I have a lot to say about this week. Like a lot. I’ve officially made the switch from “I’m going on the World Race” to “I’m on the World Race.” And it’s freaking weird and it’s freaking amazing. This week, teams Wildfire and Wimbi stayed at a camp in the mountains of South Africa, putting on an overnight camp for teens of Jeffrey’s Bay. The week started off rough. But it ended up being one of the most powerful and changing experiences of my life. I don’t know where to start, so here it is. A direct journal entry from this Tuesday. It doesn’t get more raw than this.
Tuesday. I have no idea what day it is.
It’s the second day of camp. I can barely write- my fingers are so cold. Yesterday was hard. Like really freaking hard. It was my first breakdown of the race. This place felt filled with darkness; I could physically feel the heaviness of the enemy here. I got a terrible migraine and couldn’t be present. I felt weak, awkward, insecure. I started having flashes of home run through my mind: my mom, Luna, my bed, Saturday mornings on the couch. The weight of ten and a half more months hit me like a truck and I felt hopeless. Chantai and Hallie were throwing up; John was sick. We had no water and the juice we were drinking was fermented. The kids were unruly; they were loud and unwilling. It got dark early. I hate kickball.
It was just hard.
Part of our team was sent home—they were far too sick to be here. Some of Hallie’s stuff was stolen. It made me so anxious. There is no security. The toilets are backed up. There are no warm showers. The food is different from home. Bread, mostly. So we cried. And we prayed. And Anthea spoke truth into us. “This is what rolling up your sleeves looks like; this is your wake-up call.” There is no wifi. No heat. Nowhere to escape to. No hot water, no comforts of home. There is only room. Room for God or room for the enemy. This is what I signed up for. This is the World Race. The World Race isn’t coffee shops and beach trips; the World Race is getting our hands dirty. It’s loving the kids who stole our things. Appreciating that we have families who blessed us with wool socks before we left home. Eating the cheese and butter-filled hot dog bun. The World Race is coming together and night and giving thanks, despite the circumstances. It’s praying for the kids more than we pray for ourselves. It’s patience. It’s love. It’s kindness and it’s Christ-like compassion.
This is the World Race. It’s not pretty and it’s often not Instagram-worthy. Today, I woke up feeling rested. Those of us who were left pushed our thin foam mattresses together to stay warm last night. I woke up and had to go to the bathroom, so I walked up the big hill. On my way back down, I stopped. The sun was rising and the sky above the mountains was muted shades of pink and purple. I was at peace. While I laid in bed for the next hour or so, I had an image. The camp we’re at is situated in the mountains. The buildings go uphill—they’re simple and they’re old. There was a black smoke rolling through the camp, consuming everything. But then, the brightest and richest sunshine came in and rolled all through the hills, bringing everything into the light. There were still remnants of thin smoke in the air, but the light shone through and illuminated sparkles within it. Light drives out the darkness—every time.
We had coffee this morning. We slept and we slept well. A pastor came to speak for their morning devotions. He paralleled our spirits with a deflated soccer ball being filled up—an analogy that spoke directly to the kids here. As he spoke, the air changed; it became easier to breathe. He shared of his almost-suicide and his encounter with Jesus. The room filled with tears. Redemption rained down. One by one, the students stood—symbolic to show that they are choosing, from this day forward, to stand with Christ. The deep wounds from alcoholic fathers, abusive boyfriends, and the enemy’s lies were brought to the surface. These kids have experienced pain. That much is evident. But they are filled with hope for the future and today, they decided to change their paths. Today, God called and they answered.
Side note:
At the time I wrote this, I had no idea. But I shared my vision of the smoke and the sunshine at team time later that night. Kelsey had gone for a run early that same morning and said that, at the top of the mountain, she could see the camp situated in the rolling hills. Everywhere else was clear and beautiful. But over the camp was a noticeable, tangible fog. As she watched, the fog began to dissipate roll away. Very literally, before our eyes, the darkness was driven from that place and was replaced with peace. God moved, and he’s still moving.
