I told the story again the other night.
The story of being challenged by a missionary speaker from Southeast Asia who came to our church when I was only eleven years old. In that part of the story, the missionary said that in Southeast Asia it was so hot and then it got hotter and then it just got rainy and hotter together. He said the food was so spicy you could hardly eat it. He said there were spiders and snakes that could kill you or eat you or both. He said the language was incredibly difficult to learn with tones and so many ways you could say something really, really wrong. And then he asked, "Who wants to come?"
And I heard in my head what I believed to be the voice of God saying, "You. I want you to go."
We walked to the front of the church in those days, when we wanted to make something certain in our hearts. And I did that, that night. And from then on, when folks asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said, "a missionary to Southeast Asia." How exotic. But really, I was convinced I was just following the direction of God for my life.
And it was all fine and good for a few years, until I met a boy. And suddenly some realities kicked in. Choosing a missionary life could very well mean choosing a single life. And even though this boy and I had just started to hang out, I kind of liked hanging out, and kind of liked the idea that one day I'd hang out kind of permanently with someone. And that poked a hole in my romantic notion of being a missionary in some exotic place. And pressed up in painful ways against what I had thought had been so clear.
So I told my pastor, and he was amazing. He said that I should just let God know how I was feeling about the whole deal and see what happened. Which is what I did. For the next six months straight I poured all my teenage angst into seriously angsty prayers. Back then we called it 'wrestling with God in my spirit.' which is totally what it felt like. And the whole time it was crickets from heaven. Nothing. Nada. No words in my head at all. No writing on the wall, which would have freaked me out to be honest, but would have been better than being ignored.
Well fine, then, be like that. All clear and directive when the missionary was there, but only stony silence now, me just pouring out my soul on my bed every night.
And finally I'd had enough. And I just said, "Okay God. I'll go where you want me to go. No matter what." And I meant it. I did. And in that moment of release, what I thought I heard was, "Okay. Now just wait."
We can't really go into it all right now because that would literally be the whole story of my whole life. how it all unfolded in due time. Forty years to be precise, before I actually got to Southeast Asia.
But here's the thing that dawned on me as I was telling the story again to the kids the other night.
Ken, who was that boyfriend if you didn't know, was with me in the room, here in Southeast Asia, as I'm telling this story. See what God did there? Ken is here. In the end, I didn't have to leave behind what I was so afraid to give up. In fact, he's here and every bit part of this missionary work as I am.
To be clear, this living for Jesus thing does indeed require sacrifice. It's kind of what Jesus is all about when it comes down to it; love and sacrifice. So I'm not saying that there's some kind of magic in surrendering everything, and now God has to do the "psyche!" thing and give you what you were willing to give up. Sometimes you just give something up and that's it. And there's been a lot of that in my story as well.
But as I'm telling the story, I glance over at Ken, and the softness of the irony hits me.
Who knew?
Well, yes, God. God knew.
Have I mentioned how much I love it when it works out for Ken to come along to Thailand with me?
Only three days left. It's been a fabulous time.
