"Can I come for conversation?"

"Teacher, can I ask you question?" The voice is quiet, and hesitant.

I look up and smile at M. I've helped her a couple times after class with doctor's forms and mail questions, so I expect that she has some kind of paperwork for me to look at. She doesn't.

"Teacher, can I come to your house sometime for conversation? I want speaking English good, and my home no one help me."

I'm delighted—"Of course!"—but surprised. M. is one of the shyest students in the higher level class where I volunteer. She is picking up English really fast, but she isn't convinced—she rarely offers an answer even when she's right, and she speaks so quietly it's often hard to hear what she's saying.

Most of the students in that class are either from Bhutan or Vietnam. M. is not—she's from East Africa, and no one else in the class speaks her first (or second) language. Most of the students have large extended families and a fairly strong community here. M. does not—she is here with only her elementary-school-aged son, who is gone all day at school and various after school programs. She doesn't have a job. She can't drive a car. She has, I think, one cousin somewhere nearby.

She's lonely.

I'm so proud of her for asking to practice English with me.

She stopped by my house once, because we needed to use my computer to renew her state ID. I'm glad that she felt welcome enough that she wants to come back. I'm glad to have her into my home, and to have this opportunity to show love to her, and—hopefully—to become friends.

I'm also somewhat terrified.

I barely feel competent at small talk with other English speakers. M. is not only a non-native speaker, but a shy one. I have no idea what we're going to talk about.

I'm an introvert. "Hospitality" is a concept I have struggled with my whole adult life. I love people, and theoretically I really like having them over, but—when it comes down to actually doing it—I get super stressed about and exhausted by the whole thing.  It embarrasses me how stressful I find it, in fact.

Add the cross-cultural dimension, and I stress out even more. Is she expecting a short chat or a four-hour visit? Visits usually involve food—should it be a full meal? Which foods, again, does her religion forbid? Is it her culture that gets really offended by X? Or is it if you don't do Y? How much should I make this visit about "learning American culture" and how much should I make it about "meeting cultural expectations" so she's comfortable? And seriously, what are we going to talk about?

When I was deciding whether to move here, to live with refugee neighbors, I knew that inviting people into my home would be important. Hospitality is a really big part of most of these cultures, and even without that, it's a very normal step in relationship-building.  For me, though, it was definitely on the "not my strength at all / fills me with vague terror" list.

While I was praying through it, I was convicted about something: I tell myself that I get stressed out because I really want my guests to feel comfortable, and to have a good time. What I'm actually stressed about, though, is my guests' perception of me as their host—whether they will leave thinking about how awesome I was at making them feel at home, or leave thinking I failed. 

It's a subtle but vital difference. One is guest-focused, one is me-focused.

I also know the only way I can let go of that need to focus on myself and others' perception of me is to be firmly rooted in the truth of who I am in Christ—the truth that I don't need others' approval, the truth that I am known and accepted by the Person who is great enough to speak the stars into existence and intimate enough to know them each by name, the truth that he is my glory and the lifter of my head, the truth that his power is made perfect in my weakness, the truth that I am not big or important enough to ruin his plans, and the truth that he loves me completely in that smallness.

Unfortunately, it seems to be a slow process. I repeat truth to myself, but I still often fear. I have had moments where the greatness/intimacy of God and my security in him have been so obvious, I wonder at my fear—moments where "what can man do to me?" actually is the completely rhetorical question it's meant to be—and then the moment has passed and I'm back to craving the approval of people.

So, I am covering these coming visits in prayer. Prayer for M., that that she will feel welcome and at peace and encounter God's presence here, and prayer for myself, that I would rest in truth and love M. instead of worrying about myself and what she thinks of me.

Feel free to join in.

I just live here.

It seems that in fact we live as if we should give as much of our heart, soul, and mind as possible to our fellow human beings, while trying hard not to forget God. At least we feel that our attention should be divided equally between God and neighbor. But Jesus' claim is much more radical. He asks for a single-minded commitment to God and God alone. God wants all of our heart, all of our mind, and all of our soul. It is this unconditional and unreserved love for God that leads to the care for our neighbor...

- Henri Nouwen, Show Me the Way (emphasis added)

My call is not to serve the poor. My call is to follow Jesus. I have followed Him to the poor.

- Mother Theresa

I sometimes get stressed out during very normal-seeming conversations.

People find out I "work with refugees," and—this is the good part—they ask lots of questions. I love it when people are interested in this sometimes invisible-seeming population. I love hearing that people want more information, and want to be involved. I could talk about global refugee issues and the specific community here and individual refugees and cross-cultural interactions all day.

The problem is when they ask me about what I actually do. Their questions echo the questions I've been asking myself since I moved here. I feel this pressure, real or imaginary, to justify the fact I've been here five months, and I don’t have any more of a defined goal, or a "ministry model," or a vision for large-scale need-meeting, than I did when I arrived. Assuming that people expect plans and details, I panic slightly:

"Um, no, I'm not officially here with an organization."

"Well, I just got here recently and am still getting a sense of the community, what's already here, and figuring out where I fit… [enter nervous rambling]"

"Well, 'what I do' is kind of vague at this point. I'm volunteering in some English classes, and trying to build relationships… [more nervous rambling]"

"Um, it's actually kind of hard to identify one greatest need in this community, so, no, I don't actually have a plan for meeting it… [increasingly self-conscious rambling]"

"I don't know." [feeling defeated] "I just…live here."

This week, though, I realized something: I do "just live here," and that's not a bad thing.

I also remembered something: God did not call me to Charlotte to start a refugee assistance program, or develop a productive ministry model, or even to identify and meet needs. God did not call me to Charlotte to help refugees, at all.

God called me to Charlotte to do exactly what I was created to do: To follow him. To seek his face. To give him glory. To depend on him. To love him with all my heart and soul and mind and strength.

God tells me that, loving him, I should love my neighbor. I followed him to a place where most of my neighbors—figuratively and literally—happen to be refugees. They're the people he's placed around me, for me to love, and that's what I'm trying to do.

It's not really any different than in the past, when my neighbors were suburban families or blue-collar workers or grad students or office coworkers. The way to show love might look a little different each place—here, it may be helping someone read a doctor's form, or English conversation practice, or introducing the wonders of over-the-counter decongestant—but both the source and purpose of the love are the same.

I have nothing against structure, or organizations, or programs. I think they could prove useful here. It won't surprise me if I up up involved with them somehow. I just want to get the order of things correct: If God is leading me to join or establish some kind of program, then I pray that I hear and see that and follow him wholeheartedly into it. If he's not, then I pray that I won't join or establish one simply to feel useful, or to have something productive-sounding to say during small talk, or even to meet actual needs.

My call is not to meet needs. My call is to follow Christ.

So, for now, I just live here.

I live here, seeking God's face and seeking God's will, knowing that—although I sometimes get confused and stumble off in the wrong direction—the God I seek is patient and slow to anger, and remembers that I am dust.

I live here, working, and doing dishes, and paying bills, and making friends, and trying to love my neighbors, and sometimes failing, but always—amazingly—covered in and sustained by grace.

I live here, hoping that my neighbors will see God's love through my life among them.

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind." This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: "Love your neighbor as yourself."

Matthew 22:37-39