His Story & The Call

As a writer and an English teacher I understand the value of citing your sources. I understand what it means when someone else takes credit for the work you’ve done, and I know the joy that comes when someone gives credit where credit is due.

That’s what this is. Me giving credit where credit is due.

Before I try to sum up who I am in an “About Me” section or even before I embrace the confidence I need to join my suadmates in a skype or ooovoo chat, I need to tell this story. But you see, it isn’t my story. There are moments when it will seem like it is; moments that you might read and think, “Rhonda, what do you mean? Of course this is your story.” Don’t worry, I had similar thoughts from time to time, but in truth, this story has never really been mine.

It has always been His.

 

 Let me begin, and maybe you’ll catch on…

On March 18, 1990, I was blessed to be born into a loving home with two great parents and four older siblings. My dad’s a pastor, my mom was a stay-at-home mom, and my siblings ranged in age from 6 and a half to 19 years old. My oldest sister was wrapping up her freshman year of college, while my brother (the sibling closest to me in age) was finishing up kindergarden. Two older sisters. Two older brothers. And then me. That’s the family I came into; the family God chose for me. See, even from the beginning this hasn’t been my story; it’s been His.

 

Growing up, and even now, people ask me what it was like to grow up in my house. Whether they’re interested because my dad’s a pastor, I’m the youngest of five, or my family tops out about twenty-five people now, the answer is always the same. And it’s almost always never what anyone expects. See, I knew what it was like to live in a house with a whole bunch of people by the time I was six, but by the time I was six, I also knew what it was like to have your world thrown a little upside down. In the summer of 1996, my parents, my brother Wade, and I moved to a church my dad had been called to in North Carolina. It was the first big move for me, and not just because it was from Florida to NC. I went from living in the only home I remembered (we moved my first time when I was about 3; I remember little) with my parents, all my siblings, my brother-in-law, and my niece and nephew to living in a house with just my parents and one of my brothers. A full house of nine to a house of four. Different. Really different. But it was before that move, in that household of nine people, that I got to see so many different relationships with Christ. God wasn’t just something that we talked about on Sundays or Wednesday nights. He was a part of my family’s life. Don’t get me wrong, my siblings and I fought, and they fought with my parents. I got in trouble for being a brat sometimes. Typical things that happen. We weren’t perfect; we’re still not perfect. But a relationship with Christ was something real and talked about in my house. I was blessed to see my family grow in their relationships with the One true God in my “most formative years” as all the psycologists and such would say. And it is some of those memories that still impact my own relationship with God today. Can’t you see? Most definitely His story all along.

 

I made the decision to follow Christ on Easter Sunday when I was four. I’m laughing a little right now because I just realized that saying that you would think that I welcomed Him into my heart after or during the Easter service. That’s not the case. I’m sure the lessons from earlier in the day played a role, but I made the decision while my family was watching The Ten Commandments. If you don’t know what that is, it’s an older movie, starring Charleton Hesston, about Moses’ life from his birth to the writing of the Ten Commandments. During the movie, I asked a bunch of questions, and afterwards my mom made the very wise decision to pull me aside and let me talk to both her and my dad more in depth and in private. I still remember the joy and the excitement that I felt when I asked Jesus into my life. A joy that I didn’t fully understand until middle school, when, through my mom, I learned how to have a personal quiet time with God. And a joy, that since being called to this journey, has only intensified.

 

Learning to invest in my relationship with God during the rough years of middle school was one of the most beautiful things God has ever done. Over the years, God’s used those quiet moments with me to help me stay the course. To help me keep my eyes focused on Him, even when I didn’t fully understand what was going on in my life or why certain things had to happen. Without Him, I wouldn’t have been able to survive some of the harsh relationships in high school, the discrepancy of life in college, the difficult family moments that came over the years, the realization that I am wretchedly prideful and self-righteous, or the intense battle between me and insecurity. I still have a few scars, still have a few things He’s working on, but He has gotten me through it all. He’s written this story, His story, in a way that only He could.

 

And that brings me to the call. The newest chapters of His story.

A little over a year ago, I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in Secondary Education: English 6-12 from Warner University, and thought my life was fairly planned out. If you asked me back then, though, I probably would have said that I had no idea what was next. That I didn’t have any answers about the future, so stop asking me questions. But looking back, the truth is, I did have answers. I did have a plan. That plan included everything I ever wanted: going on an adventure by moving to a new state, engagement and then marriage, teaching in a school very similar to where I interned, serving in a youth group alongside the man in my life, and so much more. Everything I ever wanted. All the pieces to that plan just needed to be put into play, and I would have had the life that I always thought I wanted.

