I Didn’t Go to Africa

The church is warm, hot really, which isn’t surprising considering it’s the middle of summer in Kansas. My stomach sends nervous signals that make me fidget. As insistent as the signals are, I’m unsure – or afraid – of their meaning. Do I get up? Do I walk forward? Do I not?

The missionary stands at the front of the church, waiting. His impassioned plea for more workers for the harvest has stirred me to respond; thus, I fidget. I’m scared of the first step.

Finally, with a squirmy stomach and a bit of courage, I scooch off the pew and walk forward, pledging my elementary-age self to a life of mission work.

I’m pretty sure I did this more than once in my childhood. I wanted to please my parents, Sunday school teachers, the pastor, the missionary waiting for more workers. As a people pleaser, it was nearly impossible to stop myself from popping up off the bench once the plea was given.

However, while certainly a catalyst, people pleasing wasn’t the only thing to push me off the pew time after time. I also deeply wanted to please God and serve Him with my life. Somehow as a kid I thought that having a call to full-time ministry was the pinnacle of spirituality and service.

Sure, I thought, it’s fine for some girls to grow up to be teachers or nurses, but the truly spiritual girl will choose the sure calling of being a missionary…and if she’s extra spiritual, she’ll go to Africa.

I couldn’t tell you exactly how I developed this worldview, although I can guess at some factors, but it’s a worldview that shaped my life.

Now fast forward away from the church on the prairie to a church on the edge of a Michigan town. I’m sitting in a row of padded chairs, my daughter next to me; she’s about the same age as me when I slid off that bench years ago. I’m no longer a child, and I’m not, as you may have guessed, a missionary in Africa. I’m a pastor’s wife.

Am I a failure? Have I bailed on my childhood promise to God? Have I failed to follow His call? Am I not as spiritual as my 10-year-old self imagined I would be when I grew up?

The simple answer to those questions is “no.” True, I haven’t gone to Africa, but 30 years later, I have a better understanding of God’s calling in my life.

As a child of God, my calling is the same as that of every believer, including those who sit next to me on Sundays. Calling isn’t based on a label of “pastor’s wife” or “missionary.” Labels, after all, don’t get an extra special calling from God.

There is one calling we all get – to bring God glory. To live EVERY part of life in such a way that we obey Paul’s command when he says,

“Whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus…work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men…You are serving the Lord Christ” (Col 3:17, 23-24 ESV).

 

I live my calling when, for God’s glory, I fold bulletins, scrub the bathroom floor, play soccer with my kiddos, or put clean sheets on the beds. I live my calling when, for God’s glory, I lead Bible studies or speak at women’s groups.

Dr. Michael Wittmer says,

“Many Christians mistakenly suppose that only those in ‘full-time’ ministry have a calling from God…Are not rank-and-file Christians equally called to motherhood, mechanical engineering, or McDonald’s?…From missionary to dishwasher to cement truck driver…do it for the Lord, out of obedience to the first command he ever gave you [Gen. 1:27-28], and he will be the one you are serving. We’re all full-time Christians now” (Worldly Saints, pp. 91-92).

 

I’m a pastor’s wife. The members of my church family have labels, too – accountant, farmer, nurse, entrepreneur. We all have different roles within the church, but it is the Lord Christ whom we serve. We are, all of us, full-time Christians. Tomorrow, if my husband were to change vocations, my “label” would change, but not my calling. It’s secure!