I’m one of those people who thrive on constant activity. I work best under pressure and more efficiently under fast approaching deadlines. When my stress level is through the roof, that’s when I make the most progress. This isn’t necessarily because I’m a procrastinator (though I do have to watch that on occasion) it’s just that I like to take on more than I can handle. Often.
Here I sit in the cornfields of Ohio, and guess what? I’m still tempted to do that; crowding my schedule so darn full I don’t have time to eat or sleep. To an extent, that’s what I’ve done in the past month or so as I’ve started on this journey we call college. In a way, I’ve tried to fit God into a little box that won’t conflict with the rest of my schedule. I’ve got one thing to say; that doesn’t work so well.
It’s amazing, but even here at a Christian college, where I go to chapel every day, I’m already involved with Christian ministries, I get Christianity preached at me in every class, and I’m surrounded by Christians all the time, even here, I can still lose sight of my Savior.
But God never lets us get far, does he. We start to wander, and he takes his fishing-pole with the nasty hook at the end and grabs us, reeling us back in kicking and screaming. That happened to me again today.
Through a providential set of circumstances beyond my control, I didn’t get to go to the church I wanted to this morning. At 8:19am, I’m sitting outside of my dorm with no car, no ride, no anything to get myself to a church. Being my very ambitious and determined self, my first thought was, “Oh woe is me, I don’t feel good anyway, guess I’ll just go back to bed, sleep until noon, maybe do homework, or watch dumb videos on You Tube.”
Then this little voice inside started yelling at me, “You wimp. Get some back bone. Go to church.”
“Eh, church,” I thought to myself, “I’m just going to hear some redundant worship chorus, led by some wannabe musician, and then get a nice dose of 20 minutes of watered-down Bible teaching. Nah, I think I’ll sleep. Besides, I don’t even have a church to go to…”
It was then that this big white bus pulled up in front of the Dixon Ministry Center. “What? A bus? What’s the bus for?”
The little voice kept talking… “If you’re so curious, go check it out. You’re other options are lame.”“Fine. I guess I’ll go chat with the driver… see what kind of havoc they’re trying to wreak on campus.”
So I walk over to the bus. Rather than just chatting it up with the driver, though, he opens the door and tells me to get in. I do so, hesitantly, and see a couple people I’ve talked to a few times on campus in there. I sit down and we leave. “Okay God, if you really wanted me on this bus so badly, I guess I can give you a few hours of this morning.”
We drive. And we drive. And eventually we end up at a little church in Dayton, Ohio. I go in with a bunch of other college students, and ya know, the people are friendly and whatnot. They smile, and make me fill out this little interrogation card because I’m a guest.
The service starts, and the pastor gets up and introduces this elderly man who he says is speaking today. I’m ecstatic. Really…
Come to find out, the little old man was a missionary. He and his wife had just retired after serving in multiple countries in Central America for 43 years. The church I was sitting in was their sending church, and he was doing a walk through his entire 43 years of ministry during this service.
He began to talk, to tell his story about all the churches they started, all the places they lived, the buildings they built, the times their lives had been threatened because of their faith, the friends they lost, the civil wars they’d barely lived through, the people they lead to Jesus. They were both little and white haired, but they both had the biggest smiles as they talked about the faithfulness of this God they served.
The more I listened, the more I didn’t hear two old people rambling on and on, instead I heard the message of two people chasing passionately after God. Even when it wasn’t convenient. Even when it threatened to break their hearts and take their lives. When they couldn’t get food during a hurricane, they didn’t talk about their own circumstances; they talked about how their souls ached for those around them. When they were done, with tears in their eyes, the little old man just ended it like this:
“To God be all the glory and all the honor - Let my life be nothing but a gift to my precious Savior.”
And then it hit me. Even though I didn’t hear some rousing sermon from a preacher this morning, I heard the message of the lives of two people who were completely sold out to loving God and sharing that love with others.
It was so humbling; humbling because it showed me that packing a huge agenda into a day isn’t what God wants from me. He doesn’t need me to be involved in every org, or have every minute of every day scheduled out to perfection. He just wants my heart. He wants my time. He wants me to care about the things he cares about, to love as he loves, to serve as he served. He doesn’t want a girl who can do more in a day than some people do in a week. He just wants a girl who will sit at his feet and listen when he calls. He wants a girl who’s more concerned about him and others than her schedule and her plans.
I was reminded of the passage in Acts 20 that says “I consider my life worth nothing to me, if only I may finish the race and complete the task the Lord has given me – the task of testifying to the gospel of God’s grace.”
Don’t ever let me lose sight of why I’m here. I don’t need my agenda, dear God, I just need you.
