Chuck and Diane Phippen gave up an idyllic American life to serve God on the mission field.
Christians make sacrifices. But most don’t leave behind 10 children, 16 grandchildren (with another on the way), 65 cows and a 250-acre dairy farm to become missionaries in Malawi.
But that’s just what Chuck and Diane Phippen did in 2023.
Before that, some might say the Phippens lived an idyllic life on an organic, grass-fed dairy farm; they homeschooled their 12 kids and were deeply embedded in their community and church. Two of their kids had even married two of their pastor’s kids.
So why do it? Instead of slowing down, why did Chuck, Diane and their two youngest kids pack their belongings into 12 suitcases and leave behind a comfortable, rewarding life that they all loved? Why board a plane on a beautiful spring day in New York and enter a rainy, muggy city in one of the poorest countries in the world?
I’m totally jealous of you if you’re one of those people who can fall asleep like it’s no big deal. Alas, that is not me. But I’ve discovered that my best strategy for falling asleep is my Kindle, which lets me read with the lights off. This is the important part, though: it can’t be any old book, only very specific ones. I must enter a world I’ve been to before, where I know what happens next, and where all will be well in the end. Longbourn is a great one. But also the March family house, Avonlea, or Lake Mistawis.
It is, in essence, an escape. To fall asleep, I have to trick myself into believing that all is well in the world.
Because, actually, all is not well. I feel the weight of the Haitian families facing deportation, the fifty thousand souls crushed under rubble in Venezuela, the Ebola crisis in Congo. I share the burden of friends in Tanzania who are fighting poverty, government corruption, and profound betrayal. I wrestle with accepting that I am not enough for my children. I worry about their safety, their souls, their futures.
I’ve been thinking a lot about escape. It’s easier just to run away from the hard stuff, to pretend that none of it is true, than to sit with reality on my shoulders, a shadow twisting my insides, pressing on my mind.
Grace and I spent a day at Disneyland on a Wednesday in February, the first time either of us had been there in ten years. Other amusement parks may attract crowds for the thrills, but at Disneyland, it’s about the escape. Grown men wear costumes or Mickey ears or shirts that say, “I’m done being an adult today; I’m going to Disneyland!” Little girls (and some big ones) skip around in princess dresses and tiaras.
There are spotlessly clean walkways, employees’ ever-present smiles, giant turkey legs, jaunty music, and the smell of butter and cinnamon around every corner. The outside world is carefully blocked from view. You can pretend, for a day, that the world is perfect.
But for a lot of people, it’s not just one day. Ten years ago, a Wednesday in February would have meant a delightfully empty park. Not anymore. Those of you who don’t live in Southern California may not realize that Disneyland is no longer just a vacation destination; it’s a lifestyle. Many with season passes go multiple times a year–or multiple times a month. Ticket prices have increased far faster than inflation. It doesn’t seem to matter how high the prices go; people keep paying.
I wonder about what’s compelling so many to spend so much time, and a small fortune, in a pretend place. It can’t just be about creating family memories anymore. Could it also be about running away from a devastating world?
Last week, Grace and I fawned over the series The Other Bennet Sister, when for five hours we lived in a world of British accents, balls and white gloves, and where the awkward duckling finds purpose, beauty, and of course, a man. As soon as it ended, we considered starting it all over again (we didn’t, but now I’m on the waiting list to check out the book on my Kindle). We didn’t want to leave that world.
So is it wrong to escape?
I serve a God who designed a weekly day of rest. He also commanded his people to set aside time for weeks-long celebrations, where they left hard work behind to camp in makeshift shelters and feast under the stars. I serve a Savior who loved telling stories and who attended weddings.
And even though Christians are exhorted to pray for those who are suffering, I wonder if we were created to hold the weight of the world’s sorrow. I can’t look away from the videos of apartment buildings crushing sons and daughters or the stories of anguished refugees or those weeping over Ebola victims, but I realize that it’s only my generation that has had the ability to enter into the world’s tragedies in real time.
