My Story, Part 1

As a ten year old girl sitting in GA's one Wednesday night, I prayed God would not send me to Africa. I grew up in a Southern Baptist church, in fact, my Grandpa was a Southern Baptist preacher. My parents made me go to GA's each week even though I protested. I learned about missionaries all over the world, prayed for them and even made little craft projects but I still never thought in a million years that God would ask me to live overseas. It never crossed my mind. I was quite happy where I was.

I met several MK's (Missionary's Kids) during my college years at OBU. I always thought they were interesting people. Not at all like me. They were well-rounded (well most of them) happily adjusted (yes, most of them) and they seem to have a bond which each other that I would never understand. One MK in particular caught my eye. I knew of him and sat near him in the cafeteria. The first thing I learned about him was that he was an MK ...from Africa. Did he live in a grass hut? (I'm not even kidding, I seriously wondered this!) I wondered what God was up to. Didn't He remember that I had prayed that prayer in GA's 9 years ago? Not Africa, Lord, not Africa.

His MK friends teased me mercilessly. This was an interesting group of people- and I felt like an outsider many times. They had their own private jokes and they would speak in French (or Spanish). I was just a girl from Dallas working towards getting a teaching degree. In spite of all this, I fell in love with this MK from Africa but still never once considered the thought that we would live overseas. Oh wait, there was one moment where he told me about traveling through the UK when he was in high school and saw a need for youth workers. I thought that was so noble of him and yes it would be so romantic to live in the UK. Rolling hills of green lush grass and hot tea. Sounds lovely. But it'll never happen.