Tag: Thoughts on Missions Page 5 of 13

The Back-Burner of Missions (and Why It Shouldn’t Be That Way)

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On February 10, 2019

In Other

Four-year-olds don’t walk, they twirl and prance. They think everything about the world is fascinating, even writing their names or matching shapes or learning to sit criss-cross applesauce.

On Saturday, I met dozens of them. They visited our kindergarten room while some teachers and I asked them to count and say their letters and watched them play and dance while we took notes. Some were shy, some were cheerful, some, we could tell, would be a handful, but that just made them all the more charming.

I was enchanted. But I was also depressed. There were just too many. Three times too many, to be exact. All of them had come to be assessed for next year’s kindergarten class, and all of them were wonderful. But there were just too many. I will only be able to offer places to about a third of them.

Their parents sat outside drinking coffee under the trees. Their eyes were hopeful, expectant, a little nervous. I tried not to make much eye contact. It is just too hard, knowing that I will have to turn down most of them. I don’t want to get their hopes up.

Their emails turn my stomach into knots. We’ve never wanted any other school for our child since she was born! HOPAC is our first and only choice. My child loved his visit with you! He is so excited to attend HOPAC now. 

I know my response will break their hearts. Your child was wonderful; we just don’t have room. He can join the 40 other children on our waiting list for that class. 

We never advertise, but we never fail to have at least sixty applicants for kindergarten. For some families, it’s because of the Christian environment at HOPAC. For some, it’s our reputation of sending students to the world’s top universities. For others, it’s the price. Among similar schools in Tanzania, we offer the best quality for the lowest fees.

Mystified, parents will ask, Why don’t you just expand?

And the answer is always the same: We can’t get enough teachers.

Though over half of our students are Tanzanian, we are a missionary school, relying on volunteers from westernized countries to raise support to teach here. Of course, we hire Tanzanians whenever we can, but finding Tanzanian Christians who are qualified to teach in an international school is not easy. Which means we are dependent on the Church (mainly from the US and Europe) to send us teachers.

But for some reason, recruiting and sending missionary teachers is not a priority for the Church, or even for most mission agencies. Maybe because teachers fall into the category of second-class missionaries. Sometimes it feels like church planters or aid workers seem more exciting or important.

I don’t understand why teachers are often on the back-burner of missions. Parents of all kinds of religious faiths are pounding down the door of our Christian school, desperate for their kids to attend. We get the privilege of influencing those kids for seven hours a day for thirteen years. We teach with a biblical worldview. We train our students in poverty alleviation. The gospel permeates everything we do. How is this ministry not a priority?

Please, Church, prioritize missionary teachers. Find them. Encourage them. Support them. It’s one of the most strategic avenues of missions that I’ve witnessed in my twenty years overseas.

And if you’re a Christian teacher, why not you?

A Chance to Die

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On December 29, 2018

In Other

“Missionary life is simply a chance to die.” 

It certainly started out that way. There were a million chances every day to die to myself and my desires, my comfort, my convenience. When everything–literally everything–felt new and strange, when I had to re-learn how to drive, shop, cook, speak, sleep. When the power would go out for twelve hours a day and the ticks and cockroaches were battling to rule my kitchen, when I felt abandoned and alone, incompetent and exhausted.

But time is a miracle-worker. We took control of the electricity and the bugs, the driving became routine, cooking became easy. I learned to communicate. This country gave me my babies, and they have grown and thrived here. After moving six times in our first eight years of marriage, we moved to a house that wasn’t falling down and have remarkably lived in it for nine years. We found our niche in ministries that are fulfillingand flourishing. And the friends….the friends are something akin to siblings who grow up together. Broad and deep and everlasting.

Sure, there are still moments of frustration, like on Christmas Eve when the air was sweltering and the power went on and off four times. But somehow those things don’t matter as much anymore because they’ve just become life, and the good things outweigh the hard.

One day I woke up and discovered that this life that started as a chance to die was now grasped tightly in my clenched hands. This is mine. I like this. Don’t take this away from me. 


The heart gravitates so quickly to familiarity and comfort, to knowing and being known. Amy Carmichael wrote, “Missionary life is simply a chance to die.” But even missionary life, with all of its perceived and real challenges, can become comfortable. 

Comfort isn’t wrong, but it can be dangerous. Like sinking into a beanbag chair with a good book and a crackling fire, comfort makes it hard to get moving. To look around. To consider other people, other possibilities, other needs. It feels so good that it’s easy to say “God wants me here” when maybe it’s really just me refusing to think otherwise.  

