Who Else Can I Love?

a lesson I learned from my mom on missions

I’ve never met someone quite like my mom.

I’ve always known she was incredible. I see her love, her selflessness, and her sacrificial heart every single day.

But every now and then, you get the opportunity to watch someone fully step into the unique way God has gifted them.

This past mission trip to Guatemala was one of those moments.

Most people go on mission trips with one question in mind: What is my role?

My mom asks a different question.

Who else can I love?

She doesn’t just fulfill her role. She looks for ways to expand it until everyone around her feels seen.

Our family serves in a remote region of Guatemala, eight hours from Guatemala City, in an area once marked by deep persecution. Our primary role is to minister to the students, build relationships with them, and encourage them in their faith.

But what struck me most this year was that while everyone else was naturally focused on the students, my mom’s eyes were constantly scanning for the people no one else was thinking about.

She noticed the kitchen staff.

The women quietly working behind the scenes preparing meals for hundreds of students. During her free time, my mom slipped into the kitchen, learned their names, communicated through translation apps, and told them how grateful we were for them. Whenever treats were handed out to the students, she made sure several were saved for the cooks to bring home to their own families.

No one asked her to do that.

It wasn’t on the itinerary.

She simply wanted them to know they were seen.

She also noticed the teachers.

These young men and women had spent weeks preparing for our arrival, working tirelessly behind the scenes. Long before we ever boarded a plane, my mom spent hours at home creating games and activities specifically for them because she wanted them to experience joy, laughter, and encouragement too.

Again, no one asked her to do that. I didn’t even help much because, honestly, I didn’t think it was necessary. It felt like extra work.

But my mom worked on it anyway. She simply wanted to honor the teachers.

Not only that, my mom wanted to honor our own team.

See, a few members of our mission team didn’t speak Spanish. Since several of us—including me—could communicate with the students, I never even considered how isolating that might feel for those who couldn’t.

My mom did.

She created a booklet filled with simple English conversation starters so students could approach those team members and begin conversations with them. Suddenly, people who might have felt like spectators became participants.

No one put that on the itinerary. She didn’t have to spend hours doing that.

She just wanted everyone to belong.

Then, on the bus ride home, while the rest of us were asleep from exhaustion, my mom quietly leaned over and whispered something in my ear:

“My heart hurts for the president of the school.”

She had watched him spend the entire week carrying the weight of coordinating everything behind the scenes. She told me that the next time we come, we should think of ways to make sure he feels loved, supported, and honored.

The trip wasn’t even over yet.

She was already thinking about next time. What we could do differently. How we could care for those who were still left overlooked.

That’s just who my mom is.

She’s always looking around the room asking, Who hasn’t been seen yet?

And then she actually does something about it.

Our mission trip this year was incredible.

God moved in powerful ways.

The kitchen staff felt seen.

The teachers laughed together and built friendships through the activities my mom had prepared.

Team members who didn’t speak Spanish suddenly had students walking up to them all week, eager to practice English.

And well, I left deeply inspired.

Because I realized something.

A heart that intentionally honors people transforms and unifies communities. I watched it happen all week.

This year, we didn’t just minister to students.

We ministered to cooks.

To teachers.

To our own teammates.

To school leaders.

An entire community experienced the love of Christ because one person refused to limit ministry to what was written on the itinerary.

I’m incredibly grateful that person is my mom.

As I came home from Guatemala, I realized I wasn’t just celebrating everything God had done.

I was asking God to shape my heart to look a little more like hers.

To notice the people who are easy to overlook.

To slow down enough to truly see them.

And then to care enough to actually do something about it.

Because every act of honor quietly declares the same truth:

You are seen.

And if we can help someone feel seen,

perhaps they’ll catch a glimpse of the God who has seen them all along.

“She gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: ‘You are the God who sees me,’ for she said, ‘I have now seen the One who sees me.’” —Genesis 16:13

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