Many of the individuals who have been blessed with the experience of going on a mission trip would likely jump at the chance to tell you about their experiences: about the work they did, the fun they had, the people they met. They would show you pictures of themselves and a small child with a big smile, worn-out clothes and no shoes. We hear about these trips and we see these pictures, and something inside us is moved to do something. To go. To do. To experience. Who wouldn't want to feel the kind of joy shown in the "mission-trip picture" we've all seen?

What I've just described has absolutely been true for me. After a few years of hearing the "mission-trip story" and seeing the "mission-trip picture," I finally made arrangements to go on a mission trip myself.

I told people I was going on this trip. My family and friends knew that I wasn't going to be able to meet up over Spring Break, but they promised to send prayers and listen when I came back and were able to tell them about my experiences. I did fundraisers and wrote letters and was fearless in my attempts to include everyone I knew in this trip - a trip that I knew had the potential to change lives. I spoke to my parish and asked for their financial support as I endeavored to do something great and memorable and honorable. I was blown away by the generosity I witnessed, and really grew from the whole experience. I consider it all a blessing, and wouldn't change a thing.

But now, weeks after my return, I'm still asking the question: do all these things really make me a missionary?

I bought a plane ticket with the rest of my group, showed up in a foreign country, and soon found myself filling in little bubbles on a small card, reassuring God-knows-who that I wasn't transporting any foreign plants or wildlife back into the states after my adventure. I had stayed for the week. I hung out of the windows of the small bus on a crowded road (and got yelled at for it; what an experience!). I ate authentic tortillas and queso and bought a hammock from a vendor on the street. I played soccer with the locals and used Spanish to ask an 11-year old girl if she had any pets.

But does that make me a missionary?

I helped load hammers (martillos) and nails (clavos) into the back of a truck and rode up a mountain to a small shack -- with broken walls, a crooked roof, and cardboard beds -- that I realized, with surprise, was home to a family with three boys. My surprise increased when I was directed up a steep set of a stairs, just feet away, where an even larger family lived in equally terrible conditions. I watched as our translator took charge and begun building each of these families a new house. I hammered a line of nails where he told me to hammer them, sawed through a 2x4 when he told me to saw through it, and smiled at the young girl who lived in the house, nine months pregnant, as she washed dishes with the water her younger brother had hauled up the steep set of stairs. I listened to directions, and in the end, the bug spray I provided to my peers and sheet metal I helped carry contributed to the end product that was these families' new homes.

But does that make me a missionary?

I showered in cold water for a week. I was low-maintenance and made sure I didn't overpack or complain. I learned new Spanish phrases and ventured out of my comfort zone when I talked to a bus full of kids on their way to school. I woke up early to watch the sunrise and recorded everything that had happened in my journal each day. As a group, we prayed together and reflected on what had happened to each of us and I really, really grew from these chances we had to connect and talk about everything. I did everything I anticipated doing and I challenged myself exactly as much as I had expected to when I'd first started dreaming of the trip years prior.

Not a single one of these things is negative. But a simple lack of negativity does not automatically imply success. So the question still remains: can I really call myself a missionary?

I'm extremely grateful for the opportunity to go on the trip, and if I could go back and plan it again, I wouldn't change a thing. Because I learned a heck of a lot about a new country, a new culture, and about myself. But one of the things I learned as I continued to thing about my trip after returning, was that the trip had gone exactly the way I had thought it would go. This was my goal, and it was supposed to be a good thing. But once the trip was over, it was disappointing.

Because I realized that I easily could have chosen to spend my time advertising Unbound and all the work that they do, rather than spend time on small fundraisers and letter-writing.

I could have skipped the purchase of a plane ticket and donated all the money instead -- Unbound could have bought materials for another house for another family in need.

I could have gone a little hungry, and not eaten as many tortillas or queso -- the restaurant owners could have prepared the incredible meals we enjoyed for any one of the kids down the street who might have wanted an extra for lunch.

I could have stayed out of the way when they were building the houses. I was helpful and did what they asked, but they could have gotten the project done a lot faster if they'd put one of the local carpenters in my place and asked him to get the job done.

I got home and I thought about the trip and I realized, over and over, that they hadn't really needed me as much as I'd originally thought. And I was sad. Because I didn't really feel like much of a missionary. I realized that even though I'd gotten the "mission-trip story" and the "mission-trip picture," these weren't the things that validated the work done and effort put in. From the very beginning, these weren't the things that were important. I realized, perhaps a week too late, that I was going to be made a missionary by all the things that weren't identical to the trips I'd been hearing about for years.

Every barefoot child with a crooked smile is different. When I asked the 11-year old girl what she wanted to be when she grew up, she said she wanted to be a dentist. Just because I traveled to her country and asked her that question in her language, does not mean she's going to be a dentist. If she's going to be a dentist, it's going to be because she had the opportunity to go to school. It's going to be because someone sponsored her and gave her the opportunity to live in a house where she could spend more time studying than hauling water up a steep set of stairs. It's going to be because I prayed for her, specifically - especially after I told her, and her mom, that I would.

It wasn't until I thought about these conversations that I realized: whether or not I am a missionary is a reality that is questioned every day. Sure, I was a missionary yesterday, in that one conversation with that one person, but have I done anything to better the life of someone else today? It's an ongoing question, and it's one that can't be answered by the simple possession of a passport and a souvenir.

I'm not a missionary because I got my "mission-trip picture." I'm a missionary because I created a moment or a relationship or a bond that was worth taking a picture of. The moment comes first. Real life comes first. You have to do the brave thing or the adventurous thing or the difficult thing before you can tell anyone about how it changed your life. I wanted to come back changed, and I wanted to get a lot out of the trip, but hindsight taught me that if I was receiving more than I gave, there was a problem.

Romans 12:10 tells us to, "love one another with brotherly affection; outdo one another in showing honor." Imagine this -- a world where we're all competing with one another in love. The pursuit of a world like this is only possible when for me when I realize that the work I did and the experiences I had were not unimportant, but they were less important than the love and intention expended on that work and those experiences.

In order for any trip to be a mission trip, the first thing it requires is a mission. My mission had been the trip itself. And the trip itself is what I got. I'd accomplished my goal before I stepped off the plane.

But on my next trip, I'd like to be a little more intentional about what I am challenging myself to do. The mission comes first. The mission is different for everyone. The mission is what makes any "mission-trip story" or "mission-trip picture" worthy of sharing, and the mission is why -- thank God -- not all mission trips are created equal.