Why Am I here?

It’s day seven of training camp and I am sitting in our squad meeting point trying to remember why I am here. It’s been an amazing few days, I already feel so connected to my squadmates and to my God. During conversations with my squadmates and leaders, the question kept being raised, “Why are you here?” Everyone’s answer was different. I’m writing about mine. 

I wasn’t even a Christian when I felt a call to missions. In 7th grade I read the story of Katie Davis Majors, a young woman who took a gap year after high school, unknowing that she would plant a large ministry in Uganda, adopt thirteen children, and write two books. There is something wonderful about young Christians realizing that they can’t wait to present their life to the Father. I couldn’t shake off her story. Here is where God planted the seed. 

I became a Christian the summer before 9th grade, but my faith was something to keep in my bedroom, almost something to be ashamed of. Talking to people about my faith was out of the question. I don’t reject those years of solitude, because I know nothing is wasted. There, on the floor of my room, morning and evening, I opened my Bible and studied the mysteries of God’s holy Word. I sang hymns in my heart and scratched verses onto my soul. He became my vision and my portion and my fortress. He made Himself known to me quietly, through ancient pages inscribing the testimonies of generations and inspired words of mercy. Here is where God watered the seed. 

My first missions trip was the summer after 10th grade. I went with my youth group to assist a youth sports camp in Dresden, Germany. I had never shared my testimony before, partly because I was scared, and partly because I didn’t think it was important. What was so interesting or impactful about what I had to say? But our testimonies aren’t important because we are worthy of attention, but because they affirm the goodness of God. They aren’t our stories, they are part of God’s story that only we can tell. I’ll never forget how I felt standing in front of 80 people, trembling and sweating, stuttering my feeble words, a German translator beside me. God’s grace is sufficient for us, however, and his power is made perfect in weakness. Let me tell you, I was desperately weak then, but my small words grew big and bright by the power of God. Later, I remember that several people told me of the impact my speech had on them. Never have I been more humbled, for I realized how little I had done, and how much glory God had received. Never again will I underestimate the power of a testimony. Here is where God grew the seed. 

Senior year came, and it was time to start thinking about the future. I applied to colleges like everyone else, but there was still a nudge from the Spirit that remembered the 12-year-old who picked up the book about a young female missionary. “Why are you here, on this earth?” He asked. “To glorify you.” I answered. “And where will you go to do that?” I knew then He meant for me to go on a gap year and share my testimony through humble service and bold speech. Our faith is too big to stay confined in our bedrooms, and our words are too important to be silenced. Through HIM, we are given POWER. Our pretenses are broken, our trembling lips breathe life, and our insignificant offerings bring a pleasing aroma to the Father. 

I am here because this is where I can glorify my God. But every day I’m learning how little I really offer. There is so much for me to learn. God’s love is an ocean and I am in a canoe, overwhelmed by the waves and awestruck by the magnitude. No matter how far I dive into it, never will I discover all the mysteries; no matter how far I swim across it, never will I reach the other shore; no matter how hard I fight the current, never will I overcome it. Thank you, Father, for bringing me to this place. Thank you that you defend and protect me, that you know me deeply and love me just the same. Thank you for bringing purpose into my small life, and calling me to something greater than I can handle by myself.