I've tried to write a “post-race” blogs a few times since my feet hit American soil 18 days ago. As you can see from my blog history it's been unsuccessful thus-far.  It's a little daunting (okay… a LOT daunting) to try and sum up the most amazing, difficult, growing, crazy, spirit building, habit breaking 11 months of your life into the format of a blog… so I decided not to!

Instead I'm just going to give you some tidbits on what has been happening and what the future looks like, little steps at a time!

Since I got home I've been spending time with family and friends that I've missed over the past year, as well as spending some much needed alone time to process this ridiculous thing I call my life.

In relation to the last little bit of information- I'm studying Swahili! (The national language of Kenya, which is also spoken in other East African countries like Tanzania and Uganda.) I bought the Rosetta Stone program for Swahili and have worked it into my daily routine. Sweet.

I put on 10 pounds on the race. That's what 6 months of rice will do for you folks. In retaliation I've sworn off eating rice F-O-R-E-V-E-R (well… maybe that's a little dramatic… but for a long time) and I've started training for a half marathon! I'll be flying to San Antonio in mid-November to run a half marathon with Marissa, Robin, and some of my other World Race brothers and sisters.

Training Camp Round 3. After a week's vacation with my family in Virginia I'm flying down to Georgia to help with another World Race training camp! It's going to be a GREAT time of seeing new lives being impacted for the Kingdom, reuniting with a ton of J and K Squad members, and soaking up ten days of community, worship, teachings, service, and FUN!   

So those are the basics!

Life is moving on full speed ahead and I'm planning to enjoy the ride.

I'll keep you posted….

… And I believe that He will.

Friday was our last night in the bars.

We wrote notes and baked cookies for the girls we had established relationships with this month.

Wan hadn't been at the bar the night before… so I'd been unable to tell her that this would be our last night.

When I walked down the street her bar is on my stomach turned because I could already tell there were men at the bar. I turned around and told Jodi “They have customers.”

As I walked toward the bar I saw Chana first, and then Wan walked around a man on a barstool, gave me a hug, and told me, with a tinge of shame and anxiety in her eyes, “I'm so sorry. I have a customer.”

He was easily in his mid-sixties. He sat at a table sticking his tongue out “playfully” at one of the other bargirls while I took Wan's attention from him. It took everything I had not to say something to him. Not to ask him if he knew about her son. Or tell him that she hated going home with men like him. That she was worth infinitely more than the pitiful amount of money he'd pay her at the end of the night.

Instead I cried.

After telling her it was our last night and seeing the panic and sadness flash across her face my heart shattered.  I knew it was going to be a sad night, I didn't know it would break my heart.

I tried to hide it. Tried to look away and comment on how hot it was and pretend I was wiping sweat from my face.

But then Wan's eyes caught mine and the next thing I knew we were standing there holding each other and crying. She told me “I know you a short time but I love you.”  At this point I was merely trying to not break into the kind of sobs that send your shoulders shaking and your lungs heaving for air. I told her I loved her too, and that God loves her even more. I told her I did not want her to be there anymore. She asked for my phone number and e-mail address, and made me promise if I ever came back to Thailand that I would visit her. 

What she doesn't know is that I would come back to Thailand just for her. If I thought that it would help her make the decision to leave the industry I would raise the money, buy the plane ticket, and come back to Phuket just to remind her face to face how much God loves her.

And then I had to walk away. I had to leave the bar knowing she would go home with that old man in a few hours but hoping still that she wouldn't.  I had to walk away and put my complete trust in God that He will take care of her long after I leave Phuket.

And as I walked away the tears kept flowing. I went to the patio of a nearby Starbucks and sat down in tears. I watched hundreds of people pass by having no clue what that night and that place had done to me. What it has done to Wan. I wanted to tell them all her name. That she has a name. That she's not a product on a shelf. That she wasn't made for their pleasure but for God's. I wanted to scream it at the top of my lungs. But instead I just cried.

 I'm walking away with a little less of me, but a little more of God. I consider how it still brings me to tears just to think about her, after knowing her a few short weeks, and how much harder it must be for the One who created her.

This place has changed me. Now I no longer see the women as sad or startling statistics. Now I look at them and my heart breaks even deeper than before because I have a more tangible understanding that each one of these women is someone's Wan. They are all someone's daughter, someone's sister, someone's mother, someone's friend.

 In my first blog this month, about Bangla road and a girl who left it behind to move into S.H.E., I closed with the statement “Her future brightens with every morning she wakes up here. Her life is changed forever. And I know that after this month, so is mine.”

That couldn't be more true.

Her name is Wan.

I've tried to write a blog about her a few times before… but I always fell short in my ability to put into words what was happening between us.

I hope I do her justice…

Wan is a prostitute.

