I’ve always felt guilty about not going to Africa. Don’t get me wrong — I fully recognize the responsibility Christ followers have to advocate for social justice and minister to the least and the lost — but for some reason, the thought of moving, or even going, to another country doesn’t make my heart beat out of my chest like other opportunities to serve do. I have friends who’d pack their bags and move to a third-world country in a heartbeat. So, I’ve often wondered, is something wrong with me? Is my lack of passion about this a measure of faith?

The older I get, the more I’ve learned to have cautious expectations. Not that I think God can do less — just that my expectations or hopes aren’t always His plan, and His plan is always good, always better, always perfect timing. I must have read this post by Tony Morgan at least a hundred times, trying to figure out why I’m doing what I’m doing in this stage of life. Don’t get me wrong — I’m 100% thankful for provision for my family — just sometimes unsure of how this stage fits into the big picture. But I recognize that my responsibility is to be faithful and diligent regardless of circumstance.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever talked about work on this blog, because…I just don’t. I teach English. But not like I used to teach English. I teach English to kids who don’t speak English. Many of them are 17 & 18-year-old boys. Most of their stories of how they came to America are horrendous and desperate. Few of them live with both parents. Many of them have no parents in America at all. Almost all of them work (for minimum wage) and several of them wear the exact same outfit to school, every single day. They really enjoy school lunch. They can’t go to the doctor if they get sick, because they don’t have insurance or money. One guy who came in January and spoke zero English (couldn’t even count to 10) hadn’t been to school since he was 10, and another guy works 40+ hours a week at McDonald’s to help pay rent for the 2 trailers he lives in with his 3 adult sisters and 7 nieces and nephews. That’s a lot of responsibility for an 18-year-old. Several of them haven’t seen their parents in years, and one guy told me he’s been trying to call his mom in Mexico for 3-4 months, but he can’t find her. (And, therefore, doesn’t even know if she’s alive.) These kids aren’t like me. I have no conception of their reality. Their version of the American Dream and my description do not align. To be honest, a lot of the time I don’t even know what to do with them. I mean obviously we follow the curriculum…but in the grand scheme of things, that’s so insignificant. Sometimes all I know how to do is smile, and encourage, and let them know that they matter to me (because they matter to God!)

Friday night was Hispanic Awards Night for my school system. Obviously I was a little out of place there, :) , and the entire ceremony was in Spanish. But two of my students (neither of whom have parents) received awards for improvement and achievement. I wondered if they’d show up, but they did — with their entire families! They were so excited for me to meet their relatives (who, of course, speak no English. :) ) I was so proud of them for receiving these recognitions, even though all the odds are completely against them. And, for the first time all year, my heart started to beat fast and I caught a glimpse of purpose. Even if these kids don’t come back next year, and I never see them again after the next 10 days (which is entirely possible,) maybe I’ve been able to love them and value them in a way that honors Jesus and moves them one step closer to Him. That’s what I’m praying, at least.

Apparently, for this season, God’s brought a mission field to me.