Tag: Thoughts on Missions Page 3 of 13

Why Should I Support a Third-Class Missionary?

On July 10, 2020

Thanks for clicking! If you haven’t already, please read the previous post first.

Here are some answers to some commonly asked questions about raising support.

Why do you need to raise support for this job? Why can’t Reach Global just pay you?

Missions is not exactly an income-generating industry. Though there are a couple of denominations that require their churches to donate to a mission organization, most don’t. So that means that even for stateside positions like mine, employees need to raise support. The alternative would be that other missionaries raise additional funds that would pay for my salary. That’s not unheard of, since some administrative employees in Reach Global’s national office are paid this way. But as you can imagine, we would rather not put the burden of those salaries onto other missionaries.

Where does the money go when someone donates?

Each mission agency does this a little differently, but with Reach Global, donated money goes into a ministry account for that particular missionary. Salaries, insurance, pension, etc. are all taken out of that account. If there is extra money in it, missionaries can also use that account to pay for things that would normally be considered a business expense, like travel or conferences.

The amount missionaries have to raise is a lot higher than what they receive as a monthly salary. This is because they also need to raise funds for health insurance, retirement, flights and visa expenses, as well as a service allocation that goes to the mission.

How is your salary set?

For Reach Global, the standard missionary salary is based on the average salary of associate pastors at EFCA churches. Other factors influence salary, including the number of children and the cost of living in a particular country. If the funds in a missionary’s ministry account go too low, then their salary is also lowered.

Gil and I have only ever received one salary from Reach Global, even when both of us were working full-time. That’s because it’s considered more of a stipend than a salary; it’s based on how much we need to live on. There aren’t raises connected to work performance or level of education. (As a side note, Reach Global has other measures in place to ensure work performance and accountability, since salary is not linked to that.)

So how will this work with you now being the Reach Global employee instead of Gil?

To put it simply, the ministry account will be changed over from Gil’s name into mine and I will be the official employee. For those who have already been donating to that account, nothing will change on the donor’s end.

Why are you looking for more donors if you already had enough during your time in Tanzania? Since Gil has a job as well, don’t you need less support?

Yes, I will need less financial support for this position than what we were receiving for our ministry in Tanzania. Our kids’ insurance will be covered by Gil’s new job and there are other cuts that will lower the amount I need to raise. I anticipate the amount I will need in my ministry account will be about 30% less than what we needed to raise for Tanzania.

However, after contacting our current supporters, it looks like I will be losing about 50% of my support base. This is not surprising, nor am I hurt by this! Some of our supporters have passed away, some have retired, some want to stick with overseas missionaries, some have changed churches and want to support missionaries at their new church. The stipend we received from HOPAC towards our housing is also no longer part of our support. I anticipate needing to raise an additional $1000-$2000 per month in order to be able to meet my funding goal.

If we could survive in Southern California on Gil’s teacher’s salary, I would happily volunteer for this position with Reach Global. But even though we are frugal and have no debt, I need to receive a salary. Since God has made it clear that this is the position I need to take, then I am trusting He will provide the support I need.

So why should I consider supporting you as a stateside missionary? Aren’t overseas missionaries more urgent and important?

I’m not going to give an easy yes/no answer to this question. This is the thing: As an advocate for missions, I want you to support overseas missionaries or ministries who are doing strategic, front line work. If you are a Christian and have never financially supported an overseas missionary, you need to find one! Partnering with these folks is urgent and important, and if you tell me that you are prioritizing overseas missionaries, I will never once question you on it. How could I? I was one myself for 16 years, and my next job will be to advocate for them.

However, overseas missionaries have a symbiotic relationship with people in positions like the one I am taking. Rarely can a missionary successfully live overseas long-term without being coached and trained. So yes, I want you to support overseas missionaries. But is a position like mine also important? Well, I wouldn’t have said yes if it wasn’t!

What about COVID? How is that impacting the future of missions? Are there even going to be any missionaries to send anymore?

