As a child, our church had many missionaries that it sponsored. There was even one missionary, Mark, who had grown up in our church and his parents were still members. Due to these two things, especially the second, we frequently had missionaries that would come and tell their story of what they were doing in far off countries. Mark and his wife Lori even did fun things like preparing a traditional meal from Jordan, the country they were living in. Every time I heard missionaries, I would be inspired. Inspired to be a missionary, inspired to be God’s servant and spread the good news. This dream always led to disappointment because I couldn’t imagine being away from my family for years, or even months at a time. When I tasted the food, I was even more discouraged because my picky palate led me to believe I would die of starvation in a foreign country.

At one point, I heard of short-term mission assignments when missionaries would go to the mission field for just a summer. I thought this would be perfect! I was planning to be a teacher, and by this time, I suppose, I thought maybe I could stomach the food if it was just temporary or at least pack enough granola bars to get me by.

However, as my life went on, I never pursued the idea of mission work. My favorite hymn remained though:

“Make Me a Servant”

                Make me a servant, humble and meek,
                Lord let me lift up those who are weak,
                And may the prayer of my heart always be,
                Make me a servant, make me a servant,
                Make me a servant today.

As I have sang it over the years, I’ve prayed it in earnest. I want to be God’s servant. I want to help others. At the depths of my heart I want to be a missionary, and yet those opportunities have always eluded me. Or have they? Maybe my mission field just isn’t what I envisioned. Maybe I don’t have to move to the other side of the world to be a missionary. Maybe I can eat what my palate is accustomed to. Maybe God wants me to be his servant right here in my family, in my church, and in my community.

Eighteen years ago I began my teaching career. Seventeen years ago I was married. Fourteen years ago I became a mother. I’m now the mother of four children. Four years ago, I quit teaching and became a Director of Religious Education. Somehow at all of these pivotal points in my life I missed the fact that I was building my own mission field. Sure, I knew that we are supposed to help our spouse get to heaven, and to pass on the faith to our children. I even knew that I was called to live my faith at work, whether that was as a public school teacher or as a Director of Religious Education. But I never wrapped my head around the fact that God was answering my prayer. He didn’t call me to leave my family or eat strange foods. But he did call me to be a missionary, to be his servant, and to spread the good news. Being a missionary is hard. I can only imagine the hardships of being a missionary in a foreign land. Foreign customs, food, and languages would be a huge obstacle, not to mention living thousands of miles from those you love. Being a missionary at home is hard too. Probably the biggest obstacle is that no one calls you a missionary, not even yourself. You forget that you are even in the mission field! And yet, there you are helping others, feeding the hungry (children), clothing the naked (children), caring for the sick (children) and spreading the good news right in your own home.

~Kari