Here is the answer to the motives I saw in myself on my SMITE trip. Enjoy the read but be ready to learn from my mistakes! Search your motives and be prepared for God to show you ways in which you need to improve. I am so glad that I did. (The following Narrative Essay is 4 and 1/4 pages long.)
“An Innocent "Yes""- or "From Dread to Delight ”
A simple “yes” was the reply of the short, elderly, white haired lady, yet it brought tears to my eyes. I had merely asked her if she was finding what she was looking for, but her voice was so sweet and innocent, peace-filled and child-like, that I wanted to hug her and invite her to my church. I dashed into a fitting room I had just cleared of clothes and quickly wiped the tears away with my sleeve. Wow, I thought to myself, what has gotten into me? My mind wandered back to nearly two months earlier...
I really did not want to go. Why did I sign up for this anyway? I never should have said I would go! I repeated in my head. It was costing me two weeks of pay, would be uncomfortable, inconvenient, and out of my control. Sure, a week and a half long missions trip to Staten Island, New York, seemed like the “right” thing to do six months ago. I loved the challenge of the rigorous Bible study, verse memorization, and weekly serving projects that were required for the trip. I would nearly burst with excitement and pride when people asked what my plans were for the summer. My response would be along the lines of “I am going on a missions trip to New York. I wanted to make a difference in my senior year of high school.” I would go on to talk of some of the amazing things I would be doing on the trip, of all the things I had to do to qualify for the trip, yada yada yada. But when it really came down to it, when I had to leave at five the next morning for our day-long drive, I was desperately looking for a way to escape. It was dangerous, as we would be staying near the projects of New York City, there were not enough adult leaders going, it wasn't well planned... I searched for any valid reason not to go. In desperation, I nearly called my Youth Pastor, “I changed my mind! Get my name off the list- I am not going!” But there was no easy, reasonable excuse not to go. Besides, not going would be a huge disappointment to my Pastor, youth group, and most importantly, myself. I would regret not having the experience of a missions trip, the memories sure to be made on the trip, and the stories to tell those back home. I can just feel the heat burning up my neck and landing on my cheeks if a co-worker asked how my trip went:“Well, uh, I decided not to go, because, um, I freaked out the night before.” If I did decide against going, I would be missing my only opportunity to go to New York City: to see the Statue of Liberty, walk in Time Square, and shop the streets of New York. I lied in bed that night crying, confused, and convicted by my own guilt.
Get a grip. Get a grip! Do not cry. You cannot change anything now. It can only get better. Though the word hesitant is too weak to describe my feelings about the trip, I was sitting on the bus and over two hours away from home. I tried not to think about the trip itself too much, but there wasn't much else to do. Conversation eventually started with the girl next to me- who I looked up to greatly and wished myself to be like her quirky, fun, creative self. I gleefully discovered that she had not really wanted to go either. As we talked, I admitted how selfish it was for me to have wanted to back out, “the trip is not about me, anyway. It is about sharing the Gospel and helping these missionaries”. Stating the godly reasons why I made the decision to go on the trip- despite not wanting to- comforted me. I was doing the right thing. I started to get excited for the trip for the first time- but still had no idea what I was getting into.
Our missionary family, the W----s, were of such a gentle and sweet spirit that they generously let the eight of us girls (each with her own air mattress) fill the floor of their living room and dining room. I ended up offering to sleep with just a sleeping bag under the dining room table so that all of us could stay together in the same space. I desperately needed some sort of a routine, so I quickly created a habit. I got up first every morning, got myself ready, then cleaned up everyone's air mattresses while they got dressed. I helped with breakfast, lunch or dinner, then set up the mattresses back up again in the evening. “You have such a sweet servant's heart” I was told. I was the mature, spiritual, sweet girl, who did everything for everyone. I chuckled at the teasing nick name of “Momma Amber” that the youngest two girls gave me in response to my “motherly” care and responsible manner. The rest of each day was filled with leading Vacation Bible School, park ministry, and teen activities. From six in the morning until eleven at night, we were busy with serving, eating, or sight seeing. By the end of each day we were drained and exhausted, knowing that it would repeat itself again the next day.
