I took a moment to stop and try and remember my password as I logged in to create this post. The last post here was from November 2nd. Now almost two months later I look back at the countries and places I've been since then.
This is just a simple Merry Christmas wish to all of you. Hoping that time with family and friends is well spent. Don't eat too much, don't drink and drive, give someone a hug, be nice and go on a mission's trip this next year. Who knows what might happen.
Merry Christmas and have a safe and Happy New Year.
12.25.2006
11.02.2006
Seeing you work
Knowing that time is somewhat relative in certain parts of the world, and knowing we had to be back to our guest house before 6pm or the nuns would lock the door and give us all a switching and send us to bed without dinner; we decided to start the film at 4pm. This gave us about two hours to finish the fifty minute film and still be able to tear down and make the 20 minute drive.
We set-up the screen and projector around 2:30pm and of course our van full of American kids drew the expected crowd of people who I still haven’t figured out where they must be going, but they always stop and just stare. I guess wherever they were going wasn’t that important anyway.
So we tell the crowd that at 4pm we’ll start the film, they scatter to run home or on their way. The van takes the team back to the guesthouse and I am left with two nationals at the empty church to wait for the crowds. I suppose I didn’t know what to expect really, the church sat empty, quiet and still during the next moments. I had a few minutes to read so I got out my most recent book and began reading again about the “call” to missions that some people must have and others must not.
It always bugged me hearing people say they were called to one place or the other, I remember hearing all sorts of missionaries and people saying they received the call of God to missions when they were whatever age. I don’t discount that or doubt that it’s probably happened. Maybe I just feel left out sometimes that I’ve never experienced something like that. Did I miss the phone call? Maybe I haven’t checked my email recently. Or maybe it’s that the call comes, but there’s too many other voices that drown out His voice.
Then I continued reading about how missions is somewhat unevenly balanced. There are hundreds of churches and missionaries in lots of countries, except where they are needed the most. We send groups and teams to all sorts of countries that already have established churches and heavy populations of Christians. The goal of missions should be to bring in new cultures and people groups to worshipping God. Missions exists in the world today because worship of Him does not. What am I doing today that will bring about Christ’s return to the earth?
So at about ten ‘til four I looked out again across the empty room, I guess we’ll be missing dinner tonight if we’re going to have to wait for people to show up. I suppose even if just a few people come, that’s who God wanted to be there.
Then I looked out through the barred glassless windows, and here they came. Just a handful at first, the school kids came running barefooted along the dusty road; it’s that same red dirt that I’ve been trying desperately to scrub out of my t-shirts. They came running towards the church some carrying schoolbooks and some Books of Hope. A few stood at the door, the pastor waved them in and they raced for the front seats. That’s not bad I thought, we’ve got about thirty kids who’ll be… then more came, and more, and more. The boys all wearing tan shirts, the girls all wearing blue dresses, all school uniforms. Their teachers had not only dismissed them a little early, they had also accompanied many of them to the church. The room soon began to fill with noise and smells and sights of hundreds of children’s faces and feet and hands and the empty quiet of the church was replaced by a joyful expectancy of the unknown. Their eyes locked onto the big white screen in front of them as the images flashed.
I watched God work tonight, I saw Him fill a room full to overflowing, I saw Him bring kids and adults to the windows of the church to watch a film about the greatest love story ever written. I saw children shocked at how Jesus was treated; I heard them cheer when the tomb was found empty. Over 1200 people were at the church tonight, over 1200 kids were told in their language that God loves them and can be their father. I watched God work.
This evening I watched the sunset over the Rwanda countryside. It blazed its reds, oranges and yellows across the deepening blue sky. Clouds showed off their form under the colors. I sat and realized that it will never set on this day again, ever. The sun will only rise once a day and set once that same day, never to happen again. During those twelve hours what did I do with my time? Did I value the moments I was able to tell the children that they are valued and loved? Did I make the most of every moment? Did I answer the “call” to missions and follow God’s leading?
I want to go where there is no guarantee of success. I want to make a trail where there is none, I want to see God work where our human means fail. I want to learn to not even try my own ways, but to trust to His. I want to see You work.
Thanks for reading.
We set-up the screen and projector around 2:30pm and of course our van full of American kids drew the expected crowd of people who I still haven’t figured out where they must be going, but they always stop and just stare. I guess wherever they were going wasn’t that important anyway.
So we tell the crowd that at 4pm we’ll start the film, they scatter to run home or on their way. The van takes the team back to the guesthouse and I am left with two nationals at the empty church to wait for the crowds. I suppose I didn’t know what to expect really, the church sat empty, quiet and still during the next moments. I had a few minutes to read so I got out my most recent book and began reading again about the “call” to missions that some people must have and others must not.
It always bugged me hearing people say they were called to one place or the other, I remember hearing all sorts of missionaries and people saying they received the call of God to missions when they were whatever age. I don’t discount that or doubt that it’s probably happened. Maybe I just feel left out sometimes that I’ve never experienced something like that. Did I miss the phone call? Maybe I haven’t checked my email recently. Or maybe it’s that the call comes, but there’s too many other voices that drown out His voice.
Then I continued reading about how missions is somewhat unevenly balanced. There are hundreds of churches and missionaries in lots of countries, except where they are needed the most. We send groups and teams to all sorts of countries that already have established churches and heavy populations of Christians. The goal of missions should be to bring in new cultures and people groups to worshipping God. Missions exists in the world today because worship of Him does not. What am I doing today that will bring about Christ’s return to the earth?
So at about ten ‘til four I looked out again across the empty room, I guess we’ll be missing dinner tonight if we’re going to have to wait for people to show up. I suppose even if just a few people come, that’s who God wanted to be there.
Then I looked out through the barred glassless windows, and here they came. Just a handful at first, the school kids came running barefooted along the dusty road; it’s that same red dirt that I’ve been trying desperately to scrub out of my t-shirts. They came running towards the church some carrying schoolbooks and some Books of Hope. A few stood at the door, the pastor waved them in and they raced for the front seats. That’s not bad I thought, we’ve got about thirty kids who’ll be… then more came, and more, and more. The boys all wearing tan shirts, the girls all wearing blue dresses, all school uniforms. Their teachers had not only dismissed them a little early, they had also accompanied many of them to the church. The room soon began to fill with noise and smells and sights of hundreds of children’s faces and feet and hands and the empty quiet of the church was replaced by a joyful expectancy of the unknown. Their eyes locked onto the big white screen in front of them as the images flashed.
I watched God work tonight, I saw Him fill a room full to overflowing, I saw Him bring kids and adults to the windows of the church to watch a film about the greatest love story ever written. I saw children shocked at how Jesus was treated; I heard them cheer when the tomb was found empty. Over 1200 people were at the church tonight, over 1200 kids were told in their language that God loves them and can be their father. I watched God work.
This evening I watched the sunset over the Rwanda countryside. It blazed its reds, oranges and yellows across the deepening blue sky. Clouds showed off their form under the colors. I sat and realized that it will never set on this day again, ever. The sun will only rise once a day and set once that same day, never to happen again. During those twelve hours what did I do with my time? Did I value the moments I was able to tell the children that they are valued and loved? Did I make the most of every moment? Did I answer the “call” to missions and follow God’s leading?
I want to go where there is no guarantee of success. I want to make a trail where there is none, I want to see God work where our human means fail. I want to learn to not even try my own ways, but to trust to His. I want to see You work.
Thanks for reading.
9.21.2006
Driving the N1
Groblersdal. I think no matter how you spell it the spell-check is going to tell you it’s wrong so I should just get used to the red squiggly line underneath it. We’ve been here about three days and already it’s challenged so much of my thinking and my understanding of misunderstanding. We took the N4 highway from Rustenburg to Pretoria then switched to the N1 heading south to Johannesburg and then returned to the N4 to get here.
We are in a North-eastern province. The city of Groblahblahblah isn’t actually where we’re working. Instead it’s where we’re basing ourselves at for the next few days. Each morning we drive about an hour north into a somewhat remote and poor area of South Africa. It was here that our minds were twisted with the questions the students were asking.
I’ve been in thousands of schools in over twenty different nations. Usually when we open up to questions you get a few of the normal things about where we’re from, what kind of food do we like, what we think of their country and sometimes even what our thoughts are about the women in their country... that’s always an interesting one to try to answer.
This class of fourteen and fifteen year olds in a village school went straight to the point. No formalities about our lives or anything. We had finished a traditional presentation telling them they are valuable and they really need to consider the choices they are making regarding relationships. After our presentation we had a few minutes so we asked if anyone had any questions. Honestly I didn’t really expect any, the students are usually very shy and embarrassed to ask anything in front of their peers. They will usually shy away from trying to speak a language that isn’t theirs or they’re not comfortable with. Then it came, in English, right from the back, a young girl wearing a blue school uniform; she shot straight to the point when she asked whether a condom is 100% effective against preventing AIDS. Why couldn’t they ask about our thoughts of politics?
