About five years ago, my husband and I moved into a neighborhood with a whole lot of kids and not a lot of privilege. We meant to flip the house, but the market flopped and we moved into the house out of necessity.
That temporary little change of plans changed everything, ourselves included. The mission field had slipped in under our feet. No longer could we talk about mission projects and ministry opportunities as a distant concept. No longer could we just go about our daily life unaware. Christian living started to look less and less like Sunday morning attendance with a topping of Bible studies on plush couches.
Our home became a neighborhood center that year, one that now has kids sprawled across our front porch with hot Cheetos and sticky juice boxes. Bikes and candy wrappers and missing flip-flops tend to litter that front yard, the place where no grass dare grow for fear of being trampled.