Tuesday, the first day of our mission work and outreach, was intimidating, but the children we worked with in VBS were so open to attention and love that the work was enjoyable. I asked the kids questions about themselves, and chatted about our trip, but never really pursued the topic of my faith. This topic could not be ignored in our park ministry, however. Our goal was to spend two hours inviting kids at the park to come to either our Vacation Bible School in the morning, or our Teen Revival meetings at night. As twenty-some of us unloaded from the fifteen passenger van into the park in the projects the first time, none of us really knew what the response of those at the park would be. We grabbed our bag of gospel bracelets that we made during our lunch break, as well as a few tracts that explained the gospel story, and stood in a unsure cluster. Knowing that I absolutely could not control the response I would receive, I took a deep breath and approached a few girls on the playground asking them if they wanted a bracelet. They were happy to receive a little trinket and intrigued when I explained that it had a special meaning; “Each of the five colors on the bracelet tell a story. If you come to our activities in the morning, you can find out what the colors mean!” To my amazement, they were excited and asked questions about the location and time of out VBS, stating that they might come. I excitedly moved to the next boy that I saw and did the same. Soon every child in that park (as well as a few adults) was wearing one of our bracelets.
But simply inviting kids to our activity and handing out bracelets was not enough. God challenged me to push myself even further outside my comfort zone. I soon had the opportunity to explain the Gospel story to two different little girls. “I don't think my mom will let me come. Can you pleeeease tell me what the colors mean?” one of the girls asked. I had a moment of panic, What if I say the wrong thing? What if they don't understand? What if I come across as a freak? In a blink of an eye, my mind went through all of the previous times I let my fear of man or my want of making a good impression stop me from telling this gospel story. I thought of all the opportunities I missed to share God's love with others similar to these innocent girls- perhaps the only time that they would hear His story. But this time was different. I prayed, and God let the words of my heart come through my lips. I explained the color of each bead; the black bead representing the bad things that we have done, the red bead a picture of the shed blood of Christ, the only One who can pay for our sin, the white bead showing that our hearts are made clean and forgiven when we ask Jesus to be our Savior, the green bead a symbol of growth necessary for the Christian, and the yellow bead a reminder of our eternal home in heaven, if we accept Christ as our Savior. Though one of the girls kept asking questions, the light in her eyes showed me that she was beginning to understand.
The joy that God gave me in my obedience to Him was so powerful, that I lost my selfish reasons and facade, truly wanting the same thing that He wanted- to have others know about Him, for the chance to be one with Him, to know of His crazy deep love for them. My heart was soaring; it was several hours before the smile left my face. I have never felt like I was where I was supposed to be more than when I was in that little park in the projects of Staten Island, New York, getting soaked by water bottles while handing out beaded bracelets. I had totally forgotten my fear and selfishness and in that moment was lost in the greatness of my God and the Gospel He had given me. I was “doing the right thing”, but felt more joyful and fulfilled than I can ever remember.
The rest of the trip continued in a similar routine, but there was no way I could forget the innocence and sweetness of those two girls. I hummed as I got ready first and cleaned up the air mattresses while teasing the younger girls. I got to know our missionary family through conversation as I helped with dinner and talked to my Savior through prayer while setting the mattresses back up at night. I hugged the girls when they called me “Momma Amber”, and enjoyed sightseeing with the great team I was with. I looked for ways to share my faith with the Liberian teenagers from our teen revival evenings and with children who came to VBS as a result of our park ministry. I left Staten Island a week later, exhausted, content, and joyous. I came back home to the same world that I left a few weeks ago. I overcame my fear of public speaking and talked about my missions experience in front of over 500 church family members. I break out into a grin when I see kids running around at the mall, and say a greeting to those I pass on campus. I do not plan my schedule out as much each week and I look for ways to brighten someone else's day.
My mind jerks back to the present, away from the sights of New York City and the Liberian people God used to teach me a lesson. Glancing in the fitting room mirror shows that none of my mascara has smeared, so I head back out to the sales floor. I look for the little old lady who started this, but she is nowhere to be found. I sigh and send a quick prayer of thanks for her. The innocence of her reminded me of sharing the gospel with those sweet girls, and her air of vulnerability pulled me back to the moment that I dropped my facade and made myself vulnerable to the work of Christ. I go back to work with a smile on my face and a song in my heart.
(The missionary's last name was deleted for privacy reasons)