Of course, that doesn’t mean that I should intentionally go hopping around from one difficult circumstance to the next, like a self-flagellating monk. But it does mean that I need to be consciously aware of the sinister appeal of comfort to cloud my vision of where God may be leading me. It means I need to allow God to pry open that vice-like grip on what I want out of life, to say Thy will be done and actually believe it.

2019 is certain to be a year of upheaval in my life, with changes coming that will tear into that familiarity and comfort I have enjoyed for so long. May I look up. Open my hands. Die to myself. One thing I have learned–a chance to die is always a privilege. I don’t want to waste it.

How to Help Your Kids Become Poverty Fighters

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On November 17, 2018

In Operation Christmas Child, Poverty

“Do you want to play with me?” “Yes!” (Drawn in a Service Learning journal by a second grade HOPAC student.)

Just last week, my friend Trudie sat in my office at Haven of Peace Academy. Every year at Christmas, our elementary school kids participate in a gift collection for a local charity. Trudie coordinates our Service Learning program at HOPAC, and as she and I discussed the various options for this Christmas, I heard these words come out of my mouth:

I’d really like the students to be able to donate stuff, instead of just raising money. For young kids, donating stuff is so much more tangible than money.

I know what I’ve written before. Don’t write me off as a hypocrite just yet.

But I’m telling you this story because I want you to know that I get it. I’m the mom of four kids. I’m the principal of 150 kids. Every single one of them falls into the category of “economically privileged.” And just like you, I’m always looking for opportunities to teach them to be grateful, compassionate, and generous.

So I get it. I get why it’s so cool to take your kids to Target, help them pick out gifts for an under-privileged kid a world away, write a note, pack the box together, and pray over it.

But this is the key question we must ask ourselves:

Are we only interested in teaching our kids generosity and compassion, or do we want to raise them to really, truly make a difference in fighting poverty?

Think about it. Filling a shoebox (or other charity gift programs) is sending the message to our kids is that donating “stuff” fixes poverty. That what poor people are lacking and what we need to give them is stuff.

But what if all that stuff we’re donating in order to teach our kids compassion is actually making poverty worse by creating shame, helplessness, and dependency for the recipients? And what if there really were better, more helpful ways we could teach our children how to fight poverty?

I think there are. And I’ve learned them from Haven of Peace Academy.

We’re a privileged school. We are an inexpensive school compared to other international schools in Tanzania, but we still are only accessible to the middle and upper classes. Yet on one side of our school is a hollowed-out rock quarry that is now a slum inhabited by some of the poorest people in our city. And right outside our gate sit people who are pounding rocks into gravel or selling bananas or sweeping the streets and living on a dollar a day.

For many years now, HOPAC has had the vision to teach our privileged students how to fight poverty. We know that one day, our students are going to be government officials and business owners and educational leaders in their countries, and we want them to have the tools to be world-changers.

So what I’m sharing today are the parts of our Service Learning program that can be implemented by any parent anywhere.

#1 Kids need to be educated about poverty alleviation, just like any other school subject. And they can learn it a lot younger than we might think. For example, last year in sixth grade at HOPAC, Grace learned (and even memorized!) the Sustainable Development Goals put out by the United Nations. And all ninth grade students spend a good portion of the year going through When Helping Hurts by Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert. (They also watch a video series based on the book.) For the past ten years, I’ve recommended When Helping Hurts over and over and over again. Every American Christian needs to read it. And HOPAC has shown me that kids as young as fourteen (with adult help) can digest it as well. Why not? 

If your kids are too young to be reading books on poverty, then you read it and bring it down to their level. There’s still lots they can learn.

#2 Kids learn best from local, relationship-based service projects. HOPAC students have these kind of service projects built into their curriculum–but they could easily be built into family life as well.

  • Local: The occasional overseas missions trip can be great, of course. But kids need to learn that poverty is not just “out there,” across an ocean, far away. Every single community includes under-privileged people, and the best people to help them are in their own community.
  • Relationship-based: This is different from anonymous gift-giving or even volunteering occasionally at a homeless shelter. Kids learn best from an on-going project or activity where they are given the opportunity to build relationships with those who are under-privileged, preferably with other kids.

And if that sounds scary or impossible or too time-consuming, let me reassure you: This could be as simple as regularly visiting a park in an under-privileged neighborhood in your city. Seriously. That simple.

Let me also emphasize the importance of doing both of these things together. Simply jumping into #2 without doing #1 is not going to work. Learning how to help people in poverty requires an entire shift in worldview, and that requires education, not just a heart of service.

