The Mission Trip Unicorn

I'm going on a mission trip. Those words have some great magic to them, don't they? "Mission trip..." It almost sounds like someone should be blowing trumpets. Lots of majesty when you say "mission trip," right? 
Well, I kinda hate that. 
I remember when I was a kid, going on a mission trip was a big deal. There was some sort of holy panache about it. Why? 
On this particular trip, I'm going along with some college kids from Lipscomb University, in Nashville. I'm kinda doing a little bit of my own thing when I get there...gonna spend my time as a guest instructor, teaching woodworking to (former) street kids in Nairobi. People have done amazing things to support me in going. 
Know what, though? All that magic...all the razzle-dazzle of the "mission trip..." it's not there. It's not special. It's not really a big deal. Can I just not call it a mission trip? Is that okay? 
Now, I do need to clear something up. I am not unhappy that the mystique is absent. In fact, I'm pretty happy, because this really just feels like a natural thing for me to do. I don't remember telling anyone about this trip and seeing them surprised that I would do this. Lots of people were excited. Lots were inquisitive about the details, but no big shock. 
That's because God has changed me. All this feels normal because, while I'm still far from perfect (just ask the people who know me best), God has transformed me to have desire for doing things that help others. For the next several days, I'll be doing that in Kenya. After that, I'll help people in Knoxville. The place doesn't really matter. It's the heart and what comes from it. How is your heart seen in what you do? It's my hope that, at some point, God will change who I am so much that every day of my life will look, to outsiders, like a big deal, magical, sparkly, amazing "mission trip," but to me, it'll just feel like another day of doing what I do. I'm not there yet, but for now I'm pretty psyched that the mission trip unicorn doesn't really come around any more.