When I was seventeen years old I went on my first overseas missions trip to Spain. I spent about two weeks learning about different ministries in the country, learning about the culture and history, and doing service projects. Not to mention I got to taste one of my now favorite dishes paella. In fact, if you were to ask me what my favorite part of going to Spain was I would say something like, "As vain and superficial as it may sound, I really loved eating paella." I'm not kidding.
But something else besides a love of paella was birthed in me on that trip. When I was in Spain I fell in love with the country itself. I still think about it constantly. I think about the people and the need for the Gospel there. I wish and hope and pray for the day when I can go back and fall even more in love and help people to fall in love with Christ.
I'm afraid though that while talk is cheep traveling to another continent is not. I come up with a million and one reasons as to why I can't go back. These reasons may include:
1.) I am buried under a growing mound of student debt, and I want to make sure that I'm not adding more expenses on top of that.
2.) There are several other places I would love to go and tell people the glories of the Gospel.
3.) I am currently learning a language that is not Spanish, and I don't want to have to deal with the language barrier again.
4.) I can't find the right opportunity.
5.) What if I'm not supposed to go back?
When I lay in bed at night and think about all of these reasons seem like enough to put it aside for right now and revisit the issue again in a year or so. But then the biggest reason of all strikes me. That reason completely obliterates the above reasons and looms over me. That reason is one worded and simple. That reason is fear.
I am afraid.
I am afraid that I cannot measure up to the expectations that might befall me if I decide, "Yup. I'm moving to Spain." I'm afraid that I'll miss out on other opportunities for other countries I have a fascination with. I'm afraid that I'll have to wait until I finish college, and by then somehow it will be too late.
I don't know what I need to do to get there, but I know I need to go. I don't know how long I need to go, but I need to go. I don't know what will happen, but I need to go. I don't know exactly what I'll do when I get there, but I need to go.
It's the strangest feeling in the world. The feeling of having a vague idea of something, but not knowing what to do with it. I am a compulsive planner. I like to know the exact time of things.I like to know exactly how things will work out. If I don't know what's going on then I get a little bit stressed. I DON'T LIKE BEING STRESSED! But then I think about going back. When I think about going back I don't necessarily feel stressed. I feel excited. I feel ready. I play my list of reasons not to go over in my head again, and then I think it doesn't matter. I'm gonna go.
Here comes the hard part. I don't know how to end this because I could talk about my love for Spain and my desire to go back all the live long day. But eventually you have to stop talking and start doing.
