Confessions of a Missionary

Today I slept until 2pm. After that, a friend and I went to an air-conditioned coffee shop for a few hours. Later, I got together with friends and ate pizza, salad, and chocolate brownies, followed by coffee and good chats. I came home, watched two movies with another friend, and now I'm headed to bed.

I call myself a missionary.

So I could justify.... after all, I did stay up all night catching a baby and caring for a few other laboring women, so 2 pm isn't so outrageous. I did study at the coffee shop, so it wasn't wasted time or money. My host provided the American-style food, so that little pleasure wasn't my splurge. And the movies were a fulfilled promise to a friend.

But I call myself a missionary.

One day I ate an entire chocolate bar just because. Two days ago I got a pedicure. I have wifi in my house. Earlier this week I went out for ice cream. I own a computer and a camera. I have nice clothing. I own a bike.

And I call myself a missionary.

I haven't seen my family in 3 months. I recently spent 24 hours at the clinic with my patient who was in labor. My niece and nephews are growing up, and some of them won't remember me when I see them again. I have missed the weddings and funerals of several close friends. I get stared at everywhere I go because I'm white. It's been ages since I drove a car.

Yes, I call myself a missionary.

Sometimes I just want to speak English. Sometimes I stay home because going out requires so much effort. Sometimes I want to hug my sister, or exchange witticisms with my dad. Sometimes I miss snow and fall leaves. I get sick of sweating. I don't want to wait for absolutely everything anymore. I am tired of things scurrying away every time I turn a light switch on.

And I call myself a missionary?

More than all of these things I want to see souls saved. I want to accurately state, "And they praised God because of me." I want to see prisoners set free, broken healed, and light and life in the eyes of the hopeless. I want Heaven to have more occupants. I want the name of Jesus to be lifted. Lives saved. God's love spread abroad.

So I call myself a missionary.

I don't always know how to justify things. I don't find justice in the duplicity of life here. I don't know how to feel about days that are filled with things like laundry, coffee shops, movies, and wifi. I don't understand how to balance the mundane with the eternal. I don't understand why to half of my people I live a life of sacrifice, and to the other half, a life of luxury. After all these months, it's still a bit of a conundrum to me.

Still, I call myself a missionary.