We answered the question with the limited HIV/AIDS information we’d learned in grade school. Anyone else with a question? Hoping in our minds that the subject had passed we were slightly more prepared for the next volley. “How exactly does someone get AIDS?” “Do you get AIDS from giving someone a hug?” “If I’ve had sex with my boyfriend using a condom is it still possible to get AIDS?” “Are the condoms they sell in the store more effective than the ones I get for free from the clinic?” “Do I get AIDS by eating food someone else with AIDS has eaten?”
Our minds are spinning with the reality that we’ve just entered. Not only do these kids not really have any idea about AIDS, they really don’t have ANY possible way to find the truth about it. We were some of the first people to speak to these High School kids who’ve probably been sexually active since they were about twelve years old. Not only do these kids not have any possible way to find the truth about AIDS, there’s nothing really being done to help them. As you’re driving around you may see helpful signs saying “Be wise, condomize” or “Practice safe sex, use a condom” but no one is doing anything more to help prevent this disease. Not only are people not helping them in any way, but even the people who should be helping them are totally confused about it as well. As we answered the kids questions the teachers as well sat there listening. Who will tell these kids the truth?
I realized that day that the limited information I had from grade school or high school was more information than these kids may ever be exposed to. They are living in darkness. They are living under a veil that has covered their eyes to the truth that there is a danger and their lives do matter enough for them to chose life over death. But who will tell them?
Yesterday I was shocked at how little is being done and how little these kids know about a disease that is destroying their nation. Confusion, anger and desperation set into my spirit. It tears my heart knowing that these kids have bought into lies they’ve been told.
Yesterday, in a high school of about twelve hundred students- learners as they call them here- we told them. And we gave each of them a book that explained the truth about AIDS and how it’s spread. We told them of their value to God and how they can choose to make positive choices, they are worth saving themselves. We told them.
Yesterday I told a group of high school students that condoms don’t prevent AIDS, I told them to wait until marriage, I told them God loves them and values them. I told them you don’t get AIDS from hugging someone or shaking their hand.
Today someone told me that it’s likely that every one of those kids has HIV/AIDS. Yesterday came too late for many of them.
We are in a North-eastern province. The city of Groblahblahblah isn’t actually where we’re working. Instead it’s where we’re basing ourselves at for the next few days. Each morning we drive about an hour north into a somewhat remote and poor area of South Africa. It was here that our minds were twisted with the questions the students were asking.
I’ve been in thousands of schools in over twenty different nations. Usually when we open up to questions you get a few of the normal things about where we’re from, what kind of food do we like, what we think of their country and sometimes even what our thoughts are about the women in their country... that’s always an interesting one to try to answer.
This class of fourteen and fifteen year olds in a village school went straight to the point. No formalities about our lives or anything. We had finished a traditional presentation telling them they are valuable and they really need to consider the choices they are making regarding relationships. After our presentation we had a few minutes so we asked if anyone had any questions. Honestly I didn’t really expect any, the students are usually very shy and embarrassed to ask anything in front of their peers. They will usually shy away from trying to speak a language that isn’t theirs or they’re not comfortable with. Then it came, in English, right from the back, a young girl wearing a blue school uniform; she shot straight to the point when she asked whether a condom is 100% effective against preventing AIDS. Why couldn’t they ask about our thoughts of politics?
We answered the question with the limited HIV/AIDS information we’d learned in grade school. Anyone else with a question? Hoping in our minds that the subject had passed we were slightly more prepared for the next volley. “How exactly does someone get AIDS?” “Do you get AIDS from giving someone a hug?” “If I’ve had sex with my boyfriend using a condom is it still possible to get AIDS?” “Are the condoms they sell in the store more effective than the ones I get for free from the clinic?” “Do I get AIDS by eating food someone else with AIDS has eaten?”
Our minds are spinning with the reality that we’ve just entered. Not only do these kids not really have any idea about AIDS, they really don’t have ANY possible way to find the truth about it. We were some of the first people to speak to these High School kids who’ve probably been sexually active since they were about twelve years old. Not only do these kids not have any possible way to find the truth about AIDS, there’s nothing really being done to help them. As you’re driving around you may see helpful signs saying “Be wise, condomize” or “Practice safe sex, use a condom” but no one is doing anything more to help prevent this disease. Not only are people not helping them in any way, but even the people who should be helping them are totally confused about it as well. As we answered the kids questions the teachers as well sat there listening. Who will tell these kids the truth?
I realized that day that the limited information I had from grade school or high school was more information than these kids may ever be exposed to. They are living in darkness. They are living under a veil that has covered their eyes to the truth that there is a danger and their lives do matter enough for them to chose life over death. But who will tell them?
Yesterday I was shocked at how little is being done and how little these kids know about a disease that is destroying their nation. Confusion, anger and desperation set into my spirit. It tears my heart knowing that these kids have bought into lies they’ve been told.
Yesterday, in a high school of about twelve hundred students- learners as they call them here- we told them. And we gave each of them a book that explained the truth about AIDS and how it’s spread. We told them of their value to God and how they can choose to make positive choices, they are worth saving themselves. We told them.
Yesterday I told a group of high school students that condoms don’t prevent AIDS, I told them to wait until marriage, I told them God loves them and values them. I told them you don’t get AIDS from hugging someone or shaking their hand.
Today someone told me that it’s likely that every one of those kids has HIV/AIDS. Yesterday came too late for many of them.
8.30.2006
Becoming Milo
A white lab coat and some safety goggles complete the costume. Yet not all is complete to make Professor Milo who he needs to be. Developing a character for plays and theatre was always a difficult task for me. The director would tell us to come up with a character and his or her conflict in the play. We had to define the character by their history, family, schooling and living status. We were supposed to breathe life and depth into a person that otherwise would not exist; and I’m sure some people would like to argue does not exist outside the four walls of the theatre.
It was always easier to come up with the history and background and let the character would flow from that, rather than create a character and then try to define his story and why he was the way he was. This was always a stretch for me. I always had a hard time stepping outside what I already knew. It was hard to look past your own personal ideas and life and make something new. It was always a stretch for me to do figure and plan something I didn’t understand. I was supposed to be able to create a new person based on ideas and thoughts in my own mind. I was supposed to come up with a new world-view and new ideals to create a person who may be completely opposite how I see myself. This is the dilemma.
We are obviously each raised in different environments and places. Every person has been shaped by life experiences and events. Without getting too far into the Nature v. Nurture debate it’s pretty easy to see that we are all different in our views of our worlds, our outlooks and ourselves. These differences are caused by a variety of factors that have shaped much of what we hold onto today.
Creating us and shaping us has been God’s purpose since before our entrance into this earth. He has a purpose and a plan that is unique and specific for you and I. This plan that He has is shaped by where He takes us and the individual experiences we each go through. Although at the time it’s usually a stretch for us, we can often times look back and later see where and why He was leading us the way He did.
My mind has struggled with this entry for a few days now. It’s taken me a lot longer to formulate and process what I need to write for this letter, than on any other. Even now I sit here and try to put into words the feelings and emotions that I’m facing. I think a lot of what I need to say comes from my selfish desires to know the end and the result of this next stage in my life. I want to know the character God is building me into and where He is leading me. I don’t want the process, I want the result. I don’t want the growing and stretching, I want the rest. I don’t want to be at point “A” when I know there’s a point “B” coming along somewhere. I guess I should just explain.
I leave this Wednesday for Africa. I will be leading an intern team of four into South Africa, Rwanda and Uganda. We will be gone from August 30th until the beginning of December. I think the struggle comes in knowing that my flesh doesn’t really want to do this. I mean if I can be completely honest, and this is probably going to sound somewhat “unmissionary-like”, I don’t want to do this.
I don’t reeeaally want to be gone for that long, I don’t want to experience cold showers, rice and beans everyday, goat meat, bottled water, uncomfortable beds, sleepless nights, foreign languages, people staring at you, long bus rides, hot sweaty days, no communication with home, no home, living out of a suitcase, being away, slow internet connections, waking up early, giving and giving and giving. All these things that I don’t really look forward to, or really miss that much are balanced knowing that He is bringing me into a deeper understanding of His plan. I know God is taking me somewhere and He’s forming me into a character and person that He wants me to be, it’s just the process, the process that is causing the most pain.
So I walk this semester in obedience. I take on this mantle of leading this team and all that goes with it under the knowledge that I am being obedient to what He has brought me into. Most other trips I’ve been on have been great because I’m walking in the excitement and passion of the ministry. Yet somehow this time it’s different. I am in simple obedience to His will for my life at this time. I think this is much harder.
Becoming Milo is in reference to a Children’s Show “Demo” that is being filmed here at Book of Hope. It’s something one of the ladies here and the studio are putting together to try to provide needed material for kids here in the United States. What will happen or where it will take us, no one really knows, but that for me would represent the point “B”. I would love to be a part of a children’s show in some kind of ministry aspect. That would really be something that would fulfill a true heart’s desire in my life. Yet because of my travel schedule, I won’t be able to help or be a part of it. But I still walk in obedience.
