Anxiety and Missions and Me

Recently, everyone just asks the same thing about our move to Papua New Guinea: “How are you feeling?”

So I thought I’d write it all out: the long, politically incorrect version… the Baptist-uncomfortable version instead of the 15 second response.

The truth is, I’m feeling all the things. 

I feel faith and the lack of faith. 

I feel anxiety.

I feel fear. 

I feel resolute.

I feel happy.

I feel empty. 

I feel safe.

I already feel forgotten.

I feel sad. 

I feel protected.

I feel fake. 

I already feel lonely. 

I feel misunderstood.

I feel excited.

I feel adventurous. 

I feel sick. 

I feel like it’s unfair that I’m giving up the next 15 years of my life to do this because no one else will. For real. I’m doing this because no one else is (.001% of Christians). You get to live the American dream, while my daughter and I miss out on it. Statistics show you are more likely to die in a plane crash than settle in an unreached, untouched people group and share the gospel (and ⅓ of the world is unreached!!). When I gave up my teaching career, I knew full well I was expendable. Administration would find a replacement over the summer, and if it took a little longer, oh well. Somebody would be there by September to relieve the temporary subs. 

But if I don’t go to an unreached place, an entire generation dies off,

Wakes up in hell. 

Again. 

Like they have for at least TWENTY generations and counting. Maybe HUNDREDS. 

I have to go. Literally no one else will.

I feel unworthy that I’m going to be one of the ones to give these people the good news for the first time in their entire existence. 

I feel completely unqualified and unspiritual. 

I feel honored. 

I feel arrogant.

I feel extremely humbled.

I feel like I can’t do this. Not in a fake humility awwww. But seriously. I can’t do this.

I feel like it’s going to be way too much emotionally.

I feel like maybe the people who questioned if mentally I was up for this because of my panic disorder were right and I was just naive to think I could do it.

I feel brave.

I feel que sera sera.

I feel incredibly lucky.

I feel loved. 

I feel like no one gets it.

I feel like all this is just going to come to nothing at the Judgment Seat because my judgmental attitude and arrogance will nullify it.

I feel like people are in my corner, cheering me on. 

I feel bad for taking my daughter away from her grandparents. 

I feel like maybe I’ll just crash and burn and limp back to America embarrassed. 

I feel like maybe I could just do helpful things here instead.

I feel my heart quicken with passion when I see pictures of these unreached people.

I feel indifferent.

But then I feel like I know – 

– Like I’m convinced – 

– Like I’m living in confident hope –

That this is my appointment in life. 

I’m not a victim. 

I’m not a hero. 

I’m not a white savior. 

God has assigned this to our family,

And I know he will spread out his wings and incubate us

And accomplish whatever he decided before the world began. 

And I overwhelmingly feel like it’s going to be okay.