Last month, I attended a national training conference for ladies involved in women's ministry or leadership positions in their local churches. During the conference, each attendee wore a badge bearing the woman's name, the name of her church, and the town and state where she lived. With hundreds of ladies gathered from across the United States (and some from Canada), I had the opportunity to meet lots of new folks and make some new friends.
How do those get-to-know-you conversations usually begin? "Hi, I'm Camille. I see that your name is Sarah. I'm not very familiar with Montana, Sarah. Where in Montana is B_______?" "Oh, I'm a mom and homeschool teacher. What do you do?" "Yes, this is my first leadership training conference. How about you?"
Where am I from? I'm from Troy, a little one-light town in rural northwest Tennessee. What do I do? I do laundry, meals, and schoolwork.
These conversations got me thinking: Where am I really from? Yes, Troy is where I live right now, but it is not my eternal home. Like the Israelites camping in the wilderness, I "tabernacle" in Tennessee, but my heart longs for my true home, for the Promised Land.
What do I really do? What is my true occupation? Yes, I teach math, fry eggs, and fold towels, but those are only tiny facets of my larger job of glorifying my Creator. I'm a glory girl, an undercover princess, an ambassador from another kingdom.
I wish that I could maintain a constant consciousness of the fact that heaven is my home and worship is my vocation. If I could keep these truths in mind, the get-to-know-you conversations would be so different.
"Where are you from, Camille?"
"I'm from Glory!"
"What do you do, Camille?"
1 month ago