Call Me....

...  there is a word which I have tried to peel off myself (figuratively speaking), but the word persists in its attempts to stick like duct tape.   It is that 'm' word... missionary.     Technically, I know that all Christians are missionaries, or are supposed to be.    And yet, that word and the lofty adjectives that people attach to that word aren't mine to claim.    When the word missionary and my name are placed in the same sentence, I feel like a little girl trying to wear my Mom's coat that is 8 sizes too big and much too beautiful for me.

And so, I search.   I love the idea of the phrase World Christian.   It conveys the desires that God has already placed in my heart... a desire to worship in homes and churches around the globe with believers who hear God in their own language and sing praises to him in a tongue foreign to me;   a desire to represent my Savior in whatever locale He places me, not with a superiority for my brand of Christianity, but with the simplicity of the Gospel;   a desire to live among people... to experience 'life' differently.

And yet, when I end the day, I find that one phrase fits me the best... Follower of Jesus.   There is no more for me.   I'm not leading anyone, I'm not a globe-trotting humanitarian, I'm following someone worthy of my imitations.  I'm allowing Christ to lead and I simply look carefully so that my little feet can fit in those huge footprints as He shows me how to walk forward.