Gorillas, Social Media, and Personal Responsibility

I’ll be the first to admit that I would much rather find someone to blame than take personal responsibility. Maybe I’m part of the “entitled” generation, maybe I grew up around too many lawyers, or maybe it’s facebook, but even in there, I tried to place the blame for my attitude on anything but myself and my character.

The interwebs blew up yesterday with the news of the endangered gorilla who had to be shot to protect the safety of a small boy who made his way into the enclosure. And I was sad. A lot of people are sad. But a lot of people (who were in no way involved) are also downright angry. I got lost in a couple comment feeds…

“Blame the mother!”

“make the parents pay!”

“it’s the zoo’s fault”

“negligence on all parts”

“Why didn’t they _____?!”

And then I was more sad. Sad because we aren’t capable of just being sad in a set of crummy circumstances. We have to point fingers. We have to place blame. We have to find justice (and of course, our idea of justice is obviously ideal and fair).

I get it. When we realized we have major water damage in the flooring of one of our rooms, I immediately tried to place blame. I wanted it to be someone’s fault. I wanted someone else to have to pay. It’s only fair. I shouldn’t be responsible to fix my own home. The inspector should pay. The previous owners should have known.

Spill your hot coffee? Sue the restaurant. Trip and fall? Whose sidewalk was it? Lost your job? Clearly, your boss was out to get you (been there too).

I pondered this today, though, on this day we celebrate and remember all those who have given their lives for our freedom. These men and women fought for something greater than themselves, and outside their realm of personal responsibility. Imagine if they had just sat back and whined about all the injustices, or even sat on the front lines tweeting their “how could yous?!”.

Imagine if police officers ignored offenses, or even just pointed fingers at perpetrators, instead of actually serving justice.

We can sit around when our house is on fire and question who is to blame, but there are firefighters who are going to fight to put the fire out and make sure we’re safe.

The American soldier isn’t sitting back and questioning and placing blame and telling someone else to do something about it. They’re standing on the front lines, willing to die to defend our freedoms – freedom to speak up, freedom to vote, freedom to whine on social media (though I somehow doubt that was why so many of our ancestors stood so proudly for our country).

There are definitely injustices in this world. There are sad things with no one in particular to blame (though we feel better when we can point fingers). And sometimes there is even someone to blame. But sometimes we’re the ones to blame. I know I am. 

Imagine, perhaps, a world where everyone took personal responsibility. We own up to our own faults and build our own character. Once we’ve worked on that, perhaps we step up for something beyond ourselves. We take ourselves out of the center of the universe, and start loving, serving, giving of ourselves for someone else’s good.

Perhaps then, we might truly appreciate and honor the American soldier.

Even more, we might understand and worship Jesus. Let’s face it, often times we are the ones to blame. We’re the ones who told the lie, shared the gossip, acted impurely, judged someone unfairly, and worshipped ourselves and our self-proclaimed, self-righteousness over the One True God.

Jesus lived a perfect life. He never sinned. He could have easily sat in a little bubble of self-righteous indignation at the world around him. But instead, he had compassion. He was saddened by our helplessness and sin, and he did something about the injustices he saw. He did something on our behalf. Not because we deserved it – no, we deserved death and eternal separation from God. He did it to give us freedom. He paid our penalty by dying on the cross, so that we might be viewed as righteous, and have freedom from the bondage of sin and death.

What does this have to do with a gorilla? Not a lot, other than perhaps a call to just allow the sadness to be just that. We live in a fallen world where sad things happen. Injust and awful things sometimes. Stop pointing fingers and realize that sometimes people are doing the best they can. And sometimes they’re not. And without Jesus, even our best will always fall short.

So celebrate those who serve for the greater good. Thank those who put your life and your needs ahead of their own. When there are real injustices, fight against them in actions, rather than just worlds on a screen. Look at the needs around you and consider serving or helping instead of just crying injustice at the unfortunate circumstances.

Thank a soldier.

Thank Jesus. For only his death could bring us the ultimate freedom. Then tell someone about Him - that's the greatest good you can do for someone.

And stay off of those comment feeds. They’ll suck the joy right out of you.

