A Year to Remember, A Year to Forget

Please forgive me.
This isn't the blog post I had planned.
After all, this isn't the year I had planned either.

It's New Year's Eve.

I am supposed to post some sappy motivational post on the new year. I am supposed to encourage you with positive words. That's what New Year's posts are right?

Oh, and of course I have to throw these verses in there:

Philippians 3:13-14  "Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus."

It just doesn't qualify for a New Year's post without those verses.

But, like I said...
This year wasn't anything like I anticipated.
It wasn't anything like I had planned.

(Please don't call me a missionary hero. I think this post will show you I am as human as you. No, the Hero of this story is much greater... much wiser... much more patient than me.)

2015 started off amazingly!
I had my goals, my dreams, my plans.
I had organized and prepared.

I know it sounds all carnal, but I really had great goals in mind. I wanted to grow in Christ, so I redesigned my private devotion time and Bible study time to be more productive. I wanted to improve in ministry, so I had grand plans for that, too. I wanted to get in shape, so I began eating right and exercising. I wanted to grow as a wife and mother and... and... and... I had the goals and the plans of how I was going to get there.

It wasn't that my goals or my plans were misplaced. But something was definitely misplaced...

Like I said, the year started off great. I lost 25 pounds and was heading down the path I had planned and prepared for from January 1st.

Then came March.
I had a sudden battle with insomnia. For the entire month, I slept only an hour or two a night. Toward the end of the month, I couldn't think. I couldn't function. I couldn't make decisions well. I couldn't even drive my scooter because I was afraid I would hurt someone. And then as suddenly as the insomnia came, it was gone. So I continued down the path of my plans.

Early in April, just as I was finally recovering from insomnia, I had the joy of getting giardia. In case you don't know what giardia is, think tummy parasites. It was a nasty case of it, too. Again, I was getting little sleep, but it wasn't because I wasn't sleepy! I was just sick! But finally, I began recovering from that, too. My energy returned. It helped with weight loss in the most unpleasant ways, but I had to work hard to get back into exercising.

Then came April 25...
The day my world shook to the core... literally. A devastating earthquake brought my illusions of control crashing to the ground. My plans stopped that day.

I guess it was from that moment I really began understanding what God was doing in my life. The hardships I was enduring were not by accident. They were by design. I began seeing how little I was really in control. It was good to have goals and to aim toward those goals, but there are some things God chooses to teach us through the refining fires of trials.

1 Peter 1:7 "That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ:"

With the earthquakes came the relief work. For four months, we worked and labored to exhaustion. We had no schedule. We had no plans. I am a person who thrives off of calendars and clocks and lists... but it was all yanked away from me like a parent yanking away danger from a small child. And just like a child, I cried. I wanted my routine back.

As relief work began to finally slow down and we began to catch our breath, the next crisis began. Our country began experiencing major shortages of supplies and fuels due to protests and blockades at the border entry points. We had to learn to cook differently because of lack of cooking gas. We had to learn to get around the city differently because of lack of petrol and diesel. We purchased bicycles for the family and used those as much as we possibly could. We spent hours in petrol lines, and sometimes walked away empty-handed.

My daughter's birthday was at the end of November. A protest kept us from doing our original plan. Daddy took her on a fun bicycle ride, just the two of them. When they returned home, I was reminded again just how little I am in control. She crashed hard trying to go down a steep, rocky hill. As she walked through the door, I could see blood streaming down her arms. She was hobbling as she came in so I knew there was more to her injuries than just her arms. As we went to get her cleaned up, I saw her side looked like spaghetti. This would be the worst injury I ever dealt with on my own. Through tears, hers and a few of my own, we got her cleaned up. We praised the Lord that nothing was broken and that her special smile drowned out the pain. It took a couple of weeks for her to heal and be able to get around like normal.

And just as she recovered...

I got a call from my son. He had taken his bicycle to go to language school for his final exam. He didn't make it there. His call was confusing, and I could tell he was injured pretty badly. Someone had walked out in front of his bicycle and caused him to lose control. He crashed and hit his head on the corner of a sidewalk. His helmet strap had cracked and caused his helmet to slide forward, exposing the back of his head to the concrete. I was thankful he could even think clearly enough to call me, though he actually called twice because he forgot he had already called. When I arrived where he was, I knew it was bad. Blood streamed from his head and he wasn't remembering things. He still doesn't remember me picking him up or taking him to the emergency room. He and I stayed in the hospital overnight together. It was special quality time, taking care of my baby boy before he heads off to college next year. It wasn't exactly ideal mother-son time, but I was glad I could be there for him. He finally had his stitches removed from his head...

