From my room, I had overheard my older sister talking.
“Who are you talking to?” I asked, lingering at her door.
“God”, was her reply, “I’m praying”.
“What’s that?”
“I’m talking to God”.
“I want to try. What do I do?” I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.
“Just fold your hands, close your eyes, thank Him, ask Him what you need, and then say, ‘amen’ “.
I stood in the hallway between our rooms and silently talked with God for the first time. I thanked Him for the blessings in my life and asked Him for the “essentials” – safety, security, and comfort. I said amen and went into my room, turned off the light, and jumped between the covers.
This is where my faith began – with a child’s plea for safety, security, and comfort.
Fifteen years later, at the end of month four of the race, I found myself voicing that same child’s plea. I had spent the last two months exhausted and totally out of my element. I was in a deep rut of self-pity, fearfulness, and extreme brokenness – a rut that I had dug myself. Everything that my life had been up to that point had led me there. I was coming into the realization that my life was not about me. The fact that my self-reliance could no longer sustain me, in the place where God was leading, was terrifying. Complete dependence on Him?
God was just asking for too much.
And so, in that moment of fear and frustration, I took my eyes off of Him. Beginning small and quickly escalating, the enemy took the chance to begin to pour lies into my heart. “You don’t speak Spanish. You’re too tired. You aren’t missionary material. You aren’t learning anything. You’re wasting your time. You don’t fit in with your team. No one here understands you. Nothing you’re doing matters. God can’t use you. God can't change you. God doesn’t care about you. Look at all this suffering – God isn’t good. You should go home.”
The air was thick with spiritual warfare the night that I announced to my team that I really was leaving the race. Frustration came out as they fought for me to stay and I tried hard to fight the lies going through my head. Had I chosen to humble myself at that point, I have no doubt that the lies would have been silenced and I would have remained on the race to this day. Yet, in my stubbornness, my pride and my fear, I chose the easier path.
As I stood in line to check in for the flight that would send be back to the states, I felt sick. I was so dizzy that I thought I would pass out. I had prayed for the past week, “God, if you don’t want me to leave, then you’re going to have to physically stop me. Make me so sick that I can’t physically get on that flight.”
This was His last reminder to me that He didn’t want me to leave. No, He wasn’t going to force me to stay – it was my choice. But, He also wasn’t going to allow me leave without first letting me know that He had spoken clearly on the issue.
I checked my bag, hugged my squad leaders goodbye, and didn’t look back.
Three flights, and fourteen hours later, I walked past the final security checkpoint and collapsed into my mother's arms. I was home.
Those first few days felt amazing. I had air conditioning, a real bed, alone time, a guitar, and my family. I had every comfort, and all the security, and safety that I had been missing. But as I tried to readjust, I found that I was unable to. Home was no longer home to me. And I was unsure about who God was.
I was so angry with my situation that I wanted nothing to do with Him. I had given up everything for Him and He had seemingly failed to answer even the simplest of prayers. Why? I began to question everything – my identity, my purpose, my life, my worth, God's goodness, His knowability, and even His very existence. In it all, I knew in my heart that God was real. I knew that He was good. And despite my feelings, I knew that He had never once turned away from me. The next two months were a day and night spiritual battle for my soul, in which Satan came at me with everything that He had. There were days that were hopeful and exciting, but more abundantly came days of deep anguish, regret, and sorrow.
I would stay up late wondering if the friends who said that they would be forever would really end up being forever. Wondering if God still had a plan for me, or if all hope for me was lost, and I was too far-gone. Wondering if I could ever again have a relationship with a God whom I felt I had abandoned, if I could get back to where we had been, or if I would ever be able to move beyond my brokenness.
I was so filled with regret and shame from my decision, because in making it, I had dragged the Savior’s name through the mud along with me. Why would He ever want me back? Why would He ever want me in the first place?
I remember sitting on the couch one day, asking Him those questions. His answer wrecked me, “You belong to me. I love you, I forgive you, and I’m for you.”
My heart began to physically ache and I was unable to stop the sobs beginning to come from the pit of my stomach. I wept in a way that I never have before. I don’t know how long it lasted, but I cried out in my brokenness, from the deepest part of my soul, with everything that I had. And it was there that He found me. Broken. Messy. Fully surrendered. The moment that I chose repentance – true repentance – is the moment that the chains were finally broken and I was set free.
No, I can’t say that my life got instantly better – it didn’t. I still fully reap the consequences of my choices, but I'm not condemned. I still miss my friends who remain on the race, but I know that our friendships will be life-long. I still miss the beauty of day-to-day ministry, but I believe that God has called me to a life of ministry. I still grieve over the people that I will never get the privilege of meeting, but I rejoice in knowing that my squad mates were able to meet and love on them. I still ache over the time that I lost with my sweet Savior, but I have never understood, desired, or known Him more intimately than I do now.
I’m incredibly sad that I left the race early, but in spite of my decision, God chose to bless me. In leaving, I was able to experience and understand His grace and power in a way that I never would have, had I chosen to stay on the race.
And while I don’t believe that it’s His desire for any of His children to suffer, I also don’t believe that He lets our suffering come without using it for His glory. He is, was, and always will be a God of purpose. He takes what the enemy has meant to steal, kill, and destroy us, and uses it for our growth. And most times, in order for us to grow, we first must fall apart.
For it was in my absolute failure and brokenness that I learned the true meaning of humility and only by sitting in that humility that I began to understand both, God’s grace, and His fervent, jealous, and unconditional love for me.
I don’t know where He will lead me next, but I know that it will be good. There is purpose in waiting on Him and a peace in resting in Him.
My God is a God of healing, a God of redemption, and a God of restoration. No sin, no shame, no past, no pain, can separate me from His love.
