I’ve been waiting all week for Wednesday so I could say, “I get to go home tomorrow.” Now that it’s here, it doesn’t taste as good as I thought it would; It’s a little bitter and makes me feel a little sad and anxious.
Over the last two weeks we’ve been finishing up our last ministry in Colombia, regathering as a whole squad to pause, reflect and remember the things that the Lord has done for us before we get on separate planes and head back to US soil. It’s been a time of tears (a lot of tears), laughter, but most of all remembrance of the Lord’s faithfulness and His promises for our futures.
Jesus has revealed so much about Himself to me over the past 11 months. He’s taught me about His gentle, patient character and the ways that he quietly pursues His people. He’s shown me the ways He loves people, not demanding or harsh, but steadfast and true. I’ve learned how to separate voices in my head, to hear His more clearly and less of the world’s or my own. I’ve had visions of the future, to build community, to hear people and see them the way Jesus does and to teach other’s about His love through my actions.
I feel like I am on a roller coaster. I’m sitting at the top where the hydraulics are making that swish sound. It’s the most anticipated moment before all the fun happens, but for some reason I’m still scared. I’m strapped in, I’ve done this before, but for some reason I’m still scared. From the top of the coaster before the plummet, it does seem scary and my feelings are valid. But the tracks of the roller coaster won’t ever change, they may twist and turn, I may find myself upside down at times, but I’ll never switch rides. That’s a guarantee. That’s a promise. And those promises are all I’m holding onto as I prepare to head home tomorrow.
Here are some promises that I can give you before I come back to you:
I promise to love you.
I promise to be your friend and just sit with you in whatever it is you’re walking through.
I promise to listen.
I promise that I won’t try to overshadow you with my stories.
I promise to give you grace upon grace.
I promise I won’t judge you, me too.
I promise that no matter what I will choose you.
I promise that no matter what, you have somebody to turn to.
But I also need to ask things from you:
Please love me.
Please sit with me when I’m crying or having a low moment not understanding this transition or Western things.
Please listen.
Please know that I’m not trying to “one up” you with stories from this year, but I’m simply trying to let you in and relate with you to form a deeper relationship.
Please give me grace upon grace.
Please don’t judge me, for the way I look, (I look like a homeless 12 year old boy these days) speak, or act. I’m just doing my best.
Please choose me.
This transition will be hard, but it’s also going to be so much fun. I know what the Lord has promised me in this next season and I know that our relationship may look different, but that doesn’t mean that it will be bad. I feel like I’m overflowing and there is so much I want to pour out to my community back home.
After 11 months, I’m not tired.
I’m eager.
I’m expectant.
I’m ready for this new season.
So things will look different. There will be hard times and scary times, but more than that, there will be so many life-giving, incredibly fun times. We’ve been hearing this a lot from our mentors on the field,
“The roof of this season will become the foundation of your next season.”
And that’s so true. The mission doesn’t stop here. What I’ve been doing as a missionary doesn’t end here just because this year is over. I’m excited to break the mold of “missions” when I come back home. It’s not a week long/year long “trip” that only lasts within the parameter of a structured work schedule. It’s just life.
It’s just a Monday at work lifting up a coworker. It’s a Thursday at the bank taking a moment to ask the teller about her day. It’s a Saturday at the ball park playing with a bunch of kids and getting to be a good role model. If there’s anything I’ve learned on the Race, it’s this:
Life is simple. Just simply love people.
So as much as I’m “scared” of this transitional season because I literally have no idea what I’m doing. I’m also full of joy, peace and love and I’m excited for that overflow to reach all of you back home.
So that’s it. 11 months, 11 countries… time to come home!!! (TOMORROW!) wow.
I love you all! I can’t wait to catch up with you so soon! Thanks for your love and support and for following with me on this journey!
