WRITE: Never the Same Missions, Grace
Grace. We don’t always understand it, but we all need it. We Christ-followers often use the word more casually than it deserves. Grace comes from our Father. It enriches our lives. It makes the impossible possible, the unforgiveable forgiven. And its presence and power serve to remind us of His. Perhaps the parents of one of the students I met this summer on our Never the Same missions trip had some of these things in mind when they named their daughter. I know the Father sent her, and I know her presence reminded me of His. I may have met this young woman during our training in Florida, but my first real memories of her come from our first day on the mission field in Lima. The team I traveled with that day had an assignment in one of the poorest communities I’ve ever seen. Ramshackle houses—some of pressed board, some of tin—covered the hillsides. No home had electricity or running water. Dust blanketed the graveled streets, the houses, even the people. Before we left our bus, the team leader explained the plans for the day. As a way of serving the people, some team members would knock on doors and ask if anyone wanted their hair washed. Others would prayerwalk the community, seeking those who would share their needs and receive prayer. Still others would remain on the nearby soccer field and play with the children who inevitably appear at the first hint of a game. After lunch, the team would perform the Spellbound drama used to present the gospel. But other ministry came first. I know that one of the rules of missionary work is to engage the culture. As an introvert, I have to relearn this lesson often. Talking to strangers, especially when they don’t speak my language, is a challenge for me. So this past summer, the Lord sent me a teacher, whose name—by no coincidence—was Grace. Ever the observer, I waited with my writer’s notebook and watched different groups. Slowly, the Lord allowed me to speak a word here and pray a prayer there. My job was to tell the story of the trip, but I was more faithful with my note-taking than my people-engaging. And then God gave me the opportunity to watch Grace, who took just the opposite approach. Grace didn’t wait for people to respond to her. Instead, her enthusiasm and love drew people her way. On the soccer field, she raced, kicked, blocked, and laughed—a trail of children soon following behind. In conversations, I never saw her wait for a translator. She said what she could with her words. But her hugs, genuine smiles, and willingness to interact communicated far...
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