The past 5 days I’ve been sick, reliant on other people to bring me water, thermometers, and antibiotics. As bad as I want to be a nurse, I make a HORRIBLE patient.
While theres a million jokes I keep telling myself about being one parasite away from your goal weight, or “african crash diets”, I’m still not laughing. My purpose is clouded, fighting back doubts, whisperings of satan, combatted with scripture.
But there’s this knowing, this unveiling that is received in the midst of trial and frustration that softens my heart. My gaze fixed solely on my heavenly Father and a deepening of understanding.
“Pray also for me that I would FEARLESSLY make know the mystery of the gospel.” Eph. 6:19
I began my first flight out of Nashville, TN with that prayer, and 3 weeks in, I’m learning what it means to be fearless. My view of fearless has changed over each year. In younger years, perhaps it meant to be bold, to not be afraid of heights, airplanes, bad grades, or the dark. In high school it was a young, naive, spontaneous view of sorts. The past two years it has been a “live for the moment”, foolish, innocent, live-as-though-we-die-tomorrow kind of life.
And yes may we all live as though we die tomorrow, and make known this mystery of the gospel while we are doing it. So often it is referred to as a mystery because how could this grace thing be clarified? And how does a sinless Savior sacrifice Himself for me? And why does he relentlessly pursue my failures on a daily basis?
To fearlessly do this means letting go of staying within your comfort zone, only you can determine the span of your comfort zone. It might be way beyond your comfort zone to go to your urban city area, or maybe to a different country. To fearlessly let go of your concerns for yourself. To fearlessly seek Him in every step. To fearlessly trust Him with every detail and every move. It is fearful to fix your eyes on anything but Jesus. And I’m the first one who needs to hear that.
This third week included a lot of frustration, mostly because it was spent sprawled out on my bed staring at the ceiling. Lots of prayers were said, and there was just a lot of silence. At times I thought I can’t do life here and considered hoping on the next plane home, but I couldn’t even endure the flights if I had to. And still I love it here. Using a butcher knife to cut up chocolate for homemade chocolate chip cookies (Paula Dean’s got nothin’ on me), cuddling with a bunny, the rainstorms, the thunderstorms, the lightening storms. Learning to do an IV. Making spaghetti for 30 people. The little miracles that happen around every corner. A trip into Masese with a good friend for assurance. Not wearing shoes. Sweet friends who bring anything and everything, without even asking (would not have made it through the week without ya’ll!), Church under palm trees, long walks pushing a stroller around a million potholes, waking up to little Martha giggling uncontrollably with oversized sunglasses on, a security guard on his A game, waking up to said security guard sweeping the compound every morning….at 6am, mastering French Press Coffee. Peace. Jesus’ unmistakable Peace.
The more I think about what I expect in my time here, the less I expect. What I viewed and pictured and hoped, is His. When people ask me if I plan to move back here, I have 3 years of school left, but all of that I’m holding loosely to. It’s hard for God to use your time if you don’t make it His, declare it for His glory.
Fearless. The willingness to let go of our own plans for ourselves in order to receive with open hands the plans God has for us.
” I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead.” Phil. 3:10-11