However, starting with #1 is an excellent place to start, even if you never get to #2. In fact, if you’re a family of readers, let me suggest you read Behind the Beautiful Forevers before getting into When Helping Hurts. I have never read a better book that presents the harsh reality and incredible complexity of poverty in an engaging (albeit disturbing) way. This is not a fun bedtime read, but most kids as young as twelve are ready to start thinking deeply about our fallen world.

I get that reading books and playing at a run-down park isn’t actually doing much to fight poverty. But that’s okay. Growing up is a season of learning, right? And I guarantee that if you work hard at exposing your kids to the reality of poverty in your community, as well educating them on how to best meet those needs, that your family will organically come up with some pretty great, tangible ideas on how to help…without hurting.

Which brings me back to my conversation in my office with Trudie. Yes, I’m not always a fan of donating stuff. But I understand the value of kids learning generosity through it. So why do I feel confident in this particular charity drive? Because in my years of learning about poverty, and Trudie’s wisdom as our Service Learning coordinator, I’ve found that there are good places and times to donate stuff.

So this Christmas, we decided that HOPAC’s elementary school kids will be asked to donate school supplies to a nearby school which is serving the poorest disabled kids in their community. This school, which is run by passionate Christians, is running on bare bones and has very few resources. I feel confident donating stuff to them because they are local, we will be buying local products, and we have a relationship with the school, so they can tell us exactly what they need. Plus, it’s only one part of the bigger picture of how we are educating our students about poverty and giving them opportunities to be involved in local, relationship-based ministries.

Thanks for caring, friends! And if you have other ideas, I would be happy to hear them.  

HOPAC kids (green shirts) teaching under-privileged kids about caring for the environment.

Saying “God Called Me” Can Be Dangerous

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On November 7, 2018

In Other

Back when I was 23 and raising support to be a missionary in Tanzania, you would have heard me say, “God is calling me.” I would have told you that I had a heart for teaching missionary kids. I would have told you that I loved Africa and wanted to see God’s kingdom built there. And those things were 100% true. I wasn’t a deceiver who was trying to pull the wool over my supporter’s eyes. But there was more to it than that.

As a teenager, I was terrible at sports and fashion, and my very introverted personality meant that I had all sorts of interesting thoughts going around in my head but they rarely came out articulately. My best friend was a cello player and a track runner and Valedictorian; I was always a few steps behind. But I had spent six years of my childhood in Africa. That was my thing. That I had experienced this whole other life–that’s what made me different. And I clung to it. A guy in college told me that boys wouldn’t want to date me because I was so set on living in Africa, but that just made me more resolute.

And evangelical Christian culture made it easy. I could express my individuality and get lots of gold stars and pats on the back at the same time. Saying “God is calling me to Africa” put me on a higher spiritual plane; so very few people probed with deeper questions. But sometimes saying “God called me” can actually mask a lot of other motives.

When we want to be missionaries, it’s easier to say, “God called me,” than to say

“I really love traveling.”

“I’m looking for adventure.”

“I want to stand out, to be different.”

“If I start a new life, I can leave my problems behind.”

“If I do this big thing for God, he will give me what I want.”

“I really like looking/feeling spiritual and all the attention that gets me.”

“I want my life to feel significant.”

Equally important, when we want to go back home, it’s easier to say, “God called me,” than to say

“I don’t get along with my co-workers.”

“I can’t hack the way of life here.”

“My leadership hasn’t given me the support I wanted.”

“I miss my family too much.”

“I hate feeling incompetent all the time.”

“I’m so depressed/anxious/burned out that I can’t function anymore.”

The reality is, everyone falls for it. Saying, “God called me” shuts down any questions. No one is allowed to argue with that statement. Because who wants to argue with God?  But that’s why saying “God called me” can be dangerous. And we need to challenge the culture that allows it.

What do we even mean when we say, “God called me?” Christians will give various answers, but a call from God often boils down to some kind of supernatural experience or a very strong feeling. The same line of reasoning is used with “God hasn’t called me.” If a person hasn’t experienced some sort of supernatural experience or strong feeling, then we believe that is an indication that the status quo is sufficient.

Let’s be honest with ourselves. Often, “God called me” basically means, “I want to” but with a spiritual veneer. So let’s think this through. Can God work through our desires? Absolutely. God gave us our emotions, our personalities, and the way we’re “wired,” and he will use all of these to lead us and guide us.

But.

Our emotions are often selfish, fickle, and foolish. It’s quite possible for us to feel good about a terribly sinful choice (at least for a while). We are very capable of ignoring the Holy Spirit, misinterpreting Scripture, or “hearing” what we want to hear from God.

