Thoughts From the Quarantine

The Race has been wonderful and hard and stretching and fruitful. When we left in August, nobody could have expected it would end this way: leaving one hurting place for another. Yet, I don’t think I spent a single minute of any of my 227 days wondering why I did this work or whether it was worth it. 

to mourn what never was

A fair warning: it’s easy and entirely more comfortable to skip grief. There is always something else to distract us from our thoughts and for most of us right now, it’s deferred hopes. If I ever don’t want to think about the ~less than desirable stuff~, I just scroll through faces of people who seem happier than me. This never gives me peace, but it keeps me occupied.

The loss of what didn’t come to pass left a hole in my heart that is as tender and palpable as a bruise. The dreams of what could have been now hang over this season like a veil. It’s okay and right and normal to mourn; to feel this deep, wrenching sadness.

My prayer is that what we’ve lost (you and I, though they’re different), will fade a little bit into the beauty of this new season. I pray that for a few moments at least, what is right and good and worthy will outshine all the darkness, within us and around us.

And just as grief mellows over time, the brokenness turns into intercession for these places whose borders are now boarded up and the churches who fought tirelessly to pry their doors open that are now swiftly closing. It all makes my head hurt, but the brokenness of things and the falling apart of plans allows all sorts of things to enter through the cracks. The most prominent of these being the presence of God.

My heart has been wholly battered and yet, God’s presence and voice seeps into every turn. In the heartache, He is here. In the mourning of what could have been, He is here. In the last three months of my ‘World Race’, He is here, still guiding every step.

repositioning an army

Bad news has a way of waking us up like cold water to the face; we can’t argue with the efficiency of it. And this particular bad news woke me up to the fact that we are a broken world, desperate for love and community and peace and JESUS.

As 550+ World Race missionaries return stateside, we refuse to let our fires be dimmed. We have returned in a time of brokenness as the reinforcements for revival. The church doors may close, but our hearts won’t close. Our Race towards love and light and GOODNESS won’t end because we are the church. We can’t be evicted from the place we are standing.

The church is really a working, living, breathing, on-the-ground, in-the-mess force for good in our countries and cities and towns. Because as life continues to unfold in this rich and broken and beautiful and heartbreaking world, we are still here. We are the front lines. We are the houses of safety and compassion and we are the prayer warriors fighting for our brothers and sisters, whether they’re in our family or not (yet).

After all, a scared world needs a fearless church (thanks, AW Tozer). So, we reposition the army. We may be coming back to America, but we are still focused on staying on the mission of being Christ to a hurting and fearful world.

from sammamish, wa

We’ve had a thousand travel days (approximately) and this one mattered most: the time I would unpack and not re-pack (at least for a while). Life still feels a little funky, for all of us. This season isn’t really what we expected, so of course, we’re a little shaken up (not stirred).

I’m watching as history collapses on itself once again; communities plagued by fear, searching to save themselves in denial of the Big Picture. But every once in a while, the fear makes the whole world sit up straight and pay attention to what we really need: the Prince of Peace, the Great Physician, the Redeemer, Comforter and Provider (just a few of His Names). 

But this is uncharted territory, a place nobody anticipated nor knows yet how to maneuver. I want to scream this can’t possibly be true because it’s the nightmare I never said out loud: to leave the mission field early. 

And yet, when I drift, when my own world feels a little dark and fragmented and I become a little more self-focused, I bring my wound-up self to the altar. There, on my knees, I realize I am here for such a time as this (Esther 4:14). I realize we are the church, we are repositioning the army, we are coming in the name of Love.

We can sing to each other in Italy, send supplies to one another from China, and someday we will hold hands without checking whose hand we are holding and just march forward together (thanks, Glennon Doyle). I can’t freaking wait for that day.

Join me in prayer: Lord, when things feel out of control, thank you that YOU are in control. May we live truly present, whatever that may be, instead of waiting for things to be right again. Lord, bring new life to our worn-out hearts, hope to our despair, peace to our chaos.