It’s month SEVEN, y’all!
If you know much about the World Race, you know part of the excitement of signing up is abandoning and minimizing. We’re told to expect less-than-stellar housing and not-so-fancy food. Racers spend months sifting through blogs and packing lists to make sure they have absolutely everything they need in the lightest pack possible. We research the best tents and how many baby wipes to bring.
If you’ve been keeping up with my Race, you’ve probably noticed that my ‘roughing it’ around the world has been less stretching than expected. I’ve spent 5 months in 5 of the largest cities in the world. My team had really great accommodations all through Southeast Asia: flushing toilets, sometimes hot showers, and even a month with our very own washing machine. Our compound in Ethiopia had some pretty great western accommodations as well. My tent has not left my bag, and I still have the same pack of baby wipes I left the States with — that’s a World Race record, y’all! Stepping into Rwanda, I had yet to have host-prepared meals, AKA rice and cabbage all day everyday.
I did not sign up for air conditioner and Domino’s pizza, but please hear me when I say I’m super grateful for the first half of my Race (and every single McNugget I’ve had). Every other aspect has challenged and stretched me, so I really appreciate that God has been gentle with the rest of it.
We hit the halfway mark of the Race last month. By this point, change has become the norm. Every month, we’re thrown into a new culture with new people and a new language. Our schedules vary from ‘show up and see what happens’ to ‘super scheduled days that will undoubtedly change.’ We’ve been through two team changes, and our living situations differ as much as our schedules.
It’s really common for people to become too comfortable. The fire we started with starts to wear off as serving and change become second nature. Homesickness sets in, and it becomes all too easy to spend time watching movies instead of immersing in yet another culture.
I thought I was going to slide past the slump. I confidently prayed something a long the lines of ‘Lord, I want to know more of you and see the world the way you do, no matter the cost.’
Friends, be very aware that when you pray things like that, God follows through.
Cue Month Seven. This month we are living on an actual mountaintop in Rwanda. We have no running water, which means an outhouse full of squatty potties (that doubles as a home for allll the giant roaches) and bucket showers. We finally get host prepared food (well, they hired a cook and we eat all kinds of yummy carbs everyday. But close enough!), and we get princess canopies mosquito nets to prevent malaria. Our only mode of transportation is the moto, which is my actual worst nightmare. And we have the opportunity to preach in five hour long prayer meetings.
The day we arrived in Rwanda, I discovered that three people really close to me had been in the hospital while we were off the grid in Ethiopia. One of my favorite people in the world was being told they likely had Leukemia. For the sake of privacy, we’ll call them Taylor.
At this point, you’ve probably caught on that this is my hardest month by a long shot. I’ve been sad, homesick, anxious, angry, and probably all the other emotions you can think of, along with all the normal new-ministry-feelings of joy and love and passion and a deep desire to serve. I don’t tell you this to complain or make you feel bad for me. I tell you this to give you a glimpse of life on the Race, aside from the photos of adventure and cute kiddos. This is what we signed up for, and this is the kind of stuff World Racers face on the field. Unfortunately, life does not stop while we’re gone. But we have the most beautiful opportunity to surrender everything to the Lord. Sometimes, it looks like really confident prayers and declarations about courage and boldness and God’s goodness and faithfulness, other times it’s a desperate plea to go home as giant tears well up.
Psalm 42 has been a constant source of comfort for me.
As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?
My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me all day long, “Where is your God?”
These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I used to go to the house of God under the protection of the Mighty One with shouts of joy and praise among the festive throng.
Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.
My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you
from the land of the Jordan, the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar.
Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me.
By day the Lord directs his love, at night his song is with me—a prayer to the God of my life.
I say to God my Rock, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?”
My bones suffer mortal agony as my foes taunt me, saying to me all day long, “Where is your God?”
Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.
The writer of this Psalm is in deep anguish. He’s crying out in honest vulnerability, letting God see all of his weakness. Verse 3 says ‘my tears have been my food day and night. Y’all, that’s a lot of tears! But I think most of us have been there at some point: where we feel like we’re drowning in pain, loss, or persecution. The waves are swallowing us, and we don’t feel like we can keep afloat.
This is where I found myself this month.
But there’s hope, because when we go through these seasons, we get to mourn at the feet of the Lord. He understands every human experience because Christ walked the earth in flesh. There is no one in the world that can understand our hurting and our hearts more than the Lord. So just like the writer of the Psalm, we should bring all of our weeping to God.
In this Psalm, he takes the time to remember moments where God was faithful. He closes by saying ‘Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.’ I will yet praise him. Despite a downcast soul, broken spirit, pain or suffering, I will yet praise him. In the midst of all our pain, we still have a choice: the choice to PRAISE God.
So how do you praise God through the hardest circumstances?
By faith. Hebrews 11:1 says ‘Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.’
So even though the writer of Psalm 42 could not see the end of his suffering, he chose to praise God anyway. Even though I am in the midst of a really hard season, I choose to serve despite my circumstances. By the doctor’s standards, Taylor is not yet healed. But God has promised me complete healing. By stepping into boldness and declaring this out loud, I’m confirming that I believe God is faithful. I believe what he has promised me, even though I can’t yet see it. I’m believing that the doctors will continue to struggle with a diagnosis because God is healing as we speak. I will continue to praise the Father through my mourning because he is worthy and he will not forsake me.
I believe this because I’ve seen God’s goodness. My testimony is all about God’s healing from sickness and anxiety and depression. I’ve tasted his faithfulness and I trust that he is the same yesterday, today, and forever. If he has provided before, he will provide again. That is his character. If you are ever doubting, take some time to remember all the moments he’s shown up in your life. Sit at his feet and meditate on his word, even if it’s through weeping and mourning.
When you put your hope in the Lord, Psalm 91:11 says ‘He will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.’
How cool is that?! He protects us with 10,000 angels! Sickness and pain are not from God. He mourns with us when his children are hurting and sends his very best to shelter us. He wants us to trust in him so deeply that we come to him with all our hurt and surrender it to him.
I know that’s not easy, but it’s so worth it when we can place our cares at his feet. The Lord is just so good, y’all. Every moment I’ve been grumpy or discouraged, he gently reminds me what an honor it is to be here. That being the first missionaries to a church who has been anxiously awaiting the foreigners God promised is SUCH a privilege. That every day here, far away from my home, means that many more people have the opportunity to be impacted by the name of Jesus. That every time I question why I’m even here, I’m even more quick to remember that these people are worth it. He’s quick to remind me that people go without running water every day, and it’s a blessing to have a flushable toilet. Millions of people don’t even have drinkable water, and I should be SO thankful for the things we take for granted. When I’m bummed about potatoes for the sixteenth meal in a row, he leads my mind to our neighbors and students who are going without yet another meal.
So while my heart is taking a beating this month, it’s in the best way possible.
‘Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.’ James 1:2-4
