Endurance to Run the Race

It seems that every time I run in a race I gain some kind of perspective. Somehow right in the middle of it, it always ends up being harder than I thought it would be. Particularly if you are running in African heat and humidity, high elevation, and dust. Somehow this prairie girl who comes from the flatlands of Manitoba and would rather run in -30 C than +30 C is learning to adapt, albeit slowly. My heaving lungs gasp for air as I make my way up yet another steep hill, and yet when I make it to the top, tired and red faced, somehow I know it will all be ok.

So today, the runners came out of the starting gate like some kind of bullets. I felt a little silly being at the back of the pack. But I paced myself and ran at a speed I knew I could maintain. About halfway through I started passing people who had slowed to a walk because they had failed to pace themselves. You see there is something about endurance. About knowing when going a bit slower is a little bit ok. And knowing that victory is not always found only in crossing the finish line first. As I neared the last quarter of the race I came up behind a young girl who I could see was tiring. She looked at me with some kind of desperation in her face and said "Can we run together?" And so we did. Ran side by side for that last kilometre, willing each other to just keep on running. At the end of the race I asked her name, and she told me it was Mercy. And I was reminded in that moment, that even though I now live oceans away from the place I once called home, I am kind of doing the very same thing. Getting up every day, going to work, trying to be part of some kind of community around me and loving the people in my path as I do so. I may be on the mission field in a more formalized sense, but in some ways it's not really any different. And in some ways it's not at all the same. There is more material poverty on the streets in which I walk, but here, just as at home, I have the privilege of learning how to love just a little bit better. I hope that I can take each opportunity with an outstretched hand and learn from each experience. Because so far everyone I have met has something to teach me if I'm willing to listen.

The Privilege of the In Between

Somehow I feel as though I have been handed some kind of great and miraculous privilege.  That is, the privilege of living in between. In between cultures and in between worlds. And my deepest and greatest fear is that I will do a bad job of it. That I will somehow close myself off from the beautiful culture around me in the difficulty of transition and as the race becomes a marathon and my heart and my mind grow weary. My greatest fear is that I will somehow not be enough. That someday in the far off future I will land back in Canada callous and unchanged rather than someone who has had their heart shifted and poured out.

I have been reading through the pages of a book on brokenness and I am coming to realize that perhaps in all my weakness and not enoughness, I simply need to offer myself. To strip away pretense, to be willing to do hard things, and to offer myself as imperfect as I am. To have the courage to walk this road even if it means I might get hurt. The words I read are this: "Because when we who are broken give to the broken- this is giving ourselves to Him, the Wounded Healer, the Broken and Given Lover. And He gives us His open and given heart, gives us His very life, gives us union . . . communion" (The Broken Way, 50). I'm reminded that the greatest way that I can be a servant of all is to offer myself, and in an unfamiliar land that is no easy task. Perhaps as I learn to live life in a place very different from my home, I can start small. I can love those around me in small but significant ways. "Love must give to the beautiful people in the backstreets of wherever our feet land, beautiful people living near us and sitting across from us and streaming by us, and no matter what anyone's saying, everyone's just asking if they can be loved. Love gives and every smile says, Yes, you are loved. Love gives, and huge acts to try to make someone happy don't make anyone as hugely happy as simply doing small acts to make someone feel loved. It's strange how that is: everybody wants to change the world, but nobody wants to do the small thing that makes just one person feel loved" (The Broken Way, 74).

One of the greatest blessings of being here long term has been the deepening of friendships I have made on my previous visits here. Somehow these relationships can travel into territory previously not possible when my return ticket was always looming. I have made friends with beautiful people from whom I have learned so much, people from another culture who have let me into their broken places. Places so fraught with pain and hurt that I'm not even quite sure what to do with it. And yet somehow some of these people look back and say that "God is good because He has brought me through some deep valleys, He is my Ebeneezer." I remember back to my culture training and the placement of Ebeneezer stones. A stone of remembrance to mark something God has done. And I see how the great Redeemer has breathed new life into this dear friend of mine.

And so as I begin the journey of meeting new friends and figuring out what it means to love across cultures, maybe God can use this heart of mine to love a few people just a little bit, or a lot more than a little bit. Maybe I'll come home with pieces that are more broken then they are now, and yet I somehow think that the Reflection of God will be seen in all that breaks. "The greatest truths always are the greatest paradox. And what could be a greater paradox than this? Out of feeling lavishly loved by God, one can break and give away that lavish love- and know the complete fullness of love. The miracle happens in the breaking." (The Broken Way, 32).