I didn’t wake up that morning thinking I’d commit three blunders in rapid succession — Bam! Bam! Bam! — but blunder I did. Once again, I had failed. Failed to fit into my new London surroundings. I was trying, hard, but even so I stuck out like a duck in a pond full of swans.
My family and I had been living in London for several months before I finally got the chance to sink my teeth into something that felt like actual ministry. Not just learning the labyrinth of London’s transportation network, or navigating the NHS, or demystifying the British school system — all endeavors that demanded time, energy, and prayer — but Real Ministry. That morning, I was to meet with two church women to plan an upcoming outreach event.
We had decided to meet at one of the women’s homes. As I stepped out my door wearing black joggers and clutching my stainless-steel tumbler of freshly brewed coffee, I felt a twinge of hope. Maybe we were going to make it. Maybe the chaos that came with moving our family overseas would begin to settle.
Back in those days Citymapper was my best friend, and as I navigated myself to the correct address, I ran into the other woman, also on her way. We exchanged greetings and the obligatory weather quips. Then she said, “Have you come from the gym?”
“No,” I said. Did I look sweaty? I wondered. Out of breath?
“Ah, so you are planning to go to the gym after our meeting.”
“No,” I said again, my confusion morphing into something like defensiveness.
“Oh,” she said. “I just thought . . .” Her gaze flitted to my legs.
I glanced at my joggers. Had I put on my clean, not too tight, not too baggy pair? Yes. Phew.
She smiled. “I normally wear jeans on a Saturday.”
Was there a deeper message behind these words? A hint as to what a woman my age in this particular neighborhood should be wearing? Or was I being paranoid? I shrugged. Produced a smile. “I guess I like to dress comfortably on Saturdays.”
Moments later, our host opened the door and greeted us. “Oh!” she said, surprised but cheerful, focusing on the tumbler in my hands. “You’ve brought your own coffee I see. I would have made you a cuppa, you know!”
Had I insulted her? Communicated that her coffee wasn’t good enough? Was I acting like an overly self-sufficient, rude American when I was only trying to save her the trouble?
We met in the lounge. They with their cups of tea, me with my barrel of coffee, exercise attire, and mounting shame.
An hour or so later as we were wrapping up and gathering our things, I realized I needed a tissue. We were all standing at this point, the two of them still chatting, so I stepped into the next room, the dining room, and swiped one from a clearly visible box on the table.
Conversation halted. I returned to my spot. They regarded me curiously before picking up their conversation. But it was there, a little look between them. A little too much silence. I didn’t want to interrupt! I wanted to shout. How was I supposed to know that as a first-time guest in a near stranger’s house I should have asked?
Strike three. And oh, how ready I was to be out of there.
Fast forward nearly eight years.
Now, both women are friendly acquaintances, and I realize their remarks and responses were genuine reactions to the moment, not intentional barbs. Were they hoping to cue me in to social etiquette and cultural protocol? Perhaps. But wasn’t that a good thing? Didn’t I want to acclimate? Didn’t I need a little instruction, even if it felt like nitpicking?
We’re only human. Having our slip-ups pointed out to us, no matter how minor, hurts, especially if we’re doing our best to hold our turned upside-down world together. We’re as tender as a sunburn those early months, needing heaps of grace from ourselves and others that we sometimes don’t give or get. And underneath all that self-consciousness and cultural confusion the question that emerges is should we change ourselves to fit in?
Giving up joggers and travel mugs is easy enough. But what about changing how we socialize? Serve? Lead? Parent? We’re called to die to ourselves, to ‘become like all in order to save some,’ but is this at the expense of utterly losing who we are? Becoming someone we’re not?
Every context, ministry, and individual is different — not to mention flawed — so there’s no one-size-fits-all perfect answer. There is, however, perfect Jesus, and we look to him.
Jesus who “made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness” (Philippians 2:8). Jesus who strapped on sandals and stepped into a body that required food and sleep. Jesus who lowered himself to walk our dusty streets, humbling himself all the way to death so we could one day walk His streets of gold. That’s where we cast our gaze.
Yet in this utter humility, Jesus never forgot who He was: one with the Father. Yes, He gave up glory, but never did He waver in what we might call identity. He joined the sinner’s feast but didn’t share the sin. In complete dependence on the Father, He prayed with humility and authority and honesty.
He was meek and mild and compassionate. He picked up the basin and towel. Turned the other cheek. Turned the tables for the sake of his Father’s honour and submitted Himself a thousand times for the sake of a soul beside Him before dying for the world.
Some missionaries face martyrdom. All face little deaths of various kinds. Our rights, our way of doing things, our expectations are, one by one, snuffed out. And maybe even more surprising is the joy we find in the release.
We are not Jesus. We fall wherever it is God has planted us. We don’t have the same glory to give up. We can’t save, but carry His salvation, holding it out, person to person, country to country, wherever we go.
Through Jesus we know who we are, why we are here, and where we are going. Because of Jesus we pray with boldness and humility. He gently prods us to lay down the thing in our grip. Take up the basin and towel. Die to self, little by little, as we wait for glory.
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Rachel Allord serves in London, UK, and writes novels for both youth and adults. The Girl and the Green Hat (sequel to The Girl on the Tube) has just released through 10 Publishing. You can peruse all her books at rachelallord.com.
Christine Paterson, together with her husband Ross, has served in the Chinese world over many decades. Ross first went to Asia in 1969. Over the years they have been involved in campus ministry, literature and radio work, placing of professionals across China, humanitarian projects in minority areas, and recently in cross-cultural training. Christine has a degree in linguistics, a diploma in theology, and is certified as an intercultural coach. Her passion is to see those who serve in other cultures thrive and be resilient for the long haul. Ross and Christine have five daughters and eight grandchildren. You can contact her with comments and suggestions at 
