We got there early. I am phobic about being late. Most likely because my husband is the exact opposite. He'll be late to his own funeral. Really, I promise you! So there we were 1/2 hour early, we parked the car and then saw that our friends had arrived early too. They were there to put our names in for a huge table of 10. We had time to kill while waiting for the others, so my friend thought it might be a good idea to give me a tour of Northpark University--for some reason she thinks I might be attending seminary there in the near future. The campus just happened to be right across the street from the restaurant. Interesting how that worked out! I instantly fell in love with the quaint campus, its old brick buildings and warm fuzzy atmosphere. Ugg. I did not want to like it there. No, I wanted to kind of not like it there. More on that later though. This is about the missionaries. Just remember this part about the university for later updates. We'll see, yes, we will see.
When we all had arrived we were escorted upstairs to a large table where we could all sit, get to know each other and have breakfast. First off, let me tell you, it was the cutest little Swedish restaurant, with 2 stories and also an outdoor patio. Next time I'm eating out there! There was also a Starbucks down the street. And as much as I wanted to head straight there--I knew there would be plenty of time for that later--down the road--as in, another time when I might be attending seminary. Oh brother.
We decided to split up--men on one end, women on the other. I was much more interested in hearing about the good, the bad and the ugly of visiting an African village than hearing about water treatment facilities. Hey, just being honest here. So there I was sitting at the table with 2 women from my church who had volunteered to go on this trip and 2 women who had volunteered to not only go--but to live in Africa. And not on a short term basis either. One had lived there for over 40 years, raised her children there and would go back in a heartbeat. The other had lived there for over 30 years and had arrived in Africa with a 4-week old baby in her arms, and she wanted to go back too! It was then that God began to speak to me. Quietly, oh so softly.
I had a hard time that morning. I wanted to cry the entire time. My emotions were on the verge of spilling down my cheeks. However, I held it together. After all, I was not even going on the trip. My husband and my friends were going. I sat and listened to story after story, I asked questions that I thought would be relevant to my friend's trip. I smiled and nodded and talked and I listened and found myself praying for them. Praying and thanking God.
At one point during that breakfast, more towards the end of our time together, I happened to look towards the men's end of the table. I could not see my husband as he and I were sitting on the same side. However, as I watched the men's interaction something occurred to me--one day we will be sitting here talking and sharing our adventures with the next group of willing volunteers. It was then that I had to swallow a huge lump in my throat. I realized that my husband's future and possibly mine would hold many stories to share with others. 20 years from now, I will not be surprised if we are sitting in this same little restaurant across the street from the seminary (that I might or might not be attending) and telling the tales of our adventures. Yes, God was present that morning, I could feel Him there. Smiling, looking down on us and He was saying--well done. Yes, well done to those missionaries who had given all to go where God had called them.
I'm going to step out here and sound a little melodramatic--but I want you to know that I sat with royalty that morning. I was humbled as I listened to their stories. Some were scary, some heart-wrenching, some very very funny. I felt honored. I got to sit at the table. The table with those who walked before me. Who fought the good fight. Who ran the race with all their might. There is no way that I could ever fill their shoes. But, you know what? I just might try. I just might do something that is so far out of my comfort zone--I might surprise even myself, and certainly those around me. God is moving, God is shaking, God is calling us. All of us. Now is the time. Go have breakfast. On a Saturday. With a missionary. It will change your life.
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