So I’m sitting here in an air conditioned (referred to as “aircon” in africa & Southeast Asia) hotel room in Kampong Chhnang, Cambodia. It’s Wednesday- my team’s off day. We rode here yesterday evening in the rain on a tractor driven by one of the interns that lives on site with us. His name is Tree (Yes, as in the brown & green leafy thing in the park).
I went into this month knowing that it was one of my last opportunities to really dig in and be “on the race”. Not to mention God started hinting halfway through Thailand that I should give up wifi/communication in the following month.
All I knew about this month was that we would be out in the bush (removed from “civilization”), living in our tents, doing work projects, & working with kids. But as I’ve learned on the race, the setup sheet doesn’t necessarily mean much so I wasn’t really sure what Cambodia would look like for me.
Basically, having expectations for what the next month will look like has only done bad things for me. I’ve learned to go into the new month & ministry with no expectations- that way anything that happens is only something that happens (and thereby not a let down).
While we don’t have wifi where we stay- there’s a café/clinic (they run both out of the same store front) about 30 minutes away (by tractor) in the closest market that does have good wifi available. I decided, however, that I would not be using it this month (except for posting blogs) so that I wouldn’t be distracted by what’s going on back home, so that I could 100% make my ministry & my spiritual life this month my main focus, & because God was hinting that I should.
This decision was good for me for a number of reasons. When I had wifi available to me last month I was so distracted that I could barely even set aside time during the day to read my Bible let alone do any soul searching. It was hard for me to leave Thailand- not because I was so attached but because I wasn’t. There was so much more that I felt I could’ve done there.
The first half of my month was difficult for me because the ministry hit so close to home. It had become my assignment to go into bars that had women & ladyboys for sale & make friends with the people there & show them the love of Christ.
It seemed like that would’ve been an easy enough job but going out that first time proved otherwise. Walking into those bars was like walking into my past. The people I was surrounded by felt more like ghosts from a nightmare than guests in a bar. I felt like everyone was looking at me- waiting for me to slip up, to give in, to take a drink, to go home with someone. I could hear the lie dancing around in my head, “Welcome home. You belong here.”
It wasn’t until many deep, honest, & painful conversations with several different friends on my squad later that I was able to finally walk out at night into any bar & be able to be myself & love the people I met.
All month I went out a total of 4 times. The last night I went out was the last night we had at our ministry site. I put on my best World Race dress, carefully put on mascara & eye shadow, sprayed my clothes with my precious remaining perfume (clothes hold the scent longer than sweaty wrists do), went out with someone I trust to hold me accountable to being myself, & held nothing back. That night, I was me.
By the end of the night I had spoken to, laughed with, hugged, & held 13 people. 13 beautiful people that Jesus made. 13 people that have just as much of a right to a life full of achieving their dreams as I do. 13 people might not seem like much to you but to me they meant the world. The fact that I was able to walk into those bars, face my fears, pray against my old lies, love on people that needed it, & to rely on God to be my strength through it all is crazy to me. I would not have been able to do that even a single month prior to Thailand.
At the end of the night I found myself wondering why it took an entire month for me to be able to go out & freely be myself. I felt cheated- if I had reached this point of freedom sooner, I would’ve been able to go out more frequently. I thought to myself that I would’ve been able to help more people. That way it wouldn’t have been so easy to leave Thailand.
Why had it been so impossible for me to be in those bars? Why was it so difficult for me to walk through those dark alleys? Why did it hurt me to be grabbed by a young woman & asked to come into her bar?
Because all of those things represented who I thought I was. They represented a “me” that I was fighting to no longer be. A Vashti who used to be consumed with a need to please others no matter what it took, to numb her pain, & to survive day to day. I thought I was good for nothing before the World Race. I thought I was trash. I thought I was useless aside from being used by someone else. I had become a black hole of what used to be a shooting star.
When I was a little girl there was nothing in the world that was too hard or impossible for me. When other kids around me were trying to figure out how to climb across the monkey bars, I was the skinny little bleach-blonde, dirty kneed, & scraped up girl at the top of a tree, flapping her arms, & trying to figure out how to sprout wings & fly.
