Faithful in the Sowing

Three years ago I was expectantly heading into my first year of teaching. I spent the entire summer gathering supplies, building a classroom library, and dreaming about what it would be like to finally have a full-time teaching position: something I had longed for since sixth grade.

Today I sorted through these same supplies and my classroom library, giving away and leaving behind pieces of a fourth grade classroom.

Three years ago I picked up my keys and my badge and was welcomed into a building where I spent most of the hours of my day, surrounded by people who became like family to me.

Today I laid down my keys and my badge, hugged these "family members" good-bye, and allowed the doors to close gently behind me.

Three years ago I searched for a classroom theme that encompassed who I am and what I wanted my classroom to be. I settled on growth. (You can read about that here.)

Today I took down green colored posters and "growth"-themed decorations I've used for three years.

And I came face to face with a terrifying lie that had lurked under the encouraging theme of growth:

Their growth is your responsibility.

The last few weeks this lie had been gnawing at my heart as I examined where my students are now and where they were at the beginning of the year. It clawed at me as I looked at other classes and students I have taught. It clung to me as I saw people I had invested my time in fail to grow in the ways I had hoped.

Their growth is your responsibility.

After a particularly exhausting day, I watched the fourth graders on the playground as they buried themselves in the pea gravel, rolling in the dirt, covered in gray dust.

Then the lie came seeping through... Their growth is your responsibility. You haven't done your job. They still prefer to lay in the dirt than to climb to new heights and to pursue all that you've tried to unlock for them. 

Once I let this one lie through, my defenses were weakened and the barrage of lies tore through my thin veils of truth.

 It's been seven years. Seven years in this community, and your life and ministry have made no difference. Has anyone been welcomed into the Kingdom because of you? What makes you think anything you do matters? People are never worth investing in. They never turn out the way you hope. You'll never see returns for your work. Do something else with your life. This doesn't matter. You like to see growth? There has been none. Where is your harvest? You've invested in the wrong thing.

And I was about to believe it. I was doubting everything, from my calling to Hungary, to my calling as a teacher, to my strengths and talents, to the fact I had anything to offer at all.

On my way home I called a friend to rant. "I'm tired of always just planting. I'm tired of never harvesting and of never seeing growth. I'm tired of not knowing that anything I do matters. I'm just tired of investing in people. They're unpredictable. They don't grow like I'd hoped."

Her response was rich and full of Truth. "Zo. You're called to be a sower. You can't control what kind of soil your seed lands on. But you can be faithful in sowing."

Their growth is NOT your responsibility. Sow faithfully, water faithfully, but let the Lord do the growing.

I may have shed some angry tears. Because, if I'm honest, I want the glory and the recognition of bringing in a bountiful harvest.

But even if I never see that harvest, I can still plant faithfully. And what better place to plant than into eternity. Yes, people are unpredictable and don't always show consistent growth, but I know that I can plant eternal seeds in a temporal soil to reap an eternal harvest.

I may not always see the fruit in the moment (or ever), but I am learning to live more and more by this truth: "be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain." 1 Cor. 15:58.

Despite my doubts, the Lord is gracious. That barrage of lies was bombarded with truth this last week of school... students, parents, colleagues, friends, and family overwhelmed me with encouragement. You matter. You have been faithful. They are growing because of your faithfulness in planting. Thank you.

Confessions of a Missionary

I never felt called to be a missionary.

Sure, I knew that Christ-followers share the gospel with others.  I knew that the nature of a Christian is to be a missionary. But I always thought of missionaries as those "most-holy," "appointed-by-God" types that go to jungles and learn obscure languages, and forgo 21st century amenities.

I remember singing and clapping to "We are missionaries...going on a trip... to tell the world...all about Jesus!" in my preschool Sunday school class.

I remember my mom and other dear friends recounting stories about crazy ways God worked in the lives of African missionaries. I loved hearing the stories, but I didn't want anything to do with being a missionary. It was too hard. It was too radical.

As I grew older, however, I learned that sometimes instead of crossing oceans, being a missionary means rooting yourself deeply in the Word, in your community, and in the lives of those around you.  Sometimes being a missionary is standing firm for Christ even when everyone else runs away.  I learned that sometimes instead of learning remote languages, being a missionary means saying hard things and speaking up when everyone else is silent. And sometimes standing firm for Christ in a place where everyone knows you is the hardest task.

But regardless of location and language, being a missionary always means loving Jesus first, and letting that love overflow and spill into the lives of others, pointing them back to Him.

Confession: I continually fail at being a missionary.

I continually fail at loving Jesus.

I continually fail at loving people.

And I continually fail at pointing them back to Him.

In this transition from "regular teacher person in Indiana" to "Missionary Teacher in Hungary" I have often felt an added pressure to be holier. To be godlier. I believe the lie that only super godly people quit their jobs, live on support, and cross oceans to tell people about Jesus... And because my same old battles with pride and selfishness are still raging, there must be something wrong with me. I feel like a fraud and a faker. An impostor about to be found out.

They're going to find out how selfish I am!
They're going to hear my negative attitude!
They're going to see how pride continually gets the best of me!

And you probably will.

Because my gracious God chooses the weak and the sinners to carry out His purposes. He doesn't need me to do His work, but He chooses to bless me by giving me a part in His grand Story.

But I rejoice in this: His grace is sufficient for me and His power is made perfect in weakness. My weakness only glorifies Him more!