...I was unsure. How unsure? Well here's my testimony of how and why I decided to go to Rwanda this coming January, and you can answer that question for yourself...
I heard about the suggestion of the trip--I don’t think it was even a “for sure” thing, at that point--this past April I believe, and I decided to go to the informational meeting the next week on what I thought was a complete whim, at the time. I went in with zero expectations, and after the presentation by the co-founding-couple of the ministry, I didn’t really feel “sold” on anything, but I sort of felt like something was picking at me, I guess, so I decided to talk to them about my “hypothetical” concerns; I had never expressed any desire to go on a mission trip until the point, and I certainly never felt called to do any missions work, not to mention the fact that the word “Africa” immediately triggered images of dirty, diseased and starving Black people in somewhat of a wasteland, even though I had seen fairly urban and “civilized” communities on T.V. I’m not proud, but that’s what I thought.
Anyway, I expressed this to the ministry leaders (in less explicit or, frankly, honest terms, I think), along with my qualms about money and especially missing the primary racing season for Nordic Skiing (which I have been participating in for a month and a half or so now, as my second year on my college team). They tried to address those questions as best they could, which I greatly appreciated and still do, but I think I still left with some discontented feelings. I think, more than anything, I was annoyed that the issue was even bothering me; why do I even feel guilty that I don’t want to go?, I thought. So I kind of pushed it under the rug after that, but the feelings continued to fester.
A few weeks later, I went for a run on one of my favorite routes that I had learned from the Cross Country team the fall before. It was a beautiful and sunny Saturday morning, so I was feeling pretty good. Now I have a tendency to think most deeply on runs, and though I hadn’t even really thought about Rwanda much in that week, I started mulling it over about a mile into the run. I don’t remember all the thoughts I had, of course, but I just remember feeling increasingly upset, to the point where I was literally screaming in my head “I don’t want to go!” But as I crested the top of the major hill in the middle of that route, the thought “yes you do” popped into my head, and I suddenly had an overwhelming sense that I had to go, and while I wouldn’t say I heard the voice of God, I have never felt more confident about anything in my life that I was filled with the Holy Spirit in that moment, something I was beginning to think would never happen for me.
After that, I can’t even describe the feeling of euphoria I had in having made the decision to go, except to say that I had the biggest smile on my face--after running about two and a half miles, no less, with just as far to go--and I sang worship songs in my head the entire way back to campus. I still had to convince my parents, of course, that this was a valid reason for spending a month in on another continent in a tiny little country with an enormously heavy past, but that's another story (and one which may or may not show up on here at a later date).
Since then, our six-girl team has made nearly all the necessary preparation for the trip, and with one group meeting left, end of semester finals approaching and 2011 winding down, I'm feeling giddily optimistic about it all. I've also jumped through all the hoops required for the independent study I developed to undertake in Rwanda, in addition to the missions work, and I'm feeling ready.
Yes, I'm feeling ready.
