I am intimidated by the title of this blog.
You see, that is to say that I'm unsure of the ramifications of the statement. I guess I wasn't really aware that I was a part of the mission field until I read that I should write a blog with this as the title and subject. Am I a missionary? Am I just a guy on a mission trip? Is my calling any different than anyone else's because of my opportunity to go on this trip?
While talking with my pastor, Josh, about the World Race, he told me that our church hasn't yet had a missionary to follow and support, and that maybe it would be neat for me to fill that role. I must admit I had never thought of myself that way because I have never been an actual mission trip. I went to Michigan and built some houses once. That's about it.
So thinking of myself as being "in the mission field" is alarming. But it makes me think of a sign that we had on the inside of the doors of our old church building, a monastery in Huntington, Indiana: "You are now entering the mission field." While I find the premise to be slightly flawed (cannot there be those who need to be witnessed to inside the building as well?), the point is obvious: wherever you go, you are a messenger for Jesus Christ just as if you were a "legit" missionary.
It's just that some of us travel around and have bulletin boards dedicated to us in the church foyer. Not that my church has a foyer (we meet in a YMCA), but I guess now I know I have been called to missions. And here's how it came about.
A few months ago, I was reading a book by Francis Chan, "Forgotten God." It was all about how in the church today, we seem to have neglected the third person of the Trinity. We are so caught up in finding out what God's will for our life is that we aren't heeding the every day call of God the Spirit to obey him.
I recognized that this characterized my life so perfectly. I had been praying for so long that God would reveal to me what it was that he wanted to do for my life, and I was getting frustrated that the only response i seemed to be getting was "Wait – I have something planned for you." I was impatient; I thought I knew better. But after reading that book, and feeling the conviction of the Spirit in a real and meaningful way, different than the guilt of having sinned or the prodding to perform some good deed, something clicked in me. I sat on the floor of my bathroom, broken and contrite, and prayed.
"God, I wish I knew what the purpose of my whole life was, but if it isn't your will to let me know that, please just give me some purpose, some task from you, for every day, for every little moment in every day, so that I may live skipping from one to the next, always pursuing your will, even though I can only see each stone I am standing on."
About two weeks later, I was sitting on my roof reading another book, this one by Erwin McManus. It was lent to me by Josh, and in it, McManus talks about how Jonathan, son of Saul, went out with his armorbearer to fight the Philistines saying, "Come, let us engage them in battle and perhaps the Lord will fight for us." He was seizing the moment the Lord had laid in front of him. What moment had the Lord laid in front of me? Was there something I could be doing in the few months I had before my lease was up and I most likely moved somewhere new? There was always my church – I could volunteer more, but it was hard to with my work schedule, and I always felt so tired that I just wanted to sleep when I got home.
What if I quit that job, I thought. I've got enough money to live two months before I move. I'll spend them doing what I love – being at my church, writing, spending time with my close friends – before my life takes a crazy turn for the unknown.
But I wasn't sure – did I just want to quit because I hated the job and wanted to shirk responsibility? Or was this something more, a moment to be seized, a time to say, "Come, let us quit our jobs and perhaps the Lord will provide direction for us."
Five seconds later, my pastor rode by my house on his skateboard.
I called him, we had a chat, and the next Monday I put in my two weeks' notice. That Thursday I applied for the World Race on a mere "whim," though now I recognize it as the prompting of the Spirit, calling me to something I wouldn't otherwise have done. And now after just a few crazy, topsy-turvy, weeks of listening closely for God's call, here I am, writing a blog for the World Race, wondering just how it is I am going to make it though an eleven month trip across the planet.
My calling was a gut feeling, an impulse accompanied by a curious thought: "Come, let us apply for this mission trip; perhaps the Lord will call us to the mission field." That "perhaps" has become an affirmative, and all it really took was for me to surrender myself on that bathroom floor, praying for the focus to see only the little steps of obedience instead of the pride of wanting to know the entire plan.