 

As it turns out though, that plan of mine was never a part of His story, at least not yet. About two months after I graduated, everything in my life changed, and in the aftermath of what I like to refer to as “the game-changer” I clung to the author of my story more than ever before. I was at a loss for understanding and a long-standing battle between my insecurities and lack of self-confidence and my identity in Christ resurfaced stronger than ever. But God is good. So, so very good. And just two weeks after the game changer I found myself walking through doors of a local young adult ministry and into the lives of some of the most beautiful friends I have ever met. Since then, God has used them, a few solid friends from college, and the extra time I’ve gotten with my parents ( I still live at home, but it’s been a blessing) to help me heal and to make me more of the young woman He desires me to be. Because this is His story. I’m His change in the making.

 

Over the course of this past year, He gave me brothers and sisters in Christ that I never thought I would ever have. He put me in a classroom setting that challenged and stretched me in ways that I never even imagined were possible. He provided me with opportunities to build a deeper relationship with my parents. He gave me the time and ability to get connected to my church’s youth group, and through that blessed me with a great co-leader and a beautiful small group of 6th grade (now about to start 7th) girls. He gave me a life group to call my famly. He allowed me to be a part of a leadership team and experience so many of the things I always wanted. So many of the things that I thought were included in my plan, but so many beautiful things that I would have missed out on had my plan actually come to fruition.

 

Those brothers and sisters I never thought I’d have. I love them!

 

My parents after a Rays game. I love them and the moments like this we’ve gotten throughout this year.

 

 

This is my co-leader Dana, and this is us being us after three days of camp with our girls 🙂

 

This whole year, God has taught me more about who is and has shown me glimpses from time to time of what it means to really trust in Him. And He’s not done yet! In March, I took my first ride on an airplane. Yup, that’s right. Twenty-one at the time, and I had never touched foot on a plane. I loved every minute of my little adventure to Minnesota for one of my dearest friend’s weddings. Every minute! During that trip, and in the many months after, God started to speak to a part of me that sometimes my responsible side ignores: my heart for adventure. I love adventure. I love doing new things and seeing new people. I love experiencing life! And in those months God started to feed a fire within me to be adventurous and see more of this beautiful world of His. I so desperately wanted to listen; wanted to find a way for this new burden to take flight. But I honestly didn’t think I would ever do it. If I wanted to do this. If I wanted to see God’s people and nations and creations, I would probably have to do so by myself because my friends were unavailable or couldn’t afford it (Granted, I can’t afford it eitther, but I digress). I didn’t want to go on this adventure – whatever it may be that He was trying to call me to – alone.

 

And that’s when it happened. He sparked in me something that had been buried within me since middle school – a desire for missions. When I was wee little middle schooler, all I wanted to do was be a missionary, but in time, that dream faded as “reality” sunk in. I was going to be a lawyer and lawyers aren’t needed overseas. As I got older, I quickly adopted the “there’s missions right in your own community” philosophy, which I still strongly agree with and believe. But I’ll be honest, I struggled with it, and I wasn’t the best missionary in my community. It was a desire that would sometimes resurface as I heard about mission trips to other countries or even mission-related work camps, but I always found a reason not to serve. Not to go. And those are the moments when I tried to make it my story again. Tried to do it my way. Like always, God kept it His. This summer, as He reignited a desire to go and serve one of my good friend’s younger sister launched with a July route on the world race. I had walked with my friend for nearly a year as she prepared to say goodbye to her only sister (they’re super close) for an entire year. And as Lauren set off on this journey, God pointed me to the World Race. As I read about and researched the program, I fell in love with the community-based aspect; I wouldn’t be alone! I fell in love with January Route 2 and immediately felt a connection and a desire to serve the people of those 11 nations. The thought of traveling the world for a year both excited and terrorized me. But as I prayed and sought a clear answer about what He wanted – about His desire for this story – the fear and anxieties left and only peace remained. I’m the type of person who overthinks everything; who double checks plans and wanted to always make the right decision. So, to have a peace settle into my heart about applying to the WR gave me the answer I had prayed for – Yes my daughter, GO!

 

Yes my daughter, this is what I have for you. It is not an “if”, but a “when.” GO.

 

When I first heard about the World Race, I thought, “That sounds really cool, but I could never do anything like that.” And I was right. I can’t. But that’s the beauty of it. It wouldn’t be the great story that He is going to make it if I did it. 

This is God’s story. This is His call.

 

What does His story look like in your life; what’s He calling you to do?

In His Grip,

Rhonda