Category: Other Page 27 of 180

How Do I Make Goals for 2017 When I Know I Can’t Meet Them?

By

On January 5, 2017

In Other


Missionaries are experts in high expectations. 

I mean, who else has a job like this?  Most of us went through a stringent interview process just to get here.  Pages of applications, hours of interviews, weeks of training, our references were asked for more references.  We are held up as examples of godliness.  We have high expectations of the kind of people we will be.

And then, once we are accepted, our pictures are placed in the foyers of churches and on family refrigerators all over the country.  We are paraded around like celebrities.  Not only are we expected to write strategic plans every year and submit them to our supervisors and our supporting churches, but then we are required to write monthly reports to hundreds of stakeholders.  If it feels like they have really high expectations for how we will perform, well, our own expectations are probably even higher.   After all, if we are going to sacrifice so much, if we are going to ask others to sacrifice so much on behalf of us, then we better see results.

Based on our yearly goals (or you could call them glorified New Year’s Resolutions), and the amount of accountability we receive, missionaries should be the world’s most productive and healthy people.  And really, the world should be saved by now.  Right?

On one hand, I’m thankful for this aspect of missionary life.  I am a goal-oriented person, and I like the accountability.  I think it’s a great thing to think long-term about how we are going to accomplish what God is calling us to do.

On the other hand, we just never reach those expectations, do we?  We move overseas, and it brings out the worst in us.  As a spouse.  As a parent.  As a friend.  As a minister to others.  And as for our ministry?  What we felt called to do?  What we felt called to be?  Well, that just never goes as we planned.  And sometimes it’s even a total disaster.

So how do we find that balance?  How do we set goals for ourselves, for our ministry, when we have experienced disappointment and failure?  When we’ve been betrayed by too many friends?  How do we temper the anxiety of not being able to reach the expectations of those who are holding us up?

After 15 years as a missionary, it’s true that my early idealism was smashed a long time ago.  You know those times of wonderful rejoicing, when all is going the way it should?  Well, it just takes one stumble, one new piece of information, and suddenly it all falls apart.  What seems like a happy ending can still turn tragic in the end. 

Does this make me cynical?  It can, sometimes.  

Rest the rest hereover at A Life Overseas.

My Crazy, Wonderful, Beautiful Family

By

On December 27, 2016

In Other

Medina Family 2016

Grace:  Almost 11

Josiah:  9

Lily:  7

Johnny:  5

(Gil: 39, Amy: 40, Bibi & Babu: 66….but who’s counting?)

(Just so you know, this photoshoot was interrupted by someone getting disciplined, and the best smiles happened because somebody tooted.  Just keepin’ it real.)  

Snakes Simply Don’t Belong in My Children’s Bed

By

On December 23, 2016

In Other

Snake stories have always been the territory of the “real” African missionaries; you know, the ones who live in mud huts in the middle of nowhere.  City dwellers like us rarely see them, unless you are my friend Alyssa who found 16 in her house.

In all our years in Dar es Salaam, we’ve only had one snake in our house, and that was about 10 years ago in our dining room.  We’ve seen a few others in our yard, but that’s about it.

So yesterday, when Lily came out of her room to tell us there was a snake in her bed, we thought she was seeing things.  For one thing, she was quite calm (which is very un-Lily-ish….this is a child who has been known to scream bloody murder over a frog).  And she had been sent to take a nap (which she despises), so we thought this was a convenient diversion.  But she insisted it was a snake.  So Gil and my dad (who is visiting) went to investigate, and lo and behold, there was a green 3-foot snake hanging from the slats of the bunk bed.  Johnny was already sleeping on the top bunk, but we rapidly decided that his nap was now over.

Thankfully, the snake stayed put while my husband and my dad grabbed a box and various instruments of death.  My dad knocked it into the box and covered it, and we all trailed behind him as it was carried outside of our gate.  I was ready with the camera, but once the box was opened, it made a quick exit, and started slithering away into the bushes.  Gil hacked at it, cutting off about 8 inches of its tail, so we are assuming it has now perished.  Fitting punishment for having the audacity to get into my children’s bed.

We tried to play it cool the rest of the day so as not to alarm the children, though Lily dissolved into tears at bedtime and refused to get into bed.  I tried to reason with her, but considering that I’m not sure I would want to get into my bed if I had looked up and seen a snake, I couldn’t blame her.  She slept on our floor last night.

After the kids went to bed, we started Googling snakes, and great discussion ensued over whether the snake was greenish-yellow or greenish-blue and whether it was skinny or really skinny.  All of this is very important, because our visitor was either a harmless tree snake:

Or a green mamba, one of the most venomous and deadly snakes in East Africa.  

If missionary life were a video game, we would have just gone up a level.

