arrival.

After three flights and nearly 24 hours of travel, our final plane made its descent on Tuesday toward the North African city where our friends live. My bleary eyes were glued to the window as I took in the wave of desert which washed right up to the sprawling capital city.

Desert is everywhere here. It’s not like Arizona or Utah, scrubby and rocky, studded with cacti. The African desert is miles upon miles of rippling, empty, blinding sand. Plumes of dust spiral as you walk, curl around your toes. I started sneezing the moment we stepped off the plane into the airport and remembered, Ah yes, I know this feeling.

Why did a person who’s this allergic to dust decide to head to the desert for 10 days?

Because God brought me here.

To be honest, I was scared to come. I was scared of my anxiety and my allergies and scared to leave our kids for 10 days. What if something happens to both of us — together — here, so far away from them?

Our leaving India in 2012 was a traumatic ordeal. I’ve been very sick in airports multiple times, including receiving IV fluids in an airport health clinic 30 minutes before a flight and riding in a wheelchair, being told, “If you can’t get out of this wheelchair and walk to your gate, you can’t leave the country.”

I was scared of finding myself back in an international airport, having a panic attack from the memories.

And yet, God was calling me to come to North Africa.

After David traveled here last year to do some teaching, he asked me to come back with him. He told me, “You’re going to love it.”

Then the North African friend that our church partners with visited the States and said, “Julie, I really want you to come visit us so that you can be refreshed.”

Do his words surprise you?

They surprised me.

First of all, he’s a giant of the faith in my eyes, someone I’ve known from afar and respected for years, who’s shared the gospel boldly and led many people to Christ and been tortured for his faith. Why does he care that I would be refreshed? Doesn’t he want David? Or if I did go, shouldn’t I go to serve?

Oh the ever-loving pride and self-sufficiency of the American people. That we would only assume we travel to see Christians in other countries to help them. Rather than feeling that maybe we could be helped by them.

No, I did not want to come on this trip at all.

“Give me another year or two,” I stalled when David asked me last summer.

But despite my many misgivings, I wanted to obey God. I wanted to submit to my husband, who thought it would be best for me to come with him now instead of later. And so I prayed about it.

And God answered by making a way for us to come this month.

So I said “yes,” and then I did what I do best: fortify myself for a challenge by reading books. I spent the first half of 2019 binge-reading missionary biographies, one after another after another. One of my close friends read them right alongside me and encouraged me more than I can express to follow this call of God for my summer.

I felt myself changing as I read the books, seeing not just this brief trip, but all of life, with new eyes.

I remembered: This is my heart.

I’d lost something along the way, these last seven years we’ve been back from India. I still cared about missions, but so many other cares and interests had cropped up and filled my mind until I lost sight of an important part of my heart. Of God’s heart.

This year has been a wonderfully restorative time, as I’ve kept company with many saints who gave their lives to obey Christ, even when they were scared like I’m scared. They didn’t obey perfectly. They made lots of mistakes. They got sick. They had conflict with people. And yet, He used them for His kingdom. He used them to share the message of His saving love with people who’d never heard of Him.

Just like He wants to use me.

Their dogged faith in God strengthened my own faith and restored my vision for the task that the Church still has to accomplish before Christ’s return.

And so here I am.

Remember all those fears that bombarded me back home?

From the moment we arrived and one of them came to pass — I felt a little sick — all the stress and anxiety melted away. Underneath the sneezing and itchy eyes I was surprised to discover in those first moments that I was genuinely happy.

And I’ve felt this glorious happiness and lightness of spirit ever since.

I’m exactly where God wants me to be for these 10 days. I’m cleared by my doctor to be here, and loaded with vitamin supplements and antibiotics just in case. And more than that, God’s grace is enough. It wasn’t enough for my imagination — that’s when I just needed to say yes to Him. But it’s enough for right now.

It is always, always worth it to obey God. Many times in my life it’s felt like He’s asked me to take the hard road, and can I tell you something? I’ve never regretted it. Never.

The only times of my life I’ve regretted are the times I drifted from Him, becoming entangled by the cares and pursuits of the world — mostly being comfortable, being safe, and being liked. Chasing those same tired old idols always ends in misery and emptiness.

Each year I learn a little bit more about what Eugene Peterson calls this “long obedience in the same direction,” and I’m blessed by the obedience. Blessed enough to say “yes” to the next hard thing.

I hope that in God’s strength, I’ll continue taking the hard road until I go live with Jesus forever. And then I’ll rest forever, with Him.

For right now though, I’m soaking up every moment of this trip, and I can’t wait to tell you about it.

My cup runneth over.