I have thought long and hard about this question and discussed it extensively with mission leadership. COVID absolutely is impacting missions now and will be for the foreseeable future. This is definitely an opportunity for the Global Church to re-evaluate how we do evangelism and missions worldwide. But is the Great Commission finished? Absolutely not. And the American Church is still the most well-resourced church in the world. That doesn’t mean we get to call the shots (quite the contrary), but it does mean we continue to have a responsibility to do our part to build God’s kingdom around the world. In fact, I would argue that COVID has increased the urgency and opportunity of overseas missions.

Interestingly, Reach Global has seen an uptick in missionary applications during this last quarter. COVID has not slowed down the call of God on people’s lives to serve overseas. I look forward to working with the next generation of missionaries to creatively spread the gospel.

What do I need to do if I want to partner with you, pray for you, or support you financially?

If you would like to be on my mailing list (if you are not already), please email me at everyoneneedsalittlegrace(at)gmail.com and I would be happy to add you! No more cool Africa stories, but I will be sharing about how God is using me to send new missionaries around the world.

If you are interested in supporting me financially, you can go here to donate. Designate to Amy Medina, #1929. However, a better way to donate is by automatic bank transfer because there are no fees and it doesn’t expire like credit cards do. If you want to set that up, you can click here. Checks can be sent to EFCA Donor Services, 901 East 78th Street, Minneapolis, MN 55420-1300. Include a note designating to Amy Medina, #1929. All donations are tax deductible.

If you choose to do this, please send me an email letting me know you are doing so and if it’s a one-time donation or monthly, as this helps me to plan ahead.

If you’ve gotten this far, thanks for reading! Please know that I would be very happy to answer any other questions, so don’t hesitate to email me.

Why I’m Becoming a Third Class Missionary

By Amy Medina

On July 10, 2020

In Living Like a Missionary, Re-Entry to America, Thoughts on Missions

This time last year, Gil and I made the decision that we would be relocating to the States in 2020. As we started thinking about where we would go and what we would do in America, there were a lot of possibilities on the table.

There was one thing, however, that I was adamant about. Whatever we decided to do next, I did not want to be in a support-raising position. One of my most popular-ever posts is In Defense of Second Class Missionaries. If being missionary teachers made us second-class missionaries, then living stateside on support would put us in third-class missionary status. No sirree; I was not going to do that. It was hard enough raising support to live overseas, but stateside missionaries don’t excite anyone. We would get regular jobs that paid regular salaries and we would be regular Americans. So no matter how cool an opportunity sounded to me, if it required raising support, I was out.

But I have this wonderful friend, Alyssa, who has this habit of drilling into my soul. So when I told her my intention of finding a regular, non-support-raising job, she was not satisfied. “Why not?” she asked me. “What if God shows you the perfect job that is a perfect fit for you, but you have to raise support for it? Would you still say no?”

Of course, since I wanted to sound like a good Christian, I sighed and promised that I would do my best to keep an open mind to whatever God wanted me to do. But inwardly, my mind was still made up. No way. I’ve lived on support for 18 years. And I know what the American church thinks about third-class missionaries. It’s time to move on.

Throughout the fall, Gil and I had numerous conversations with various ministry leaders, some from Reach Global (our mission agency) and some with other organizations, all desiring to recruit us. They were support-raising positions, and some sounded pretty enticing. However, it was during this time that we came to the conclusion that we wanted to live in California, and that we wanted our kids in Christian schools. That meant either Gil or I would need to work for a Christian school in order to afford it. So it wasn’t difficult to say no to those opportunities.

Then came a call in late December from the leader of the Engage Division of Reach Global. He was encouraging me to consider joining their team as a Pre-Deployed Missionary Coach. The leader described the position: Interviewing potential missionary candidates, coaching and training accepted candidates, and helping them discover where in the world God was leading them.

Despite my best efforts to not be interested, I was instantly energized during this conversation. This would be a job I would love. This would be a job I would be good at. And I could do it from anywhere in the United States.

But I was still very determined that I did not want to accept a support-raising position. So it was off the table….right? Besides, either Gil or I needed to teach at a Christian school. That was the first priority. So I couldn’t say yes….right?

