Musings Of An Everyday Missionary

It was early June in 2009. After flying over the white-capped Andes Mountains, we descended through the clouds, which gave way to a breath-taking view of the Amazon River snaking its way through the thick jungle surrounding the city of Iquitos, Peru. It was a familiar sight that I loved.  The pilot landed the large jet on the small strip of concrete. Stepping out the door of the air-conditioned plane, the also familiar oppressive heat and humidity coated my face before quickly beading up and turning into a dripping, running sweat that made my tired, travel weary eyes burn. Pulling my carry-on suitcase behind me, praying my trembling knees wouldn't fail me, I made my way to the covered shelter that housed the luggage carousel. I was scared to death and I felt grossly inadequate and unprepared. 

"And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, 

'Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?'

Then I said, 'Here I am! Send me.'"

Isaiah 6:8 (ESV)

But there I was. An 18 year veteran high school English teacher who had recently turned 40, quit my job and packed up my stuff to trade in my teacher title for that of Resident Foreign Missionary.  Having traveled to Iquitos more than a dozen times between 2002-2009, including three eight-week summer stints hosting and working with mission teams, I was absolutely certain that God was calling me to live in the Peruvian jungle and I was eager to go (albeit nervous, sad, excited and all the other things you feel when you say goodbye to one season of life and hello to the next). Suddenly I wasn't really sure what it meant to be a "missionary," but according to my job description that's what I was.

I spent the next three and a half years deepening relationships with pastors, their wives and congregations, doing women's ministry, volunteering in an AIDS hospice, hanging out with people on the streets, and learning how to live daily life as a foreigner in a familiar land. I talked about Jesus to anyone who would listen, prayed with people on their deathbeds, and made friends with as many locals as possible in an attempt to love and serve them as God had called me to do. In spite of everything I was doing I felt an overwhelming sense of failure, because my life in Peru didn't look anything at all like what I imagined a real missionary's life to be. I wasn't seeing people come to Christ on a regular basis because of my dynamic declarations of Jesus' love for them, or sharing with my supporters how many people had been baptized as a direct result of my evangelistic efforts. In fact, I wasn't seeing much of anything happen. In time, I learned that it wasn't about anything I was doing, but what God was doing in and through me. It also became clear that being a missionary always involves faithful sowing and planting, but does not necessarily include harvesting.

I didn't start being a missionary when I moved to Peru,

nor did I stop being one when I returned to the U.S. 

The bigger truth I learned is that I didn't start being a missionary when I moved to Peru, nor did I stop being one when I returned to the U.S.  In fact, the moment I accepted Christ as my Savior I became his representative - a missionary, if you will - carrying the light and good news of the gospel everywhere I go. The same is true for you. We are all missionaries, every single moment of our lives. First and foremost in our homes with our families, then in our jobs and our communities. The place we find ourselves today, right this very moment, is the mission field to which God has assigned us. Whether we earn our paychecks as church pastors, foreign missionaries, corporate CEOs, grocery store cashiers, doctors, coaches, or janitors, we are charged with putting the gospel on display in all that we do and say - all day, every day.

The propagation of the gospel doesn't require a seminary degree, church internships, missions certification or any other specialized training. These are all wonderful things that prepare some for vocations in various ministries, but missional living does not hinge on them. Isaiah 6:8 and Matthew 4:19-20 show us that the only real qualifications necessary are: 1) willingness and 2) action. God is looking for ordinary, everyday people with willing spirits and obedient hearts. He's searching for those who are begging to be sent and who will drop everything and actually go. For some that will mean relocating to new cities, states or perhaps foreign countries. But for most it will mean getting out of our offices and into our break rooms, out of our houses and into our communities, diving head-first into the messiness of real life with our families, friends, neighbors, co-workers and strangers alike. It means searching out the least of these and going to those society labels as undesirable to do life with them too. It means fighting through frustration when we've invested significant time and energy in people, but aren't receiving the benefit of immediate, tangible results. It means vulnerability and transparency and allowing others to see us as we really are, because only then can grace take its rightful place in the spotlight.

