Archive of ‘missions’ category
Wellll. It has BEEN A MINUTE since I last made it over to this blog. But here’s the deal, y’all. We have had a thing or two going on up in here. And it appears as though it’s going to stay that way for a while. So, I thought I’d grab ahold of a few blessed kid-free moments today to give some mass updates for those of you who might be interested in our journey overseas. And, let’s be real, to Future Me who will surely scroll back to read this years down the road and think, “Oh, sweet 35 year old Catherine. You didn’t even know what was a’coming.”
So. Here’s what’s been going down:
The kids wrapped up their school years and their time in American schools for the foreseeable future. (And yes, my friends. Elizabeth commemorated the occasion by donning a gold sequin dress. I mean. Whatever.) They’ll be attending an international school in Lilongwe (with uniforms that are completely void of any semblance of sequins or shine… RIP Gold Sequin Dress), but since we’re in complete and total limbo ’till then… school’s out for the LONGEST SUMMER EVERRR!!
Kind of. I’ve been playing teacher this summer on a very itsy bitsy tiny scale in a desperate Type A effort to keep them up to speed with school stuff, and… I cannot even believe I’m about to utter these words, but… our very itsy bitsy tiny dip into the homeschooling world has been enjoyable. I know. I don’t even know what’s happening to me.
Because we Allisons like to go big or go home, I also happened to schedule my last day of work on the same day as their last day of school. I managed to hold myself together until the bitter end. And then, the tears started rolling. Because this. For those of you who might not know the culture of our church, we are constantly- incessantly- reminded that we are “sent.” Every service concludes with these words. Nearly every gathering. And as I walked out of my no-longer-workplace on that last day and saw these words, Y’ALL. I was about to re-employ myself right then and there.
In all seriousness, while the tears have fallen plenty in recent months and the INSANE logistics can sometimes be, well, INSANE… God’s been so kind.
Like how ’bout the fact that we sold our house. (BEFORE EVEN PUTTING IT ON THE MARKET. HOLLAAA NO SHOWINGS WITH THREE KIDS. I WILL TYPE THIS IN CAPS FOR THIS REST OF MY DAYS.) Yes. We sold our house to a family we know. Another staff family from church. A family who will love this house as much as we have. WITHOUT HAVING TO KEEP MY HOME SPOTLESS AND SHINING FOR DAYS ON END WHILE IT WAS ON THE MARKET. God’s kindness.
Or how ’bout the fact that, after so, so many tears and hours of fretting, we found a family for Lucy. And, once again, this family happens to also be on staff at church and are sweet, sweet friends of ours. She’s truly the weirdest, best dog in the history of dogs, and if I had to give her up to anyone, I’m so glad it’s them. God’s kindness.
While we haven’t been selling our house and re-homing our dog, we’ve been selling a ridiculous amount of randomness, and my kids have made BANK off of their old toys. I’ve dropped hints that surely I should get a cut of their profits for the amount of time I’ve spent on the Facebook Marketplace selling their junk. But, alas, all I get are rapidly emptying toy boxes and bookshelves. I’ll take it. Because we can take some of their toys to Malawi, sure. But that random janky Barbie doll that should’ve been tossed before we bought it? Nah. Peace, Barbs
Truly, though. These kids of ours- as imperfect as they might be- have been absolute ROCKSTARS during this process. One year ago, they were all “no way, no how, not going” about this whole deal. Last night, we sat around the dinner table while the kids- completely unprompted- rattled off reasons they’re excited about moving. WHAT. Again, God’s kindness.
So, yes. We’ve sold a boatload of everything and have another boatload to unload in the coming weeks. But we’ve also spent surely trillions of dollars on All The Things for Malawi. Three years of shoes and clothes for three kids. Embarrassing volumes of taco seasoning and ranch seasoning packets. Deodorant to last for, basically, ever. New bikes all around to be crated to Africa. Like I said. Trillions of dollars. In the midst of all of this, our cars broke. Both of them in one week. One was fixed. One was fixed(ish) and (just) needs a new transmission. Awesome.
