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Why I Love Writing Prayer Letters

You know those sermons that stick with you forever? I remember one from my early years of college. Hillside Church, Sunday night service (back in the day when churches still had Sunday night services), Harry Brown of Cityteam ministries. He said (to paraphrase): If you (as an American church-goer) had to write a missionary prayer letter to your fellow church members on how God is using you to minister to others, what would you say?

Cuz we’re all supposed to be missionaries.

Right?

That gets drilled into our heads even when we are little in Sunday School.

But what does that even mean?

One thing that I really, really love about actually being an overseas missionary is that it forces me to actually live like a missionary. Got it? Clear as mud.

Let me explain. Let me tell you the expectations that are on us, since we serve God overseas:

We are held totally accountable for our finances. We get a stipend from HOPAC, but almost all that we live on comes from sacrificial donations. Do you know what it feels like to live like that? We think twice about how we spend it. We are constantly aware that everything we have is the result of other people’s love and faithfulness. We are forced to see what we own as sacredly entrusted to us to do God’s work. Yes, we do go on vacations and we certainly eat more than rice and beans. But we are reminded on a daily basis that all that we have belongs to God.

We are held totally accountable for our time. Every year our mission requires each of us individually to write and submit extensive goals for ourselves: personally, spiritually, and in ministry. Mine this year take up 3 single spaced pages. It’s like New Year’s Resolutions on steroids. Every month, we must submit a report which states how we are doing to meet those goals.

We constantly live with a sense of calling. We have been forced to be deliberate and purposeful in everything we do. Where do we live? What neighborhood should we live in? How big should our house be? Who do we spend time with? What kind of lifestyle do we choose? How do we spend our Friday nights? How will our children be educated? Each question is answered according to our calling. Everything must be purposeful.

And finally, we have to write prayer letters every month. We’re not just held accountable to our mission to but to hundreds of other people as well. Every month, we better be doing our job, because if we’re not, we’ll have nothing to say to the scores of people who pray for us and financially support us. Yes, it’s very intimidating! But it’s also amazing.

Let me make something really clear. There isn’t anything special about us that puts us in a different category than your average Christian. There isn’t any reason why we should be put on a pedestal. Our halos aren’t shinier than anyone else’s. Our hearts are sinful and our words are not always God-honoring. We have hurt people and deliberately disobeyed God at times. We can be lazy or judgmental or set on our own agendas. Of course, we believe in the saving power of God’s grace. But we consider ourselves really blessed to be forced to live in the way that every Christian should be living anyway. We fight it sometimes, but the accountability is wonderful. It pushes us, shoves us, demands that we do what we know we should.

In some ways, because of this, I think that it’s easier to live as a Christian in this life than it is in America. CrazyLove and Radical aren’t very hard to apply over here. Of course, that’s not why we choose to live this life. But it certainly is a benefit. How to live the missionary life in America? To live knowing your money and time belong to God? To live with a sense of calling and purpose? To be held accountable for those things to the Church? Now that is the bigger question.

One of the best parts about serving as an overseas missionary is that we get “sent,” commissioned….prayed for and sent off with much fanfare. It’s inspiring and motivating and invigorating. We have a calling! Our church is behind us! We are doing God’s work! Run to the battle!

I’ve always thought it would be wonderful if the Church did that for every profession. Like if one week they brought up all the medical professionals, and another week all the business people, and another week all the stay-at-home moms. Let them give their own “missionary updates” on how God is using them to redeem humanity culturally and spiritually, and then….commission them, pray for them, send them off to do God’s work! Because aren’t we all missionaries? There really shouldn’t be a difference, should there?

One Girl

Maggie needed a senior picture photoshoot, so Gil was happy to oblige.  And of course, setting up the lighting meant that everyone else in the house got in on the action as well.  But the focus was on Maggie.

She grew up in a small town in Tanzania, one of many children.  She figured out early on that she was really good at math and science.  And determined.  She went to boarding school from the age of 8, and once she hit secondary school, managed to get herself scholarships to better and better schools, finally finishing her last two years at HOPAC.  And this year, she was offered the ultimate scholarships of all:  full-rides to both Stanford and MIT to study engineering. 

Through an intricate set of circumstances that was one of those God-things, she has ended up living with us since November.  And then my mom came out to visit in February, so Maggie got to know her.  And then she chose Stanford University, which is only 30 minutes from my parents’ house. 

So now, as she graduates next week and is being sent out into that scary world called America in August–her first time out of Tanzania, her first time on a plane ever–my parents will be there to pick her up at the airport.  And help her get a bike.  And find her way around.  And show her how to order a drink at Starbucks. 

Thanks, God!  That is really cool how You worked that out. 

And someday she will return to Tanzania and change the world. 

But for now, I’m just thankful that God gave us this opportunity to change each other’s worlds, just a little bit. 

It’s been such a great experience that we’re doing it again next year, this time with Sam from South Africa.  But more about her later.

