The City that Touches the Sky: Outrageous

For God is not a God of confusion but of peace. ~1 Corinthians 4:33

“Only twenty more minutes until our next stop. Don’t forget, reduce your speed on those turns. Any questions? Ok, let’s go, vamos!”

That’s it. That’s all the direction I receive on the precipice of the infamous Death Road, its pathway snaking down mountain heights to dense jungle. I glance at the gravel scattered in front of my feet, and my eyes graze the road’s twisted edge. Before logic and good sense have time to catch up, I tell my right leg to swing over the bicycle seat and my gloved hands to grip the handlebars.

Twenty minutes. Keep the wheel steady. Reduce your speed. Breathe.

But these thoughts come only after I’ve begun the descent, blinking dust out of my eyes and bouncing across patches of rock and debris.

I’m going too fast. Or maybe I’m not going fast enough. And what’s around that corner? Forget the corner, Holly. Focus on that hole you’re about to fall into. There, you made it. Well, this isn’t so bad, in fact…

And in a matter of seconds, a rock lodges itself beneath my front wheel, my back wheel spins up and around, and my body falls hard on a bed of baseball-sized rocks, the 30-pound bicycle landing on top of me. The bikers behind me whizz past, unable to stop themselves. For a few moments I don’t move. I’m trying to decide if the left or right side of me hurts more, but the sound of rumbling car tires says, “Holly, get up.”

The bus that carries our backpacks and gear rolls around the corner just in time for me to push the bike upright and stumble forward. “Don’t make me get inside,” I mutter under my breath, brushing the dust off my pants. But instead of getting out, the driver just sticks his hand out of the window, giving me a thumbs-up sign. I clumsily nod my giant helmet-head and return the gesture.

“Thank you,” I whisper, but my body certainly doesn’t thank me as I climb back onto the bike and start the descent again. The dust from the bikers in front of me has settled, so I start to make my own, praying that I’m not too far behind and telling my muscles to keep moving.

And here’s what I don’t know in that moment: what’s around the next corner.

Here’s what I do know: I am terrified, but I am alive, and this might be the best weekend plan I’ve ever made.

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I’ve done some pretty outrageous things this month. In addition to biking the Death Road, I also had the opportunity to jump out of a 17-story window in a Batman costume, rappelling face-forward and then free-falling through the air. Even more extreme than the first two, I took my third graders on a field trip to a museum downtown. Field trips give me nightmares.

But perhaps the most terrifying thing I did in the month of November was sign a piece of paper.

I knew it was coming. And I knew what my answer would be when it came. Nonetheless, I couldn’t stop my hand from shaking as the ink scratched across its surface.

Exactly two years ago, in the frenzy of this month, I was making another outrageous decision that would change the course of my life. One phone call. One interview. And one week later, I chose to participate in the work God had prepared for me in La Paz, Bolivia. I made my first solo flight to a country where I had no friends, no connections, and no idea of the extraordinary blessings my Father had in store for me as a teacher and missionary in this beautiful country.

Now, two years later, I have made another decision that will again change my life. I have chosen to make this my last year serving at Highlands International School.

I debated whether or not to publicize this before Christmas break. After all, I will be seeing many of you in person over the holiday. But I think that this post will make it easier for you to know how to encourage and pray for me as I process this decision.

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. ~John 10:27

I won’t go into all the details of why, because honestly I don’t know exactly why He’s asking me to leave. My heart is broken at the thought of saying goodbye to the people and places that I have grown to love and value beyond measure. But I do know that this verse has always comforted me when I’ve had to make a big decision, trusting that the answer God put in my heart is there because He fully knows me and wants me to follow Him. He calls me to trust Him, not always to understand why.

Although to be honest, I’ve never particularly liked the comparison to sheep. I mean, c’mon, sheep? I know, I know --- King David, the Shepherd, He leads me beside quiet waters --- but why sheep? Why not something a bit more fascinating or even less smelly?

I was reading an article recently about homing pigeons – now there’s a cool animal. (Note: This may seem like I’m deviating, but I promise there’s a point. Also, yes. I do read articles about homing pigeons and there is nothing wrong with it. Is this why I’m still single?) In the article, the author references the pigeon’s sense of magnetoception, which is the ability to detect a magnetic field to perceive direction, altitude or location. Basically, this creates an internal compass that allows them to navigate across unbelievable distances.

Guess which animal has absolutely no trace of magnetoception. Yep, you got it. Sheep.

But why would they need it, as long as they have a shepherd? And that’s what I need to remember when Jesus tells me to follow Him. As much as I want to be a homing pigeon, able to figure out the way on my own, most of the time I more closely resemble a sheep. I’m more like that girl on the biking trail who wants to know what’s around the next corner but falls flat on her face.

God has no use for pigeons. He has no use for people who think they know the way, people who think they have control. But boy, can God use sheep. And so, I’m going to follow His voice wherever it takes me, even it looks pretty outrageous. Sometimes it might be as simple as a thumbs up sign, encouraging me onward. Other times it might be changing my direction completely or asking me to sit still and wait.

Because the truth is, living like a sheep sometimes makes you look like a fool. It’s usually terrifying. It rarely feels safe. But as long as I am obedient to my Shepherd, I know that He’s going to make my life a beautiful adventure that glorifies Him.

And here’s what I don’t know in this moment: what’s around the next corner.

Here’s what I do know: I am terrified, but I am alive, and I can trust that His plans for me are nothing less than extraordinary.

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Photo Updates!

First off, of course, the Death Road biking trip! 40 miles, 5 hours later... we made it out ALIVE.