Confessions of a … missionary

This is going to be a sort of roller coaster emotional blog, so just prepare yourselves.

 

But, first things first: I HAVE REACHED MY FINANCIAL GOAL FOR THE WORLD RACE!! That means that, thanks to your generosity, I am fully-funded. But, if you were thinking about giving, please don’t let me being funded stop you from giving. There are still lots of people on the team who need more funds to reach their goals. Chad and Leslie Jower come to mind: they are a beautiful married couple, trying to raise money for two instead of one. Look at the rest of the Seven Camels team, too: I can attest that these are great men and women of God, who are growing in their faith and who are so willing to follow God wherever He leads them. So, praise God!! Supporters, you’ll be getting some celebratory mail soon, but it’s got to cross an ocean first!!

 

    Also, we went apple-picking on Tuesday as part of our ministry. We were supposed to do that Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. However, after Tuesday, we were told we were no longer needed. Apparently, we are not that good at picking apples, though we sure had fun doing it for those few hours!

 

And now, as always, life gets messy and sticky and unsure. I always thought that, if one became a missionary, then that person’s faith was steady as a rock. Never wavering, never faltering, he or she forged ahead, marching as to war, just like the good Christian soldier he or she was.

 

And now I’m here, a supposed missionary. And I’m realizing just what a rotten person I am. I am hateful, I am spiteful, I am judgmental, I am condescending. Two days ago, a boy from another team joked that maybe my spiritual gift was “offending people”. Me? At home, my biggest fear is to offend someone or to be unkind to someone.

 

And yet here, I see how the priest and Levite could have walked by the man on the side of the road. Because I walk by children and villagers, caught up in what my idea of what our ministry should look like, and I walk past the broken person inside of them, the person yearning for a hug, a kind word, or even just a smile.

 

And the worst of it all? That I KNOW Jesus died for me, that he arose, for the glorification of the Father, but also to pay the price for our sins. To redeem us. I know that, and yet I sit in church and wonder if I believe the words I’m singing. I wonder at the belief these others hold. How have I faltered so? If Jesus called Peter, who stepped off the boat “O ye of little faith”, then what am I, who is still cowering on deck, being splattered by the waves and my own tears?

 

We were taught a new way to pray for healing a few nights ago. The basic premise is that you start out by affirming who that person is in Christ. You ask, “Do you know that God loves you? Do you know that He delights in you? Do you know how proud He is of you?” I couldn’t answer those things for myself; I’m not currently sure of the answer. Well, let me explain: my head knows the answer, but right now, my heart is rebelling against it. Why would God be proud of ME? Why would God delight in me?

 

I am so many things that I thought I wasn’t. So many things I don’t want to be. It seems that I am more and more filled with questions… about faith, about femininity, about beauty, about truth, about how God talks to us and when and why. And then I don’t hear God speaking. I want so badly to hear, and He is silent. I don’t understand. I am trying to be peaceful about this, but as my teammates can attest, I am failing at that. I know it’s in these times that we must forge ahead, keep seeking and trusting. I never thought I went on feelings that much, but it’s as if feeling so far removed from God has made me feel completely alone. Even surrounded by the other 6 in my group, I feel so completely, utterly alone.