Penultimate(adj): next to last.
That’s been one of my favorite words since middle school, when I read A Series of Unfortunate Events(the next to last book in the series is called the Penultimate Peril).
Next to last things tend to be my favorites.
My next to last soccer season in college, my next to last summer working at camp, eleventh grade, my next to last dance recital in high school…there are probably more.
I think it’s because I think too much about wanting the last to be the best, so all that anticipation sets me up for disappointment. Meanwhile, the second to last never has any pressure on it so it turns out perfect.
Plus last things are all bittersweet and heartwrenching and stuff. No matter how great every other detail turns out, nothing can change the fact that it’s the LAST.
Which would explain why my next to last month on the Race ended up my second most miserable(because I’ve been betting since training camp that it would be my favorite).
And this past week, our next to last week of ministry ever(dear F squad, try to read that sentence without throwing up), was my favorite week of ministry ever. Because I forgot that it was a penultimate until our students went home and Kaysea pointed out that we only have one more week.
(For a concise but detailed explanation of our ministry, click here. Casey already wrote about it so I don’t need to repeat it)
I love every single one of our students and every single one of the staff. I’m crying writing this because I’m thinking about leaving them in a week and I don’t wanna leave(plus we just watched the movie Wild and we’re all emotional; it’s the perfect story for the end of the World Race).
Several of the staff have shared their testimonies this week and every one of them has made me cry. These are such incredible men and women of God who have been through hell and back and are now giving their lives to helping others find hope and build new lives. They’ve been just as much an encouragement to me and my teammates as they’ve been to the students.
The best months are the months where you can’t wait to spend your off day hanging out with your ministry contact. And petting lion cubs and giraffes. It was awesome.
Then this morning at church, the person giving announcements talked all about the seven Americans visiting today, and how we’ve been to eleven countries in eleven months, “and this is their LAST stop! God has finished the work he brought them here to do and they’re doing such wonderful things at Pop-up!” She went on for a while, but by then I’d burst into tears and lost my ability to listen.
Soon I’ll no longer be referred to as one of “the Americans.” Soon people won’t ask me to say something in my American accent. Soon I won’t be moving my bed at 730 every morning so classes can be taught in my room.
Soon. Way too soon.