No wonder we are all so anxious. No wonder Disneyland and Netflix continue to raise their prices, why we are so easily sucked into algorithms that provide endless distraction. We all want to run away, and I think it’s okay to purposefully limit how much news we consume.
Yet what if the celebrations become our main focus? What if a momentary escape becomes a new reality? What if our main motivation for getting out of bed, working, and getting through the day is only to earn the money and time to retreat into a fantasy world?
And in a culture that idolizes entertainment, the doors to run into a pretend world are no further than our pockets. It might be shopping or gambling or porn or show-binging. And looming like an incoming storm is AI. We’ve all heard about people who “fell in love” with an imaginary persona. Not long ago, I read an article about AI programs that will allow a person to “chat” with a dead loved one. There’s another that lets you chat with “Jesus” himself. Is reality even important if what’s pretend makes us happy?
So is it wrong to escape?
At our deepest core of existence, I think every one of us is desperate for hope. For salvation. And when we can’t find it in the real world, we’ll clamber after it anywhere we can. I think this understanding is the first step to answering that question.
If this world is all there is, if earthquakes and epidemics and the economy have the last word in the story, then perhaps our only chance of avoiding abject despair is to find ways to trick ourselves into believing the world is a better place. We might as well spend every weekend at Disneyland or cultivate the perfect AI boyfriend, because why not?
But what if this world isn’t all there is? What if despair doesn’t get the last word? In that case, we don’t need to escape from reality, we need a better understanding of reality. God is sovereign and good. I am not God; I can’t understand it all, but I can trust him. Despair is part of the story, but so is beauty. Evil is real, but so is redemption.
C.S. Lewis argued that all our collective stories point to the One True Story. “Now the story of Christ is simply a true myth: a myth working on us the same way as the others, but with this tremendous difference that it really happened: and one must be content to accept it in the same way, remembering that it is God’s myth where the others are men’s myths: i.e., the Pagan stories are God expressing Himself through the minds of poets, using such images as He found there, while Christianity is God expressing Himself through what we call ‘real things’.”
So when we escape into fairy tales, they should remind us of the True Fairytale. They give us hope because they remind us that hope really does exist. They give us glimpses of salvation that point us to the real source of salvation. They give us the courage and the strength to enter back into the darkness and despair of the real world, and get back to the work God has called us to do–to bring real hope and real salvation to those around us.
That same week Grace and I went to Disneyland, I was receiving daily frantic texts from a friend in Tanzania. She was trying to leave her abusive husband (he was threatening her life) with her four kids. She lives in a city where job prospects are few for someone with a seventh-grade education, where there are zero government safety nets, and where she had also been abandoned by community support. I had a wonderful day with Grace, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my friend. Spending a day in the perfect pretend world of Disneyland while her plight weighed on me felt downright absurd.*
Yet, I think that’s exactly the point of tension Christians are supposed to sit in. Escape, in the right forms, gives us strength for the journey, helps focus our eyes on what’s to come, and reminds us why we hold on to hope. We are not meant to find heaven on earth. That perfect world we long for is still not yet, but it’s coming.
This is, ultimately, how I am learning to fall asleep. I choose books where I know what’s coming next and I know that all will be well in the end. But I shouldn’t need to trick myself into believing that all will be well someday. For I already know this to be true.
Grace and I at Disneyland
* I was able to help my friend get away from her husband. Then, after several weeks of prayer and exhausting all my contacts to find her a job, I discovered that another friend now offers micro-business training. He gave her personalized help and she is starting to support her family. Her life is still unfathomably hard, but at least they won’t starve.
Happy summer to my readers! Below is a list of articles, books, movies, and videos that I’ve been collecting over the past several months. Let me know what you enjoy and any recommendations you have for me too.
This one spoke directly to the depths of my weary parenting soul:
“We want to protect children from temptation and negative influence, but the task feels insurmountable. We can feel powerless, asked to sail through uncharted waters with monsters left and right. But in the middle of my parenting fears, the Lord brought to mind timeless help to serve as a compass: He reminded me about what does not change.