But, once again- jacked transmission and everything- it’s still totally drivable. We can get where we need to go. And, if we can’t- heeeey new bikes! God’s kindness.
I’ve told so many friends recently that if I had to describe this season in two words, it would be “God’s kindness.” Also perhaps “sheer crazy” or “I’m tired” or “send help.” But mostly? God’s kind. Over and over and over again. We feel seen and known and cared for and loved by the One who is sending us. And we continue to stand with mouths agape at his provision for and kindness toward our family.
So, seven weeks left in RDU. Three months in RVA. (Half of which will be spent living with my ‘rents. #prayforchrisandsusan) And then, Malawi or Bust.
This is happening. Not sure if Malawi is ready for this crazy crew. But it’s happening.
Today, it was the dog. You see, bulldogs don’t thrive in heat. And, last time I checked, sub-Saharan Africa is hot. We can’t take our Lucy- our beloved dog who brings us heaps of laughter and joy and who is really quite possibly the best dog in the world- with us when we move.
They talk about “counting the cost,” but sometimes it’s just too hard.
I’ve had a number of those “too hard” days lately. Those lump-in-the-throat, what-are-we-even-doing days. Those “okay, Matt, look in my eyes and remind me that Jesus is worth it” days. “Okay, now tell me again. And again.”
I suppose that’s just how it goes when you start to unravel everything you’ve built, done, collected, and possessed. When you look down upon the unraveled threads that lay bare on the ground and you know many, many more are to come.
The other day, it was a conversation at work. “Catherine. You know, you really need to start telling your patients that you’re moving.” “But I don’t want to,” I countered. “I love those people. It’s too hard.”
I made it through two patients, maybe three.
And our stuff. We’re beginning to sell our way-too-many possessions. Right now, it’s the easy stuff. Books, toys, unused home decor. But the harder is coming. Like our house. This home we purchased with every intention to finally, at long last, plant ourselves for good. To stay and to raise our family, to see our kids morph into teenagers in these very rooms.
Who knew our lives were so tightly wound up? Who knew we were so enmeshed to this earth right here? Who knew there was so much tying us down and knitting us tight to a kingdom that simply does not last? I’m now convinced that there’s no way to know until you start unraveling the threads and seeing with you own eyes. Your own heart.
It’s really easy to talk a big talk about this life being finite and how living for eternity is better, but if I’m being real honest…. these beginning days of letting go have been a challenge. And no need to remind me that it’s only going to get harder from here. I’m acutely aware.
But for today, it’s the dog. And my friendships and family and this dang, stupid house that I love more than I should.
Unraveling is hard.
But as I’ve been reminded- and will need to be reminded of many times over- Jesus is better.
Here’s what I believe about God: he’s vast and holy and unchanging. Omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent. Unbounded by time or space. Always has been, always will be. Beyond our full comprehension. And yet. I believe we can still know him. I believe we can know him AND his will.
It’s crazy, actually.
However, we, as Christians, love to talk circles around “finding God’s will” for our lives. It’s just what we do. Like it’s this mystical, magical, unreachable thing. But I’m here to suggest- after oodles of experience playing this same game- that it’s not all that tricky after all. I mean, I THOUGHT it was. I spun my wheels for years praying and talking to wise counsel and reading deep books and, oh hello, blogging my feelings… all to decipher what the Lord wanted from me. From us.
And all these things are well and good. Yet, when I began to sense that God might actually be serious about this missions thing- when I started to realize that he might be calling US- my prayers became a bit more desperate.
“No, no, God. I need you to, like, tell me. WITH WORDS. Spelled in the sky or shouted into my ear. Or maybe you could even pull a Moses and talk to me from a burning bush. I’d be down with that as long as you make this very, abundantly, overwhelmingly obvious. Mkay, thanks.”
Meanwhile, God was probably all “Hey, girl… heeeey! Ever heard of the Bible? The thing you call ‘the Word of the Lord’? Oh yeah! Check it- my plans and my will for your life is RIGHT IN THERE.”
