Am I A Missionary?

I was halfway through my nail appointment when my eyes unexpectedly welled up with tears. I had just looked down at my hands, and for the first time, I felt the overwhelming weight of time and how much of it had slipped away. The creases on my knuckles were deeper, and the natural tremor in my fingers was more pronounced. Not like someone in their seventies or eighties, but like someone who was unmistakably no longer in their twenties.

I celebrated my 38th birthday a few months ago. I don't know if what I'm experiencing is the onset of a midlife crisis, but for the first time, time and how I spend it suddenly matter. What's most surprising is that the dreams I've spent my adult life pursuing suddenly don't.

When I moved to Rio nearly three months ago, one of the first things I did was hire a music producer to work on my music and launch a new Rio-based Instagram page as another channel for storytelling, something I've spent the past 15 years doing professionally as a multimedia producer. However, a few weeks later, something changed. The music and Instagram reels I was creating no longer felt fulfilling or like the best use of my time.

As I looked at my hands that day in the nail salon, I felt an overwhelming urgency to figure out what I was supposed to do with the remainder of my life, specifically what God was calling me to do.

On my way home, I stopped by a small hair supply store I had been meaning to check out. While I was there, I struck up a conversation with the owner, a Nigerian woman who speaks English. I invited her to a gathering I was hosting later that week at my home. It was for a night of worship where Brazilian Christians and believers from Rio's English-speaking international community come together to worship Jesus, fellowship, and learn each other's languages.

Then she asked me a question that caught me completely off guard.

"Are you a missionary?"

I laughed and immediately told her that I wasn't, but something inside me refused to accept my response as absolute. Whether or not God was calling me to be a missionary would go on to occupy my mind for the rest of the week.

Later that weekend, I welcomed a small group of Portuguese- and English-speaking believers into my home. We worshiped, read the Bible, and prayed in both Portuguese and English. Communication flowed smoothly with the help of an interpreter I had hired to provide real-time translation whenever someone spoke.

At the end of the evening, the interpreter asked how I thought the gathering had gone.

I was honest. I admitted I was disappointed that only four people came, especially after spending the week inviting so many people in the neighborhood. Lucia, an older Brazilian woman who cleans my apartment once a month and was in attendance, reminded me that it was the first of many to come and that even Jesus began ministering to a small group before He ministered to the multitudes.

While lying in bed that night, I began thinking of ways to build relationships with people in the community, including non-believers. A free English class came to mind. I also found myself thinking about something that had interested me for years but that I had never seriously considered: church planting.

From my sophomore through senior year of high school, I attended a Christian boarding school in Dublin, New Hampshire. The church there frequently invited missionaries to share the work they were doing in the countries where they served. I always looked forward to the PowerPoint presentations showing churches being planted, community programs being launched, and lives being transformed.

Those memories, and the way those missionaries inspired me even as a teenager, led me to ask God the same question the Nigerian woman had asked me.

"Am I a missionary?"

"God, is that what You're calling me to be?"

For the past year, I've felt God stripping away the identities that had become wrapped up in my career goals. Singer-songwriter, actress, talk show host, multimedia producer, and entrepreneur—none of these pursuits have brought me sustained fulfillment, let alone any significant financial gain. I've been praying for a greater sense of purpose, and now that I recognize how fleeting time is, I can't imagine spending the next half of my life continuing the grind of pursuing success through those titles.

I'm at a place in my life where I'm honestly tired of my life being about me. I no longer want to spend my energy and resources pursuing things that ultimately benefit only me.

So, is God calling me to be a missionary?

Missionaries are typically sent to foreign countries by churches or other religious organizations. I came to Brazil on a digital nomad visa, a temporary work visa that allows remote workers to live in Brazil for a maximum of two years. Most foreigners who come to Brazil on this visa do so because they enjoy the country and simply want to live here.

I came because I believe God was directing me here.

As I shared in a previous Truths & Trials post, I feel particularly called to work with Rio's at-risk youth. I also feel called to share the gospel and serve underserved communities through both spiritual and practical support.

I don't yet know exactly what that will look like, but I do know one thing: missionaries don't operate alone. They're connected to local churches, organizations, and people who are already faithfully serving their communities.

A couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to visit Casa Cruzeiro, a Christian community center located in one of Rio's favelas. I'll admit I left a little disappointed because I didn't come away with a clear understanding of how I could support the work they were doing.

I'll continue visiting organizations. If God is truly calling me to be a missionary here, I believe He will make that clear by connecting me with the people, churches, and organizations He wants me to serve alongside.

In the meantime, I've found tremendous freedom in detaching my identity from my career. I now realize I had become a slave to it. I'm excited about the woman I'm becoming as I root my identity in Christ.