Confessions of a Missionary Part 1

Confessions of a Missionary: Part 1

It was a cool spring Sunday morning, and our church had just announced that the last Sunday of every month would now be a “Mission Sunday.” I was intrigued as I sat in the first row, pretending to be completely engaged in the sermon that had since begun. My mind lingered on the particular announcement about the mission trips our church would begin doing every summer. The pastor had just announced that this year, there were three mission trips to choose from, and that missionaries would be coming to speak to us on each “Mission Sunday.” I grabbed my Bible and quickly stuck the church bulletin in the spot where I was supposed to be reading along with the pastor. I think he was preaching on Ephesians that morning, but I honestly don’t quite remember because my mind was racing. My eyes eagerly scrolled down the church bulletin, and there it was – a list of three mission trips in three different countries, open to all who were interested! I guess I was making a little too much noise, because I remember getting a pinch from my mother who was sitting next to me. It was as if my mother knew I needed some extra attention. She could have chosen any of my four siblings to sit with, but for some reason she always felt the need to sit by me.

Now, maybe I forgot to mention that the pastor just happened to be my father. And yep, we were sitting in the front row, where my mom liked to gently pinch us if we were misbehaving during the service. She quickly took away the bulletin I had become so engrossed in and gave me “the look.” So, I sat there staring at the pages of my Bible as my mind continued to race. I began to wonder which mission trip my best friends, Sara, Grace, and Shannon would go on. I wondered if there was an age limit. I wondered how I would pay for it. I even began to daydream about packing the new camera I had just received for my birthday, and started thinking through all the outfits I was going to pack. Next thing I knew, my mother was pinching me again, as it was time to stand up for the closing prayer.

At that age, my views of a missionary were romanticized and completely warped. I had glamorized the word missionary and assumed that all missionaries did was live in third- world countries and gracefully save the nation while wearing all the cool native outfits. I still vividly remember all the missionaries my father invited to visit the church. They all dressed in those bright, colorful native outfits. They stood in front of the congregation and showed slides of all their adventures overseas. It seemed like they were living out a real-life adventure movie. I remember the stories they told, and had listened closely as they talked about the country and its stark differences from America. I remember my father always taking up a special offering for them afterwards, and how we would pray a “sending out” prayer of safety and blessings. I remember seeing Diana, the woman who always had this outrageous reddish-orange hair color and always sat behind me, dry her eyes and put away her checkbook after being so moved by the stories. I remember staring at the bright, colorful tables that were set up, and how I would spend at least five minutes trying to decide what to spend my babysitting money on. It was quite the decision at the time, deciding whether I wanted the colorful bracelet or the small coin purse. I remember signing my name on the clipboard so that I would receive updates about all the missionary adventures.

I remember seeing all the colorful newsletters that would come in the mail. My mom would open them and sometimes even hang them on the fridge. Some missionaries sent “prayer cards” with their family portrait on the front. I was fascinated as I skimmed through all the newsletters, looking at pictures of the missionaries holding and smiling with native children who appeared so destitute. My parents would tell me stories of how I spent my younger years on the mission field while they held huge crusades, hosted medical clinics, and evangelized. I would look through all the pictures from those trips, but I honestly just couldn’t remember the exact details. I remember seeing pictures of myself as a young girl, handing out Christmas stockings filled with toiletries and special treats to needy children. Though I could still remember the taste of an orange Fanta out of a glass bottle (which we’d then have to return to the little drink stand) my memories of being on the mission field were quite vague. Oh, how I wish I could experience the mission field as a young teenager, I thought.

Well, let me skip forward a few months. I had just finished something called "World Blitz" at my church. I was about to leave on a trip to Bulgaria and Romania, and I had to go through a time of training. I remember looking the part. I had found my ugliest, oldest, stain-ridden clothes. I was rocking the fanny pack, the missionary braids, and even the missionary bandanna. I had my "Save the World Blitz" t-shirt on with my mismatching long skirt. If I remember right, I was also sporting a pair of Keds tennis shoes – and socks to match the t-shirt, of course! (Oh, and I am pretty sure I had the matching hair scrunchie as well!) I had taken out my earrings – heaven forbid they get stolen! I was ready to go save Bulgaria and Romania, and I had the t-shirt to prove it!

Well, I will never forget getting off the airplane and being completely ticked off, because all the Bulgarians looked and dressed nicer then me. I looked ridiculous. All I wanted to do was go shopping for new clothes. I was horrified when I realized that all I had prepared and packed was not what this country needed. Then it hit me. Wait, why am I even here? Is it really for the people, or was it to fulfill some need inside of my heart? I mean, aren't we representing Christ and the very heart of God? Surely, even Jesus back in Bible times didn’t look as ridiculous as I did! I remember feeling like a complete ragamuffin, going from church to church preaching the Gospel, all the while realizing there had to be more. I can almost guarantee you those churches wouldn’t remember me today! I began to ask myself the hard questions: 1) What is a missionary?, 2) What does God have to say about missionaries and how they should conduct themselves?, 3) What does it truly mean to be on the mission field?, and 4) What does the heart of God say about the missions?

I am thinking it's time for a new missionary handbook to be written. We must lay down this prideful missionary spirit that says, "We know best." The truth is that oftentimes, we don't know best, and it’s time to allow God to teach us what it really means to be on the mission field and what is looks like to be a missionary for Christ. So, join me as we journey through the heart of God and look at what the Scriptures say about the missions.

Until next time...Confessions of a Missionary: Part 2 (Coming Soon)

_________________________________________________________________________________