the ones with it all together

In April 2014, a good friend and former pastor of ours committed suicide. The shocking news came about a week before we went back to Zambia, and we were barely able to process it before getting on the plane to head back into the trenches of full-time ministry in Africa.

Ministry can be hard. Isolating even. Though you serve so many, you can only be real and safe with a precious few. You’re the missionary, the pastor, the Bible study leader. You’re the called, the qualified, the one with all the answers, and the one with it all together.

You’re not, of course, but that’s the expectation we put on ourselves. So when the hard stuff piles up and you start to feel lonely and overwhelmed, where do you go?

Yes, the simple answer is “to God.” I mean, those of us in ministry have a direct channel to our Lord and King, right? It is absolutely true, that through the blood of Christ, we can approach the throne in prayer and confidence because Jesus is at the right hand of God and the Spirit is advocating for us.

But sometimes despair can just be too much and we need a friend, a confidant, or perhaps, a change of circumstances.

In a previous blog post, I shared a bit about the depression Luke was experiencing during our last term in Zambia. I remember standing back and knowing all I could do is support him and love him and pray for him as he wrestled with our calling and identity and our future.

What I didn’t share was that I was scared. I knew Luke was standing on a firm foundation in Christ and never once even thought about suicide. I saw his dedication to the Word and to our family. But having arrived on the field still processing the suicide of our friend, I was extra vigilant watching for signs of something more than a situational depression. I was afraid to go through what my dear friend went through, left alone with two kids to pick up the pieces, a pastor’s wife who was expected to have it all together and then her whole world just crumbled apart.

With a new baby in my arms and a fear in my heart, mama bear came out in full protection.

While I didn’t growl at anyone (I don’t think), I was very mindful of my words, and eyes wide open to the One who comes to steal and destroy. We have an Enemy who is very real and wants to stand in the way of the great things God wants to do in and through us.

Sometimes this mama bear was so focused on protecting family, though, that I may have hurt dear friends. Though Luke was back to his normal, goofy self almost instantaneously when we made our decision to leave Zambia (bringing further confirmation that we were making the right choice as the depression seemed more like oppression), we both still carried a lot of hurt, and at the time, my focus was so on preventing more hurt to us, that my controlling tendencies may have brought more hurt to others. I say this not knowing whom I may have upset in those first weeks back in the US. I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting as we approach the one-year mark from when we decided it was time to leave Zambia.

We had so many gracious hosts and generous friends welcoming us back and taking care of us, and I so apologize if our responses were not so gracious or our welcomes over-stayed. I’m sorry if we were guarded, or as we felt safe with you, if we overshared. I’m sorry if our brokenness shattered an ideal image you might have had of missionaries. Most of all, I’m sorry if our lives/words/choices made you think any less of Jesus.

I say all this as confession, as reflection, as explanation. I say it to thank you for being safe people as we picked up the pieces of our brokenness. I say it to ask you to be safe people for others around you who are in full-time ministry. It brings great joy, but it’s also hard.

We absolutely love what we are doing now to equip new missionaries. While we often yearn to be the ones going, we are confident that this is where God wants us and we see Him using our experiences in Zambia to better enable us to prepare and relate to the new missionaries we work with. Right now, it’s not so hard. But some days are trying. We are all far from being holy, and the sanctification process can be a burning fire, especially in a ministry setting.

So as I think about where we came from, and where we are now, I just wanted to share this. Pray for your pastors. Encourage the missionaries in your life. Take your pastor’s wife out for coffee and be a safe place for her to be real. Share your struggles and let us share ours – so we know we’re on equal ground. Baby-sit your local college ministry couple’s kids so they can have a date. Send a care package to an overseas missionary. And be available to listen, to pray, to counsel (if asked). Ministry life can be hard, and lonely.

Eighty percent of missionaries burn out and don’t finish their term. According to some statistics, 1,500 pastors leave their ministries every month because of burnout, conflict or moral failure. Seventy percent say they have no close friends. And pastors have one of the top three suicide rates of any profession.

We are thankful to still be in full-time ministry, though it looks a little different here. We are thankful for so many friends who have stuck with us through it all. We are thankful for your prayers and your encouragement. We are thankful for your friendship. Thank you. Please continue to pray that we – and others working to tell people about Jesus – may be vigilant and prepared with the full armor of God.

On leaving. On waiting. On growing.

There are days I really miss Zambia.

And not just because it’s crazy cold here and I want to throw open all the windows and doors and walk around in flip flops (though all of that is very very true).

