Fair warning—this one’s not easy to write, and it’s even harder to revisit.
If you’ve ever been involved in the way American Christianity approaches global missions, this might be a tough read for you, too.
Please don’t take it personally—just take it in. This is my experience, and I hope it gives you something to think about.
I was around 12 years old when my mom almost died.
Growing up, my mom was frequently sick and had ongoing kidney issues. After a surgery to remove one of her kidneys due to infection, something went terribly wrong. Her surgical wound reopened right in front of me. We rushed her to the hospital, and from what I remember, it wasn’t looking good.
While we waited and prayed for her recovery, I went to church that Sunday—trying to hold on to some normalcy. That day, a guest worship leader was visiting. She called me to the front, said something about my mom being sick, and declared that God would heal her. (Spoiler: He did 🙌🏽.)
Then she added something I didn’t expect: “You’re going to travel the nations to spread the gospel of Jesus.”
At the time, I had watched a few of my aunts go on mission trips. I loved hearing their stories—how people encountered Jesus, how they immersed themselves in new cultures, how transformative it all was. But when this woman spoke that over me, I kind of smiled, nodded, and said, “Amen—if it’s His will,” and kept it moving.
The idea of “purpose” was always in the air around me, but if I’m being honest, I constantly wrestled with it.
Was I supposed to be a pastor? No thank you.
Worship leader? Absolutely, yes - and did and still lead worship and I love it!
Missionary? Maybe—but what did that even mean? Did I have to move overseas?
Children’s ministry? Hard pass. (Funny enough, I ended up working in education. God has jokes.)
I was excited to uncover what God had for me, but I also felt this pressure—like my calling had to be just one thing, and I had to figure it out. People would ask, “What do you feel called to do?” or say, “You were made for this!”—even when I felt unsure or unqualified.
At 16 or 17, I went on my first mission trip to Guatemala with my church. We helped lead VBS (Vacation Bible School), worship, and services. And I loved it.
I loved learning about the culture. I loved being able to speak Spanish and actually connect with people. And I loved that most people we met already knew Jesus. That trip stirred something in me. For the first time, I thought, Maybe this is what I’m meant to do.
After Guatemala came a trip to the Dominican Republic, where we did something similar. But then, during college, I applied to go with another organization—separate from my church—to Uganda, Africa.
And let me tell you: if I thought I had been on a missions trip before... Uganda flipped the script.
Uganda was nothing like what I’d experienced in Guatemala or the DR—or even later when I visited Haiti.
We weren’t eating at restaurants or cooling off in air-conditioned rooms. This was raw, real, and deeply rooted in the lives of the people we were serving.
I went back to Uganda four times. For nearly four summers in a row, I served in Kampala and Masaka. It was there that I encountered a level of cultural richness and community that I had never seen before. Uganda is beautiful. The people I met were beautiful. The relationships I built were genuine and life-changing.
On our second trip, we partnered to help build a center for children and adults with disabilities. That work became a core part of my mission experience—and it shaped the way I see purpose, service, and calling.
Back home, people would often say:
“You were made for this!”
“Would you move there someday?”
And honestly? A part of me always said yes.
At one point, I even explored moving to Uganda long-term. But it didn’t work out—and now, looking back, I’m actually grateful it didn’t. Not because the desire was wrong, but because of what comes next.
In 2013, the Black Lives Matter hashtag was created. If you recall, that was the year a 17-year-old boy named Trayvon Martin was murdered by George Zimmerman. What followed was a heartbreaking list of names: Michael Brown, Eric Garner, and then in 2020, George Floyd (I know there are way more).
I grew up in the city of Elizabeth, New Jersey, and my church at the time was deeply involved in the community. We regularly participated in outreach, joined protests, and our pastor was well connected to city officials. So, that deep love for social justice was planted early in me. Besides, it’s not just a personal passion—it’s something God cares deeply about too.
Scripture makes it clear:
Micah 6:8. Isaiah 1:17. Amos 5:24. Proverbs 31:8-9.
And in Matthew 23:23, Jesus goes off on religious leaders for ignoring justice, mercy, and faithfulness.
In 2020, I was part of a group chat with some people I had traveled to Uganda with.
