And what people mean by “something better” is something spectacular, something amazing, something miraculous, something that will burst over you all of a sudden with fireworks and magnificence and joyousness. A miraculous provision of funds. A perfect, European, missions-oriented spouse. A place in missions which will be all the better for the long delay.  God’s better must always be something that will make our hearts cry out in joy, right?

But then, what if it doesn’t happen? What if you prayed desperately for a spouse, or a baby, or a healing, or a miraculous provision of funds, or supernatural favor, and either it didn’t happen, or it didn’t work out the way you planned and dreamed it would? Does this mean God has failed, or didn’t care, or has been too busy to take notice of you? Does it mean “God has something better” is a lie? Should we just stop hoping?

By “God has something better,” people never mean, “You are just going to keep slogging on and on and on in the face of a stony silence in regards to miraculous outpourings.” They never mean, “Actually what you dreamed when you were 9 is never, ever going to happen.” They never mean, “You won’t get to the mission field until you’re 35, and then only by sidling in sideways.”

This is a gratuitous photo of the weather conditions on my last big itineration trip.

But what if that’s what “God has something better” actually means? What if God’s better is actually the thing that feels so much worse while it’s happening? What if the very thing that is undesired and feels harder and more painful and unfair and even traumatizing is actually God’s better, better for you than miracles and short cuts and open doors and being given what you want so badly?

Over my two years of itineration, I filled 12 journals with reflections on my journey. I was reading over them this week and realizing how many times I made plans that I was certain were what I needed. I was going to raise my budget and be in Europe by January 2015. I was going to raise my budget and be in Europe by May 2015. And when those plans fell through, how many times I wrote confidently that God was sure to do something miraculous just around the corner to cover for it. And He never did. Nothing miraculous and extraordinary happened to make up for the dashing of my plans.

This is a gratuitous picture of a mushroom in the rain.

I’m making more plans right now, because I am a natural planner and plotter and dreamer. I plan on getting my visa application into the mail by next week, and I plan for God to expedite the process through the Belgian bureaucracy, and I plan to have it approved in time for me to be in Europe before a big missionary conference that is happening on my birthday. It’s a brilliant plan. So reasonable. So logical. It could happen.

It also could not happen. Maybe I’ll spend my 35th birthday pouting to myself in my apartment in Missoula. Maybe nothing remarkable or joyous or delicious will happen in exchange for my lovely plans not coming to fruition.

This is not a cynical, hopeless blog post. It’s actually a joyous one. Because God’s better is better, no matter how it feels at the moment.

What’s better than instantaneous, miraculous provision that makes people glorify God? How could struggle and pain and lots and lots of crying and pouting and disappointed hopes and slogging and finally having to take the undesired route be better than miracles?

Because of this:

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. James 1:2-4

Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us. Romans 5:3-5

I actually never understood these verses before. I didn’t even like them.

But the hope for favorable events, the hope for our own (perfectly good and God-honoring) plans to come about, the hope even for miracles to get us out of our situations is a hope in circumstances. Such hope is easily dashed. Whereas the hope that comes from perseverance in the face of difficulty and pain, and the character and maturity God desires for us that come from such dodged, white-knuckled perseverance…that is a hope in God. A trust in His authority, His sovereignty, His wisdom, His superior plans. That hope does not disappoint us.

That is the better that God has planned for us: not necessarily (but not necessarily not) better external circumstances but rather better internal development into who He created us to be. Better maturity, better faith in His never-changing goodness, better submission to His will. It may be wretched getting there (or it may be brilliantly delightful—it may be both at the same time), but it is better. Better than having what we ask for and never getting there.

