When your flight plan takes you through Istanbul, Turkey, why not go ahead and just hang out for a few days?
And while you’re at it, why not just head over to Greece too? I mean, as long as you’re in the neighborhood.
Why not? Well, visiting Greece involved missing the last few days of school, so just Grace and her Daddy got to be the lucky ones to do that part. Pretty awesome experience for my 13-year-old Percy Jackson fan. The rest of us left the day after HOPAC finished (Which, yes, this did mean that I departed Dar es Salaam by myself at 3 a.m. with my three remaining children. But no worries–only two of them threw up on the plane. That was totally fun.) Ahem. But hey–Greece for my daughter and husband: Worth it.
We met up in Istanbul, which we explored as a family for four days. We visited the famous Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia–the church turned mosque turned museum, and the massive underground Basilica Cisterns. We visited museums full of ancient statues, thousands of years old, and other pieces pillaged from Egypt and the middle east during the reign of Constantinople. We traveled by ferry and tram and bus and suspended trolley.
But our kids’ favorite part was probably the food, especially since they had been inculcated by Mark Weins’ food videos for a few weeks before the trip (who happens to be the son of a friend of ours). America sells nachos and hotdogs in their park stands, but Istanbul sells corn-on-the-cob and chestnuts. We never got tired of the thinly sliced meat and the piles and piles of Turkish delight. And of course, the ice cream sellers who always tease their customers with lavish performances before finally handing them a cone.
Since Istanbul has the distinction of being part of two continents, we were all pretty impressed that we went through four continents in a week: Africa, Europe, Asia, and North America.
She’s a runner, and now she’s run in the original Olympic stadium. How cool is that?
Back together again in Istanbul
He went through four continents in a week, and I think his favorite part was this kitten.
Several years ago, when we had just begun our year-long home assignment in California, Gil and I found out about a ministry opportunity that would have provided us with free housing and a stipend for the time we were in the States.
It seemed absolutely perfect to us. We were incredibly excited by the opportunity, and it seemed like an exact fit with our passion and experience. But we were too late. We didn’t find out about it in time, and by the time we applied, they decided not to keep the position open.
We were bitterly disappointed. And I wondered, Why would God show us an opportunity that seemed so perfect, only to take it away? What was even the point of letting us see it in the first place, if he wasn’t going to make it happen?
I’ve wondered that a lot of times since then.
As a principal at HOPAC, I am up close and personal with the recruiting process, which is gut-wrenching, to say the least. I’ve lost track now of how many times it’s happened: We interview someone amazing; everyone is ecstatic that such a cool person is interested in HOPAC; we all get our hopes up…..and then for some reason or another, it doesn’t work out. It happened to me twice in the last two weeks.
And I wonder, Why is God getting our hopes up if we’re just going to be disappointed in the end? Why dangle a carrot in front of our noses if he’s just going to yank it away?
And I don’t know why. So I sit here in a funk, kind of mad at God for making me think he’s answering my prayers when instead I imagine him saying, “Haha! Made you look!”
Except I am not God. And I don’t know what he’s thinking; I just need to trust he knows what he is doing. He’s got a million moving pieces; how dare I question him on what he’s doing with each one? Here I am focusing only on how I personally am affected by the disappointment–how God let me down. But what if the situation wasn’t about me? What if he needs me to trust him with this disappointment because it was a necessary part of what he is doing in another person’s life?
Or, what if that disappointment is, in the end, saving me from something far more tragic? What if that disappointment is actually an expression of God’s mercy, but I, like the screaming toddler, throw a fit when her mother yanks away the luscious-looking, but deadly poisonous berries?
Andree Seu Peterson writes, “Only God sees around corners, and therefore it is very wise to not try to figure out our own way to happiness and safety by relying on our own understanding and worldly wiles. The wise person will trust in God’s ways and stick to them, knowing that life can get messy in the middle, because the person who makes God his trust, the story will turn out well in the end, in the very, very end.”
As I recently described, a certain child of mine is prone to rages. It happened again at school this week on Sports Day, which meant I had to be mom and principal at the same time. It’s rough to be the principal’s kid, but personally, I think it’s even harder on the principal.
Of course, the chaos and exhaustion of Sports Day can bring out the worst in anybody, but this child made some pretty bad choices in the heat of an argument, leading to some extremely unkind things hurled at a good friend.
I led my scowling, glaring child to a picnic bench away from the din of children who were gleefully passing sponges over, under, over, under.
We worked on empathy. “How do you think you made your friend feel when you said those things?” I asked. “How would you feel if someone said those things to you?”
“I would feel mad.”
