Did It Fill You Up?

Last month, after nine years of waiting and praying, I returned to Africa.  The land of my heart.

Many who followed our travel updates via our Facebook group have asked when I’m going to blog in more detail about the trip.  When I’m going to tell the many stories they know I have to share.  Others have asked when/if we plan to return to Africa again.

These are easy questions.  Easy to consider, easy to answer.

But two people asked me questions I haven’t known how to answer.  The first was: “What drives this unhealthy obsession you have with Africa?” and the other was, “Did the trip fill you up?”

Of all the questions I’ve been asked, I’ve pondered these two most of all.

On Obsession and the Olympic Nature…

People are interesting.  The way we think, the way we slice up and process life and each other, fascinates me.  What makes sense to one is ridiculous to another.  What looks maniacal to some, others call heroic.

Take pro-surfer Bethany Hamilton, for instance.  At the end of her new movie, Soul Surfer, she says, “I was born to surf.”  She goes on to explain that being born for this life is why she endures constant board rashes on her stomach, endless cuts from coral reefs, and muscles too limp paddle through one more wave.  And then there’s the other cost:  losing her arm and half the blood in her body to a shark attack in those waves… when she was just thirteen.

What drives a thirteen-year-old girl to get back in the water within a month of that loss?  What drives her to fight the waves, people’s opinions, and her own weakness day after agonizing day, to become the world-class champion she is now?

Some would call that obsession.

But Bethany isn’t alone.  Olympic medalists,  inventors, thought leaders, and culture changers all across the planet have similar beginnings:

A.) A singular, powerful focus from the time they were young, and

B.) A fixed passion that perplexed those around them.

Olympic runner Eric Liddel claimed he could “feel God’s pleasure” when he ran.   Chessmaster Bobby Fischer said, “All I want to do, ever, is play chess.”  My pastor claims he “knew” he was meant to be a pastor from the time he was fourteen, and he never wavered from that conviction.

But is it really possible to be “born to” surf, or run, or play chess, or pastor a church, or serve in a third world country?  Or is that  simply a rationalization–a delusion held by people who are incapable of balance?

One thing is certain: Life is not easy for those driven by this fierce focus.  They face ridiculous odds, outrageous obstacles, and agonizing hours, weeks, even years where it’s just them and their unfulfilled dream.

Surely some psychosis drives them to keep going.  Right?

At times, the answer is yes.  I have met people driven by guilt, by selfish ambition, by mental imbalance, or by insecurity or pride.

But then there are others.  Dream chasers with honest hearts, Olympic natures, and laser-focused destiny.  And as surely as there is only one place the homing pigeon calls home, there is only one destiny that will do for these people.

For this small percentage of humanity, as poet John Pomfred said so eloquently, “The work is a calling. It demands that type of obsession.”

For others who do not share this intensity, this laser focus can be hard to grasp.   Which is why, when the person asked me about my “obsession” with Africa, I wasn’t sure how to reply.

Africa is my World Championship.  My Olympic dream.  The ever-fixed mark I’ve worked toward and trained for every waking moment of my born life.  And to anyone who doesn’t share this dream, that kind of dedication is nothing less than “call-the-little-green-men” obsessive.

The truth is, our culture only labels something an obsession when there’s no gold medal hanging around it.  Slap a gold medal on there, and suddenly you’re a champion and everyone races off to buy your sports jersey and a matching cup holder.

But explaining focused vision without the gold medal around your neck is quite a task.

Which brings me to question two, “Did it fill you up?”

On Shot Glasses and the Sahara…

The trip took ten days. I was in Africa–Zambia, Botswana, and Kenya–for six of those days.  Surely six full days should have assuaged my thirst and recharged me, right?

My friend wanted that for me, and I wanted to tell her yes.

But the trip didn’t fill me up.  In fact, it had the opposite effect.

For those who don’t understand singular focus or homing birds, this next part really won’t make sense to you, so feel free to skip ahead.  For the rest of you, imagine you’re a seagull,  flying through the grit of the Sahara desert.  And you’ve flown through that grit for nine years.  Surviving on brief morning mists and sheer willpower.

Then imagine you’re transported back to the place that waters your soul.  Oh the bliss!  The clear skies.  The familiar smells.  The unspeakable joy of being HOME!

Just as you begin to breathe and readjust, you are ripped away again and returned to the desert.

In that moment, I ask you, do you feel filled up?  Or do you feel an anguish greater than before?

For me, the latter was true.  The pain has been dark and terrible.

This trip was like watering the Sahara with a shot glass.  Yes, of course I’m grateful for every drop, but desperate for more.

On Kindness to Maniacs and Olympic Types…

Do you have a maniacal dream chaser or Olympic type in your life?  Maybe a friend, a spouse, a co-worker, a child?

I know it’s hard to understand them.  I know their passion, their dogged determination, and their laser focus is unnerving.  Even uncomfortable.

But if there’s a dreamer in your life, don’t mock them.  Don’t cage them.  Don’t crush their hopes.

Plato is often quoted as saying, “Be kind to everyone you meet, for everyone is fighting a hard battle.”  Take it from this grit flyer: pursuing a great vision is the hardest battle, and the loneliest path you can imagine.  Every sarcastic comment, every eyebrow raised in doubt, every well-intentioned suggestion that you find a path of less resistance, a different dream (as if you could), increases the isolation.

Don’t be the hard wind and the extra grit between your maniacal dreamer and their destiny.  Balance them and provide them wisdom as you can, but be kind to them.

“We are the music-makers,

And we are the dreamers of dreams,

Wandering by lone sea-breakers,

And sitting by desolate streams.

World-losers and world-forsakers,

Upon whom the pale moon gleams;

Yet we are the movers and shakers,

Of the world forever, it seems.”

- Arthur O’Shaughnessy