But that is not all she is.

She is also a beautiful 32 year old woman, a daughter of the king, a mother of a three year old son, a person who needs love, a soul lost in the lies of Buddhism, and now she is also my friend.

I met her while my teammate Jodi pursued a friendship with another bar girl named Chana.  It turns out that they are cousins, and so whatever Chana does Wan does, and vice versa.

When they showed up to English class last Tuesday I was so happy to see them. Jodi had invited them the night before, and to be honest I was pessimistic that they would stay true to their word. But they did.

(When a girl walks through the doors of S.H.E. it is easier to see them as women just the same as me. They're no longer in their bar clothes, neon lights, and swirls of cigarette smoke. They look like any other Thai woman you'd pass on the street. You'd never know that at night they're being purchased by men.)

That day started our friendship.

And since then it's been growing. We've hung out at the bar and outside of it on our own time.  We've laughed over miscommunications in our English or stupid girl stuff. I've ridden all over the hills of Phuket on the back of her motorbike. I've seen her house and she's seen mine (well… where I sleep this month anyways). 

We've also learned the hard things about each other. I shared my testimony with her. I told her about how I drank and used drugs. I told her about my failed engagement. Then I told her about how Christ changed me.

She told me that she hates her job but she does it to send money home to take care of her son. That she gets 1500- 2000 baht an hour (about 35 USD) to have sex with men.  That she just wants a good man to come along and marry her so that she can leave.  And as she looked around the bar with sad eyes one night she told me she drinks so much because “it makes it all easier”.

I told her that Christ can change her too….

(To be cont.)

Last night our squad had a worship session on the roof of a building here in Bangkok, Thailand.

It was evident that we're all exhausted. I mean… we've been traveling for 10 months. On the World Race that means rarely resting your head in the same place for more than a few weeks at a time, long hours on buses and planes, struggling to communicate with people who don't speak your language, eating and drinking things your body isn't used to, and adjusting to more time zones than I thought existed.

Now we're entering month 11… the 11^th hour.

And it's easy to get focused on home. On new clothes, driving our cars, seeing our families, eating Chipotle, and drinking Dr. Pepper.  It's easy to count down the days. To essentially give up because “it's practically over” and just ride out the time until we can leave. It sounds pretty horrible, but if you've ever done anything long term like this you'll understand.

But last night during worship a really vivid thought went through my head, and I shared it with the squad…

What if Jesus gave up in the 11^th hour?

What if, while dragging his cross, our cross, down those dirt streets he decided to quit. That he was too tired, it was too much, he was exhausted from dealing with the world's pitfalls, and he just wanted to go home. Where would we be?

It may seem like an extreme comparison… but is it really? I mean, we say that our goal as a Christian is to become as Christ-like as a possible. I can't think of an example when he was ever too tired to serve… when he ever chose giving up or relenting over serving us.

For that I am eternally thankful. I am thankful that he chose crucifixion. I am thankful that he didn't climb down off the cross and count on someone else to do the job. I am thankful that he finished the purpose that he set out to accomplish. He saved us. In the 11^th hour he saved us.

And so this month my goal is to mirror myself after Christ more than ever. Even though I am tired, I miss my family, and it might just be easier to coast my way home that is not the memory I want of my final month. I don't know who God will bring across my path this month. I don't know what ministry will look like or what lives can be changed… but I know that God has a purpose for this month. I dedicated eleven months and eleven months is what I plan to give. I know what would happen to me had Christ not stayed on the cross. I don't want to risk one life not being saved, one ear not hearing of Him, one world not being changed.

I guess this is really a message to anyone that's tired. Any racers who have hit those rough patches in the journey. I know squads have just gone through team changes in the past few months and that it can be an extremely hard process. J and K Squads are preparing to go home, and L Squad is not far behind us. I know there are days when it's just easier to coast.

But we've been called to do more than coast. We've been called to give of ourselves until we have nothing left to offer and then dig into Him and give more. We said we wanted to change. That we wanted more than we've ever experienced of Him before. Now, when we're tired and spent, is when I'm confident that we can find it. We can find him. In the faces of prostitutes, or the eyes of our teammates. We can find him.

He stayed on the cross for us. We can stay on this race for Him.

I used to think that my favorite ministry to do was with kids.

I'm pretty sure I was wrong.

Twice on this race I have been able to work with college age students, and I love it.

I think part of it is simply the fact that I have matured in my thinking and my knowledge this year. That prior to the race I loved kids ministry because it was easy to tell a kids version Bible story (instead of actually having a calling to minister to kids) but anything beyond that was also beyond the scope of my spirituality… my relationship with God.

But as this year has progressed I have learned a lot about the power of my testimony, the influence I can have, and the depth of the relationships I can form with other young adults.

