Impact the world. Support global missions. Disciple teenagers. That's what I wanted to do when I moved to Germany to serve as a Resident Assistant at Black Forest Academy, a boarding school for missionaries' kids. The big picture goals on the school's recruiting brochure were resplendent, noble – almost intoxicating. And they were accurate.
Once I reached Germany and settled into a rambling guesthouse with 30 other people, though, the idealism flagged. Real life in the dorm was less exciting than I'd envisioned. A typical day found me doing many loads of laundry, washing dishes, mediating teen drama, and driving van loads of noisy kids on narrow back roads. The tasks were not as glamorous as their overarching purpose.

Ideals and reality have a messy relationship. Communication between them is vital. As soon as I became buried in the mundane details of dorm life, I forgot about the big picture and my morale sank. I thought, What am I doing here? Did I get a college degree so I could do laundry and wash dishes? By looking too hard at the details, I lost sight of everything and everyone but myself. I forgot why I was there – to love the girls of Wittlingen (my beloved dorm, home to over 25 high school girls). I forgot that by washing their clothes, giving them counsel, and driving them to school events, I was impacting the world, supporting global missions, and discipling teenagers. The RA tasks are not glamorous, but they are necessary. Without RAs, Black Forest Academy could not operate its dorm program. Without the dorm program, hundreds of missionaries serving across Europe and Africa would be forced to find other schooling options, which might necessitate leaving the mission field.

Although my role often felt insignificant, it was a vital part of a whole that stretched further than my eyes could see or my mind could imagine. When I complained to God about my job, I was like the foot in I Corinthians 12 who says, "Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body" (15b). Despite its whining, though, Scripture says the foot "would not for that reason cease to be part of the body." Every part of Christ's body is necessary. The rest of I Corinthians 12 expresses this beautifully, concluding the metaphor in verse 27 with the reminder, "Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it."

When I forget that I am part of Christ's body, I forget who I am. I forget that my life has a purpose outside myself, so I am tempted to serve myself instead of others. I begin to think of myself as an independent person instead of a part of a whole. My vision becomes myopic and I see only what affects me and my comforts. When I reach this point of forgetfulness, I misplace joy. At the dorm, I was happiest when I focused on the girls and their needs instead of on my own. I lost myself in loving them and found joy. Mysteriously, when I denied myself, I became happy and content – and certain of my identity.

God did not design us to be islands strewn across a sea, unconnected puzzle pieces on a table top, or individual body parts separated from each other and from their source of life. He created us to be parts of a larger picture; a continent, a finished puzzle, a Body whose life source is God Himself. No wonder I am most satisfied and happy on earth when I am part of a community, supporting and being supported by other members of the Body, and focused on them and Christ instead of my desires. The enemy wages a constant attack, enticing my flesh to remain short-sighted and miserable, so I must fight to see life through a wider lens. Assuredly, it is a battle worth fighting.