I was not raised in a Christian home. My family did not talk about God. I did not know who Jesus was until I was around five. My babysitter, who was an amazing Christian woman, showed me a picture of Ronald McDonald and Jesus Christ. She asked me who each man was. Ronald McDonald, check. White man in flowing robes with a beard – you got me.
The only time I remember hearing his name growing up was in vain. There are sprinkled instances here and there of witnesses to me, attending other families’ churches, and I’ve always prayed to God. Ever since my dad was ill with cancer when I was six and my grandmother taught me the ‘Our Father’, I guess that was the beginning of my prayer life. I even accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior around the age of eight, after a family friend talked to me about the rapture. I did not fully understand what it meant to be a Christian – at all. I just knew I believed in Heaven and Hell, and I knew where I didn’t want to end up. It wasn’t until my junior year of college at the age of 20 that the void in me deepened enough for me to realize there had to be more. I finally accepted an invitation to Good News Presbyterian Church from my roommate – and that day was the beginning of my personal relationship with Christ.
Jesus’ last command to his disciples was that they ‘Go…’. Matthew 28:19. And as they went they were to make disciples of those around them, to everyone in every tribe, nation and tongue. He wasn’t necessarily telling them to pack up their belongings and jet to far away lands – he simply began with, ‘Go – ‘. During the summer of 2009 while I was on my fourth short-term mission, He told me I was going to go – and my initial response was…no.
It was the second day of my first independently led mission. I was sitting on a pew in Rayburn Presbyterian Church in the village of New Lamka, India. I had just delivered my first message ever, impromptu, to a congregation of over 300 villagers who came to see the ‘white people’. I was at peace after my message, but I simply spoke to God and said, “Father, I can not do this anymore.” ‘This’ equating to living a ‘normal’ life, working a 9-5 job, paying off student loans, entertaining myself with family, friends, life’s circumstances, all while continuing to work hard toward the next short-term mission coming up in the summer.
This was the pattern of my life for two years following my graduation from Flagler College. My only plans post-graduation were to serve on two separate short term missions with my church, Good News. That summer changed my life. I felt a peace and excitement about our purpose in those countries that I had never known.
Returning to the U.S. with no future plans but finding a ‘Big Girl job’…I felt the awesome depression I am sure is familiar to many who feel like they are a round peg being rammed through a square hole. It did not feel right to pursue the professional world, but I felt like it was what I was supposed to be doing. Being responsible. A grown-up – working five days a week, direct deposit (now we’re talking Big Time!), benefits, really “making something of myself”. Oh, and the fact that I have the beautiful desire to be a wife and a mother. At the age of 21 I thought, ‘If I leave the country for two years and commit to serving overseas in a foreign land for that long, how will I ever meet my husband and settle down?’. (Insert laughter and if-i-only-knews here).
So I did end up in the professional world for a few years, and I am entirely thankful and grateful for the experience I have gained and the relationships I have formed. After my first summer of short term missions I was even put on staff part-time at Good News to serve as their Missions Assistant, aiding in the planning, development and execution of the college-age summer missions, a pretty awesome addition to have in my life, along with working full time. However…
Two years later I found myself sitting on that pew in a village in North East India with the same desperation in my soul. The minute I told God I didn’t want to spend my days working hard just so I could leave the country for two short weeks at a time to experience missions, He said “The World Race. Go – this is what you’re going to do.” And I said, “Nope.” I had only ever heard of the World Race once before, and I thought it was probably one of the best things I had ever heard of, but immediately the thoughts of what I ‘have’ to do set in. ‘You can’t leave a perfectly good job in a recession to live in a tent for a year. That’s irresponsible!’, and so on…
Returning to the U.S. the third summer in a row from short term missions, the confliction inside my soul was more than I could bare, and I decided to do something I am still learning how to do everyday. Trust Him. “For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, to give you a hope and a future…” Jeremiah 29:11
I was accepted to the World Race in October of 2009 and I launch July 2010. It is incredible to know a true calling at a young age. I have many questions that are not answered, but I have a heart and a soul that are being prepared to further the Kingdom day by day. I am looking forward to how God is going to use, break, stretch, and rebuild me as He keeps refining me through His fire. And I am confident He is sending me out with a purpose, for I believe ‘my purpose is that they may be encouraged in heart and united in love, so that they may have the full riches of complete understanding, in order that they may know the mystery of God, namely, Christ.’ Colossians 2:2.