Right. Some of us are slow learners.
Because I knew the words. I memorized the Great Commission as a kid. I knew that Scripture straight up tells us to “take up our cross” and follow Jesus. I just, I don’t know, forgot these verses were for me. I failed to consider that maybe these pages of the Bible actually spelled out God’s will for me, clear as day.
But God’s patient. He’s also relentless.
So, he flew us around the globe- country after country- to show us the work he is doing. To break our hearts wide open for the vast and broad physical needs, yes- for poverty, famine, fleeing refugees, and limited access to healthcare. But even more, he overwhelmed us with the lack of gospel access around the world.
It is for this reason that I will always, always, be an advocate for short-term missions trips. Done correctly, they can make an enormous impact of people’s lives. However, it just so happens that the people impacted are typically the participants themselves.
Like us. I digress.
SO. We had the Bible telling us to “go into all the world”. We had short-term trips giving us a deep, deep love for distant lands and cross-cultural ministry. And then, God decided to pull out all stops over the past two years when he legit bombarded our family with people knee-deep, doing this work. I am not even kidding you. Missionaries AND THEIR KIDS invaded our lives. At school and at church and at work. Even at home. Because OF COURSE we would unknowingly hire a nanny who grew up overseas as a missionary kid.
Let me just tell you. It’s really dang hard to ignore God’s call to the nations when he’s surrounding you with people whose stories from those very nations now felt intensely personal. Whose kids would give context to life overseas for our three wary children. Who could look into our eyes and give unfiltered “been there, done that” truth.
It was time to reevaluate how we were viewing this whole “God’s will” business.
Long story short, that’s precisely what we’ve been doing throughout the course of the past year.
We took inventory of our gifts and passions.
We considered our deep love of Africa.
We thought about our desire and willingness to move overseas.
We enlisted our closest friends to pray over this decision and invited them to push back if they saw any red flags at all.
We, ourselves, prayed. A lot. A lot a lot.
And we held all of this up to what God himself has said all throughout the pages of Scripture.
And boom. The answer quickly became glaringly- almost annoyingly- obvious. With that, we committed last summer to start the application process. We told God, “Hey, we see what you’re doing here. And we’ll start taking steps of obedience in this direction. If you keep opening doors for us to head overseas, we’ll keep walking right through them. But you just stay near. Because, dear God, this feels crazy.”
We kept waiting for doors to slam shut. Which never happened. So, we held up our end of the bargain and kept right on stepping.
And as we take those tiny one-foot-in-front-of-the-other steps of obedience, I’m learning that maybe God’s will is a lot less about what big things we’re going to do for him and a lot more about what God’s going to do in us.
Onward. One step at a time.
I grew up going to camp every single summer, from third grade through twelfth. Situated right on Lake Gaston in rural, small town North Carolina, Camp Willow Run wasn’t exactly abounding with frills and fancy. It was relatively small and humble but had- and still has- a fiercely devoted following.
Every year, I would roll up into camp, well aware of what was to come. I knew that, a short hour after arriving on camp property, I’d have to jump into the murky lake for a swim test. I knew the high ropes course forward and backward. I knew that, toward the end of the week, we’d be served cookie mush for dessert, an unfortunately-titled fan favorite. And I knew that, on the last night of camp, there would absolutely be tears.
Because, at Christian summer camp, things tend to culminate with THE INVITATION. For those of you not fluent in church talk, an “invitation” refers to a time in which people are invited to make a decision to follow Jesus. I tend to roll my eyes at Christianese, but it is what it is and basically goes down like this:
- Here’s the gospel and
- So whatcha going to do about it now?
I knew the gospel. And I knew my response. I had decided that Jesus was worth following when I was very young. And yet, that last night always found me making other giant- sometimes emotionally charged- promises to God.
“Lord, this is it. I’m going to start reading my Bible more. Every single day. Genesis to Revelation. PINKY PROMISE.”
“Alright God, I’m going to kiss dating goodbye. And I guess kissing too. Wait. Do you really want me to kiss KISSING goodbye? Uh Lord, hello??”
