Compelled

It has been said that missionaries think in terms of nations, while pastors think in terms of cities.

Growing up a missionary's daughter, I can attest to the fact that missionaries do indeed think in terms of nations. When people ask me where I grew up, I don't say "Falun" or "Plaisir," but rather "Sweden" and "France." Nations were a part of my identity as I traveled the world with my missionary parents.

During my teenage years, cultural complexities were a daily part of my high school experience. As a student in an international highschool in the Paris suburbs, I would hear a dozen languages every day as I sat in class. My classmates came from a plethora of mixed nationalies: Sara, who was half-Panamian-half-French; Petra, a Checzh national who wrote in her diaries in Swedish; and Arina, the half-Russian-half East German blonde who had once lived behind the Iron Curtian. Then there was Caroline, who was from a Mexican mother, a German father, but was born in France and grew up in New Zealand. She was enrolled in the British section at our school and later went to the US to study at the university. There were a handful of Portugese and Italians, Dutch and Spanish kids who also attended the Lycee....along with an Asian or South American included in the mix.

I would imagine that on our bus alone, at least 20 different nationalities were represented on the 45-minute drive into St. Germain-En-Laye. Flags outlined the silouette of our school, gaurding the students like a miniature UN. Graduation day was the most unusual, for every international section had its own ceremony stemming from its own culture. As an American, I graduated twice that day: once from the American section, and once with the French school.

Indeed, I grew up with an international mindset.

Over the last year, however, something of a paradigm shift has occurred in my little European-educated brain...I've begun to think in terms of cities...American cities to be exact. And what I once saw in nations, I now see in cities. And the average American city is in need of a huge spiritual overhaul.

I sometimes wonder what has happened to the America I knew as a little girl before we moved overseas. Where are her family values, her morality, her stand for God? In the last year or so, with the historical Presidential campaign, our nation lost even more strength as racism, politics, and economics endeavored to tear our nation apart. I'm not intending on getting into a political diatribe here, so I will stop at this point to say that America is in dire need of the revival we missionaries have so longed to see in our respective countries. I honestly believe America has an assignment to finish, and until she has fulfilled her God-given purpose, we as praying Christians must continue to stand in the gap and intercede for our great nation. But I digress...

What has captivated my attention as of late are the cities of America. What once was pleasant, simple, or even glamorous has degraded to violence, hatred, and complacency. I am horrified at the increased crime rates, the random acts of domestic violence, the intrusion of gangs in the city streets, and the absolute shattered home life of these individuals. These cities have become broken in all respects...broken individuals, broken lives, broken homes, broken mindsets, broken societies, broken cities.

It's time for the broken to become whole.

There is so much more I could write about this topic, but my little cafe is closing. I hope to return to the topic of restoration in the American city in a future blog, but for now, let me leave you with a short peoetic verse I wrote earlier this year:

Compelled

I am compelled
To give of what I have most
To those who have so little

Wholeness, happiness, peace
Restoration, redemption
Endless Unconditional Love

Generations of broken lives
Keep filling my eyes with tears
It’s time for restoration

Epidemic overtaking nations
Glamorous cities forsaken
Countless broken souls

I cannot stand by
Simply watching anymore