A Guest Post By Rachelle Rea…
Once there was a girl who told God yes.
Yes. Three letters that form one tiny word etched in ink on a rock I kept from the walk where I first whispered it. Yet yes can be a big word when breathed with the heart-voice and meant with the soul. Like a stained-glass window, that word, when spoken to an infinite God, can let in light and glory and open-mouth awe.
Once this same girl dreamed of the word go.
Go. Two letters that form an even tinier word, etched in a dream on a heart. I was inspired by Amy Carmichael, whose go meant giving up everything in India, and by Livingstone, whose go entailed following God into the depths of dark Africa. I read their stories and wondered if God would call me to go someday. Then I no longer wondered if, but when.
The dream has morphed and molded in the few short years I’ve held it close like a fresh, new pearl. Fear has caused it to shrink and shrivel. Love-light has allowed it to grow and stretch. Possibilities have put it to the test.
Not six months ago, I walked into my Sunday-school classroom before any of my kindergarten kiddos had arrived and saw the announcement. A team from my church would be going on a mission trip to Costa Rica this summer.
And I knew. My yes meant this. My go meant now.
Questions swirled within my mind until at last the only question that mattered rose to the surface. My child, will you?
Once again, this girl told God yes. And, I’m scared. And, Oh, but, what about–? And, What if there are tarantulas in the shower, Lord?
“For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.” Isaiah 55:9 (NIV)
So the last week of June I clasped a ticket in trembling hands. I boarded a plane that took me to a village on the side of a volcano, a village named Tierra Blanca. We rose at five every morning when monkeys jumped on our roof. We restored electricity to the little church, distributed clothing to the people, and spoke stumbling Spanglish with the children as we played. Most importantly, we showed, shared, and saw the love of Jesus. (And zero tarantulas.)
At two a.m. on Independence Day, we landed. Home. At baggage claim I looked at all the people gathered ’round—the team that would never be quite the same again… and I felt a little like mourning. Because I would miss them. Because I would miss the dream coming true for the first time in Costa Rica.
But then, I realized that the dream coming true doesn’t mean that the dream ends.
Rapunzel asked, “I’ve been looking out of the window for eighteen years, dreaming about what I might feel like when those lights rise in the sky. What if it’s not everything I dreamed it would be?”
Flynn answered, “It will be.”
“And what if it is? What do I do then?”
“Well, that’s the good part, I guess. You get to go find a new dream.”
My dream coming true this summer when I went on my first mission trip doesn’t mean this daring journey is over. It means I get to dream my dream in a new way. Because saying yes isn’t a one-time thing.
Once there was a girl whose dream came true. Now that girl smiles at the rock with y-e-s scribbled on it and dreams of saying yes again.