Many of my earliest memories are of being around my mom in mission. I remember playing on the tile floor of our living room in Mexico while Mom led a Bible Study with local women, while nursing my little sister; walking down the dirt road in the Philippines to visit a sick neighbor, myself hand in hand with my sisters while Mom carried my baby brother; working with Mom in our rustic kitchen to prepare food for a Lord’s Day dinner with families who were building Catholic community. Watching my mom balance motherhood of seven children with preaching the Gospel in Mexico, Colombia, New Zealand, Australia, and the Philippines felt normal and even fun.

I am certain that my mom’s witness had everything to do with my ability to say yes to missions when I found myself a newly single mom with three small children, discerning a call to serve with FMC in General Cepeda, Mexico. On the surface, it wasn’t a logical idea. Motherhood is hard enough without living it in the challenging environment of a developing country with foreign language and foreign customs. It increasingly seemed like the craziest idea in the world, as I prepared to leave my wonderful support system to serve the poor in rural Mexico. I frequently had to remind myself that “the wisdom of this world is folly with God” (1 Cor. 3:19) and “His ways are not our ways” (Is. 55:8). These reminders were especially helpful when I settled into life in Mexico, and found myself tutoring my kids in Spanish so that they could keep up in school, or warming their uniforms in the oven because it was below freezing, or fretting over another illness and a slew of medicines I didn’t understand. The vocation of motherhood in mission, as joyful as my mom had made it seem, is not for the faint of heart.

And yet there were many other moments: times when my sweet two-year-old’s hugs would bring a grin to an elderly lady who rarely smiled, when my ten-year-old would pack her Bible and textbook and walk across the plaza to teach catechism to preschoolers, when my seven-year-old would bravely testify to a small chapel full of people that St. Anthony answered her prayer to find her beloved butterfly purse. In those moments, I realized that the sacrifices I made were more than worth it. Watching my children reach hearts in ways that I never could; share Jesus with those who might never warm to an adult; open doors into relationships in school, in town, with neighbors of all ages through their innocent joy and friendliness—these helped me to love the vocation of being a missionary mom…