My Mission Field

This farm girl I follow, she's taking her daughter and they are heading out to Africa. And, me, I wonder why He hasn't called me to Africa...or the Dominican...or Haiti...or anywhere else on earth. In one of those moments I wonder and whisper the words right out loud. Right there, my son hears. And that six foot tall thirteen year old boy-man loops his arm around his mama's shoulder, leaning in to her with a wide grin and answers with the words this mama has spoken one too many times, "Ya know Momma, we aren't all supposed to go on a mission's trip. BUT we all are supposed to live the mission."

And I remember, remember his daddy and I training him to think that way. You open that big back door to our house and you know that you have entered the mission field or you are inviting the mission field right into your own kitchen. Every moment of every day is our mission, bringing glory to God, singing His praises and giving thanks to Him. Well, those things don't just change who you are and how you view your world. No, those things change everyone that He brings to your door because first you have invited Him in.

And I give thanks for this boy who speaks words of Truth. Because, whether I am traveling to Africa or staying right here in my suburb, God has asked me to be His hands and feet...to carry His love to those I meet...to reach out to the poor and hurting...right here in my small town America. No waiting for a plane or traveling to exotic places, no passport or visa are needed to meet the same face of poverty and heartache that exists right here where I am.

So today, I commit...commit to continue to live the mission...whether or not I leave this small town..because really, poverty doesn't belong to any one country. Brokenness and heartache aren't limited to other places. They exist right here, right where I am. And I can choose to see them and make this my mission field every day...