in my efforts to imagine myself as a missionary i go through revolutions that take me to and from street to scripture to self-reflection. often i arrive in the midst of self-reflection only aware of the failings/inadequacies/hopelessness of our work. so i retreat to more reading and shake an angry fist at me/the world/god for not being 'as it is' in books.
i was in this downward phase of the spiral as i chatted with a friendabout how our lives might be sketched out on a piece of paper (?), i was imagining the table in our kitchen as the centerpiece to concentric circles moving into the street, neighborhood, city - friends, strangers, neighbors. it makes sense that the place i begin the day and end it would be the middle of this image. our home is a location for the double-movement of hospitality and sending, not a haven/fortress from 'the world'.
so....lots of talking/imagining/reading happens and yesterday we are in the kitchen and our 'room-mate' (my wife, son, and i live in community with another couple) comes in with a man and his daughter who arrived recently as refugees from Liberia. we make a sandwich for the little girl...she is on her way to a dr's appointment as her hearing is impaired by years of ear infections without any treatment...we talk and i realize i'm in the sketch! i realize that this is it, this is the kingdomcoming. kitchen table. food. strangers in a strange land. healing. i dared to imagine (for a moment) that salvation had come to this house. audacious? hopeful.