For me, missions was the ultimate bait and switch.

God didn’t bait me; He called me. I, unfortunately, have to own up to baiting myself. My own deliriously wrong expectations of Life-as-a-Missionary were the culprits.

I think this happens often. God is clear in His design, in His plan. And we precious, finite humans figure it could do with a little tweak here and there. Tweaking leads to twisting . . . which leads to pounding . . . cramming . . . jumping on. All to get His glorious purpose to fit inside our measly box. It never does, you know. We only succeed in squeezing in parts of it. We miss out on some of the best.

The saddest thing is, we hold the box up to the world, proclaiming that our box is the real deal.

That’s what I did. I baited myself with my own box, and I fell for it. Hard.

I grew up in church, a pastor’s daughter. Collected quarters for missions, survived rock-a-thons to raise support, wrote to MKs (missionary kids), and even got involved in as much international ministry as I could on this side of the ocean. My impression all along, based on what most conservative churches proclaim, was that God needs special people to reach the world. I longed to be one of the Special.

God called, and boy did I ever answer. At 14, I just knew I’d live overseas one day, telling people about the love of Jesus. Boyfriend-Who-is-My-Husband answered the call, too, years later, and–I must admit–it took me a while to believe he was telling me the truth. (I thought it was part of his wooing ploy). So, united in our special quest, box of misguided understanding strapped on our backs, 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.

But something happened to me on the mission field. My box fell apart.

I imagined stepping off the plane, getting settled, and inviting the crowd of hungry hearts gathered outside our door inside to hear the message of love and truth we’d brought them. Two things blew the sides off my box:

One, no one came to the door. And two, My New Life took so long to live, that I barely had time to talk to people, much less build real relationships and share Christ.

Instead of having something to offer my neighbors, I was forced to admit I needed to learn from them. My mind–which had been doing graduate level work, thank you very much–was suddenly three-years-old again. I couldn’t get from Point A to Point B without help. I couldn’t buy food for my family without spending hours standing in the aisles of the store, dictionary in hand. I couldn’t carry on a conversation about more than where I was from and what the weather was like. Talk about frustration.

But in that humility, I asked God to show me His true purpose, and I began to see what He intended. He wanted me to understand that I was no better than anyone else; all the good in my life was because of Him alone. He wanted me to grasp that He was the One who would speak to their hearts; I didn’t have anything worthwhile to contribute–except my willingness. And He wanted me to realize that He brought me to the mission field to change me.

What? I wasn’t there for others? That’s not what I signed up for. Was I such a hard case that He had to transplant me in another language and culture to get my attention? (Probably so, yes.) Some of you who know me are laughing. Okay. Definitely so, yes.

Call it the Great Crucible. Tension, frustration, helplessness, disappointment–all of these heated up around me. I was amply humbled by my . . . shall we say less than admirable . . . reaction to it. But as my sin, my nasty and often resentful attitude, came to the surface, I had the opportunity to call it what it was, to confess it, and to let the Refiner skim it. And the next time the heat cranked up, my response was better. With every trial, every burst of flame, I reflected the Silversmith a little more.

And then I began to want to learn. Humility can be a wonderful thing. Once I accepted the fact that I had been wrong about why Christ had asked me to follow Him to the other side of the world, I dug in. Eager, inquisitive, joyful. I’d step in to the butcher’s shop and say, “I’d love to learn some of your favorite recipes. If I bought this kind of meat, how would you suggest I prepare it?” Delighted, they’d sit down with me, write out recipes, joke with me. Eventually, they asked why I was there.

Out on the playground, my little Giant toddled with other children, and I chatted with their moms. They noticed differences in how I parented. Loving discipline, firm direction, compassion, appreciation for the gift of a child.

Those conversations were the ones I was meant to have. God never intended for me to “set anyone straight” about their wrong beliefs. 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 He intends for missions to be. Everywhere.

He wants us to be real. As we follow Him–in every aspect of our lives–we should be willing to talk about it. His love should be evident, and it should invade our conversations.

For me, the mission field was a crucible. As I was humbled and broken by circumstances and hardships, and as I clung to my Savior in desperation, people were watching. Granted, maybe they only watched because I was that strange American. But I’m convinced that–for several of them–it was because I’d opened my life to them, and they cared about who I was and what I was going through. 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.

Here’s my challenge to you, readers. Who says that missionaries are a cut above the rest? A special kind of person? Don’t believe it for a second. I hear that all the time, but I can tell you, it isn’t true. Missionaries are real people, and frankly, God desires (and commands) that every one of His children to be committed to His purpose.

I am still a missionary, but I am nothing special. Every believer can do what I do in some form or another. 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. He can–and does–work in the world and in the hearts of people without us. But what an opportunity to be used if we’re willing to put ourselves out there! He sure put Himself out there for us.

Let’s start taking missionaries off the pedestal and JOINING THEM. Wherever we are.

God is good. And people are watching.