And there is another point “B” in my life right now, it involves another person, someone that I want to know and share every experience of life with. Yet during these next couple months our lives will be separated by thousands of miles. I wait anxiously and excitedly as God creates and develops in me the type of person I need to be. I look forward to the day I can look back and see the how The Director created me into the character He wants me to be, and the person that she needs me to be. I look forward to the day you can all meet Professor Milo.
Sure enough, this letter comes just as we prepare to leave for the airport to board a plane that will take us to South Africa. I got up this morning at 630am, I start to think about the three months that lay ahead of me and the path I must walk. I know this will be one semester I will remember for a very long time. Walking in obedience to God’s will, not my own.
You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it;
you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart,
O God, you will not despise.
Psalms 51:16-17
It was always easier to come up with the history and background and let the character would flow from that, rather than create a character and then try to define his story and why he was the way he was. This was always a stretch for me. I always had a hard time stepping outside what I already knew. It was hard to look past your own personal ideas and life and make something new. It was always a stretch for me to do figure and plan something I didn’t understand. I was supposed to be able to create a new person based on ideas and thoughts in my own mind. I was supposed to come up with a new world-view and new ideals to create a person who may be completely opposite how I see myself. This is the dilemma.
We are obviously each raised in different environments and places. Every person has been shaped by life experiences and events. Without getting too far into the Nature v. Nurture debate it’s pretty easy to see that we are all different in our views of our worlds, our outlooks and ourselves. These differences are caused by a variety of factors that have shaped much of what we hold onto today.
Creating us and shaping us has been God’s purpose since before our entrance into this earth. He has a purpose and a plan that is unique and specific for you and I. This plan that He has is shaped by where He takes us and the individual experiences we each go through. Although at the time it’s usually a stretch for us, we can often times look back and later see where and why He was leading us the way He did.
My mind has struggled with this entry for a few days now. It’s taken me a lot longer to formulate and process what I need to write for this letter, than on any other. Even now I sit here and try to put into words the feelings and emotions that I’m facing. I think a lot of what I need to say comes from my selfish desires to know the end and the result of this next stage in my life. I want to know the character God is building me into and where He is leading me. I don’t want the process, I want the result. I don’t want the growing and stretching, I want the rest. I don’t want to be at point “A” when I know there’s a point “B” coming along somewhere. I guess I should just explain.
I leave this Wednesday for Africa. I will be leading an intern team of four into South Africa, Rwanda and Uganda. We will be gone from August 30th until the beginning of December. I think the struggle comes in knowing that my flesh doesn’t really want to do this. I mean if I can be completely honest, and this is probably going to sound somewhat “unmissionary-like”, I don’t want to do this.
I don’t reeeaally want to be gone for that long, I don’t want to experience cold showers, rice and beans everyday, goat meat, bottled water, uncomfortable beds, sleepless nights, foreign languages, people staring at you, long bus rides, hot sweaty days, no communication with home, no home, living out of a suitcase, being away, slow internet connections, waking up early, giving and giving and giving. All these things that I don’t really look forward to, or really miss that much are balanced knowing that He is bringing me into a deeper understanding of His plan. I know God is taking me somewhere and He’s forming me into a character and person that He wants me to be, it’s just the process, the process that is causing the most pain.
So I walk this semester in obedience. I take on this mantle of leading this team and all that goes with it under the knowledge that I am being obedient to what He has brought me into. Most other trips I’ve been on have been great because I’m walking in the excitement and passion of the ministry. Yet somehow this time it’s different. I am in simple obedience to His will for my life at this time. I think this is much harder.
Becoming Milo is in reference to a Children’s Show “Demo” that is being filmed here at Book of Hope. It’s something one of the ladies here and the studio are putting together to try to provide needed material for kids here in the United States. What will happen or where it will take us, no one really knows, but that for me would represent the point “B”. I would love to be a part of a children’s show in some kind of ministry aspect. That would really be something that would fulfill a true heart’s desire in my life. Yet because of my travel schedule, I won’t be able to help or be a part of it. But I still walk in obedience.
And there is another point “B” in my life right now, it involves another person, someone that I want to know and share every experience of life with. Yet during these next couple months our lives will be separated by thousands of miles. I wait anxiously and excitedly as God creates and develops in me the type of person I need to be. I look forward to the day I can look back and see the how The Director created me into the character He wants me to be, and the person that she needs me to be. I look forward to the day you can all meet Professor Milo.
Sure enough, this letter comes just as we prepare to leave for the airport to board a plane that will take us to South Africa. I got up this morning at 630am, I start to think about the three months that lay ahead of me and the path I must walk. I know this will be one semester I will remember for a very long time. Walking in obedience to God’s will, not my own.
You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it;
you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart,
O God, you will not despise.
Psalms 51:16-17
7.27.2006
Ecualombia
I’m going to try to explain a place to you that you’ve probably never been to before. You may have visited places similar or heard of such places, but I don’t think it’s somewhere you’ve visited… yet. Let me take you there.
I’ll tell you this, the language spoken here is Spanish, but even in your extensive yet limited knowledge of the language, you still may not understand what people are saying. There will definitely come times during presentations that you wish you knew more. You may be suddenly called upon to do parts in dramas that you haven’t done for a year or more and expected to know the language. Welcome my friends, to Ecualombia, a place I’ve been many times and am now visiting again.
It’s important to remember some things when visiting this somewhat exotic location. It’s hard to even think where to start, because there are so many things that are different. Let’s start here, with your daily schedule. Each morning at about 5:20am your alarm goes off, a little unexpected and horrifying at first when you try to realize you only set it six hours ago. Your day starts early because your schools start early, your days go late because the programs at night run late. You force your body to sit-up. You know this will be the hour before breakfast when you and God have the only quiet time you may have during the day. Welcome to your days in Ecualombia, a place where the dogs only bark near your window the one day you get to sleep in.
Your food may be a little different than what you’re accustomed to. It may have been an animal you were recently watching in a field nearby. It may have been some part of an animal that we would normally throw out. Your food will most likely include rice and beans, staple foods that are usually served at every meal, even at breakfast. It’s possible that last nights dinner has already gone through you or come back to haunt you. Try to avoid anything that’s been washed in unfiltered water or hasn’t been sanitized. It’s a rather difficult question to ask in another language. Welcome my amigos to Ecualombia and meals that you better not make faces at, your being watched.
You will probably sit at a table, ride in a van, share a room, or any number of other activities with people you may have never met before until a few days ago or you’ve been traveling with for the past two months. You will most likely talk about what you dreamed about last night either out of lack of other relevant stories or fear of sharing something else more secret. You may actually learn to really admire some, you may learn to try to avoid others. No matter the case, you will learn things about each other and share things that you may have never shared before. You may learn things about yourself even, things that you thought were bad in others are actually things you may need to work out in your own life. Welcome friends and teammates to Ecualombia, a pressure cooker that will push all your buttons all on the same day.
You will be in front of hundreds of students, all excited, anxious and sometimes terrified of the visitors in their school that day. You will do your best to share a message that will touch their hearts and will be appropriate for their place. You will do things you thought you’d never do, act like you would never act normally. You will participate in dramas and songs that may seem lame at first but you notice the children respond well and seem to be getting the point when you tell them your story. You will most likely see many of them cry, laugh and smile all in the same moments. Kids may try to touch your arm to see if your color will come off. They may react rudely or even seem uncaring, but remember, they only act what they’ve been taught and their actions are only reactions to what’s been done to them. So here in Ecualombia we don’t get upset when the kids try and get more than one book for their seven cousins.
Even now as I sit here typing this, I am in the upstairs area of a small church awaiting a six o’ clock celebration. The band that is practicing downstairs must believe that bigger is better and God is deaf, their sound is definitely carrying into the neighborhood areas that surround us. The church ceiling fans bring a slight relief to your sunburned neck that sat exposed to the solar/ gamma rays during your seven school presentations today. The pastor of the small church uses the same said upstairs area to house himself as well as his wife and child. I think I’m sitting in the entry way to the house. Welcome to Ecualombia, where churches are not what they look like on the outside, more than what they seem on the inside and you don’t have to be in the same city to hear the worship team.
Basically your day will consist of lots of schools and lots of kids and lots of books. There will be times when your body screams to stop and rest, other times it will not respond to what your mind tells it to do. Sometimes there will be laughter, tears, joy, sorrow and pain all mixed with an overwhelming amazement about the fact that God allows you to be a part of spreading His message of Hope around the world. “Why me?” is a question you may find yourself consistently asking. “How is it God, that you chose me to be a part of what you’re doing?” Welcome to Ecualombia, a place where wonder of God’s work and our opportunity to be a part can only be described as beautiful.
