(in)Significant

In early August, this year, I was privileged to be able to make a trip to Quito, Ecuador with a group of people from my mom's church. They go down every year to help one of several churches that need construction done on their church buildings. You know, the typical church mission trip that makes people think they've really made a difference, when they only really show up for a week, barely get to know anyone (if at all . . . after all, there is the whole language barrier thing), do the tourist thing for a few days, live in comparative luxury to the people they are "helping", and then return home to their cushy lives in America.

At least, that was my impression of most church "mission trips". I'll admit, it's not a very polite or nice or flattering way of thinking about them, especially when most people who go on them really have the best of intentions. And they had gone, and I hadn't. But, now that I've experienced it, it's really kind of what goes on.

In any case, when it was offered that my way would be payed, I jumped at the opportunity, since those sort of trips are all but completely out of my meager salary's reach.

Side Note: I'm aware that I'm showing a bit of my two-faced nature here . . . obviously holding these trips in disdain for the most part, and yet jumping at the opportunity to go if my way is paid. But hey, it's true. Maybe not good, but true.

Now, at this point I could glowingly expound upon the typical "it changed my life" spiel . . . but I won't, 'cause it didn't.

Well, maybe a bit.

Everyone kept telling me that it would be an eye-opening experience, that it would change my view of the world, to really see poverty that close and all that. And, no doubt, I was constantly amazed at the level of it surrounding us as we traveled, and how the people didn't really seem to mind too terribly much that they were that poor. They actually seemed much happier than most Americans, strangely enough.

But it wasn't like this huge realization came over me in this profound way or a light bulb went off in my head, or any other analogy for enlightenment that you can think of. A couple of former missionaries that came with us made comments at the beginning of the trip asking me if it was "sinking in" yet and such things. It never really did. I just knew I was in another country, and simply accepted it. I didn't feel called to give up my life of luxury in the US and sell everything and move to a third-world country. If anything, I felt that I was supposed to actually enjoy the blessings God has given me here.

The only thing that nagged at me was something I started thinking about on the way home. And that was this: I had been visiting a city of 1.5 million people approximately 2800 miles away from where I lived.

That may not have sunk in with you like it did with me. Of course, my trains of thought can tend to jump the tracks now and again.

Here's how it kind of went:
I was in a city of 1.5 million people.
It's a long ways away from where I live.
It's a small country.
There's lots of other countries in the world.
With lots of cities.
With lots of people.

I am insignificant.

And there it is. I am insignificant. I realized that all the things that I think are important in my life . . . movies, eating out all the time, spending time with my friends, making enough money to do the aforementioned things, writing music, volunteering at my church . . . they mean pretty much nothing, in the grand scheme of things.

There is a whole world of people that live their lives from day to day, not knowing me, not caring about me, completely oblivious to my existence . . . only really thinking about the same basic things I am . . . what it's going to take to get through today and keep on living.

Kind of depressing, no?

But then I remembered the little gem of Psalm 139:13:

For you created my inmost being;

you knit me together in my mother's womb.

Suddenly, I am significant. For the God of creation, who sees the world as it is now and as it has been, with every person of every nation living throughout all of history . . . personally put me together inside my mom.

So . . . I am significant . . . and yet, insignificant. When I think of this, a profound wave of humility sweeps over me. God thinks me important enough to "knit me together" Himself, and yet he thinks everyone important enough to do the same for them.
Who am I, then, to treat anyone, anywhere as anything less than God's personal favorite? For they, like me, are (in)Significant.