During one of the conversations, the Black Lives Matter movement came up. One of the leaders dismissed the movement completely. And the one person I thought would speak up—someone I had served alongside for years, someone I expected to biblically challenge that dismissal—stayed silent.
That moment was deeply painful. It exposed a side I wasn’t ready to see. But I believe God allowed me to see it—no matter how hard or heartbreaking it was.
I began to reflect on the last four years of missions work I had been a part of. I started noticing how often we brought our Americanized culture into these spaces and tried to force it under the guise of the gospel. How we made empty promises. How we rarely took the time to understand local sustainability efforts. We assumed that bringing food, medical supplies, and household items was enough. But we failed to stop and ask, what do they really need?
We didn’t strategize with community leaders.
We didn’t listen before acting.
And worst of all—we made promises we couldn’t keep.
That realization hit hard. I felt heartbroken. I felt blind. And while all this was unfolding internally, I was still faithfully serving in my city—working with students who, like me, were first-generation, low-income, and often overlooked.
Eventually, I called the person I had traveled to Uganda with for years and said simply: “I’m not going back. I can't support this anymore.”
Instead, I decided I would give my all to my community right here—at home.
To be clear: I’m not against global missions. But I do believe that the American church often lacks cultural sensitivity and a genuine willingness to learn before jumping in and assuming we have the best solution. That approach is not only harmful, it’s unsustainable. We can do better. We must do better. We can share a gospel that is contextual, justice-centered, and rooted in humility.
“The Church must move from a posture of superiority to one of humility and mutuality if we are to participate meaningfully in global missions.”
— Dr. René Padilla (Argentinian theologian, missiologist, founder of Integral Mission)
“Missions should not be charity work that keeps the giver in power and the receiver in dependence. It should be mutual transformation.”
— Christena Cleveland (Black theologian, social psychologist, and justice advocate)
“Too often missions has meant bringing people to a Western way of life, not necessarily to Jesus.”
— Dr. Soong-Chan Rah (Korean American theologian, author of The Next Evangelicalism)
Now, back to purpose. What does the bible say about purpose? Well - that purpose comes from the Father. Proverbs 19:21, Isaiah 46:10. When we say yes to Jesus our purpose revolves around knowing and glorifying God, to LOVE others, to be like Christ, to share His word, in any and every way, and to do good for the world. Whether you are across the ocean, or you're at work, or at home with your family.
When I told people I was stepping away from global missions because I felt that chapter was over, I got a lot of side-eyes.
“You’ll be back one day, you’ll see.” oh boy, I'm telling you God said no and you're still telling me to go (haha).
When my husband and I started attending a new church, and I didn’t immediately jump into leading worship, I started hearing things like:
“But you’re called to that—don’t you feel like it’s being wasted?”
There was a lot of that kind of talk going around, and to be honest, it created a lot of internal confusion. I started asking myself: Am I not walking in His will anymore?
But (thank goodness there is always a BUT)then, I remember reading Matthew 22:37–39 and Matthew 28:19–20. In those verses—and others—I found something beautifully simple yet deeply profound: My calling is to love God, love others, and tell them of His love. That’s it. That’s the foundation.
My assignment can change with the season, but I don’t serve a God of performance. I don’t serve a God who requires constant doing in order to validate my purpose. What I do need to do is this: Read His Word. Get to know His heart. Care about what He cares about. Love Him, love people, and share His love.
How I do that may look different depending on the season I’m in.
But the answer is yes—I am walking in my calling. I am walking in my purpose.
Your purpose might show up at your 9-to-5.
It might show up in motherhood.
In running a business.
In being a wife—or a single woman using her gifts to bless others.
It could show up at church—whether you’re on the worship team or scrubbing toilets on the hospitality crew (shoutout to my former youth pastor for reminding us how valuable that is).
It might look like starting a nonprofit, going overseas, or showing up locally to fight for justice.
Whatever it is... breathe.
There is no pressure when you abide in Jesus.
John 15:4 reminds us that apart from Him, we can do nothing. The key is to stay connected. Ask God where His love is needed—and follow His voice.
I hope this series encouraged you as much as it encouraged me. I pray it brought healing where it was needed, and I truly hope you feel empowered and confident to walk in your own God-given purpose.
You’re doing better than you think. Keep going. 💛
