The rigors and demands of itineration are all ones which would seem to rely more on extraverted strengths than introverted ones. Hours most days are spent on the phone, trying to schedule services with pastors, and most introverts hate the phone. Every weekend entails a new church (or two), being the stranger in a large group of people, and standing about talking to people one has never met for an hour or more, another activity most introverts despise. Then the whole focus of the weekend, and ostensibly the whole focus of itineration, is the moment when the missionary must stand up in front of a group of people and be a public speaker—a cross between a preacher and a salesman. These three main aspects of itineration make the picture of itineration a nightmarish one for a classic introvert.

Thank God He is not constrained by stereotypes. I realized recently how thankful I am that itineration is very far from a nightmare for me, that I actually like it. Mostly. Yet I do everything I do as an introvert, not a pretend extravert. Mostly.

Telephone calls, I confess, are still the source of my greatest stress. I hate talking on the phone, to friends almost as much as to strangers. Every time I dial a number, there is a little shock of anxiety, or at least a discomfort, at the thought that someone may answer. This puts me in the conflicted state of hoping no one answers while desperately needing them to. I recently calculated that I have made nearly 3,000 phone calls in the last two years. Seriously, it’s the worst part of the job.

My listening face.

The second worst part is indeed meeting hundreds and thousands of strangers. Hey, now, you say with a stern frown at such an unloving attitude, these are your brothers and sisters in Christ. They are your supporters, in finances and in prayer. They are the lifeblood of the missionary. Yep. I agree with every word. That doesn’t make it one whit easier. I have always felt unbelievably awkward around strangers. Thankfully, I’ve been well-trained in the art of being polite and gracious, so I am desperately polite and gracious and let strangers hug me and tell me their stories of traveling in Germany in 1983, and all the while my poor brain is shrinking back against the walls of my skull and longing for someone to strike up a conversation about theology or Doctor Who.

Which sometimes someone does, and I want to keep him or her forever. That’s the other side of the coin, that in the midst of feeling unbelievably awkward and acting perfectly gracious, sometimes I meet someone whom I wish I could know better. Sometimes I meet someone who feels a connection to me, and then a perfect stranger chooses to support me with hard-won dollars and time taken to pray for me. Sometimes someone I will never see again says something to me that I will never forget. Sometimes hundreds of strangers combine into a complete church that encourages my socks off. The moments of awful, inward awkwardness are (usually) worth it.

And then there’s that great bugbear, that collective phobia, public speaking. Did you know that, supposedly, more people, introverts and extraverts alike, are afraid of public speaking than they are of death? (I am far more afraid of the dentist than I am of either public speaking or death…or at least I used to be, until I met my current dentist, but that’s another story.)

I’d done public speaking in 4-H (that was one of the worst experiences of my childhood…), taken speech and preaching classes in college, taken more preaching classes in seminary…and I hated every moment of every one of them until my very last sermon in my very last preaching class. That was when I realized I could put my creative writing skills into my sermon preparation and that I could put my acting skills into my sermon delivery and that I could infuse my learning and thinking and my own way of being into what I presented and how I presented it. And then I loved it.

My first two or three presentations as an itinerating missionary were very nerve-wracking, and then suddenly I settled into it and started loving it. In the first place, I’m getting to share God’s plan with God’s people. I’m getting to talk about something I’m passionate about. I’m getting to open people’s eyes to new and creative ways of being a missionary. I’m getting to offer them encouragement from my own experiences.

In the second place, I’m using all the skills I have developed over my life. I’ve always loved acting, and while I’m not acting a part when I speak in a church, I’m using what I learned about how to present myself on a stage, how to use my voice, how to address an audience. I’ve always loved theological and psychological depth, and I can put that into my presentations and use it to share my future with people who might not be used to thinking that way. I’ve always loved contextualization, and I find great enjoyment in altering my “usual” presentation to suit age groups and the cultural backgrounds of congregations and in incorporating things from the service I’ve learned about the group I’m speaking to. I’m using my introverted tendencies, in thinking and analyzing and studying, to add depth and enjoyment to what is a very extraverted activity. I am good at public speaking because I am an introvert, not because I’m faking being an extravert.

