I Don't Wanna Go

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I didn't want to go to Kenya. Don't get me wrong, I had nothing against it, it just wasn't for me at that time… so I thought. When my childhood church announced they were taking a mission trip to Kenya and Uganda that summer in my second year of college, I thought it was cliché, basic, and overplayed.

“Really,” I thought, “Another Christian mission trip of privileged white people going to Africa. Aren't there more immediate and prominent issue for us to fix here right here in our city, you know like the stuff happening in our own backyard?”

And the cost; for that much money, one could sponsor a child for 7 years or buy a well! “Surely, they didn't need me on that trip,” I thought. “My money, time, and resources can be used more effectively here at home.”

Then while the team was being introduced onstage, I felt an uneasy and intense stirring spread throughout my being and knew I had to go. At that moment, my position and everything changed. I can't explain how, but I knew it did; I gutturally felt it. But I figured it was too late, I missed the deadline. Whether you believe in God, everything happening for a reason, luck or whatever, everything came together flawlessly (like, too good), and a few months later I was on a plane with the team of 20 or so flying into one of the most transformational weeks of my life.

Little did I know how this trip to Kenya would open my eyes globally, force me to weep uncontrollably, and many years later start my career professionally.