God did not give me financial and timeline miracles while I itinerated (well, maybe one or two little ones…), and He paid absolutely no attention to my brilliant and reasonable plans, and He did not expedite my process, except at the end, when He did it in a way I absolutely didn’t want. But He’s made me into a person who understands perseverance a whole lot better than I did two years ago and who is willing to say, “I want this awesome thing…but if You don’t give it to me, I trust You.” It took a great deal of whining and “Whaaaii aren’t You helping meeeee?” and no doubt I have more opportunities for whining and pity parties to look forward to in the future. But I have greater hope in God’s eternal character than I did when I started out itinerating with all my optimistic plans for Him to follow. I suppose that’s better.

This is a gratuitous picture of the sunset over the Pacific Ocean in Washington.

It’s not that I have nothing to write about. I’ve been traveling all over the country, more or less, and seeing lovely things and meeting lovely people and having lovely services. I kept thinking, I should write a blog post about that, and then not doing so.

The truth is that during November through January I was too discouraged to do so, really. Some of the things I write about take a lot out of me to write, and I simply didn’t want to. Yes, foreign missionaries are allowed to be discouraged, even when they’re perfectly convinced they are actually doing God’s will. There’s nothing about being a missionary that makes you automatically more holy and faith-filled and strong and all that. There is, however, that about the missionary journey (even just itinerating) that makes you grow quite quickly. Your faith will either increase, or you’ll lose it, I am convinced.

In my case, my discouragement was because I was quite certain God was going to do some sort of drastic, amazing thing to suddenly slay the giant or move the mountain (take your pick) of my budget so that I could get to Belgium on the timeline laid down by myself and AGWM, and He hasn’t done so. No slaying, no plunging of mountains into the sea, just one slow, dragging step after another. Well, honestly, it’s difficult not to be discouraged under such circumstances, isn’t it?

Eventually my natural optimistic, quietly cheerful nature reasserted itself, thank God, because being discouraged is very dull and unpleasant. Assisted, in great part, by God’s gentle, gradual reminding me of what I already know perfectly well, that He’s in charge and I’m just along for the ride.

But then I became very busy and had no time or mental energy for writing blog posts. Hopefully that has changed (not the busy but the mental energy part) and I will be able to carry on being my usual scintillating self. Or something. Prepare yourself for a deluge. Or something.

This is not remotely symbolic. It’s just awesome.

I’ve just realized today what it is that turns me off to this sort of movement thing. It’s that “I Am Enough” thing. I am enough? I am enough for what? I am enough for me? I have everything I actually need? If I just dig down deep enough into my own inner soul I will find out that I am actually all I need, everything I need? I can fulfill myself? I have the strength and power within myself to do everything I need to do and face everything I need to face, and all I have to do is believe in myself?

I have spent my entire life being told I’m not good enough (mainly by my own brain), and I have spent my whole life trying desperately to prove that I am. I have never strayed from God. I have never done anything particularly bad. I am a responsible, pathologically polite person. I am very intelligent (probably not a genius, which is frustrating) and creative and quirky, and by George, I think I’m interesting. I like my own company, and I try very hard to never give offense to anybody under any circumstances and never to appear irresponsible or unable to do what I should be able to do. Criticism (especially constructive criticism) flays me alive, because it demonstrates that I am not as good and able and responsible as I should be. I am supposed to be enough for everything that is expected of me. After all, I am The Missionary. The Good Christian. The Intelligent and Rational Person. I have been Called. I have so much going for me. I should be enough.

I am not enough. Digging deep inside myself to find all those hidden reserves of magnificence and power and stuff, I have found that under the intelligence and capability and proper behavior and interesting, creative quirkiness is actually a very small, naked, frightened person who’s probably about 5 years old and has no idea what on earth she’s doing.

Someone has given this particular 5-year old a job, and that is raising $6,213.92 per month for 3 1/2 years. Doing so in a timely manner will prove that I am good enough to go do an even bigger job in Europe. I have applied to this job all the considerable resources I have, all the intelligence and responsibility and courtesy and analysis and new-found public-speaking ability and creativity and love of missions and new web development skills and writing skills and story-spinning ability and the story of my call and personal development and my emotionality and my rationality and my personal contacts and love of baking, and found…I am not enough.

