Category: Living Like a Missionary in America Page 4 of 5

I Get to Vote, but This Still Is Not My Country

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On October 19, 2020

In American Worldview, Living Like a Missionary in America

I lived as a foreigner through several election cycles in Tanzania. As a foreigner, that meant I had an opinion about elections, but I didn’t expect it to matter very much. I listened to Tanzanian friends give me their view on the candidates, but I stayed relatively objective. My goal was to understand their thoughts because I wanted to understand their hearts. I was there to reach people with the gospel, not get mired down in political arguments. My purpose there was to love all Tanzanians, not take sides. 

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Not Home Yet

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On October 5, 2020

In Living Like a Missionary in America

There were several years of my life when I daydreamed about being evacuated.  

Those first few years in Tanzania, a lot of the time, I wasn’t content. Everything felt different and strange and hard. Driving was terrifying. I had to re-learn how to cook, how to shop, how to speak. We went through several years of electricity rationing. I dreadfully missed the people I loved. I enviously watched friends’ pictures on Facebook of crisp autumns and pumpkin patches and chilly Christmases. I followed birthday pictures of my nieces and nephews, watching them grow up without me there. I acutely felt the ache of what I had left behind, especially since I often felt incompetent or out of place or like a failure. 

Yet I knew I was supposed to be in Tanzania. Our ministry was a perfect fit and we were filling a need, and it was incredibly fulfilling. I didn’t have a good reason to leave. Throwing in the towel would have made me feel like a quitter, even more of a failure than I already was. So I daydreamed about being evacuated. It would be perfect: Some sort of civil unrest or world emergency (not a personal emergency, of course, that wouldn’t be good) would force us to leave against our will. It sounded like a rather noble and heroic way to get to go home.

Yes, I realize how stupid and selfish that sounds. And ironic, of course, since in the end, a mandated evacuation was how we left Tanzania. It felt shameful, not at all noble or heroic. But that’s also because around year six or seven, Tanzania became home. It became a place I never wanted to leave. Tanzania was where I was comfortable and known and where I belonged; America was not. 

But obviously, the concept of home remained complicated for me. I spent my first few years in Tanzania longing for home, and the last few years dreading when I would have to return home. So leaving early was traumatic, not a relief. 

In June, I laughed in bitter irony when the door slammed shut for us buying a house. I had lived a nomadic life for so long, living in a place that was not my own. Foreigners can’t buy property in Tanzania, so that had never been an option for us. I wanted to put down roots, to belong somewhere. So a year ago, when we knew we would be leaving Tanzania, buying a house was my new daydream. Finally, we would have a place to call home. That restlessness that had been a part of most of my life would be put to rest. Buying a house meant more to me than just a nice place to live; it represented stability and permanence and a place to call Home.

As soon as we knew it wasn’t going to happen this year, I immediately understood the lesson God had for me in the rejection. I knew exactly what he wanted me to learn; I just didn’t want to learn it. After all, he had been teaching it to me over the course of my entire life of living as a foreigner. I am not supposed to feel at home here, on this earth, in any country. That longing for home that I’ve never been able to shake is because I was not meant for this world.

And though we are still hoping to buy a house in the next year or so, I’m really thankful that God gave me this reminder (again!). Owning a house will be nice, and financially wise, but may I be sure to never attach my heart to it as Home.

During the past several months, as I debated whether to continue blogging in this new season of my life, I realized that this outworking of “Home” while living in the country of my birth was something that I needed to continue to write about. The lessons I learned overseas as a foreign missionary can and should be applied to my life in America. And perhaps, there are others who can benefit from my wrestling.

So I hope you will join me. I plan to continue to write about missions, adoption, and memories from Tanzania, but most importantly, how the first half of my life as a foreigner is now influencing the second half of my life as an American. 

The best way to follow along is to either sign up to receive posts by email, or to use Feedly or another type of content organizer. I love followers on social media, but it’s not always a consistent way to see what I’ve written. 

You always have permission to share links to my posts, so don’t feel like you need to ask. And I welcome your thoughts, either by email or comments. Thank you so much to those of you who faithfully followed Everyone Needs a Little Grace in Their Lives. Welcome to Part 2! 

