Month six of my world race was supposed to be in Burma.
Some of my teammates and I talked about it often during our time in Bangkok, Thailand. We speculated what it would be like. The food. The culture. The living conditions. The people. All we knew was that the country has been wrecked by war for decades, and only in the past five years has the border been open to outsiders. We wanted to be trailblazers. We wanted Burma.
We were re-routed.
We were told we would be staying in Thailand for another month.
Not only would we be staying, but we were the only ones.
Three teams would go to Laos.
Two teams would go to our beloved Burma.
My initial reaction was one of anger and confusion. “This isn’t what I signed up for. What happened to ’11 in 11′? It’s not fair”.
You see, somewhere along the line this world race became about me and what I wanted and what I expected out of this year. It became about what I thought I deserved and what I thought God was going to give me.
Michael pulled me aside and said, “you’re going to Thailand, so Burma was never your reality. You were never going to go to Burma on your world race”.
Ouch.
Talk about a blow to my pride, my ego, my expectations and my puffed up sense of entitlement.
It’s not the first time God has re-routed me. It’s not the first time I’ve reacted poorly. It’s not the first time I got angry because I thought I knew better than He did.
I thought I was supposed to go to the University of Georgia. He re-routed me to El Salvador, where I finally understood who He is.
I thought I was supposed to marry someone. He re-routed me to a sweet three years of independence and self-discovery and falling head over heels in love with Him.
I thought I was supposed to graduate college at 21 and do missions in Latin America. He re-routed me to the world race, where I’ve gained a new perspective on what ministry can be and His unconditional love for the WHOLE world.
I thought I was going to coast through this year under the leadership of my incredible squadmates. He re-routed me into team leading, where I’ve been pushed into a boldness and a new level of strength I didn’t know I possessed.
I thought I was supposed to go to Burma. He re-routed me to Mae Sot, Thailand, where I work everyday with Burmese refugees who have fled or been forced out of their homes. Who have taught me what perseverance really looks like. Who have showed me passion for The Lord in the face of tragedy. Who have broken my heart for Latin America wide open and shoved themselves deep down into my soul.
So yes, I’ve been re-routed, and it hurt. It hurt the box I continuously put God in, a box with walls made of my narrow vision of the world and what I think He is capable of doing with it.
There is something captivating about the moments when God steps in and surprises me with a new twist in my path. These moments are filled with gentle whispers of, “come follow me. Come be with me. Just trust me”. Every singe time He comes through. I’m beginning to think He just enjoys showing me that He is God: creative and fun and imaginative. No move made by Him can be wrong.
Month six of my world race was actually supposed to be this: embracing the greater things that God has had planned for me all along, and understanding that my route, in the race and in life, is something to be held with open hands. It is not for me to squeeze so tightly that life cannot be breathed into it. It is for me to surrender with arms wide open to my God who loves me outrageously, thoroughly and wildly.
He is for me, and so He re-routes me.
