It's a thought that exhilarates me. However, at the same time it worries me. The thought that God has called me to return to Ethiopia. The thought that once more I can hold my kiddoes and see how they've grown and to see if they remember me and my quirkiness. The thought of traveling the streets of Debre Zeyit or cruising through the highways of Addis Ababa.
But it's more than those luxuries of fleeting memories.
What excites me more is the thought of maybe being able to plant seeds of the Gospel in the hearts of various and random children I meet along the way. I envision a lot of ministry options. The most definite seems to be teaching a Sunday School class at the church of my sponsor kid, Natnael. I also consider staying until my visa expires in two years after my arrival on Ethiopian soil. It's a challenging thought.
However it's not the going away that challenges me.
I don't worry about my emotional stamina in leaving America. As much as I love my family and friends and the kids I work with, I imagine only dealing with homesickness halfway through my trip. By that point I will be able to set up Skype sessions, work around school schedules and phone my Bible Club kids, and send email to my friends and family at least weekly. And that can suffice me, I'd think. I have nothing for my kids in Ethiopia, save random photos from people returning from a missions trip throughout the year.
What challenges me is the huge spiritual task in front of me. I'm not a Praying Clyde (Missionary to India with a great track record for praying). I'm not some spiritual fortitude.
I'm weak.
I often fall prey to Satan.
That's what frightens me. What if I erect myself to be some lighthouse, shining the way to Christ through the broken streets of Debre Zeyit-- and then my lighthouse crumbles to the ground, thrusting them into an unexpected darkness. What if I lift up the faltering in Ethiopia, pointing their way to the Healer--and then I, myself, trip on those pebbles and trip them, causing them to circle around and lose sight of the Saviour?
Can God still spread His Gospel and Kingdom?
I understand God can be the iron casting that weaves around my lighthouse, empowering it to stand against the thrashes of the sea I stand in. I understand God can keep me from falling and that He holds my hand in his while I hold the hand of a struggling soul on the streets of life.
But why risk it? Why play with the fate of someone who will reject Him with a volatile human as myself?
Because He risked it for me.
God doesn't send me out with absolutely no help from Him. He isn't sending me to reach Ethiopia's children for Him in my own strength, plans, or abilities. And because it isn't in my strength that He is sending me out, I can rest in His strength to keep me from falling into a disgrace.
So, yes. I am weak. Yes, I do what I don't want to do (sin) and I don't do what I want to do (glorify God). Yes, my spirit flaunts its independence in the face of the Father only to be pushed to my knees by the Opposer. Yes, I am far from worthy of the call to point the children of Ethiopia to the Messiah who will wash away their sins and restore their hope.
But, no. I'm not alone. No, I am not left to be weak. No, I'm not wandering blind. No, God doesn't keep me on my knees, but instead pulls me to my feet and shows me what it means to depend on His grace.
Thus God sends me out. A weak, broken, faltering light to shine the path to the One who sustains. He sends me out as one who is in the process of being sanctified into His holiness. Not as completely perfect, but as one with a cast or a bandage: showing my gwadenyoch (friends) that God can heal their pains and bind their wounds; and that God can restore them and use them for His glory.
Thus God sends me to boast of His power, not to rely on mine. May His love be seen in my love; may His power be seen through my weakness. May His redeeming grace be seen by my surrendered life.
But it's more than those luxuries of fleeting memories.
What excites me more is the thought of maybe being able to plant seeds of the Gospel in the hearts of various and random children I meet along the way. I envision a lot of ministry options. The most definite seems to be teaching a Sunday School class at the church of my sponsor kid, Natnael. I also consider staying until my visa expires in two years after my arrival on Ethiopian soil. It's a challenging thought.
However it's not the going away that challenges me.
I don't worry about my emotional stamina in leaving America. As much as I love my family and friends and the kids I work with, I imagine only dealing with homesickness halfway through my trip. By that point I will be able to set up Skype sessions, work around school schedules and phone my Bible Club kids, and send email to my friends and family at least weekly. And that can suffice me, I'd think. I have nothing for my kids in Ethiopia, save random photos from people returning from a missions trip throughout the year.
What challenges me is the huge spiritual task in front of me. I'm not a Praying Clyde (Missionary to India with a great track record for praying). I'm not some spiritual fortitude.
I'm weak.
I often fall prey to Satan.
That's what frightens me. What if I erect myself to be some lighthouse, shining the way to Christ through the broken streets of Debre Zeyit-- and then my lighthouse crumbles to the ground, thrusting them into an unexpected darkness. What if I lift up the faltering in Ethiopia, pointing their way to the Healer--and then I, myself, trip on those pebbles and trip them, causing them to circle around and lose sight of the Saviour?
Can God still spread His Gospel and Kingdom?
I understand God can be the iron casting that weaves around my lighthouse, empowering it to stand against the thrashes of the sea I stand in. I understand God can keep me from falling and that He holds my hand in his while I hold the hand of a struggling soul on the streets of life.
But why risk it? Why play with the fate of someone who will reject Him with a volatile human as myself?
Because He risked it for me.
God doesn't send me out with absolutely no help from Him. He isn't sending me to reach Ethiopia's children for Him in my own strength, plans, or abilities. And because it isn't in my strength that He is sending me out, I can rest in His strength to keep me from falling into a disgrace.
So, yes. I am weak. Yes, I do what I don't want to do (sin) and I don't do what I want to do (glorify God). Yes, my spirit flaunts its independence in the face of the Father only to be pushed to my knees by the Opposer. Yes, I am far from worthy of the call to point the children of Ethiopia to the Messiah who will wash away their sins and restore their hope.
But, no. I'm not alone. No, I am not left to be weak. No, I'm not wandering blind. No, God doesn't keep me on my knees, but instead pulls me to my feet and shows me what it means to depend on His grace.
Thus God sends me out. A weak, broken, faltering light to shine the path to the One who sustains. He sends me out as one who is in the process of being sanctified into His holiness. Not as completely perfect, but as one with a cast or a bandage: showing my gwadenyoch (friends) that God can heal their pains and bind their wounds; and that God can restore them and use them for His glory.
Thus God sends me to boast of His power, not to rely on mine. May His love be seen in my love; may His power be seen through my weakness. May His redeeming grace be seen by my surrendered life.
