A Chance to Die

May I look up. Open my hands. Die to myself.

The heart gravitates so quickly to familiarity and comfort, to knowing and being known. Amy Carmichael wrote, “Missionary life is simply a chance to die.” But even missionary life, with all of its perceived and real challenges, can become comfortable. 


“Missionary life is simply a chance to die.”

It certainly started out that way. There were a million chances every day to die to myself and my desires, my comfort, my convenience. When everything–literally everything–felt new and strange, when I had to re-learn how to drive, shop, cook, speak, sleep. When the power would go out for twelve hours a day and the ticks and cockroaches were battling to rule my kitchen, when I felt abandoned and alone, incompetent and exhausted.

But time is a miracle-worker. We took control of the electricity and the bugs, the driving became routine, cooking became easy. I learned to communicate. This country gave me my babies, and they have grown and thrived here.

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