Just in time for the next emergency for our family.

We were heading on the way to church. The roads on our way to church are more like an adventure you would see on a reality TV show about guys showing off their 4x4 vehicles. While on the road, suddenly my side began to hurt. The pain grew quickly. By the time we got to the church, all I could do is lay in the floor and cry. There was no way around it... it was time to go to the emergency room. Unfortunately, that meant going back over the road we just came on... while feeling pain that was no less than child birth level.

When we arrived at the hospital, the diagnosis was easy and quick. There was a huge stone lodged in the tube exiting my gallbladder. The gallbladder would have to go. This was not exactly the plans I had. We had the biggest ministry day of the year coming up in two days... on Christmas! But I would be in the hospital. My two older children took turns staying with me overnight. And though it wasn't exactly a great date location to spend time with them, I wouldn't trade those moments for anything.

This was not the year I had planned.
But God's plans were much better.

Isaiah 55:9 "For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts."

You see, God didn't put all these things in my path to punish me or humiliate me or to even prove to me He is the boss and I am not. His plan was much more well-designed than those petty things. He was lovingly refining me.

2015
The year I learned to trust His sovereignty.

Psalm 115:3 "But our God [is] in the heavens: he hath done whatsoever he hath pleased."

2015
The year I learned to cast my fears upon Him. I had always known well how to strong-arm my fears and to cage them in a closet. I thought I was being spiritual because I wasn't being controlled by my fears. But really, I was being fleshly and doing things in my own strength. Earthquakes, dangers, injuries... When the fears mounted up and threatened to come crashing around me, I realized it was time to learn how to do things God's way. I learned how to admit my fears and cast them at His feet, trusting Him in faith.

1 Peter 5:7 "Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you." 

2015
The year I learned to count it all joy.

James 1:2-3 "My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience."

2015
The year I watched Him do a work that man can never do... softening hearts toward the Gospel... opening doors that seemed impossible.

Revelation 3:8 "... I have set before thee an open door, and no man can shut it..."

2015
The year I learned what it means to PRESS toward... and not just stroll forward.

Philippians 3:14b  "... I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus."

I grew closer to my children, closer to my husband, and closer to the Lord.


There are many parts of this year that were difficult and I would rather not do it again, but I wouldn't trade 2015 for anything. The most difficult year of my life was also the most rewarding. And I accomplished so many of my goals, though clearly God chose the method.

2015

The year I let go of my plans and wholeheartedly finally embraced HIS plans for me.

Yes, some growth only happens through purging and through the refining fires of trials.

Goodbye, 2015.

Hello, 2016.

Philippians 1:12 "But I would ye should understand, brethren, that the things which happened unto me have fallen out rather unto the furtherance of the gospel;"

An Open Letter to the Missionary (Woman) Quitter

When criminals entered our home last December 2nd and attacked our family, our lives changed completely. The obvious, immediate question after the crisis was, "Do we quit being missionaries?"

It was an excruciating question to work through, partially because it was completely unexpected. We had had no thought of leaving the field. My husband's screen saver on his phone when we were dating said, "Go tribal!" Hadn't I known what I was getting into? No, actually! And yes. His heart for the Unreached has defined him, been his core, since I've known him. It seemed there was no avenue forward that didn't involve reconstructing either Seth's or Amy's make-up. We reached out for counsel.

As you may have guessed, especially if you already heard of our situation and were thinking "in our shoes," not many counselors had an easy answer. It would have been wonderful if God had spoken to us in a vision. Most counselors were unwilling and unable to give a certain "yea" or "nay." Understandably so.

What a blessing that most counselors were amazingly supportive. By "supportive," I mean that they understood and articulated that leaving our field was an obvious and valid option, and that we weren't bad Christians to be considering it--that godly Christians have chosen both paths, to leave or to stay.

