The Addiction

I cross a border today. One I crossed once before a few months ago. There is a misguided allure and an intrigue about living this kind of life. Filling up a passport with stamps from new countries is always a rush. The feeling of hearing about the next country you’ll be visiting or the layovers in far off places is always a kind of high, especially if you’ve never been there before. There is something unmistakable about returning home only to receive you’re next shipping out date. This addiction is a hard one to break.

Two weeks ago today, I stood in front of 140 Secondary students in Northern Ireland and spoke truth into their lives. The room was absolutely silent as I explained that they must take into account that their lives and choices matter. Their eyes fixated as I told them it is no mistake they are here, that they were created with purpose and intention. As the presentation ended we opened the time for questions and answers. In reality, the presentation was over and we were ready to pack up, the teacher however, didn’t want to let the students out into the hallways. The students somewhat hesitant at first, soon began voicing their wonderings. A hand in the back shot up. He was one of the older students, shaved head, his uniform in order. I thought he’d ask a simple question about what we thought of Northern Ireland. Instead “What’s your story?” He asked.

During the last six years there are certain moments that feed the addiction to what I do. There are presentations or testimonies or encounters that fuel the need to continue. A chance meeting on a bus with a young man looking for God. A teacher approaches you after a presentation and through her tears she hugs you and thanks you for sharing your story and promises to use the Book of Hope to teach her students. Laughter from a room full of primary school students wanting to be loved, laughter in an all boys secondary school, the students wanting to be believed in. Moments that will freeze in your mind and in your memories and continue to create the desire to commit another six years. The addiction.

I shared my story that afternoon in Northern Ireland. The room sat still as I explained life circumstances, a single-parent home, choosing to wait until I’m married, growing up in church and having to make my own choice about my parents religion. When I finished, something happened that I’ve rarely seen. The students clapped. Not because someone on our team started it and the students joined in. Not because of an awkward silence and certainly not because of my incredible abilities. Simply because God was there. That is the addiction.

I left the school that day on a different level. God had fueled a passion and a desire that is unlike any other feeling in the entire world. Given that I haven’t tried everything else I still wouldn’t trade the absolute rush of knowing this is it. This is worth all the missed flights, asking people for money, lost luggage, haggling with taxi drivers, no home, no car, living from a suitcase. There is nothing glamorous about this. But I’d do it all again for those moments when God is there. He is the addiction.

Here at a small farm in South Africa I’ll leave today to lead five young people into a nation I’ve never been to before. I’ll do my best to lead and protect and disciple them during this next month of their lives. We’ve spent the last six days living and eating and practicing dramas together. We’ll depend upon each other and lean on each other and trust each other. We’ll feed the addiction together as we see God move in ways we could never dream or imagine. We drive today into Botswana from South Africa. Tomorrow we continue with a ten hour drive into Namibia where we’ll spend the time in schools presenting children with the Truth about who they are.

God is the addiction. And it’s worth it.