to journal much, but wish I were. However, I didn’t want to miss the details of
this moment. For at least the last hour, if not more, the woman behind us
shared of God, the Father, His Son, and salvation with the man sitting next to
her. Both Guatemalan…the conversation took place in Spanish.
What a beautiful life. Not just mine, but ours. Ours as
believers and followers, a
missional life… my favorite way to
live. I seem to have the same conversation with friends, who say that they wish
the were missionaries or could do
“missions”. And I’m quick to remind them that while it may sound or appear
glamorous, or that we live on a “spiritual high”, that it is not so. For most,
this is not new information, but we forget that we share the same life. It’s how
we choose to live.
Currently, while my friend, Kristen, snoozes under her blanket which I’ve discovered over many
trips with her she doesn’t travel without, I’m shifting from one hip to
another. One minute, I’m staring out the window daydreaming of all that could
be or will be, the next playing a game of Sudoku. As I rotate to my left hip
with great care, (Ouch. My back and leg have been hurting for several months now) I hear the woman sitting
behind us. Her voice quivers, and I realize she is praying for her seat
neighbor, her hand holding his. She rebukes the devil and calls on the Holy
Spirit, Father God, and Son, Jesus.
This trip might be for Purchase Effect, but Kingdom work
will be done. I’m grateful for the reminder and example of my sister behind us.
Is this a mission trip? Ha. Always. Everywhere I go…it’s a mission trip.
Thanks for partnering with me as I go, do, and be.
