myMISSION Young Professional Blog

Perspectives of Memory

I’m starving! Let’s get something to eat!

These are phrases we say flippantly after a few hours without a meal.

Sitting in my fully-furnished home, drinking my electricity-produced cup of coffee, my mind wanders to distant lands, lands where children are the last to eat because the patriarchs and the matriarchs keep the family farm thriving so they must find sustenance first and because in some cultures children’s needs are not valued. There were children whose stomachs were bloated due to dysentery and malnourishment as they rummaged through my trash in Sub-Saharan Africa to find a morsel I threw away.

My thoughts stray to decaying, abandoned homes in the Middle East where sitting on floors I heard story after story of Syrian refugees who were struggling to provide meals for their families and were fearing the future of their country. Entire communities within Syria were being cut off from food supplies, and those who pursued refuge in other countries were quickly finding homelessness and hunger.

Wherever He leads, I’ll Go

“Go to the Middle East.”

That was the clearest call I had received from God. The next eight years were spent praying about, dreaming about, and preparing for my move to the Middle East.

I have always been the ambitious sort, the type who prepares for every change and possibility and attempts to plan the next 15 years, now. If possible.

So I went. God gave me the call. And I went.

Naturally, during my eight years of planning I began to dream about what the call from God might mean. I convinced myself He must want me to live overseas forever.

So I told others I would move there for my whole life. And quite honestly, my heart was willing.

But God had different plans.

Getting me there was simply the beginning of the life-changing, faith-rocking journey He was starting me on.

I thought it was a forever kind of call. Instead, God was asking me to follow Him in the faith-based kind of pursuit where He is the Good Shepherd and I am the lamb following Him wherever He would lead me.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to years and slowly God began to whisper to me that it was time to move home.

Sleep vs. God

6:30 a.m. The song begins to play, telling me it is time to wake up.

Shower. Get Ready. Quickly eat breakfast. Out the door.

Work. Work. Work. Home. Errands. Friends.

Then repeat.

Do you ever feel like you are on the wash cycle on repeat? It’s so rhythmic. It’s so consistent. It’s alarming.

The routine wrestles with my time with the Lord. I convince myself in the middle of my morning that I can find it, but oftentimes the bed calls my name more than my drive to have time with Jesus.

In those moments, sleep matters more to me than the living water.

The more I allow this cycle to repeat, the more desperate and thirsty for the Lord I become. I forget that the stillness is where I find Him. In the moment of pause.

If we allow the rhythm, the routine, to dictate our lives—working, living, moving at a syncopated pace—when do we stop? When is the pause?

Every song ever written has a moment of rest. How naive for me to think my life-song should never pause.

It’s in the silence that I hear God.

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