Yet, I couldn’t shake the idea that I was uniquely qualified for this job. Not only had I served in missions for 16 years, I also had been a missionary kid. During our years in Tanzania, I reveled in helping new missionaries adjust to life overseas. Being part of a missionary school, I worked with missionaries from a multitude of countries, ages, and seasons of life. I’ve experienced the ugly, the crazy, and the beautiful in missionary communities. I’ve been writing for A Life Overseas, a blog dedicated to missionaries, for five years. Promoting missions, and enabling missionaries to do their jobs well, is a passion of mine. Plus, I now have three years of experience in administration. Interviewing, hiring, coaching, and training have all been a part of my job as principal.

Yet I did not want to raise support. Period. I battled with God on this. I had done my time, right? This was my chance to be a regular person with a regular job. Meanwhile, Gil and I were busily applying to Christian school jobs all over California. Some teaching possibilities opened for me, but they were not in great locations for our family. So I kept those on hold.

Then in late May Gil got the perfect job at the perfect Christian school in the perfect location. And suddenly, I had no more excuses.

I talked to Alyssa again. “I really want to do the Engage job,” I told her. “But I just don’t want to raise support.” And Alyssa, in her kind but soul-drilling way, said to me, “Amy, you don’t whine very often. So when you do, I know you must be trying to avoid something that you know you are supposed to do.”

She got me. I knew she was right. So I forced myself to take a good hard look at why I was so opposed to taking a job that required me to raise support. And the picture that came to my mind was my friend Lois.

Lois was a widow. Lois supported us at $200 a month for several years as a widow. She developed cancer, and a few years I ago when we were in the States, I visited her in her nursing home. I talked with her about how grateful we were that she supported us so generously for so long. “It’s my pleasure,” she told me. “You know, I discussed this with my kids. They agreed that they didn’t need a big inheritance. They were okay with me giving away my money to missionaries.”

And I just sat there dumbfounded. I still am dumbfounded. Why would anyone do that? Why would someone make that kind of sacrifice? For me?

Lois died about six weeks after that meeting. Recounting that conversation still brings tears to my eyes. I have dozens of stories like this. There are so many who blow me away by their consistent, faithful, sacrificial generosity.

And I am humbled. That’s it. That’s the clincher. I realized that’s why I have been so opposed to staying on support. I think of Lois, and so many other scores of faces, and I am ground to the dust in gratitude. Basically that’s why I was kicking and screaming all this time: I was too proud to admit how much I didn’t want to be humbled. And knowing that I would be demoted to third-class missionary status didn’t help. Though I knew I would love doing this job, I wouldn’t have any cool Africa stories any more. I wouldn’t be on the “front lines.” I would be behind the scenes, which definitely isn’t very glamorous. I knew it would be a lot harder, and a lot more humbling, to raise the support I needed.

Which, when I finally admitted it to myself, was not a reason at all. As a child of God, if this is the job I am called to do, then I should welcome the big gulp of humility I must take by remaining dependent on God and His church to provide for my needs.

So about a month ago, I accepted the job. I will officially start in September, and I’ve made an initial commitment of two years. I am very excited, but nervously trusting that God is going to make this work.

And, for the first time ever on this blog, I’m asking you, my readers, if there are any out there who would be interested in joining my financial support team. If that could be you, then please read the information at the bottom of this post, or click on to the next post for answers to frequently asked questions.

Some of you may have been wondering what is going to happen to this blog now that I’m no longer in Africa, and I’ve been thinking a lot about that too. I know I need a re-design, and I’m working on that. One of the exciting parts of my new job is that it will allow me to continue to keep reading, thinking deeply, and writing about missions. I hope you’ll come along as I start Part 2 of my life as an enthusiastic, third-class missionary.

***

If you would like to partner with me in this role, pray for me, or support me financially, please read on…

If you are interested in supporting me financially, you can go here to donate. All donations are tax deductible.

Remember, click on to the next post if you have additional questions about how this works.

