A Night in the Big City

There I was. 12 AM on a Thursday morning. Freezing temperatures. Wind mixed with rain. Standing on top of a bridge. God only knows where Dublin suburb. That, my friend, would be the problem. I literally had no idea where I was. 

20 minutes previously I'd gotten the last train from Dublin headed to Donabate. And here I was, no longer on the train.... Frantically phoning my team mate in Donabate, Courtney, (whom I was supposed to be spending the night with). Trying to not panic. 

At long last she answered the phone. "I think I got on the wrong train from Dublin.... (ever the dumb blonde), I need the number for a cab!" (Thank God, she'd gotten us to take a cab back at Christmas, or else I probably would have tried walking...) Poor thing, Courtney texted me 2 numbers. 

"Hello? Yes! I need a cab to Donabate."

"Ok. Where are you?" 

...."Port..mar...nock..."

"Where?"

"Port-mar-nock". 

"I'm sorry, where?" 

D*! 
"PORTMARNOCK!"

"Oh! Ok... yeah that'll be 40 minutes." 

"...Grand. Thanks"

40 Minutes? I don't think so! 

So I phoned the second number Courtney gave me. 

"Where are you?" 

....

(Do they seriously not have a tracking device they can use to find where I am?)

"Port...mar..nock"

"We'll have a cab out for you in 10 minutes." 

Win! 

So, thus you find me at midnight standing on a bridge. Waiting for a cab. Not in the least bit suspicious. 

The thought hits me as the cab pulls up, and I climb into a warm, safe car, yet feeling very sketch at the same time; in the past week I have spent significant time in 3 cities, 3 countries. 2 time zones. " Who is this girl? Is this real? Is this really my life?" 

The story gets better. Remember how I'd thought (hoped) I'd gotten on the wrong train? Turns out, I was on the right train. Just got a little eager-beaver and hopped off too soon. Truly the dumb blonde. 

Courtney told me the next morning as I was explaining what-a happened that she was already in bed asleep, when I called. Further more, sleeps with her phone on silent. (Now, panic starts to hit. What would have happened if she hadn't answered? I had no plan C!) Thank you Jesus though, she had her Fitbit on, and because it's connected to her phone, it picked up my call.

So now, on to Belfast and pretending this never happened! 

Mission to Westerners

I recently read this book called “A Wind in the House of Islam”, by David Garrison. A rather tricky book to get into initially. But by the 4th chapter it finally picked up. Each chapter was about the 9 different rooms of Islam in the Middle East, and how God is moving. Really, it was exciting to read. Exciting to learn how God is moving and to read some pretty radical stories of people coming to faith.

The book goes along a little with the work I’m part of in Belfast. Ministering to Somalian Muslims. Actually the book was recommended by a couple of people that run that ministry. All in all, it’s exciting and “natural” to be part of this ministry. Easy reading books like “Wind in the House of Islam”… Wanting to be a part of what God’s doing in the middle east. It’s right to want to go and be a part of God’s work there, if that’s what He’s calling you to do. God commands us to GO into all the world and make disciples of all nations. And if that is the calling He has placed on you to do than you’d best go! 

But as I was sitting on the train this past week headed back from Dublin, reading “Wind in the House of Islam”, excited about what God was doing and wanting to be apart of it. I looked up from my book and out the window. The scene before me was classic Ireland. Green pastures, with stone fences, hills, sheep, dark ominous clouds, sunshine. Unlike in Alabama, there is no humidity, so the view was not disrupted by a haze. It was so crisp and beautiful. Literally took my breath away. 

It seems so obvious when you say you’re going to the mission field for people to think Africa, India, South America. It’s easy for me to want to be a part of the Belfast City Mission. I only have to go as far as the Serge webpage to the home screen and see a picture of white people playing with black children. It’s obvious from this picture who’s the missionary and who’s being ministered too. The summer I spent in Scotland with Mission to the World, they told all the interns after we got back at the end of the summer that they were going to pick from our experiences one teams story to be put in their quarterly news letter. Naturally the team that went to Ethiopia was picked. 

And yet, what about the people of Northern Ireland, Protestants. Most of them have grown up in the church. They know all the right answers, chances are they’ll even be at church Sunday. But do they have a personal relationship with Jesus? The same is true in Alabama (in the south). We grow up going to church, doing all the “right” things, but when push comes to shove….. 

I guess my question in all this is where is the mission field? Is it Africa? Or China? Or South America? Or India? Or somewhere in the middle east? Or… is it just wherever you are right now? In the church you’re part of (or not), or the neighborhood that you live in….? Or is it (as is the case for me and my fellow missionaries in Ireland). Simply coming alongside a minister in a church in Europe or the UK, being part of winning people to Christ in just the hum-drum boringness of everyday? 

On the mission organization’s webpages wouldn’t it be better, or just as important, to have pictures of people that you can’t tell who’s the missionary and who’s the “project”? You know, like an undercover “missionary”. Like what we’re supposed to be doing everyday of our lives as followers of Christ. Or is it simply that we want success stories? Being a missionary in Europe or just being an active member of a church in America, means that’s a commitment for the long whole, that’s slow and possibly very discouraging.