Why I’m Becoming a Third Class Missionary

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On July 10, 2020

In Living Like a Missionary in America, Re-Entry to America, Thoughts on Missions

This time last year, Gil and I made the decision that we would be relocating to the States in 2020. As we started thinking about where we would go and what we would do in America, there were a lot of possibilities on the table.

There was one thing, however, that I was adamant about. Whatever we decided to do next, I did not want to be in a support-raising position. One of my most popular-ever posts is In Defense of Second Class Missionaries. If being missionary teachers made us second-class missionaries, then living stateside on support would put us in third-class missionary status. No sirree; I was not going to do that. It was hard enough raising support to live overseas, but stateside missionaries don’t excite anyone. We would get regular jobs that paid regular salaries and we would be regular Americans. So no matter how cool an opportunity sounded to me, if it required raising support, I was out.

But I have this wonderful friend, Alyssa, who has this habit of drilling into my soul. So when I told her my intention of finding a regular, non-support-raising job, she was not satisfied. “Why not?” she asked me. “What if God shows you the perfect job that is a perfect fit for you, but you have to raise support for it? Would you still say no?”

Of course, since I wanted to sound like a good Christian, I sighed and promised that I would do my best to keep an open mind to whatever God wanted me to do. But inwardly, my mind was still made up. No way. I’ve lived on support for 18 years. And I know what the American church thinks about third-class missionaries. It’s time to move on.


Throughout the fall, Gil and I had numerous conversations with various ministry leaders, some from Reach Global (our mission agency) and some with other organizations, all desiring to recruit us. They were support-raising positions, and some sounded pretty enticing. However, it was during this time that we came to the conclusion that we wanted to live in California, and that we wanted our kids in Christian schools. That meant either Gil or I would need to work for a Christian school in order to afford it. So it wasn’t difficult to say no to those opportunities.

Then came a call in late December from the leader of the Engage Division of Reach Global. He was encouraging me to consider joining their team as a Pre-Deployed Missionary Coach. The leader described the position: Interviewing potential missionary candidates, coaching and training accepted candidates, and helping them discover where in the world God was leading them.

Despite my best efforts to not be interested, I was instantly energized during this conversation. This would be a job I would love. This would be a job I would be good at. And I could do it from anywhere in the United States.

But I was still very determined that I did not want to accept a support-raising position. So it was off the table….right? Besides, either Gil or I needed to teach at a Christian school. That was the first priority. So I couldn’t say yes….right?

Yet, I couldn’t shake the idea that I was uniquely qualified for this job. Not only had I served in missions for 16 years, I also had been a missionary kid. During our years in Tanzania, I reveled in helping new missionaries adjust to life overseas. Being part of a missionary school, I worked with missionaries from a multitude of countries, ages, and seasons of life. I’ve experienced the ugly, the crazy, and the beautiful in missionary communities. I’ve been writing for A Life Overseas, a blog dedicated to missionaries, for five years. Promoting missions, and enabling missionaries to do their jobs well, is a passion of mine. Plus, I now have three years of experience in administration. Interviewing, hiring, coaching, and training have all been a part of my job as principal.

Yet I did not want to raise support. Period. I battled with God on this. I had done my time, right? This was my chance to be a regular person with a regular job. Meanwhile, Gil and I were busily applying to Christian school jobs all over California. Some teaching possibilities opened for me, but they were not in great locations for our family. So I kept those on hold.

Then in late May Gil got the perfect job at the perfect Christian school in the perfect location. And suddenly, I had no more excuses.

I talked to Alyssa again. “I really want to do the Engage job,” I told her. “But I just don’t want to raise support.” And Alyssa, in her kind but soul-drilling way, said to me, “Amy, you don’t whine very often. So when you do, I know you must be trying to avoid something that you know you are supposed to do.”

She got me. I knew she was right. So I forced myself to take a good hard look at why I was so opposed to taking a job that required me to raise support. And the picture that came to my mind was my friend Lois.

Lois was a widow. Lois supported us at $200 a month for several years as a widow. She developed cancer, and a few years I ago when we were in the States, I visited her in her nursing home. I talked with her about how grateful we were that she supported us so generously for so long. “It’s my pleasure,” she told me. “You know, I discussed this with my kids. They agreed that they didn’t need a big inheritance. They were okay with me giving away my money to missionaries.”

And I just sat there dumbfounded. I still am dumbfounded. Why would anyone do that? Why would someone make that kind of sacrifice? For me?