I tried again. “But your friend isn’t mad; your friend is hurt. How does that make you feel?”
My child glowered. “I’m just mad!”
Something clicked for me. “Honey,” I said, “I just realized something. I think that sometimes you choose feeling mad over feeling bad. You choose mad because that’s a more comfortable emotion than feeling sad or guilty. It’s really hard to admit when we do something wrong, and it’s a lot easier to be mad at someone who is mad back at you.”
And I get that, don’t I? It’s easier to feel anger than regret. It feels much better to point fingers or deflect blame or lie to myself than to deal with the harsh reality of my own failure.
I looked into my child’s belligerent eyes and thought, My child just needs the gospel.
There, at the foot of the cross, we find freedom from shame and guilt. But the first step is kneeling there, acknowledging that we need freedom from shame and guilt. And that kneeling is the hardest part.
God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.
Let a Bible story–just think of your favorite from Sunday School–run through your mind. Doesn’t every single one tell this story of pride and humility? Those who chose not to be humbled–well, their stories didn’t end well. We find them eating grass like an ox, swept away by a flood, aimlessly wandering in a desert. But those who submitted to it–in prison, in the belly of a fish, separated by the veil, flat-faced in the dust before a holy God–those are the ones we see restored, redeemed, made new by grace.
And of course, once you’ve been made new, nothing ever looks the same again. Mad is no longer the default emotion. It’s okay to feel shame and guilt, because you’ve found mercy. It’s okay to feel sadness and regret, because you’ve found a waterfall of Hope.
I look over the timeline of my life and I see the same recurring theme: God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble. How many times I have walked through fire–beleaguered, exhausted, depleted of everything in me, my face in the dust, and I’ve finally said, “Okay, God, you win.” Which was most likely the point all along.
Barbara Duguid writes, “You will never be able to find steady joy in this life until you understand, submit to, and even embrace the fact that you are weak and sinful.”
I look again into my child’s blazing eyes.My sweet child, may you come to embrace that mad is not your only choice. Let it go, and you’ll find everlasting grace on the other side.
And then I remind myself (again) of the same thing.
Let’s say you are boarding a transatlantic flight and hear, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen; this is your pilot speaking. I’m 21 years old, and I’m excited to tell you that this is my first commercial flight! But don’t you worry; I’ve flown my Daddy’s crop duster at least a half dozen times. What I don’t have in experience or education, I make up with passion. I’m just about as willing as they come; my heart is practically bursting with willingness! Now buckle up your seatbelts; we’ll be off as soon as I find that user’s manual.”
I don’t know about you, but I’d be out of that plane faster than a fried egg off a Teflon pan.
Yet sometimes we approach missions in the same way. Willing hearts filled with passion are awesome, but they are not enough. So here’s where things get awkward: I’ve titled this “What to Know Before You Go,” when actually it should be more like, “What I Wish I Had Known Before I Went.” Because when I got on a plane to Tanzania almost twenty years ago, I was just about as bad as that pilot. Thankfully I didn’t completely crash and burn, but I learned the hard way, over and over again. Had I taken the time early on to do a little more study and a lot more wrestling, I could have spared myself a lot of grief, and certainly increased my effectiveness in those early years. Learn from my mistakes.
1. You need to have a basic understanding of worldviews.
This goes much deeper than a knowledge of world religions. For example, a person can call himself a Christian, but that doesn’t mean that his thinking, choices, and actions line up with the Bible. The same is true for those who follow other faiths. The religious labels people give themselves just scratch the surface of what they really believe. This is where a study of worldview comes in. If you are hoping to live, work, and have a gospel-impact on people of a different culture, that’s got to start with understanding their worldview–and your own.
2. You need to know how to interpret the Bible on your own.
Most new missionaries have been nurtured in spiritually rich environments–strong Christian colleges and solid churches that often include discipleship, biblical teaching, and small groups. This is wonderful–but what happens when you end up in a city where there are no strong churches? Or those that do exist are in another language? What happens when you find yourself in a spiritually harsh environment with only a small team of other believers who can help you stay afloat?
Online sermons can help. Rich Christian literature can help. But at the end of the day, it’s going to be you and your Bible. Do you have the skills you need to interpret it without a pastor or small group leader’s help? Do you know enough about the various genres of Scripture, the historical context, and sound interpretation practices so that you can be confident of what it’s really saying?
3. You need to have worked out a biblical theology of suffering–or at least started to.
Of course, suffering can be found on every corner of the globe, in every social sphere. But any ministry that takes you up close and personal with the messiness of people’s lives, especially amongst the poor and disadvantaged, has the possibility of knocking you breathless with the depth of the suffering you will witness.
