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| Mission trip??; Sorry, i didntr write this one!! | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jul 21 2009, 10:58 AM (32 Views) | |
| Meghan | Jul 21 2009, 10:58 AM Post #1 |
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Less than Three
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There I was, in a tiny camp kitchen somewhere in Belgium, chopping ham, onions and mushrooms. So, I thought, this is what it means to be a missionary? I was helping make 60 pizzas for a big open house the mission organization was having that weekend. As I swatted at the flies buzzing around my head, I wanted to complain. I wanted to get out of the stuffy kitchen that was getting hotter by the second. But there was nowhere to go and no one to talk to. Reuben, the Belgian I was working with, didn't speak a word of English. So even if I started whining, he wouldn't have understood me anyway. Missionaries are supposed to serve, I kept telling myself. With a joyful heart, a tiny voice inside my head added. So I tried to do just that—for 12 hours. I chopped, mixed, rolled and prepared pizzas with as joyful an attitude as I could muster. But the day couldn't end fast enough. Are we ever going to be done? I wondered. Reuben smiled at me. I felt guilty. It wasn't his fault I couldn't speak French. When we finally finished making the pizzas, we climbed into the car. I dropped Reuben at his house first, but then I realized I didn't know how to get home from there. I tried to tell him. In English. We both hoped one of us would miraculously understand the other. It didn't happen. How am I going to get home? Tears threatened to spill after several minutes of talking louder and using our hands didn't get me any closer to home. This isn't fun. Being a missionary is hard. And then that nagging thought, the one that kept coming back to me all summer long, surfaced once again: What am I doing here? My adventure began a couple months earlier when I boarded a plane for Brussels, Belgium, for a summer-long missions trip. I was going to work as a photographer at the Editeur de Literature Biblique (ELB), a French publishing mission near Brussels. They wanted to use my pictures in their publications. For me, it was a dream come true. I had prayed for years that God would give me an opportunity to serve him on the mission field. I had wanted to be a missionary since I was a kid. I thought God must really love missionaries to call them to such an important job. And who wouldn't want to serve God in a new and exciting place? I even thought God would love me more if I was a missionary. After all, missionaries are "God's servants," sent out into the world to spread the Good News. I wanted God to see me like that. I wanted to be worthy of his love—and I thought being a missionary would do just that. So when I was given an opportunity to spend three months in Belgium, I jumped at the chance. God provided the needed funds in less than two months. And with my prayer team in place and my bags packed, I boarded the plane with a life's worth of dreams waiting to be fulfilled. I had big expectations for what God would do in my life. But I didn't get what I expected. I lived in the village of Braine le Chateau, about 30 miles from Brussels. It was a quaint village with cobblestone streets, a town bakery and a flower shop where all the locals hung out. Very few people spoke English, so I got used to smiling and nodding a lot. Luckily, grocery shopping wasn't too difficult because the labels had pictures. Despite the language barrier, I slipped into Belgian life pretty easily. I traveled the Belgian countryside. I saw parts of France, Switzerland, Germany, Italy and Luxembourg. I took pictures of everything and spent hours cataloguing the photos into a library. What else could I ask for? I was seeing a different part of the world, taking pictures, meeting people—everything I loved to do. Everything I thought would fulfill me. But it didn't. I had expected more. I thought missionaries were almost perfect—certainly closer to God than I ever could be. So I was surprised to learn missionaries are people just like me, doing their best to follow God. They have their own battles to fight, they have bad days, and they have their own unanswered questions—about pain, about God, about life. I had also thought going halfway around the world would help me sort things out—like my place and purpose in this world and in God's kingdom. I prayed and prayed, but I just got more confused. What had happened to my lifelong dream of being a missionary? In Belgium, I began to doubt if that's what I really wanted. Being a missionary is a tough road to take. So many questions. But God wasn't giving me any answers. I just wanted to know where I fit into his plan. Days turned into weeks. I continued to pray. But God seemed to remain silent. I was beginning to lose hope that God even heard my prayers. Then one evening, I shared my testimony—and my confusion—with a team of American volunteers who had come to help our mission. After I was finished, one woman offered me a lot of encouragement—and her favorite Bible passage. "Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior" (Isaiah 43:1-3). Those words hit my heart. I felt like God was speaking directly to me, reaffirming that he was with me, no matter what. And even though he had been silent, he had never left me. There were a few moments like that during my summer in Belgium, when God sent someone to encourage me just when I needed it most. God had come before me on my adventure and prepared the way for me. I still find it hard to comprehend how much God cares about me and my time in Belgium. But he does. The people he sent my way are evidence enough. So, whenever I ask whether I accomplished what God sent me to do, I'm tempted to say I don't know the answer. It's just another of many questions I may never have answers for. But I do know this: God loves me not for what I might have been or what I could be, but for who I am. Leaving Belgium was hard. The missionaries I worked with had become like family. I knew returning to my life back in the States would bring more questions and confusion. I knew I'd have to start looking for a job and a place to live, all over again. But I take comfort in knowing that God cares about those details, because he completely cares about me. I learned at least that much during my summer in Belgium. I didn't get closer to God because I was a missionary. I felt close to him because I was seeking him and his will for me. And I can do that anywhere. I don't need the official job title of "missionary" to serve God and spread his Word. As long as I seek to honor him and I reach out to those around me, I am God's missionary, wherever I am. Still, I'm glad I went on this trip. Despite my struggles and confusion, I realize now that God did teach me a lot, especially about how much he loves me. I might never have learned that so fully had I not spent that summer in Belgium. |
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So I'll stand with arms high and heart abandoned in awe of the one who gave it all. I'll stand; my soul, Lord, to you, surrendered. All I am is yours. I LOVE SAMESTATE!!!!!!!! The Lord your God is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing. Zep. 3:17 | |
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12:52 PM Jul 11