Some basics for those of you just now dropping in: My sister and I are about to embark an 11-month Christian mission trip to 11 different countries across 4 continents. We’re headed to: Argentina, Bolivia, Paraguay, Chile, Uganda, Ethiopia, Rwanda, Serbia, Bulgaria, Romania, Cambodia, and Thailand. The work will range from country to country in partnership with established ministries in each area. We’ll work in orphanages, build churches, minister to trafficked women, and more. Between the two of us, we need to raise a total of $36,000 by October 2017.
I graduated college in August of 2016. I didn’t walk. In fact, I didn’t walk at my high school graduation either. I hate graduations. They are stuffy, boring, and long- way too long. Hours of strangers giving speeches and then a long monotone list of names you vaguely recognize? No, thank you. And the pace is excruciating. Just when you hit your rem cycle, the name you were waiting for is called. Then your graduate reaches the end of the stage and the next name is called. You go back to sleep. At least until that one annoying family with the air horn gets going. Graduations are the worst.
But I digress.
I didn’t walk at my graduation. My move from college to the infamous real world happened rather unceremoniously (pun intended.) Since then I have been, to put it nicely, floundering. I moved to New York to be with my sister, Miranda, on a whim and without a job. I spent nights crying to God about my purpose and mindlessly scrolling through job postings on Indeed. It’s all dreadfully cliche. But my God is faithful. He had a plan. In the midst of my two month “where to next?” crisis, He began a work in me.
Let me clarify one quick thing: I am not, generally, an aimless person. I graduated high school at 16, college at 20. While in school, I completed two internships and three study abroad programs. I worked as a waitress and bartender and won an award for advocacy in D.C.. I am not a person accustomed to standing still. The stagnation was intensely painful. I wish I could say that I was brave and courageous as I waited patiently for the Lord and his plan. I was not. I was a whiny, bored child.
I felt dispassionate about everything. Every job I applied for felt wrong. Every option was boring, wasn’t me, made me feel weary. Miranda and I had been talking about going abroad together for years. We were researching lots of different options. She heard about the World Race from an alumna and brought the idea up to me one night over a frozen pizza dinner. God doesn’t usually give me big, blinking, neon signs. I think he wants me to trust the still small voice. But, in a rare exception, his voice came with perfect clarity.
For the first time in a while, I have direction. I’m excited. I’ve got a plan. I’m a world racer. I’m going into all the world to preach the gospel to all creation. I’m going to declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous deeds among all peoples. I’m going to be a Barnabas, a Paul.
And I feel ridiculously undeserving and unqualified. That God should pluck me up out of this aimless period and place me on such a straight path is miraculous. That he should pull me out of my ordinary life and give me such an extraordinary purpose is so wonderful, so unbelievable. This calling is such a blessing, such a saving grace. In short, the World Race is a gift to me. And it is exactly the kind of gift my God likes to give. It is lavish, undeserved, and remarkable. He is nothing if not true to character.