For we know him who said, “Vengeance is mine; I will repay.” And again, “The Lord will judge his people.” 31 It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God. – Hebrews 10:30

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....*

Home for Christmas

and..... deep breath.

and as I breathe that deep breath, an amazing sense of peace washes over me. A peace that says we're doing the right thing, at the right time.

We have made the decision to leave Zambia. There were a myriad of factors leading to this decision, and it certainly did not come easily, but the decision has been made and we hope to be home by Christmas.

Home is such a strange word, isn't it? Since we started dating 10 years ago (and really before that), our focus has been on the next step to get to Africa. Four years ago, we arrived. Literally. Figuratively. Zambia became home. We bought our first refrigerator and washing machine. We adopted one, then two dogs. We established a routine of cooking from scratch and navigating the markets and learning to communicate at all stops along the way. We arrived in Zambia with rose-colored glasses and an uncrushable spirit.

But to be completely honest, our spirits have been crushed. Through hurtful situations. Through spiritual valleys. Through circumstances far outside our control.

We've tried to stick it out. We've redirected our ministry more than once. We've focused on the things we love (the Zambian people, the pace of life, the climate, tropical fruit, etc.). We've prayed. We've cried. We've prayed some more.

And God has shown us it's time to go. We won't say we're done with Africa. We certainly aren't done with missions. But for now, we will no longer call Zambia home.

We will no longer call Zambia home.

Those are hard words to swallow, but go down so smoothly.

We know home is where God calls us to be at that time. He goes before us and is with us.

So as we once again sell most of our belongings and prepare to say a thousand sad good byes, we look forward to our next home. Details are slowly working themselves out. It looks like Charlotte, North Carolina will be home for the foreseeable future (though we promise our friends and family in Illinois and Missouri to spend the holidays with you).

We will still be missionaries, but for the time being, our role will be to equip and mobilize other missionaries in some way or another from our home office. As we know more, we will share more.

It's all so bittersweet. But we have peace. Peace we've not had in many months, maybe years.

Thank you for praying with us through this transition. Thank you for loving us despite our crushed spirits.

We'll be home for Christmas.

"It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed."- Deut. 31:8

Relating to Jonah

We are fast approaching the six-month “anniversary” of our return to life and ministry in Zambia. Many of you have been keeping up with our Tiffany's facebook posts, prayer letters, and certain blog posts since our return, so it should therefore come as no surprise to you that these months have been marked by a great deal of frustration, stress, and questions. If you were to ask me my thoughts on it all, I’d probably give you a pained expression and a mumbled response along the lines of, “We haven’t done anything” or “We’re basically starting over.”

When things were particularly difficult back in June, I told Tiffany that I felt a lot like Jonah. She asked me why, and I didn’t have a good answer. But it’s still the way I felt. This same conversation came back about two weeks ago after a major training event we had planned for church leaders was cancelled due to scheduling conflicts with our primary instructor. Again, I said I felt like Jonah.

If you’re familiar with the story of Jonah, you might think that he is an odd character to identify with – not exactly a great role model for you or your children. But, in light of all that we’ve experienced, I feel that I can relate with him and everything he did and experienced in the short book bearing his name.

Let me give you some examples…

1) Hastily Fleeing

When we arrived in Zambia in 2010 for our first term as missionaries, we were excited. We knew beyond any doubt that this was where God was calling us. It was difficult at times, but we got through all those times with confidence because THIS was where we were supposed to be. THIS was what God made us for.

Fast forward to our return in April of this year. Gone are those feelings of excitement. We I felt as though we were returning out of obligation to our supporters and to the mission, but I was not fully convinced that returning was what God wanted us to do. Maybe we were supposed to remain in the US and take on a new ministry role there. I had so many questions that lingered in my mind. But we returned. And I felt as though I was running away from something.

Or wanting to run away. Wanting to flee from God’s call.

Much like Jonah was called to go and bring a message of salvation to Nineveh but ended up running away – from his home, from this call, and even from God (Jonah 1) – I felt overwhelmingly like I was either running away from God’s call, or I wanted to run but something was keeping me from doing so. And the questions continued.

