While I was still in the states, I used to joke around with one of my best friends. She questioned whether or not I could do the race because, well to put it bluntly, I can be a jerk. We would joke that she needed to write a note to each of my teammate’s saying “I’m Peyton’s best friend and she can be really mean. She’s sarcastic and rude, so just be prepared.” We would laugh about how accurate it was. We’re all human, we all have our setbacks and when I get into a certain mindset, I can be really vengeful.
The whole thing was a joke, but at the same time, I was very concerned that maybe she was right. Maybe I did need to inform my team of my misguided ill temper. Maybe that off putting demeanor really did mean I couldn’t do this whole thing. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for the world race holy missionary life.
I’m not sure if the race changed me..or if my view of myself was really skewed before..or if my team was being sensitive to me, but around month three I brought the topic up to my team. I told a few of them about the note my friend and I considered writing and, to my surprise, they were actually surprised. Confused almost. They said they didn’t view me that way at all. They didn’t think that I was rude, mean, or a jerk. And more than that, they were confused as to why I saw myself that way.
This helped. Of course it helped. The idea that people saw me in a brighter light than I let myself be exposed to was comforting. Yet, a part of me still questioned it. Maybe I was holding back. Maybe I wasn’t presenting all of me. Maybe I wasn’t putting myself fully into the team dynamic. Maybe I wasn’t being as vulnerable as the race craves you to be. After a while, I finally realized it wasn’t a maybe. It was a yes.
My first team was amazing. I got to work with some incredible men and women of God. I learned from, worshipped with, and did life with a group of people that will always hold a special place in my heart.
But I didn’t let them in all the way.
I didn’t give them all the edges of my sword.
I didn’t do the whole vulnerability thing more than a handful of times.
I suppressed a lot of my feelings from them. My insecurities, my flaws, my emotions. Anything that I thought could be deemed negative, I tried my best to hide and, if I’m being honest, I did a pretty darn good job.
But I don’t regret it. Not for a second. That’s not because I don’t trust my first team, I do. I trust them with my whole heart. I know they wouldn’t judge me. They wouldn’t look at me differently. They would still love me unconditionally.
But based off of my past, based off of the way I’ve perceived myself before the race, and based off of the way I struggle with the idea of feeling worthy, that wasn’t the time or the team I needed to give myself to.
See God does this really cool thing sometimes. It’s called “protection.” And he does it in a number of ways. He can protect you from falling into a ditch by stopping you inches before it. He can protect you from heartbreak by keeping you at home that night your friends went to the bar and that really attractive Casanova was there looking for you. He can protect you from illness by making you go back to your room to grab your jacket even though there’s only a 20% chance of rain. The list goes on and on. For myself, God protected me from sharing all of me earlier than I was ready to.
I know my story is important. I know my past made me who I am today. I know I went through each and every heartache and bump in the road to perfectly form the girl God knew I’d be before I was even in my mother’s womb. I don’t feel guilt, shame, or hurt from my sins anymore because I laid them at the cross where they belong. But ask me that question two months ago and my answer wouldn’t nearly be as firm and sure.
My last team did a work on me. I’ve grown so much and I thank them for the behind the scenes sculpting they molded inside my heart. Because of the things they did and taught me, even without knowing, I can fully say I am a child of God, a daughter of God, a bride of God and I deserve to be heard.
They may not have gotten the chance to hear me, but they helped give me my voice.
