We're getting close to the end and I am getting tired. Well, I've been tired. When we hit the halfway point this past Saturday, I began to melt down; I could feel it. As our route has gradually turned closer to home, so have my thoughts. I know that, from the outside, what we've been doing probably hasn't seemed that difficult or draining. Who takes a missions trip within the United States? But I can tell you, it's taken just about every ounce of energy and strength I possess, and some I didn't even know I had. The constant pouring out into others, strangers or otherwise, new cities every day, different beds every night, has taken a toll on me. I'm not saying any of this to complain. I'm more than grateful to be here. But I don't think even I realized how hard it would be.
On Tuesday we made it to Missouri, in a little town just a few miles outside of Joplin, to meet up with one of Carol's longtime friends and a group of women she had gathered. Alita is an amazing woman. She welcomed us into her home, buying new towels, new sheets, new shower curtain liners, going out of her way to make sure everything was just right. And had been prepping for us for two months. When the location she had wanted us to meet at fell through, she went and rented a retail space in a shopping center. She made us feel more spoiled than any hotel we'd stayed at, because for her, it was a sacrifice and a gift. An offering of love.
Granted, it wasn't all perfection. Alita had called Carol the day before to tell her that she'd been stung by a scorpion. A scorpion. By the time we got there the next day, she and her husband had spotted two more. I won't lie. I was terrified to leave the car when we pulled up into her driveway, especially when as soon as we set foot on the ground, Alita's husband, Dick, took one look at our sandals and said, "You don't want to come out here after dark in those things. We've been a-killin scorpions out here." Needless to say, I kept my feet as well off the ground as I possibly could during my stay in Cartersville, Missouri. {Rabbit Trail: when we got back from our meeting later, in the dark of night, I literally broke out in a sweat thinking of those scorpions. Are they nocturnal? I don't know. What are they, anyway? Insects? Spiders? Lobsters that escaped the sea? Carol had ridden back with Alita and hence got to park in the garage. There were Lesa, Missy, and I, sitting in the car, trying to gather everything before we exited the car, backpacks, pillows, pizzas- see next paragraph- formulating a plan to best the scorpions. We hopped out of the car as fast as we could and began hiking up our feet in place, stamping and squealing, keeping an eye out for poisonous spider/insect/out of sea lobster creatures. I felt like Vicki in The Parent Trap, clacking her sticks to keep the vicious night creatures away. And we stamped/marched/skipped all the way up the driveway, turning in half circles, keeping our eyes on the ground, climbing the steps, still stamping, and found the front door locked. So we had to knock and wait, hiking and hopping in place, for Dick to open the door, and stare at us like the crazies that I'm sure we are. But I'm pretty sure it worked. Because no scorpions got us.}
Tuesday night we met with Alita's women in an emptied out retail space next to a Papa John's pizza. Alita ordered 8 pizzas. For 9 women.
When we set out on this trip, we thought we would be ministering to people. But it really has turned out the opposite in so many cases. Tuesday night was one of them. We met five incredible women, each with a different story, each with different facets of women I would like to be.
A nearly 70 year old night security guard, who has spent her life living all over the Midwest, an adventuresome soul who used to drive a truck full of explosives across the mountains. Whose next goal is to get her motorcycle license and drive up to Wisconsin to see her kids just to show them she can. Who also makes candy, and knits, and sews, and crochets... When she has time.
A woman who told us over and over that God has always led her. Through 47 years of marriage. Through fostering more than a dozen children. Through a heart attack, through her husband's recent illness.
A teacher who so yearned for the real truth of God's word that she hunted up a church that would teach it to her, outside of her comfort zone. Whose sons are the light of her eyes, and never gave her a moment's trouble.
A walking miracle, who has survived cancer once, is currently fighting it right now, and should have died in a car accident over 30 years ago. Who hears the voice of God deep in her soul, and dances with Him, toting an oxygen tank with her.
And Alita, whose hospitality is a gift straight from God, and most assuredly a gift straight to us. Also a cancer survivor and fighter.
I listened to all of their stories, my smallness growing on me with each one. Who am I? I'm just a baby. I've barely lived.
When it came my turn to speak to them, a wave of gratitude welled up in me. For these women who are paving the way for women like me to come behind them.
"There are days when I think I won't make it. But then I see women like you... Your adventures, your faith, your survival, your hospitality, your tender care of your husbands, the way you've raised your children in Christ, your hunger and determination to seek out the word of God, your miracles.... You've made it. You've made it. You're making it. You're running your race, and you're winning. You're winning it. And for women like me, who are miles behind you in the race, you're an inspiration. If you're winning, I can win. I can do it. So thank you. Thank you." I looked at each woman, thanking her in turn, my throat swelling tight with awe and love. This, then, is the great cloud of witnesses referred to in Hebrews. How can I not run the race set before me? How can I grow weary in doing good? With these mighty women of faith cheering me on, women who have wrestled against the odds and won, women who have blazed new trails and didn't burn in the blazing of them.
Wednesday afternoon we met with Jennifer, a contact of Lesa's, in Fayetteville, Arkansas. Another woman defying stereotypes and the world set against her. A woman dreaming big dreams and bigger dreams. We got to encourage her on her race, just as we have been encouraged on ours: Don't grow weary doing good. Don't grow faint. Run the race. Fight the good fight. You can do it, you can. We all can.
And so here I am, tired. Yes, I am. Even this morning, I thought to myself, "I'm weary of doing good." But I'll keep running, running like those Missouri scorpions are chasing me. I'll run ahead for the joy set before me. The joy set before all of us. I'll run for the women who have run the path in front of me, clearing the thorns away and smoothing the ruts. I'll run for the women and girls behind me, whose cloud of witnesses I'll be a part of. Oh, I'll cheer them on, I'll cup my hands and scream their names, "You can do it! You're making it, darling! You can win, you can win, you can win!"
Oh, we can win. Don't give up. Don't stop running. We can win.
-M
{{Days 12 & 13 Photo Dump}}
Sunset in the Ozark Mountains
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