Did God have something different – better – for us to do somewhere else, but we returned to Zambia because it was familiar?

When we realized that Sports Friends here had all but fallen apart in our absence and we needed to basically start over, was my frustration and reluctance to move ahead my way of running from the huge task of restarting the ministry?

Whether God was calling us back to Zambia, or indeed calling us to the US, it didn’t really matter. I was running from both. I began shutting down, avoiding all things ministry related. It all seemed to be too much, and I didn’t want to deal with it. So, I fled.

And then the storm hit. Everything around felt like it was flying in my face. Nothing I did was making it better. Like the sailors (Jonah 1:13), I couldn’t get myself out of it. I needed God’s intervention to set me straight.

2) Uncomfortably Waiting

It got to the point where Tiffany told me that something was very wrong. She was concerned because I seemed to have lost all passion. Something needed to change. So we took time to pray and seek the wise counsel of others who have been there. And through this time, we became more confident that God was calling us to Zambia, at least for now. But, along with this confirmation of our call came an undeniable feeling that we were to wait on the Lord and not take any of this into our own hands.

Waiting isn’t exactly my strong suit.

In Jonah’s case, God had him swallowed up by a big fish. He had nothing to do but wait as he sat in the fish’s GI tract for three days. Wait for God to release Him from the gastric prison. Wait for God to set him back on the dry land, geared up for the ministry he was called to do.

Now, three days does not sound like a long time, but it probably felt like an eternity to Jonah. For me, waiting for three hours can seem like an eternity. Three days would be almost unbearable. But knowing that God was confirming our call to Zambia and simultaneously telling us to wait on Him indefinitely, my mind was reeling. Wait indefinitely?? Can’t I do that in a place that is more comfortable? Maybe closer to my friends and family?

I may still be in this season of waiting – I may always be – and it’s not exactly an easy thing to live with. But I’m learning. Learning to wait for God to work out the details. Learning to trust that He is in control, even when I try to run away or take the reins.

And this season of waiting is causing me to pray like Jonah did in chapter 2 – praying in acknowledgement of my own failures and efforts to flee, praying for His provision and forgiveness, and praying to recommit to the ministry He has called us to, whatever that may look like.

3) Reluctantly Obeying

Have you ever told God that you would obey Him wherever He may lead, and follow through on your commitment, but only out of obligation and not willingly and joyfully? That seems to be what Jonah did. He went to Nineveh and spread the message of repentance and salvation he was told to bring, but then got upset with God for actually saving the people of Nineveh. He did what God called him to do. He did what He told God he would do. But he definitely didn’t seem happy about it, especially after seeing the outcome.

There are times – more often than I care to admit – when I feel the same way.

I told God that I would follow His leading. I told God that, if He calls us to serve Him in Zambia, we will continue to serve Him in Zambia. Where He leads, I will follow. But that doesn’t mean that I’m always happy about it. Sometimes I feel like I’m continuing to do this ministry because nobody else is doing it, and I’m in too deep to give it up at this point. Other times I know that moving forward will be more difficult and more painful, and I really don’t want to deal with that. I do it, because I believe in keeping my commitments, but I’m not always happy about it.

And then I’m reminded that God doesn’t want our half-hearted obedience (Isaiah 1:11ff; Hosea 6:6). He wants our hearts. If I’m not doing this to honor and glorify Him, then He doesn’t want me to continue. The Pharisees were obedient to the laws, but completely missed the point. Balaam did as God commanded him to do, but that didn’t mean he was saved. Reluctant obedience is not a pleasing sacrifice; worshipful and willful obedience to an awesome God in response to the grace He has provided through His Son – now that’s what He’s looking for.

That doesn’t mean it’ll be easy. But it makes the hard times worth it.

So my prayer for me, and my prayer for you if you find yourself going through similar times, is for a deeper relationship with the Lord. A greater, more intimate and personal knowledge of Him. Live to worship Him. This will pull you back from those times when you try to flee. This will give you peace as you wait for God to move. And this will bring you joy even as the path of obedience seems to bring nothing but difficulty.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart

And do not lean on your own understanding.

In all your ways acknowledge Him,

And He will make your paths straight.

~Proverbs 3:5-6