It started out in fear. The shot of adrenaline coursing through my heart at the mere thought of talking to a stranger almost intimidated me out of my first assignment as a squad story lead.
“Go outside and find a story.”
I held my own hand, feeling the clammy sweat already there, and I commanded myself to breathe. This adventure can only begin where my comfort zone ends. I was going to go find a story.
But, I was also going to take a friend. Three members of my squad and I headed out into the Atlanta afternoon to find a story. They kept suggesting places to stop, all of them enthusiastic about this assignment. No, I said, let’s keep walking.
Past the limits of the hotel, over the highway, and finally, waiting to cross at an intersection. The exhaust from cars zooming by soured my nose and I started to lose what little enthusiasm I’d been able to maintain.
“Lord,” I prayed aloud, sort of half joking, “Show me a story. Tell me where you want me to go, who you want me to speak to.”
And we waited for the signal to cross in front of an oddly placed Ruby Tuesday’s.
Then, I turned around to say something to one of my squad mates with me, when I noticed two ladies coming out of the restaurant.
“Hello.” One of them said, smiling at me. I felt sure they were World Race moms here to send their kids off. I thought about asking their story, but then dismissed it. Wouldn’t telling their story be playing it too safe? Wasn’t I supposed to go out and find some new story that would make my story mentors say “wow”?
But that still small voice in my heart told me to ask them their story anyway.
So I did.
We crossed together, me asking to speak to them with my heart in my throat until stopping by a squat and weathered McDonald’s across the road. They agreed with enthusiasm, and I realized the blonde shade of their hair reminded me of my own Mother.
In front of the incredibly scenic McDonald’s right on the side of a six lane road, I started a conversation with two complete strangers. As my instincts told me, they were World Race moms. They told me they had ten minutes. I took a deep breath, opened my journal, and began.
I asked them how they were feeling, and they told me a lot about their kids.
They told me how proud they were and how excited they are to see God’s calling on their children’s lives, both of whom are nineteen years old and participating in Gap Year. With love in their eyes and excitement on their lips, they spoke about raising their children to one day leave home and fighting the anxiety of wanting to keep them close.
I felt encouraged to hear all of this, but I wanted to hear more about their story as parents, not just to trip their kids were going on.
Their journey, they said, was a challenge to their own faith of surrendering to God and trusting his promise of protection for their children and the calling of missions over their lives.
Their words sounded eerily similar to what I’ve told friends and family the last two weeks in preparation to launch. Their words sounded like they were about to go on a difficult journey, having to trust God, and live without something for months.
And while I think on some level I knew this, God really impressed upon my heart a lesson; this Race is not only my Race.
It belongs to my parents as much as it does to me, as they are traveling a journey parallel to mine. It belongs to my supporters, without who it would be impossible for me to launch. It belongs to my team and my squad who will shape my time and whose time I will shape. It belongs to those who read my blog and follow me on social media, allowing my words and photos to give them a glimpse of my life.
And above all else, it belongs to God.
The story I found won’t rock the world and get my blog a million subscribers, but that’s okay. It taught me something and it gave me the chance to encourage two mothers (hopefully!) by telling a small part of their own World Race story.
Thus, I’m counting this one as a success and I have already seen the fruit of confidence this small, safe practice the Lord gave me here as I’ve since started conversations with strangers where ever the opportunity greets me (the woman who told me, in broken English, of her home in Poland; they joyful repair man in the elevator; the young woman who looked at me like I was crazy when I said I was leaving for a year; the two romance authors on the plane…)
I’m going to live a good story and to report a good story. I’m vibrating with anticipation of all the story I am going to have the opportunity to relay to you all from all the people around this globe, all of which I hope to start with a simple, and not so scary, “hello”.
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Currently: Chicago, Illinois, USA | 5:27 PM | 82% funded | The Lord goes before me as a column of flame, lighting my way.
