It was a classic scene from one of countless missions conferences, retreats, and Sunday sermons. The well- meaning speaker of the day said, “There is a lost and dying world out there. God is sending you to make sure that they do not burn in hell forever.” I don’t remember if the next part was overtly stated or only a logical outflow that formed in my heart. However, I knew, deep down, that if I didn’t go and tell lost people about Jesus, then I would be either the guilty one who didn’t obey or the hero who did. It seemed there were only two options. At the time, I didn’t stop to question how a limitless God could be so dependent on me and my meager service.

When I moved to live among an unreached people group, I tried my best to be a witness to Christ’s goodness. I learned languages and cultures and genuinely tried to love well, but my best efforts were often bumbling and awkward. It became clear that I was never going to be skilled enough to lead even one person to Christ in my own power. It soon became clear that guilt over a lost and dying world wasn’t enough to sustain me through such a long and difficult journey, and I was never going to be a hero.

Missionary stories are often heroic—but not because of the strength of the missionary. Missionary stories only become proper hero stories when God is the main character, and God’s power at work on earth is kept in focus. That focus makes his powers even more miraculous because it highlights how he chooses to work through weak human beings (Isa 40:29–31). In fact, we are called to exult in our weakness, not boast in our strength (2 Cor 12:9–10).

Recognizing our weakness leads us to humility—not inaction. Living in humility leads to gratitude and amazement for God’s love for each of us. As God’s love grows in us through abiding, we inevitably have a deeper desire to be with him and to offer him any act of service we possibly can. The acts of service that grow out of abiding love might even look the same as those that are propelled by guilt or the desire to be a hero. However, the underlying reasons and sustaining fuel are entirely different—and that makes all the difference.

From beginning to end, the Bible offers one overarching motivation for all that Christians do: love (1 Cor 16:14, Mark 12:30, Rom 5:8). Biblical love is rooted in relational joy—with a God who delights in being with his people and draws them into his purposes (Ps 149:4, Zeph 3:17, Isa 62:4). It is foolish to think that our all-powerful, all- knowing creator God’s eternal purposes could fail because of our human limitations. He is not a God “served by human hands” (Acts 17:24). If heaven is his throne and earth is his footstool, what kind of paltry house could we possibly build for him? (Isa 66:1).

So, if God doesn’t need us to be missionaries to ensure that his plans succeed, then why does he invite us to go and disciple all nations (Matt 28:18–20)? The answer is surprisingly simple: love. And not just our love for the nations and our neighbors, but his love for us. The God who created all things invites us into his purposes so that we might live with him and join in what he is already doing. He does this because he enjoys being with us (Isa 62:5, John 14:23).

The Psalms capture this joy repeatedly. Time after time, the human heart awakens to the greatness and goodness of God—and overflows in declaration to the nations. For example, Psalm 96 offers a joy-filled summons:

Oh, sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the earth! Sing to the Lord, bless his name; Tell of his salvation from day to day. Declare his glory among the nations, His marvelous works among all the peoples! (Ps 96:1–3)

Similarly, Psalm 145 shows how thanksgiving naturally leads to proclamation:

They shall speak of the might of your awesome deeds... They shall pour forth the fame of your abundant goodness... All your works shall give thanks to you... To make known to the children of man your mighty deeds. (Ps 145:6–7, 10–12)

In Scripture, proclamation flows from worship, and worship is a loving response to God’s lovingkindness. The motivation to declare God’s goodness to the world is not the needs of the world or guilt or the desire to be a hero—but gratitude and joy.

Even in the Great Commission (Matt 28:18–20), Jesus draws our attention to something deeper than the task of making disciples. Near the end of his statement, Jesus adds a small word—ἰδοῦ—a Greek term that means, “Look!” or “Pay close attention!” The ESV translates it as, “And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matt 28:20b). The phrase Jesus emphasized in the Great Commission is not about the task of making disciples, but on the relational presence of God with his people as they go. The spotlight is on togetherness—on God and his people, walking side by side in mission.

My own turning point came when I blurted out to God one day, “Your system makes no sense to me. You don’t need my service. I get that. And, yet here I am far away from my family, struggling day after day to try to proclaim your goodness and plant a church. I’m so weak and you are so strong. Why do you involve me at all? Why not just bypass me and present yourself to all the peoples of the world yourself?”

As is often the case, I sensed the gentle voice of the heavenly father say to me, “My daughter, you don’t understand. I love you too much to leave you out. I am not after your competence or your service. Participation in my purposes is a privilege. In fact, missions is a lot like a mother making cookies with her daughter at Christmas time.”

And so, I’ve come to understand God’s relational joy more clearly through something as ordinary as baking Christmas cookies—or preparing a holiday feast. Around the world during holidays, families excitedly gather special ingredients and begin cooking meals that are more elaborate than everyday food. In the West, this often looks like a mom pulling out flour, sugar, chocolate chips, eggs—everything needed to bake dozens of cookies.

Inevitably, soon the children begin to gather around the yummy ingredients. Their eyes widen at the festive treats taking shape. Eventually, one of them will ask, “Mommy, can I help make the cookies?”

Now, moms know that letting children “help” will slow things down. The children will make a mess. The children may even ruin the batch. And yet—most moms still say, “Yes, dear, come help me.” Why? For two primary reasons: (1) Moms want their children to learn—to someday bake cookies with their own families; and (2) Moms enjoy being with their children. The process isn’t just about productivity—it’s about love.

Likewise, our heavenly father invites us into his purposes. He doesn’t include us because we improve his efficiency. He includes us because he loves us, wants us to grow to be like him, and enjoys being with us. He loves the least, the last, and the lost—and in inviting us into his mission, he is shaping our hearts to love what he loves.

When we focus on guilt or need or on our need to be heroes, our invitations to join God’s mission can become thin—or even toxic. But when we’re rooted in God’s love for us, and when we invite others into his work from a place of joy and relationship, something beautiful happens. Mission becomes a long, joyful walk with God— generation after generation—bringing all nations into his love.