But a few comments stuck with me memorably--in a negative way--that, in my opinion, made our decision even tougher. They hinted or outright stated that they viewed me as weak or wimpy to even go back to the States for an eight-week visit to think about our future, that I was holding back my husband (because his personality did not struggle with the decision to return to the field even a fraction as much as mine), thus I was unsubmissive and "wearing the pants in the family" (and therefore, my husband had blame for not "leading me" appropriately), that I was not obeying certain Scriptures that encourage risking all for Christ, and that I was not a strong person or missionary or Christian if I couldn't go back.

Well, comments like these (made by people who have not experienced even a quarter of what I have) were not accepted well by a traumatized woman concerned for her traumatized children! And there, in that sentence, may lie part of the answer. Some people cannot empathize fully with a wounded person until they themselves have experienced the humiliation of trials and suffering. I cringe when I remember my naive judgmentalism as a young missionary. Oh, how I've changed now, and eaten my words (rather, thoughts) a hundred times over.

It is true that many leave the field for wrong reasons at the wrong time. And it is true that we do not hear enough encouragement to risk all for Christ. I don't want to take the teeth out of Scriptures like these:

Whosoever will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me. For whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel’s, the same shall save it. For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul? Whosoever therefore shall be ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation; of him also shall the Son of man be ashamed, when he cometh in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.

But: Around the time when I was struggling with the fact that I knew that we would be going back to the field, I heard of a missionary woman who was likewise struggling, almost...despairing. And my heart went out to her. She had "put in her time," labored for years on the field, followed her husband to a difficult people, had children in inferior hospitals on the field, and after numerous trials, was beginning to crack under the pressure. I cried for her, someone I'd never met. Why should she, dear timid warrior that she is, be criticized if she needs to come home (America) for the sake of her sanity?

Honestly, I struggled to even word that last paragraph, because I know alpha male theologians who would respond that she shouldn't need that, that if she were responding biblically she could handle this, etc. But I think long-term missionaries understand what I mean, because They've Been There.

So while I truly don't aim to encourage anyone to leave the field, especially for wrong reasons, please understand my desire in this post. I desire simply to offer compassion to that lonely, spent missionary woman who so badly needs to hear compassion, not guilt trips, if she goes home for good or simply for a rest. At other times, I will take the opposing side and encourage perseverance. But for right now I want to simply offer compassion, only compassion, in an open letter to the few missionary women who may be in this situation.

You dear woman,

You've been told so many hurtful things.

It is okay. It is okay to leave the field because you are cracking under the pressure.

Your hair is prematurely graying. You are beaten down by the degrading depravity of your field. Your health is failing. You have forgotten that you used to have an easy laugh and can't remember what it feels like to converse easily with another Christian without weighing every word and its possible miscommunications. And you struggle to list one positive item per every fifty negative things about your field.

You have fought on the front lines of the war for a long time, and you are coming home a wounded soldier. Yes, soldiers wounded in the war receive an honorable discharge. You deserve a medal. Indeed you are a hero! So few people want your job that you are irreplaceable.

God bless you! You tried. You gave your all. You gave beyond your all. You submitted to your husband and raised your children in challenging circumstances. Now channel what remaining energies you have into enduring yet more change, but hopefully a more restful change because of its familiarity. If your coming home allows you to gain the benefits that Jesus got when He "came apart to rest a while," and to continue being a helpmeet to your husband and to keep going in the ministry, though it be no longer foreign, then come. Come home, and continue to follow Christ as well as you can in the place where you are.

You will hear no word of condemnation from me. Only compassion.
Only compassion, dear missionary friend.

Love in Christ,

Amy

Where Thieves Break Through and Steal

Lessons from a Thief

Since being robbed three weeks ago, I have been pondering the effects of a break-in on my spiritual and emotional state. Here are some missionary musings of mine:

The Danger of Danger

Besides the obvious physical danger that danger poses, it can also tempt your spirit to worry and fear, and secondly to discouragement, the latter being perhaps more dangerous than the first. After some of the adrenaline from the first rush of fear has subsided, discouragement creeps in to trap you in the Slough of Despond.

