Missional Living.

Living in this discipline of service feels foreign to anything I’ve ever known. Other “mission trips” compare, but by nature, they were missional. Goal-oriented. Designated for a purpose of carrying the mission to a set group of a people in a set amount of time. What does missional living look like though? My “mission,” if I had to name one this summer, was to lean into the discipline of service in such a way that I could serve God in the context of a pressure-less, spacious environment and thus further experience His presence in prayer and rest—and preferably it would be done in Africa J. But being here and seeing how this self-centered mission has allowed me to be more others-focused than ever before is astounding. I wouldn’t call it an abundance of joy, or energy, or ability that I have, per se, but rather, a more willing dependence and openness to the humility that comes in recognizing my deep need for Jesus and His love.

Where is it in the Church? Why is it easier when we’re “away” or “on mission” to understand our purpose. Which in this case, involves that of waking-up and knowing confidently that I ‘get’ to serve and love God today, along with my self and my neighbor. What a gift.

Days off are definitely longed for, but work itself is so satisfying that even on intentional Sabbath days or afternoons, I often find myself back at the Cottage. I miss the babies. I miss the work of loving them. Much of the time, work for me here is rest to my soul. I wonder if this is a season, or if it’s how it’s always supposed to be, or could be? Probably a little of both.

There’s a quote hanging in my room here by Rabindranath Tagore: “I slept and dreamed that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted, and behold, service was joy.” I think this summarizes a lot of how I’m feeling today.

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Follower of Christ.

When I lived in Paris, it was with a Buddhist woman named Jacqueline and a homeless man she housed named Asoumain. Both had hearts of gold. Asoumain’s, in fact, was probably more golden than Jacqueline’s and mine put together. He was a West African Muslim man who’d been in Paris for ten years, the last two of which struggled to find a job. He wore thick, oversized glasses found in a dumpster and fluctuated between his blue shirt and his white one. The three of us would sometimes share meals together and I remember one in particular that conversed about faith. Asoumain knew that Jacqueline was a Buddhist and I was a Christian. He was confused though, feeling like we were both such nice people and wanting peace and happiness for the world—were not our (and all) religions the same? Jacqueline was well read and we’d both had enough of these conversations to empathize with his struggle. “Non,” we said, smiling at each other in unison, and slowly proceeded to share of the commonalities, but also the undeniable divorces.

Christianity has many connotations today. Asomain represents most of his African counterparts, who say they are either Muslim or Christian. Most Americans will claim a Christian orientation. Rarely do any of these hold a necessary clout though. If an African says he/she is a “born again Christian,” most likely this entails a belief in the Bible as the Word of God and in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior.

In America, if someone says they’re born-again, people freak out and walk away. So I think I’m on a mission to reclaim, or maybe just re-explain the “title” of my belief system (which sounds lame, too…maybe I should say, to re-explain my lifestyle? Life pursuit? Heart posture? Reason for living? Understanding of life?…). How about Follower of Christ?

How can a Story so simple become so jaded and complex? Maybe because the concept of grace is so unbelievable—literally? Or maybe because our minds and hearts have fallen away from their intended design and designer? I’m reading “Spirit of the Disciplines” right now, by Dallas Willard, and he defines sin at one point as “the automatic tendencies ingrained in our flesh” (page 72). I like this. It frees me up to realize my existence, itself, is flawed, rather than something I act, or don’t act out upon.

Sometimes I get really overwhelmed and frustrated and sad for all the people who do not know God, or for those who try to minimize, or rationalize, or compartmentalize His Lordship to being “the same as all the rest of them.” But for this moment, at least, I think I trust Him as being in control of those who know, and also of those who don’t.

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Random.

*In America I get sunburned when I think about the sun. Or burn. Or burning suns. But here it’s almost always hotter then Hades and sunny and I’m yet to get burnt. Weird.

*A middle-aged gal walked by me today holding a garbage bag full of live chickens with their head’s poking out, and heading a basket of the largest avocados I’ve ever seen. “That’s kind of like Kansas,” I thought. “Well, no…not really.”

*There are these freaky, four-foot stork-like things that walk around the streets here as if they’re normal.

*There’s a random “golf course” near my house. Today a Muslim woman in all black and was crossing it, into a gray-hued sunset horizoned by a mountain range. I wanted to call National Geographic, but didn’t have a phone. Was gonna borrow the nearby beggars’, but he seemed deep in conversation and I didn’t want to bother him. Not sure where the problem stems from when people living on an average of less than $1 a day prioritize a cell phone over food and shelter?