This past Tuesday, the 21st, was my birthday. Twenty-three, one score and three, years ago my parents brought forth a new human, and they named this new human David Jacob of the family Wilson. Both my first and middle names were chosen from the Bible. As such, by virtue of my names, my life was underscored by a story from the very beginning. I don’t mind sharing though. In fact, there have been many times that I have been able to draw encouragement, identity and confidence from my namesakes. Both David and Jacob made huge, grievous errors and yet neither was forsaken, and both were made great by God. Further, both men, once confronted with their wrongs, confessed their failures and sought to rectify them. Their stories are epics featuring struggles, conflicts, shortcomings, redemption and a final reconciliation.
In recent years, (admittedly, I feel slightly too young for such a phrase) when the sun rises on the day of my birth, also over the horizon comes a pensive sort of melancholy that encourages me to think about my own life story. Have I lived well? Have I written a good tale? I must admit that I do not know. The source of my melancholy is both the unknown and a feeling that I am out of place, like a Roman centurion plucked from his timeline and dropped into the twenty-first century (It took forever to find a picture of anachronistic Roman soldiers. Reenactors these days take their digital presencevery seriously). There is a feeling of exile, that my values are not consistent with my society, and that my hopes and dreams are naïve or irresponsible.
However, this year I arose with a feeling of being “in place." I was on the edge of a wilderness setting where food and water might be scarce for months at a time. I was working to implement technology to improve the standard of living for others in an undisputable way. I am joined by others in this endeavor, and together we are living simply and working steadily. There is real work which dirties the hands, tires the muscles and challenges the intellect. Life on the mission station has a pioneering feeling. Can one build an antenna mast out of spare parts? With duct tape and steel cable, anything is possible. What’s for dinner? I don’t know; the man who sold the food only described it as meat.
The environment, work and community here combine to provide this chapter of my life story with a setting in which my soul feels at home. Yet it is not the setting alone that makes the story. Plot is of equal importance, and in my case, I want to know if my plot is well lived. Have I acted honorably and rightly? There is a long list of negatives to that question, but I am finding some affirmatives out here in the West African bush. I still miss the mark at times, but at least I am aiming in the right direction. It took years for God to orient my heart to be open to the idea of being a missionary, but now that I am here looking back, there are many long nights of depression that feel redeemed. I was blessed in countless ways before this point of my life. My family, friends and mentors have in no way wronged me, but something seemed to be missing for a long time that perhaps I have now found.
One of the major reasons I decided to serve as a missionary was to answer a question to myself: “What would it be like to live out the fullest commitment I know how to give to my faith?” So I decided to offer up three months to God’s will and service. I am still only two weeks in, and I don’t know what else remains in store. However, I trust that God will make use of me. I trust that he will guide my deeds and my words. Perhaps most importantly, I hope that when he looks at this portion of my story, God will judge that I have acted rightly. If this moment proves to be the edge, faintly seen, of the great missing puzzle piece in my soul, then I pray that I will be blessed with the chance to secure the rest in its entirety. For too many birthdays I have felt the dissonance of a character in the wrong story. I hope that next year I may again find myself on the path towards an epic tale that was written for my character. Perhaps one day the story of David Jacob will be as inspiring as those of the biblical men whose names I bear.
