Faithful in the Fray

I’m sitting here, at work, on my lunch break and I just finished reading the latest blog post by Katie Davis. For those of you who know about her, you know what an amazing woman she is. And for those of you who don’t, I encourage you to look her up and see for yourself.

In 2005 my sister went on her first mission’s trip to Montego Bay, Jamaica. I remember at the church service we had before she left, I wept.  I had no idea why the sight of all those smiling faces wearing bright colored t-shirts made me cry. Missions wasn’t something I had ever really heard of before she went, but something about it pulled at my heart.

The next year, I knew that I had to go. I wanted to go to Jamaica, where she went, because I heard all of these amazing stories and wanted to be involved as much as possible.  So, I signed up to go the next year. Not only was I going to Jamaica but I also was going to go to El Salvador as well. Two trips back to back. I was more excited then I knew what to do with. My 13 almost 14 year old self was so pumped.

El Salvador was up first and I knew that I was going to be forever changed that week. I conquered a fear, and jumped off a dock into a lake, where I then proceeded to get the worst ear infection of my whole life. But I did it! I learned dramas, skits, played with kids and washed clothes and whatever else I could possibly do for the seven days I was there. I knew that I had to give it my all, and that maybe one day I would be back. Towards the end of the trip on July 12, 2006, I felt the Lord calling me to be a missionary. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew that I had a specific calling on my life and that I was going to do something with it. Jamaica was next and I finally knew what all the hype was about. Going to Jamaica is still one of the highlights of my life. The kids, the culture, the island, the grandmama’s. Once I returned home I knew I wasn’t ever going to be the same.

Every year until 2012 I said yes and went somewhere on missions. Whether it was a weeklong or four months long, I was going to say yes and go. Some of the trips I went on because I felt the Lord calling me too, and a couple of those trips I went because I wanted too.  Each trip brought different experiences, different heartaches, and different mountains that were conquered. I changed, physically and spiritually. I continued to get more and more of Him, and less and less of me. Upon returning home, December 12, 2012 (12 is a really significant number in my life) I knew it was going to be for a while. Jeremy and I had spent the last 3 ½ months apart from each other and since we knew we were going to get married one day we figured being at home, saving money and working was going to be the best option. Each day it felt like more of my friends we’re leaving to go across the world, and for once I was the one stuck at home watching via facebook and instagram.

I got jealous, extremely jealous. Especially when my brother left in January and I was home. I was angry, and didn’t know how to interact with people who didn’t know about community. I wasn’t used to being alone. I needed all the people around me.

In the meantime I worked and had my long distance relationship with Jeremy, all the while hoping one day we would be able to say yes. The next time I go, he will be there with me. Here we are two years later, not a stamp in our passport for years, and we’re still waiting. But this time, the waiting looks different.

No longer am I angry or pining over not ‘going to the ends of the earth’ but I’m here, and I’m reaching out to those around me. I work in a city, heck, a building, that needs so much Jesus. I’m commissioned to love those around me, to spread His gospel in my own backyard before going anywhere else. So that’s what I’m doing. I know that one day I’m going to be able to hop on an airplane and go where He has called us, but today isn’t that day.

As two people called to love the least of these, we are actively waiting for our turn.