Earlier this year, I could feel myself running out of air. I no longer had the energy or passion for doing something that makes me feel blissfully alive–serving. The problem, I realized after thoroughly questioning my apathetic torpor towards service, was isolation. I lacked and desperately missed having a spiritual community.
"WHO IS LEADING YOU? AND WHO ARE YOU LEADING?" I can't remember where I heard these questions or who asked them, but they've stayed with me for years. And for years, I had good answers. However, this past August, when I found myself thinking about them again, I realized that for the first time in ten years, my answer was "no one and no one."
Having this on my mind, knowing how much I needed connection and community (even the ephemeral kind), I booked a ticket to a Christian conference organized by a small church in New York City. This conference, named She Is Free, would enable me to connect with other Christians passionately serving in their communities.
I was excited! Pretty soon, I'd be having candid conversations about faith with the small group of women I'd been getting to know over the last year. I looked forward to worshiping God alongside them. And ultimately, I hoped that this time of fellowship would help me feel a little more like myself–inspired and invigorated.
Now, hear this, I wasn't trying to put a bandaid on a gaping wound. If there was a deeper problem stemming from not spending time with God, being surrounded by other believers wouldn't make much of a difference. The attempt would be futile, and the elation would be short-lived.
A CHANGE OF PLANS
She is Free was canceled a few weeks before I was due to fly to New York. The COVID-19 Delta variant was wreaking havoc across the US, causing the government to change the mandates for large gatherings. Granted, this was quite understandable, but naturally, and yet again, I was disappointed.
My travel date was approaching, and still, I was debating whether I should go on the trip. I felt guilty for even having an option. A pointless vacation, I thought. Therefore, unable to come up with a good enough reason to leave the place where I felt stuck and suffocated, I sent off the email canceling my plane tickets. I waited to hear back from the airline, but I never did. And that was my answer.
THE FRUIT OF FELLOWSHIP
My plan to surround myself with passionate people of faith went awry, but God's did not.
Last month, I traveled to Georgia to visit my friend Liberty. Funny enough, I've seen Lib more now that we live in different countries than when we both lived in England. This one thing hasn't changed, though: we're both still as passionate to serve others as we were all those years ago. I just needed to be reminded of why I loved serving; and that I was.
During that trip, I realized just how deprived of faith-filled friends I was in Nicaragua. Furthermore, I understood that being surrounded by people who boldly live out their faith is more than encouraging. It is necessary.
Hebrews 10:24-25 says: "Discover creative ways to encourage others and to motivate them toward acts of compassion, doing beautiful works as expressions of love. This is not the time to pull away and neglect meeting together, as some have formed the habit of doing. In fact, we should come together even more frequently, eager to encourage and urge each other onward as we anticipate that day dawning."
This exhortation is clear. And it is powerful. For three years, I encouraged no one in their faith, and no one encouraged me in mine. Admittedly, in those three years, I rarely even talked about my faith. I attended church and listened to preachers and leaders. I attended a small group with people I learned to respect. But that was not community. It was attendance. And while there is beauty and honor in showing up, it was not enough.
In Nicaragua, there seems to be an adherence to religious beliefs and practices that I can't get behind. Religion and relationship aren't synonymous. So, I wanted the more I know exists–the more that fills me up and motivates me to pursue God and to serve others. Unwittingly, Georgia gave that to me; it gave me more.
THE LAKE HOUSE
Spending time with Lib and her family was refreshing. Their love for the Lord is so evident. For an entire week, I got to talk about God and His goodness with people who got it. It was as simple as, "thank you, Jesus, for this queso dip," or as deep as, "I could not have done [...] without Him." I knew that this time at the Lake House was a gift. Additionally, I knew that God was answering my prayers and filling me up.
See, both Lib and her mom, Sasha, work with survivors of commercial sexual exploitation. Lib has the case-working/problem-solving flair, and Sasha is the skilled therapist bursting with love and dedication. This is one of the reasons why this week was so significant. God, knowing that I'd forgotten what it felt like to talk about calling and purpose, placed me among women so evidently passionate about theirs.
Lib's and Sasha's passion reignited mine. Their stories reminded me of what I've been missing, what I was made to do. We talked about all of the things I LOVE discussing (and by discussing, I really mean listening attentively)—God, church, anti-trafficking, grace, mercy, projects, family, and –wait for it– trauma. I was wrecked, to say the least. Undone by God's perfect timing.
I know for a fact that I was not entirely myself that week. I couldn't have been. I was processing, dreaming, yearning. It was as though I'd realized that I was starving only because I could now see a feast before me. Suddenly, I was utterly aware of my scrawny frame. But I didn't hide. I sat at the table, and I was blessed. Iron had sharpened iron.
I return to Nicaragua with fire in my belly again. Love filled me up and inspired me. Fellowship picked me up encouraged me to keep dreaming. Once more, I can taste the fruit of Hebrews 10:24. And it is sweet.