You get the drift. Big declarations and big proclamations after a big week at camp. It’s how it goes. And it’s awesome. But there was this one year when this guy named J.D. Greear was the camp speaker. After a week of preaching hard, he gave an invitation for those who had decided to follow Jesus. A bunch of people walked forward. We all clapped and cheered and did all the things one does when someone makes the biggest decision they’ll ever make.
But then J.D. kept going. “And now, I’m going to offer a second invitation,” he said. “I don’t do this often, but I know that God places the missionary call on the lives of some. So, if you feel called to missions- if you feel like God might be asking you to leave your home and family and country to move overseas- come on up front.”
Even more than kissing dating goodbye, I knew this was right. I knew this was for me. Yet while a handful of people rose to their feet, I stayed put. Paralyzed in fear. And I immediately regretted it.
Fear has a way of doing this to you. Fear of breaking from the pack. Of being seen as different. As weird. As “holier than thou.”
Fear of man. Fear of unknowns. Fear of taking that first step of obedience. This has been my story, over and over and over again.
And it only intensified from there. Because time would pass, and trips around the world would continue to affirm what I had already known as a teenager. But it’s one thing to talk about a romanticized version of being a missionary when you’re a starry-eyed twenty year college student. However, place a living, breathing, newborn babe in that same person’s arms a few years later, and junk gets real. Fast. The game changes dramatically.
That fear of being viewed as different, weird, or unpopular that crippled me as a teenager was morphing into something a bit different. And still, the symptoms were the same. Namely, I found myself once again overlooking truth to dwell, instead, on hypotheticals. On the what ifs.
What if my kids get sick?
What if they turn out awkward and poorly adjusted?
What if their education overseas is subpar?
What if our marriage suffers?
What if we have no friends?
What if we give up everything all to discover that it was all one big mistake after all?
You see, these questions- these hypotheticals- they have a way of drawing you in and leaving you floundering in the murky waters of unbelief and doubt.
Good thing God is greater than the hypotheticals my finicky brain can come up with. Good thing he never leaves us floundering too long.
In the fall of 2016, I was asked to join a medical missions team that was heading to West Africa. My first response was a hard and fast “no.” I was about to start a brand new job. The country where they were headed was in a state of unrest. And it just didn’t make sense to go. Not here, not now.
Fear. Yet that hard “no” somehow shifted into an “okay, fine.” And off I went.
And that trip, man. It’s almost like God actually knows what he’s doing or something.
Yes, that trip to West Africa was phenomenal, but in full disclosure, I actually DID very little that week. I mean, I saw some patients. I had a few good conversations with some nationals. I prayed. A lot. But I am fully confident that God flew me halfway across the world that week to teach me a thing or two about fear.
I’m convinced that he flew me to Africa so that I could meet my now-dear-friend, Sheri.
My friend who was raising a family in a country of unrest and instability and who could say with an unwavering confidence, “Jesus is worth it.”
My friend who would patiently listen to my fears and misgivings and would set my eyes on truth.
My friend who, just hours before we’d hop on a plane to head back home, said, “Catherine, safety is a complete illusion. Don’t live your life trusting in an illusion.”
The following day, we landed in Miami, Florida to a terminal teeming with police and bomb sniffing dogs. Because, just prior to our landing, a gunman had let loose in a neighboring airport.
Several days later, sirens followed an armed robbery that occurred just seconds from our home. Our home in safe, secure, suburban North Carolina.
That was it. I was over it. Done trusting in the illusion. I was tired of being the captain of my ship and the author of my own self-absorbed narrative. I was calling it quits on coordinating the perfect life for my perfect kids who would obviously, as a result, turn out perfectly.
A safe, comfortable life was no match to an infinite, holy God. And that very God was going to some pretty great lengths to get my attention. At long last, he had it.
As it turns out, even the wordiest of people can fall mute every now and then. I’ve attempted to sit down to type this out for weeks- months, even. And yet, I cannot for the life of me figure out where to even start.
