So I’m moving to Argentina. (Nope . . . still hasn’t gotten old, writing that.)
And funny how in a moment of victory all of the reasons you aren’t qualified for the job start to present themselves to you.
I mean, I don’t feel qualified to be a missionary. I know girls who fit the picture of “missionary” in my mind. They’re sweet and gentle and kind and peaceful in all situations. They say things like “OMGoodness” and “God Willing” in normal conversation without feeling all awkward about it. They’re good with kids and are the all-star babysitters at church. If they weren’t missionaries, they’d be counsellors or teachers because they are so full of compassion and love and rainbows and butterflies.
And then there’s me. I might have lived the life of the girl described above, but I’m not that girl. I’m sarcastic and occasionally passive aggressive and I often laugh at inappropriate things. I don’t like to be told what to do because I secretly think I’m a little smarter than you. I feel a little awkward around children and I studied business because it was the sensible thing to do. I’d much prefer football and coffee to rainbows and butterflies and though I’m getting better at it, I have to try really terribly hard to show love and compassion sometimes.
I carried all of these silly reservations to the Journeyman job expo in October and compared myself to all the other girls who seem to fit the bill a little better than I did. But then something funny happened. I found a job that seemed to have my name on it, using my skills, in a place I think I’ll fit in really well.
I can pick out any silly, random attribute about myself and use it to argue my own inadequacy. I’m really good at that.
But to God, the only things not measuring up were my excuses. Essentially my insecurities are like saying to him: “Sorry, God, I know you’re sovereign and the creator of the universe and all, but I just don’t think you can use me. I mean I know you made me the way I am, but I just think you missed the mark a little.”
I really can’t say enough about the IMB and the creative job listings that were made to exploit the gifts and talents of the Journeymen. There weren’t just jobs as preachers and teachers. There were jobs as baristas, journalists, sports coaches, and researchers. As it turns out, there’s a place in God’s work for someone like me, using the things I’m good at. God uses what you’ve got. I guess you could call him resourceful.
As for my shortcomings, I don’t think God minds those so much either. If he required perfect people. . . well, nothing would get done around here. So I’m going to curb my desire to point out my flaws and use that energy to be productive for the kingdom. Who’s with me?