An olympian spends years training for the opportunity to represent their country. But one giant hurdle stands between them and their goal of representing the US of A. Olympic Trials. In a lot of ways, I feel like an Olympic hopeful. I felt the call to be a missionary at seventeen years old. I’ve dreamt, envisioned, planned all things missions for nearly ten years, long term mission, in particular. Then my olympic trial came. My olympic trial was WR training camp. I got there thinking I was fully ready, prepared to run the race! I just didn’t make the cut. I wasn’t ready not at that time. There’s a certain place of vulnerability I am finding myself in the closer and closer we step towards Training Camp in less than two months. And in that place of vulnerability, there is a good bit a fear.
Am I adequate? Am I ready?
These questions like to present themselves when I’m inches from sleep after midnight or in the middle of an important something and other places that I lose all sense of normalcy and rake my brain for answers for what seems like hours until I finally decide to shelf that for another time. But I’ve spent a good chunk of time shelving it, and I find myself less than sixty days from my Olympic Trial so I suppose it’s time to divest myself of these torture devices that I’ve been carrying with me for nearly a year.
My Dad, bless his heart, asked me recently, “So it’s for real this time? It’s a real thing…?” (Queue torturous questions running around my brain like elves with tap shoes-loud and impossible to ignore)
“Yes, Daddy. It’s a real thing. I’m ready.”
The truth, sliding easily from my lips, surprised even me. Sometimes, God likes to crawl out of my mouth and get me like that. Recently, I was given the opportunity to meet some of my squad mates. It was surreal. Didn’t I just meet J Squad? Wasn’t I just worshipping with the same songs at Training camp, weeks away from launch?
“May the King of my heart be the mountain where I run”
At training camp a year ago, this song was an anthem of peace for us who found themselves in fundraising limbo. He would take care of that money pile that seemed larger than life itself.
“For you are good”
As I sat in a hotel room packed full of team mates from all over, in all different places in life, this very same song sounded different. Because I’m different.
“Let the King of my heart be the wind inside my sails, the anchor in the waves, oh He is my Song.”
God is the mountain I am running to. Nothing and no one changes that. But in the season of change plans, He became the anchor, the song, my anthem and my rescuer- a constant reminder that I am still here and I am still called, still with a purpose and hope. So, like the olympic hopeful who fell short at the trails for the 400 meter dash, it didn’t make them any less a runner. Placing my trip on pause didn’t make me any less of a missionary. God carved out a season for us to run, together. To train, to endure, to sprint, to cry all for the moment that I thought would never come, for the moment that once seemed like a dot of light at the end of the dark tunnel, the moment that is now a beacon of light shining for all to see.
How faithful He is.
So maybe you fell short and are wondering “What now?”
I’ll tell ya. Keep running. Keep going. It’s worth it. Keep going.
Cheers to breathing. Cheers to pushing through the rough parts of the climb and reaching the lookout. Cheers to our faithful, faithful Father! Cheers to the Race, yall!