But let’s try, shall we?
Let’s just cut to the chase. So, we’re moving. To Africa. SURPRISE.
No really. We’re moving to Africa. Lilongwe, Malawi to be specific.**
It’s funny, actually. There have been few- very few- people in our lives who have been legit surprised by this news. The vast majority, however, have been all, “Dude, that’s… crazy. Like, MOVING moving? Yeah, you’re totally crazy, but I am not one bit surprised. WAIT. Oh my gosh, the kids. How do THE KIDS feel about this?”
Almost verbatim. Those exact three points, nearly every time: 1. We’re crazy, 2. They’re not surprised, 3. But what about the kids?
So, if that’s you, let’s just set some groundwork here. Just to put your pretty little minds at ease.
1. You might be right. Maybe we are crazy. Maybe we have indeed lost our minds. Matt and I look at each other on a near-daily basis and ask ourselves these very questions. But…
2. You have no idea how affirming your “I’m not surprised” responses are. Especially when we start circling around point #1. Or when we get stuck on point #3.
3. The kids. The kids have varying levels of excitement and acceptance on a day-to-day, hour-by-hour basis. Similar to they way they feel about, oh, each other. You know how siblings can be snuggled up sweetly next to one another one minute and ready to pounce slash draw blood the next? NOT THAT THAT EVER HAPPENS TO REAL LIVE MISSIONARIES-TO-BE. But I’ve heard rumors of such things (ahem), and it’s been EXACTLY like this. Highs and lows. Excitement and anticipation one minute, sadness and fear the next. There’s a lot they’re going to give up, and plenty that they’ll gain in moving to a new country and entirely new culture. But I’m getting ahead of myself. More on this later.
That said, I think the tippy top most important piece of groundwork to lay and point to drive home is that, sweet goodness, God has been at work here, leading up to this point. We’re talking years of preparation. Decades even.
Because in his good and sovereign plan, God would use a trip to Zimbabwe to completely reorient and rearrange the worldview of an impressionable eleven year old boy. And that boy would one day meet a girl was similarly raised to love and care for the world around her. A girl raised with missionary biographies in-hand. A girl whose heart was wrecked and eyes were opened wide on numerous short-term trips around the world. That boy and that girl would one day fall in love and get married. They’d make big plans and dream big dreams. They were gonna do this thing, man.
Years would pass. And, sure, they’d keep praying for the nations. But kids would come. Roots would be planted. They’d get their perfect house. Their perfect jobs. Their perfect lives. The American Dream up close and personal. It would be right in their grasp. And it would be awesome. Comfortable. Full of promise and opportunity.
But those two crazy kids- now all grown up and perhaps a bit less starry eyed- well, they would have to reach that point of having everything they ever wanted before they realized that it wasn’t everything they were created for after all.
They’d have to grow into the understanding that this call to missions actually has zero to do with them and everything to do with the God who called them.
And as they reached this point- as their view of God finally overshadowed their fears, hesitations, questions, and the seductive American Dream that had been placed so neatly in their very laps- they would look at each other one day knowingly.
** As things in life go, nothing is for sure until it’s for sure. A board of trustees will be voting on us in a few months which will hopefully make this forsureforsure. Get it got it good? Good.
To TOTALLY be continued…
I don’t have the words yet.
Oh, I have pictures. Lots of them. But the words and the thoughts are coming at their own pace. Slowly. Almost as slowly as the jet lag has dissipated.
It feels trite and not even close to sufficient to say that my time in West Africa was amazing, though it certainly was. Any and every trip I’ve been on overseas has rocked me, this trip probably more than others.
But why so amazing? Well, I could spout off funny anecdotes and memories. Like the time I was bitten by a monkey. Or wound up OH SO VERY LOST in the African bush. Or was gifted chickens by a generous village chief.
I could sing praises of my awesome team- of a surgeon and nurses and physicians and administrators- who came together with a united rallying cry: “My gifts are yours. My talents are yours. Have thine own way, Lord.”
