Whatever Are We Doing?

This morning Marlo stopped looking at the barren oaks in the back yard and asked, "Do you ever ask yourself, 'Whatever are we doing? What on earth were we thinking?'"

"No," I answered, then looked at him. "Were you thinking that just now?"

"For a moment," he said.

With a to-do list and a deadline, I hadn't asked that. Not for a moment.

But now, as the sun sinks orange behind the oaks, I think: Whatever are we doing?

Our longest-ever trip was been two weeks. With three sons. Seeing the East Coast relatives.

We didn't need passports. Foods were familiar. Natives spoke English.

A month in Nicaragua? What were we thinking?

Two years ago we spent ten days on a Service and Learning trip to The Nehemiah Center. Two years ago, Marlo said, "Maybe we can volunteer more time here when I retire." Two years ago, we felt nudged to more of this serving-and-learning.

Since then we've achieved a me-Tarzan-you-Jane level of Spanish. We've read about the pros and cons of volunteer service. We've discovered that sometimes well-meaning helpers can hurt. We've been taught that cross-cultural communication is tough and tricky. There are no quick-and-easy paths to transformation, in our own lives or those of others.

But the nudge has endured, the calling to a long obedience in the same direction.

Whatever are we doing? Our best effort in whatever God puts before us, I guess. 

A phrase from Sunday worship returns: "Our best efforts like rags." We won't do it perfectly. Not for a moment.

Rags. I sigh.

Then I remember.

There once was One in swaddling cloths. Rags are enough.