I remember when I first heard of the World Race. I had only been on a few trips abroad and had a burning desire to see more of the world.
11 countries in 11 months.
Papa had called me into a life devoted to missions just a few months prior and I knew I was supposed to take a leap of faith and leave home for longer than a couple weeks at a time. I lived too comfortably – I had a bachelors degree, a great job that would’ve panned out to be a long-lasting career, a minimal amount of bills to pay, way-too-comfy of a bed, a closet full of clothes and a snuggly, teeny, fun-sized kitten.
As I prayed about going on the Race, Papa spoke some hard truth to me.
How do you expect to serve the least of these without knowing how they live?
Smack in the face. I had no idea what it was like to sleep on the ground under a tarp after my house collapsed in an earthquake, to fall asleep shivering because my house doesn’t have heat and I don’t have enough to keep myself warm, to eat rice, beans and greens three times-a-day every day or to go without food for days and even weeks, to be a Christian in secret because my parents are Buddhist, to worship gods I built with my hands and painted gold, to be deaf and try to have a conversation with people who don’t know sign language, to wear the same outfit day after day because it’s my only option, to never see the faces of my children because I’m blind, to catch frogs in a field every night to only make $3 selling them in the market the next day.
How can you relate to them without actually experiencing life with them?
I knew He was right. There was no way I could.
So, just two months after hearing about the Race, I applied, got accepted, paid the deposit and told my family and friends.
It took six months of preparation until I was ready to leave. I couldn’t count the number of hours I spent at doctors offices, having fundraisers and roaming the aisles of REI. I must’ve laid on twenty-five sleeping pads, ordered and returned numerous sleeping bags and checked off all of the items on my World Race wish list: a retro-colored Eno, a lime green Nalgene, a beautiful sarong and customized Chacos.
Launch arrived and I showed up with five bags and four days to fit all the luxuries into my 70L pack. I probably packed and unpacked fifty times. Seriously. If only I had those air-tight ziplocks to put my clothes in, I thought, I could take this other shirt. Fortunately, my outdoorsy and very-awesome-at-packing-packs friend Micah, went through all the stuff I “had to have” the night before we left and got my pack down to 50 pounds: yoga mat and converse included.
The next morning, I carried it down to the room where my squad was piling in ready to leave Atlanta. I was everything but ready. I looked like the typical World Racer: huge, overweight pack on my back, daypack hanging off my shoulders in front, my full-sized pillow under my arm and my Chacos strapped tight.
We headed to the airport and after I ate two chicken, egg and cheese bagels from Chick-fli-a, flew from Atlanta to Chicago. From there, we flew to Dubai and then to Johannesburg, South Africa. Month 1 had begun and in what seemed like the snap of a finger, I was living with a family on a beach in Jeffrey’s Bay taking care of horses and hanging out with at-risk teenagers.
I’ll never forget my first goodbye. I’d grown close to my hosts and felt so “at home.” Tears poured from my eyes as we pulled away from the house we spent a month living in. No amount of training camp sessions could’ve prepared me for the feeling I was experiencing and would experience again and again.
Month 2. Month 3. Month 4. Month 5. Month 6. Month 7.
And here I am in Month 8, typing this in a taxi, or a yellow truck, as we call it, with my host Peace and five teammates on our way to Chiang Mai to partner with another World Race squad for a couple days to do ministry in the bars where sex trafficking is the normal. We’re wearing layers and layers of clothing, are wrapped up in our sleeping bags and have blankets circling our necks as makeshift scarves because we sent all-things-warm home months ago. We never expected it to be 40 degrees in Thailand but much to our surprise, it is.
We’re beyond blessed this month: we live in a guest house at Sending Hope International, the home of 40 orphaned girls with 5 very loving women and a selfless fix-it man named Pong. We have an American kitchen with a refrigerator, stovetop, oven, microwave, coffee maker, toaster and blender. This morning my teammate Lyndi cooked us blueberry pancakes before our trip began. We walk out of the double doors and are overwhelmed with peace as we take in the view – the mountains are endless. Papa sure didn’t go easy on the paintbrush in the village of Wiang Pa Pao.
In the short week we’ve been here, I’ve been filled to the rim with love. I haven’t been loved on so well since I left home. Each day the girls give me countless amounts of hugs, cling onto my legs as I walk around and repeat “Rocky! Rocky” as they extend their little arms out for me to pick them up. These girls love so well because they’re loved so well. The anointing some of them have is breathtaking. They close their eyes and sing to the top of their lungs as they worship Jesus, or “pa-yes-u” as they say in Thai. I tear up night after night as I watch them sway in His presence.
But here’s the catch — in just 18 days I will say goodbye to these beautiful and sweet sisters of mine who I may never see again. In the last 8 months, I’ve said goodbye to hundreds of families, children and friends who I probably won’t ever see again. And it’s wrecked my heart every time. After leaving India in Month 4, I learned how to numb myself to cope with leaving and as a result, struggle to show emotion anymore. And as unfortuante it is for me, there comes a point when you finally realize how hard it is and prepare your heart for the break before you even arrive.
The question I face each month is this — is the heartbreak worth it? And though the answer is a resounding yes for me, the answer for you depends on why you choose to go on the World Race.
If you’re going on the Race for adventure, find a different trip;
if you’re going on the Race just to cross as many borders as you can, create your own itenerary;
if you’re going on the Race to be comfortable in your own skin, wear extra layers;
if you’re going on the Race to have alone time, forget it;
If you’re going on the Race to try and be the same person at the end of the Race as you were when you began, laugh out loud;
if you’re going on the Race to make friends, join a sorority instead;
and if you’re going on the Race to escape all the junk in your life, you’re better off going to a desserted island.
But if you’re going on the Race to pick lice out of children’s heads day after day;
if you’re going on the Race to serve churches and orphanages by helping toss bricks up a mountain, mix concrete or paint rooms;
if you’re going on the Race to get to know locals living in the slums;
if you’re going on the Race to lay your hands on people and pray healing;
if you’re going on the Race to cook and serve meals to the homeless and the sick;
if you’re going on the Race to befriend and love on local college students in a coffee shop;
if you’re going on the Race to scoop horse poop and talk to little one’s about their imaginary unicorns;
if you’re going on the Race to get covered in sawdust while you help build the first local Christian high school;
if you’re going on the Race to chase after children who are continuously mean to you;
if you’re going on the Race to raise money to replace the roof of a blind man’s house;
if you’re going on the Race to change the worlds of other people;
if your going on the Race to teach English to children who can’t write the ABCs;
and finally, if you’re going on the Race to make yourself available for Jesus to use you however He desires, go —
but leave all the things on your wish list behind. Believe me, you don’t need them to do any of the things above and I wish I didn’t bring any of it.
All you need is the willingness to do the dirty work, a desire to have walls torn down, a heart ready to be broken month after month, day after day, minute after minute and faith that Papa will mend it back together.
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18