Did my children face unprecedented challenges with technology and social pressures? In one sense, yes. But on closer observation, these were old challenges with new wrappings. The Book of Ecclesiastes goes to great lengths to drive home the point that there is nothing new under the sun.”
I often wonder if we should be paying more attention to population decline (which is happening almost everywhere in the world except Africa) and what that will mean for the future of governments, missions, and the Church.
“Schools are closing in low-income urban districts where private school is not a realistic option for most families, in rural counties where no private alternative exists within driving distance, and in communities across the economic spectrum where the conversation about homeschooling has never meaningfully taken root. The closures are everywhere because the cause is everywhere.
The cause is a birth rate that has been declining since 2007, long before homeschooling became a culturally visible phenomenon. The United States fertility rate now sits at approximately 1.6 births per woman, well below the 2.1 replacement level required to maintain a stable population. Fewer births in 2007 meant fewer kindergarteners in 2012; fewer births in 2015 mean fewer third-graders today.”
I’ve always been interested in Thomas Kinkade since I grew up near his hometown (my mom taught one of his kids) and watched in real time his spectacular rise to fame and equally devastating fall. I liked this article because it helped me to put words to why certain “Christian” books and movies leave me so dissatisfied.
“But a Christian artist’s body of work should include depictions of both light and darkness—ultimately pointing beyond itself to the transcendent fullness of goodness, truth, and beauty. Thomas Kinkade’s life reminds us that art cannot save us. We cannot paint away the fall and the troubles in our lives. But we can look for (and create) art that points to the redemptive pattern of beauty.”
Since I’m in the process of publishing a book, this was a helpful and important series to read. “Once Christian publishers hitched their wagons to Facebook and Amazon, they were stuck. Wherever Facebook went, they had to go, too. So, as algorithms developed and existing social media platforms changed and new social media platforms emerged, publishers and authors were tossed about by the shifting winds.”
YouTube:
Mark Wiens at Migrationology. We’ve known Mark’s family since he was in high school, when he was growing up as a ReachGlobal Africa MK. He’s now a popular travel food blogger, and we love his channel! He’s always so positive, fun, and informative, and I can give Johnny free rein to watch any of his videos.
Christus Victor by Getty Music. My current favorite Getty song on repeat.
Black + Evangelical This excellent documentary is one that I wish every white evangelical American would prioritize watching. Listening to other perspectives (especially those grounded in Scripture) is so valuable.
This is a compelling memoir of a white girl who grew up in several African countries in what was essentially a colonialist family. I found the underlying historical narrative especially interesting, but also appreciated how Fuller examined the tension she experienced in her genuine love for Africa and Africans while growing up in a racist world.
I read this book while writing my own and resonated with so much of it. “Every Christian is called to “full-time ministry,” regardless of who signs the paycheck (or even whether there is a paycheck).” I’ve written a whole chapter on this. Stay tuned. But meanwhile, read this one.
This is a truly fantastic book, and I recommend it to anyone–Christian or not–who wants a better understanding of ourselves and our culture. Here’s the premise: “If you’re a Westerner—whether you’ve stepped foot inside a church or not, whether you’ve clapped eyes on a Bible or not, whether you consider yourself an atheist, pagan or Jedi Knight—you are a goldfish, and Christianity is the water in which you swim.” I plan to write a post about this book–so more to come.
If you are raising kids outside of your home culture, you need this book. It’s an incredible resource, meticulously researched, practical, and full of hope.
Along the same theme of third culture kids, my friend Brenda has written a wonderful book for kids who are transitioning to a new place. For any family heading towards a big move, you need this story for your kids.
This is a true story about one house, two families, and that tiny piece of land in the Middle East that can’t seem to ever find peace. If you want to understand both sides of the story behind the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, you will deeply appreciate this book.
