My biggest prayer going into this month was for God to reveal to me the ways in which I define myself that are outside of my identity in Him. And Oh wow has He answered those prayers. In my last blog I wrote about some of the ways in which He has changed me–the clothing, the showering, the make-up, but that only began to scratch the surface of the things which He has begun to change in me.
Now, I have always had thin, scraggly hair. Yet somehow I was still extremely vain about it. As a child, I constantly brushed my hair. As a young adult, I constantly straightened my hair. Before coming on the race, I got into the habit of curling it perpetually. So going onto the race, I thought to myself that I would let it become healthy again by not washing it constantly and by just letting it grow. This month I realized how long it had gotten and I loved it. I loved the golden color of the sun-kissed trestles. I loved it a lot. It turns out regardless of whether I was washing it or just wearing it up in a pony-tail, I was constantly aware of the attraction my hair draws overseas. And I liked it. I liked being recognized as a “Gringaâ€�–I am different here because of my hair.
But in praying for God to show me the ways in which I define myself that are not of my glorious worth in Him, the “hairâ€� theme kept recurring. But I didn’t believe it. I really thought it was ridiculous because I always wanted thicker hair, I always wanted pin curls. I wanted my hair to be different than it was… But I slowly began realizing that the thought of having short hair was a horror. So I decided to cut my hair. I thought originally I had bargained with God for just a good trim…
So I asked one of our host family moms to cut my hair because she allegedly cut hair…Let’s just say I am blessed to know that God gave our squad two hair dressers as fellow racers, and I am blessed that this month is almost over…And there is very little chance that I will take pride in my hair for quite a few months on this race. It is now short. Very short. Currently I call it “the Peruvian mullet�. Like I said, no room for pride here.
For entertainment’s sake, let’s just throw in a few more ways by which I defined myself without realizing it. These are really minor ones, yet somehow they too have come up consistently.
1. “ No SPF. I don’t sunburn. I get a base tan and then I’m good to go.â€� Ha. Ha. Ha. I have had more sunburns this race than any of my teammates. And now I wear SPF. Yes, I realize that the original statement is about as moronic as it gets. But don’t worry, God has been a rockstar about making sure that I didn’t become prideful about my usual beautiful tans. No tans. Burns. Even with sunscreen. And lots of freckles–the one trait of mine I loathed as a child. The freckles have returned with vengeance. One of my squadmates has even taken to calling me “frecklesâ€�, a nickname which makes me shudder.
2. “I’m not easily grossed out�. Again: Ha. Ha. Ha. One of our squadmates, Denise Bavone (www.denisebavone.theworldrace.org. She still needs some support in the next few days or she’ll be sent home. Please help her out) ate the world’s largest beetle in the middle of the night in the Andes mountains when our bus got a flat tire. The biggest bug. Most people were terrified and disgusted. I was dry heaving in horror and near-panic…Then there’s the cockroach adventure of a few nights ago. Then there was the guinea pig that appeared on our lunch plate yesterday. Gag. Even stories cause my stomach to do flips. Apparently, I am quite easily shocked and disgusted. Apparently more so than other people.
3. “I speak fluent Spanish.� Incorrect. This month God has been very faithful about obviously pointing out the holes and gaps. 1. Medicinal Spanish. Not good when you are feverish and sick with a doctor in your bedroom, along with the pastor, the pastor’s wife and kids, and two of your teammates. Very little was accomplished through those conversations. 2. Christian Spanish. Door-to-door evangelism every single day where I am asked to translate someone else’s words…again, not good. Or standing in front of a church translating a teammate’s mini-sermon and most of your loving Peruvian congregation is laughing at the many errors occurring. Pride smashed. Squashed. 3. Architectural and Archaeological Spanish. Who knew I would need that or that I would be visiting ruins of a pre-Incan civilization? Who knew.
All this to say, there are really small things by which we actually define ourselves, but often times they are more prideful than we realize. And it takes praying for God to show you those ugly places for us to realize how much our identity is truly not rooted in God’s love and adoration of each of us. I’m learning. I’m still being stripped. I’m a lot more prideful than I have ever truly realized. It’s a process to knock that down, but He is faithful and jealous for me. And I want to be His, and His alone. So this is a necessary process. Healthy and necessary.
Oh, and just a fun side story to that “pride smashing� theme we have going this month: I ran into a bicyclist in the road and fell over. In a skirt. A very busy road. Mortified. Horrible. I would love to tell you the reasons for which it was NOT my fault, but again that would the pride trying to defend my side. So instead we’ll just say I caused quite a scene. And a little old grandma was trying to avenge my honor. Really. Pride: smashed.