Thank God for that.

Honestly. Having to prove that you are enough is so stressful. Always trying to be invincible and impermeable and infallible because that is what you perceive is required of The Missionary (Itinerating Edition)–it’s exhausting. Constantly living in fear of the disapproval of the people who review your progress every month…

I am not enough for the task I have been given. God never intended me to be. He didn’t give it to me because I would do it perfectly and instantly. I think maybe He gave it to me to teach me this:

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

God has given me many strengths that will be invaluable in the work I will do. He really has given me a calling that suits who He made me to be. But I am still not enough. I will never be learned enough or good enough or an efficient enough fundraiser.

Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
2 Corinthians 12:9

That’s the way it works, in those magnificent paradoxes that make up the Christian life. We are weak, frail, unable, fallible little creatures, and it is in our weakness, frailty, inability, and fallibility that the power of God carries out its work.

I am thankful for my strengths, for who God has made me to be. I am so thankful I can use them in the work He is doing in Europe. God’s creativity and kindness are revealed in them.

But I am learning to be thankful for my weaknesses as well. I am not enough for everything that life asks of me. Not sufficient. It is God’s grace that is sufficient and His power that is currently being perfected in my weakness. My weakness and lack of sufficiency and enoughness (new word; I invented it myself) provide a space in which God’s power works.

How nice not to have to be enough, not to have to fulfill all my needs all by myself. How nice to have Somebody Else to hand them to. (When I’m not busy taking them right back and cuddling them and pouting over them and worrying about them…) How lovely that the only Person I have to prove myself to is the only Person I don’t have to prove myself to.

We tend to see struggle as a bad thing. I know I do. I’ve grown up with money struggles, with struggles to be the kind of Christian I ought to be and figuring out what that looks like, with my perception of who I am as opposed to my perception of what society thinks I should be. Right now I am struggling with figuring out ways I can effectively raise my missions budget without being pushed into doing things that feel like a betrayal of who I am and how I approach life. I have tended to think that if I am struggling, it means I am in the wrong place, doing the wrong things, dealing with things in the wrong way.

But recently I read a blog post that put such things in a different perspective. It was called, “What If I Fall Apart On The Mission Field?” and here is part of what it said:

“But — what if that’s not such a bad thing? I mean, what if it doesn’t end there, with you at the end of yourself? What if all the stuff that surfaces is supposed to surface? What if the only way to know what’s inside your heart is for it to come out? And what if the junk that needs to come out wouldn’t actually come out in your home country?
So maybe those multiple breakdowns have a purpose. Maybe knowing your weaknesses means you know God more intimately. Maybe you are exactly where He wants you to be, right at this moment. Maybe living overseas means becoming the person that God created you to be.”

Can it be true that God has ordained this fundraising struggle for me? The fact that I am struggling means that I am dealing with something that needs to be dealt with. That God has a purpose for my wholeness and strength, and to get there, I must have this struggle.

It made me think of the familiar verses from Romans 5.

Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.

This struggle can be a reason for joy, because God is in it. God has a purpose in it. God is producing perseverance in me, creating in me the character I need for the life He has given me, developing hope that is not mere naive optimism but is based on the love He has poured out on me. Through my difficulties in fundraising, God is making me the right person to go teach future missionaries in Europe.

I’ve definitely not fully learned this yet. I’ve only just discovered it for myself, as if I were the first person who ever came up with it rather than hearing it over and over my whole life. But I’ve realized that whatever struggles are involved, I would rather be here in this place, itinerating, fundraising, struggling, than anywhere else in the world (except in Europe where I belong, of course).