The Sublime and the Ridiculous

When walking to the tailor:

Grace:  Mommy, why are all the kids saying ‘mzungu?’ Is that another way of saying Hi?

Mommy:  No, it means ‘white person.’  They are saying that because I am white.

Grace:  Oh.  We don’t mind that you are white, Mommy.

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Grace:  When my baby sister grows up, I hope she doesn’t speak Italian.  Because then we wouldn’t be able to understand her.

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Mommy:  What was that thumping I heard in your room a little while ago?

Grace:  (with great emotion)  Just the beating of my heart.  Because I hurt my chin this morning. 

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Josiah to Grace:  You are spitting at me! 

Grace:  No, I am laughing.

Josiah:  But you are spitting!

Grace:  (indignantly)  Laughing makes the spitting come out! 

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Mommy to Maggie about college life:  You might want to request a women’s only floor.  Would you really want to live with guys?

Grace:  Yeah, that would be stinky.

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Grace was doing a princess puzzle.

Josiah:  I like Belle.

Grace:  But she doesn’t have any superpowers.

Josiah:  I know; I like her face. 

Mommy:  Why do you like her face?

Josiah:  Because she is awesome.

One of My Very Favorite Things

When I was young, probably my most favorite thing to do was theatre.  My high school had a phenomenal theatre department with a very talented director, and there was absolutely no place I would have rather been than on that stage.  Sewing costumes, the smell of aerosol hairspray, the hair nets and wigs, building sets on Saturdays, the feel of anticipation when the lights go down and elation during the curtain call…but most of all, the amazing sense of camaraderie that is built when working on a play….not found anywhere else. 

“Steel Magnolias,” VCHS, 1993

“Traveling Light,” Hillside Church, 1996 (this one’s for you, MB!)

But it’s been a really, really long time since I’ve been on a stage again.  So when some good friends at HOPAC announced they wanted to put on a musical, I was thrilled and jumped at the chance to participate. 

It is called “A Few of My Favorite Things” and is an adaption of the best scenes and songs from “The Sound of Music.”  HOPAC rented the only real theatre in town, and we had ourselves four performances of the real thing….the lights, the sets, and of course, lots of hair spray.  What fun it has been (closes tomorrow) to be back on stage again (I still love it!), but even more, what a joy it has been to feel that wonderful sense of camaraderie with everyone who participated…students, teachers, parents, and even board members. 

I played Sister Berthe.  I have never considered myself much of a singer, and have never sung a solo in public since probably…the 7th grade.  But when you are part of a small school, guess what?  Suddenly you are a good singer.  Who not only gets solos but also gets to sing four-part harmony.  In Latin.  Definitely a new experience for me. 

As you can see, our production did not look very Austrian.  Obviously the Von Trapp family became an adoptive family in our case.  But I think everyone got the idea. 

So anyway, since I know a lot of former HOPAC staff read this blog….here are lots of pictures for you.  Enjoy!

Wanting to Buy a Little Pink Toothbrush

Monday is our grocery shopping day. As we passed the shampoo, toothpaste, lotion….I paused and examined the children’s toothbrushes. I almost said to the kids, “Let’s pick one out for your sister!”

But I stopped. Too soon, I told myself. Don’t let your heart go. Don’t start planning…yet. In the past few weeks, I’ve thought about going through all of Grace’s stored-up clothes to see what I have in stock for our new little one. I’ve thought about buying her a dresser. Or getting new bibs or cleaning off the pack n’ play. But I haven’t. Because we still don’t have a due date.

Recently we talked with some friends who are interested in Tanzanian adoption. “It’s important to remember,” I told them, “that you must get used to disappointment.”

Today was one of those days. For the past two and half weeks, we’ve been waiting on a police report. The social worker in Mwanza is supposed to send a letter (it’s always about the letters!) to the local police requesting a letter from them which states that the child has been relinquished and is thus available for foster care. Amy H., the director of Forever Angels, told me that the social worker said she made this request of the police the very day after I visited.

So we’ve been waiting for the police report. To get sent to the social worker. Which then gets sent down to the main office in Dar es Salaam. During the past week and a half, Amy kept telling me that the social worker was out of the office at a funeral, and apparently no one else in the office could do anything without her there. But I wasn’t terribly concerned since really, it was the police were who supposed to be writing a letter at this point. Amy was checking daily (she is amazingly persistent) and finally, today, the social worker was back.

She sent me a text. I was so excited to see it was from her. Had the police report been sent?

No. In fact, Amy was sorry to say, the social worker had not even made the request from the police yet (despite telling us she had). She said that the social worker was writing it that very moment (I’m sure Amy made sure of that…I can imagine her, standing over her shoulder until it was done), but that still means that absolutely nothing has happened these past two and a half weeks.

So basically that means there is no way we will have her by the end of May. Maybe by the end of June.

Today, I am tired of being disappointed and feeling rather sorry for myself. I will get over it. I’ve been through this enough times now, and seen so many delays and so many miracles, to know that God is in control of both.

But I’m glad I didn’t buy the toothbrush….yet.

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