180 Degrees


The Russia team is currently somewhere in the space between Nashville International and the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains. If I close my eyes I can see what they’re seeing, as they get off that cramped 9-hour flight and make their way through customs in a dim fluorescent hallway. They hear a foreign language; they search for luggage with sleepy eyes. They count heads and move out toward the sunlight and mild summer air of Moscow, trying to decide between sleep and exploring the new-yet-familiar world of the Capital City.



I can see what those gray streets look like, what the Kremlin looks like at night all lit up in lights; I can hear the Red Square clock chiming. I can feel the whoosh of air in the underground Metro, and the embrace of dear friends I’ve not seen in a year. The dear Moscow-dwelling friends who’ve been the hands of God to me since before I understood a word of their language, or they of mine.





I know the terror of the Aeroflot plane at liftoff; I recognize the faces of the people waiting at the landing. The old conveyor belt at Mineralnye Vody carrying all 927 of the Americans’ suitcases (or just 19). And I know those curvy back roads all the way into the mountains, all the way to Teberda, with Dombai looming overhead.


I can see Nadya, and Tanya, and Larissa, Karina, Anya…all of them getting to camp and settling in, grabbing translators and reuniting with the team. There are kids running through the halls and asking where the Americans’ rooms are, kids who are one year taller. And there is anticipation, there is excitement, there is nervousness over the week and what is coming. There are hugs and questions and laughter, there is Russian, Russian, Russian filling the ears. It is Family Camp, and it’s all one big family, and I can see that when I close my eyes.


Then I open them. And I see my world here, the boxes and the packing, the things that must happen before I start Divinity School. I hold onto this too, because this place is home, and just like Russia, its sights and sounds are seared into my heart. Time ticks away, and there’s never enough of it – enough bike rides past city limits, runs on Belmont Blvd, sips of Tennessee air. Never enough time with the friends and family who have nourished my soul my whole life and made Nashville forever my home. I carefully take in all the birdsongs in my yard, memorize all the hills on Beechcroft dotted with cows, and I store them away so I don’t forget. Time is slipping away and carrying me to Georgia.

It’s good and it’s right, and leaving this behind is the next step on my journey. But it’s hard, and I’d be lying if I said I weren’t afraid. Afraid of hating it, afraid of failing at it all, afraid of being so homesick I can’t stand it. There are blessings upon blessings in Nashville, Tennessee. I’m reluctant to lose my grip on them, on the people I love and my niche in this place.


The point is that my heart has two homes. Russia and Nashville. When I think about my bliss and my soul’s joy, the setting is those places, and yet this path is taking me in the complete other direction.

I believe in the good of free Divinity School. I believe in the good of “getting out of my comfort zone,” immersing myself in the study of theology and gospel, preparing myself for a life of ministry in whatever form. But right now it feels like Atlanta is a 180-degree turn from the fulfillment of my heart. A 180-degree turn from the people who speak my second language. A 180-degree turn from the southern city that grew me to 22.

I trust with full conviction this is what the Lord is asking me to do. His hand has been steering me toward seminary all along, powerfully. And He has shown me miracles while paving the way toward McAfee, even if the apartment/job/car situation has gone horribly. I know this is what Jesus is asking me to do. It just really feels like I’m stretching my arms out in the other direction and saying wait…what about Russia and what about those people and why are those orphans not in the plan right now?

Why do I speak this language I don’t use? Why does my heart long for a ministry You’re pulling me away from?

Of all the things my heart loves, Atlanta, GA is not one of them. I watched a team of 11 people pack for a camp in Russia and did not go with them. And as I pack to leave Nashville, I just keep begging Him for a path that circles back around to it. Back around to the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of the places my heart beats for.

Please, Lord, let it be so. And let it all be for Your glory.



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