There Is No I in God

He must become greater and greater, and I must become less and less.

John 3:30

My first ever mission trip. To Kenya. My husband and I had been there on a safari two years before, so I already loved the country, the people, and the idea of mission work. It would be fabulous. I would share my knowledge with the team. I would be compassionate to the least and the lost. I would do food distribution, pray, build relationships between Kenyan believers and me. It seemed obvious that God had called me to this particular trip at this particular time so that I could return home with endless stories to tell.

The plane was on time and we boarded with no issues. Good start. Shortly after we took off from Dulles, I turned to my seatmate, Shirley, and shared that at times I suffer from a non-serious medical thing that makes me faint. We banked into the night sky and headed over the Atlantic Ocean. At which point I passed out. Cold.

The details are not important, really. When I woke up, the urge to faint again made me sick. I took my blanket and lay on the galley floor, hoping to recover enough to sit upright. Until we landed for refueling in Rome, people stepped over me to get in the bathroom, cold air leeched in through the door, and anyone who happened into the area almost tromped on my head. All through that long, long night, I prayed to just get through it, knowing it would be my one and only mission trip. Never—NEVER AGAIN—would I put myself in this position.

I considered disembarking in Rome and flying home, but decided to hang on since missions were obviously not in my future. During this stop I returned to my seat, lying prone with my head in Shirley’s lap and my feet held aloft by Pastor Bill Ellis while he fanned me with the in-flight magazine. I had no dignity left, felt totally dependent, and had no idea how to make it through the next ten minutes let alone the next ten days. But I grasped that God had delivered me and He—not I—had to be in charge.

Our arrival in Nairobi was a relief. I had made it and wouldn’t think about the return flight. Not right away. The business of God began, and with it, my attitude adjustment continued. As a team we packaged food into family-sized meal bags. Kenyan Christians worked with us to prepare for our outreach into the Rift Valley with the Maasai. Once set up in the middle of the valley, camping in tents with no electricity or running water, my comfort zone had been left far, far behind. Prayer became my constant companion. And as I surrendered, His strength prevailed.

A huge group of Maasai women came for food, since a four-year drought had decimated crops and livestock. Each woman received her family-sized bag. As they left the line, they opened those bags and shared what they had with children whose mothers had been unable to come. Even though it meant less for their own children. It struck me full-force. These needy people didn’t arrive with the thought, I will provide for my loved ones because I am willing to walk twelve kilometers in the hot sun and sacrifice my time and energy because I’m so wonderful and compassionate.

And I realized that passing out on the plane and all that went along with it had been God’s way to humble my spirit. This trip had nothing to do with me, with what I could do, or with my anything. Because there is no I in God. It was—and is—all about Him and Him alone.

There were too many highlights on this trip to write into one blog. So much wisdom gleaned from a simpler society who already understood that God provided for them—and were obedient to letting it happen in His time. Even if it took four years or more.

Then on a Sunday we attended a Maasai church. The small, tin-roofed building held the heat. Crude benches provided precarious seating. I worried about fainting again. The pastor sang a refrain over and over in Maa, as the brightly clad and beaded women surged forward and back through the aisle, chanting, chin-jutting, worshipping the same God I now understood to be the One through whom I could serve.

Since I don’t speak Maa, I closed my eyes and let the music carry me. I whispered prayers for the Maasai, for rain, for their ongoing trust in the Lord. Suddenly, a small breeze wafted through the tiny window, lifting my hair a bit. The words coming from my mouth were no longer in English. My mind continued to think in my own language, but to speak odd syllables. Unbidden and unaware, the baptism of the Holy Spirit came upon me.

Our gracious and loving God blessed me way beyond anything I could ever deserve. He humbled my proud spirit on the plane. He introduced me to believers who lived out the true model of faith. And when my heart had been made right by Him, He sent His Holy Spirit to bless me even more.

This ended up being my first, but not my last, mission trip. Since then, I’ve been back to Kenya and to Cambodia, Thailand, Laos, Myanmar, Mexico, Haiti, Nepal, and India—some more than once. This year three more medical mission trips are planned.

I still battle pride, independence, and sin that is part of the human condition. But God has led me to a place where I understand that missions—and life—only work well when I am left out of the center. And when He is put there instead.

Because there is no I in God.

Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.

Philippians 2:3