All that to say- in growing up, I did some bad things. More than some, really. I did….what feels like a majority of bad things. I got sucked into the cycle of needing approval from the world. The more “bad things” I did the more it seemed I was accepted. And I NEEDED to be accepted. I NEEDED everyone to like me because I no longer liked myself & because something deep within me was empty, lacking, & draining me. As much as I was surrounded by family & good friends that loved (& still do love) me, I couldn’t feel it & it wasn’t enough. There was something deeper still that went unsatisfied.
That something is what makes me cry every time I see a father showing love to his daughter. Every time I see a little girl jump into her father’s arms, every time I see a father’s eyes light up upon noticing something beautiful or special about his daughter, every time I see a father & daughter walking down the street together- hand in hand. That something that is missing breaks my heart. I don’t feel loved by my father. It goes deeper than my earthly dad. I don’t feel like I’m special or beautiful or good enough to deserve love from a heavenly father who will never leave me.
It makes me cry even now as I’m typing this out. I want that love. I need that love & acceptance. I need someone to tell me that I’m good enough.
I love psychology & I’m ever so grateful to the science for the insight into my life & the life of others that it has provided me over the years. I know that this deep hurt of mine stems from my childhood. I know that growing up as the second of 7 children put me at a bit of a disadvantage as far as parental attention goes.
My parents did a wonderful job raising me & my 6 siblings but I think that in being human we are all imperfect. Thus to say- growing up with my dad was difficult.
We are both so similar in our need to be right, heard, respected, & noticed that it was practically fate that we butt heads. We wasted so much time fighting each other. We’ve both said things to one another that we regret. There are things that I remember him saying to me that still break my heart & I bet he doesn’t even remember saying them to me. Likewise, I can’t tell you how many times I disrespected him in public, private, or anywhere else. We didn’t understand each other & it seemed we were both convinced that our relationship would just be the way it was because that’s the way it was- me being “oppressed by the man” -someone who didn’t understand her & didn’t appreciate who she was & him constantly being disrespected by his rebellious daughter.
It took coming on the race to realize just how much having a not-so-great relationship with my dad hurt me. I didn’t realize this until my second month on the race. I was telling a squadmate some story about one of the biggest fights I ever remembered my dad & I having when all of a sudden it occurred to me- the reason I so heavily sought approval & acceptance from men was because the approval & acceptance I received from my dad wasn’t enough. I needed an outside male source to tell me that I was special, beautiful, that I matter, & that he believes in me.
Now don’t get me wrong- my dad is amazing. I wouldn’t trade him for any other dad on this planet. He is the one I can thank for my sense of humor, my light-hearted approach to dealing with a stressful situation, my ability to debate any side of a topic, & my love of family. No matter what happens in my life or my family’s lives, we will stick together & be there for one another because that is the tone that my dad set for us.
Family is forever & family can be trusted. It is a safe place & it will always be there. My dad has shown me love in countless ways that mean the world to me.
Thank you, papa, for everything you’ve done for & given to me. I wouldn’t be me without you.
All the best intentions, sacrifice, & hard work in the world though couldn’t stop this love-deprived teenager & early 20’s year old from getting herself into trouble & hurt. I did it up big time.
Before coming on the race I had gotten to a point where living day to day was a chore in itself. It was easier for me to ignore my problems by distracting myself with alcohol, friends, guys, & activities than it was to face my issues. I was a self-destructing mess & I feared that I was taking people down with me.
I got hurt so many times that I, in my defense, unknowingly put up walls around my heart that ended up preventing me from feeling anymore. It was “better” for a little while but I realized that not feeling is just as bad if not worse than feeling.
The discipleship nature of life on the race brought me to all of these conclusions & I couldn’t be more thankful to God for pushing me to come on this trip.
My journey on the race has done more than change my life. It has rewritten my story. Over the past 10 months I’ve come to view my life as more than just a sob story with comedic relief every once in a while. I see it differently now. My teammates have encouraged me (on the more difficult days) that I’m a walking testimony to God’s redeeming power.
I know God’s timing is perfect. I know that there’s a reason why he asked me to give up communication this month. I know that amidst the physically-demanding construction work, sweaty & restless nights, limited food, squatty potties, & legions of insects he has a reason. He has a reason for getting me “alone” & focused this month. He wanted to get my attention.
As I was sitting in my off-day aircon room (this was about 4 hours ago) I turned on the TV because I remembered we discovered a movie channel last week & I love movies & I was feeling bored.
Saving Mr. Banks was about to come on & I recalled that all I knew about the movie was that several people made a sorrowful happy face when asked how it was. “Oh, *pause* it’s good. You should watch it” would always be the reply when I asked for further detail.
