Four years ago, had you told me that I would be going on an 11 mission trip that went to places such as China and India, I would have either:
1) Laughed in your face;
2) Curled up into the fetal position and cried.
As a 20-year old, I was loving life as a university student. My future plans included study, study, and more study. I had big plans: I would be a researcher, scaling mountains and hills, rivers and valleys, studying such things as gradient and imbrication. Alternately, I would be in an office, studying population trends and statistics from a developing nation, far, far away. I wasn’t sure where I would head once I graduated, but one thing was certain: I loved learning- so that’s what I would do. I was sure of it.
The last thing I wanted to do was be a missionary.
That all changed in an instant, accompanied by tears and trepidation. It was my last year of my degree and I was looking forward to heading into Postgraduate studies, aiming for a Diploma in International Development studies. The course was everything I wanted and even included an internship with an aid agency. This, in hindsight, was the catalyst that lead me on this path.
Youth With A Mission was first mentioned to me by my Pastor, after I approached her for advice (read:confirmation) about my chosen path. She suggested I look into YWAM after I mentioned the internship. I was adamant that I would continue with my plans, but looked into it just to be able to tell her that I had definitely looked and had definitely ruled it out (ha). As I researched YWAM, I reasoned that I wanted to help people, not tell them about God, and I certainly didn’t want to leave the comfort of home. So, I searched within New Zealand, still completely resisting the idea.
I remember the day, and the moment, vividly. It was after church on a Sunday afternoon. I was sitting on the couch in the dining room, my sister-in-law on the computer, listening to music, my brother and sister in the kitchen, making macaroni cheese. As I perused the schools that this particular base offered, I discounted each one (the following is my thought process as I went through each option): I don’t want to tell people about God in the first place, let alone in my own country; only the Pacific Islands? Not exotic enough; Worship? No, just no; Asia? Never.
I had purposely left Justice Reach until last. I knew that I had a heart for Justice (and I couldn’t show favouritism, could I?) so I opened the link with a fair bit of expectation. I wasn’t disappointed. Within 10 seconds after I started reading the summary of the school, I was crying. Not movie crying, where one tear slowly slides out of one eye, it was full on sobbing (silently, of course, I didn’t want to draw attention to myself). It was that moment that I knew that my life had completely changed. I was going to be a missionary.
The next three years were far from easy. I battled with sickness, doubt, and confusion (not to mention the horror of being sent to India!) but I have come out the other side with experiences that I wouldn’t change for the world and a relationship with God that is more than I could have ever hoped it would be.
And how did I get here? To this next stage of my life?
The World Race was first brought to my attention a year ago. I was sitting on the front lawn (read:field) of a backpackers that was located in the middle of the South Island of New Zealand, somewhere between two small towns that wouldn’t appear on most maps. It was late in the afternoon and I was sitting beside a flower bed with a good friend, discussing everything from the current situation to future plans. She was considering the World Race. I had never heard of it and barely remembered it after that day. Little did I know what that little seed would grow into.
It took almost eight months for me to look into the World Race, another two after that to realise that this was actually something I could do, and then another four to finally apply, but I got here in the end.
To say that I am excited for this next adventure would be an understatement.