• Are we willing to let the world see our faults, frailties and utter brokenness so that God might use us to draw others to Himself?
• Will we drop what we're doing and follow Him - out of our comfort zones (because that's where He plans to take us)?
• Do we understand that a life of loving Jesus is not easy, but IS so very worth whatever it costs us?
• Are we ready to be everyday missionaries?

"And he said to them,

'Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.'

Immediately they left their nets and followed him."

Matthew 4:19-20 (ESV)

First Fruits: Meeting God Early

I am not a morning person.  

I am, in fact, a true night owl. If I can get past 9 p.m. I'm good to go until around 4 a.m. Then it only makes sense to sleep until 11 a.m. followed by a nap from 2-5 p.m. Such sleep habits are perfect for the jobless high school/college student, or even the unmarried high school English teacher on summer break I used to be, but they don't work so well, say, for a stay-at-home mom with a husband and a two year old. 

An Invitation from the Holy Spirit

After adjusting to the shock of being a first time mom and having an infant in the house, I began to feel like something wasn't right. Thinking it was simply lack of sleep (not understanding I was never going to sleep again), I dismissed the feeling. But the months rolled by, and the emptiness persisted. During worship one Sunday morning, as the pastor talked about the importance of daily interaction with the scriptures, I realized that I couldn't remember the last time I had opened my Bible outside of church.

I sat on my realization for several weeks more while the God-hole in my spirit continued to grow, until it was so big I confessed to a close friend my sin of neglecting God.

"Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."

John 8:32

Speaking the truth of my sin threw open the door to my soul, allowing the Holy Spirit to extend an invitation:

"Meet me early in the morning, before the sun comes up, while the world and your house is still asleep," whispered the Lord.

I responded, "Wait. . .what??? Meet you when???"

"Give me your firstfruits, Pam! Offer up your day to me before it starts and I will fill you," said God.  

Early in the Morning

Was God really asking me to do this? But I'm a night owl! He's instructing me to go against the grain of my own personality. Deep in my heart I knew I had to, but I didn't want to. At the same time, I was painfully aware that late night Bible study didn't work. Even though I was wide awake, I couldn't focus; the weight of the day rested heavily on me and my mind constantly wandered away from a heavenly gaze, back to my worldly cares. The more I begged him to show me another avenue, the more convicted I became that, for me, there were no other options. 

Early it is! Now let me make sure a hammer is on my night stand so I can smash that clock when the alarm goes off!

Looking for Proof

When my husband and I held our marriage retreat back in December, my top personal goal for 2016 was to be an early riser and spend time with God before my day got started. Still questioning whether or not this was the best way, I hopped on my favorite Bible website and did a key word search for 'early morning.' It would appear that the scriptures are veritably stuffed with examples of those who rose before the sun to conduct important business with and for God. 

Early in the morning:

• Abraham took Isaac to the mountain intending to sacrifice himas God had commanded
• Moses approached Pharaoh to plead for the release of God's people and to warn him of the coming plagues
• Joshua lead the Israelites across the Jordan River and into the Promised Land
• Job offered sacrifices to God on behalf of his children to cover their sins
• Mary Magdalene, Mary mother of James and Joanna went to the tomb with oils to care for Jesus' body

And the most compelling:

"Very early in the morning, while it was still dark,

 Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, 

where he prayed."

Mark 1:35

Twilight Time

It hasn't always been easy or fun, but it has been worth it to meet Jesus in the quiet of the darkness just before dawn. No noise in the street outside, my husband and son still deep in slumber, a hot cup of coffee and my Bible.  It is a precious time when I delve into the scriptures and bask in the glow of the God who invited me into this sweet fellowship. I confess that there are mornings when I doze off, and mornings when I hit snooze a few times before I can drag myself out from under the covers. There have also been a few days when I just couldn't do it; but by the end of those days I'm so thoroughly drained by life that I know I won't sleep through the next day's divine appointment. I'm still a night owl; I always will be. But there's something special about the morning.

"Satisfy us in the morning 

with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy 

and be glad all our days."

Psalm 90:14 

To Ponder

I'm reminded of the words of a favorite hymn, In The Garden:

I come to the garden alone

While the dew is still on the roses

And the voice I hear falling on my ear

The Son of God discloses 

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,

And He tells me I am His own;

And the joy we share as we tarry there,

None other has ever known.