Maybe I should mention cynicism here as well, because when a missionary is discouraged, it is easy to be cynical about the people--all the people--around him. Whatever growth may exist in the handful of believers is easy to overlook, and the culture's faults all magnified. David said in his haste, "All men are liars." And a missionary in his discouragement may make similar negative universal statements.

"These people always... never..."
"This is impossible. A church will never happen here."
"No one is trustworthy."

Of course we know these statements aren't completely true or fair; and in our meeker moments we remember to close our mouths when angry, because a man who can control his spirit is better than he who conquers cities.

So that's the lesson I learned from danger--that we must remember to submit to God who allowed it, and not to "charge God foolishly." That we must not forget all of the blessings of growth and the work God is doing in some people's hearts, just because of personal attacks.

Evangelizing Thieves

Which brings me to my next point. Some have mentioned that maybe God will use this to bring the thief (our neighbor) to the Lord. That sounds great, doesn't it? I also long to see miraculous conversions--a well-known drunk turning sober, and the like. I know God can do that!

Unfortunately in this specific case, the above encouragement on seeing this boy enter the Kingdom was our consolation several years ago when he stole from us. We did attempt to evangelize him, and he came to church for a while, and we even baptized him! (Which if you know Seth, is saying something.)

He eventually quit church, however, and is no longer a church member. So while trying not to be complete wet blankets and unbelieving in God's ability to save, we're not getting our hopes up too high, lest we battle even more discouragement over this boy.

So the lesson learned here--well, one lesson that we've learned is to be even slower to baptize children and teens until we are sure that they have committed to following Christ.

Why Africa Is Poor

I have so much to say on this subject that I will try to do the opposite and keep it short. We lost money in the valuables the thief took and to install "burglar bars" afterwards. We lost a lot of time as well.

But we are not the only ones being robbed. Several church members and neighbors have been robbed, not once, but a number of times in their lifetimes. While it may not touch us as seriously because of our savings account, think what it means to a poor person who saved for a long time to buy a personal computer and cannot replace it easily.

One reason Africa is poor is high crime rates. Obviously there is so much more interconnected than that point alone, and certainly more reasons why there is poverty, but it is devastating to people already struggling with finances to have someone take the little they have--and then not have the money to either replace it or to buy the security to prevent the next occurrence.

Treasure on Earth

We love things too much. I was reminded of that when I read The Sermon on the Mount shortly after the break-in.

Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal. For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

Missionaries may sometimes excuse their materialism by remembering what they left behind, and thinking that it's okay to hold tight to the things they brought over with them--their consolation. But it's not. Our heart cannot be in things! Does the extent of our frustration when we have to go without a luxury or convenience communicate how much we treasured that thing?

It's almost as if I can hear Jesus saying, "Don't you get it? Those things are temporary. It's obvious that that's why you shouldn't love them! They can be stolen. They can get old and break. They will pass, so why would you set your heart on them?"

We are pilgrims looking for a city. Let's travel light and not burden ourselves, or rather, our hearts, with extra lovely treasures. Tools? Those are nice. But each in its place...with its correct priority.

In heaven, our treasures will never fade or be stolen. That is a beautiful thought to someone who's been robbed. That means that those treasures must be leagues better than the treasures here below! My "wanter" must be broken, for me to value things so highly here below that are useless toys from the Dollar Tree in comparison to the treasures that can be stored up in heaven.

The Generosity of God's People

What makes me want to fall on my knees in humility and gratitude, though, is when American Christians sympathize and give to replace our things. This has been done already. Did we love our things too much? If so, no word of judgment from them.

In the middle of our discouragement over the depravity of some people, Christians reminded us of God's grace and gave us just a glimpse again of the love and beauty that will one day be constantly present in God's eternal Kingdom. Thank you. It eliminates much fear and discouragement to know that we have friends like you.

Gratitude

Having gone through these different stages of learning from our robbery, there are so many things to be thankful for.

Our children were safe.
We were safe.
They did not take more.
We have the money to secure our house better.
We were born as Americans.

What we love most cannot be touched, and what we love next most wasn't touched.

But best of all...well, I'll simply quote Matthew Henry after he was robbed:

“Let me be thankful first, because I was never robbed before; second, because, although they took my purse, they did not take my life; third, because, although they took my all, it was not much; and fourth, because it was I who was robbed, not I who robbed.”