Lois died about six weeks after that meeting. Recounting that conversation still brings tears to my eyes. I have dozens of stories like this. There are so many who blow me away by their consistent, faithful, sacrificial generosity.

And I am humbled. That’s it. That’s the clincher. I realized that’s why I have been so opposed to staying on support. I think of Lois, and so many other scores of faces, and I am ground to the dust in gratitude. Basically that’s why I was kicking and screaming all this time: I was too proud to admit how much I didn’t want to be humbled. And knowing that I would be demoted to third-class missionary status didn’t help. Though I knew I would love doing this job, I wouldn’t have any cool Africa stories any more. I wouldn’t be on the “front lines.” I would be behind the scenes, which definitely isn’t very glamorous. I knew it would be a lot harder, and a lot more humbling, to raise the support I needed.

Which, when I finally admitted it to myself, was not a reason at all. As a child of God, if this is the job I am called to do, then I should welcome the big gulp of humility I must take by remaining dependent on God and His church to provide for my needs.

So about a month ago, I accepted the job. I will officially start in September, and I’ve made an initial commitment of two years. I am very excited, but nervously trusting that God is going to make this work.

And, for the first time ever on this blog, I’m asking you, my readers, if there are any out there who would be interested in joining my financial support team. If that could be you, then please read the information at the bottom of this post, or click on to the next post for answers to frequently asked questions.

Some of you may have been wondering what is going to happen to this blog now that I’m no longer in Africa, and I’ve been thinking a lot about that too. I know I need a re-design, and I’m working on that. One of the exciting parts of my new job is that it will allow me to continue to keep reading, thinking deeply, and writing about missions. I hope you’ll come along as I start Part 2 of my life as an enthusiastic, third-class missionary.

***

If you would like to partner with me in this role, pray for me, or support me financially, please read on…

If you would like to be on my mailing list (if you are not already), please email me at everyoneneedsalittlegrace(at)gmail.com and I would be happy to add you! No more cool Africa stories, but I will be sharing about how God is using me to send new missionaries around the world.

If you are interested in supporting me financially, you can go here to donate.  All donations are tax deductible.

Remember, click on to the next post if you have additional questions about how this works.

American Christians, You Might Need to Start Living Like Missionaries

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On May 5, 2016

In American Worldview, Living Like a Missionary in America, Thoughts on Missions

“I’m moving to Canada.”

Personally, Canada would be way too cold for me, but I get the sentiment.  However, instead of fleeing for the hills, maybe it’s time for American Christians to start living like missionaries in their own country.

Before you get offended, let me assure you that I am in no way belittling the millions of American Christians who are already living out gospel-centered lives in their communities.  As you learned in Sunday School when you were five, we all are missionaries.

But I’m not talking about living as a proclaimer of the gospel, I’m talking about living as if America is not your country.  As outsiders.  Exiles.  As if you are living in a country that is not your own.  

This is my life.

I live in a country that is not mine.  But I am living in Tanzania as a long-term resident, so I care about what happens here.  I prayed during the election.  I follow the news.  I rejoice with their successes and hurt for their losses.  But this is not my country.   I don’t expect that my political opinion matters much.  I am not surprised if I experience animosity.  I don’t expect to have many rights.  I do expect to feel like an outsider.  

It means that if I see things happening in Tanzania that I don’t like, I’m not going to be angry that my rights have been violated.  This country has never existed for my sake.  I might be sad, or frustrated, or I might be angry at the injustice others are experiencing.  But this country doesn’t owe me anything.

This means that I am here as a learner.  It doesn’t mean that I am going to agree with everything I see in this culture, but it does mean that I am going to do everything I can do understand it.  I want to understand the worldview.  I’m going to filter what I see in this culture through the lens of Scripture.  I’m not going to assume that my way of doing things, or my way of thinking about something, is the best.  If something bothers me, I will wait to make a judgment until I have considered what the Bible says about it.  

I’m not going to hole up in a little community that believes everything the same way I do.  I don’t sequester my children from people with different values or religions.  My children might end up exposed to things that distress me, but I must trust God’s sovereignty with that.  The alternative is to lose our ability to be light in our community.

I’m not looking for what I can get out of this country; I am looking for what I can give.  I don’t expect businesses and government agencies to value the same things I do.  I might be limited in the kind of work I can do here because my values are different.  But that’s okay, because my goal isn’t to get rich, or to be safe, or to build my career.  My goal is to further the gospel.

