I am in a small group of college students, each sharing prayer requests. I ask how I can pray for them. They communicate with what little, broken English they know, but I can see the strain on their faces, in their eyes, of how much more there is to say. And all I want to do is understand, to know their pain. I want to share in their story so badly, it almost brings tears to my eyes.
I am in room 6 of the hotel where our squad is meeting for debrief. We are twelve, my team and our squad leaders/coaches, sitting in a circle, recounting our time here, sharing the victories and struggles we experienced over the last month. For the first time in its raw fullness, I share where I’m at: I don’t click as well here as I did with Mosaic. I don’t feel like I have a special “role.” I feel behind relationally, spiritually, emotionally. I’m just exhausted from trying so hard to feel everything and everyone out, to know and be known.
The words spoken back to me by my squad coaches were rich with passion, grace, truth.
You are loved by the Father. You are so tired from trying to make things work with those around you because you’re not focusing on your relationship with the One above you. Stop striving. Rest. He says you are beautiful. You are His daughter. He is proud of you. Your performance doesn’t matter. It won’t make Him love you more. You are His beloved. Walk in confidence of His love for you. You are no longer Martha. You are Mary. "In that day," declares the LORD, "you will call me 'my husband'; you will no longer call me 'my master.'” The Lord looks at you and says, “There’s my beauty, across the room.” May He no longer have to say that, for you will be right by His side. All those things you believe for everyone else: believe for yourself. There is grace. There is love. For you. Accept His love. The Lord loves you as you are.
And as the tears flowed all around the room, I looked at two of my teammates in disbelief and wonder. I laughed as I pointed at them and said, “Yeah, what’s going on here? Why are you two crying?” Suzanne answered,
“When I hear these things said to you, and I know where you’ve been for the past four months, it breaks my heart. I want this for you so badly. This is what I’ve been trying to tell you all along, but there is nothing anyone can do to make you believe it. I want you to experience this. I want this for you so much.”
At that moment, my life was changed. I knew that all those things could be true for me, too. At that moment, I have never felt more loved.
As I soak it all in, this crazy experience called The World Race, I become more infinitely aware of where I am, what I am actually doing.
And it blows my mind.
I’m in Moldova.
I am very likely the last American that woman, Feodora, will ever meet.
I get to hear the stories of individual lives that no one back home will ever get to hear.
I live in a community of people who understand freedom. Who live out love. Who are radically, beautifully, wonderfully transformed by the Father.
A year ago, I never would have seen myself in this place.
I never would have dreamed of being alive, breathing, vibrant, broken, in the middle of somewhere, Eastern Europe.
I never would have imagined I’d be trekking the world with five other women who are on a journey similar to mine.
I never would have thought I could both know and be known so well. Known… and loved. By my Father. By His children.
But I am so thankful I am.
What an indescribable gift.
Yes to this.
"I love you."
(At deaf orphanage in Cahul, Moldova)
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