Overseas and foreign missions?
It seems risqué. Muscular. Athletic.
Like a cologne commercial with the Marlboro man (without the smoke, of course!).
Anyone doing it instantly seems a few degrees more attractive.
Much like those who pop their collars with confidence. (Call the paparazzi ’cause this must be cataloged!)
It unearths thoughts of early pioneers–of people who stood fast and got things done.
Leather chests. Weathered hands. A courageous spirit. You know, people that look like Ralph Lauren models, but with beards.
There are big send-offs. Whole churches praying with lots of hands on the missionary family. Teary-eyed goodbyes. Lots of good food at the potlucks.
It awakens admiration from boys and girls. “Daddy, I wanna be just like them when I grow up,” the little ones say.
And then the family comes home on furlough for a few months or a year.
Mission stories. Scars. Death defying obstacles that were overcome. Languages learned.
That’s really hot.
People give money to that stuff. Movies are made about those people.
Local mission work that doesn’t require a plane ticket?
It needs a new publicist. Oh, and a new agent as well.
No big send-offs and teary-eyed goodbyes.
Instead, there’s life.
There’s 9 to 5’s.
There are neighbors.
Nothing to write home about.
It’s over-looked. Not romantic.
Definitely not sexy.
Nobody dreams of doing this.
It’s life in the valley.
I admire those who go overseas, for sure. But sometimes I think Jesus has been sitting across the street for a longer time waiting to meet us.