Why I Became A Missionary...

The day I officially became a full-time missionary to Africa was full of one of those weird mixtures of anticipation and terror. Tears blurred my vision as I stared out the airplane window, avoiding the gaze of the stranger next to me. Part of me felt that rush of excitement as I thought of the children that had won my heart just ten months earlier. Yet the rest of me (some would argue the sensible part) was feeling the dread of leaving my home, my family, and my country indefinitely.

Now being a missionary is nothing new. Generations of Christians have given up their homeland to bring the message of hope and healing to people that would otherwise never know, and often they die anonymously. There are countless amazing missionary biographies out there that tell of greater courage, faith and sacrifice than you can expect to find in my life, let me tell you. But I want to tell you my story, because it is a story of how simple obedience to God has led to extraordinary things that I could have never imagined. I believe each of us that are willing has amazing things we can do for God, if we’ll only be open to obey.

I am an African-American missionary. You may have noticed that there aren’t that many of us. Reliable numbers about anything are hard to come by but by most estimates there are 250 full-time African-American missionaries in the world. Ironically, I am NOT, nor have ever been one of those black people that felt an emotional or spiritual connection to “The Motherland.” For better or worse, I have a lot of friends who have been passionate about Africa their entire lives and haven’t made it over there yet. The fact that I had always expressed a desire NOT to go to Africa is understandably a source of much laughter for my close friends these days.

So why did I do this? How did I get here? Well, for one, I have never been one to conform. If people tell me that the appropriate thing for me do is hang around, wait for a husband and get married, I am liable to try to do exactly the opposite. Despite my mother’s best efforts, I am probably not considered the model of demure femininity; some would call me stubborn, others opinionated, and they would be right. Still, as hard as I am to convince of anything, once I am convinced, I will act. And through a strange turn of events, God convinced me to go to South Africa...

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