I’ve recently read several “Christian” novels which I can’t recommend here because they just felt trite, preachy, and shallow (see the Thomas Kinkade article above). In contrast, this novel felt incredibly Christian, even though I’m not sure the author shares my beliefs. This story has rich themes of a father agonizing over how to show love to his adult daughter, the otherworldly love we can experience for a baby (even one not our own), and most importantly, how vulnerability is what builds connection and community. I loved this story.
This is not a fast read. It is slow and contemplative, but the writing is gorgeous. I often highlight beautiful sentences in books since I can only hope that someday I can create the same kind of art. In this book, I had to stop highlighting because there were so many beautiful sentences.
The Wild Robot: I never would have guessed that I would wildly sob through an animated movie about a robot and a baby goose, but here we are. As an adoptive mom who is launching children into the world, I have never felt more seen.
Quotes:
“For I have accepted God’s idea of me, and my whole life is an offering back to Him of all that I am and all that He wants me to be.” – Elisabeth Elliot
Parents of little ones, you can relax. Your kids’ memories will not be what you expect.
We were at Disneyland, Josiah was five years old, and we were chatting as he held my hand.
“Mommy, is it true that Disneyland is the happiest place on earth?” he asked me.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I think that there are a lot of happy places. Like Chaza Mwamba [our favorite beach house in Tanzania].”
He thought about this for a moment and then decided, “I think the plane is the happiest place.”
I’m not sure I had learned the Required Parent Poker Face at this point in my parenting.
“The plane?” I sputtered.
The plane, for me, was probably the Least Happiest Place on Earth. Being locked in a metal tube for sixteen hours, thirty thousand feet above the earth, unable to sleep, is not my idea of fun.
“I get to watch so many movies,” Josiah explained.
‘Tis true. Long-haul flights were the only time in my children’s lives when they got to watch as many movies as they wanted, pausing only to eat the endless snacks handed to them by smiling flight attendants. I suppose, for a five-year-old, this was the definition of a bliss even greater than Disneyland.
In the summer of 2017, my parents took us to the awe-inspiring Zion National Park in Utah, where we rode bikes through valleys guarded by massive red-rock cliffs. My children’s memories of that trip? Playing Wiffle Ball in the sprinklers with Gil and playing four square with their grandparents at our Airbnb. They remember nothing about Zion.
I brought my children home through sheer determination, but it was not enough.
For about ten years, adopting children was my part-time job. During some years in Tanzania, I drove downtown two or three times a week, fighting an hour or more of epic Dar es Salaam traffic each way. The social welfare office was located in a large warehouse-type building divided into cubicles. Birds circled in the rafters above my head while I sat and waited (sometimes for hours) on a hard wooden bench outside my social worker’s office. She shared it with two other people, their three desks crammed so close together that there was barely space for anything else. She kept my files in a plastic grocery bag.
I never called in advance, because I learned that my social worker would always tell me not to come. So I never called; I just showed up. She was there only about half the time, so I wasted half of those long trips.
Ninety percent of the time, even if she was there, there was no movement on the adoption process. But I took the chance and made the drive again and again because I wanted her to see my face. My strategy was this: to make an overworked, underpaid social worker so sick of me that she eventually did what I asked. It worked.
The whole process took years. And then it took more years to go through the American immigration process (which was its own special nightmare). But I did it four times, and nothing was going to stop me. There’s a reason why Dobson’s techniques in The Strong-Willed Child failed on me when I was five years old. Determination has always been my strength. I wanted to adopt four children, and I got them.
I took that same determination into parenting.
I was going to be the mother that these children needed. If love and grit could do it, I was going to do it. They would be happy. They would be healthy. They would be motivated and responsible. They would appreciate books and cooking and serving others. They would be trustworthy and kind. They would have a secure identity in being adopted, being both American and Tanzanian, and being Third-Culture Kids. They would love each other, their childhood, and learning new things.
I had a strategy to accomplish each of these goals. I was determined: I would find a method, a chart, a book, a list, a boundary, a consequence.
But what I discovered is that bringing them home, as challenging as it was, was the easy part. Raising them is much harder. And I’ve slowly, incrementally, had to accept this hard truth: Determination is not enough. I am not enough for my kids.
