Just over two months ago, I was sitting in church on a Sunday night.  We rarely sit with our small group, but this was one Sunday night when I was surrounded by people who knew our hearts.  Sitting there, drinking in what I was hearing, I heard a shout in my head.  It was “Go”; repeated, long and loud.  I looked around, wondering if Frank and our friends could hear it.  They couldn’t. It was all me.  Little Moi. Listening to voices in my head.  I had been praying for that shout.  It was the answer I was looking for.  Frank and I had been debating the different paths our lives could take.  We had questioned everything–jobs, our apartment, living in Birmingham–and had come up with no clear direction to take. We weren’t unhappy with our place, just unsettled.

God gave us our direction.  He gave it to us separately (I’ll let Frank tell his story) and then together. I have been blessedly free from worry during this process so far.  Today, my mind is churning with thoughts and questions.  How will we do this?  What will the mission board think of us?  How long will this take? How? When? Why?

I know I’m questioning whether God really knows what he’s doing with us.  I’m (sinfully) questioning his judgment. I have a long list of faults I keep in my head.  I’m not perfect, and I’m expecting myself to be. I think that I need to be perfect for God to use me.  Why would he want to use someone that cusses?  Or can’t pronounce Yosemite properly.

I just…I just can’t.  Why me?  Why would he choose me? Me.  Of all people.  I’m so not worthy of his love.  I am nothing.

Yes, I am nothing.  I am nothing without him. I can’t.  He can. I am free, yet still a slave.  I am his.  He asked me. Who am I to question his judgment? I realize today that shout isn’t his order, it’s my answer. He’s already asked, “Will you?”. I stand before him shouting “Here am I.  Send me.“