It all began on the train. My father bumped into an old friend from Crusader days and got talking, discovering in the process that his daughter was at medical school in London, and living in this really nice hostel for Christian students in the health professions - run by the MMA. Perfect! I was about to start Speech Therapy training in London, and needed somewhere to live; so it was all arranged.

I had decided to postpone my teenage rebellion (and giving up church) until I left home - it would be so much simpler then. God would understand; I’d told Him that I’d probably be back. So I arrived at Harcourt House ready for ‘Life’ to begin, with a ready-made set of friends. I had the perfect excuse for not being quite ‘one of them’ - I wasn’t actually going to be a Missionary. Speech Therapists didn’t do Mission.

After several months of side-stepping Bible studies, church and Sunday afternoon teas with Dr. & Mrs. Bennett, I accidentally allowed myself to be taken to church at All Souls, Langham Place. I am sure that John Stott was compelling, but what bowled me over was being in a church with so many vibrant, enthusiastic young people who all seemed to be saying the same thing as my (very patient) MMA friends - ‘God is great; in Him is the Life you’ve been looking for, fun and all, so go for it!’ It was such a relief; like coming home. And (as I wasn’t actually going anywhere overseas myself) it was actually quite fun hearing about mission over Sunday teas.

Having met so many people involved in mission work through the MMA, I had an affectionate half-open ear for such things when I started work and joined a new church. As Speech Therapists didn’t do Mission there was no danger of being called myself, but I could pray. In my mid twenties I decided it was time for a ‘Gap Year’; and if I was going travelling I may as well go and check out some missionaries and offer to be useful as well.

Three months as a volunteer in North India at Herbertpur, an EHA hospital, changed my life (again). It wasn’t just the powerful sights, sounds and smells bombarding me as I walked inside what seemed to me like a TV documentary of an Indian village. It was seeing the same love of Jesus that I’d first learned at home, experienced at the MMA, and now shared with the believers here. Missionaries, I realised, were only people sent to share that love in a different place, be it half way round the world, or from a different part of India. Quite straightforward and simple, really.

Back home again, I resolved to check out my calling, and the mission agency that I’d volunteered with - and in the process met my husband-to-be, Michael. He had spent three years as an engineer in Nepal and in a similar vein was at the same Mission conference considering his future. (At his conversion he had told God that he’d sign up so long as he did not have to be a missionary). We had a few practical issues to sort out (getting married, finding a church, mission board selection, Bible college and having a baby) but the one thing on our hearts was to be open to go wherever God was leading us. So it was with real joy that we headed off to work with the United Mission to Nepal, where we spent almost ten very special and fulfilling years.

Nepal is a wonderfully accepting and hospitable country, though with its many needs there were plenty of opportunities for getting involved as a ‘non-assigned spouse’. But to my surprise, I discovered another speech therapist in language school with me when we arrived. It didn’t take long for me to realise that speech therapists are actually very much needed overseas; in the poorest countries with no social security, a communication handicap can be an even greater social stigma and source of family anxiety. It was so rewarding working alongside some of the first trained Nepali Speech and Language Therapists, and later (once our own children were at school) setting up a clinic in one of the hospitals in Kathmandu, and working with a Nepali joint churches Day Centre for disabled children.

I am so grateful that God has such a sense of humour, infinite patience - and that Speech Therapists do do mission. Thank you, MMA!.