My Soul Follows Hard After You: Relentless Calling
[lightbox full=”https://missioncriticalintl.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/IMG_5322-e1400786828512.jpg” thumb=”https://missioncriticalintl.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/IMG_5322-e1400786828512.jpg” title=”Brooke Bullen” /]
I grew up as a PK (Pastor’s Kid) so serving God with your life and everything you have came natural to me in the beginning and just seemed like the normal flow of life. However, the thought of being a missionary in another country was never appealing to me. Obviously there was more than enough work to be done here in the United States and leaving your home, life, and comforts was for the “Hero” Christians, not for little me who was of no great significance to anyone.
All of that changed one day when I heard the story of Bruchko, (Bruce Olsen) a young nineteen-year-old missionary to the Motilone Indians of North East Colombia. I had sat under the dull sound of my father reading dry theology books, in my child like opinion, written by even drier, old preachers and missionaries who were all together much too holy for me and way beyond all reason of regular life. But one night somehow my regular routine of solitaire and puzzles that I used to lessen my boredom was interrupted by the enrapturing story of a young man leaving everything he had to follow a passion and a calling that only God could have put in his heart, against all odds and against all “sound judgment” he set off to an unknown, unreached, savage people to share the gospel. To this day I still have no idea why I connected so closely with this Bruchko, but from that night on a hunger began to burn in my soul. I said that night as I lay in my bed, “God if you want me to go somewhere and do something for you, provide the passion and I will do it.”
Two months later my Dad asked me to go to Colombia with him for the first time In January 2010. I was excited, what a great vacation! Leaving the country and being able to see all the things that my father and sisters seemed to endlessly and exhaustingly talk about. Perhaps at last I would be a part of the missions “In crowd” made up of my father and two sisters who had already been broken by the Holy Spirit in Colombia the year before. But unlike them I refused to come back a puddle of tears surging with righteousness. I was going to be tough. I was going to show all of them up as the babies I felt that they were being. By the third day of the trip with not a tear shed and still being able to maintain my hard heart I was quite proud of myself. It wasn’t until I met a little boy named Andres (Andrew) in a tiny orphanage called Pronacer that God finally destroyed my walls, but that is for another story. When I got home I was burning for another chance to go back, I began emailing every one I knew telling them about it trying to get enough money to go back. When I was finally able to return I thought that God had broken my heart before, but He completely demolished my former desires, thoughts, and hardness toward His beautiful children. On that trip June 2010 God told me that I was going to be His missionary in Colombia. I didn’t know how or when but I finally had the desire.
After a couple of years and some hard times though, that passion began to fade and the calling was pushed to the back of my personal closet of plans. Until the summer of 2012 out of shear desperation to reconnect with the heart of God I bought a plane ticket, put in a two month leave of absence at my job and flew to Colombia to work in the orphanages there with the needy children teaching English and encouraging them in the Lord. I can honestly say that it was the happiest and hardest time of my life. God was rebuilding my whole outlook on life and Himself altogether, which is a difficult process when you have grown up in American churches and been fed the milk of the prosperity gospel your entire life. He was showing me what I was put on this earth for. I was desperate for God and His power like never before in my life. I wanted to serve Him so badly I would stay up for hours lying on the floor praying for the children of Colombia. When my time was up and I was finally forced to come home rather than be deported I was heartsick, I felt I had left my home and my family behind. To this day I still have an entire shoebox full of the love letters and pictures the children made for me on my last days there. Of course we parted with many tears, hugs and Colombian cheek kisses with all the promises in the world of my quick return.
