Prayer

I woke up early with a gray light from a narrow window by my head illuminating my cot. I was almost a blank slate in regards to my expectations of the mission, but already in sacrificing my paycheck, and the politics and usefulness of the program. I propped up on my knees to pray about all this, entrusting myself again to what I believed God had called me to do. I had forsaken a Mexico mission, which I had hoped since the year before to attend, because I didn't feel the Holy Spirit's perfect peace about going after just the first meeting. It had seemed like a good idea to me, as I am a Spanish major and need the practice. Later I learned of the New Orleans trip and, with almost no further analysis, put my faith in God and went. I dare say I obeyed God and went. And so, for a moment, somewhere in mid-air between the leap an the palm of God's hand, I wavered. But the landing was beautiful. The serenity, the perfect stillness of thought that I experienced before God that morning was supernaturally sublime, nothing less than divine assurance that I'd found myself in the center of his will. "For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do" (Eph 2:10). I didn't know what the day would hold, but my God knew exactly what to expect. He'd seen that place and the peole with whom I'd be working with long ago, and He'd made all the arrangements for me.