As I looked down at my pj’s I realized I had nothing better to do & got settled in to watch it.
All of the realizations that I just told you about hit me again while I watched the flashback scene that Pamela (the main character- the author of Mary Poppins) has of a beautiful & heart-warming moment shared between her & her father. Her father refers to her as royalty & treats her as such. It’s obvious in his eyes how much he truly adores her. It broke my heart how much I wanted to feel that love.
I realized, again, that I’m quite missing something. I’m missing love from my Heavenly Father. I want him to look down upon me in all my attempts to be lovely & tell me that I’m beautiful, cherished, whole, & beloved.
I want to be told that I’m special. That I matter. That I am irreplaceable & captivating.
I want to be like Ginty (the name Pamela’s father calls her by)- with a Father who loves me for exactly what and who I am.
I want to catch His eye. I want Him to notice me and tell me that who I am is perfectly who I’m supposed to be. That I am good. That I am whole. That I am treasured. That I am wanted.
I sat there, wrapped up in blankets on my bed, & cried. I cried tears that didn’t have my permission to exist. I cried into my stuffed animal fox, Dimitri, that has suffered the brunt of my emotional outbursts over the past 10 months. I cried for longer & deeper than I’d like to admit.
After all this time. After all this soul-searching. After all the work that I’ve done in trying to get to a better place. I’m still lacking belief in a powerful truth.
My heart still does not believe that I am good enough to be loved by God.
I don’t know what it will take for me to believe that unmistakable, clearly un-debatable (I’ve been reading psalms lately), & everlasting truth.
God loves you. That part is easy for me to believe. Why wouldn’t he love YOU? I mean look at you! You’re talented (clearly good at technology- you’ve found a way to read my blog), I’m sure you’re good-natured, hilarious, & beautiful/handsome as all of us humans are. When I look around me- no matter which face I see – I believe in my heart that, undeniably, everyone is loved by our Father in heaven.
But…
But God loving me? Why does my heart sink on that one? I want to be loved & accepted by Jesus more than anything in the world. So why can’t I accept his free gift of eternal acceptance. Why is this so hard?
In Saving Mr. Banks, there’s another flashback that Pamela has where her father, reaching down, pulls her up onto his horse in fulfillment of a promise to make her feel like she’s flying. Before they take off he looks into her eyes & asks,
“Do you trust me?”
She stares back at him & smiles, “Yes.” she says as she wraps her arms around his neck. Smiling, her father cracks the reigns & they go galloping off into the sun together.
It was a beautiful scene.
Instantly, I saw it as an illustration of what God is doing for me this month. I know He loves me. I just wish I could feel it in my heart the way I so strongly feel His love for others.
I believe this is why He wanted to get my attention. I’ve been getting wrapped up in the fear of going home & what that looks like- the people I’ll see, the masks I’ll want to put on, the old life that doesn’t fit me anymore. I’m scared to go home because I don’t know what will happen. Will I hold true to the changes I’ve made on the Race or will I go back to my old self-destructive ways?
None of that is my concern right now. I still have over a month left of World Race to live through. Just like that scene in the movie, I think God is asking me for the millionth time on this journey, “Vashti, do you trust me?”
It’s not a simple, “do you trust me to get your dinner order right?” It’s a, “do you trust that I love you,” & a, “do you trust me to take care of you for the rest of eternity” kind of “do you trust me.”
That means that I will have to trust him to take care of me when I go home. And even scarier after I’ve been home for a while. I don’t know what it looks like to fully trust God. I don’t know what it looks like to accept His love. I feel like I don’t know much of anything.
All I do know is that like Ginty, I’m saying yes. I’m taking God’s hand again & again. I’m climbing up onto His lap & letting Him lead me again and again. For as long as it takes, I will keep riding the horse with Him.
I will keep saying yes every time that God asks me to. I just wish sometimes that it was easier.
Please pray for me as I try to figure this out. Pray that God will comfort me when I’m feeling lonely & no amount of friendship or family love can help it go away. Pray that the deep hurt that I’ve been living with will finally be healed & that I will be able to accept God’s beautiful gift of love. Thank you everyone!
Also pray for me & my team as we do our very best to make the most of this month & to be open & receptive to everything God has to say to & teach us over the next couple weeks. Thank you!
Until Next Time,
~ Vashti W.