I expect that I am not going to be comfortable all the time.  I will have to make sacrifices of comfort and convenience for the sake of God’s work.  I realize that I will never be able to own a house here, and I know that there’s always a possibility that I will have to leave with the shirt on my back.  I try hard to loosen my grip on my possessions, knowing that my stay here is temporary.

Above all else, I am going to do my best to love the people around me.  That doesn’t mean that I unconditionally accept, or approve of, everything they are doing.  Love and acceptance are not always synonymous.  However, love is patient, kind, humble, generous, and long-suffering.  I can love people in the way I spend my time, in the way I spend my money, in the way I engage discussion, and in the attitude I take towards culture.  Even if people disagree with what I think, I want my reputation to always be as someone who loves.

All these people were still living by faith when they died.  They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth…..Instead, they were longing for a better country–a heavenly one.  Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.  (Hebrews 11)

How You Spend Can Be Just As Important As How You Give

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On March 2, 2016

In Living Like a Missionary in America, Poverty

When you live in one of the world’s poorest countries, you often feel like everyone needs your money.  And well, most of them probably do.

I used to be wracked with guilt.  Every time I ate meat, went out to dinner, or put gas in my car, I would mentally calculate how it compared to the average Tanzanian’s weekly wage.  Spending money on anything they didn’t have–whether it be toilet paper or a refrigerator–made me feel guilty.

And we do give.  We always look for ministries to support and worthy recipients of donations.  But over time, I learned a really important lesson:  How I spend can be just as important as how I give.  

The money I spend (which originates from many of you) is daily being infused into the Tanzanian economy.  I can choose where it goes.  Who am I going to invest in today?  It’s actually a pretty fun way to spend money.

When our washing machine breaks, and I hire a technician, I am supporting his family.  When I buy pineapples on the side of the road, I’m helping that vendor send his kids to school.  When my language helper comes to my house, I’m helping her save money to open a shop in her neighborhood.

Every day, every time I hand over cash, I am helping to build people’s lives.  Often, that means I make conscious choices about how I spend it.  For example:

  • I try to buy groceries from small shops instead of always shopping at the large stores.
  • As much as possible, I buy food that was produced in Tanzania or Kenya.
  • I hire a gal to come to the house and braid the girls’ hair instead of doing it myself.
  • I buy gifts for friends from local artisans instead of Amazon.com.
  • I pay for the shoe repair guy to fix up my son’s shoes instead of purchasing new ones.
  • When I eat out, I don’t always go to the nicest places, and I try to tip well.
  • I hire a seamstress to sew my daughter a dress instead of buying a new one online.

Everything I need is an opportunity to give someone a job.


Need to buy a knife?  Have it sharpened?  Here’s your guy!  And I wouldn’t mess with him….

We also have two full-time workers, even though we don’t really need full-time help.   By paying them good wages, we also support our house worker’s kids and our gardener’s grandmother.  Two families are sustained, and as a result, we have more time for ministry.

I’ve wondered how I would apply this way of thinking if I ever moved back to the States.  Even there, could I help the people around me by how I spend money?  Of course.

Could I seek out the plumber who is just getting started?  The gardener who just moved to America?  The hair stylist who doesn’t speak much English?  Could I use Etsy to buy gifts?  Could I hire someone to mow my lawn even though I am capable of doing it myself?  Or walk my dogs or be my nanny?  Could I eat at the local diner instead of the big chain restaurant, and leave a big tip?

The difference is that in Tanzania, I am surrounded by these kinds of opportunities, and in America, I might have to seek them out.  It might mean frequenting businesses that could be considered on “the wrong side” of town.  It could mean dealing with the inconvenience of working with someone who is not fluent in English.  It could mean paying more for stuff that would be cheaper at Walmart.  It might require the sacrifice of time or comfort.  But shouldn’t that be okay?

But the point is that it’s possible to help poor and disadvantaged people beyond just donating gifts to a charity at Christmas, volunteering at a homeless shelter, or even buying free trade coffee at Starbucks.  We can “distribute our wealth” simply by how and where we choose to spend our money.

Those of us who are rich should be burdened for others who could use our money.  By all means, let’s be generous.  But let’s also consider those who could really use our business.  Sometimes, that can help even more.

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