broken missionary-ing.

Tonight Dan and I fed back to church about our time in Bolivia. We talked about the kids for so long (sorry, not sorry) that I didn’t get the chance to answer one question I was eager (read: terrified) to answer. So I thought I would do it here.

How do you be a missionary, when you’re struggling?

(I’m sure Lee said it more eloquently when he asked me to talk about it…)

I always had this idea that missionaries were super holy people, who had it all sorted, and so they went to another country to be super holy there.

I think the past seven months were a lesson in the falseness of that statement.

I went to Bolivia with depression.

I went to Bolivia with 8 bottles of antidepressants.

I went to Bolivia with doubts, about my salvation, about God, about everything.

I went to Bolivia unsure, unwell, and unconvinced it was a really good idea.

But I did know I was meant to be in Cochabamba.

I know the next part of this story is to tell you that I leant on God while I was there, and that now I pray four hours a day, and have memorised half of the Old Testament. (Spoiler: no.)

I am not here to tell you it was easy, or that there wasn’t issues, because there absolutely was. 

Shocking as it is being on the other side of the world surrounded by little boys 18 hours a day doesn’t make it easier to pray and spend time with God.

And I did read the Bible, but it was the kids bible, and even that wasn’t as often as it probably should have been.

But God still saw me through it all. Even though sometimes I didn’t see it until after, He led me through it, and gave me exactly what I needed when I needed it. I didn’t have a quiet time every day, I didn’t pray nearly as much as I should have - but we had an ongoing conversation. Even though I wasn’t trying nearly as hard as I should have been, He was faithful to me. As I sought His face, and His will for my future, He showed me it. He would have had every right to wait for me to sort myself out, to come to Him properly, to seek Him more fully - but that’s not what He did.

There’s a verse in 2 Timothy 2:13 that says,

“if we are faithless, he remains faithful, for he cannot deny himself.”

I guess that’s what I learnt. His faithfulness, what He has for me to do, and my part in bringing Him glory, it’s not based on where I am and what I feel. It’s based on Him, and as long as I keep putting my broken, doubting, hurting self in His hands, He keeps working. I could tell you one hundred answers He gave to one hundred prayers I never even managed to articulate.

It’s still happening now, as I move to my new job. I am still not praying enough, or reading my Bible enough (I am trying, some days…) but He is leading me. I am still struggling every day with depression, but He is leading me. He is leading me in such a way that I can’t possibly deny it. And my faith in Him grows with each day, because I see His hand in every little thing, because I see Him mapping out each step I take.

I used to think that missionaries had it all sorted, until I became one.

Then I realised that you can be a missionary, and still be broken.