It was 1980-something and our church had invited a missionary to speak. Inevitably, this meant the service would go long, so I decided to sit in the balcony. By the time the missionary began his appeal, I was already praying. He raised his arms and said, “God needs people to go into the harvest, people willing to say, ‘Here am I, send me.’” Moved by these words I continued praying, “Not me, not me, O, please God, not me.” The missionary continued, “And God is calling the person out there that is saying, ‘Please God, not me’”. Startled by the missionary’s words and fearing I had spoken out loud, I continued to pray, “Heavenly Father I know you are a God who answers prayers, please don’t send me. I have a brother, send him. I’ll pay.” I spent 30 years trying to forget that day. For the last six
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