Letting Go of All the Things

By Amy Medina

On March 8, 2020

In Leaving Tanzania, Liberia

When I was seven, my family left Liberia after our first two years of service. At the time, my parents had no intention of returning, so we didn’t leave anything in storage. All of our possessions that couldn’t fit into several suitcases had to be sold or given away.

I had a set of beautiful Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls. But I didn’t play with them much, so I reluctantly agreed with my mom that we could give them away to my friends Maria and Elisabeth. One day during our last week in Liberia, she sent me off to walk the half-mile to my friends’ house with the dolls in my arms, a knot in my stomach, and a lump in my throat.

I clearly remember that walk on the red dusty ELWA compound road, the ocean breeze whistling alongside me. I got about halfway there and my feet stopped moving. I burst into tears, turned around, and ran all the way back home.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to share, but I couldn’t bear to part with anything that held memories for me. As a child I carefully saved and filed schoolwork, notes from friends, programs from drama performances. Just about any physical item that ended up in my bedroom held emotional significance for me.

Living an overseas life as an adult got a lot of this tendency out of my system. When you live a life where every few years, you must pack up all of your possessions into 12 boxes, you learn to not get too attached to stuff. In fact, now I would say that I am what they call a minimalist–clutter and excess stuff drives me crazy. My children know that if you don’t put your stuff away where it belongs, Mom might just come along and throw it away. So be careful.

But still, there’s that part of me from my youth that attaches memories to objects. And now that I am preparing to move continents once again, I am feeling like that little seven-year-old who didn’t want to give away Raggedy Ann and Andy. Anything that doesn’t fit into a suitcase can’t come to America with us. And since we moved here first in 2001, we have a lot of things that we’ve owned for a very long time.

My children played on that rug as toddlers. Those throw pillows have been mended from the days when dozens of teenagers used them in pillow fights. Those dishes, as simple and plain as they are, have fed hundreds of beloved guests. That table–the one that bears the scars of baby Josiah’s spoon-banging–that table has seen our children raised.

The vultures are already circling around our stuff. I use the term “vulture” affectionately, because I’ve been one myself. I know how this works. When you visit a friend, and you like their furniture, just make a mental note of it. One day they’ll leave and you’ll want to be the first one to call dibs. Missionaries are great at recycling. And not just missionaries, of course. Back in September, I told a local friend we will be leaving in July. She wept. But the very next day, she told me the list of our furniture she wants to buy.

We’ve started selling stuff, but right now it’s just things we aren’t currently using. Everyone is waiting for “The Spreadsheet”–the one we will send out to all of our contacts in Tanzania with a list of everything we’re selling. People keep asking for it, but I can’t bring myself to do it yet. I know when I see all of our household items disappearing, it will feel like chunks of memories go with them.

It’s silly, actually. I mean, I’ve never even really liked our living room set; it’s not very comfortable. I could really use some new towels. All the elastic is gone from our sheets. I can buy back the exact same dishes in America. Maybe it’s just that losing these physical objects is tangible evidence of the loss of a much less tangible, but far more important life.

In the end, if I think rationally about it, I’m thankful that this overseas life has forced me to love possessions less. Loosening my grip on earthly things–things that will one day be destroyed anyway–has pressed me to set my mind on things above.

That day when I was seven, my mom wisely didn’t force me to walk the dolls back to my friends’ house. Yet, later on, they still quietly disappeared. Lo and behold, I didn’t miss them. Sometimes we just need that grip loosened in order to discover that we really don’t need the things we cling to. Not as much as we thought we did.

Our home for the past 10 years.

Dear Tanzanian Friends, I’m Sorry for Being a Jerk Sometimes

By Amy Medina

On September 15, 2019

In Other

Dear Tanzanian friends,

You know that feature on Facebook that says, “You have memories to look back on today?” I click on that notification hesitatingly, because more often than not, I wince at what I see. Oh my goodness–I used to write the most ridiculous things on Facebook. I guess everybody did, but many of my old posts reveal the ethnocentric, immature attitudes I had in my early years in Tanzania.