So how do we know when God is actually leading us in a certain direction? And if we discover that hiding behind “God called me” are some selfish motives, does that mean he hasn’t?

Not necessarily. It’s very possible to have noble motives and selfish ones mixed in together. I once read that as fallen people, our motives are never going to be completely pure. We must remember that we are complex beings–capable of feeling multiple emotions and desires at once. We aren’t usually honest even with ourselves, and sin will always be there, even when we’re being our most honorable.

So what does that mean for us as missionaries, whose whole lives are built on “a calling?” It means we need to ask ourselves the hard questions. We need to root out our deeper motives–all of them, even the ugly ones. And senders need to be careful not to be so dazzled by “God called me” that they hold back from asking those same hard questions. We (both the goers and the senders) need to remember that being a missionary doesn’t put us on a higher spiritual plane, immune from sinful motives.

When someone says, “God called me,” that should be the starting point for a lot of good questions and conversations. Why do you want to go (or return)? Why is it important? What does your church think about this? What does the team on the field think about this? What might you be running away from? How has God uniquely prepared you–not someone else–for this specific time and place? Or if you are leaving, what circumstances assure you that God is releasing you? And how does all of this match up with what God has spoken to us through Scripture?

This is why we need the Body of Christ. This is why we need to put ourselves under godly, strong, but humble leadership. This is why God intended the Church to be a part how he calls us.

When I think back to the mess of motives and emotions I felt when I was 23, I truly believe God did call me to Africa. But I was equipped: I had grown up on the African continent; I had been certified as a teacher; I had spent years in cross-cultural ministry in the States. I had the blessing of my church family. I had been well-vetted by my mission organization. Yes, I wanted to go. But it was the culmination of all of those things that confirmed that God was calling me.

Did that mean my motives were entirely pure? Absolutely not. And it would have been helpful if I had been honest with myself about it, or if I had someone in my life who asked me the hard, penetrating questions. Back then, coming to the realization about my desire to be different and significant probably would not have negated my assurance that I should go, but it would have helped me to learn some hard lessons a lot sooner.

Because that’s the thing about selfish motives–they are always there, but God has his ways of purifying them. Every missionary who stays on the mission field for any length of time knows this. I might have dreamed of gold stars or adventure or fulfillment, but that all came crashing down pretty quickly. And when it did, I needed a strong foothold to assure me that God really had directed me. But the weight behind “God called me” had to go a lot farther than just a feeling. God’s promises in Scripture, the Body of Christ back at home and on the field, and the ways God had uniquely prepared me for my role gave me assurance of his calling. Seventeen years later, that’s the calling I still lean on.

(This piece was originally posted at A Life Overseas. If you’d like to share it, please do so from that site. Thanks!)

Don’t Touch My Bacon: Eating, Drinking, and Dressing Overseas

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On October 3, 2018

In Other

The American teacher stood in the staff lounge with a cup of yellow broth. Look at this, he laughed. It looks just like beer!

A Tanzanian staff member just stared at him. Do you drink beer? she solemnly asked.

He paused for a moment. Yes, he said. I do sometimes.

That was the end of the relationship. From that moment on, she wouldn’t make eye contact with him. Because for many Christian denominations in Tanzania, drinking alcohol is not compatible with Christianity.

When we move overseas, we give up a lot. Christmas at Grandma’s, Girl Scout Cookies, garbage disposals, 24-hour stores, our own language, feeling competent.

So we should be able to hold onto some of what’s important, comfortable, and familiar to us, right?

Sometimes we sure would like to think so.

I should be able to wear what I want in my new culture, because clothes express my unique identity. So if I look cute in bikinis, then I’m going to wear my bikini. If I am comfortable in shorts, I’m going to wear shorts. I’m not comfortable in long skirts or head coverings. And my tattoo is an expression of who I am, so why would I want to cover it up?

I should be able to eat what I want to eat, because asking me to give up pork or eat only vegetarian–well, that’s asking too much. I should be able to drink alcohol, because it’s not a sin, and it’s something I enjoy.

You might take away Starbucks and Target, but don’t touch my bacon.

For those of us from western cultures, we might be nodding in agreement. Of course. We’re used to a culture where self-expression reigns supreme. Conformity is viewed with disdain. Even our churches are pushing the boundaries of what was considered taboo or morally unacceptable. We aren’t legalists, right?

So when our host culture conflicts with our forms of comfort or self-expression, who wins?

Go hereto read the rest. 

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