I made many assumptions about becoming a missionary.
I assumed that our new apartment would be as perfect as the photos.
I assumed that every single person I knew in Georgia would be pounding down my door to come hang out. And I assumed that a confirmed direction from God would come with magical and miraculous fund raising.
When I stop to reflect, of course, these are ridiculous assumptions. But the resulting disappointments have made me, not the Very Worst Missionary – but certainly the Grumpiest Missionary.
I’ve made new friends with some fantastic people and I am still grumpy. I found a plant sale and filled my deck with dirt and green things, and I'm still grumpy. New linoleum was installed on my kitchen floor, yesterday. Yep, still grumpy.
I’m at a loss on how to adjust my attitude. I keep trying to mind-muscle my way to a more positive me, but it only lasts as long as the next toddler tantrum. And God keeps wanting to talk to me and have me read what he’s written about this, but that just feels like an even heavier burden to bear. Ain’t nobody got time for that!
Where is my serving God radiant glow? These are not the miracles I had planned on!
So I’m off to go have some grumpy quiet time with God. Because even when I’m a grumpy, disconsolate, spoiled, ungrateful brat – Jesus still loves me and wants to hang out with me. And it's time to swallow my arrogant pride and admit that I need him to save me from myself everyday.
