Harry Truman was often asked if he regretted dropping the A-bomb on Japan. “I refuse to waste time second-guessing myself,” he would reply. “Under the circumstances, I did the best I knew, and if I had it to do over, I’d do the same thing again.”

That’s one of the many differences between Harry and me. I mean, in addition to the fact that I’m alive and he’s not.

I sometimes beat myself up over something I did and wish I hadn’t. Or did not do and wish I had.

Case in point. I spent this past week at a lovely church in another state. They called the emphasis a “Global Focus Celebration.” The people were wonderful and the hosts where I stayed were the best. The dozen or twenty missionaries who gathered for the event were as fine as they come. But what I was doing there hounded me from the beginning to the end.

The invitation to this annual event came from a longtime friend who served that church as interim pastor recently. “Invite Joe,” he suggested, and they did. I accepted it thinking it was a World Mission Conference, which we now call “On Mission Celebration.” The idea of that is to bring a large group of missionaries to your area and have them speak in churches all over the county, a different speaker in each church each night. But the Global Focus was one church, many missionaries, several days of meetings.

I set up a display in the fellowship hall so people could see my photos of Katrina-impacted churches of the New Orleans area, and stood there Wednesday afternoon while members came by to talk. I streamed photos on my laptop in case they wanted to see where these churches stood now. We had missionary fellowships, breakfasts together, breakfasts with the staff, a cookout in the home of our hosts, a senior adult luncheon at which one of the missionaries spoke, a church-wide missions banquet where I spoke, and we joined with the church members in fanning out over the city Saturday morning and afternoon to do ministry. Saturday night, we each attended a dinner with our sponsoring Sunday School class and each of us spoke to the members. Sunday morning we attended the two worship services and spoke in the Sunday School classes.

It may be just because I’m still new to being a missionary. After pastoring for 42 years, I came to the director of missions position only in May of 2004. Evidently, DOMs and others attend these Global Focus events and On Mission Celebrations a lot. But this was my first. I had a lot of stuff to take with me, so I drove up and back. Over 1600 miles round trip. The drive was wonderful, the scenery spectacular (I caught the Ozarks in the peak of its fall colors), and all that. Nothing negative at all. Absolutely nothing.

Except, I was just wondering what I was doing there.

I said to Margaret on the phone Friday morning that perhaps my problem is that “I’m used to being the star at such events.” I realized that sounded so egotistical, so I tried to explain that in this case, there are many of us, all of us wanting time before the various groups to share our ministries, etc., but much of the time we find ourselves sitting back, listening to one of the other missionaries. I did not mean it as an “ego thing,” although it may be that. I just meant that I have a hard time not doing something. I’m used to being invited to an event, traveling there, standing up and speaking, and driving home. But much of the time I had nothing to do.

So I did what I always do when I’m ill at ease or have time on my hands: I whipped out my sketch pad and drew people. I must have sketched a couple of hundred people–church staff, members, the missionaries, patients in four nursing homes, visitors to the civic center, even diners in restaurants. And–second-guessing myself again here–it did not feel very important, like I was making much of a contribution to someone’s life. It felt more like entertainment. Now, I’m not against entertainment, only drawing people felt like a distraction from what I should have been doing–it felt like I was doodling–although I could not think of anything more to do.

Maybe it’s all about getting some rest, I said to Margaret just before leaving. Everyone down here in New Orleans is fatigued and stays that way. A week away doesn’t seem to touch the bone-tiredness. Maybe the Lord has rest planned for me, I thought. Maybe that’s what it was all about.

Or, maybe I just don’t know and will never know this side of Heaven. Perhaps this is to be filed in the same category as revivals we pastors preach where we never see the results and don’t even know if there were any. We just do our work and leave the rest with the Father. I’m perfectly willing to do that.

I’ve frequently preached to people from Paul’s advice in II Corinthians 10 about not judging yourself or your own works. If we are inadequate to judge another’s labors, we’re equally inadequate to assess our own, our motives and intentions being so complex and intertwined with fears and faith, love and lust, flesh and Spirit, self and selflessness.

So we do our best and leave it with the Lord.

That looks so good on paper. Wish I could do it.