In January, I was discouraged because I’d meant to start full-time itineration in the beginning of January and had to put it off until February because I hadn’t scheduled enough services for Headquarters’ approval, and also because I felt very much alone in the process (even though it was just the beginning). Missionaries who are married have a built-in support system (which is not to say that being married doesn’t have its own struggles), and I felt like I had none and like no one really cared what I was doing. Then a person from church sent me a card in the mail with words of encouragement in it, and then I went to the Montana District’s Ministers Renewal and was reassured that actually Montana does care about its itinerating missionaries. We were all introduced to the whole gathering, who were encouraged to welcome us to their churches, a top district official randomly gave me money, I had lunch with his wife, and a pastor I had known in my Bible Quiz days gave me a solid dose of unsolicited encouragement.

In February I started crying because my windshield wipers didn’t work in a freezing rainstorm. Probably it was really just because I was tired after a long weekend of traveling in blizzards and doing services and staying with strangers, but inanimate objects that don’t behave as they should have the capacity to make me crazier in the head than anything else. A three-hour drive turned into a five-hour drive, and I had to turn around twice and go back to a friendly Napa Autoparts to get my windshield wipers fixed, and I got stuck in the snow. Small problems indeed, but on the way home there was a rainbow in the snow, which rarely happens. (You can barely see it in this picture, but it’s there.)

Rainbow in the snow

In April, the truly hard part about itineration hit me. The raising money part. Last June or July, when I had my first interview for the missions application process, I was told that there were some people reviewing my application who wanted me to go to Europe as a short-term Missionary Associate rather than a fully-appointed missionary because they didn’t believe I could raise a full budget for Europe in Montana. Montana is a massive state with few churches, the majority of which are struggling financially. Blithely I declared that while I was willing to do what they thought was best, I had always intended on being fully appointed and I knew God could make it happen if He wanted it to. I have continued to believe that, but still, in the back of my mind has always been that naysayer…Headquarters doesn’t believe you can raise your budget… (which is not true: it was only one or two people on a vast committee). And now I see what they mean. I’d hoped to have $2000/month in commitments raised by the end of April, and I don’t even have $1000. Churches are so generous in giving me cash, and I’ve raised far more than I expected every month in offerings, but it is harder for them and for individuals to commit to what I really need, giving monthly, when they are poor, when there are so many missionaries, missions projects, and local ministries clamoring for them to give.

Then just at the end of last month, a friend mentioned to me something God was reminding her of in a difficult situation she is in: He is the God of the impossible. Then I went to Montana’s District Council, and the speaker the first night spoke on the council’s theme: “Mission: Possible.” His altar call was on asking God to restore one’s innocence when difficult situations have made one jaded. While I was praying (and crying, ‘cos that’s what I do), the same district official’s wife came and prayed with me and seemed to get a vast deal of encouragement of her own out of it. It was lovely.

Directly after, a board member from Trinity Bible College spoke to me about what I’m up to and how itinerating is going, and he reminded me that if I want people to give me money, I have to ask them. Durr. That’s kind of the hardest part. I’m jolly good at getting up and telling people all about my work and calling and so forth, but the part where I say, “I need you to give me money every month or I can’t go”…that part’s hard. I tend to forget it, or shy away from it. But he told me people expect me to ask and they’re disappointed if I don’t. So next Sunday, when I speak about missions in Europe, I will explain how expensive Europe is, and I will ask them to support me monthly. That will be hard. Because itineration is hard.

But, my goodness, it’s fun.

(P.S. Here’s a lovely link where you can go to support me in missions in Europe, if you want…)

*”Lover of God,” sort of a quote from Acts. 1:1 for no good reason at all.

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.

My grandma

On Wednesday I drove to Butte, two hours away, picked up my grandma, who lives there, and went to her church. It was only about -20 degrees Fahrenheit out. Her church is small, especially on a Wednesday night, especially on a bitterly cold Wednesday night, but there was quite a large group of children, as well as a goodly number of teenagers.

Speaking to the children was delightful. They wiggled and asked questions and answered them. My questions to them involved making them think about God creating their minds and their interests and having a plan for their lives. Their questions to me were my age and whether I was married or dating. Ah, children.