So here I am in Ecuador for a few days with a team from Boston. On August 1st I leave and meet a team in Colombia. That’s where the name comes from. It’s a place that I kind of invented but I’m sure many of you have heard of similar places or visited places like this before.
Sorry if this email is too much, it’s my life and it’s all I know how to write about.
Thanks for reading.
I’ll tell you this, the language spoken here is Spanish, but even in your extensive yet limited knowledge of the language, you still may not understand what people are saying. There will definitely come times during presentations that you wish you knew more. You may be suddenly called upon to do parts in dramas that you haven’t done for a year or more and expected to know the language. Welcome my friends, to Ecualombia, a place I’ve been many times and am now visiting again.
It’s important to remember some things when visiting this somewhat exotic location. It’s hard to even think where to start, because there are so many things that are different. Let’s start here, with your daily schedule. Each morning at about 5:20am your alarm goes off, a little unexpected and horrifying at first when you try to realize you only set it six hours ago. Your day starts early because your schools start early, your days go late because the programs at night run late. You force your body to sit-up. You know this will be the hour before breakfast when you and God have the only quiet time you may have during the day. Welcome to your days in Ecualombia, a place where the dogs only bark near your window the one day you get to sleep in.
Your food may be a little different than what you’re accustomed to. It may have been an animal you were recently watching in a field nearby. It may have been some part of an animal that we would normally throw out. Your food will most likely include rice and beans, staple foods that are usually served at every meal, even at breakfast. It’s possible that last nights dinner has already gone through you or come back to haunt you. Try to avoid anything that’s been washed in unfiltered water or hasn’t been sanitized. It’s a rather difficult question to ask in another language. Welcome my amigos to Ecualombia and meals that you better not make faces at, your being watched.
You will probably sit at a table, ride in a van, share a room, or any number of other activities with people you may have never met before until a few days ago or you’ve been traveling with for the past two months. You will most likely talk about what you dreamed about last night either out of lack of other relevant stories or fear of sharing something else more secret. You may actually learn to really admire some, you may learn to try to avoid others. No matter the case, you will learn things about each other and share things that you may have never shared before. You may learn things about yourself even, things that you thought were bad in others are actually things you may need to work out in your own life. Welcome friends and teammates to Ecualombia, a pressure cooker that will push all your buttons all on the same day.
You will be in front of hundreds of students, all excited, anxious and sometimes terrified of the visitors in their school that day. You will do your best to share a message that will touch their hearts and will be appropriate for their place. You will do things you thought you’d never do, act like you would never act normally. You will participate in dramas and songs that may seem lame at first but you notice the children respond well and seem to be getting the point when you tell them your story. You will most likely see many of them cry, laugh and smile all in the same moments. Kids may try to touch your arm to see if your color will come off. They may react rudely or even seem uncaring, but remember, they only act what they’ve been taught and their actions are only reactions to what’s been done to them. So here in Ecualombia we don’t get upset when the kids try and get more than one book for their seven cousins.
Even now as I sit here typing this, I am in the upstairs area of a small church awaiting a six o’ clock celebration. The band that is practicing downstairs must believe that bigger is better and God is deaf, their sound is definitely carrying into the neighborhood areas that surround us. The church ceiling fans bring a slight relief to your sunburned neck that sat exposed to the solar/ gamma rays during your seven school presentations today. The pastor of the small church uses the same said upstairs area to house himself as well as his wife and child. I think I’m sitting in the entry way to the house. Welcome to Ecualombia, where churches are not what they look like on the outside, more than what they seem on the inside and you don’t have to be in the same city to hear the worship team.
Basically your day will consist of lots of schools and lots of kids and lots of books. There will be times when your body screams to stop and rest, other times it will not respond to what your mind tells it to do. Sometimes there will be laughter, tears, joy, sorrow and pain all mixed with an overwhelming amazement about the fact that God allows you to be a part of spreading His message of Hope around the world. “Why me?” is a question you may find yourself consistently asking. “How is it God, that you chose me to be a part of what you’re doing?” Welcome to Ecualombia, a place where wonder of God’s work and our opportunity to be a part can only be described as beautiful.
So here I am in Ecuador for a few days with a team from Boston. On August 1st I leave and meet a team in Colombia. That’s where the name comes from. It’s a place that I kind of invented but I’m sure many of you have heard of similar places or visited places like this before.
Sorry if this email is too much, it’s my life and it’s all I know how to write about.
Thanks for reading.
6.28.2006
Hearing the children echo
And the children echo, and the sounds fill the empty walls of the brick church and up to the tin roof that is radiating the African sun and warming the church. The songs are carried to the heavens in the hands of angels who deliver them to the creator who in turn smiles and sends his favor to the small building on the African hillside in the small province of Umutara.
There is no thousand dollar sound system here. There is no mood lighting or worship team to help usher us into the most holy place. Just voices singing with enough conviction to make you love Jesus and want to worship even more.
You can make out only two words in the unfamiliar language, one is Jesus, and the other is their homeland Africa. Two words you know they sing most passionately about.
There are no denominations here; there are no skin differences. No language barriers are here either, for the sound is a haunting. It haunts your soul, deep into a place where no one is safe. The words are not understood, but the emotions are easily heard, their singing fills places and touches parts of your spirit that are unprepared. A haunting, so moving you begin to see less and feel more. Songs of sorrow and songs of joy; the children sing with the conviction that they’ve known both. Songs passed from generation to generation now being sung by the next generation with my hopes that their lives will glorify Christ.
What is it about children’s voices that seem to make your heart burn or ache even more than you thought was possible? What is it about the abandon and absolute everything that the children seem to sing with? Why does my heart ache to know what the words are and yet know that I probably understand more already without the lyrics?
Their songs confirm in your heart what God has been telling you for the past couple weeks. The songs replay the message He has been trying to get through to you for this next step. After seeing their faces and lives and experiences, how is it possible to return “home” and be the same? How can I not go? How can I sit back and try and turn my eyes from the need there is in the world?
What will it take for me to decide whether or not to continue giving my life to the people who have never heard? When is my breaking point when I realize the futility of the American dream and the “things” that make us happy? Will I again surrender my dreams and my goals and my desires for the life that God has for me?
I think I’m a step closer now after hearing a small children’s choir sing in a foreign language about the things they’ve experienced. Because being in this environment, away from the familiar, away from the normal church services, away from the comfortable; He is able to finally get through to us. And it is here that things become clear and answers are found.
As the song ends I clap with the congregation, wipe my cheeks and look up to see the children are still standing there. Another song begins as the worship leader sings out a verse and the process begins again as the children begin to echo…
There is no thousand dollar sound system here. There is no mood lighting or worship team to help usher us into the most holy place. Just voices singing with enough conviction to make you love Jesus and want to worship even more.
You can make out only two words in the unfamiliar language, one is Jesus, and the other is their homeland Africa. Two words you know they sing most passionately about.
There are no denominations here; there are no skin differences. No language barriers are here either, for the sound is a haunting. It haunts your soul, deep into a place where no one is safe. The words are not understood, but the emotions are easily heard, their singing fills places and touches parts of your spirit that are unprepared. A haunting, so moving you begin to see less and feel more. Songs of sorrow and songs of joy; the children sing with the conviction that they’ve known both. Songs passed from generation to generation now being sung by the next generation with my hopes that their lives will glorify Christ.
What is it about children’s voices that seem to make your heart burn or ache even more than you thought was possible? What is it about the abandon and absolute everything that the children seem to sing with? Why does my heart ache to know what the words are and yet know that I probably understand more already without the lyrics?
Their songs confirm in your heart what God has been telling you for the past couple weeks. The songs replay the message He has been trying to get through to you for this next step. After seeing their faces and lives and experiences, how is it possible to return “home” and be the same? How can I not go? How can I sit back and try and turn my eyes from the need there is in the world?
What will it take for me to decide whether or not to continue giving my life to the people who have never heard? When is my breaking point when I realize the futility of the American dream and the “things” that make us happy? Will I again surrender my dreams and my goals and my desires for the life that God has for me?
I think I’m a step closer now after hearing a small children’s choir sing in a foreign language about the things they’ve experienced. Because being in this environment, away from the familiar, away from the normal church services, away from the comfortable; He is able to finally get through to us. And it is here that things become clear and answers are found.
As the song ends I clap with the congregation, wipe my cheeks and look up to see the children are still standing there. Another song begins as the worship leader sings out a verse and the process begins again as the children begin to echo…
5.16.2006
Chasing Daylight
Flying Westward you follow the sunshine as it races it’s way across the sky. Lucky enough to have a window seat you experience the beauty of God’s imagination in the colors spread across the sky. Traveling into the setting sun you arrive at your destination only a short time after you’ve left, depending on your layovers. It’s during these times when you experience an extended daytime and you have plenty more time to think about things and try to figure out your life and where it’s going. Westward at the moment would be the answer. More than just the physical direction instead, trying to figure out what your life is becoming.
