When I was in high school and college, I was sure that God wanted me to return to Africa someday as a missionary or human rights worker. I was positive. The whole time I was in college, I longed to go home. I spent eight weeks in southeast Asia in 2001 and missed a lot of the joy, I think, because I wanted to go to Africa instead. I knew I didn't belong in Asia. I belonged in West Africa.
And yet each day I grew more and more used to the cushy American life, used to being able to hop in my car and drive pretty much anywhere. I got used to not waiting in a queue to pump my gas, to being able to buy everything I needed on a shopping trip in only one store, to hot water and fast Internet, to wearing whatever I wanted to wear even if it meant pants or--God forbid--shorts. I got used to blending in.
Moving back to Nigeria as an adult was hard. Even with my parents there, it was more challenging than I'd expected. I missed things about the U.S. I missed my independence and missed fitting in. I didn't have the energy or desire to learn the languages I'd had no interest in learning as a child, and I felt judged and reproved for not trying harder to fit in.
I didn't belong.
And maybe I'll never belong anywhere, but it begs the question, Did I get it wrong? Did I misunderstand my "calling"? Or did I not have a calling at all? Did I just make it up because I longed for home, longed for a past to which I could not return?
I always thought I was called to international missions, but I don't think so anymore. Do I still have a call?
Or is the idea of a call really just a myth anyway--just a spiritualization of a person's decision to do whatever he wants to do?
The trite answer for me is that right now God has called me to be a mother and to do whatever is best for my children. But what about the bigger picture? Or is there is no bigger picture?
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