I could go on and on about the missionaries on ground in West Africa. Sweet goodness, could I speak of sacrificial love and the holy and good work they’re doing in a difficult land.
But most of all, as the words trickle in and my heart continues to process through big feelings and hard questions, the overarching and unmistakable theme of it all is that our God is so much greater than we can even fathom. As I stood on the ground of what truly felt to be the “ends of the earth”, I couldn’t shake these verses:
“The poor will eat and be satisfied; those who seek the Lord will praise him…
All the ends of the earth will remember and turn to the Lord, and all the families of the nations will bow down before him, for dominion belongs to the Lord and he rules over the nations…
They will proclaim his righteousness, declaring to a people yet unborn: He has done it!” (Psalm 22: 26-28, 31)
He is doing it, y’all. Turning hearts toward His greatness. In big cities and remote villages. In the darkest places and at the very ends of the earth. His faithfulness never falters, and His righteousness is sure. As the local church and lone believers cry out, “He has done it!,” the poor are being fed and the sick are being healed and hearts are being turned to Him.
And, you guys. It’s a sight to behold.
My bags are packed. (And teetering dangerously close to my 50 pound limit.)
My visa is signed, sealed, and delivered. (And good for five years. Boom.)
And one of my children just vomited all over the place and all over the people at my Mexican send-off dinner. Par for the course. (Oh my gosh. Pray for us.)
Speaking of which. Prayer. I have had a number of y’all ask how you could be praying while I’m in West Africa over the next ten days. THANK YOU. I believe with everything within me that “the prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective” (James 5:16). Not because we’re anything awesome. Or because our prayers are anything special. But because our God is completely holy and wholly righteous. That He hears and He sees and He cares.
So, with that in mind, let’s pray y’all. Specifically…
- For hearts softened to the good news of Jesus. We’ll be working in a country that’s almost entirely Muslim and in a region where many have never heard the gospel. Pray that we would have opportunities to clearly articulate the extravagance of Christ’s love for us. Pray that it would be well-received.
- For safety. With any travel comes risk. Pray for safe travel and good health.
- For productivity as we work to build and prep an operating room– the first and only OR for many, many miles– in the small, rural village where we will be staying. THIS IS SO HUGE, you guys. Having a local operating room (coupled with, Lord-willing, a local surgeon) would save countless lives. Near and dear to my heart is the fact that it would prevent so many maternal deaths- and, consequently, so many orphans- through the availability of C-sections.
- For wisdom as we see and treat patients in the clinic. I, for one, feel overwhelmed at the thought of providing medical care with so few drugs and treatments even available to offer patients.
- That we, as a short-term medical missions team, would be quick to listen and slow to speak. That we would show utmost respect to the culture in which we will be living and working. That, while we may arrive feeling like we have so much knowledge to impart, that we would first and foremost come as learners, recognizing that the local villagers were there first and will be there long after we leave.
- That we would be a source of encouragement to the local church and missionaries there. That they would be refreshed and encouraged by our presence.
- For team unity. Because, let’s face it- we’re all still practically strangers at this stage in the game. Pray that God would bind us together quickly as a team and that we would work as one body. That we would “encourage one another and build each other up” (1 Thessalonians 5:11).
- For the families we leave behind for the week and a half. For husbands, wives, and children whose routines are going to be thrown off. If you think of it, I would love prayers specifically for Elizabeth, as separation can be very, very hard for her little heart. We’re already seeing some of this manifesting itself in recent days- just pray that “the God of all comfort” (2 Corinthians 1:3) would be so near and that she would trust that I’m coming back to her.
I am just so grateful for your prayers. You have no idea.
And I’m off.
(But, first, to get my kid to stop puking. Because motherhood.)
Perhaps this is an unconventional confession for a church-going, Jesus-loving, pastor’s wife, but it’s a true statement all the same: Some days, I just want to throw in the towel and live for myself. Sometimes, I grow weary of the surrender.
