We arrived at a new site last night—Malaysia and month 7! This is somewhat how it went.
We’d been in the capital for a couple days with the whole squad to celebrate Christmas (what a treat!). The capital, Kuala Lumpur, is shiny and developed. It’s a ginormous city. We enjoyed some of our favorite American chains, readily available wifi, clean beds, and air conditioning at our hostel. Then, last night at 9:30pm, my team of 6 boarded a bus to take us to our new ministry site for the month. The bus was nice, but did have plentiful little cockroaches roaming the cabin. We stopped a few times at gas stations or to pick up more people. The landscape rushed by—pretty lush outside the city as far as I could tell. The hours also ticked by, much more slowly, and we didn’t sleep much. At about 3:30am, the bus driver kindly informs us that this is our stop. There was 0% chance of us knowing this on our own. Labels, announcements, and signs were not a thing. We clamber out of the bus with our too-much luggage and pull our huge packs out from beneath. 11-month travelers look grotesquely over-packed next to locals taking a week-long visit to another city. Then the bus pulled away and we stood there in the dark on the sidewalk of the main road, a little groggy, and awaiting what came next. Our team leader called our contact to inform him of our arrival, and he then called a cab to come for us. Two cab trips later, we were all dropped in front of a building that would be our lodging for the month.
It’s now 4:30am. We climb up a couple flights of stairs and enter the hostel (term used loosely). We have no context of what this place is or what it’s like. But we come in and no one is here. There are rooms partitioned off with mats on the cement floor, a table, bookshelf, some well-loved couches, and a modest kitchen (toaster oven included—WOO!). There are signs about “the hostel” and labels on some of the partitions saying “Rachel’s room” and there’s soy sauce and other condiments in the kitchen. All in all, it’s a little creepy. It appears so lived-in yet no one is here and we haven’t yet spoken to anyone directly who is expecting us. There is little else to do besides go to sleep. We lay out mats, I put up my mosquito net, one teammate opts for her tent, we pray together in our new space, and we sleep. . . in this foreign, apartment-sized hostel where we’ve been deposited. This morning (let’s be honest, it was noon) when I got up, I could finally see our surroundings from out of the 3rd story window. There are not a lot of buildings, but there are lots of large ridges and the whole landscape is covered in greenery. It’s beautiful. I still don’t know what’s fully happening. Still not sure what we’re to do now, and some of my teammates are still asleep.
None of this bothers me. And I feel so normal in this story that I’m not even sure how it may seem from the outside. Unorganized? Inconvenient? Frightening? Whatever it seems, this is how the race is often, because so much of it is based on trust. We trust that the Lord goes before us, has chosen a place for us to be and work for us to do, and we trust the arrangements of our host. It blows my mind how much comfort comes from knowing that the person meant to receive us trusts the same Lord we trust. In the middle of complete unfamiliarity, we are calmed and unified knowing we are working with brothers and sisters in Christ. This wouldn’t work otherwise.
I’m learning daily how to embrace calm amidst unknown or changing situations— not apathy, and not idleness, but calm. And it’s a sign, I think, of surrender. The surrender of the heart that says fleeting situations are not my master, and I trust the Lord more than my own intellect or ability to control anything. It’s a surrender that brings a great deal of freedom, and I pray that even when situations are seemingly back in my control in 5 months, I will keep my white flag up.
