Apathy.
I know that I care about what has happened to these people and subsequently what has not happened for these people; specifically the loss of their homes from the earthquake and the, since then, “loss” of hundreds of millions of dollars sent for relief. And yet each day seems to take longer to finish. And I find myself wondering why I am going back when nothings seems to be happening for me when I am there. And I feel a little guilty for not being more motivated. I mean, seriously, what does it mean to be a missionary?
Does it mean showing up to a dusty refugee camp everyday, playing with kids, saying “hola” and “buenas” until I am blue in the face, occasionally praying with the people there, then returning on the bus hot and sweaty only to take a bucket shower? I even have a family who is “mine” that I visit every time I go there, but “what?” and “why?” seem to be on my mind more than pray and care.
But maybe this is exactly what being a s missionary is: playing with kids who need to be played with, praying with families in pain who need to hear words of hope, uniting strangers with a friendly greeting and a smile, then parading home on a bus of gringos waving to everyone who stops and stares.
And even if it’s not those things, how much more precious are these thoughts than the hours I spent at home watching tv or at my job thinking only of myself. In the end I think this maybe exactly what being a missionary is all about: a (though sometimes confusing) movement of the heart from utter selfishness into the realm of compasssion.
May you see God’s blessings on your life this day!
Love, Meredith
