Sometimes I think I don’t make much sense.
(I know at least one person who’s laughing right now. It’s not funny.)
I mean, it might be funny if I was a professional comedian, a politician, or a lawyer. But when I’m trying to be a very practical, down-to-earth missionary, it gets a little annoying. Aren’t missionaries supposed to know what they’re doing?
I’ve read about Gladys and Amy and George and Katie and Elizabeth and Jim and Megan and Eric and all sorts of others, and they jumped on planes, boats, buses, cars, or into a nondescript pair of shoes. And they went! Just like that. Without looking behind them. Forgetting it all. For the glory of God and the sake of His lost children.
So . . . what am I doing here still?
Cause I am. Here. Still. I think I forgot to tell some of you, and if you’re not within a 15-mile radius, you probably don’t know. I’m in Nebraska. Central City. Little place. Lots of cornfields and cows. Not much else.
I will be here until . . . well, until God opens the next door. I don’t really know when that will be. Some time between today and the end of the world. Sorry if you were wanting something a little more specific. Sometimes waiting on God is confusing. Sometimes it’s downright frustrating.
I’m not writing this so you’ll feel sorry for me and send me chocolate. I mean, you could send me chocolate, but that’s not why I’m writing. I just wanted you to hear from the human side of trying to be a missionary. We’re human too. We get impatient. We get discouraged. We get lost. Or at least, I do.
But I keep forging ahead - or, in this case, sitting here in a bright yellow chair in a house surrounded by cornfields while a large portion of the people I know stare at me and wait for me to DO something. I’ll wait as long as it takes. Because no matter how little I’ve managed to accomplish in a day, my prayer is still the same:
I would rather cry before You with wounds
Than sing before You with walls.
I would rather my heart be torn to shreds by You
Than keep it whole and turned to stone.
I would rather be pierced by Your sword
Than pick up a shield and side with the enemy.
I would rather hear one whispered word from You
Than the cheers of human praise.
I would rather lose it all to You
Than win the world from anyone else.
I would rather be crushed under Your hand
Than be held safe in the hand of any other.
I would rather weep in Your house
Than dance in a house You’re not in.
I would rather not die.
But since my living life
Can only come by dying death,
I would rather die with You
Than live with anything less.
