I have one of the sweetest girls in the world as one of my best friends.  We went to the mall yesterday and just window shopped.  We ended up getting matching American flag socks, and she helped me pick out some hairbands at Forever 21.  I made her try one about 20 different hats, and she giggled when I tried them on as well.  We talked about her boyfriends- she has TWO- and I asked her for her wisdom because I have none.  We talked about friends and family and cute boys we had seen.  We took pictures, and then we went to dinner at some restaurant.  On the way home, we had quite a dance party with some Taylor Swift and One Direction (whatever they're younger than me and have good music).  It was seriously so much fun.

This beautiful girl, however, wasn't supposed to be alive.  Her doctors said she would live until maybe two, but lucky for me and everyone she's ever encountered, that certainly is not the case.  She's such a blessing, and she's one of my best friends.

Mission trips are a funny thing.  The amount of packing, meetings to go over crafts, and email reminders are unparalleled.  It's a phenomenon that any kid who spends time in youth group goes through.  We go, we serve, we come back, convinced that we're going to be missionaries for the rest of our lives.  But then school starts, and "the rest of our lives" seems a little overwhelming.  So we go through life until the next mission trip.  It's a vicious cycle.

In all honesty, I have fallen victim to this cycle.  I have planned fifty different ways of being a missionary overseas, each more exciting than the last.  I went to Nicaragua in 2010 and India in 2011.  While I was in India, I was miserable.  There was no air conditioning during the day, nonstop humidity and/or rain, smells that can most politely be described as awful, and people literally everywhere.  I don't know if you know this, but Calcutta has a population well over 15 million people.  We were not handing out tracts or evangelizing or preaching from the mountaintops to have all 15 million of those people become Christians.  Part of my trip was spent in Mother Teresa's House for the Destitute, what can best be described as a nursing home for the homeless.  It was not my cup of tea, or chai, so to speak.  I don't like old people because they usually have that sad, abandoned puppy dog look.  The first day there, I cried because the women there were so broken, and it was too much, God, I thought.  But of course, God took what was too much for me and showed me in rubbing in lotion, feeding women, changing women's clothes, walking them to their bed, bathroom, wherever, that He would be my strength.  That there was beauty in these women, long overlooked, and that it needed to be recognized.  That in such agony, there could still be laughter and love and joy and friendship.  I learned that toothless kisses on the cheek are some of the best kisses ever.  I learned that covering a woman's knees, even in a house of all women, can earn respect really fast.  I learned that sometimes, a manicure or pedicure can change a woman's outlook entirely.  I learned that even the grumpy, scary old woman who yelled at me every day in Hindi would give me a hug and kiss goodbye, brush my hair away from my face, and wipe away my tears.  Most importantly, I learned that being a servant isn't limited to India, Nicaragua, or wherever your mission trip is.  I knew that, but I didn't know how to serve wholeheartedly until being in India.  It's easy to see need where there's a lot of it and there are easy ways to meet it.  Unfortunately, we can't spend our entire lives based on the week or two of mission tripping (am I allowed to call it that?).  Serving doesn't have to end there, though.  Becoming a servant is a free souvenir we get to take home with us.  But back in a comfortable, suburban neighborhood in Texas, what does being a servant even mean?