It’s not just a
career decision; it’s a life shift.
When I began working at World Relief in October 2009, I couldn’t
have imagined how this job would change my life. I was introduced to a world I never
knew existed just 5 miles down from where I grew up. And refugees were just the
beginning of it… Everything cross-cultural. World crises. Social services. The
struggle to survive.
World Relief slowly began to shape my life, my faith, my
heart. At first, I worked in direct client services, doing everything from
airport pickups to ESL enrollments to celebrating a newly found job. After 3.5
years, I made the transition into a more administrative role as a Finance
Manager. In this position, I learned more of the whys and hows of World Relief’s
mission (empowering the local Church to serve the most vulnerable). Each new
role has increased my passion for refugees and particularly the Church’s
responsibility in it.
I have loved working at World Relief and with refugees much
more than any other job I could dream of. Theoretically I was even willing to
use my entire salary towards daycare, if necessary. So when I felt this God-tug
on my heart over Christmas break to be more open-handed with my job, it was a
big step of faith to even consider the idea. However, I believed my God is real
and present, so I committed to praying through the possibility.
I asked Brian and some close friends to pray with me, and
for the first month, I felt or heard nothing. Then on January 27, the Executive
Order on Immigration was signed, and that rocked my world. I realized with
renewed passion how deeply my heart connected with and cared for this work,
these people. And then, I knew there
was no way I could intentionally walk away from my job. As I continued to pray,
I don’t know when and I honestly don’t know how, but within a few weeks’ time
after the EO, I felt 100% sure that I needed to leave World Relief, and I felt
100% heartbroken over this knowledge.
As I’ve walked the steps to follow through on this decision,
I’ve cried a thousand tears. I cried because I still wanted it; I cried because
my identity was so strongly rooted in my job; I cried because my coworkers are
like family to me; and to be honest, I cried because I was afraid of this new
role as a stay-at-home mom.
Through the tears though, I have felt a deep sense of peace.
I can’t understand it, but I trust it. I can’t quite explain it, but it carries
me. In this 3-month journey, I have trusted God in a way I’ve never done before,
and therefore, have experienced God in a way I never have before. It’s been so
incredibly life-giving.
As I slowed down on all the tears, I have been able to
slowly embrace this change and prepare my heart for this transition. What I have
been pleasantly surprised to find is summarized in these 3 points:
1.
My work with refugees doesn’t end here. I see a
great need for advocacy, especially within the Church. Also, what better way to
advocate for those lost and hurting than with my own children? We will finally have
the time to visit refugee families together and to begin the larger
conversation of ‘serving the least of these’.
2.
Being a mom is the greatest gift and
responsibility. Parenting by Paul David Tripp has been a timely read,
and I am challenged by my role as an ambassador, a representative of God’s
grace, sacrifice, and love to my girls.
3.
I am finding God more and more real as I learn
to trust Him with areas of my life I want to guard extra closely. An excerpt
from Anything by Jeannie Allen reads, ‘To risk is to willingly place
your life in the hand of an unseen God and an unknown future, then to watch him
come through. He starts to get real when you live like that.’
This decision is not a career move; it is not even a ‘what’s
best for our family’ move. It’s a God-initiated, God-trusting, God-everything
move.
I don’t know what’s in store for the future; I don’t know
why God placed this on my heart over Christmas. But I do know that there is
nothing more important to me than following the God I know and love and trust.
And here’s to that grand adventure.
