The Story Only I Can Tell

It's funny how dates stick in our heads, isn't it?

August 9th, 1999.

It was the summer before my senior year of high school, and on that very day I was en route back to the United States after a deeply influential mission trip to Africa. From an airport payphone in Texas I called my family, reminding them how much I was craving Mom's rhubarb crisp and Italian zucchini crescent roll pie (staples of our summer days in Minnesota!). It had been a mere twenty-eight days of travel, but how I had missed home!

In the weeks that passed, I did revel in my return to the safety and comfort of home. I devoured that zucchini pie and rhubarb crisp. I soaked up those lingering summer days with swims in the lake and sleepovers with girlfriends and excitedly planning for college.

But something in my heart shifted when I came off the mission field: I deeply missed my African friends and that deeply rooted faith community. For the first time in my young adult life I found myself praying the Rosary and delving into the Scriptures. I paid attention more at Mass, too. I so desired to know Him more deeply (see Deuteronomy 10:12) and that others might know Him, too.

Looking back now, I can see that He was gently cultivating my compassionate, sacrificial, motherly, feminine heart to serve Him a bit more. He was calling me to a story that no one else could tell.

Sisters, I have to tell you that I just love that He gave me that August 9th.

Do you have a day that was a turning point in your own walk with Jesus? When was it? Take a moment today to offer praise and thanks to God for this story that only you can tell.

He was calling me to a story that no one else could tell. // Karen SchultzClick to tweet

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