Blogpost later: Missionary Bait and Switch

For me, missions was the ultimate bait and switch.

No, no.

God didn’t bait me; He called me. I’ve got to own up to baiting myself.

My own deliriously wrong expectations were the culprits.

I grew up in church—collected quarters for missions, survived rock-a-thons to raise support, wrote letters to missionary kids (MKs), even helped teach ESL classes. I longed to be one of the Special.

At 14, God called, and years later my husband felt it, too. So, united in our good-willed and misguided purpose, we sold everything we owned, packed up our ten-month-old, and moved across the Atlantic. For six years, we served as missionaries in Central Europe.

I imagined stepping off the plane, getting settled, and inviting the crowd of hungry hearts gathered to hear the message of love and truth we’d brought. But no one came to the door. And my new life took so long to live, I barely had time to talk to people, much less build real relationships and share Christ. Mothering and homemaking consumed my time.

Instead of having something to offer my neighbors, I was forced to admit I needed to learn from them. I couldn’t get from Point A to Point B with the complicated bus and tram system. Buying food for my family meant spending hours standing in the aisles of the store, dictionary in hand. Conversation consisted of where I was from and what I thought of the weather. My mind—which had been doing graduate level work, thank you very much—was suddenly three years old again.

But in that humility, I saw what God intended for me to realize. I was no better than anyone else; all the good in my life was because of Him alone. He was the One who would speak to their hearts; I didn’t have anything worthwhile to contribute—except willingness.

And the earth-shaker: He brought me to the mission field to change me.

What? I wasn’t there for others? Was I such a hard case that He had to transplant me in another culture to get my attention? Probably. Okay. Definitely.

Call it the Great Crucible. Tension, frustration, helplessness, disappointment—all heated up around me. I was shocked by my . . . ahem . . . less than admirable reaction. But as my nasty and often resentful attitude surfaced, I had the opportunity to call it what it was—sin—and let the Refiner skim it. And the next time the heat cranked up, I did better. With every trial, every burst of flame, I reflected the Silversmith a little more.

I wanted to learn. Eager, I’d step in to the butcher’s shop and say, “I love bigos. What’s your recipe?” Delighted, the butchers would sit with me, write out recipes, joke around. Eventually, they asked why I was in Europe. On the playground, my son toddled with other children, while I chatted with their moms. They noticed differences in my parenting: loving discipline, firm direction, intentional training.

Those were the conversations God meant for me to have. He never intended for me to “set anyone straight”. As my neighbors and I delved into who we were, what we believed, what we hoped, how we loved, the Holy Spirit offered myriad opportunities to share the Truth. And I took them.

I believe that’s what God intends for missions to be. Everywhere.

He wants us to be real. As we follow Him—in every aspect of our lives—His love will be evident, and it will invade our conversations.

For me, the mission field was a refining fire. As I was broken by hardships, and as I clung to my Savior in desperation, people were watching. Granted, I might have only attracted their attention by being that strange American. But I’m convinced that God affected their lives as I shared my struggles and questions. They learned who I was and cared about me. They saw me cling, they saw me experience the grace and strength of God, they saw me triumph. And they wanted the same thing in their lives.

I am still a missionary, but I’m nothing extraordinary. Missionaries are real people, not Special Forces. God requires only willing vessels. He can, and does, work in hearts without our help. But what a blessing to be used if we’re willing to put ourselves out there!

And God doesn’t expect perfection. He doesn’t require amazing gifts. He doesn’t even need for us to be effective communicators all the time. He wants willing vessels.

Let’s all help those missionaries down off their pedestals and JOIN THEM. Wherever we are.

God is good. And people are watching.

 

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