Amy Medina

Last year we were #49 and this year we are #33.

But this isn’t the Top 40 chart. This isn’t a list you want to move up.

Every year, Open Doors publishes a listof the top 50 countries in the world where Christians are persecuted. It’s not a list you want to be on.

And Tanzania is #33, out of 196 countries in the world.

North Korea is #1 and Nigeria is #10. Surprisingly, countries like Algeria, Columbia, Kuwait, and Turkey are lower on the list than Tanzania. African countries in general are moving up on the list.

As I reflect on living in a country on this list, here is what I’ve learned:

1. Government religious freedom doesn’t always mean community religious freedom. We are in Tanzania on missionary visas. Our ministry has a website. We don’t have to be careful about Christian terminology in emails. Yet in the past couple of years in Tanzania, there have been reports of pastors being beheaded, churches bombedor burned, Christians murdered, and rioting.

2. Westerners are ridiculously privileged, even when living abroad in countries on The List. Of course, anyone, anywhere in the world, can find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time and the target of a terrorist attack. But the truth is, it’s not the missionaries who are bearing the brunt of persecution, it’s the nationals. And though there are some exceptions (such as in North Korea), deportation is usually the worst that would happen to a missionary who is “found out” in one of these countries. I stand in awe of my suffering brothers and sisters around the world. Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Not, “blessed are those with good jobs and health insurance.” Blessed are those who are persecuted. What are we missing out on?

3. I don’t want to be associated with televangelists or abortion-doctor murderers, so therefore I’m not going to associate every Muslim with a terrorist. I see the faces of my Muslim friends and their children who are attending school side-by-side with my children, and I feel their pain for what is being done in the name of Islam.

4. God is present, even in these dark places. In Tanzania, the place where the most persecution is taking place is on the island of Zanzibar. Ironically, it’s my favorite place to visit in Tanzania, and one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever experienced. Gil recently went to language school there, and captured it’s stunning beauty. In the center of the main city of Zanzibar is a church established by David Livingstone. It was built on top of a former slave trade market, which Livingstone helped to abolish. Redemption is there….waiting….until the gospel once again breaks forth.

5. It’s so easy to become complacent, even when living in a country where persecution is happening. For a while, everyone was so concerned about Saeed Abedini, who is imprisoned in Iran. Then, it was the Christians in Iraq. Now it’s the Nigerians. It’s like we give God a whole 10 days of fervent prayer for a situation, and when He doesn’t answer within that time frame, we shrug our shoulders and life goes on. When the media forgets, so do we. Here I am, living in a country where persecution is actively happening, and yet even I forget to continue to pray.

If only we demonstrated in prayer the same perseverance that these brothers and sisters demonstrate in beatings, imprisonment, and torture.

Everyone Needs a Little Grace in Their Lives

By Amy Medina

On January 11, 2015

In Other

It’s shocking to come to the realization that your daughter has something important to teach you.

Friday afternoon, Grace was in the kitchen with me, making her birthday cake for her party on Saturday. I was making dinner.

Lily pulled over a stool (as always). “Not this time, Lily,” I said. “This is Grace’s turn because it’s for her birthday. You can help next time.”

“It’s okay, Mommy,” Grace said. “I want her to help.” And she immediately set Lily to work.

A few minutes later, Josiah pulled up a stool. Once again, she graciously included him. Everybody had a job. She was calm. She was patient. She was kind.

And I was humbled by my nine-year-old. My kids love helping in the kitchen, but I get easily frazzled. I usually can only handle one at a time. Sometimes I can’t handle even one. Sometimes I don’t have the patience. Sometimes I have a hard time letting go of things I want done right.

Yet my daughter is an includer. There is always room for one more, as far as she is concerned. She is the best big sister I have ever seen. She has never once shunned her siblings (who are not always so easy to get along with). She is a peacemaker. She is almost always cheerful.

Her friends came over for her party yesterday, and she made the cake, and she planned the games. But my proudest moment came when all the girls were dancing, and two of the shyer ones sat on the side. Grace ran over, grabbed their hands, and pulled them into the group. I had tears in my eyes. She always includes.

Of course, she too has areas in her life where she needs God’s grace. But her genuine love for people, and her patience and friendliness, is where she is the example for me.

Two Young Men, One Shirt

By Amy Medina

On January 7, 2015

In Other

Every time I drive to town, I see them. Young men, standing on the streets and sidewalks, walking amongst the cars stuck in traffic, peddling their wares.

They sell cell phone cords, blow-up toys, packs of gum, cashew nuts, handkerchiefs, fried termites, bags of apples. A couple times we’ve even seen a guy with a full aquarium on his head–fish, water, and all.

