How I Was Called To The Mission Field

I am not the most likely candidate to be a missionary. 

Missionaries should be selfless, nice to the point of boring, and possessing a large collection of fanny packs, khaki safari hats, and those strappy sport sandals whose brand I am still unfamiliar with. I thought missions were for Christians vying for the title of 'Most Holy' (consolation prizes include 'Most Humble' and 'Most Arm-Raising Endurance During Worship/Prayer'). I do not describe myself as any of the mentioned, although I've been picking up some great style points lately from Tim Hawkins' worship hands chart. 

When I was in high school, my position on all moral and ethical dilemmas was often atop a soapbox. I was quick to judge, slow to compassion, and eager to please anyone who might be watching. While I thirsted and hungered for God's love, I didn't understand His grace or His mercy and I was often misguided in my very human attempts at holiness. I remember smugly raising my hand during youth service in response to a speaker's question of what we wanted to be when we grew up, and answering, "I want to be a missionary." I felt an instant superiority at my peers who were not so quick to profess such a holy occupation. 

The curious thing about humans is our desire for authenticity. Lies are immensely burdensome and their presence is draining. When I threw off my coat of religiosity in college, I assumed anything I ever desired or felt about God was false; and that I'd rather be separated from God as myself than near to Him as a phony. I thought any desire for missions work died with my leaving the church, and I wrote off the notion as another misguided, naive idea of my youth.

When God restored our relationship (which you can read more about here), I was not prepared for the missionary calling. One of the ways God romanced me and taught me to love Him was through a prayer house called Naos that met a few evenings a week. We would meet to seek the Lord's presence and would often prophesy over each other. I remember feeling confusion and offense when the prayer house's leader spoke evangelism over me. You must have the wrong woman, I thought, God is just happy that I'm back in the Body, there's no need to actually use me anywhere. 

However, the more I thought about it and prayed into it, the more I realized that evangelism wasn't just street proselytizing and shaking strangers down with exuberant Jesus-Loves-You's. It was simply sharing what God's done in my life, my regular ole' life, and inviting others to hope against disappointment, love without fear, heal amidst brokenness. I have not been particularly good or holy in my lifetime, but that's really the beauty of it. Jesus is for everyone, from the poor and disenfranchised to the educated and business-savvy. There's nothing that any of us can do or will do to earn our own redemption from sin, but there's nothing that we need to do except believe in Christ's death and resurrection. 

When you find something good, you want to share it with whoever will listen in the hope that they too can have the same joy. I feel that way about Philz Coffee, citron tea, and Jesus. Marinating in that realization for a few months opened the door for my heart to be receptive when an alumnus World Racer who joined my church told me about the World Race. As she casually mentioned this around-the-globe trip she just returned from, my heart leapt into my throat, down into my toes and back again. This was it, the opportunity and direction I had been fervently praying for for God to change my heart and give me a new dream that would glorify Him (although changing my heart has really taken place in this preparation time, I'll write about that next!). The more I researched about the trip, the more I felt my spirit yearning to go, and in a matter of weeks I was signed up.