I am selfish

Andrew and I

I was sitting on the bathroom floor. It was before 6 am. My throat was on fire, as I had just lost all of my dinner. I had food poisoning. Suddenly in this moment, the call of God on my life, my love for missions, my sweet braided hair, the kids I would be serving, the amount of likes I got on my Instagram photos or even the reason I was in Uganda did not matter. In that moment, I wanted to go home.

            I wanted my bed, my mom, my own bedroom, my own car, my clean house with perfect ventilation and honestly, I wanted Chick-fil-a. I began feeling very sorry for myself and not caring at all that I had a job to do and God had provided this opportunity. I was miserable and I wanted everyone to know I was miserable. I immediately began doing an inventory of the food I had eaten in the last 24 hours that could be the cause of this "horrible ordeal" I was now suffering. Then it hit me, the village.

            When I came to Uganda last summer, I had the wonderful privilege of meeting an incredible Ugandan family that had opened their lives, their hearts and their home to me. I loved them and even though we didn’t speak the same language, I knew that they loved me. With four of their own kids and a slew of nieces and nephews that stay with them, there is always some fun to be had. Every time I went to see them, they insisted on feeding me, most of the time before they even fed their own kids or ate themselves. I usually ate without hesitation and shared with the kids. This family was not neglectful to their children, they just always wanted to give me their best. I had spent the day in the village, and I had eaten everything they placed in front of me. We had laughed, planted beans, they opened their Christmas presents from the States and we cried when we said goodbye. I loved it.

            However, as I was sitting there on the tile floor, my face in the toilet, I seemed to forget all about that. I told myself that I wouldn’t eat their food anymore, that I would just say no. Maybe, I shouldn’t even go see them for awhile. I was sick after all and really, this was a sacrifice I was making being here. I just wanted to go home to everything that was comfortable.

            Later that day, when I could at least leave the bathroom long enough to lay on my bed, I began to consider how quickly my attitude had changed. There is a certain “glamour” if you will about going to Africa. The idea that the coolest missionaries are the ones posting photos of children outside of huts. To be honest, my followers on Instagram have more than doubled when I started posting from Uganda and people who I barely knew were commenting on how I was doing such a great job. I truly do love missions and I love traveling and I truly love Uganda. But I was surprised at myself that the minute it got difficult, I wanted to call it quits and run home.

            To some degree, I suppose that what I was feeling was natural. Food poisoning is no fun and I don’t recommend recklessly exposing yourself to sicknesses or parasites (I sleep with a mosquito net and only drink filtered water). But I also know that God did not call me to give up the minute it became not so fun to be there anymore. Living a life of missions is a sacrifice and I know some incredible, Godly people who have given up everything to follow God around the world.
But for me, I have gotten WAY more from Uganda than I have ever given it. I don’t mind the dust or the heat or the bugs. I love learning a new language, trying new foods and having a hair style that has very little maintenance. So,  really it is not surprising that as soon as it became difficult, I wanted to quit. Because no one was in the bathroom cheering me on for my incredible servant heart. And as I lay there all day, unable to even keep water down, no one was recognizing me for my "sacrifice "and that is what made it so hard. My throwing up is one photo that would not be getting likes.

            When I was praying and spending time with God that day, I began to think of what sacrifice truly is. God knows what sacrifice is and Jesus knows what sacrifice is. I was reflecting on the sacrifice that Jesus made for me when He chose to undergo torture and pain and humiliation and separation from God because of me. I thought about Him in the garden, praying so hard he sweating blood, meanwhile his disciples and closest friends are sleeping. No one was liking Jesus’ instagram posts at that moment. What if Jesus had given up that night? Or the next day? Or at any moment in His life and my life when He stops receiving the praise He deserves, when things got bad. At any moment, Jesus could have chosen to be done. He could have chosen to call it quits. He had the power to do so. But He didn’t. He stayed, He endured and He still does today.

            The truth is, I am selfish. We all are. But we have the choice everyday to indulge in that selfish nature that says being happy and comfortable and safe should be our goal (and a culture that reinforces the idea) or to decide to love and serve and work without praise, without recognition and even in the worse of circumstances. Food poisoning is not life threatening and hardly deserving of all the drama I gave it. Jesus has endured so much worse. So now, I’m choosing to not indulge, I’m choosing to endure.

 To love unconditionally, even if that means I have ring worm that still won’t go away after 5 months, or I sometimes get covered in pee while holding babies at an orphanage or I go without a real shower or if I spend all day in the bathroom because I ate some potentially bad potatoes that were given to me out of love and honor. Because some hardships are meant to be endured. Because I need to remember how good God is and I need to be reminded that on my own, I’m really just selfish. And I need to remember how faithful Jesus is and I can’t afford to stop being grateful for His sacrifice.

One of my favorite nights with my favorite family