Purpose in life is always the big question, what am I going to do with my life? What will I be when I grow up? Who will I marry? Where will I live? Which job should I take? What’s the next step? These questions run through our minds daily. I heard a pastor speak recently who emphasized more of the being than the doing. God is more interested in us becoming who He wants us to be, not doing something for Him.
After reading that last sentence don’t misunderstand that we should sit around waiting for God to make us who He wants us to be, and do nothing for Him.
For the past four and a half years I’ve been doing God’s work. I’ve been telling children and young people around the world about His love and His hope for their lives. I’ve traveled to different countries, lived in different places and tried to endure different foods. During this time, I’ve seen changes in my life and changes in my perspectives. It wasn’t about the work; it’s been about the shaping of my heart and the destruction of my own selfish motives and desires in life. It’s been about the teaching moments when God moves and whispers into my heart.
What is our purpose in life? What are we here for? Two parts that I think are very important.
I believe our first purpose, is to glorify God.
Personally, I want my time, resources, actions and words to glorify Him. I think we all do. I think we all want God to be glorified with what He has given us. I want Him to look on me with a smile, to be proud of me and who I am. I want people to see my life and see His hands at work in me.
The second thing is to point other people to Him. As much as I will be very happy to go to heaven and be with Christ, I know that I can accomplish much more for Him here on this earth than I can in the life after. Once Christ comes and returns for His church our work will be done. I don’t want to stand in front of Him and be upset that I could have done more. I keep my mind focused on the eternal, remembering that things in this world will fade and be destroyed. I want to live having no regrets about what else I could have given. There is no wealth, possession or achievement in this world that attracts me and I want to live knowing that I will never pursue these things. I will never pursue the American Dream, for that is all it is; a dream that will never be obtained or achieved.
My next trip will take me to the country of Rwanda. Marking the 12-year date of the genocide that took place, Book of Hope will be working alongside other ministries to help bring “100 days of Hope”. www.hoperwanda.org We have the opportunity to provide the Book of Hope to over 2 million children.
Please pray for me as I lead an intern team into this beautiful, yet hurting nation. I greatly depend on your prayers and support to continue this work. Please pray for wisdom, joy and protection over our team.
Purpose in life is always the big question, what am I going to do with my life? What will I be when I grow up? Who will I marry? Where will I live? Which job should I take? What’s the next step? These questions run through our minds daily. I heard a pastor speak recently who emphasized more of the being than the doing. God is more interested in us becoming who He wants us to be, not doing something for Him.
After reading that last sentence don’t misunderstand that we should sit around waiting for God to make us who He wants us to be, and do nothing for Him.
For the past four and a half years I’ve been doing God’s work. I’ve been telling children and young people around the world about His love and His hope for their lives. I’ve traveled to different countries, lived in different places and tried to endure different foods. During this time, I’ve seen changes in my life and changes in my perspectives. It wasn’t about the work; it’s been about the shaping of my heart and the destruction of my own selfish motives and desires in life. It’s been about the teaching moments when God moves and whispers into my heart.
What is our purpose in life? What are we here for? Two parts that I think are very important.
I believe our first purpose, is to glorify God.
Personally, I want my time, resources, actions and words to glorify Him. I think we all do. I think we all want God to be glorified with what He has given us. I want Him to look on me with a smile, to be proud of me and who I am. I want people to see my life and see His hands at work in me.
The second thing is to point other people to Him. As much as I will be very happy to go to heaven and be with Christ, I know that I can accomplish much more for Him here on this earth than I can in the life after. Once Christ comes and returns for His church our work will be done. I don’t want to stand in front of Him and be upset that I could have done more. I keep my mind focused on the eternal, remembering that things in this world will fade and be destroyed. I want to live having no regrets about what else I could have given. There is no wealth, possession or achievement in this world that attracts me and I want to live knowing that I will never pursue these things. I will never pursue the American Dream, for that is all it is; a dream that will never be obtained or achieved.
My next trip will take me to the country of Rwanda. Marking the 12-year date of the genocide that took place, Book of Hope will be working alongside other ministries to help bring “100 days of Hope”. www.hoperwanda.org We have the opportunity to provide the Book of Hope to over 2 million children.
Please pray for me as I lead an intern team into this beautiful, yet hurting nation. I greatly depend on your prayers and support to continue this work. Please pray for wisdom, joy and protection over our team.
5.02.2006
This is for Jeremy
Jeremy got mad that I hadn't updated for a while, so this is for my fellow team-mate and mentor. Here's their website: http://westwithjesus.blogspot.com 
4.14.2006
The Passing of an Age
Each year around this time, something very unique happens. Beyond the Easter Bunny and the baskets. Past the Cadbury eggs and the Peeps (how long has it been since you’ve had one?). Something somewhat extraordinary happens. Actually two things happen.
The first thing, not as important or recognized by the world as the second, is that I celebrate a birthday. This was actually a pretty unique one being the first I celebrated in the US in about four years. I turned 30 this time around, which for some reason does feel a little different. I think I’m starting to see some grey hair, then again maybe I should still be glad I have it.
The second, more celebrated event, is when church parking lots fill, it’s hard to find a good seat in the pews and people gather with their families to Celebrate Easter. Families will enter churches together, maybe have a dinner together. Most of the true meaning will be lost in the Easter Egg hunts and chocolate treats. This isn’t an email to call us all to reflect deeply at the events that took place. Instead, think of the Love that it commanded.
I’ve been struck recently at different times by words in worship songs, scripture and in the presence of God at how incredible God’s passionate desire is to romantically pursue us. What? Does that even make sense? God is a Lover of hearts and minds and souls? Yah I think He is.
Recently while at a conference I found myself singing a song that I had never heard before. As the words came on the screen I nearly shuddered from the picture that God was placing in my mind and the idea from the words of the song.
“Romance Me” it said, “Dance with Me” it went on. Is this song for someone’s spouse? Am I singing a wedding song? Or could this really be aimed at asking the Creator God to love us in a way we may never have been loved before. How unbelievably incredible, this passionate God that literally holds the universes and stars also formed my being. This same God is also seeking a love relationship with me? Not only that, but He desires to love me even more than I could ever be in love with him?
Trying to wrap my mind around this concept is boggling, attempting to rewrite the experience makes me realize my futile humanity and my limited English. There are truly no words for how God feels about us. The passion that He pursues us with, the enjoyment He receives from that intimate embrace that only He can give.
Today’s culture abuses the word Love and all it’s meaning. It was love that put Christ on the cross. God loved us so much, and He desires us so much that Christ died so that we could have that relationship with Him. Yes that love results in an eternal life in heaven, but also here, while we are living on earth that same love brings life to our death.
Again, this is still something that I’m trying to wrap my mind around, and I apologize if it doesn’t make sense. It’s just something that continues to absolutely amaze me. The words we sing in worship, the act of Christ dying, the Bible and it’s love story and God’s wonderful presence all move my heart. I just hope that it’s something we come to recognize and continue to appreciate more this weekend and the rest of our lives.
I am praying that you all have a wonderful Easter weekend and time with family, friends and God. May he truly entice you into a deeper place in His heart and that an intimacy with Him would be your hearts desire.
Thank you once again for every single prayer and thought and email and dollar that you’ve helped me with. God is taking us on a journey that is only for our good, yet we must learn to take the time to listen to Him and follow His voice. Training our ear to the voice of our Creator, Father and pursuer of hearts as we walk out this life.
Once again I find myself at the end of a letter, not really knowing where this next age will take me, or how long the road or journey will last. But knowing and trusting completely that even at the passing of this age, His voice is reassuring me of the place I find myself today.
The first thing, not as important or recognized by the world as the second, is that I celebrate a birthday. This was actually a pretty unique one being the first I celebrated in the US in about four years. I turned 30 this time around, which for some reason does feel a little different. I think I’m starting to see some grey hair, then again maybe I should still be glad I have it.
The second, more celebrated event, is when church parking lots fill, it’s hard to find a good seat in the pews and people gather with their families to Celebrate Easter. Families will enter churches together, maybe have a dinner together. Most of the true meaning will be lost in the Easter Egg hunts and chocolate treats. This isn’t an email to call us all to reflect deeply at the events that took place. Instead, think of the Love that it commanded.
I’ve been struck recently at different times by words in worship songs, scripture and in the presence of God at how incredible God’s passionate desire is to romantically pursue us. What? Does that even make sense? God is a Lover of hearts and minds and souls? Yah I think He is.
Recently while at a conference I found myself singing a song that I had never heard before. As the words came on the screen I nearly shuddered from the picture that God was placing in my mind and the idea from the words of the song.
