Often I wonder why God placed us where we are. I get bogged down counting all the people I know who would be “better” suited to be missionaries in a refugee neighborhood compared to us. People who could love better, have more compassion, better pray-ers, people who actually speak the same language as their neighbors, who are more selfless and are willing to give all their time to building up this community. I’m discouraged after I sit and think about all those more “qualified”.
And then I hear a voice that says, “But I called you, and you said ‘Yes!”.
Why were we called? Why was I called?
I’m so very weak. I’m an introvert who longs for and savors my alone time. I avoid praying aloud at all costs for fear I won’t have the most eloquent words and my prayers won’t be good enough or the recipient(s) for whom I am praying won’t be encouraged. I can only speak one language, however, I’m surrounded by hundreds whose second, third, fourth, fifth language is English. My flesh craves to be of this world desiring what I want and what makes me comfortable. Expressing compassion is not second nature for me. The first born syndrome in me disdains others for not following the rules or is eager to exclaim, “well, that’s what you deserve. Fair is fair in my book.”
I’m not proud of my actions, my feelings, my vulnerable confessions.
So, again, why with all my weaknesses has God chosen me (us) to live where we do? Ministering to refugees?
Because he chose Abraham, Moses, David, Ruth, Esther, Mary, and so many others. He chose Paul who proclaims:
I am qualified because I am weak.
And I am qualified because I am unqualified.
I am unqualified and He gets all the GLORY.