My name is Kiah Schuessler and this was my first mission trip. I sort of knew what to expect; my parents informed me we were going down south on a family mission trip and that there would be a lot of kids. I wasn’t too excited. I don’t travel well and I didn’t know what the dynamic would be with so many littles running around. 3 younger brothers is enough to handle, much less ten under-sixes.
Another obstacle for me was my own faith, or lack thereof. I’m in a weird limbo with God, sort of believing, sort of not. I struggle to reconcile things I know to be true in my spirit with what my church teaches. I attend a WELS church in Wisconsin, and the WELS is very conservative. I didn’t feel comfortable in my schools, in the churches I went to. It’s difficult to be a strong-willed, hard-headed, quick-tempered young woman growing up in the 21st century hearing sermons that have been used since my parents were little. I don’t like hearing the word submissive applied to me. None of my friends did either.
I had few older-me’s walking around, and you start to feel isolated when there are no role models to look up to in your community. I had my mother and grandmother. I also had a great-grandmother that, looking back, I’m sure would have become someone to look up to as I grew to know her. She died when I was about nine, though, too young to really think about my faith the way I do now. Two people is not enough to anchor me to faith. I needed to be surrounded.
On this trip, I was completely submerged in the Spirit. I had felt this kind of thing before, sometimes at Bible camps, sometimes on my own when I stumbled across a bit of gold when reading the Word. But to be surrounded by people, young and old, almost a church environment but more family, was so important to me. I needed that community.
There was one woman in particular. I don’t know what it was about her; maybe her bright, easy laugh, or the prayers that she said constantly. It was casual for her, this faith thing, like Jesus was an old friend she saw for coffee every Sunday. Her name is Cynthia. She prayed over police officers and firemen, she anointed people in front of me; I had never seen that before. The word anoint is something you read in the Old Testament, reserved for kings. Her vibrant, casual faith was something I wanted to have; I knew the slogan relationship over religion, but I didn’t actually know how to have a relationship with God. He’s God after all, all-powerful, unknowable. Cynthia knew God. Everyone on the trip knew God.
It makes me think that I can too. This mission trip was my first and I know it will not be my last. I signed up for one to St. Louis for school that will take place this July, and I can’t wait. I’ll be surrounded by my peers this time, no littles running around. It’ll be incredibly different but I’m looking forward to the next adventure. My school offers these trips every year, and international missions for upperclassmen. Missions in Adventures has the World Race. I have to wait for the World Race since I can’t take a year off of high school to run around doing missions for eleven months, but I almost wish I could. This mission trip changed me. I know the Lord will keep the change going when I leave and go back home. He is the potter and I am the clay; I can become his vessel in His hands. It’s up to me to allow Him to work me into shape.