“Romance Me” it said, “Dance with Me” it went on. Is this song for someone’s spouse? Am I singing a wedding song? Or could this really be aimed at asking the Creator God to love us in a way we may never have been loved before. How unbelievably incredible, this passionate God that literally holds the universes and stars also formed my being. This same God is also seeking a love relationship with me? Not only that, but He desires to love me even more than I could ever be in love with him?
Trying to wrap my mind around this concept is boggling, attempting to rewrite the experience makes me realize my futile humanity and my limited English. There are truly no words for how God feels about us. The passion that He pursues us with, the enjoyment He receives from that intimate embrace that only He can give.
Today’s culture abuses the word Love and all it’s meaning. It was love that put Christ on the cross. God loved us so much, and He desires us so much that Christ died so that we could have that relationship with Him. Yes that love results in an eternal life in heaven, but also here, while we are living on earth that same love brings life to our death.
Again, this is still something that I’m trying to wrap my mind around, and I apologize if it doesn’t make sense. It’s just something that continues to absolutely amaze me. The words we sing in worship, the act of Christ dying, the Bible and it’s love story and God’s wonderful presence all move my heart. I just hope that it’s something we come to recognize and continue to appreciate more this weekend and the rest of our lives.
I am praying that you all have a wonderful Easter weekend and time with family, friends and God. May he truly entice you into a deeper place in His heart and that an intimacy with Him would be your hearts desire.
Thank you once again for every single prayer and thought and email and dollar that you’ve helped me with. God is taking us on a journey that is only for our good, yet we must learn to take the time to listen to Him and follow His voice. Training our ear to the voice of our Creator, Father and pursuer of hearts as we walk out this life.
Once again I find myself at the end of a letter, not really knowing where this next age will take me, or how long the road or journey will last. But knowing and trusting completely that even at the passing of this age, His voice is reassuring me of the place I find myself today.
3.08.2006
1,000 Pine Trees
Gypsy villages in Romania are usually smaller communities of similar cultures or races banding together outside a larger city. The Numiest community was no exception. We had driven about an hour down the dirt road made only rougher from the treads of horse and carts passing through daily. After crossing a small, barely standing bridge, over a small creek we arrived at the leaders home. We were presenting the Book of Hope to the children gathered outside the village leader’s home on this cold Thursday morning. The leader appeared quickly and approached us.
Now almost a month later I reflect on this meeting as I stand in front of about twenty junior high students learning about world geography in Mrs. Atkinson’s class. How am I supposed to relate to these students about the things you experience in other countries? How do you explain to them the faces, people and food? How am I supposed to convince them that there is a world outside the four walls of this school?
In this Junior high classroom the kids look shocked as I tell them that the family we lived with had four kids in one room. There was only one bathroom and the hot water didn’t always work. The kids eyes widen when I try to explain that kids in other countries don’t all have T.V’s or DVD players in their rooms. They don’t all have stereos and cell-phones and iPod’s for their latest music download. A sense of amazement that people could survive that way, and a sense of apathy that it’s too far away for them to care.
Then the hands raise, oh good I think, questions. “You have a question?” “Yah, my friend is from Armenia, I mean Romania, actually I don’t know which it is.”
O.k. any other questions?
“Yah my friend went to Spain and she really liked it”
Hmm. Ok, I’m glad you guys really learned a lot from today’s lesson.
“Any other questions?” I ask, none really.
How do you explain to these kids the reality that many people live with? What is it that separates them so distinctly from the rest of the world? How do I tell them this story in a way that they’ll never forget?
As the village leader approached he extended his large hand towards me. I grasped it firmly and kept it there as I looked into his eyes. It bugs me when people shake your hand like a dead fish. This was no cold mackerel. I stared into his eyes as we both exchanged greetings in our own language that neither of the other would understand. His eyes spoke words to me of life, experience and wisdom. His hand spoke to me as well and the stories I’m sure it could tell.
That hand left an indelible impression of years of cutting trees, handling horse reins, shoveling snow, constructing homes and raising a family. Experiences and events that none of these kids would ever understand or know. For hours afterwards I could still smell pine trees on my hands after shaking his. One thousand pine trees is my guess. The number he’s probably felled in his lifetime. The smell and the image of our hands interlocked will never leave me, I just hope someway I’ll be able to explain it to the twenty kids in Mrs. Atkinson’s geography class and to you.
Thank you so much to everyone who supports, prays, calls, emails and reads
about these adventures. As much as you're supporting Book of Hope, you even
more are affecting me and my life as I go about seeking God's plan and
purposes for my life. Thank you for your partnership.
Now almost a month later I reflect on this meeting as I stand in front of about twenty junior high students learning about world geography in Mrs. Atkinson’s class. How am I supposed to relate to these students about the things you experience in other countries? How do you explain to them the faces, people and food? How am I supposed to convince them that there is a world outside the four walls of this school?
In this Junior high classroom the kids look shocked as I tell them that the family we lived with had four kids in one room. There was only one bathroom and the hot water didn’t always work. The kids eyes widen when I try to explain that kids in other countries don’t all have T.V’s or DVD players in their rooms. They don’t all have stereos and cell-phones and iPod’s for their latest music download. A sense of amazement that people could survive that way, and a sense of apathy that it’s too far away for them to care.
Then the hands raise, oh good I think, questions. “You have a question?” “Yah, my friend is from Armenia, I mean Romania, actually I don’t know which it is.”
O.k. any other questions?
“Yah my friend went to Spain and she really liked it”
Hmm. Ok, I’m glad you guys really learned a lot from today’s lesson.
“Any other questions?” I ask, none really.
How do you explain to these kids the reality that many people live with? What is it that separates them so distinctly from the rest of the world? How do I tell them this story in a way that they’ll never forget?
As the village leader approached he extended his large hand towards me. I grasped it firmly and kept it there as I looked into his eyes. It bugs me when people shake your hand like a dead fish. This was no cold mackerel. I stared into his eyes as we both exchanged greetings in our own language that neither of the other would understand. His eyes spoke words to me of life, experience and wisdom. His hand spoke to me as well and the stories I’m sure it could tell.
That hand left an indelible impression of years of cutting trees, handling horse reins, shoveling snow, constructing homes and raising a family. Experiences and events that none of these kids would ever understand or know. For hours afterwards I could still smell pine trees on my hands after shaking his. One thousand pine trees is my guess. The number he’s probably felled in his lifetime. The smell and the image of our hands interlocked will never leave me, I just hope someway I’ll be able to explain it to the twenty kids in Mrs. Atkinson’s geography class and to you.
Thank you so much to everyone who supports, prays, calls, emails and reads
about these adventures. As much as you're supporting Book of Hope, you even
more are affecting me and my life as I go about seeking God's plan and
purposes for my life. Thank you for your partnership.
2.14.2006
Trying not to wake the...
What you’re about to read is no beautiful missionary story about an incredible crusade or event that saw thousands come to know Christ. It’s the true stories, the untold legends, those uncovered secrets that never make the front page of an update newsletter. Here’s how it happened.
My “friend” who happens to also be a missionary was staying at some people’s house in the cold snow covered mountains of Romania. Now whatever ideas you’ve already gotten in your head about Alpine ski lodges, Mercedes SUV’s and hot chocolate by the fireside you can quickly forget. This was none of those.
He was staying in a pastor’s house with four of the remaining nine children, the pastor and his wife. The house was “warm” compared to the negative “freeze-your-digits-off” outside weather, but it surely wasn’t anything that would make you think of having ice cream after dinner. The only bathroom in the small house was downstairs next door to the kid’s room, two teenage boys and two teenage girls, all sharing the same room.
After most of the family had gone to sleep, save one girl sitting in the living room/ dining room/ family room, he quietly made his way to the bathroom trying not to wake anyone so he could take a shower.
Now whatever ideas you just got in your head about an actual shower that you can stand up in, stand under the faucet in, or actually consider a shower you can quickly forget. This was a bathtub with a house coming out of the faucet that you have to hold with one hand while trying to position yourself so less water gets onto the floor and surrounding fixtures, oh yes, no shower curtain.
Now whatever ideas you may have in your mind about the bathroom being as warm as the rest of the house you can quickly forget. The cold tile on the floor is one reminder that the warm water will feel especially good.
So my friend looks to the faucet. This is an old metal one that has two nozzles, cold on the right and hot on the left. Except something is missing, the cold water handle. That’s ok he thinks, the water wasn’t especially hot last night, crank it up!
As the water heats up and the steam builds he carefully navigates the high cold tub walls and steps in. The water instantly sears his sensitive feet that have suffered mild frostbite (or so he claims to all the workers in Florida) from that day’s journey.
As he kneels in the tub, because standing would expose you to the outside world through the open window located shoulder level to him, he realizes this water is not just hot, it’s near crying out in pain hot. Which isn’t acceptable due to the fact that the family is asleep.
So he begins the sprinkler splash, which is an ancient missionary trick that entails one hand holding the hose while the other splashes scalding hot water onto his cold body. After that method failed, he tried quickly grabbing some water with one hand to use as a temporary washcloth to rub down whatever parts of his body he wanted clean.
