s scared. I’m not getting my phone…
I began to think about what I’m gonna miss from my phone. All this year on the Race is on that phone. Pictures, notes, videos, memories. These past seven months on the mission field are in there. And not just of this year, but pictures of my home, my family, my friends. This isn’t just an iPhone, it’s not just apps or music. This was my portal back to Orlando, to my mom, to my best friend, which leads me to lesson number 4:
Everything is a loss, and is rubbish, compared to Christ.
I walked away from the scene of the villagers and police and thief. I walked out into the small dirt field that we play with the kids. I cried. I was going to miss my videos of this trip… I was going to miss my photos of the last day my dog was alive… I was going to miss the only photos I have with my little brother… I was gonna miss having a Bible with me all the time, along with worship music, theology apps, and ministry tools. And yet, despite the pain, I felt a tug on my heart, reminding me bittersweetly that all of this was rubbish compared to Jesus. The Holy Sprit was teaching me something; that despite of having things like an iPhone or pictures of family or videos of past experiences or whatever I could have lost in that small electronic square, nothing could ever satisfy me like the joy of the Lord can. I want to grow deeper then I’ve ever been in my satisfaction with the Lord. I want to be steadfast in my walk with God, leaving all behind to follow Him. And now, in God’s good and gracious sovereignty, I get to.
I wiped my tears, smiled, and thanked the Lord, which leads me to lesson number 5:
It’s grace that we get to suffer.
The Bible says that faith is given to us as a gift from God. Everyone would say yes and amen to that. But we too often forget that suffering is given to us as a gift, and when reminded, everyone leaves the church. I don’t want to wallow in my sorrows like the next guy. Yes I believe that God loves me just where I am. But I also believe that He loves me way too much to keep me there. He wants to teach me what it means to rejoice in suffering. And I want to learn, profoundly, what that means. And I’m not saying it’s bad to cry when one suffers. I mean, Jesus wept when he heard about the death of his good friend. But Jesus didn’t just sit there in his tears and waited for the day to get better. He carried on. I want to carry on. I want to know what it’s like to sing and smile and laugh, even when there’s deep, immense pain in my life. I want to worship with wounds.
I went back into the village where all the commotion was taking place, thanked the police for their efforts, and headed on home. I never got my phone back. And I’m glad I didn’t.
The only problem is, now with all of this weird, awkward tension between us and the villagers, what would ministry look like the next time we were there? What’s this kid gonna do when we drive up to the village? Things looked dimmed, but there wasn’t anything anyone could do, but for us to love them like Christ would. So the next day we came back, hoping everything would be okay… But it wasn’t.
Click here for part three!