• Do you rise early to meet with God?
• How are the morning hours with Him different from later in the day?
• If you have never given God the firstfruits of your day, I challenge you to do so.

Fear and Pink Hair

"Mommy!  You got you hair pink!"

Not I missed you!  Not I love you!  The first thing Little Man said as he and his daddy returned from a guys' weekend away was not an expression of emotion, but a commentary on what was visibly different about me since the time he left home on Friday.  A number of people at church Sunday morning made comments about the pink as well. 

I'm super self-conscious and wish no one would notice or draw attention to it.  What???  If she didn't want people to notice or say anything, why in the world did she dye her hair pink?  And by pink I mean hot pink.  And by hot pink I mean magenta - that's what the box of dye at the salon said. 

I did it because I am afraid...

We all have fears.  Some people freeze when faced with speaking in front of a crowd.  Others start shaking at the thought of things like rock climbing, ropes courses or sky diving. Still others tremble in the face of change - new jobs, moving far away from home, letting go of outlived traditions.  There's fear of the unknown, fear of natural disasters, fear of bad things happening to our loved ones and even fears of specific numbers and days of the week.  I'm not sure it's possible to compose an exhaustive list of everything we are afraid of.

Back in September, when God first told me it was time to get serious about writing, fear paralyzed me.  I gave Him my top 100 reasons why I couldn't.  What happened next? The Holy Spirit whispered, "Dye your hair pink."  By then it was October, Breast Cancer Awareness month, so I reasoned I could pull it off because lots of women do it.  But to do so, even under the guise of a good cause, meant facing some major fear. 

What if I hated it?
What if it took forever to grow out?
What if it really looked awful?
What if my family and friends hated it?
What if people smiled to my face, then walked away talking about me?
What if strangers in public places laughed at me?

"What if?"  Maybe the most frightening question ever asked.  I ask it a lot.  I'm scared a lot.  Often to the point of paralysis.  Especially when I know God is calling me out of my comfort zone for His purposes, because I know without a doubt that:

1. It always involves something I don't feel qualified or equipped to do
2. It usually requires me to face whatever my greatest fear is at that moment
3. It typically attracts the attention of the evil one

During my last bout of fear, when God called me to stop dreaming about writing and put my fingers to the keyboard, I wanted to pull a Jonah and head as far away from Nineveh as possible (that example comes to mind because, ironically, I read that chapter from The Jesus Storybook Bible to Toby last night).  Like Jonah, I landed in the belly of the big fish (the hair salon) getting a pink strip dyed into my hair (agreeing to go back to Nineveh if the fish would barf me up already) and facing my fear head on (getting to the business of serious writing) - you see the parallels, right?  What happened?  Some people liked my pink hair, some didn't.  I thought it wasn't bad.  Six weeks later all traces of it had washed away and I felt silly for being so scared.

That one small act served to remind me of what I already know, but regularly forget - God is faithful.  What does He require of me?  To stop being afraid.  To trust Him.  To be obedient to His call.  To forget about what others think.  To step out of the boat.  To fix my eyes on Him.  To walk on the water straight into His arms.  

Remember last week's post?  God is love...

"There is no fear in love.  But perfect love drives out fear..."

I John 4:18

It sure does!  And that's how getting past being afraid of a strip of magenta hair helped me push through my fear of standing up on my wobbly writer's knees and take the first step to what is now my eighth consecutive week of blog posting (something I never thought I'd do and it still terrifies me).

I know what you're thinking now; I can hear the wheels turning in your minds as you punch your calculators.  If she dyed her hair in October, but her son and church family just recently commented on it, the time frame doesn't add up...  Yep, you guessed it - I did it again, only this time the magenta strip is wider, heavier, and on both sides of my head.  You see, God doesn't let me remain comfortable very long; not if I truly want to follow Him.  And I do.  He's pushing me out again.  And I'm asking a lot of "What if's."  And I'm afraid.  Cue the Spirit's whisper, "Time to dye the hair again!"

So any time you see me and I have funky-colored hair, feel free to make these assumptions:

• God is moving in her life
• She's afraid
• It was time to tackle the fear

What are you afraid of?

Is God nudging you toward something uncomfortable?

Want me to go to the salon with you?