We were asked to write a blog about how we were called to this mission trip. Here is my story…
My life as a Christian hasn’t always been the most faithful, simple or exciting, but to me, that’s what makes it special. I grew up in a church-going family, my dad was the church’s minister and I did my best to learn as many facts and scriptures as I could until I left home for college at 17. But it wasn’t until I actually left that I realized what having real faith meant. My college years were troublesome in a personal sense, with my parents heading for a split from pretty much the time I left home (probably before that) until I graduated four years later. But it was then that I saw what true faith meant. It was through these years where I realized how truly alone I felt. I felt as if the new friends I had made through my church group could never understand where I came from since everyone’s life seemed so perfect. I spent most of my college years thinking this, even though I threw myself into the group’s activities, which included my first and only mission trips to Mexico each spring break. Because I felt this, though, I learned that I had to trust in God and his love for me. Through this time he showed me how he cares for me through other people. I made my greatest and most treasured friends through these times, although I admit that I didn’t fully trust a lot of them enough to share a lot about this part of my life with them. I’m a pro at making people think everything is OK since I laugh at just about anything. That would soon change.
Fast forward to post-graduation. My parents finally called it quits for good, I couldn’t find a job and along came a guy who I met on one of my mission trips. Long story short, I found a job and we began a two year long distance relationship that eventually led to talks of marriage. The proposal came, but just a month later it fell apart. I became angry at God, his church and everyone else. My friends and family did what they could to help me out of the funk, but it just wasn’t working this time. My heart was hard and I didn’t care anymore and told myself I didn’t feel anything. That is, until I attended one of my friends weddings last year, which was actually the day we had picked for our wedding day. I finally broke, but not in a good way. I sunk into a deep depression and didn’t know what to do. It was at my lowest, when I finally decided to let my friends and family know just how bad it had gotten, that I realized something was missing. The only energy I had at that point was to muster out to God to help me. A social worker whose name I don’t even remember spoke to me one day and what he said changed the way I looked at my life. He asked if I had even a little bit of faith left. I said, yes, but very little. He told me that even though it was a small amount, that it meant a lot to God and to take it and change the way I had been thinking.
Around this time I had a conversation with my sister, who means the world to me, about where I was in my life and how my sadness had to do with much more than a break-up. I told her I wanted to be out there doing something instead of just writing about others doing things and changing the world. She told me to go for it. We never talked about it again and that is around the same time I came across The World Race Web site. Over the next few months I’d keep going back to it, reading blogs here and there thinking of how cool of an experience it would be. When the site’s homepage one day said “no more excuses” one October night I realized it was time for me to go for it. So I applied and here I am, ready and willing to go wherever God takes me. Even though it’s the most exciting time of my life, I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that it’s also the scariest. I’m excited, but what scares me is the fact that God would choose little ol’ me, who just a few months ago could only tell him “help me” and not much else, to take on this incredible responsibility.
