This blog is exactly what the title states; not a metaphor and certainly not a hook to get you to click on the link.
Six months ago, I was rejected from the World Race.
Writing that still leaves in a bitter taste in my mouth, but I owe it to everyone to tell the truth. That even though I sit around and stress about fundraising today, I almost didn’t make it here.
Anyone who has spoken to me in the last two years knows that World Race has been my Plan A, and I never made a Plan B. When I learned about the Race it tugged on all of my heart strings, it was the clearest example of God’s voice that I have ever heard. It was a calling like no other. It gave me comfort in the fact that I had a Plan. I had an answer to everyone who asked me what I was going to do after a diploma was in my hand. Albeit, after the race: No idea. I still don’t. But for now there was a Plan.
I filled out the application the day the routes were posted. I didn’t even look at the countries– didn’t have to. I didn’t even tell my parents–that is, until I needed money for the application fee.
Anyone who knows me well enough to know my flaws understands that I am prideful. Submissive or surrendering has never been a part of my vocabulary. I feel the need to be right, I am competitive to a fault, and I have to feel that I am in control of my life. I spent a lot of time when I was younger being afraid. I felt like I had no control over my body, let alone who I would become. And when I became bold enough to take the reigns, you better believe that I was never going to let go.
The World Race application asks people to lay themselves out. All of your mistakes, who you are, who you want to be, every regrettable moment. It felt invasive. It felt unnecessary. And as I saw the darkness in my life spelled out in front of me I didn’t think I had the guts to send it in. Honestly, I wanted to lie. I thought that I could smudge out my faults. But I didn’t. Because I wanted to be accepted because of who I was, sin and all. I hit send.
It was the longest week of my life.
Sure enough, a Georgia area code appeared on my phone. And I have never answered a phone so fast. I talked with one of the admissions advisers for a while. We laughed and went my interview and I felt so good. Here was my plan appearing in front of me, I was imagining how I was going to tell my mom and that I was going to tell anyone who crossed my path. I was going to shout to the world that I was a Racer! It was going to be beautiful.
Then God decided to knock the wind out of me.
They said no.
They said they didn’t have a place for me.
I wouldn’t wish how I felt on my worst enemy. I felt worthless, I felt like AIM thought I was too broken for them, that I wasn’t Christian enough. I was angry, because of all the things my abusers could take from me- this was the worst. This was my hail Mary pass, the last straw. But mostly– mostly, I cried. I grieved. It felt like I couldn’t breathe. There was a hole inside me and I questioned everything I believed about a just and loyal God. I had heard his voice so clearly, that this was my Plan. There wasn’t another option.
Worst of all I had never felt so alone.
But still, that’s a lie. Out of the ashes of my wonderful Plan grew a community of people who loved me. People who I had never met laid down their work and prayed for me. My friends; Christian, atheist, and Muslim, reached out to me. It was a force of nature that I didn’t witness because I couldn’t see beyond my grief.
Somehow, we contacted a friend of the family that works in AIM, the organization the runs World Race. He told us that he would pray and would talk to the person in charge of my admissions in the morning.
I wish that I could tell you that that night I fell on my knees in prayer, that I surrendered myself to the Lord, that I accepted this new plan, and that I felt his grace. But I didn’t.
I woke up angry and in tears the next morning. I went for a run. I made breakfast. And, I got a phone call.
Georgia area code.
I wish I could tell you I answered the phone with grace and kindness. But I didn’t. I’ll let you assume my tone. Her voice was clear, but I stopped listening as soon as she told me that they were going to move forward in my application.
I was accepted
I am a World Racer.
The story doesn’t end there, hold on.
I spent the next week in a bittersweet haze, I had wanted to get in for me. Not because someone vouched for me. The father of our friend who works for AIM came to visit me and my parents one day. To tell us what actually happened.
He had prayed that night and in the morning he walked to her office, she had already called me. No one had vouched for me, no one on earth at least.
You see, World Race was never my plan. It was His. And He is so Good. So faithful. And I am so imperfect and he loves me perfectly. I am his beautiful mess of a child- just the way it’s meant to be.
