7 months ago seems more like decades, but I remember feeling the gut punch like it was yesterday.
It was the day of launch, the day my squad of 57 members left the US of A for 11 months. Lots of thoughts were running through our minds and the anticipation of venturing into the unknown was fresh and new. It was moments before we boarded our first plane that I received the text message:
“So I need to tell you something. I promise everything is ok, but Grandpa had a stroke.” –Mom
This marked his 4th stroke in his lifetime.
That split moment when I read the text; I sat across the table with God in a room, completely white. Without saying anything, He reassured me that everything was going to be fine, but I knew.
“God, surely you wouldn’t let anything bad happen while I’m gone?”
Fear was knocking and I opened the door to invite it in, but He continued to reassure me despite my cordial invitations to Fear.
Four months later in Vietnam God began teaching me about my friend, joy. He taught me that joy is a choice and can be chosen no matter what the circumstances may seem like. Sorrow and grief may scream and shout, but its through times like these where we learn what joy means.
In Vietnam, my Grandpa’s health began severely declining.
Month 5 in Cambodia I had it spoken over me twice that this would be a season of joy for me. Interestingly enough this was spoken at our most emotionally exhausting debrief. Five of our members left the squad for different reasons and it’s safe to say we all felt the loss. Despite the exhaustion we had team changes and I don’t recall a time where I’ve laughed more than my month in Cambodia. No showers, no wifi, no distractions. Nothing. But our team had a blast and laughed more than ever.
Month 6. Thailand. I remember when I applied to the race two years ago and reading through this route. I remember scrolling through the bio’s of Lesotho, Swaziland, South Africa, Vietnam, Cambodia and then Thailand. I couldn’t read the words because of the tears that welled in my eyes as I read the description of Thailand. I truly wept. It’s like my spirit knew something my soul couldn’t comprehend yet. It was the month I was most anxious for, I knew there would be something special about it, but I wasn’t sure what yet.
It was in Thailand that I began running every morning. Something I had wanted to do in months previous, but always found an excuse not to. But this month I found a beautiful route through the forest of our village, the mountains in the distance. I would run to a nearby café to check my texts and message people back home.
“Lindsay, I just wanted to let you know Grandpa passed away this morning our time at around 5:30. He is walking the streets of gold reunited with his brother Bob and parents. I didn’t want to tell you like this, but I wanted you to know! Love you!” –Mom
I remember reading the message; each word my eyes glanced over was like another arrow to the heart.
God took me back to the white room. I sat across the table from Him again, this time my head down, palms up. Pain. Hurt. Frustration. Yet I understood at the same time.
I can waste my time blaming God all I want. I could accuse Him, stomp my feet and say “it’s not fair.” I could go back to the day of launch and say, “How dare You let my Grandpa have a stroke the exact moment I leave?” I could get angry and say, “Why would you let him die while I’m gone?”
But the truth is, life is life. And life goes on whether I’m home or not. And I could be bitter about his stroke the day I left the States, or I could thank God for preparing me for what was to come in that moment.
This time fear came knocking, but that door was closed. This time I knew better.
As I sat in the white room, exhausted, head down, palms up and He lifted my face and whispered, “Daughter, you’ve come so far.”
It’s possible to be fruitful in the land of suffering. It’s possible to experience joy in times of sorrow. When you have those palms up and eyes on Him, there’s peace. He is faithful to the faithful.
Something my Grandpa told me multiple times before I left, “A bell isn’t a bell until it’s rung. Love isn’t love until it’s given.”
I wish I could tell my Grandpa all my stories. I wish I could have sat at his side and given him a hug. But the greatest blessing I can give my Grandpa is to keep loving, just like he did. I’ll ring that bell until the Lord takes me Home too.
I’m so grateful God chose me to be in his lineage. It’s because of him that I choose faithfulness and joy. It’s because of him that I know how to ring the bell.
“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
Romans 15:13
