It has to be the small instances that make a trip, a life, measurable. For I don't believe I cured any disease while in Brazil, or put an end to sex trafficking, or even saw the conversion of one person.
There were no remarkable happenings that lead to victorious chanting (unless you count the final seconds of dozens of soccer games, and why yes, please do count them).
But there were glimmers of fear and anticipation in a pair of eyeballs belonging to a girl sitting next to me at dinner when I told her not to hide herself. There were waves upon murderous waves that washed up along the imprinted shore, reaching, and took back with them a left-footed sandal and erased all the places our feet had been; God's beauty and power (and mercy) revealed to us perched on a rock just out of the splash zone. There was a song I sang in church meant for one girl who began a new life; the promises of God being poured over her head at her baptism.
I had no way of knowing the stream of righteousness God lay before me, as I know not now what lays before me. Life is always in the little, in the moment. Not what you can plan, but who you are.
Who you are is small. And what you will do is small. And that is what this world needs desperately.
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