After ten or fifteen minutes with them, I went on to the youth group. I was most nervous about that, since I have never identified well with teenagers, not even, or especially, when I was a teenager. But it turned out to be my favorite segment of the night. They were responsive and interested, and I think I made one girl cry. I do not consider that a bad thing, because I was speaking encouragement to them about who God made them to be.

Finally I spoke to the adults for half an hour or so. There were only about eight of them, including my grandmother and my aunt, but they were kind and encouraging, and I think I encouraged them as well. My grandmother, who went to each group with me, said later she enjoyed hearing how I adjusted what was basically the same message to each age group and situation. I’ve always been a fairly good contextualizer (once I wrote a missions paper about applying the Gospel to Vulcans and Klingons…but that’s another story).

The next afternoon, after spending the night at my grandma’s house, I was off to Dillon, about an hour south of Butte. It was such a beautiful drive that I wished it was longer. Dillon is a startlingly lovely little town with a startlingly grand campus of the University of Montana in it, and two of my friends from Trinity Bible College, Jason and Cindy Axt, are the Chi Alpha leaders there. (Chi Alpha is the Assemblies of God’s U.S. college missions arm.)

Jason and Cindy kindly let me stay at their house from Thursday to Sunday. Being missionaries themselves, they understand the difficulties of having to spend money on hotels while trying to fundraise. They have three children nine and under who are all rather adorable, and my stay with them ended up being unbelievably relaxing and low-key. That’s another thing about missionaries. They also understand how important it is to be able to relax between the whirlwind of speaking engagements.

On Thursday night I spoke at their Chi Alpha group, to fifteen or so college students, and on Friday, between hanging out with Jason and Cindy and their kids, exploring the town, reading, and writing in my journal and my latest Shakespearean science fiction book, I had a lovely meeting with the local Assembly of God pastor. We talked about missions, of course, and education, and Europe, and made a plan for me to come back in March to his church, but we also had a grand time talking about British television, because when two fans of “Sherlock” and other British mysteries get together, such subjects can’t be repressed.

Between Thursday and Sunday, it snowed about two feet, and oh how I wish I had brought my camera, because it was so lovely and Dillon was so lovely, and I’d love to show you pictures of it. In lieu of that, however, here’s a lovely picture I took about three years ago of snow in Missoula. On bicycles.

On Sunday we drove to Sheridan, about half an hour away, where the Axts go to church, and I spoke there for about half an hour. It was a marvelous church, quite small but very welcoming and encouraging. People came up and talked to me afterward and were terribly delightful and kind. I was even asked for advice and my expert opinion as regards missions in Europe and such things, which was a bit disconcerting. I’m The Missionary now. Weird.

All in all, it was most charming. My next marathon is the last weekend of this month.

It was in Anaconda, Montana, a long, narrow town with which I have quite a few pleasant associations. My aunt and uncle used to live there, and they were always marvelous to visit. The AG church is pastored by a man who knows my grandparents and a dozen or so of my relatives, because he used to pastor my grandparents’ church and had all kinds of stories about my grandfather’s absurdities, because my grandfather was delightfully absurd. I also used to live in a house this pastor used to live in, which is just randomer and randomer.

It was a little church in a little town, and I love little churches in little towns. I grew up with them, and they feel so familiar and comfortable to go into. It being a Wednesday night just after the holidays, there were only ten or fifteen people there, but really, for my first service, that was a perfect number. I like small groups. They’re cozy. Also the ten or fifteen people who come to a Wednesday night missions service just after the holidays are going to be the ten or fifteen people who are the backbone of the church.

Missions table: international teacups, Greek study books, and Greek translation journal

I set up a little table, and it was beautiful. Until I had my multicultural teas back in November, I wasn’t sure what I would do for a missions table at services, because I’ve never been to Belgium, so I haven’t accumulated any neat Belgian things, and also I’m not really going to Belgium, as Belgium. I’m going to a multicultural setting. But the teas made me realize that I have loads of lovely items that represent a multitude of cultures: teapots and teacups. Also since I’m going as a Greek professor, I can use the large number of Greek study texts I own, including the beautiful leather journals of my own translations. I used a sari as a tablecloth, set out my most international teapots and foreign teacups, and neatly arranged a few books on it, and it was as representative of me and my ministry as you could wish.

