My Unexpected Journey: From Reluctance to Revelation on the Streets of Japan.

Hello everyone. For almost two decades of my faith journey, before I found my way to Joyful Hub, the thought of "mission" simply never crossed my mind. I genuinely believed that my daily life, navigating a household and a social circle where no one shared my faith, was mission enough. In fact, I'd often declared, "If it's going to leave me this exhausted and hurt, I'm already too tired for it," having witnessed countless others return from missions feeling exactly that way.

Then came my very first day at Joyful Hub. As I listened to the mission prayer, something shifted within me, and tears streamed down my face. Gradually, moments of praying for strangers, people whose faces and names I didn't even know, began to fill my days. I was astonished by this change in myself. Yet, even as my heart softened, my mind would interject, "Not now. Going on mission would mean using up more than half my annual leave, and my rest is important too." I found myself weighing my personal comfort against God's work, a continuous internal tug-of-war.

The true turning point, the moment I finally resolved that I must go on mission someday, came not from a sermon, but from the simple, shared words of a few fellow believers, my dongnyeokja (동역자). During a time when I felt worn down, struggling to maintain my faith amidst unbelievers, and wrestling with doubts about my relationship with God, they all echoed a common sentiment: "I hope you go on mission to truly enjoy God, to just fully rest in Him. I think mission could be a real source of rest for you." In that instant, a single thought blossomed in my mind: "Oh, is that so?" Just those three words. Why had I complicated missions so much? It felt like a profound realization, a sudden clarity that hit me unexpectedly.

From that moment, the journeys of those preparing for missions no longer felt distant. In fact, when my passion for God felt utterly extinguished, and I feared I might 'die' spiritually if things continued, I even found myself envying those who had already decided to go. Their heartfelt confessions and testimonies, describing how incredibly happy they were after returning from missions in other countries, swayed my heart. It was then that I resolved to go to Japan, not for the post-resignation travel I had originally planned, but for a mission trip. For me, that very decision felt like the true beginning of the mission itself.

Predictably, the reactions from my closest friends and acquaintances were far from positive when I told them I was going on a mission trip, not a vacation. But their skepticism only fueled a stubborn determination within me. "I'm definitely going for mission," I declared, "and I'm going to truly enjoy God there." To outsiders, it might have seemed like a grand decision, but for me, it was simply a desperate act of self-preservation. I knew I was merely a religious person, adept at uttering flowery words about faith but struggling to read even a single Bible verse or utter a sincere prayer – not so different from the secular world I claimed to transcend. I desperately yearned to rediscover that lost passion for God.

Even during the mission preparation period, I found myself slipping into old habits. I barely looked at the Bible, my prayers were half-hearted, and I procrastinated, thinking, "Oh, it'll work out somehow." This laziness was a constant battle: "Can I really go like this?" I'd ask myself, only to fall back into complacency. Looking back, there was never a time when I had more reason to be zealous before God. Yet, time marched on, and the week in Japan, the place I'd doubted until the very last moment, finally began.

Even as my feet touched Japanese soil, the question gnawed at me: "Why did God send me here first, to Japan, a place I had no interest or desire for, instead of my deeply longed-for mission field?" It was only in conversation with the local missionary that the reason began to unfold. When I learned that the missionary had walked a path of faith remarkably similar to my own, facing comparable struggles, a profound realization washed over me. I truly felt that God understood my specific situation, my circumstances, and had sent me here precisely to comfort me and grant me rest. It was a powerful reminder that I wasn't alone in my struggles. And seeing the missionary's unwavering dedication, I realized that if one prays and lives wholeheartedly before God, He works and brings about change in His own perfect timing. Yet, amidst this comfort, one phrase from the missionary struck a heavy chord: "Mission is 'patience'." This simple statement, laden with the weight of the missionary's own loneliness and past hurts, resonated deeply. It wasn't just about their mission; it taught me that even the mission of daily life ultimately requires immense patience.

