A picture is worth a thousand words. Maybe more. On my desk, I have a snapshot of my mom standing in a schoolyard, surrounded by children. It is dated Christmas 1975 -- 10 and a half years before she died. "To my beloved grandparents," is inscribed on the back, above a description of the village in Afghanistan where my mom was a Christian missionary.Taped to my computer screen is a snapshot of my grandma, taken in 1995. She is wearing a baggy dress with over a dozen hidden pockets sewn on the inside. This May, she is embarking on her fourth trip to smuggle Bibles to leaders of underground churches in China.

I come from a long line of missionary women. It wasn't too surprising, then, when I went home over break and found a picture I had drawn in first grade. "When I grow up," I had written proudly at the bottom, "I want to be a MISHONARIE."

Two years ago I would have smiled and shoved that picture into the bottom of my subconscious, discarding it as a dream of a well-meaning, but sorely misguided child. Missionaries were the antithesis of the ideals of pluralism and progress that Brandeis had taught me to embrace, the idea that "you keep your spiritual beliefs and I'll keep mine." It is a universal humanitarian approach that has allowed Jewish, Catholic, Protestant, Muslim, Buddhist, atheist and agnostic students all to coexist in peace and harmony.

But there is another picture taped to the inside cover of my Bible. It is a picture of Namsti, a village in Siberia where I am planning to make my home as a full-time missionary.

What changed?

My Brandeis education taught me to question, taught me to challenge, taught me to think. It gave me the freedom to seek out truth "even unto its innermost parts" -- but only if that truth agreed with the post-modern worldview that there is no absolute truth. What power does truth hold if what is true for one person is false for another? If what is true for me is not true for you, then it follows that what is true for me today may not be true for me tomorrow. And if that is the case, my faith is as shaky and as unsteady as anything else in this volatile world.

No, as unpopular as it may sound, I need to put my faith in something absolute, something that applies to all people at all times. So I put my faith in Jesus. Do I force anyone to agree with me? No. It would be the epitome of pride and presumption to think that I had the power to change people's minds. But the love and grace that I have found in Jesus Christ are an indescribable gift, a gift that has blessed me beyond measure. It is a gift that I want to offer to others. Can I force them to accept it? No. But I will offer it to them in a spirit of gentleness and compassion.

I understand the outrage and fear students expressed toward the speaker from Jews for Jesus last week. In their minds, he came bent on destruction, to destroy a very rich culture. I am sorry that Christian evangelism so often comes across as destructive. I am sorry -- genuinely sorry -- for all the atrocities that have occurred in the name of Christian missions, and I do not deny that there have been many. Men of warped and depraved minds preached the gospel out of selfish ambition, in order to gain land and power and territory. They used deceptive manipulation or threats of violence to coerce vulnerable peoples. It is the exact opposite of what Jesus called a true disciple, one who only desires to serve others out of love.

That is my desire, and that is the desire of all true Christians. Anyone can take on the name of Christ and use it for evil. The Apostle Paul is very clear that such men deserve the punishment that awaits them at judgment. But our job is to love and to serve. Our job is to preach the gospel of Christ, not so that we can gain power or lift ourselves up in the eyes of God or man, but so that others might come to know the hope and love and joy that is found in him. We are called to do so with humility and with love.

I think of this gospel as a beautiful picture. It would be a shame to keep something so precious hidden in an attack; it belongs on display in a museum. Of course, men cannot be forced to acknowledge its beauty -- that is a choice we all must make for ourselves. But it is a choice that bears eternal consequences and one that everyone should have the opportunity to make.

My prayer is that those of us who are displaying this gospel with be worthy vessels so that men can see it for what it is -- a free and beautiful gift to all who will receive it.