A mere month ago I had just arrived home from the District of Columbia and the best three months of my life. My heart pulled me to DC, and my feet walked me there. You see, my feet take me places - to the good, the lonely, the new and the familiar. I've walked from here to there and back again.
But God is the one who puts my feet in motion.
Let me tell you a story. My journal says it best, but I'll spare you the emotion-wrecked pages, slanted handwriting and misspelled words.
It began during my freshman year at my university's annual missions conference. Time and time again, the conference emphasizes short-term, overseas missions. I've yet to desire to travel overseas for such a cause, and so I've never expected to much enjoy the conference. I've always felt a greater desire to serve God somewhere within the U.S.
But three years ago, the first city that popped into my finite mind was Washington, DC. At the time I had only visited the city for a total of two weeks across two years. Yet God burdened me to pray for the District. My starting point was this: until we have a president who proclaims Jesus as Savior, the country is still in need of hearing the gospel. (Of course, a nation is not saved by the salvation of its leaders nor does a Christian president end the need for ministering to the people of a nation. Yet, if the nation's elite - the elected, this country's representatives, and the incredibly visible - are not saved, then surely every person on earth has not been able to comprehend the gospel.)
So for three years I prayed for DC. I prayed for the president. I prayed for the people of the city. I prayed for the nation's leaders, not knowing that someday I would get to talk with them. And I prayed that someday I'd be able to combine mission with my work in the District.
But the prayers dwindled as my internship in DC this past summer took root. I was caught up in the moment, praying for more personal things - to make friends, to be safe, to find a church - or believing life was too good to require prayer.
But God is the one who puts my feet in motion.
Let me tell you a story. My journal says it best, but I'll spare you the emotion-wrecked pages, slanted handwriting and misspelled words.
It began during my freshman year at my university's annual missions conference. Time and time again, the conference emphasizes short-term, overseas missions. I've yet to desire to travel overseas for such a cause, and so I've never expected to much enjoy the conference. I've always felt a greater desire to serve God somewhere within the U.S.
But three years ago, the first city that popped into my finite mind was Washington, DC. At the time I had only visited the city for a total of two weeks across two years. Yet God burdened me to pray for the District. My starting point was this: until we have a president who proclaims Jesus as Savior, the country is still in need of hearing the gospel. (Of course, a nation is not saved by the salvation of its leaders nor does a Christian president end the need for ministering to the people of a nation. Yet, if the nation's elite - the elected, this country's representatives, and the incredibly visible - are not saved, then surely every person on earth has not been able to comprehend the gospel.)
So for three years I prayed for DC. I prayed for the president. I prayed for the people of the city. I prayed for the nation's leaders, not knowing that someday I would get to talk with them. And I prayed that someday I'd be able to combine mission with my work in the District.
But the prayers dwindled as my internship in DC this past summer took root. I was caught up in the moment, praying for more personal things - to make friends, to be safe, to find a church - or believing life was too good to require prayer.
I was focused on what God could do in and for me. I had forgotten what God could do through me.
I lived and worked inside the Beltway for 12 weeks. For 11 of those weeks, I lived and worked without thinking once of DC as the "mission field" I had desired so much to serve in.
But this is a story of God's faithfulness, not mine. He answered my prayer that I would work and worship in DC.
As I write this with tears wet on my cheeks, my heart is broken, yet so full. The tears are falling, yet I don't know if they're an outpouring of joy or of regret.
I wish I could say that I lived that 12th week differently than the previous 11. Sure, serving others was at the forefront of my mind but so, too, was the realization of all that I could and should have done before. The people I passed on the street, the people I worked with, the people who befriended me, the people I lived with. I could have served them better - more intentionally.
As I flip back through the pages of my journal, I am humbled and so comforted by all of the prayers God has answered. I prayed for God to be glorified in those few months - and I believe he was - but the questions still nag, "Did I serve well? Did I do enough? Who did I miss serving?
"Why didn't I remember?"
But God is faithful. We can trust him. And because I know his faithfulness, I know that my time in DC was not wasted. In fact, it's the beginning of something beautiful. God is sovereign, and I'm trusting in God's faithfulness and his grace that someday I'll get a second chance to serve him well in the city.
He used this summer - and this city - to show me selfless service, prayer among community, and his faithfulness. He used this summer to ignite a love of people I never knew I had.
One month ago I was dreading my departure from DC. One week later I was prepping to leave home for college. And the week after that I was finishing my first week as a senior in college.
Lately, it seems like everywhere I am, I'm somewhere else. Everywhere I'm not, I want to be. I hold onto the memories, the moments and the people - a collection spanning three states. I'm remembering so that I can remember God's faithfulness in my life.
But, serving and praying are not limited by geographic barriers. I'm learning to love and serve well from a distance, but even more so, I'm learning to see needs around me.
After a month to piece together all that I learned spiritually this summer, my heart is full, because looking back, God's hand is so evident. My heart is broken, because I've never loved people like this before nor an unfamiliar place so much. I could have done more. But what am I doing now?
"Why didn't I remember?"
-AD