What an odd life, being called to cross-cultural ministry. The image of missionary life that I have been exposed to through the church is one of great purpose, cost, and intensity. I haven’t been introduced to the reality of slowness, waiting, and the mundane. It seems that such a “big call” shouldn’t include long periods that just feel static. Such a call should continue to be demanding; it has such a high cost, shouldn’t I always be giving? Why would I get to be comfortable and receive more than I need when I’ve said yes to give up all that I’ve ever known?
These are the questions I…
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What does God want from me, actually?
Try as I might to clothe this question with different, more theologically acceptable words, this is the essence of what I have wrestled with throughout the past 2 months. What does God want from me? He has called me to live and work overseas, He has provided the support and training for me to do that, but I am still in the States. Why? What did I do wrong? What have I failed to do? What does God want from me?
If it sounds like these questions are coming from a place of desperation, that’s spot on. But the reality is that it is these questions that…
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“When are you leaving?”
“When are you going to Spain?” “Aren’t you supposed to be in Europe or something?” “I thought you were in Spain?” - all variations on the same theme. Questions that make me feel like my current existence is simply wrong; I am not where I am supposed to be.
I seriously considering giving this post the title, “The Question I Hate the Most,” but thanks to my overly kind parents, “hate” is a word that isn't used in our household – and I am again living in that household. Please don’t read this as bitter sarcasm (it is true, I didn’t say “hate” growing up…
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You know of the straw that broke the camel’s back? Well in my experience it was two kittens who broke my heart. I arrived at cross-cultural training on the first day of this month, wide-eyed and naïve about how purely good my time would be, meeting other missionaries and learning about the field, not recognizing that my lack of joy (see last month’s blog, "My Glinda Moment") may turn into sorrow. And yet that is exactly what happened, thanks to two foster kittens…
It sounds so silly – and I have struggled to admit it – that the breaking point of my heart was two tiny animals that I always…
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For those of you who know the musical Wicked, my guess is that what you think of when you read that I’ve had a Glinda moment is not the moment I mean. My Glinda moment is a more obscure, less than glamorous point of comparison. At the beginning of Act 2, Glinda has arrived at the place of status and power she has been longing for and yet is not experiencing the joy that she anticipated accompanying the achievement (forgive me for that was a serious paraphrase). In song - it’s a musical after all - she says,
That's why I couldn't be happier
No, I couldn't be happier…
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