The cool air from the vent above sent goosebumps crawling over my damp neck as I squirmed in my seat at the back of the church. Dressed uncomfortably in a blouse and skirt — thanks to the unspoken rules of church attire — I would have much preferred a comfy T-shirt and shorts.
I kept checking my watch, They should have kicked off by now, I thought, just as the pastor stood up and moved toward the pulpit. A wave of excitement washed over me as the crowd hushed in anticipation.
After a quick, quiet prayer that barely registered, the first speaker of the evening was introduced. I leaned forward a bit to see around a woman in a drab gray dress, whose carefully pinned-up hair was topped with a doily, a nod to her faith.
A charismatic man at the pulpit introduced his stylish wife, who wore an equally nice dress and head covering, as their four children joined them. They all showcased striking white-blonde hair, the youngest buzzing around in front of his older siblings, full of energy.
These were the missionaries whose stories I’d been eagerly anticipating!
Growing up on the remote Man-O-War Cay, a little island clutching the edge of the Atlantic, my community was very much about kids riding bikes with no shoes, building makeshift forts, and looking out for one another. Doors were left unlocked and you’d greet every familiar face you saw.
With only three churches and no bars, my town was ultra-Christian — made up of Brethren and Pentecostals — meaning nearly everyone joined weekly services. Sundays meant double services, mid-week prayers, youth group meetings, and nearing baking sales now and then.
That small island atmosphere even extended to grocery aisles, where when someone missed church, the lovely lady behind the counter would instantly want to know if you were sick that Sunday.
While I wasn’t destined for much more than a well-trodden path post-high school — marry my high school sweetheart, get a mortgage, have two or three kids, and find a steady job — it was a future that filled me, and all my friends, with joy.
And from time to time, my pre-scripted family time would take me on a shopping spree or to the movies in South Florida. With a bit of saved-up cash and a splash of the adventurous spirit, we might even sail on a Carnival Cruise or check out the wonders of Disney World. I knew of a family that made regular jaunts to Nashville which seemed so fancy and diverse. These were places I dreamed about, but all conveniently close enough to feel safe.
As I reached 15, I fairly attended most services out of both obligation and to play the part of the good girl. Only during the New Life Missions Conference in June did I really feel my heart tugged, immersed in the tales shared there.
The handsome missionary and his family, sporting sweet southern accents, spoke of their roots in Tennessee before their divine call to serve Africa. They showed dimmed slideshows portraying the building of schools amidst remote villages. Tales of their personal calling to spread Jesus’ word throughout those “wild lands” deeply moved me.
The scenes of hunky lads working on trees and sandy-toed creatures I’d only seen on National Geographic swept me away momentarily, expanding the horizons of my world.
Full of enthusiasm, I rushed back the next night to hear another couple’s captivating journey— newly introduced to the work inspired by God to spread faith all over Thailand. What kept my attention were not the conversion tales, but those mesmerizing landscapes and excitement from a lifestyle so far removed from mine.
I hungered to “do that,” but did it mean I ought to become a missionary? In an evening of vital injecting words and a donate-a-thon, I found myself distracted. Although I was bursting with teenage aspirations, I didn’t quite feel the call to convert; instead, I noticed my wanderlust blossoming. I craved the experience of exploring this big beautiful world.
Those inspirational missionary evenings drew most members of the community closer in validation of faith but sparked in me the awareness of realms passing the isle limits. I could slowly taste all that could exist beyond those church walls.
Years later, as I moved forward into adulthood, I distanced myself from the beliefs of my hometown shores and left the island behind. The culture’s expectations had always felt overly confining, stifling even. Despite outward attendance at the services of my community, I often felt like an outsider at Bible study sessions — conversing as if I was someone gripped in faith. Behind the facade, I was navigating within paths I hadn’t really chosen, boxed in by disguised constraints.
Yet, amid this constraint, my imagination blossomed profoundly — those enchanting global depictions presented annually fueled my sense of adventure.
I grew up blind to life beyond the honest routes laid out for a Christian family. Today, I celebrate the life I attained with my beautiful wife and our little girl, the treasures of travel over the last 18 years proving that the supposed “right path” shifts just like the time and laws of nature do.
Choosing to walk away from my initial faith led to paths born of those thrilling eye-widening tales there. Fast forward—the experiences I gathered carried me around the globe’s vibrant corners, visiting enchanting places like Denmark, sunny Italy, wild Hawaii, and ancient ruins of Tulum.
After decades echoing with memories linked to the Missions Conference, set even in stark rock settings of the Sjernfelsnes Peninsula in steaming Iceland, I found a depth of spirituality amidst nature I had never connected with during my church days.
My travels opened doors to enriching connections forged with strangers-turned-friends, River deep friendships rooted in stories exchanged while gallivanting around the globe. Through these winding paths, I learned to expand my vision and witness deeper joy through immersive tales of different cultures and enchanting landscapes.
Embracing a lifestyle full of connection felt infinitely richer than merely converting faith. Life extended far beyond island comforts into mesmerizing expansion and exploration I would have never dreamt were possible.