Case in point: in exactly three weeks, I will be flying out to a remote region of Africa for a medical missions trip. We’ll be bringing life-saving medicine and the life-giving message of Christ to people who desperately need it. And yet. Shortly after opening my eyes yesterday morning, one of the first sentiments that escaped from my lips was, “Why did I even say yes?”
You see, my friends, here’s the deal. Leaving the country, the kids, the husband, and the (very new) job for ten days- at the height of the holiday season, no less- is beginning to feel increasingly CA-RA-ZY to me. The unknowns feel overwhelming. And my flesh cries out, “Oh, God. This is way too hard.”
If my flesh is good at one thing, it’s precisely this- doing things MY way. And, if you’re wondering, my way is efficient and smooth and logical. It’s easy and tidy. Void of hardship or sacrifice.
However, it’s Christmas time. And every Christmas card I read and every carol that I hear reminds me that Jesus did not exactly share in this way of thinking.
While I long for comfort, Jesus was born in a barn.
While I cling to my strength and ability, God came to earth as a helpless baby boy.
While I strive for control, Jesus surrendered Himself to the cross.
While my sights are often cast inward, Jesus lived- and died- for everyone else.
Jesus’ life was anything but my idealistic fantasy of a neat and tidy, smooth and easy life. Every iota of His existence modeled humility and sacrificial love.
You guys, it has been quite the year. It’s been a year replete with “I don’t wanna”s followed by “fine, God. I’m scared, but I’ll go.” It’s been a year of speaking when I preferred to stay silent and of going when I preferred to stay. It’s been a year of saying “no” when a “no” seemed outlandish and saying “yes” when I just wanted to quit. Submission and open hands and, even more than any of that, a year of digging deep, so deep, into the character of God. Desperately leaning into His strength and sufficiency when I had none of my own to offer.
But isn’t that what it’s always about?
Just yesterday- after my brief and admittedly melodramatic meltdown over my pre-Christmas, pre-Africa to-do list- I overheard the words of Joy to the World ringing out through my iPhone. “Let every heart prepare Him room,” it sang. And those words- they’ve been bouncing around in my head ever since.
Prepare Him room.
Sounds pretty benign, right? Or not. Because when we truly begin to see God for who He says He is and for all He’s come to do, we start to understand this phrase to mean something a whole heck of a lot more radical.
We prepare Him room, understanding that this God of whom we speak doesn’t just want a chunk of space in our hearts and lives. He wants all. of. it. All of us. We’re talking complete and total surrender. An open-handed proclamation of, “Hey God, I’m yours.”
Prepare Him room, but be forewarned. He’s bound to jack a few things up in our lives. Because this God who humbled Himself to human flesh born in a barn isn’t particularly concerned with our comfort. Safety isn’t the highest priority for the Great King who obeyed until He hung on a cross. Worldly success is of little import to the One who flipped everything on its head when he taught that “the first will be last, and the last first.” (Mark 10:31)
Prepare Him room because THIS. This is the One who came.
The One who is anything but safe and tame. Who may get all up in your business and who may completely mess with your notion of comfort and stability.
The One who is not just some meek and mild Sunday-morning-only Jesus. The One who is strong and mighty. The One who is a good, good Father, yes. But the One who is also a Warrior King.
This is the One.
So, as we prepare Him room, let us sing with a deeply-rooted conviction that He does indeed rule the world with truth and grace. May our eyes be opened wide to the glories of his righteousness and wonders of his love, and may our surrender flow from that space. From a first-hand knowledge of who He is.
We prepare Him room, knowing that the Immanuel has already come. That He’s here. In the hard and the joyous and the stressful and smooth. In the extraordinary and in the mundane. He is here and will continue to be. And man, if that’s not something worth celebrating.
Yes, the Lord has come. The Savior reigns indeed. So, go. Prepare Him room. Clear out and make space for Him to move, work, break down, restore, keep, send, and be.
But things might just be about to get real and get real fast. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I know from experience.
And you know what else I know from experience? He’s so worth it.