Later, as we split into pairs for street evangelism, walking through the city's thoroughfares, those moments became a continuous stream of personal embarrassment. It wasn't merely the shyness of approaching strangers that mortified me. My partner, noticing my tendency to only offer flyers to young students, pointed towards an elderly couple, asking, "Shall we offer one to that grandma (or grandpa) too?" In that instant, a searing realization hit me: the Gospel is such crucial news, such profound love, meant to be shared with everyone, regardless of age or gender. Yet, in that brief window, I had been calculating, selectively choosing whom to approach. My face burned with shame. As time wore on, my embarrassment only deepened. I found myself focusing not on conveying the Gospel's purpose, but merely on finishing my stack of flyers quickly, as if my sacred task were nothing more than a part-time job. Despite my flawed attitude and lukewarm heart, God, in His boundless grace, allowed me to experience a profound sorrow for those who still didn't know Him, who weren't even seeking Him.

Each evening, as our team gathered for sharing, a palpable sense of grief filled the room. Everyone felt a deep sorrow for those we couldn't reach. I heard teammates express their fear: "What if, because of our hesitation and shyness, these precious souls, whom God has allowed us to encounter, never get to hear about Him?" In those moments, a powerful thought emerged: perhaps God sent us as a team so that we, who had become exhausted by our routines and lost the ability to see 'souls as souls,' might once again perceive each person as a cherished soul. And perhaps it was so that we might truly grasp the immense preciousness of the Gospel we held.

Preparing for and conducting the Matsuri (festival), we had the privilege of seeing two missionaries, battling for God on that land, join us for our special song presentation. As we looked into their faces, we swallowed tears – tears of apology for not having remembered them and that land more consistently in prayer, and tears of profound gratitude that, despite our shortcomings, they had tirelessly prayed for us and never let a single soul pass by unnoticed. Then, as I looked at the faces of the Korean congregants who joined us for worship, the missionary's words echoed in my mind: "Here, those who practice faith are the first generation of believers." Tears welled up once more, seeing how precious these individuals were, singing praises to God even through their happy, yet undoubtedly lonely and painful, times.

Not a single person who received our flyers attended the service. Yet, we heard that many congregants who hadn't attended in a long time came back to worship with us. We realized that we were, in a way, seeing the fruit of those who had sown seeds before us. And the thought that the seeds of the Gospel we had sown might also one day be seen by someone, somewhere, filled me with an indescribable sense of gratitude and joy.

That single week, brief as it was, became a place of profound recovery for everyone who joined, each carrying their own burdens and struggles. It was a time to relish physical rest and material blessings, yet also a place where we offered ourselves to God in devotion. Through the Word, prayer, and sharing, God poured out His grace, moving us deeply. Those moments, when we shared our individual difficulties and prayed for one another, made me deeply confident that in our faith journey ahead, we are truly one family in God.

My mission trip to Japan, as some had foretold, was indeed a place of rest given by a God who knows my every circumstance. But it was also a stark revelation: I realized I had never once truly brought my own problems and unresolved issues before God. Though the fear and difficulties associated with missions haven't entirely vanished, this, my first mission, instilled in me a deep conviction: that the battle is already won, and that God will never abandon me. I now look forward with eager anticipation to witnessing God's work unfold in His perfect timing.

As we return to our daily routines, countless moments will pass before we embark on another mission trip. Yet, armed with the unwavering conviction and eager anticipation granted by this mission, I pray for those I encounter in my everyday life and for the countless souls I met on that distant land. And, as one unified family in God, I yearn to continue interceding in prayer for the missionaries who tirelessly serve with their whole hearts in that land.

If I were to leave you with just one piece of advice after sharing all this, it would be this: If you find yourself hesitating or feeling afraid about going on mission, please, just close your eyes and go. For if you witness God working day and night on that land and taste His boundless love, you will find yourself regretting every moment you ever hesitated.

Written by Oh Min-hee