I was raised by parents...
who have a deep faith in God Almighty...
and encouraged me to claim that faith for myself.
I was raised by a church family....
which has sent missionaries across the sea for generations....
and supported me in the same way.
I came of age at a university....
that teaches their students to be world changers...
and fostered an environment for me to do actually do it.
This past week I watched a documentary about the band One Direction (a product of being a third shifter and corresponding nocturnal insomnia.) I was suddenly overwhelmed at how much my life is going to change in the next couple of months.
I don't want to move out of my apartment. I don't want to leave my fairly successful career. I don't want to give up my car and my "freedom" to drive anywhere, anytime, with the music blasting. I don't want to leave my friends, Bible studies and random coffee dates. I don't want to miss my "nieces" first year. And I certainly don't want to live more then four hours (driving) away from my mama.
People of faith call me brave to move across the sea to a foreign land. A land whose languages and customs I know nothing about, to nurse 105 kids who will never grow up to be the next Harry, Louis, Zayne, Niall, or Liam's of this world.
Those who know nothing of the Great Commission are usually dumbstruck when they first hear of my journey. Then they say something along the lines of, "...crazy..." Sometimes I assume the word "stupid" creeps into their thoughts. Honestly, there are days when I agree more with this group then the first.
There are realities of this adventure that bite. And there are days I contemplate giving up on the whole thing. But I know where I come from, where my roots are planted. When I look back I know with complete certainty that this is a journey that was planned out for me since the beginning of time. I know that I was created to be God's beautiful creation inside and out. For this to happen all the old plaster that has come to define me has to be chipped and scraped away. Being broken is not fun. Nor is it a place to stay. Beauty comes from pain (and apparently lots of packing and moving).
My roots are deep. His promises are true. Change is good.
I don't want to move out of my apartment. I don't want to leave my fairly successful career. I don't want to give up my car and my "freedom" to drive anywhere, anytime, with the music blasting. I don't want to leave my friends, Bible studies and random coffee dates. I don't want to miss my "nieces" first year. And I certainly don't want to live more then four hours (driving) away from my mama.
People of faith call me brave to move across the sea to a foreign land. A land whose languages and customs I know nothing about, to nurse 105 kids who will never grow up to be the next Harry, Louis, Zayne, Niall, or Liam's of this world.
Those who know nothing of the Great Commission are usually dumbstruck when they first hear of my journey. Then they say something along the lines of, "...crazy..." Sometimes I assume the word "stupid" creeps into their thoughts. Honestly, there are days when I agree more with this group then the first.
There are realities of this adventure that bite. And there are days I contemplate giving up on the whole thing. But I know where I come from, where my roots are planted. When I look back I know with complete certainty that this is a journey that was planned out for me since the beginning of time. I know that I was created to be God's beautiful creation inside and out. For this to happen all the old plaster that has come to define me has to be chipped and scraped away. Being broken is not fun. Nor is it a place to stay. Beauty comes from pain (and apparently lots of packing and moving).
My roots are deep. His promises are true. Change is good.
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