And then on the way home, I am deliciously alone. I have used up all my energy in the couple hours of church service, and then I get to go drive by myself for a couple of hours. I love traveling by myself. If you feel sorry for all the time I have to spend alone traveling around the country, you’re wasting your pity, because I relish it. I’ve seen so much of the country without having to consult another person or talk, and it’s terribly delicious, after all the talking I do on the phone and in church services.

Then also, because I’m single and live alone and don’t have an outside job, I spend loads of time alone at home, recovering from traveling and speaking, making phone calls (or dreading them), doing paperwork, cheerfully writing thank-you cards (I’ve written hundreds of thank-you cards, and it’s still one of the nicest parts of my job), and writing reams and reams of journal entries in order to reflect on, analyze, and incorporate into myself everything that has happened while I’ve been traveling and speaking and making phone calls.  I am on my 11th journal since this whole journey started in 2013; I have written 2,124 journal pages in 2 1/2 years. I love being an introvert.

All in all, there are aspects of itineration that appeal to extraverted strengths and aspects that appeal to introverted strengths. I am glad I am doing it as me.

It seems like I’ve read a thousand blog posts on singleness recently, and while I’ve enjoyed a lot of them, it seems like they entirely deal with ways of convincing singles that singleness isn’t the worst thing ever. As if The Norm is hating to be single, feeling second-class, longing to change your state, feeling incomplete or unfulfilled by not being married. Maybe that is the norm. Maybe a lot of people need some encouragement in a difficult situation.

This is me, gently swinging and reading. With a pen, for underlining and making notes. And a photographer.

But I’ve read so many of these sorts of posts that I can actually start to think, Is there something wrong with me that I don’t hate being single? I would like to read a blog post from the point of view of someone who loves being single. So I figured perhaps I’d better write one.

This is not a blog post to convince you that you ought to love being single if you’re single and you hate it. This is a blog post talking about how being a single itinerating missionary works for me and what I’m really enjoying about it. (And the few things that are difficult.)

I should start out with the disclaimer that I don’t dislike marriage. I have wanted to be married my whole life, and I am indeed looking forward to a potential future marriage. Intellectual and emotional (and physical) intimacy appeals to me. So no sour grapes here.

The difference is, I’m really enjoying my present. I’ve discovered contentment in my current state. It’s really nice.

Being single and living alone has introduced me to independence. I grew up in a house of five children, three of whom were girls. The first time I ever had my own room was when I was a Junior in college, and the first time I ever truly lived by myself was when I was about 30. Until that point, I really enjoyed living with the people I’ve lived with, the interesting conversations with roommates, cooking together with my sister when we lived together, and so forth. But in living by myself in my own place, I’ve discovered the pleasures of living alone.

I love it that I have my own room (no snoring!) and my own kitchen, in short, that my house is mine. Everything is where I put it—which is not to say that it’s perfectly tidy by any means, just that the only messiness I have to deal with is my own. I can cook what I want when I want and still have it there in the refrigerator the next day (unless I ate it). My getting up, going to bed, eating, showering, and all that are not dictated by anybody else’s schedule, and I can hang my towel where I want and keep my window wide open in winter if I want. There are no debates about the temperature of the house or car (unless my sister comes over, at which point it’s an amusing novelty). I get to decide the most logical place to put the silverware and the olive oil and the bamboo steamer. I can play music all day long and not bother anyone (at least the neighbors haven’t complained…).  I can stay up late reading without the light bothering anyone, and I can eat amazingly healthy oatmeal (with figs and flax and coconut milk and nutmeg and maple syrup…nomz) or chocolate cake (it’s been known to happen) for breakfast at 1pm without deranging anyone else’s nutrition.

My schedule is my own. When I’m at home, I can choose to leave my house at any hour of the day or night without answering to anyone or answering questions or having to take anyone with me. My decisions about where I’m going and what I’m doing are completely independent. When I’m traveling, I can pack up and leave in an hour, and I am sure many a parent would envy me my ease of departure. I can decide at the last minute that I’m driving to church instead of biking and sleep in an extra fifteen minutes. I can suddenly decide to bike downtown for the art festival at 35° F without having to organize an entire entourage.