When We Don’t Want to Think About Aleppo, Especially at Christmas

By

On December 17, 2016

In Other

Last night I went to sleep thinking about Aleppo, and the absurdity of the fact that I was thinking about Aleppo while sleeping in my comfortable bed in my air conditioned room with a full stomach, and healthy children in the room next door.  Yet somehow I am living on the same planet and I share the same sun as those describedhere:

“As residents began to flee, bombing continued and a steady rain began to fall. Parents holding small children by the hand picked their way over dead bodies in the streets to escape. One image showed a man with his wife ducking from shelling, holding a child in one arm and an IV bag in another, the drip still attached to the blanket-wrapped infant. Some photos showed adults holding babies wrapped in blood-soaked blankets or pushing the injured in carts as they made their way out of bombed apartment buildings. Early Wednesday morning, AFP reporter Karam al-Masri watched as a mother with a child in her arms stooped in freezing rain, desperate to scoop some spilled powdered baby formula from the mud at her feet.”



What do we do with that?  The thought that a mother is frantically picking out baby formula from the mud at the same time I am picking out presents for my children just seems ridiculous.  

Yet this is life, isn’t it?  All eyes are on Aleppo right now–it’s about time--but what about Congo and South Sudan and North Korea and Afghanistan?  Apparently if the suffering didn’t have a start date and there’s no end date in sight, we just get too tired to pay attention.

The bombs drop while we laugh at Buddy the Elf and the babies cry from hunger while we decorate sugar cookies and the father cradles his maimed son while “Joy to the World” plays in the shopping mall.

So we send in some money to make the guilt go away, but what is enough?  Is it still okay to buy the American Girl doll for my daughter while the other mother picks out formula from the mud?  

The fantasy of Christmas is alluring.  We want to believe in magic, in goodness, in peace.  We want to forget the blood-soaked blankets, the stepping over dead bodies because it’s too hard to enjoy the pumpkin-spiced latte that way.  Happiness feels guilty in the face of terror.

There’s got to be some sort of inbetween.  We shouldn’t have to ignore suffering in order to be happy.  We shouldn’t need to be afraid to turn on the news because it might spoil the Christmas spirit.  



Sometimes, though, we sugarcoat our perception of Christmas.  We want the magic, the silver bells, the glittery lights, the sweet baby on the silent night.  But is the story as idyllic as we imagine?  Yes, angels sang when Jesus was born, but we forget that babies and toddlers were also ruthlessly massacred.  Joseph and Mary were hunted refugees who ran for their lives in the middle of the night.  Somehow that part doesn’t make it into our Christmas pageants.  A second-grader with a sword, jabbing doll babies to death doesn’t have the same allure as rosy-cheeked shepherd-children with bath towels on their heads.  

Mixing in the stories of terror and war and horror shouldn’t be incompatible with Christmas.  In fact, if we really want to understand the significance of the Incarnation–God becoming flesh–then perhaps it might do us good to meditate a little bit more on that war and terror that went along with it.

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light;

those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness,

on them has light shone.


For every boot on of the tramping warrior in battle tumult

and every garment rolled in blood

will be burned as fuel for the fire.



For to us a child is born,

to us a son is given;

and the government shall be upon his shoulder,

and his name shall be called

Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God

Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.



Of the increase of his government and of peace there will be no end,

on the throne of David and over his kingdom,

to establish it and to uphold it

with justice and with righteousness

from this time forth and forevermore.

The same passage that speaks of the great light also mentions blood and burning and darkness.  There’s a reason why Jesus was called the Prince of Peace.



So is it possible to experience the joy of Christmas and the heaviness of the world at the same time?  Of course.  That’s the whole point, actually.  John Piper calls it brokenhearted joy.  We are not those who flit about with our head in pink clouds, but we also do not descend into despair.  We weep with Aleppo and South Sudan and our suffering neighbor, but we simultaneously rejoice in the Son,

Our Mighty God, 

Our Prince of Peace.  

Lily, 2014

From 10 to 105 (This Is Why We Are Here)

By

On December 7, 2016

In Other

Freddy was one of Reach Tanzania’s students in 2014 and 2015.  Recently, he stopped by our training center and shared this story:


In 2015, we started having family sessions of prayers in the evening. So we used to praise and worship God, and some of our neighbors started hearing how we were praising God and worshiping Him.  So they started joining us for prayers and worshiping the Lord.  And slowly I started telling them about the Good News about Jesus.  And [I used] some methods I have learned about here at Reach Tanzania.  For example, from the evangelism [class].  They accepted Christ and they offered their lives to Jesus.  So I taught them those methods that I have learned here at Reach Tanzania and they started applying them to the places that they were going.  And they won a lot of souls.  So from a number of 10 people now we have grown to a number of 105, to this time.  In a year.  So I thank God for this school.  


This is why we are here.  This is why we keep staying.  

Gil and some of our students recently made this 4 minute video to recruit new students for next year.  Freddy tells his story in it, and you’ll hear from some others as well.  (If you are reading in a feed, you will need to click through to the post.)

And if you don’t have time for that one, this one is only 1 minute, and I promise it will make your day.  This is what our students do…all the time…spontaneously….just because they love Jesus and love to sing.  

Page 27 of 180

Previous

Next

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén

Verified by MonsterInsights