After applying some shampoo to his partially dampened hair he realized that getting the stuff on would be a lot easier than getting the stuff off. There would have to be a considerable amount of water involved to rinse out his hair, which would create an absolutely intolerable situation. The search for an ulterior method begins by the perusal of the bathroom amenities.
Now whatever ideas you may have in your mind of bathroom items and amenities you can quickly forget. There was a washing machine, a sink and a toilet. All of which conjured up frightening images when the paramedics would have to arrive to retrieve his cold naked body from the clutches of said items.
As he continued his search in vain, trying to look around the cold room and letting his imagination work, he realized the obvious. Honestly, what other options are there for rinsing this stuff out of your hair when you’re kneeling in a cold bathtub at 1130 at night trying not to wake the…
Then the noise, a piercing metallic sound of a solid metal object falling, scraping and bouncing off the cold walls of the tub he is in. Coming to rest under his leg is the handle to the hot water nozzle.
A thousand thoughts from a thousand places hit his mind at once. He envisions the family all waking suddenly and running into the bathroom to see what happened. He pictures stern and shocked looks as they stare to see this intruder who has broken their prized hot water handle. He thinks to call out that everything is ok, but realizes he never learned how to say “It’s only the handle to the hot water nozzle, go back to bed don’t worry about me” in Romanian. But a surprising thing happens and no one wakes.
Slowly his mind puts the pieces together, he realizes that the one handle, works both the hot and cold nozzles. He realizes that by removing it from one side to the other he can obtain hundreds of different temperature settings. He realizes that in his over-assuming mind of how poor and backwards other people are, they’ve actually kept things simpler.
In a small cold bathroom, in the high Carpathian Mountains, in a local pastor’s home, the family sleeps soundly as the missionary laughs quietly at himself. The simplicity and reality of the situation strikes as he thinks of all the people at home who might somehow understand if he tries to relate this story to them. And as he types out the story at 1230 at night, he hears the pastor downstairs snoring loudly.
Of course, this is the story he told me, so I don’t know if it’s true or not.
My “friend” who happens to also be a missionary was staying at some people’s house in the cold snow covered mountains of Romania. Now whatever ideas you’ve already gotten in your head about Alpine ski lodges, Mercedes SUV’s and hot chocolate by the fireside you can quickly forget. This was none of those.
He was staying in a pastor’s house with four of the remaining nine children, the pastor and his wife. The house was “warm” compared to the negative “freeze-your-digits-off” outside weather, but it surely wasn’t anything that would make you think of having ice cream after dinner. The only bathroom in the small house was downstairs next door to the kid’s room, two teenage boys and two teenage girls, all sharing the same room.
After most of the family had gone to sleep, save one girl sitting in the living room/ dining room/ family room, he quietly made his way to the bathroom trying not to wake anyone so he could take a shower.
Now whatever ideas you just got in your head about an actual shower that you can stand up in, stand under the faucet in, or actually consider a shower you can quickly forget. This was a bathtub with a house coming out of the faucet that you have to hold with one hand while trying to position yourself so less water gets onto the floor and surrounding fixtures, oh yes, no shower curtain.
Now whatever ideas you may have in your mind about the bathroom being as warm as the rest of the house you can quickly forget. The cold tile on the floor is one reminder that the warm water will feel especially good.
So my friend looks to the faucet. This is an old metal one that has two nozzles, cold on the right and hot on the left. Except something is missing, the cold water handle. That’s ok he thinks, the water wasn’t especially hot last night, crank it up!
As the water heats up and the steam builds he carefully navigates the high cold tub walls and steps in. The water instantly sears his sensitive feet that have suffered mild frostbite (or so he claims to all the workers in Florida) from that day’s journey.
As he kneels in the tub, because standing would expose you to the outside world through the open window located shoulder level to him, he realizes this water is not just hot, it’s near crying out in pain hot. Which isn’t acceptable due to the fact that the family is asleep.
So he begins the sprinkler splash, which is an ancient missionary trick that entails one hand holding the hose while the other splashes scalding hot water onto his cold body. After that method failed, he tried quickly grabbing some water with one hand to use as a temporary washcloth to rub down whatever parts of his body he wanted clean.
After applying some shampoo to his partially dampened hair he realized that getting the stuff on would be a lot easier than getting the stuff off. There would have to be a considerable amount of water involved to rinse out his hair, which would create an absolutely intolerable situation. The search for an ulterior method begins by the perusal of the bathroom amenities.
Now whatever ideas you may have in your mind of bathroom items and amenities you can quickly forget. There was a washing machine, a sink and a toilet. All of which conjured up frightening images when the paramedics would have to arrive to retrieve his cold naked body from the clutches of said items.
As he continued his search in vain, trying to look around the cold room and letting his imagination work, he realized the obvious. Honestly, what other options are there for rinsing this stuff out of your hair when you’re kneeling in a cold bathtub at 1130 at night trying not to wake the…
Then the noise, a piercing metallic sound of a solid metal object falling, scraping and bouncing off the cold walls of the tub he is in. Coming to rest under his leg is the handle to the hot water nozzle.
A thousand thoughts from a thousand places hit his mind at once. He envisions the family all waking suddenly and running into the bathroom to see what happened. He pictures stern and shocked looks as they stare to see this intruder who has broken their prized hot water handle. He thinks to call out that everything is ok, but realizes he never learned how to say “It’s only the handle to the hot water nozzle, go back to bed don’t worry about me” in Romanian. But a surprising thing happens and no one wakes.
Slowly his mind puts the pieces together, he realizes that the one handle, works both the hot and cold nozzles. He realizes that by removing it from one side to the other he can obtain hundreds of different temperature settings. He realizes that in his over-assuming mind of how poor and backwards other people are, they’ve actually kept things simpler.
In a small cold bathroom, in the high Carpathian Mountains, in a local pastor’s home, the family sleeps soundly as the missionary laughs quietly at himself. The simplicity and reality of the situation strikes as he thinks of all the people at home who might somehow understand if he tries to relate this story to them. And as he types out the story at 1230 at night, he hears the pastor downstairs snoring loudly.
Of course, this is the story he told me, so I don’t know if it’s true or not.
2.02.2006
What do I know
I don’t carry conversations very well about cars, I couldn’t tell you the difference between a ‘67 or a ‘68 Mustang. I’ve heard that it has something to do with a side grill piece but I don’t remember for sure.
I don’t know much about politics, I couldn’t tell you who the Green, Free or Liberty party candidates were this last run. Don’t ask me the difference between the House of Representatives or the Congress. I know who our president is but I don’t follow much after that.
The sports category I fail on as well. Get me on the field and I can play, but don’t ask me what March Madness is or who’s going to be in the Rose Bowl this year. I don’t know anything about ESPN or SportsCenter except their commercials are sometimes funny.
There have been multiple times when I’ve felt that I should know about all these things; seeing guys stand around and talk all up and down about what year was better for certain players or how one car was a predecessor to some other model. A man on the side of the road in Kenya began talking to me about the perils the world is in because of my presidents’ bad decisions. I had no answers. Is that bad?
Should I be slightly concerned that I don’t know anything about the impending Super Bowl? Should I be more thorough in knowing my Mayor or what he does? Should I spend more time reading what the ballot measures are before voting ABACADABA all the way down?
I feel strangely out of place when the guys start throwing words around like catalytic converter, alternator, fuel injection or someone’s voting record. I kind of glaze over when people start rolling names of players around; you would think they had dinner with them every night.
I suppose there’s nothing wrong with people talking about all this stuff; maybe I’m the one who should know more about it. It’s good that we engage in conversations about things we like and things that matter, maybe I’m the one that needs to read and know more. I mean seriously, what do I know?
What I do know.
I know that there are still millions of students around the world who’ve never been told of a creator who cares or a master designer who crafted their bodies with precision beyond imagination. I know that there are still countries and people groups with no Christians, no witness, no one to tell them that the best life to come is the one we find in Him. There are still people who are crying out to know the promise we’ve found and why we have no need to fear death.
Someone once said “Why should people have the chance to hear the gospel twice when some people haven’t heard it once?” True, and how can I even think that I should stop working when I know there are some who haven’t had that chance to hear it once?
What is it that consumes so much of our time that we don’t live for God more? What can be so important in this life that we don’t take the time to live for the next? What part of our conversations center around Him? How can we live differently? There are hurting people asking questions that are going unanswered, unaddressed and avoided because I’m too concerned about things in my world. We have the answers and for some reason a God in heaven has chosen us to be a part of this awesome work.
Tonight, standing in front of a small Romanian church I will try and convince them the importance of children’s ministries and reaching their world with God’s message of true life. I will share with them knowledge and what I know from my experiences as a Book of Hope missionary. Hopefully they will see past all the things I know in my mind, and instead see all the things I hold in my heart for the children of their country.