Sixteen years ago, I went on my first overseas missions trip. Montego Bay, Jamaica, baby. I signed up because I had FOMO before FOMO was even a thing. Every one of my friends was going on the trip, and I was not about to miss out on the fun. Little did I know that God would use that very trip- and my iffy motives for signing up- to wreck my teenage self for the nations. For the marginalized. For him.
(Please note how serious we were about laying rebar and spreading the love of Jesus. I even went to the trouble of purchasing a black and white disposable camera for the dramatic effect of our tireless efforts. We were clearly HARD AT WORK, you guys. #allforthemission)
Flash forward a few years to 2004 when I first stepped foot on African soil. This time, I signed up because, hello, KENYA. I was also a college student who was sick and tired of the status quo. I loved Jesus, craved adventure, and longed to step outside of my privileged college experience and put feet to the faith of which I spoke. Once again, wrecked.
Shortly thereafter, I graduated and promptly (read: one week later) started grad school and bought a house and got hitched. (Go big or go home.) Had babies. Launched into a new career. In other words, LIFE HAPPENED. And, aside from a few crucial trips to Congo, I haven’t made it back overseas since.
Well, actually. Actually, I have a dozen reasons why now shouldn’t be the time. Because, money. And the holidays. And jobs. And can my kids even survive without me for ten days? I DO NOT EVEN KNOW.
(A tiny sidenote for all of you high schoolers and college students out there. Want some unsolicited advice from Aunt Catherine? Go overseas NOW. Get involved in God’s mission around the globe NOW. Take a gap year or a summer or a few years after college and GO. I know, I KNOW, life seems so crazy right now. It feels like it’s a rat race out there to score the best internships and summer jobs and whateverelsethereis, but lean in close while I fill you in on a little secret: LIFE JUST GETS CRAZIER, PEOPLE. Take full advantage of these years before you get married, before you have kids, before you are knee-deep in a career, and consider going now. You’re welcome. XOXO, A “Wise” and Increasingly-Wrinkled Thirty-Something-Year-Old)
Y’all. I’m a master of conjuring up lengthy lists of “what if?”s. I can think up seemingly legit (and sometimes really lame) excuses with the best of them. These days, there just seems to be a limitless tally of details to work out and unknowns to think through before saying “yes” to, really, anything. And a trip overseas? It’s felt so complicated. Almost paralyzing. And still, I felt a quiet voice saying, “Catherine, it’s time.”
I am learning that the white-knuckled grip I have on MY plans and MY life and mymymy doesn’t exactly resemble the type of surrender to which we’re called. And that following Jesus looks a lot like, oh you know, following Jesus period. Putting our “yes” on the table PERIOD. End of story.
So often, I wait for the unknowns to be made known and the details to be perfectly ironed out before I make good on my promise of “yes, I’ll follow.” Over the years, I’ve watched others come and go. And sometimes go and stay. I’ve cheered them on and sent some checks and lifted them in prayer and silently thought, “Well, it’s good thing they’re going. Because it sure doesn’t make sense for ME to go. Not right now. Not with kids. God, I know you’re faithful, and I know you’re good, but just not right now, mkay?”
And then. This trip. Gracious. Medical missions in West Africa with a group of medical professionals from our church.
Partnering with local medical providers who work with clinics where neither medical care nor the gospel message would otherwise be available.
Providing clinical guidance and support to those working tirelessly in these rural clinics.
Devising an EMS-like system to transport the sickest of patients.
Laying the framework for converting a small clinic into a larger referral hospital.
In a country where infant and maternal mortality is astonishingly high and the desperate need for the gospel even higher. Over the New Year’s holiday, people. I mean, I’ve spent some quality time in the African bush before. But never have I ever celebrated New Year’s in the bush.
And, despite all of the uncrossed t’s and undotted i’s, I’m really, ridiculously pumped.
Want more details? Interested in supporting this trip? Send me a message, leave a comment, shoot an email, or send off some smoke signals. There are some pretty stinkin exciting things happening in West Africa, and I’d love for some of you guys to be in on the excitement!
It. Is. Time. Let’s do this.