I dislike homework.
But now that I’m finished with my education, I won’t have any more, right? Wrong.
My first “assignment” from the World Race staff was to write a blog about how I was called to the mission field. And let me tell you, I have been putting this off. Now don’t get me wrong, I love writing. I could blog every day about almost anything (“3:45 p.m., I sneezed”…you get the picture). So why have I been putting off this one little homework assignment?
To put it simply, I have a problem with the word “called.” Not that there is anything wrong with the word, I think it describes perfectly how some people are drawn to the mission field.
But. I wouldn’t exactly use that word to describe my experience. I prefer the word “dragged.”
Before I go any further, I must give a few disclaimers:
1. Writing this blog was difficult for me.
2. The level of honesty that I feel like the Lord wants me to have with you in this blog is way beyond my comfort zone. So please bear with me as I reveal some of the most tender parts of my heart, something I have not done in a while.
3. I am incredibly excited about the World Race and do feel like it is exactly where God wants me for this time in my life. You may just have to read through a whole bunch of yucky stuff before you get to the good stuff.
So, now that you know these things, here it goes:
I could give you the short version of how I was called/dragged to the World Race and tell you about the moment when I was 14 and realized God had some sort of plan involving foreign missions in my future. I could also tell you about all the mission trips I went on between that day and the present–working with Navajo Indians, kids in the projects, Mayan natives in the Yucatan. I could tell you how the moments that I feel most alive are when I am sharing the Word of God with people who have yet to know and experience His love. All of this is great.
But it’s a cop out answer.
I have recently finished reading a book by Donald Miller called A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. In this book, Miller focuses on the topic of story…that in living, every human tells a story with his or her life. He toys with the idea of an “inciting incident,” an event that causes an upheaval in the protagonist’s life. Miller claims that characters don’t want to change. For change to take place, they have to be forced to change. This force typically comes through an incident, a moment in which a character has no choice but to move.
My inciting incident shook me to the core, left me gasping for breath and shaking my fists at the heavens in an angry exclamation of Why?. Because it’s true, isn’t it? Characters won’t move until they are forced. And I couldn’t be called until I was dragged.
Four years ago I met a boy and fell in love.
This boy was my light, my best friend. We lived and loved in a way that I thought only existed in books or on T.V. Surely it was nothing short of God-ordained.
And I was prideful.
This boy and I dated for nearly 4 years. We both loved the Lord, walked with Him daily, and tried to keep Him at the center of our relationship. I spent a month in Mexico as a missionary to the Mayan peoples and thought I had finally satisfied God’s desire for my life involving missions. Of course I still longed to be used as a missionary, but it became more of an afterthought than a frontrunner. I figured that as long as I was able to give up a couple of weeks, maybe even a month or two, for missions every year, that would be enough to appease God. I mean, that’s more than what most people give up, right?
The boy and I began to plan our future. We named our kids, talked about where we would settle, looked for rings. I was tasting heaven on earth and thanking God every day for it. But sometimes God is after more than just thankfulness.
The time drew near that we had discussed for when we would get engaged. Finally, after so many long years of my waiting and trusting the Lord that this would all work out for good, the boy proposed…
…that we break up.
Now reasons don’t matter, so I will leave this portion of the story with the bare minimum. And the boy is not to blame; I’ll venture into that story at another time and place.
But as I sat on the floor of my bedroom with nothing but the tattered shreds of the canvas I had so painstakingly painted with my plans and hopes and dreams, I felt nothing. Nothing but the overwhelming anguish of losing a friend, a love, and the trust I had in the God I had always believed to be good.
The months that followed were like something out of The Shining. I still haven’t completely left these moments, but they are beginning to recede. Yet in those times, I was forced to move, to change. I no longer had my plans I could cling to, because there was no plan I could see for the future. I began to seek the Lord more intimately than I had in years, maybe even ever before. It was ok for me to scream and yell at Him. He didn’t mind when I cried like a baby and struggled to get out of bed in the morning. It was rare that He spoke, but I felt His presence. He held me, stroked my hair, reminded me that I was beautiful and loved when I felt the farthest from it.
And in this time of seeking the Lord, not because I wanted to seek Him or because I thought it was the right thing to do, but because I had to, had to so that I could survive, God began to whisper in my ear again the original calling I had felt when I was 14. It’s funny how the Lord sometimes has to take the thing you hold on to the tightest away to get your attention back on Him.
As I began to re-read Jesus’ words in the Gospels with different eyes, I knew my life wasn’t adding up to the way Christians are called to live. How could I read Matthew 25, where Jesus talks about separating the sheep from the goats on Judgement Day, with the only differences between the two groups being whether or not they fed the hungry, gave drink to the thirsty, showed hospitality to the stranger, clothed the naked, looked after the sick, and visited the prisoner…how could I read this and excuse my self-gratifying life? God’s whisper to Leave…Abandon…Trust…Follow began to sound more like a scream.
So I did what anyone who felt God’s call (or brutal dragging) towards missions would do. I googled. And before I knew it, the World Race had captured my heart. I finally saw an opportunity to live my life the way God was calling me to live. It sounded uncomfortable and difficult, but I have realized that without difficulty, without getting out of my comfort zone, I cannot grow or move or change.
So here I am, about to embark on this new story in my life. I am broken, humbled, and I have baggage. But I know that Jesus promises that if we lose our life for Him we will find it, and I am trusting in this promise.
**And just so you know, God doesn’t have to drag me anymore. I’m enjoying just walking beside Him 🙂
“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.” Matthew 13:44
