Here’s what people never talk about— how hard the Race actually is.
Reality is you want to share only the good things, what you’re experiencing, what you’re learning, but only the “good” things within that. We shy away from talking about what’s hard, but choose to tell people back home how awesome this life is. And don’t get me wrong, it is awesome. Getting to be here as the hands and feet of the Father, traveling, being surrounded by Jesus lovers. It IS beautiful, but it’s not ONLY beautiful. It’s dang hard.
I just posted a blog about 2019/2020, and just all positive things. Reading that, you’d assume I was doing great and I was just loving life… Right? But, the truth is, I was STRUGGLING. 10 minutes after posting that blog, I was bawling because of how badly I wanted to go home. For literally all of last night, from 3:00ish until I could make myself go to sleep, I spent it crying, thinking about actually going home. I was texting a few of my friends, and calling my dad seeking guidance. Yesterday, I felt like I was drowning. I literally cried and cried, and my heart hurt. Bad. I’ve been sick, I was overwhelmed from a multitude of things, I was tired, I was thinking about my mom’s appeal going on, and the only things going through my mind were the things about the Race that sucked.
But, not only when I am sick and tired is the Race hard.
It’s hard when I am doing ministry, especially when the ministry you are at isn’t your favorite. Where it kind of feels like I am working a 9-5 job, where what you do all day is mundane tasks they think up for you, where the ministry days are long.
It’s hard when I’m at home, and I just want to be alone but I go home and there’s 30+ humans running around, talking, asking you questions.
It’s hard because we don’t have much freedom, and freedom is something I value so much. It seems like everything is on a time schedule and everything is so structured (which I know it has to be, in a way, or things wouldn’t go properly, but gosh it’s difficult for me!).
It’s hard when you have team time every single day, but it’s hard to even find a break in your day to have team time.
It’s hard when you just want to go to sleep, but there’s constant screaming or people in your room talking.
It’s hard when you want to cry but there’s no place to cry because there’s tons of people around you, plus they are asking you what’s wrong, and there’s no place to just go be alone.
It’s hard when you are having a bad day, but you aren’t allowed to have a bad day because you’re on the “World Race.” It’s hard because you might get feedback about it so you’re scared, or because it feels like we are expected to look like Jesus all the time. Which makes it hard when you feel like you can’t ever mess up, because there’s constant expectations, or once again, you might get feedback about it, or because sometimes it feels like everyone here is so perfect.
It becomes especially hard when you start distancing yourself from the Father, and avoiding Him, but are expected to have this really beautiful and consistent relationship with Him.
Basically, it’s hard.
I’m not writing this to make anyone feel bad for me or take pity, but because the Race is such a largely romanticized journey, and I don’t feel like enough people are raw and open about it. I don’t feel like enough people tell the true reality about it. And out of honor and respect for future racers or even just my donors, I want to be honest with you guys. It’s not this fairy tale experience. It’s really hard.
I may feel homesick for the entirety of the Race, or this feeling may go away and I may be thriving soon. Who really knows.
I don’t expect anyone to understand this, because you really aren’t able to unless you are the one experiencing it for yourself, but I want to be more open about what life is actually like, and stop making life look like it’s sunshine and flowers all the time, because it’s not. Just like YOUR life isn’t sunshine and flowers everyday. There are beautiful days on the race, and there are days where I don’t want to be here. But that’s a part of life.