Complaining about electricity. Complaining about bugs. Complaining about dust. (Meanwhile, hoping that my friends back at home would realize what I saint I was for putting up with these “hardships.”) Having a “white savior” mentality. Poking fun at the “amusing” things I saw in your country, many times arrogantly implying that, given the circumstances, I could do things so much better. Pointing out a lot that was wrong, and not enough that was right.

Ugh. How did you put up with me? Or, now that I know better, I should ask, How do you put up with me? Since I probably haven’t changed as much as I think I have.

I was chatting with a Tanzanian co-worker (and friend) the other day, and we got onto the topic of missionaries and money. Even though this friend grew up around missionaries, she was fascinated to hear about how missionaries receive financial support from churches in their home countries. “I think a lot of the Tanzanians at Haven of Peace Academy have just assumed that you were getting paid more than we are,” she told me. My jaw dropped to the ground, because HOPAC doesn’t pay missionary teachers at all–we get a housing stipend, but not a salary. I immediately felt sick to my stomach. How many of our Tanzanian friends, for how many years, have assumed that we are getting rich off of their country?

Because here, though we live on support from back home, we are rich. Western missionaries in African countries live in this weird place where in our home countries, we are considered poor (like, churches invite us to use their food pantries which are for poor people), but when we are in Africa, we are incredibly privileged. Just the fact that we own a car and a couple of laptops and have the money available to fly back and forth between countries puts us in the top one percent wealthiest people in the world.

We wrestle with this tension all the time. But the truth is, as much as western missionaries come to Tanzania with this idea that we are “sacrificing” to be here, we really are vastly richer (both in money and opportunity) than almost all of the people who live here. So I can’t imagine how annoying and condescending it must feel to you when we gripe about insignificant things that you have contentedly lived with your entire life.

We must seem pretty wimpy.

But that’s not all. We came to your country with our own ideas about what you needed, not bothering (for a while, at least), to even ask you what you did need. We assumed that you needed us, without considering that we actually needed you even more. We had strategy meetings where we didn’t include you; we wasted time and resources because we didn’t ask for your help. While we were still figuring that out, you loved us anyway.

One Sunday at our African church, the pastor preached a message on the importance of missions. We were technically the only “missionaries” in the room, though I understood the message as a call to the whole congregation to be involved in mission work. Nevertheless, after the service, an African woman who I didn’t know came up to me with an envelope of money. “God bless you for your service,” she told me. I was speechless. It remains one of the most humbling moments of my life.

Then there’s the problem that missionaries can be cliquish. Missionaries tend to gravitate towards each other, to friendships that are familiar and easy. A Tanzanian once told me, “The missionary community is hard to break into.” I don’t blame you for being hurt or offended by that. It shouldn’t be that way. And yet, you chose to be my friend anyway.

I’m sure there are some of you reading this who would want to remind me of the good things missionaries have done in your country. You tend to be incredibly gracious. I’m not writing today to make a case for burning down missions. I’m not saying that my time here–or that of my fellow missionaries–is a waste. But there does tend to be an aura of sainthood that surrounds missionaries–both here and in our home countries, and I’ve had enough of that.

We are weak. Sometimes we are idiots. Sometimes we are downright arrogant and ethnocentric. Coming to that realization is really good for us, and should make us more effective.

We love your country, and we love you. Thanks for loving us, being patient with us while we learn, and gently helping us to see things from your perspective. We are so thankful for God’s grace and your grace as we live out the privilege of being missionaries in your country.

Sincerely,

Amy

P.S. I write for A Life Overseas, which reaches thousands of missionaries and expat workers all around the globe. I would love to write a piece that contains insight and constructive criticism from locals in communities that have received missionaries. If that’s you, would you consider writing to me at everyoneneedsalittlegrace@gmail.com with answers to these questions? I won’t use any names, so feel free to be completely honest.

In what ways have foreign missionaries been the most helpful and harmful to your community?

What are some of the biggest mistakes you’ve seen missionaries make, and how could they avoid those mistakes?

Or, if you are a writer and want to submit your own post to A Life Overseas, ask me how to do that too!

Should We Have Waited Until We Were Older?