Bike. Did I mention my bike? This is The Blue Gale. One of my best friends.

I can come home from an exhausting spate of traveling and speaking and have delicious, blessed silence and solitude in my house for hours (or days) on end. I can invite someone over on the spur of the moment (it’s been known to happen) and not have to consult with anyone else about whether it’s alright.

I can sob deliciously about something God is teaching me and not have to answer concerned questions about whether I’m having a nervous breakdown. I don’t have to wait on anybody else’s college loans before applying for missions. I don’t have to worry about my calling fitting together with my husband’s or about whether moving to Europe will adversely affect my children. When I go to speak at a church, I’m not the missionary’s wife: I’m the missionary. I don’t have to try to balance adequate care of children with adequate attention to ministry. My life is exponentially simpler and more flexible because I am single.

You know, I’m beginning to feel sorry for all those poor married people out there who don’t get all these advantages. [Tongue only slightly in cheek.] Actually I’m not even entirely joking. I have come to love the flexibility of singleness so much that I’m beginning to be afraid I won’t ever want to change it.

All this has come as something of a surprise to me, simply because of how much I have always wanted to be married. I’m rather blessed with a few advantages that make singleness so fun: I love being alone and rarely get lonely, and I’m not very emotional or emotionally dependent upon other people.

Lest I make the wrong impression, let me say that I love community. I am so glad I am going to Europe, where the AG missions community is rich and close. But I like my own little hobbit-hole within a community, with elbow room and independence and flexibility. That’s got to be an advantage to the community as well, the flexibility of a single without family responsibilities.

But as promised, I have discovered a few distinct disadvantages of being single. Do you know how hard it is to change a light bulb when you’re short? Or zip up the back of a dress by yourself? Have you ever tried to lift a fairly heavy bicycle into the back of a car by yourself? Forget about trying to put it on top of the car.

Actually, I already have a butler. He is a knitted, stuffed Dalek (click on the picture to find out what a Dalek is) who spends all his time making tea, writing poetry, and trying to learn chess.

Those are hardly serious. I could hire a butler to do them. But there have been occasions recently in which I have, for the first time, been seriously jealous of married people, and that is in facing the struggle of itineration by myself. Mostly I like itinerating alone. I love traveling by myself and staying alone in a hotel room and quietly driving and thinking my thoughts.

But I am doing all the hard work alone. I am the secretary and the scheduler and the telemarketer (missions edition) and the salesman and the business manager and the accountant and the grantwriter and the tax preparer and the car mechanic (well, I did put in a headlight by myself…) and the emergency response person and the receiver of all the No’s and the person who decides where to go next and then person who has to have all the ideas and the person who sets up and the person who tears down and the navigator and driver and oil checker and windshield washer and the person who calls to confirm only to find I’ve been forgotten about and the thank-you letter writer and the person who has to be able to give a speech to 7-year olds and 16-year olds and 85-year olds and to cowboys and bankers and single mothers and the sole public face of the ministry I am going to be doing, the chatter and small-talker and listener and answerer of impossible questions, the emailer and Facebooker and blogger and newsletter writer and printer and addresser and stuffer, and I’m the person upon whom it all depends without a shoulder to cry on when I get overwhelmed and discouraged.

People encourage me, certainly, but it’s not the same as going through it together with someone, sharing the work, sharing the stress, supporting each other. (I don’t even want to think about how hard single parents have it, just in general.)

Well, God reminded me recently that I’m not actually doing this alone. Durr. He understands my weaknesses, and He’s not just the God who’s all-wise and makes perfect plans from afar: He’s the God who’s intimately with me, feeling how I feel, sympathizing with my weaknesses, going along with me while I’m calling and traveling and replacing headlights.

Even with all that…goodness, I love being single. And I love being a first-time itinerating missionary. I still would not want to be doing anything else. Any other job, any other state of being—it just wouldn’t be right. I am where I’m meant to be, and by George I like it.

