It’s official. I am a woman preacher.
I don’t know how I feel, having crossed this impressive milestone in my life. When I got my license, there was a ceremony at court; when I turned 18, my ballet teacher calmly reminded me that now I could go to grown up jail; when I turned 22 I got to ride a motorcycle for the first time.
But crossing into the realm of traveling preacher / evangelist / (gulp) missionary is an altogether new experience, marked with nothing less than extra hot chai tea and dusty feet (that much, at least, feels appropriate).
This morning, my team split up and half of us went to a prayer meeting where a large collection of church leaders had gathered to pray for their nation (it was a national holiday of some significance that I kept misunderstanding). Smack dab in the middle of it all, a white girl in a too- short Punjabi stood up and addressed these people who have devoted their lives to studying Scripture and given up their day to pray- I felt a little overwhelmed by my own precociousness.
My message had to go through two interpreters to be understood (there are over 1,600 SPOKEN languages in India), and, as I have a habit of using big words, had to be quickly edited on the spot in several places (apparently, ‘spiritual adrenaline rush’ is not a word most translators need to know). But, despite the fact that I think I may have lost them during my description of the Pull (Hope College’s 3 hour tug of war that is hard enough to explain in English, let alone Tamil or Tlegu), I think it went well. I spoke on running the race with perseverance (Hebrews 12:1-2), hoping it would be appropriate to encourage these believers not to lose heart, grow weary, or give up.
It’s a lesson I’ve really needed myself, too.
Later, I was given the opportunity to speak at a volunteer meeting for the crusade, so I hopped on another motorcycle (resulting in a buttload of bugs in my face as I had lent my scarf to the contact and driver, Jon, who was under a worse attack than me) and we headed over. I was able to tell the story of my mom’s miraculous healing from cancer and then I encouraged them, also, to not grow weary in doing good (Galatians 6:9).
Maybe God has a funnier sense of humor than I remembered, but I think He might be trying to show me something. There’s a distinct possibility that I’m missing it, of course, but moments like tonight, the first of the (hopefully many) female preaches by Natalie Dache, remind me that this is not something I’m doing for myself- I am working for the kingdom and need to rely on Christ for my strength to endure.
