We were asked to write a blog about how we were called to this missions trip. Here is my story…
I was called to the mission field when I was in 8th grade. I was at a weekend conference at my church, and a missionary had just finished speaking. He was wrapping up his message, and he asked, “If anyone here feels led to full time missions, I want you to get up and walk down here so we can pray for you.” I was sitting next to my best friend, and I felt this stirring in my heart to go up there. I leaned over to tell her, “I think I’m supposed to go up there,” but she interrupted me and said, “Eryn, I think you’re supposed to go up there.” Whoa. So I got up and went down and got prayed over. I was so excited….
….for about a week. After a few days of getting back in the groove of my day to day life, I didn’t think about it much. It wasn’t long before I forgot completely.
During my senior year, I went on my first overseas mission trip to Germany. It was a two week trip with my youth group. I wasn’t nervous at all. Two weeks was so short and I was going to Europe! It was going to be great! But after being there for only a few days, I was missing home. I was missing my bed. My food. My car. My friends. I wanted to leave. I remember thinking, Missions is not for me! It’s only for two weeks and I’m already homesick! No way! And that was my thinking for a long time. Six months later, I went to Mexico on a two week long trip. My thoughts were the same. They were heightened in fact, because Mexico was way harder than Germany. Then, five months later, I went on my first month long mission trip to Tibet. I didn’t know how I was ever going to make it. I was terrified out of my mind. Our travel time to get over there was over 24 hours. I didn’t sleep the whole time. All I did was worry. It was a horrible ride. Once there, I thought maybe I’ll be ok. Nope. I wasn’t ok until the fourth day into it. Our contacts told us to sit still and silent and to ask God what He wanted from us on this trip. I waited on Him. And then I started journaling about what home is to me. Home is where the heart is. My heart is in Jesus. Jesus is in my heart. I started crying because I finally had a beautiful peace because I knew that no matter where I was in the world, Jesus was with me. I was Home. Anywhere. I took another trip to Mexico. I went to China for a month the next year again. I went to Tanzania, Africa for two weeks. With each trip, I felt my heart being torn more and more. The harder I tried to fight it, the more it tore. Until one day, my best friend randomly texted me and said, “Remember that one time you went to be prayed for because you were called to be a full time missionary?”
Uhhh…..
“I was just thinking about it. Weird. Love you!”
There are no coincidences. My most recent trip to Africa gave the final tug. I didn’t want to leave. That’s never happened before. Usually, I’m either ok with leaving, or I’m completely ready to go. Never have I not wanted to leave. But after feeling that, and knowing that I was ok with feeling that, it all came rushing back. When talking to my pastor, who was in Africa with me, about the world race, he said, “Eryn, when we were in Africa, I knew I was watching you live out your calling. I fully believe you’re called to full time missions.” That was just one out of the many confirmations from God. It had been a long time coming. And now, I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. This is only the beginning.
