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.

My memories of Advent from my childhood involve being given Advent calendars with chocolates behind each of the little doors by my Catholic relatives and being terribly excited about opening each day’s little door. That is the extent of my exposure to Advent for nearly thirty years. Though I was raised in a strong, Christian home, we were Pentecostal and didn’t celebrate the Christian Year, except for the normal Christmas and Easter. As an adult, I simply didn’t think of it, because it wasn’t part of my culture.

Until two years ago, that is, when I read a short editorial about it in the Religion section of the Sunday paper, and suddenly Advent took on a great deal of significance. The very theological concept of it intrigued and excited me, because theological concepts do intrigue and excite me. My soul is enlivened when my mind is stimulated by some lovely theological idea, and the idea of Advent certainly did that. But it’s also become significant over the last two years because of the current situation I find myself in, a kind of perpetual Advent.

Advent is a state of waiting. It’s a short amount of time that symbolizes the whole history of the Jews waiting for their Messiah, the whole longing of creation for a Redeemer. This is the time where we sit back and wait as if we were old Anna and old Simeon (Luke 2:22-38), recognizing God’s promises that He is going to change everything for the better and yet not seeing how or when. The Jews waited for thousands of years, and we Christians join them during Advent in waiting for Christ, the Messiah, to be born and turn the world right-side-up again.

Advent is a state of liminality, and that is where I find myself these days. Liminality is a term used in anthropology to describe a state of in-between-ness, and I have in a way reframed it to my own context. To me it means the state of waiting between the promise and the fulfillment, the period of time that stretches out for seemingly eternity while you wait for something to happen. It’s Christmas Eve night when you were a child and couldn’t sleep all night for anticipation of the next day. It’s sitting in the hospital waiting to find out whether your loved one is going to make it or not. It’s the time of numbness between a death and the funeral, of waiting backstage for your cue to go on, so nervous you think you’ll throw up, of the hundreds of years between Isaiah prophesying that the virgin would conceive a son and name him God With Us and the time when Jesus was actually born. It’s Christians for the last two thousand years saying, “Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus” and not yet seeing it. It’s me, stuck between a call to missions and that undefined, tantalizing time in the future when I will be financially in the position to go do it.

Tantalizing, aggravating, frustrating…just waiting. Waiting and hoping. It’s a time for hope, this liminality, and for trust. Liminality gives us room to learn a quiet trust in our Father, who is not slow in keeping His promises. Isaiah, the prophet we quote most when it comes to Christmas, says, “You shall triumph by stillness and quiet; your victory shall come about through calm and confidence” (Isaiah 30:15, Jewish Publication Society version). We’ve been given promises by the God whose nature we trust; I’ve been given a call to missions by a God who has never broken faith with me. I think of this little piece of Hebrews, in between two verses: “Yet at present we do not see everything subject to him. But we see Jesus…” (Hebrews 2:8c-9a). We see what God has already done, and that gives us room to grow in faith, hoping for a promised future we cannot yet see.

I am in a state of liminality, and Advent reminds me to hope that more is coming.

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.

An artist named Marah Sandoz has started a lovely gallery and art shop featuring art by herself and other local artists, and she has placed all over town nearly 60 larger-than-life-sized figures representing the town in the Victorian era. They’re lovely and charming and sometimes halfway hidden in unexpected, but appropriate places. I spent Monday morning walking around town and finding them all with a map Marah provides at her gallery.

I had spent the night at the Wildlife Motel, which is also charming and lovely, tiny but welcoming, run by a Christian family who treat it as a ministry. I recommend it as a place to stay. Not to mention that the countryside around Taylor is very lovely. I recommend that, too.

I was in western Washington three times between Christmas and Easter. Sometimes scheduling services just works like that. Once when I went, I got to take Highway 12 between Lolo, Montana, where my mom lives, and Napavine, Washington, where my sister lives, with two services along the way, and it was a truly magnificent drive.

In Washington, I got to stay with my sister, her husband, and their three rapidly-growing children each time I went, which is grand, because once I’m gone to Europe, I won’t get to see them in person. While there I conducted three (or four?) international teas with various groups at various churches and had a number of church services as well and a number of exquisite drives around northwestern Washington.

In March I went directly from Washington to South Dakota, where I spent a month traveling around to church services and staying between them with dear old professorial friends from Trinity in Ellendale, North Dakota, five miles north of the South Dakota border. I adore the Dakotas, and I was there just in time to see the immigration of massive flocks of birds, mostly geese. What an enchanting place.

After South Dakota, I had three district councils in a row, in North Dakota, Montana, and Idaho, where various ministry friends assisted me greatly by introducing me to loads of pastors. One of my weaknesses is in the area of networking, so I subsidized my lack by asking other people to help, and that worked beautifully. It was also very exhausting.

In a little over a week, I am off to Nebraska, where I have a month of services lined up. After that, who knows. Please pray that I’ll get July filled up with services. But pray especially that God’s plan will be accomplished throughout all of this and that both I and AGWM will have the patience to let His plan be what He wants it to be.

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.

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.

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).

Wyoming is a really incredible state. Random, crazy things to see everywhere you go. Also lots of antelope. Lots.

The most amazing thing I saw in Wyoming was a place called Hell’s Half Acre. It’s an escarpment.

Nebraska and Missouri are both less spectacular but more inviting.