I got my first glimpse of it in Albania, where my team worked with Campus Crusade and spent the month with an amazing group of young Christian college students.

 

 

 

 

After our evening class we have time to just talk. We've heard some of their testimonies and we have shared ours with them. We have heard about how they came to know Christ (in a society where over 90% of the population identifies themselves as Buddhist), and how having a relationship with Him has changed their lives.

At the end of the day it makes me excited. I'm excited to go back to the states and start forming relationships with people there. I'm excited to continue pouring into people, sharing my testimony, hearing theirs, and in turn having my life changed too. 

One of the guys asked us yesterday when we leave, and only ten or so days into the month and that question already hurt. It hurt knowing that as much as I love this group of friends in a few weeks I'll have to leave them. But instead of backing down it makes me want to put every bit of heart that I have into them while I can. These are amazing young people and I am blessed to have a month with them.

I was laying across the backseat of our bus from Siem Reap, Cambodia to Phnom Pehn, Cambodia a few days ago, dripping sweat and thinking of home.

The reality is beginning to sink in that I'll be home in less than fifty days, and thinking about it made me wonder what things will be different and what will be the same?

I guess I won't know what will be different about home until I get there. I mean, people are a year older, my dad bought a new car, my mom got a new job, and my grandma is at an assisted living place now because she had a series of strokes a few months back. I know those things will be different. But what about who I am? And where I fit in?

So I started thinking about what really characterized me as a person before the race, and how I've changed since then… and one word came to mind �" fear.

I had a lot of fear coming into this thing. I was afraid of close relationships… I had been burned by female friends growing up and I'd been dumped six weeks before my wedding by a guy who I thought was the love of my life. I was afraid of getting close to people because it opened up the door for a lot of hurt.

I had rejection issues, and it showed in a lot of what I said and did. I used sarcasm to mask how I really felt, because I could deny any intentions in what I said claiming “It was only a joke.” I was also afraid of speaking in front of groups. When I spoke at churches prior to the race my voice would crack and my hands would shake… I was afraid of making a fool out of myself, saying the wrong thing, or just screwing up completely.

At the beginning of the race the one thing I feared most was preaching. “Who am I to preach?” I thought. I didn't believe I had anything profound to say and I feared embarrassment, failure, and falling short. I said I was willing to do anything but preach.

Then came Kenya. One of our ministry assignments was preaching every Sunday. This was the first time our team had really been faced with preaching. Jodi stepped up to preach first, and then to my own surprise I volunteered to preach a Sunday as well. As soon as I said it rocks rested in the bottom of my stomach, but I knew it was time to get over myself and grow up and into this coat God had placed on me at the beginning of the race.

I was confident in the message God had given me, which I titled ‘When God calls you he'll provide'. When I spoke I was nervous and my voice cracked as usual, but at the end I felt accomplished and on fire. Turns out that despite my nervousness I loved it.

The next month we traveled to Uganda, where our entire ministry was preaching and speaking at different Bible studies almost every day of the week. It was Uganda where I went from fearing preaching to LOVING it. I felt bold and spoke with more confidence than I thought I had- I was truly speaking from a place outside of my own strength. Instead I spoke from God's strength. It's there that I learned that God never falls short, he never fails, and he never desires to make me feel stupid or insufficient… so if I am serving and speaking out of him instead of myself then there is nothing for me to fear.

I've also made some amazing relationships with women on the race this year. I was reminded of this yesterday when my sister Ashlee rejoined our squad after having to spend six weeks in the U.S. recuperating from a case of malaria that nearly took her life. I can't imagine my race experience without her… or Monica… or Robin… or Priscilla… or any of the number of women on this race who have spoken into my life and helped me grow. I've learned that fearing close relationships did protect me from one kind of hurt, but that it also opened up a door to a different kind of hurt… namely loneliness and the inability to allow other women of God to speak into my life and challenge me to grow in my relationship with Christ and my outreach to those around me.  Now I feel like I'd be more afraid to live a life without women like them in it then I ever was of being hurt by women.

So although I am by no means over fear completely, it is far less of a struggle for me. And maybe it's not even that I fear less, but more so that I fear differently. Instead of fearing man and the “What if...”'s of life I am learning to fear God. Fear of God tends to be something we don't talk about much in churches… I assume because it just doesn't sound, well… nice. But the Bible puts so much emphasis on fearing God and having reverence for him.

On a daily basis I have to remind myself of this. I have to remind myself that man can do nothing to me that affects my eternity, but that I will, one day, have to answer to God. When that happens I want to be able to say I spoke boldly about his goodness, his love, his plan for our futures.

I am learning that although I am not yet fearless, I am learning to fear less.