The Weight of My Own Words

I’m told that I was notoriously stubborn as a child. I like to think that I was a sweet, innocent little girl who gave my parents nothing but sunshine and happiness, but I definitely had my fair share of conflict with them-- all related to my strong-willed attitude. My Mom is quick to remind me that by the time I was two, she had already threatened to “pull the car over” on way more occasions than any of my other siblings combined. I feel like I grew out of my stubborn defiance by the end of high school, and all in all, I turned out to be a pretty good kid. I got straight A’s, I was always at youth group, and I got a big scholarship to a good university.  Still, my stubborn defiance continues to rear its ugly head from time to time, even in my adult life.

I’ve spoken a lot recently about the two months I spent in Kenya when I was 20. I left Kenya filled with excitement for the Gospel and a renewed sense of passion for the global poor. God had spoken into my life and told me to go to Africa. I was sure of that. I came back home to my little college world convinced that my time in America would be limited. I had experiences that were raw and profound and filled me with excitement about what God had in store for the rest of my life.

Isn’t it funny how familiarity has a way of playing tricks on your mind? It seemed like every day that passed after I came back from my first trip to Africa, my memory seemed to become more fuzzy and faded. Suddenly, those people I had met and those experiences I had shared seemed a million miles away. I still thought about Kenya with a sense of nostalgia, but now the “real world” was in full focus. I focused on surviving my last year of nursing school. I focused on getting engaged to my boyfriend (now husband!) I concentrated on graduating and planning my wedding. Then it was the hunt for my first big-girl nursing job and settling into my new life as an adult. As recently as few months ago, Austin and I were talking about saving up to buy a new car by the end of the year and dreaming about buying a house someday. The calling I had felt so strongly suddenly didn’t seem as real to me anymore.

I look back on the two years that have passed since my time in Kenya and I can’t remember how many times I have had to ignore the Spirit tugging at my heart. I have been stubborn. I have been defiant. I have heard His voice over and over telling me to go, and I’ve busied myself with other things to drown out the sound. It was in January that my own words finally caught up to me. I was cleaning out our closet one day and stumbled upon my journal from Kenya. I sat down on my closet floor, opened it up, and read page after page of my innermost thoughts and experiences. I finally got to the last entry and felt my stomach turn when I read these words:

“Being in Kenya has cemented in my mind that being a missionary in Africa is the path God is calling me to. He has showed me what the well-lived Christian life looks like: it’s dangerous! I know that going back home to become a nurse/wife/mom in suburban America would be a form of disobedience to God when I believe that He has called me elsewhere. I don’t know what form being a missionary in Africa will take, how I plan to incorporate my nursing practice, what organization I will go with, whether or not my boyfriend shares in this calling, or any other logistical details. All I know is that I have a passion for helping the African poor, and that the things God has placed in my heart are the things He has for me to do here on earth.”

Ouch. In that moment, the weight of my stubborn disobedience hit me like a ton of bricks. I realized the comfortable path I had fashioned for my life was not the one I was being called to. This realization didn’t come easily, but in a way, it was… a relief. It was a relief to not have to fight it anymore. To not have to make myself so busy that I didn’t have time to listen. It was a relief to get to the place where I was so tired of struggling that I stopped and said “God, I give up. Do what you want with me.” 

I don’t think I’ll ever totally get rid of my stubbornness. God is still going to have to hit me over the head with things in order to get me to listen. But I’m glad I finally did. I feel like the path He has called me to will be even more rich and rewarding than the one I could have ever chosen for myself. I just have to keep following Jesus, the perfect example of self-sacrifice and obedience, even to the point of death on a cross (Phil. 2:8).  There’s a profound sense of joy and freedom in picking up my cross, laying down my plans, and choosing to follow Him where he leads me.

My final journal entry in Kenya; July 2010