guest blog: preconceived notions (part 1)

Today we begin a series by Carrie, who alongside her husband, serves as a missionary in Eastern Europe.


I am a die-hard optimist, seeing the world through my own designer rose-colored glasses. So when my husband surrendered to the mission field and we began to talk about deputation, I had very high hopes.


Of course all the churches we visited would want to support us because my husband is a great preacher, the kids and I could sing and play instruments and the five-year-old could quote scripture like no one I had ever seen. People would embrace us with open arms.


Well, after several months of visiting churches to fill a quota and never receiving support, I became discouraged. No, I became bitter. I started just going through the motions. A fake smile. A forced song. I lost sight of what really mattered.


One night at a missions conference in TN, I was particularly unpleasant of heart. I didn’t want to be there. I hated feeling like I was on display along side the other families where the one with the best behaved children and the nicest song would be picked for support.

Then it happened. A young woman from the church walked up to me, holding a baby in her arms. She spoke to me with such admiration. She told me how much she loved missions conferences and how challenged she was by them. She thanked me for giving up my home to tell the world of Christ’s love.

Her words smote my heart. I had once been that young woman.

Just then I heard the tender voice of my Heavenly Father, speaking to my cold, hard heart, “Remember the Carrie who used to love missions conferences? Remember her tears? Remember her heart for others? Remember the night she surrendered to go with me, come what may? What happened to that Carrie?”

I cried out to my Father and asked Him to draw me closer so that I could see His plan and not my own preconceived notions about how things were supposed to be. I surrendered again to His will.

I went back the next night, full of zeal and ready to follow Christ wherever He may lead. I found the young woman and hugged her. Later that night, her husband surrendered to the mission field. She ran back to where I was at our display table and hugged me like she’d never let go. She thanked me for being there and letting the Lord use me to help her.


But I didn’t help her. She helped me.

****

As a PK, Carrie had many dreams---to make it big in Nashville, marry a tall, dark and handsome prince, own a metallic green Chevy Beretta, be a missionary, and wear a pair of jeans. 3 of her dreams came true.
Today you will find her supporting her high school sweetheart on the mission field of Eastern Europe. You will also find her homeschooling, gardening, canning, cleaning (oh, the laundry!), reading, writing, or singing.
You can find her musings at Perfectly Imperfect.