The Wrong Sister.

18 days.  The countdown has now reached 18 days until I leave for Zambia.  And my "to do" list is longer than I can possibly imagine.

If you know me at all, this does not surprise you one bit.

I'm Amy, after all.  The girl who pulled more all-nighters at Taylor than I can even count.  The girl who literally rewrote her salutatorian speech an hour before she had to stand and give it.  The girl who pretty much always wait until her gas light comes on before she finally rolls into a Sheetz to fill up.  I'm messy.  I'm forgetful.  I lose everything.  I break everything.  I'm lazy.  My dad even has a song he lovingly sings to me when I do something characteristically "Amy."  The lyrics are simply I-R-R-E-S-P-O-N-S-I-B-L-E.  I've known all of this about myself for some time now.

But today when I was driving back to State College, thinking about everything I have to do before getting on that plane in 18 days, I broke down in tears and yelled at the top of my lungs, "God...you are CRAZY."  The conversation proceeded in my head as I listed reason after reason why He clearly picked the wrong girl for this job.  I looked back at the past 6 years of my life and saw all the ways I could have spent my time better.

I could have been fluent in Bemba by now.  I could have paid off all my Taylor debt (or at least a much bigger chunk...).  I could have saved all the money I am now desperately trying to raise to support myself for this next year.  I could have done a lot of things.

Martha would have all those things done.

You know...Martha.  As in, Mary and Martha.  The Bible story tends to paint a bad picture of Martha, but I've secretly always wished I could be like her.  Every day I wake up hoping that TODAY will be the day that I get everything crossed off my list.  TODAY will be the day I am suddenly responsible and reliable.  There are lots of beautiful women in my life who are Martha's.  They plan.  They are diligent.  They are loyal.  They are hardworking.  They are reliable.  Just once I would love to be a Martha.

I sat in my car today and I told Jesus that He doesn't want me to go to Zambia; he wants a Martha.  If He's gonna send a single, white, 24-year old girl to Zambia all on her own, AT LEAST make sure she's a Martha.  That seems like a no-brainer to me.

But then God painted a clear picture of me sitting at His feet.  He reminded me that while I'm certainly not perfect, I am Mary.  No, I definitely did not spend the past 6 years of my life preparing for Zambia in a Martha-way.  In fact, I haven't spent the past 6 MONTHS preparing for Zambia in a Martha-way.  But that's okay.  Because I am not Martha; I am Mary.  And while I still have a to-do list a mile long, I am READY to step onto that plane.  Because for the past 6 years, I have been sitting at Jesus' feet.

I have sat at Jesus' feet while He took me from Ireland, to Taylor, to Camp Adventure...three places that taught me what it means to be a family in Christ.

I have sat at Jesus' feet while He gave me glimpses of heaven as I worshipped with my brothers and sisters in the Czech Republic, Zambia, Ireland and the United States.

I have sat at Jesus' feet while He taught me how to still sing those same worship songs after experiencing the worst kind of pain this world has to offer.

I have sat at Jesus' feet, holding my bitterness with clenched fists, while He showed me His scarred hands, feet & back, teaching me again what "seventy times seven" really looks like.

I have sat at Jesus' feet, letting Him remove my heavy burdens of perfectionism and guilt.

I have sat at Jesus' feet, begging for wisdom and guidance as I led a team of 17 young adults through the hardest summer of our lives.

I have sat at Jesus' feet, sometimes in numb silence, barely hearing His voice; holding on to the hope that I would see Him clearly some day soon.

I have sat at Jesus' feet in agony as He slowly began to break my heart for the things that break His.

I have sat.  And I have learned.  And I have come to know my Jesus.

And THAT is why I'm ready to get on that plane.  Because no matter how many times Satan tries to tell me that God is better off sending a Martha, I can go sit down at my Jesus' feet and He will tell me AGAIN why it is that's He's sending me; His precious Mary who knows His heart.