Humans have the unique privilege of being created with Imago Dei. The very image of our Creator is imprinted upon us. As a unique creation, we have a desire to find purpose and meaning in life unlike any other creature. Christians often define that meaning by discovering our calling. We seek our Spirit filled role among the people of God and place in this broken world.  

As a teenager, I remember sitting in a dim lit room on a hot summer evening. Music played in the background, as the voice of our camp pastor spoke words of invitation. The girl next to me softly cried in response. My hand reached out to comfort her. In that small quiet moment, the Lord whispered to me, “This is what I want you to do, take care of my people.” 

I surrendered to the call of God that night. For the next ten years, almost every major decision I made was in light of this calling: my choice for college, my major, and even my life partner. Before I knew it, I found myself standing next to my husband unpacking all our earthly possessions from four suitcases. We were embarking on a new adventure of living out that very calling in a foreign land among the people of Slovenia. In some ways it felt like I had finally arrived at my call. 

The calling of God is a powerful thing. It guides us. It moves us. Changes us.  

It would be honest to say that when I felt the call of God on my life as a teenager that I imagined I would spend my entire life on the mission field. I would get on the proverbial boat and never truly return. But after eight long years of ministry, we stepped off a plane back to our “home” no longer with the title “Missionary.” The label that defined so much of almost two decades of my life—and now the life of my entire family—was now in my past. 

But, what about my calling? Had I lost that too? 

As I have grown in my walk with Jesus, I have learned that most of the Christian life is lived in the daily. Sure, we sometimes get to stand on the mountain top feeling the joy and satisfaction of reaching the pinnacle. We get to step off the plane onto the soil of another land proclaiming the good news.  

But more often than not, the calling of God is lived in the everyday. Saying yes to His will for that day. Seeking to be found faithful in the little things. It is faithful obedience in the changing of diapers and navigating naptimes, so that you can also read the bible in another language with a group of women who love Jesus. It is renewing your visa and standing in long lines at government offices, so you can truly live among the people you are serving. It is being faithful in the little and often un-exciting moments so that you can truly find yourself in the center of God’s will. 

When God began to stir in our hearts that it was time to transition back to the States, it was hard to surrender to obedience. It felt a little bit like the death of a dream. Letting go of something that had molded my life and even my faith.  

As Americans, we often see the call of God as only what we do. Our culture measures success by completed tasks and checked off to-do lists. But if we allow ourselves to look deeper, we realize that God has called us to something more. He has called us to Himself. We have been called into an intimate relationship with our Creator. The more we experience His presence and are transformed by His Word in the being, the more we can pour out our worship back to Him in the doing.  

So, in that way, I have not lost anything. In fact, in this season, I have only gained in His nearness to me. Seeing myself as a missionary is just a title. And while it is good and worthwhile, it has never been the essence of who I am. While it defined what I did, it has never defined who I am. My title has changed. The tasks have changed. But the core of my identity cannot be shaken.  

I am defined ultimately and most fully by the blood of the Lamb. And for now, I am on mission until He calls me once again home—except this time I will truly be going home. And when I arrive, I hope to hear him say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” Not just for the titles, but for the quiet, everyday moments of faithfulness.