The World's Greatest Missionaries

-- The greatest missionaries of all time --

He has taught me to never give up, to hold onto dreams even when they’re broken, when others scoff in disappointment.  He doesn’t have a college degree, but he doesn’t need one to be something or someone important.  He built his future with his hands, built a house, built a family, built a legacy of what it means to live a life of commitment, no matter the cost.

She has taught me that mission work is an everyday opportunity, whether staying on the phone for hours listening to a friend in need, or buying a sub sandwich for a stranger at the grocery store. She had big dreams, but she watched them disappear as five children took their place.  As a stay-at-home mom, she watched her “me time” fly out the window so she could teach her kids how to fly instead.

She taught me what it looks like to surrender.  She moved to Nashville, majoring in music performance, with a voice and body to make effortless records.  Growing up, she had captured the eyes of many men, but then she decided the only one that mattered was the One who created her.  She chose to deny herself, to become less, so He could become more.  A strong, loving husband and four children later, she still lives a life of surrender.   

He taught me imagination.  That the best things in life are born from creativity and the rebellion against sameness. He is brilliant, though his grades never showed it.  He taught me that the best way to learn how to build it is to break it.  That brokenness is not only okay, sometimes it’s necessary.  Rather than “If it’s not broken don’t fix it” mentality, he lives by “Make it better, even if you have to destroy it.”   

He taught me adventure.  That freedom comes from cutting off the worries of what other people think of you.  Or it comes from jumping out of a second story house to escape a mean babysitter (who happened to be his sister) who sent him to his room.  He constructed man-made bows and arrows by whittling sticks and using duct tape.  He reminded me that life is as joyful as you choose to see it.  Even the simplest things can be transformed, even the simplest tasks can turn to adventure.   

She taught me unconditional love.  Love without condition.  Love that was patient, and gentle.  Love that did not hold any record of wrongs.  Love that didn’t ask for something in return.  Love that didn’t seek attention, payback, or even appreciation.  She is the essence of peace.  Her spirit is like the gentle breeze that whispers through the pines. She is the least noticed of all, although she’s everything I’ve ever wanted to be.     

Steve, Peg, Emily, Justin, Garret, and Laura: the greatest missionaries of all time.  Because true missions starts at home.

So, to my true missionaries, the ones behind the scenes:

Dad and Mom,

I am a product of you—the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful.  And those little things.  Dad, I hate walking around barefoot on the kitchen floor when there’s crumbs on the ground or when it’s sticky.  Now I understand why you made us scrub that floor repeatedly, no matter how many times we claimed we washed it.  Thanks for the pet peeve.  Mom, now I understand why it took you forever to come sit down and join us for a movie or a game; while we were finally occupied, you finally had free time to clean and wash and scrub and sort and make muffins and popcorn and provide for us in every little way that we never thanked you for.  I hear both of your words come out of my mouth, and now I laugh and even smile.  Now I understand.   

Mom, we hated it when you were angry and hurting; it was the worst day in the world if I ever saw you cry (except for during movies when we’d make fun of you…and now even I can’t hold back tears during sappy moments! Eish!) because I felt it in my bones and it shook me, and I hated that feeling of helplessness.  And my girls feel the same way.  My mood affects them dramatically.  When I’m angry or hurting or lonely or upset, they all feel it; they hate it, too, because they feel helpless and try to avoid me during those moments.  But now I understand that in those moments, all you needed was a hug, a gesture to show that we noticed you were hurting; because, that’s all I want, too. 

Dad, now I understand why you didn’t like it when we laughed at the dinner table, and that you’d send us away if we kept laughing (which of course made us laugh even more).  Of course, we still think it’s absurd, and even my girls here couldn’t stop laughing when they heard the story of “grumpy mkhulu” at the dinner table, but… I can empathize.  It was because dinner time was your first moment of peace all day, after a long day of working with your bare hands in the sun, the heat, or the cold, building up your business that demanded everything but could take everything at any moment if you didn’t get enough bids.  I still remember moments of stress for you and Mom when you didn’t know if we’d have groceries on the table the following week.  But Dad, you never gave up.  You stuck through the worst of moments.  But those moments were often at times, and you just needed some quiet.  Instead there were five obnoxious children fighting and arguing and giggling and laughing and refusing to let you think.  I see the need for those moments in the noise of life here, too.        