But I miss the culture. The pace. The people. Our sweet little house with all its flaws. The music. The color. The red dust in every corner and crevice. Laundry and diapers drying on the line. Mulberries straight off the tree. The incredible sunsets over our backyard, easily visible from the kitchen sink. And Jungle and Chibi running like crazy around the yard as they did most afternoons as I prepared a from-scratch dinner with locally grown tomatoes and other goodies.

The simplicity of life, despite the complexity of living in a culture not our own.

We loved Zambia. We still love Zambia. And quite honestly, as we continue in this period of not knowing what’s next for us here, I kinda wish we hadn’t left when we did.

And yet, we knew it was time.

There were such a myriad of factors and so much of the reasoning can’t be explained in a letter or blog (but we’d love to share more over dinner or coffee sometime)! We spent the entire eight months we were back (and honestly, the entire year and a half before that) asking God if that was really where He wanted us. For seven months we just heard “wait.” For seven months, I watched my husband pour himself into our ministry and hit dead end after dead end, wondering if the resistance was from God or the Enemy. I watched him wrestle with our call, our place, our identity, and ultimately, with God (remaining faithful through it all). I watched him get hurt in relationships that we expected to bring life. I watched as daily frustrations and difficulties became unmanageable and debilitating. I watched him battle loneliness that I could not fill and depression that I could not fix.

And I prayed. Because that’s all I really could do. I didn’t pray that we stay or that we go. I just prayed that in the right time, we would know, and that there would be peace in the knowing.

So on that one day in late October when all of it seemed particularly hard and getting out of bed was daunting enough a task to send Luke right back under the covers, we prayed again. And together we felt God was saying “go.” By the end of that day, that “Go” came louder and clearer. And then there was peace. We decided it was, in fact, time.

Funny thing (or God thing) is that when we made the decision officially, there was a light and passion in Luke that I had not seen in many many months. Looking back, it’s as if the depression was more of an oppression. 

Now, going without knowing where we were going was not exactly an easy or straightforward thing. We don’t like not knowing. We like planning. Doing. Having “all our ducks in a row” (whatever that actually means). But just as the Lord told Abram to leave everything to Go “to the land I will show you”, we knew we were just supposed to go, and God would eventually show us where.

From there we think things got a little muddled. In fact, we probably burned a few bridges from unclear or hasty communication. For that, we are deeply sorry. When you’re telling a hundred different people bits and pieces, the whole picture gets a bit blurry and convoluted. Hopes came across as facts. Leaving came across as quitting altogether. And despite months and months of prayer and communication with dear friends, it all happened very fast once the decision was made. So here are a few logistical details:

Luke’s work permit was set to expire January 6, so we knew it would be best to go before that rather than reapply. Then it just made sense to try to leave before Christmas to be with family for the holidays, especially with Michael’s first birthday on Christmas. Plane tickets get more expensive as you get closer to the holidays, and we knew we would need time to fight jetlag and prepare for Christmas. So we booked our tickets for December 9.

Those last several weeks were busy with selling, giving, packing, and arranging. They were also full of meaningful farewells, joyful celebrations of friendship and ministry, and good closure on that chapter of our lives. Every day, we miss something about Zambia, but we don’t question the decision to leave. We weren’t excited to come back, but we are excited for what God has next.

We did not leaving knowing we had a definite position here, and we are still in limbo as far as that goes. We definitely aren’t quitting missions. Our hearts are still very much for sharing Jesus with those who have never heard the Gospel. We won’t even say we’re done overseas (though, for the time being, we feel we need to be Stateside). We’re just waiting to learn the what, where, how, when and who of it all (living out of suitcases and trying to make sense of life).

Let me tell you. The waiting is hard. We spent February at a conference in Michigan for missionaries who have faced burnout or other difficulties. This was a healing time. A renewing time. We were affirmed in our decision to leave and equipped for whatever lies ahead. During a seminar on suffering, one thing struck me more than anything else. So often, Romans 8:28 is used as a band-aid to “comfort” those in hard circumstances – you know, that “all things work together for good.”

Well, they do. And not in a, tomorrow, life will be rosy sort of way. Life may still be hard. It may get harder. God uses that. He uses it in ways we will never know to bring results we will never see.  But He also uses that for the good in us. Our hardship draws us to Him. It sanctifies us – makes us more and more Christlike – and for that we truly can rejoice in the trials.

We don’t regret our time in Zambia. We don’t regret leaving Zambia. We don’t even regret all the junky stuff we experienced along the way, as we know:

…“suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts...” (Romans 5:3-5)

That, my friends, is good. 

*so that was intended to be a lighthearted blog about missing Zambia, but I apparently had a lot more to say. That probably wouldn't be a problem if I updated the blog a bit more often. Thanks for reading, though! Perhaps Luke will have more to say....*