When I was 12, I knew I was called to a life in South America as a missionary. I didn’t know to where, or to whom, I just knew that I needed to know Spanish. So, I started the long, hard process of learning. I am still learning. When I was 13, I took my first Spanish class. Five years later, I am still taking spanish classes.
But here is the difference. When I was 12, I knew that I was called to go. But now, at almost 19, I realize that I have been called to something else, too. Something far scarier. I haven’t just been called to go.
I have been called to leave.
My family is here, in the United States. My home is here. My life is here. But how much longer will that really be the case?
The idea of “Going” never actually included “Leaving”. For some reason, those two concepts never went together in my mind. Going and leaving.
Going to Ecuador means leaving America. And for the past 6 years, that’s as much as I realized. But I am beginning to understand that it means leaving a lot more than The United States.
It means leaving my iPhone. It means leaving toilet paper, hand soap, 3G. It means leaving lined notebook paper, hot pink ball point pens, and $50 Toms shoes. It means leaving comfort and convenience.
But it means leaving a lot more than that. It means leaving my family. My home. It means leaving everything that I have ever known, that I have ever loved, that ever made me feel safe and secure.
Living a life of missions is hard. It takes work. Constant prayer and evaluation and repentance and laying your pride aside.
Missions is living out what God tells Paul in Acts 26:
“Go and tell the world what I have shown you, and what I will show you in the future.”
Missions comes with a promise:
“Go, and make disciples of all nations… and I will be with you, even until the end of the age.” Matthew 28:20
But missions is scary.