To my older sister: I could not be more thankful that God chose you before me.  The Valentine’s baby.  The one whom everyone loved and adored.  Oh, how I followed you around everywhere. It’s crazy how much child #2 thinks the world of child #1.  I see that in Benji and Lucia.  Everything she says, Benny has to copy.  Which can be a great thing, but also… well, you know.  It didn’t matter that you were sometimes a mean babysitter and that you would hit me on the knees with a text book, thinking you could see my reflexes.  It didn’t matter that you didn’t believe in aliens or that you grew too old for cops and robbers.  You were my role model and my best friend.  We grew up on country music, but I remember the first time you introduced me to Christian music.  It was Casting Crowns.  I thought you were weird.  But I gave it a try because I loved you.  And then I fell in love with Christ and haven’t looked back since.  We shared a bedroom for most our lives, but most importantly we shared our hearts.  You didn’t know this but at night when you’d be on the phone or had just broken up with a boyfriend and you were crying, I’d cry into my pillow, too.  I pretended to be asleep, but I heard it all.  I hated to see you hurting.  So when you crawled into my bed one night and squealed with delight into my ear that you were engaged, I couldn’t have been happier. I mean, at first I thought you were being stupid and I told you to go away because I was sleeping, but then you shoved the beautiful ring in my face and asked me to be your maid of honor, and indeed that was one of the greatest moments of honor I’ve ever felt.  Em, I love you more than you can ever know.

 

To my brothers:  My brothers of imagination and adventure.  I am me because of you.  Do you know that?  I mean, really.  My fondest moments of childhood revolve around you two.  Turning the picnic table over to pretend it’s a ship and sail to the far seas (who would’ve thought I’d actually make it to the Indian Ocean?); or climbing up your bunkbeds and piling our pillows below, pretending we are in an airplane and Pilot Justin tells us to “Bail out, bail out” so we jump off the bunk bed yelling, “Geronimo!”; or building a tree fort at the cabin and playing imaginery games; or canoeing around the lake and investigating the swamp; clearing off the snow in winter to make an ice hockey rink; playing orphans (I mean, really? Who does that?) and using the row boat to pretend we were escaping from evil owner Rita, of course played by our big sis Emily; or starting a detective club and Justin making ID cards for us; or all the awesome movies we made (but Laura taped over because she just had to record “Homeward Bound”).  Justin, you know I regret that growing up made us grow apart.  That being one year apart during high school polarized us in some ways.  But we found our comradery again.  You make me laugh like no one else.  More than that, your laugh is one of the absolute best.  I love the way you giggle at movies like Emperor’s New Groove and the way you make Mom giggle so much she pees her pants.  I love hearing you sing.  I know I pretended not to be a fan of your band in high school, but I still play your old songs to the girls here in Swazi, and they, too, adore you.  And Garret, you know how much I cherished our time together when you moved to La Crosse when I was a super senior.  Our bluff hikes, night hikes, crazy dances, teaching youth ministry together, Culvers, CRU, Newman, getting furious at each other, but talking it out on our two hour rides home.  You are so much like me in so many ways, that it drives both of us crazy sometimes.  But I can relate to you so well.  You are the best person I have ever gotten in a fight with, because you know how to talk me through things.  You don’t let me push my way, though I’ve come to learn I am so stuck on doing things “my” way (eish, sorry!), but you show me how silly my stubbornness is and yet you love me anyway.  You are one of my best friends because you make me a better person.  Oh, my brothers of imagination and adventure.  There is no way, no way, I could live in Swaziland had it not been for you.  

To my baby sis: You’ve grown up in the shadow of two big sisters and two social butterfly brothers.  You’ve looked up to me, to us.  But actually, I crave to be like you every day. You’d put my love to shame if it ever were to be laid next to yours.  Your humility is convicting, your peace is captivating, your beauty is everlasting.  You will undoubtedly make the most amazing wife and mother someday.  Whoever the young man is who wins you over will be the most well-loved (and well-fed) man in this world. You moved to my city to be my roommate for one year, even though you had job opportunities in a different city.  But you chose to listen to that still small voice from the Lord and I became your ministry.  As my roommate in that awesome house on the Brownsville farm, you ministered to me in ways you never even knew.  When loneliness and stress of teaching got the best of me, you were there.  You woke up in the morning to heat up hot chocolate and put it in a travel mug, knowing I’d be running late.  You made me homemade bagels and introduced me to healthy foods I loved but would’ve never discovered nor tried on my own.  You sat in the stands to cheer on my basketball girls when I coached.  You kept me from many temptations.  You were my angel that year, and you always have been.  Furthermore, during the most miraculous of moments in Swazi, who was at my side or sharing a bed with me when I was scared? You!  Thank you for showing the most real form of unconditional love I have seen manifested by a human being. When I grow up, I want to be like my little sis.  

To the greatest missionaries of all time: Thank you for teaching me how to fight, how to cry, how to apologize, how to forgive, how to surrender, how to let go, how to hold on, how to live with you and how to live without you.  Thank you for seeing me as nothing more than who I am—flawed, stubborn, hard-headed, emotional, rude, broken, and a sinner in need of a Savior—and loving me anyway.  Thank you for teaching me that true missions starts at home.  I carry you with me.  

  

“What can you do to promote world peace?  Go home and love your family.”  

-Mother Teresa