Dearest Trinity Bible College, you were one of the best things that ever happened to me, but you sadly deceived me about itineration. I was led to expect it to be one of the worst things that could ever happen to a poor, innocent little missionary, and instead I’m having the greatest time ever.

Sunset near Havre, MT

First of all, I get to travel all over Montana. I’ve lived here nearly my whole life, but I never fully realized how extraordinarily beautiful so much of it is. I drove the most breathtaking road in a blizzard along a narrow, long lake between Eureka and Troy (click small pictures for the larger version):

I drove under a sky between Roundup and Billings that made me realize why it’s called Big Sky Country.

Big Sky Country

I encountered all kinds of interesting buildings in all kinds of unexpected places.

I could upload a thousand more pictures. But what a magnificent time I’ve had driving.

Speaking at the missions banquet at my church in Missoula

And then, second of all, I get to do public speaking. Preaching, even.

Erm…shouldn’t I hate that? I’m supposed to hate that. I’m an introvert. Stereotypically, I should not like speaking in front of groups of people. But I love it.

I’m a good speaker. I can craft a good speech/sermon/presentation/message because I’m a good writer, and I’ve done enough acting that getting up in front of people has become easy. I know how to tailor my message to age groups, different group sizes, and the length required by any given church service, and I still love what I’m talking about. I tell people my story, quite honestly and transparently, and they love it. I bring them encouragement, inspiration, and a perspective that, quite frankly, most people have never considered. And of course I talk about missions in Europe, and most people have not thought much about that, either.

Third of all, I meet people. Honestly, that’s one of my least favorite parts. It’s one of the most difficult parts. I find it a trifle uncomfortable to meet new people and try to think up things to say to them. Someone is sure to monopolize me with a story about her hip surgery or what his nephew is studying at the University of Montana, and there is always a woman who asks how old I am and is shocked by the answer and always a man who says “It’s all Greek to me.”

My name in Gallifreyan. Yes, that’s a language.

But at the same time, some of my favorite memories are of people I have met. A young man in Cut Bank gave me my name in Gallifreyan (the language of the Time Lords in Doctor Who). A mother and daughter in Havre had truly lovely discussions about missions and literature with me. I went exploring antique stores in Laurel with a woman who, with her husband, opened their house to me for four nights. An old man in Thompson Falls who looked like Peter O’Toole flirted with me and gave me $1000, just because he could (I would have flirted back, but my flirting needs work; I’m not a flirter).

In between, I get a few days at home, in my own comfy bed, with my own washing machine and my own kitchen and my lovely bicycle, and I don’t have to do anything except paperwork, try to schedule more services, write thank-you notes, study Greek, read books, and write them. The traveling, speaking, meeting people, and conversation-making-with-strangers can get very tiring, but the days in between more than make up for it.

Three months in, itineration is grand.

The questions have been about the little section called Class. The page looks like this:

You can select the amount you want to give or put in your own amount, and you can choose to give once or to set up a monthly withdrawal or charge as a monthly commitment. That’s all fairly self-explanatory. But in the middle there’s that little dropdown called Class, with two unhelpful options, which are 00 and 09. There’s an explanation, if you hover on “What is a class?” but the explanation itself doesn’t help a lot.

The problem is that everyone inside the AGWM world knows what Classes are and what a 00 account is and what a 09 account is and six thousand other kinds of accounts, and it’s really easy to forget the average non-AGWM person has no idea what those are. This is a user-interface problem, where they’ve forgotten the needs of the average user. They really should have short titles there rather than “00″ and “09.” This is a very common mistake among anybody designing anything: they forget that the average user doesn’t have the same amount of knowledge about the thing as they themselves do. (Maybe I should email them and see if they’ll change it.)

So here’s the translation:
00 is my General Account. It’s the account that all my expenses will be drawn out of: travel, housing, taxes, etc. If you want to give to me as a missionary overseas, give to that account.
09 is Personal. This is money that will be given directly to me as a personal gift in exclusion of my expenses. As, for instance, birthdays, Christmas, Guy Fawkes Day, 50th Anniversary of Doctor Who–you know, usual gift-giving days.

Usually you’ll want to choose 00. ‘Cos it’s not the 50th Anniversary of Doctor Who every day.