On this particular day, I noticed one young man in particular. He was selling boxes of tissues, but it was his shirt that stood out to me. The light changed before I could get a picture, but when I came home, I did a search to see if I could find an image of that same shirt.

Lo and behold, you can find anything on Google. This was his shirt:

I also discovered that there are a number of varieties of this particular slogan.

Oh, the irony.

This guy very likely has no idea what his shirt says. If he was educated enough to know English, he wouldn’t be selling boxes of tissues for a living.

He will never own a car. He will never go to high school, because only about 7% of Tanzanians get that privilege. He probably makes the equivalent of a dollar or two in profit every day, after standing 12 hours in the equator sun, selling his boxes of tissues.

We’ll never know what his “talents” really are, because he will have no opportunity to develop them. He’s never even dared to have a “vision,” because he is locked in a worldview that tells him that Africans are poor and will always be poor.

But one thing I know for sure: He most certainly does “give a shit.” He most certainly does care about the status of his life. Who on earth is satisfied with a life selling tissues on the side of the road?

This young man bought this shirt, I’m sure, from a pile of T-shirts in an open air market. These shirts were shipped over from America, cast-offs from U.S. thrift stores, and he probably paid about 25 cents for it.

So then I thought about the young man (assume with me for a moment) who purchased this shirt for $19.99 in America, and wore it with pride. I’m sure he thought it was funny.

Funny as he barely passed his classes at his (free) high school.

Funny as he decided to “find himself” before starting his (heavily subsidized) college education.

Funny as he sat on his mother’s couch, eating his mother’s food, playing video games after he came home from his part-time job at age 25.

Funny as he spent his weekends and his wages on partying.

These two young men, on two opposite sides of the world, couldn’t be more different.

One who has every opportunity at his fingertips, and is squandering it.

The other who would give his right arm for that opportunity, and will probably never get it.

From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.

Please Get Me Out of This Tropical Paradise

By Amy Medina

On January 3, 2015

In Other

This is what it looks like about two miles from my house. I know, I know. There are many people who are freezing their noses off and would give anything to be in a place like this right now.

I guess the grass is always greener, eh?

Instead, we dream about places like this:

Mountains, fog, cool air, fire places, and no sweating!

Once a year, the week after Christmas, that’s where we go. It’s our Christmas present to ourselves, since there’s nothing we want to buy anyway.

It’s a seven hour drive into the mountains. A thrill goes through us as we start climbing elevation and we roll down the windows and breathe that non-humid air. We bust out our jeans and hoodies (for the only time all year). We drink hot chocolate. We revel in the joy of wearing socks.

The guys (and sometimes the rest of us) spend hours in board game marathons. The kids spend hours playing outside on the boulders. I glue my Kindle to myself. There’s long deep conversations with friends. It’s bliss.

(Between these three guys, they brought 75 games with them. Not kidding.)

On market day, Mark and Alyssa started an annual tradition with the kids. Each kid gets 1000 shillings (about 75 cents) and is given the task of finding the most random item at the market. Since the market is full of cast offs from U.S. thrift stores, it’s always an adventure.

The winner was this baby shirt. If you want to take the time to read it, you’ll understand why it won. Seriously? Who puts “chew the fat” and “forest bath” on a baby shirt?

Lily came home with this particular item. Why exactly it has so many holes is beyond us. So we decided to stick two children in it.

And we danced in the new year.

At midnight, we wished a happy birthday to this new nine-year-old.

Per tradition, Daddy made Grace a treasure hunt for her birthday.

Tropical Christmas Season….in Pictures

By Amy Medina

On December 26, 2014

In Other

Just in case there’s any question as to what we are dealing with down here under the equator, here is the proof:

Please don’t be jealous of us. I’m not.

But here’s our Christmas season, sweat and all.

We don’t do Santa, but Josiah took it upon himself to put this together. Yes, there’s a pillow under his shirt and yes, that’s a sock hanging from his mouth.

This is what happens when you buy a box of Christmas lights, and the writing on the box is all in Portuguese. It’s not actually a string at all, but more like an octopus of lights. Eventually, we sort of just draped it on the tree.

HOPAC’s Annual Christmas Fair

This is Apollo, the incredibly talented and radiant deaf man who made our Christmas cards from banana leaves.

HOPAC’s annual Christmas production. The kindergarteners always steal the show.

First graders were Jamaican. You had to be there to get it.

HOPAC alumni visiting us….always such a joy to our hearts!

As a Christmas present this year, we took our workers and their families to the water park. Even though it’s just a few miles away and about $4 a person to enter, they had never been. It was such a joy to see the absolute delirious excitement on the kids’ faces!