By Amy Medina

On August 25, 2019

In Other

Gil and I met at 21 years old, married at 23, and were living in Tanzania by 24. We had been married all of nine months before we moved overseas. We had gotten to know each other as co-leaders of a cross-cultural ministry in California, and our desire to be missionaries was one of the main factors that brought us together. Our mission organization had vetted us, interviewed us, and sent us to two weeks of training. I had spent half of my childhood as an MK, and both of us had spent several years in ministry during college. As far as we were concerned, we were ready.

2001

That didn’t keep us from crashing and burning. We were too outspoken about our culturally-insensitive opinions and therefore offended local friends. We over-committed ourselves to ministries that kept us apart from each other too much of the time, which strained our relationship. We naively expected too much change too quickly in new believers’ lives, which led to disappointment and disillusionment. After two years, we were depressed and demoralized.

Many times over the past twenty years, we’ve seen many new missionaries arrive on the field who were older and more experienced than we were, and they didn’t seem to struggle nearly as much as we did. I’ve asked myself, “Should we have waited until we were older?” Would another couple of years of married life in the States have spared us from heartache? Would more maturity have kept us from making so many naive mistakes? Would we have known how to set better boundaries?

Of course, there is no “perfect” age to move overseas for the first time, and there are certainly pros and cons to relocating at each stage of life. But if you are young, pursuing missions, and asking yourself, “Should I wait until I am older?” or if you are a parent or a church leader of someone who is asking that question, here are my thoughts.

Consider the advantages:

Our energy and passion gave us perseverance. I remember the first time I went roller skating when I was eight. I must have fallen a few dozen times, but I just kept getting right back up again. These days? I think just one fall would send me to the sidelines for good. There’s a God-given quality of youthful idealism that keeps us going when things get tough. Yes, Gil and I fell hard. Our most difficult years in Tanzania were definitely those first two years. If I had experienced them at an older age, I might have given up. But our youth gave us perseverance, and taught us and toughened us for the years ahead.

We were more willing to be adventurous, try new things, and put up with hard conditions. Twelve-hour bus trip? No problem. All-night youth lock-in that included 30 hours of fasting? Sure! Back then we thrived on new experiences, crazy outings, and busy schedules. We didn’t have kids and had the freedom to follow every opportunity. Those first two years, my schedule involved getting up at 4:45 every morning and coming home 12 hours later. These days, I get tired just thinking about the stuff we did in those younger years. But now that I’m older, I love having young people on my team for their willingness and ability to do whatever needs to get done.

We built our family while we were already living overseas. It can be tough for women with young children to start their experience overseas as a stay-at-home-mom. Learning language and getting into the culture is a challenge with kids at home. And as an MK educator, I’ve seen the agony of parents relocating their children overseas. Gil and I were able to avoid that by building our family after we had already adapted to life in Tanzania, and I had several years to settle into life and be in ministry full time before I needed to devote more time to my family.

Minimize the disadvantages:

Prepare, prepare, prepare. Get a degree in an area that God can use to open doors for foreign visas–or at least pave the way for relationships. Get some Bible training–either at a college or through rigorous discipleship. Take a Perspectives course. Read books. Learn to manage your finances, cook, and communicate well verbally and in writing. And most importantly–serve. Serve in your local church and serve in your community. All of this can happen even in high school–so start now!

Don’t go without a mentor, and be humble enough to listen and change. This should be standard advice for any cross-cultural worker, but the younger you are, the more important it is. This doesn’t mean that everyone older than you is more right than you. This doesn’t mean that you won’t have any ideas to contribute–because I hope you do! But remember that experience usually builds wisdom. Slow down, listen, be a learner. Change takes time. Be patient.

Be open to staying at least five years. Here’s where things get radical. In an era where two weeks is the standard commitment to missions, a year or two sounds positively eternal. Anything longer than that sounds crazy. For us, the first two years were like boot camp, so it would have been a shame to get through it and not stay longer. The longer we stayed, our impact increased exponentially. Life got easier and our mistakes were fewer. What started as an experience became life. Most mission fields desperately need long-term workers. Why can’t that be you?

This article first appeared at A Life Overseas.