Always Questions

"Miss Courtney, please, Miss Courtney, do you have snow where you come from?"

"Please, please, Miss, do you have any brothers?"

"Auntie Courtney, please, where do you live?"

"Miss Courtney, how many planes did you take to get here?"

"Auntie, please, what is your favorite food?"

Always questions.

Always their little faces pressed close to mine so I can hear their soft voices over the din of the dinner crowd.  I have to watch their mouths move so I can better connect what I'm hearing with what I'm seeing because I struggle to understand their accents.  I sometimes have to ask them to repeat themselves multiple times before it registers what they are saying.  Or I look to another child to interpret for me.  We eventually understand one another and I can give an answer.

"Miss Courtney, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

But it is here - it is here that I have no answer.

Several children have asked me that question and I genuinely don't have an answer.  I have no idea what to tell them.  I stare at them for what seems an eternity, trying to conjure up some really brilliant, noble answer that sounds acceptable - and normal - and rational - as if I need to impress a group of 4-year olds in Kenya.

I have wrestled with a sense of purpose here lately - or lack thereof.  The sentiment seems most prevalent in my job but it bleeds over to other parts of my life, even in my time here in Kenya.  What am I doing here?  What am I doing there?  Do I belong here?  If not here, then where?  If not there, then where?  It's this no-man's land, this demilitarized zone that nobody seems to know what to do with and you're afraid to walk out into it for fear of being shot by some unknown enemy.

But the theme keeps showing up, this idea of purpose.  I watched the movie Hugo not too long ago. I was struck by one of the quotes from Hugo, the main character:

I'd imagine the whole world was one big machine. Machines never come with any extra parts, you know. They always come with the exact amount they need. So I figured, if the entire world was one big machine, I couldn't be an extra part. I had to be here for some reason. 

I figure if the entire world is one big machine, then I have to be here for some reason.

But maybe we're asking the wrong question.  Maybe it's like Pastor Brad said, maybe the better question to ask is not WHAT do you want to be when you grow up, but WHO do you want to be when you grow up.

Because I can answer that question.

I want to be someone who lived with Jesus as her one magnificent obsession.  I want to be someone who put her "yes" on the table and walked away with no regrets.  Mind you, not someone who was perfect, not someone who always got it right. Just someone who lived a purposeful life.

I just wish I knew exactly what that looked like in the flesh and in the day-to-day living.

Author Francis Chan wrote

"It is true that God may have called you to be exactly where you are. But it's absolutely vital to grasp that He didn't call you there so you could settle in and live out your life in comfort and superficial peace. His purposes are not random or arbitrary. If you are still alive on this planet, it's because He has something for you to do. He placed us on this earth for purposes that He orchestrated long before we were born (Eph. 2:8-10). Do you believe you exist not for your own pleasure but to help people know the love of Jesus and to come fully alive in Him? If so, then that will shape how you live your life in the place where you are."

I want that truth to shape how I live my life in the place that I am.  Here in Kenya. Back home at my job.  With my family.  With my church.  Wherever life takes me. 

These children will grow up knowing they have one purpose: to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.  And maybe in the years to come, I will come back to this village, back to these children and I will whisper to them, "I know my purpose."