I have so very much to tell you. I'd better start at the beginning. Last November, I participated in a coat drive with my church at a local apartment complex with a very large refugee community. I watched in astonishment as women and children from all over the world streamed to the World Relief clubhouse inside the complex, forming a line the length of a city block; I'd had no idea all of these people lived in my own city. Most of the women wore head coverings, and few of them spoke English.
Only a couple of women were allowed entry at a time, and they could only take coats for children who were present with them. No matter how ill-fitting a coat might be, or whether a boy had to take a pink coat, the children and their mothers were overwhelmingly grateful. Within an hour or two, we were completely out of coats, and I cried in frustration. Why had I not purchased more coats myself?
Sometime during my brief shift that day, I felt a strong tug in my heart. I wanted not only to help these women, but to know them, to be a friend to them. Before I left, I spoke with a World Relief volunteer and picked up a brochure with the application information.
I fully intended to fill it out and start assisting newly arrived families with adapting to their new surroundings, but I could never seem to find the time between working full time, cooking for my special dietary needs, and trying to keep my house somewhat clean.
Around January, I started a Priscilla Shirer Bible study called Discerning the Voice of God with the women in my family. At the beginning of the study, Priscilla asked us to start praying about a specific situation in our life where we needed to hear God's direction. I decided to pray about whether to volunteer with World Relief. If I couldn't even find time to fill out the application, I wondered, how could I find time to volunteer? Still, I couldn't stop thinking about those beautiful women and their children. So I continued to pray as I did my homework each week.
"Is this the right time for me to volunteer?" I asked. "Or am I too busy? What can I do to make more time in my life? Would you please give me a sign about what you want me to do?"
One Saturday morning in early March, less than a week after I prayed for a sign, I had a burning desire to return a little drain cover to Ace Hardware. That part had been sitting under my kitchen sink for a year, maybe two. I'd run across it when my niece, Savannah, helped me organize the cabinets and pantry.
When I walked into the hardware, a vaguely familiar woman in the checkout line out waved at me. "I know you!" she said.
"Yes!" I agreed, as we both searched our memory for the connection. After a few moments, I said, "You were the table leader at some of my Bible studies."
"Yes, that's right!" she said. "How long has it been since we've seen each other? Maybe 10 years?"
"That's about right," I said. "Man, I miss those Bible study days. We did so many great studies at that church."
"Yes, the Bible studies were great," she agreed. "But there comes a time when you have to stop just studying the Bible and start doing what it says."
"Yes!" I agreed, thinking of my discontentment with life as usual over the last several years.
We stood for an obnoxiously long time at the head of the line, catching up. Angie told me she'd recently retired and started a nonprofit organization benefiting Afghan refugees.
"Really??" I asked incredulously. "That's very interesting, because I've been praying about volunteering with refugees." I told her about the coat drive at the apartment complex.
"Oh, I go there all the time," she said. I know lots of families there."
"Wow!"
We exchanged numbers, and I figured that would be the end of it. But within a few minutes, she had sent me a text:
"So good to see you again! I would love to take you with me to meet some of the families. I'm planning to go on Wednesday from 11-3 if that would possibly work for you."
I shook my head in amazement. Here was a personal invitation to participate in refugee ministry. I'd call that a sign, wouldn't you?
Over the next few weeks, I visited an Afghan lady with Angie and helped a couple women with online applications. I wanted to do more, but work was very busy, and I couldn't take any time off.
In frustration, I asked God, "Why would you connect me with a refugee ministry when I don't have any time to volunteer right now?"
The next evening, Angie sent a text asking if I'd like to do a prayer walk at the apartment complex that Thursday... at 6:40 a.m.!
If you know me very well, you know that I utterly despise getting up before dawn. I started to say that it wouldn't work for me, but then I heard a voice in my head asking, Didn't you say you wanted opportunities to participate in refugee ministry? This is outside work hours. What's stopping you from going?
I confessed to Angie that my flesh didn't want to do it, but I told her I would do my best to be there.
In the early-morning darkness that Thursday, Angie and walked around the parking lot and prayed with one of her friends from a discipleship class she was taking. His name was Caleb, and I learned that he lived at the complex. He planned to become a missionary in the near future, and he would stay there for nine months to acclimate himself to the culture of his chosen people group.
"How does the program work?" I asked. "Does the organization have units here?"
"You just rent an apartment," he said. "You can have roommates if you want to."
As the inky blue sky gradually became suffused with pink, an absolutely crazy desire steadily grew in my heart. After we'd said goodbye to Caleb, I told Angie, "I'd like to live here. I don't have to go overseas to be a missionary. The nations are gathered right here." As I talked, a plan began to take shape. "I could rent out my house. If I lived here, I could get involved with the ministry efforts without having to drive anywhere. I could meet with the women in their homes and invite them into to mine."
She urged me to pray about it.
The more I prayed over the next few days, the more excited I felt. As I contemplated the sacrifices I would need to make, though, two things hit me hard: not having a washing machine, and giving up my giant, light-filled kitchen with its wall of windows and many cabinets full of various beloved but seldom-used kitchen gadgets. Could I really be happy cooking in a tiny apartment kitchen?
On Saturday morning, two days after the prayer walk, I read a passage of scripture for my Bible study homework that cut me to the heart: the familiar story in Matthew 19 about the rich young ruler who most likely decided not to follow Jesus because he was unwilling to part with his wealth. For the first time, I looked beyond what I always thought was the main point: that the man was greedy. No, the most tragic part was that this young man had the opportunity to walk with Jesus in the flesh, and he passed on that! He could have seen Jesus raise Lazarus and open blind eyes and feed the 5,000. Instead, he settled for enjoying his money.
My eyes filled with tears as I applied the story to my own life. Would I seriously consider missing out on all the amazing plans Jesus had for me just because I wanted to keep my kitchen? My mind went back to a moment in the middle of the night in July, 2019, when I felt the call to evangelism. My response had been to fall to my knees in my prayer closet, saying, "Cualquier lugar, cualquier tiempo, cualquier manera" (any place, any time, any manner).
Now, as I relaxed in my quiet time chair, I said aloud, "Yes, Lord. Yes, I will do this. If you open the door, I will live in that refugee community."
TO BE CONTINUED
