The Missionary Life

Goodbyes, a plane ride,
My life’s in a crate;
New land, strange place,
My stomach’s got an ache…

¿Como está, señor?
What did he say?
Mas lento, por favor,
A hundred times a day.

Concrete walls,
And tile on the floor
Tiny geckos scamper
Behind a cupboard door.

Tropical sun,
My coke’s in a bag,
Sitting on a porch
Where time seems to drag.

Crowding in a bank line,
Praying for grace,
These people don’t know about
My personal space.

Brown tap water
Makes your belly reel.
Trip to the pharmacy,
Parasite pill.

Man beside the road
Stabbed with a knife,
No one cares to cover up,
Forgotten life.

Late night music
From the party down the street
Put a pillow on your head,
Walls shaking to the beat.

Civil unrest
And riots downtown,
Until the weary curfew ends
We’re all on lockdown.

Bible Club bug bites,
Itchy legs and feet,
Better grab the Calamine
‘Cause we forgot the Deet.

There goes the power
But it’s all right,
We’ve got a generator
To get us through the night.

Bumping down the road
In a loaded pickup truck,
If it starts to rain,
We’re all out of luck!

Going door to door
Down the dusty street,
Precious gospel given
To everyone we meet.

Sunday morning on a porch
The seats begin to fill.
Short sermon, raised hand,
Amazing thrill!

Little brown hand
Slips into my own.
She calls me, Hermana,
But I’m the only mom she’s known.

Here comes a group
From the USA!
Debbie snacks and Slim Jims
Headed our way!

Believer’s baptism
In a mountain stream,
Living testimony
Of a heart that’s clean.

Prayer letter’s due,
Furlough’s just ahead
We’re only here because of folks
Who gave as they were led.

In a borrowed minivan
We make our stateside rounds,
Been to every Cracker Barrel,
Gained twenty pounds.

Shopping with my sis
Down every Target aisle
These shoes are all so ugly!
Wait…am I out of style?

Preacher says, “Thank you, Lord,
For those who will go
To give someone the gospel,
In a place where they don’t know.”

Some seem to pity me
“That poor missionary,
Foreign land, safety threats…
Must be pretty scary!”

My mind’s eye quickly sees
A dearly-missed brown face,
And I know without a doubt,
I’d never trade my place.

In honor of some of our missionary friends (and many others not listed!):

Matt and Dallita Goins

Nathan and Jennifer Massey

Mark and Amy Coats
Currently in Costa Rica (language school)
Journey to Honduras

Brad and Tricia Henderson

Brad and Kelleigh Edmondson
Medical Missions Outreach

LeRoy and Amber Rolston
Rolston Ministries
4 Responses
  1. Kathy Says:

    When you leave your parents and establish your own home far away, there comes that moment. . ."A dearly missed brown face. . ." when you miss your own home and new land. That's the moment you realize you've learned to leave and cleave.

    What a poetic, creative synopsis of life on the mission field. I love it and also that you paid tribute to your cronies.
    Another great blog.

    I love you,
    Aunt Kathy

  2. Jennifer Says:

    You seem to have a way with poetry. Your words truly make missions in a foreign field real, especially for those of us who have not had the privilege of visiting.

  3. The Journey Says:

    Hola Chica,
    So you made me teary eyed with the words of truth. We are so thankful to be a part of Team Honduras and can not wait to hit the ground running. We are praying for you all as well and I just shared the same kind of thing about how people can pray more for their missionaries. I hope that you dont if I share that poem with others. You really did a great job and have a wonderful way with words. Love ya,

  4. You guys are such an encouragement to us! We love all ya'll!

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