Category: Thoughts on Missions

Am I White Savior Barbie?

Ummm.  Uh oh.

Okay, so I chose that picture for my last post because it was the most cliched missionary picture I could find.   I suppose I could have picked a picture of myself with random African Orphans.  I’ve got lots of those too.

Shoot.  I even wear headbands made of local fabric. 

In case you have no idea what I am talking about, White Savior Barbie has been going viral on social media.  I’m not sure if she’s only popular in my part of the world, or if you have seen her too.  

“Just taking a selfie amidst this dire poverty and need.  Feeling so blessed!”

“Although children with flies swarming their faces are relatively rare here, it’s important to portray this as the norm.”  

“Who needs a formal education to teach in Africa?  Not me!  All I need is some chalk and a dose of optimism.”  

Thankfully, my total lack of fashion sense (and ownership of zero high heels) will never allow me to be confused with Barbie.  But even as I am highly amused by the creativity of this account, it still makes me squirm.  


And so it should, along with every other non-African visitor on this continent.  

Am I White Savior Barbie?  

Am I here just to feel good about myself?  

Do I see myself as better than Tanzanian citizens, as having the answers that they don’t have?  

Do I pity the local people?  Do I see my life as so much better than theirs?

Is living in Tanzania all about creating a unique identity for myself?

As a 7th grader growing up in west Africa, I wrote in my journal, Liberia is me.  I belong here.  I loved the uniqueness of my life.  My heart was torn by the poverty I saw around me.  And I did want to grow up and make a difference.

So perhaps there is a bit of White Savior Barbie in me after all.

Or rather, perhaps there was.  After living on this continent for half of my life, my idealism has been shredded by the reality of life.  I’ve witnessed the damage done by those who went before me.  I’ve come face to face with the complexity of poverty.  I’ve experienced how brokenness breeds more brokenness.  I have been beaten down by my own weakness, by my inability to live for a week without electricity, my lack of endurance in the suffocating heat, my discontented heart with the roads or the water or the bugs.  

I’m quite certain I don’t have the answers.  In fact, I’m no longer sure that I have any answers.  I no longer worry about idealism clouding my thinking; instead I worry about cynicism preventing me from persevering.  Am I even supposed to be here?  Wouldn’t it be better if I just left?

But maybe that’s why I need to stay.  Because I’m in that place of knowing I have nothing; I am nothing.  I look up from the dust and I see that there is a specific need that Gil and I can fill, and that God has uniquely placed us to fill it at this time and in this way.  So I stay.  For now.


When I came to you, I did not come with eloquence or human wisdom as I proclaimed to you the testimony about God.  For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.  I came to you in weakness with great fear and trembling….so that your faith might not rest on human wisdom, but on God’s power. (I Corinthians 2)

So we limp on.  And that would be my advice to all the other White Savior Barbies out there:  Allow yourself to be broken and to be emptied.  It will take a whole lot longer than weeks or months or even years.  Sticking it out long term, with an attitude of humility, is how God just might be able to use you.  And your pictures will never be able to tell that story.  

American Christians, You Might Need to Start Living Like Missionaries

“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)

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