There was a lovely, potluck sort of meal, and afterward I spoke for half an hour or forty-five minutes. I told them about what I’ll be doing in Belgium, how I was called into missions, and gave a mini-sermon on Peter and Paul and how God changed their lives but also used the talents and personalities He’d given them. They were a lovely audience. They laughed frequently.

We had a short hang-around-and-chat time afterward, and I went home with a remarkably generous contribution to my cash budget. Tiny church, great generosity. I left very encouraged.

A teapot named Claudia, teacups, and Greek study books, on a sari.

Itinerating usually means speaking to large groups, usually churches, about one’s call to missions and the work one is going to do. For me, in November it meant holding tea parties.

I have a lot of family and friends in the Missoula, Montana, area, and few of them go to any of the churches I would be itinerating at. So when I was thinking about how I could introduce them all to my new life, short of sending out a mass letter, which can be a bit boring, I remembered that when my sister Maria came home from her two missions trips to Kenya, she held a Kenyan dinner for her friends and family. What a great idea! People always want to come and have food.

However, I’ve never been to Belgium. I know nothing about Belgian food and Belgian customs. In addition, I’m not technically going to do ministry to Belgians. I’m going to do ministry in a multicultural setting. And then I realized that I already have everything I need to hold a multicultural event. I own loads of tea, and tea is drunk around the world in a million different ways. I own loads of teacups and loads of teapots from all around the world. I have cookbooks with many European recipes. I love to bake. Why not have a multicultural tea?

So I had three multicultural teas. I sent out about forty hand-written invitations on neat little notecards to about sixty people and spent three weekends crafting and holding tea parties. I held the teas in my programming team office in an old, quirky, brick building and decorated with saris (of which I have many), a few foreign objects I own, and Greek-study books. I baked European desserts, like these Hungarian butter biscuits, Italian olive oil cake from a recipe by the same cookbook author as the Hungarian biscuits (one of my clients), and proper cucumber sandwiches, because what is tea without cucumber sandwiches?

Japanese tetsubin and Chinese yixing teapots.

And I had many kinds of tea in their proper teapots with their proper teacups. Black tea (a blend I created called Romany Caravan), served English-style with sugar and milk in a lovely vintage teapot (named Claudia) with lovely vintage teacups. Indian chai in an English Brown Betty teapot (named Harold) with mugs. Kenya chai in Kenyan thermoses printed with Bible verses, also with mugs. Chinese oolong and pu-ehr in little clay Yixing teapots with small tea bowls. Japanese genmaicha (green tea with toasted rice) in a Japanese cast iron tetsubin with Japanese rice bowls and tea bowls.

Mathalia, who makes and sells potholders in Missoula.

Four people came to my first tea, including my friend Mathalia and her mom, whose website I’ve helped with, and we had a lovely, cozy time. Eight or nine people came to my second tea the next weekend, mostly people I know from church but also one of my web development clients and my aunt and uncle. And about nine people came to my third tea, all of whom just happened to be family members, including my sister’s very dear in-laws and my two brothers, neither of whom I get to see very often.

We all sat and stood about eating and talking and having a lovely time, and presently I drew everybody together and told about my future missions work in Europe and my current itineration journey. The lovely thing was that I wasn’t giving a speech. I was just telling people things, and they were interested and asking questions and giving ideas and discussing among themselves.

Even if none of the people who came ever support me (which some of them already have, lovely them), it was valuable for me to meet with them and get them involved in a way in my ministry. I learned that about itineration recently: it’s not about raising funds so much as it is getting people involved in ministry and in your own missionary journey. I hope I inspired my friends and family. At the very least, they had a lovely tea.