God Never Said He Was Safe…

So
I swim. I swim like hell to the rock that’s calling out my name,
begging me to trust. I swim into the frightening storm and straight
into my Saviors arms.

This
incubator, this lifestyle, has become safe. Somehow, while I wasn’t
looking, it became my safe harbor. Somewhere along the way it turned
into my normal and I forgot that at one point the prospect of a trip
like this was my storm. I can remember standing on the shores of this
year, looking out into the unknown and shaking in fear. I knew it was
going to transform me and my reality, although in my naivety I
underestimated the gravity of transformation that comes with
encounters of the Almighty. I feared the responsibility that came
with seeing a dying world. I feared the insufficiency on my behalf to
do anything about it. I didn’t trust Him then and Im struggling to
trust Him now.

Its
time for a new storm.

I
sat sobbing tonight as I watched the wave of transition rising in the
distance. In 10 short days I will hit U.S. soil and life will
drastically change, yet again.

Over
the last year life has been a bittersweet privilege. I have been
honored to watch God’s people shine across the earth. Every day I
think “How
is this my life? Why did God bless me with this crazy pilgrimage? How
did I get so lucky??” I
have witnessed great victory and immense tragedy. I have slept in
over 50 locations, moving on average every 6 days between 14
countries, across 3 continents. I have lived amongst the poor and
hurting nations, loved them the best I knew how, and sat broken at
the alter with them as we surrendered our lives and mess up to our
healer and provider. I came to serve them and was humbled time and
again as they served us.

We sang
and danced in the dirt of Africa, laughed with children of every
color, and I took notes as we watched Mama’s fight for their nation
to raise up out of despair and hopelessness. Women in Serbia taught
me what
it was to be a wife and mother. Ive floated in the dead sea and
walked where Jesus walked. I peed on my feet more times than I could
count, not thinking anything of it. I basked in the exhilaration of
bucket showers after painstakingly hot days in the jungles of
Cambodia.

I
have held a man after watching his wife die of aids, I have counseled
a woman who was beat the morning before church by her husband for
being a Christian, but she came anyways. I was baptized in a muslim
nation on a day of thanksgiving. I conquered fears and chose
adventure. I hung out with prostitutes in Thailand. I watched a
mother in Uganda bury her baby that died of Malaria- the same disease
that I, along with half our squad, contracted at some point in
Africa. I prayed with a 13 year old gypsy girl  as she
encountered the Holy Spirit for the first time on a moonlit hill in
Romania.

But
I did none of this. The Lord did it all. I had nothing to give, no
good of my own accord or strength could have accomplished any of it.
Tonight a friend reminded me of God’s promise in Phillipians- “He
will finish the good work He began in you Dre. He began it before
this race, and it will continue beyond this year.” He began a
work, long ago, in my friends around the world too, and is continuing
it after I have left. I just got the joy of being a very small part
of Gods story in them. What a blissful and trying joy it has been.

So
it continues. The story goes on. I will swim out to the rock and
listen for His gentle whisper through the raging waters of emotion
and confusion. I will trust that He is good and faithful, just like
the sunrise I watched this morning from my treehouse.

He
never said He was safe, but He is good.