I thought I had found it.
My niche, my place, my way to reach out and bring others in while living overseas. I was a young mom of a two-year-old, a four-year-old, and a newborn. At the preschool of my four-year-old, I was getting to know other moms.
Go. Serve. Love is happy to welcome Timothy, a student with Fusion, the dynamic missions program at Spurgeon College in Kansas City, Missouri.
The sun beat down on the back of my neck as I struggled to will each step forward.
In our efforts at Go. Serve. Love to help you look overseas with eyes wide open, we actually like posting your “wish someone had told me about missions” stories. They help the rest of us, y’know, adjust expectations and avoid our own train wrecks.
Today we’re posting from one of our partners, the all-new Mission App–which allows you to search and apply to 30 agencies with one app, and one application.
I cram more things into the suitcase, carefully wrapping breakable items in shirts and sweaters. Piles of our life slowly disappear into the large box that will zip closed and be wheeled through the airport. The items of our life pushed and squeezed into 10 pieces of luggage: We are leaving tomorrow.
I have trouble carrying the weight of this.
We’ve known the date for 12 weeks and yet it still seemed to surprise us in the end. The rush to buy the last-minute items, to see if we had all that we needed. Did you buy a gift for that person? Do you think we need an extra one of these? The careful planning and eleventh-hour buys all jumble together, pushed and prodded to make space.
Editor’s note: In a break from the norm, we’re featuring a piece of creative…well, mostly fiction, based on the life of people encountered by an anonymous reader as she served in a collection of Southeast Asian islands, battling a mutual enemy: Death.
Though it’s challenging to accurately imagine the perspective of anyone of another culture, there seem benefits, too, in trying.
Even though it was years ago, I remember it as clearly as if it were today: the year our Christmas was a sickly yellow.
It had taken me a good while to adapt to life in Ghana. After many mornings of tears–morning is when the reality of life there would hit me–I adjusted well. Life was good: The evening Bible school was off to a good start, we were getting to know our neighbors, Gary was mentoring a couple of men and I was helping Nicole, French and married to a Ghanaian, grow in her new faith.
Stuffed animal on the kitchen counter. Dirty socks by the back door. Laundry on the couch. Empty coffee cup on the bathroom counter. Wagon on the driveway. Library books on the floor.
What do all of these things have in common? (Besides the fact that they might all be true about where we are living right now.)
Editor’s note: David and Rebecca, regular readers of Go. Serve. Love and self-proclaimed ordinary people, recently contacted us with some crazy-cool news. Together-ready, waiting for God’s direction–they recently became global workers in North Africa, one of the least-reached regions of the world.
And all in a span of about six weeks.
We were heading into the mountains to hold workshops for lay leaders and pastors.
But I had a problem. I needed to talk with four different men: one to set up a team coming from a supporting church to show the Jesus film. Then three others for details about the very workshops we had come to give that weekend.