What will it do to your soul to see the blind child begging on the street corner? To be friends with the woman who lost her twins due to an unconscionable doctor’s error? To see the little albino boy whose arm was chopped off for witchcraft purposes….by his own uncle? If you haven’t already wrestled with God over the reality of suffering and the problem of evil, you may risk disillusionment, burn-out, or even losing your faith.
4. You need to know the theology of poverty alleviation.
What do you do about the beggars on the street corner? Or the constant requests by your neighbors for loans or favors? How do you assuage your guilty conscience when you go out to dinner or spend money on a vacation, knowing that people around you are hungry? Guilt will slowly strangle you unless you have already thought through how you will respond.
A theology of suffering answers, “How can God allow this?” A theology of poverty alleviation answers, “How should I respond?”
All of these areas can be learned by dedicated study on your own. I learn best by reading, so I’ve given my recommendations for my favorite books. But I’m sure there are audiobooks, podcasts, or videos on all of these subjects. If you’ve got other suggestions, please share! Utilize the massive amount of internet resources at our fingertips, and educate yourself on these important issues–ideally, before you go.
I’ve always been ambivalent about Santa and the Easter Bunny.
I probably would feel that way anywhere we lived, but I especially would never be able to pull off those stories in Tanzania. I can’t bring myself tell my children that a magical old man or giant bunny is leaving them gifts when they see children every day who are living in poverty. How could I ever explain to them that Santa only leaves gifts for them, but not for their neighbors? How would I excuse the Easter bunny’s negligence of the little girl begging at our car window on the way to church?
I must hold my theology of God to the same standard.
Living as an American in a developing country has forced me to wrestle hard with what I believe. Am I believing an American gospel? Or the actual gospel?
Even though it’s easy for me to disdain the misuse of Jeremiah 29:11, how many times have I caught myself thinking, God would never let that terrible thing happen to me? How often have I needed to remind myself, God doesn’t owe me the American dream?
I’m embarrassed to admit the number of times I have wallowed in self-pity, asking God, Why me? Or how often have I realized that lurking around in the back of my mind is the notion that God just wants me to be happy?
Theology that can’t transcend culture, time, and experience isn’t Truth at all.
If what I believe is true, then it must be true for the Christians of Mozambique who lost everything in one cyclone–home, business, community–only to be hit by another a few weeks later. It’s got to be true for the Christian in Sri Lanka who simultaneously lost his wife and three children in a terrorist attack.
How dare I think that God owes me anything? I shouldn’t be asking Why me? but rather Why not me?
Of course, it’s not just those in developing countries who suffer. I think of Scott and Johanna Watkins, who discovered shortly after their marriage that Johanna had developed life-threatening allergies to just about everything, including Scott. Or Grace Utomo, who was an extraordinarily talented violinist when she was hit by a car at 23 years old. She now suffers from multiple seizures a day and can hardly ever leave the house.
Can I think about the lives of these suffering souls and believe that God just wants me to be happy? When I worry about the future, should I assure myself that God would never let that happen to me when he has already allowed much worse to happen to others who bear his name?
Ironically, the Bible speaks far more about oppression, injustice, and suffering than it does about happiness. Persecution is an expectation. We tend to forget that Paul wrote Rejoice in the Lordalways while he was languishing in prison. There is no fear of contradiction between the gospel of Jesus and the reality of suffering. Which means that the problem lies in my own assumptions, not in the Bible.
I have learned to pay attention to those who suffer and yet remain steadfast in their faith. When my friend Lucy’s house was marked for demolition, she told me, “God gives and takes away. We will bless the name of the Lord, no matter what happens.”
Grace Utomo asks, Can I really call God ‘kind?’ and answers, “We would have no idea of how faithful and valuable God really is if we never knew loss in some capacity. We have souls that live forever, but our physical conditions are only temporary. Our job is to cling to eternity, and to the hope that we will enjoy God most fully at the end of our earthly life. Until then, we have the beautiful (albeit sometimes painful) opportunity to know God as a faithful refuge. If we look beyond the temporary, God is indeed kind.”
Scott Waktins writes, “Seeing upheavals so commonly in the scriptures reminds me that not only are Johanna and I in good company, but that it is serving a greater purpose. These difficult circumstances we are going through are not a cosmic accident. They are serving a purpose I don’t fully see, but one that I believe will lead to good. The upheaval of the past years has not upheaved my relationship with God. Instead, it has helped me deeply appreciate the upheaval of Jesus’ life and its lasting impact on the world.”
I am not worthy to stand in the presence of these suffering saints. They are my teachers. Theirs is the theology I seek.
