"I hope if everybody runs, you choose to stay. And I hope that you don't suffer but take the pain, hope when the moment comes, you'll say,
"I, I did it all.
I owned every second that this world could give,
I saw so many places, the things that I did;
With every broken bone, I swear I lived."
- One Republic, I Lived.
Every morning when I wake up in the little town of Bulakan, Philippines, I'm smacked in the face by a wall of humid air. And every night before I go to sleep (somewhere around 3 am), I strip down in a cement bathroom and pour ladle after ladle of well water over my face and head, trying to wash away the stickiness that leaves me smelling vaguely like a fermenting onion.
The heat is impossible to escape. It's the first thing I notice before I open my swollen eyes in the morning and the last thing I'm aware of before I drop off to sleep at night, my sweat leaving a body outline on my sleeping pad like a murder scene from C.S.I.
It's no secret that Asia is freakin' hot, man. It's also not a secret that by this point on the Race, many people are worn out, run down, and realising just how much they wish they could go home. Losing squad members never actually seemed like a legitimate possibility until, for a variety of personal reasons, two of my seven teammates packed their bags on Friday night, caught a bus, and left the Race to return home to the United States.
I laid on my sleeping pad last night and thought back to the beginning. Back to Training Camp, back to the 3,457 message Groupchat our squad kept in the days leading up to Launch. I thought about all 45 of us seated around white tables in the ballroom of the Atlanta Airport Hotel North on the night of September 5th - kids too clean, restless and excited to appreciate what we were about to leave behind.
Since then, we've lived and worked in eight countries. We've seen people healed of sickness and saved kids from drowning. Grandparents and friends have passed away, and funerals have been missed. God has placed clear callings on the lives of those who sit and wait to hear His voice. Our squad keeper of the Groupchat has since gone home, along with four others. A few of us have fallen in love.
Time has passed.
Now, more than ever, I'm noticing that the way I choose to view my circumstances, surroundings, and ministry has the ability to make or break my Race.
This includes the people I surround myself, the conversations I engage in, and with the words I let leave my mouth.
So, let's back up a little to that first paragraph.
Yah, it's like the ninth-circle-of-hell-hot here. Sweat runs thicker than blood. But this is also my favourite country of the Race so far. Our host, a Connecticut native named Dave, has thirteen children, and gave up his wealthy lifestyle of free enterprise when he opted to take his kids on a trip to Guatemala instead of buying a new Mercedes-Benz. While working in a city landfill ministering to families living on top of trash, his ignorance of poverty imploded. 11 years later, he's living in the Philippines with his wife, traveling the world to facilitate mission trips, in between publishing books to help young missionaries tell their stories. (Did I mention that we're currently working on publishing a book?!)
This tiny town is never short on excitement and laughter. There's a 7/11 a few miles down the road, and jumping onto a motorbike sidecar to get there is almost more fun than walking out onto the busy market street with a mango Slurpee in one hand and a bag of hot Cheetos in the other.
Striding into the courtyard of the town high-school and being greeted by hundreds of teenagers cheering and hanging out the second-story windows just to get a photo of you makes you feel like Harry Styles probably feels any time he raises an eyebrow or coughs in public.
Yesterday as I was taking a nap on the floor of our church building, I woke up to the sounds of nervous chatter. "Is my sister here? Where is Sister Kayla?" Before I knew it, I was surrounded by ten girls from said high school class, their long black hair falling into their shy eyes and they scuffled for the spot closest to me. "We took a taxi to come visit you," they confessed, looking at me nervously for my reaction. "We missed you today!"
If there was any doubt in my mind as to the value of my presence here, it evaporated with those words.
When I came on the World Race, I did it because I heard God call me to it. He had a plan for me, and this was a big part of it. I was like an athlete on the sidelines of the game field, jumping up and down, trying to get the coach's attention. If only he'd put me in. Just put me in! This is all I want. I'm ready to play.
I'm on the field at last, and the team I'm going up against is bigger than any rival I've ever faced. Suddenly, it's very easy to second-guess my ability and even my decision to come off the sidelines.
The following statement might not be a popular opinion - but I don't believe God calls people into things He isn't willing to help them complete. He doesn't call people onto the Race to change His mind later on. So if this is you right now, dear Racer, here's what I want to say.
I don't believe He means for the Race to be a seven-month thing, a two-month thing, whatever. It's an 11-month thing, just like it once was to you, when you climbed on your first airplane with your pack on your back and the world at your feet.
He isn't caught off guard by the heat, or by homesickness. He knew you'd find that guy or girl, he knew your mom would get sick and he knew your best friend would have to move up her wedding. But His timing is perfect. Just like Esther standing in the outer courts of the king's throne room, you were made for such a time as this.
And, guess what? If you do go ahead and choose to opt out early, he isn't surprised by that, either. There's grace and growth stateside, because the God of the nations is also God of the United States (even when it's hard to believe). But he has you here for a reason. My mom used to say that I could choose to grow through a crappy situation, or I could quit. The choice was mine, but I'd keep receiving the same test in different forms until I decided to buckle down and pass the damn thing.
No, I haven't experienced homesickness yet, and option of going home hasn't even crossed my mind. But I've got skin in the game, too, and if you've followed my Race you know exactly what those struggles look like.
Right now, I'm hurting a lot. A lot. But that's okay.
I'm learning that sometimes, the bravest thing someone can do is remain. Just, stick around. Don't run. The fight isn't always in the action, but in the lack thereof.
My Race is changing, but just for today, I wanna stand still with open hands, even in the moment of extreme loneliness and confusion. This part right here, where I can stand on positivity, anticipation, and fearlessness, is up to me. It's my move.
And I'm choosing to remain.