I have already shared with you that this journey into multi-cultural ministry was not a road I chose. It was a road that chose me – or rather one that God chose to place me on. Looking back now, I can feel the different tugs through the years. I am not sure if I just ignored the pull or if it was just not yet time. Either way, God is moving at a pace in my life that feels like we are making up for lost time. And I am holding on like there are no brakes.
About ten days ago, I was leaving work and driving home on my “new” path. This one takes me past the neighborhoods walked by some of the students I know. It goes past the Proskuneo School of the Arts. It is as if this path has begun to be my “way home.” I’m not sure why I started driving this way. Perhaps it was the hope of seeing one of my new friends along the way. Or maybe it was just to be “in their world,” taking it in, absorbing it, seeing it with new eyes. Whatever the reason I was headed toward my home away from Clarkston when I saw a “for rent” sign down near the ground. I cannot explain what happened next. I pulled into the next parking lot to turn around and go back. I pulled down this lovely little street and into the driveway of the house that was advertised on the sign. It was a lovely little yellow bungalow. Out loud I said “yellow is my favorite color”. Inside I said “I’m sure it is a dump on the inside.” But I got out a pen and wrote down the phone number and the house number. There was a war taking place inside. My heart was saying “check it out.” My mind was questioning “have you lost your mind?”
I called knowing that it was after hours and there would be no answer. I told myself that no one would call back so I was “off the hook”for following my heart and not my head. But several days later, they did call back. And I set up an appointment to see this house. I called my friend to go with me. I wanted her to confirm what I already knew – this would not be the right house and that would be the end of it. But my heart was not following my head. And when we walked through the door of the house, I knew. NOT that this was the house, though it is lovely. Whether or not it is the house, what I knew for sure was that I had just given my heart to Clarkston. If it is not this house – if it is not at this time – I think I will be moving soon.
So, that is the beginning of this epistle. I wept most of that day. It came in waves. It came with no explanation. I apologized to my boss. She has watched the transformation in me and was so kind. She said “It is okay. This is bigger than either of us understands.” She was so right. That night I emailed
my accountability team – my prayer partners – to share what was happening in my heart and to let them know that I needed their covering. My heart longed to talk about this with my mom. I am not sure she would have understood, but she would have prayed for me like she always did. So in her absence, I called my aunt. My aunt and uncle did not travel to mission fields, but they were supporters for many missionaries. They also watched their two daughters marry and head to the mission field – both in the same summer after college. I knew she would understand. But I also knew she would pray and share with me her heart. It was a blessed conversation – full of hope and encouragement for my journey. My day was not an easy one. It was filled with emotion. There were a total of four emails to my prayer team – just keeping them apprised of my journey. They have shared God's promises with me and poured out their wisdom. I am so grateful.
God has given me “family” around me to show me who I am. He has replaced the prejudice and the lies of my past, with the beauty and truth of my future. I have “woken up” to be set free. I have looked at my Heavenly Father and am able to say “I’m fully Yours – though none go with me, still I will follow.”