There are days when I miss Africa. On these days, I miss the cool of the early morning. I miss the smell of the air after a rain. I miss the sensory overload of the market. I miss all of it.
On such days, I find myself particularly annoyed with my current location. You know, safely ensconced in suburban America. I grumble at the early morning here. I fail to notice the after-rain smell. I am annoyed by our relatively uncrowded grocery store.
My own sin. Of course, that's what it is. My own level of self-importance and my sinful thought that motherhood is not nearly as noble a mission field as "foreign missions." It's not nearly as sacrificing.
In Africa, I never did enough, and I certainly didn't stay long enough. I put a drop in a bucket, and then realized that the bucket was the size of an ever-expanding ocean. But God is bigger than that ocean, and He knows exactly how many drops are in it. I was reminded of that daily, reminded of my intense need for Him.
Some days I wonder, what am I doing here? Cleaning wounds and getting peed on. Feeding hungry mouths and bathing little bodies. Oh, wait. That's the exact thing I did in Africa. Why is it so different here? It's not. In fact, in some ways, what I do now is much more intimate. I gave birth to these children.
God once called me to foreign missions. He has now called me to HOME missions, in every. sense. of. the. word. If I was willing to follow Him to the ends of the earth, I should likewise be just as willing to follow Him to the end of the carpool lane.
How is it possible that I could walk into a village and confidently teach them life-altering skills, but I hesitate to teach my own kids how to do simple tasks? Because when I walk into that village, I know that even if only 50% of what I say translates into daily practice, it will make a huge impact. But with my kids? I better be perfect, or clearly, I'll screw them up for life. Right? Um, no. Not even close.
Now, with two kids here and two more on the way, I have to give it all up. Give up all fantasy that I might have even the tiniest grasp of control on any aspect of my life. I have to give it all to God. And again, I am reminded of my intense need for Him. I can't do this on my own. But He already has. He has already written the end of this story. When I take my focus off myself and (more difficult) off my shortcomings, and put my focus back on Him, suddenly, motherhood is the calling that He intended it to be.
On such days, I find myself particularly annoyed with my current location. You know, safely ensconced in suburban America. I grumble at the early morning here. I fail to notice the after-rain smell. I am annoyed by our relatively uncrowded grocery store.
Why?
My own sin. Of course, that's what it is. My own level of self-importance and my sinful thought that motherhood is not nearly as noble a mission field as "foreign missions." It's not nearly as sacrificing.
Is it?
In Africa, I never did enough, and I certainly didn't stay long enough. I put a drop in a bucket, and then realized that the bucket was the size of an ever-expanding ocean. But God is bigger than that ocean, and He knows exactly how many drops are in it. I was reminded of that daily, reminded of my intense need for Him.
Some days I wonder, what am I doing here? Cleaning wounds and getting peed on. Feeding hungry mouths and bathing little bodies. Oh, wait. That's the exact thing I did in Africa. Why is it so different here? It's not. In fact, in some ways, what I do now is much more intimate. I gave birth to these children.
God once called me to foreign missions. He has now called me to HOME missions, in every. sense. of. the. word. If I was willing to follow Him to the ends of the earth, I should likewise be just as willing to follow Him to the end of the carpool lane.
How is it possible that I could walk into a village and confidently teach them life-altering skills, but I hesitate to teach my own kids how to do simple tasks? Because when I walk into that village, I know that even if only 50% of what I say translates into daily practice, it will make a huge impact. But with my kids? I better be perfect, or clearly, I'll screw them up for life. Right? Um, no. Not even close.
Now, with two kids here and two more on the way, I have to give it all up. Give up all fantasy that I might have even the tiniest grasp of control on any aspect of my life. I have to give it all to God. And again, I am reminded of my intense need for Him. I can't do this on my own. But He already has. He has already written the end of this story. When I take my focus off myself and (more difficult) off my shortcomings, and put my focus back on Him, suddenly, motherhood is the calling that He intended it to be.
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