What will the next two, five or ten years hold for my life? I really don’t know, whether I continue at Book of Hope for another two years or not isn’t important right now. What will the next two, five or ten minutes hold for me? I don’t really know that either. But I am looking forward to the day when He puts His hand on my shoulder and looks at me and says “Well done”. That I do know.
Side note: This message isn’t meant to tear down or rip on people who enjoy talking about all the things mentioned here. This is just an observation I’ve made about the things I talk about or don’t talk and about and how I spend my time… and go Seahawks.
I don’t know much about politics, I couldn’t tell you who the Green, Free or Liberty party candidates were this last run. Don’t ask me the difference between the House of Representatives or the Congress. I know who our president is but I don’t follow much after that.
The sports category I fail on as well. Get me on the field and I can play, but don’t ask me what March Madness is or who’s going to be in the Rose Bowl this year. I don’t know anything about ESPN or SportsCenter except their commercials are sometimes funny.
There have been multiple times when I’ve felt that I should know about all these things; seeing guys stand around and talk all up and down about what year was better for certain players or how one car was a predecessor to some other model. A man on the side of the road in Kenya began talking to me about the perils the world is in because of my presidents’ bad decisions. I had no answers. Is that bad?
Should I be slightly concerned that I don’t know anything about the impending Super Bowl? Should I be more thorough in knowing my Mayor or what he does? Should I spend more time reading what the ballot measures are before voting ABACADABA all the way down?
I feel strangely out of place when the guys start throwing words around like catalytic converter, alternator, fuel injection or someone’s voting record. I kind of glaze over when people start rolling names of players around; you would think they had dinner with them every night.
I suppose there’s nothing wrong with people talking about all this stuff; maybe I’m the one who should know more about it. It’s good that we engage in conversations about things we like and things that matter, maybe I’m the one that needs to read and know more. I mean seriously, what do I know?
What I do know.
I know that there are still millions of students around the world who’ve never been told of a creator who cares or a master designer who crafted their bodies with precision beyond imagination. I know that there are still countries and people groups with no Christians, no witness, no one to tell them that the best life to come is the one we find in Him. There are still people who are crying out to know the promise we’ve found and why we have no need to fear death.
Someone once said “Why should people have the chance to hear the gospel twice when some people haven’t heard it once?” True, and how can I even think that I should stop working when I know there are some who haven’t had that chance to hear it once?
What is it that consumes so much of our time that we don’t live for God more? What can be so important in this life that we don’t take the time to live for the next? What part of our conversations center around Him? How can we live differently? There are hurting people asking questions that are going unanswered, unaddressed and avoided because I’m too concerned about things in my world. We have the answers and for some reason a God in heaven has chosen us to be a part of this awesome work.
Tonight, standing in front of a small Romanian church I will try and convince them the importance of children’s ministries and reaching their world with God’s message of true life. I will share with them knowledge and what I know from my experiences as a Book of Hope missionary. Hopefully they will see past all the things I know in my mind, and instead see all the things I hold in my heart for the children of their country.
What will the next two, five or ten years hold for my life? I really don’t know, whether I continue at Book of Hope for another two years or not isn’t important right now. What will the next two, five or ten minutes hold for me? I don’t really know that either. But I am looking forward to the day when He puts His hand on my shoulder and looks at me and says “Well done”. That I do know.
Side note: This message isn’t meant to tear down or rip on people who enjoy talking about all the things mentioned here. This is just an observation I’ve made about the things I talk about or don’t talk and about and how I spend my time… and go Seahawks.
1.30.2006
Looking out at Nothing
Staring out the window blackened by the cold night that consumes the Romanian countryside, our traveling companions look at nothing really. Save the random streetlight and train stop that color the scenery there isn’t much to look at besides each other, but that’s not really acceptable. Eric and I are accompanying the new National Director to a city just north of Bucharest.
There are three other people with us in the small cabin, three people whom we’ve never met and probably won’t talk to for the entire trip. The cold weather and the cultural expectations diminish most chances of striking up a meaningful conversation with strangers. Why is that? What is it about culture, fear and society that separates us into our personal space and comfort levels? What would we see differently if we saw with an eternal perspective?
After about three hours into the trip I realized the lady sitting next to me and across from me had been staring out the window pretty much the entire time. For most of the day it was acceptable, there were houses, cars, people, buildings, churches, cities and signs to stare at. After nightfall you couldn’t really see anything out the window except your own reflection and even that loses it’s appeal.
Who were these people? Did they speak English? Where were they going? What would be the consequences of actually attempting a conversation? Do I have any right in bothering them? What should I ask them and what are their stories? What if someone somewhere is praying for their salvation and I’m the person God is putting into their path? What if one of their family members is praying that someone like me would be put in their lives to speak truth to them?
I pray for family and friends to come to know God and I always expect the messenger that’s going to do the job to be obedient to hearing His voice when their moment comes. I expect whoever is out there to be sensitive to what’s being whispered to them when my friends’ hearts are open to hear. Here I am praying all these prayers that someone dear to me would have the chance, or someone would tell them about Christ, I at least expect someone to have the courage and compassion to open their mouth and try. Maybe instead of praying so much for someone else to minister to my unsaved friends, I should pray first that God would use me and help me to be aware of those around me.
Why don’t we keep a better eye open for opportunities? Why don’t we make the most of each situation to turn someone’s heart and eyes towards God? How many more prayers must be offered before we become willing to put aside our agenda, plans or pride and point those around us to the answers for their problems?
I wish I could tell you how I did the good Christian missionary thing of opening up a conversation with them about how much God loves them and cares for them. I wish I could tell you that before the end of the trip they had both accepted Christ and had promised to start attending church. However…
The train rolled on, the hours passed slowly, the man checked our tickets and our cabin sat in silence. And out there, someone somewhere is praying, sending up requests and tears that someone somewhere would speak to their sister, mother, aunt, cousin the news of true joy. Someone may be praying that I will be willing. Unfortunately, I join them and sit and stare out the window… at nothing, praying for my friends and family.
There are three other people with us in the small cabin, three people whom we’ve never met and probably won’t talk to for the entire trip. The cold weather and the cultural expectations diminish most chances of striking up a meaningful conversation with strangers. Why is that? What is it about culture, fear and society that separates us into our personal space and comfort levels? What would we see differently if we saw with an eternal perspective?
After about three hours into the trip I realized the lady sitting next to me and across from me had been staring out the window pretty much the entire time. For most of the day it was acceptable, there were houses, cars, people, buildings, churches, cities and signs to stare at. After nightfall you couldn’t really see anything out the window except your own reflection and even that loses it’s appeal.
Who were these people? Did they speak English? Where were they going? What would be the consequences of actually attempting a conversation? Do I have any right in bothering them? What should I ask them and what are their stories? What if someone somewhere is praying for their salvation and I’m the person God is putting into their path? What if one of their family members is praying that someone like me would be put in their lives to speak truth to them?
I pray for family and friends to come to know God and I always expect the messenger that’s going to do the job to be obedient to hearing His voice when their moment comes. I expect whoever is out there to be sensitive to what’s being whispered to them when my friends’ hearts are open to hear. Here I am praying all these prayers that someone dear to me would have the chance, or someone would tell them about Christ, I at least expect someone to have the courage and compassion to open their mouth and try. Maybe instead of praying so much for someone else to minister to my unsaved friends, I should pray first that God would use me and help me to be aware of those around me.
Why don’t we keep a better eye open for opportunities? Why don’t we make the most of each situation to turn someone’s heart and eyes towards God? How many more prayers must be offered before we become willing to put aside our agenda, plans or pride and point those around us to the answers for their problems?
I wish I could tell you how I did the good Christian missionary thing of opening up a conversation with them about how much God loves them and cares for them. I wish I could tell you that before the end of the trip they had both accepted Christ and had promised to start attending church. However…
The train rolled on, the hours passed slowly, the man checked our tickets and our cabin sat in silence. And out there, someone somewhere is praying, sending up requests and tears that someone somewhere would speak to their sister, mother, aunt, cousin the news of true joy. Someone may be praying that I will be willing. Unfortunately, I join them and sit and stare out the window… at nothing, praying for my friends and family.
1.05.2006
Falling Down
For the past four years airplanes, passport checks, children and books, new countries, strange food and unexplainable circumstances have defined my life. Buses, taxis, trains, hotels, hostels and dormitories, internet cafes, churches, orphanages, prisons and conference calls. Trainings, teaching, leading, close calls and sleepless nights. Boat rides, horses and bad translators. Missing home and frequent flyer miles. My passport is filled with stamps and visas from almost every continent. These things have shaped and formed my world and given me my purpose and my cause. And now it’s ending. The things I thought I knew about myself and who I am here at Book of Hope are suddenly falling down around me. My travel time is done.
I am not quitting Book of Hope, I have not been fired or downsized or “let go of”. My assignment this next spring caught me by surprise to say the least; to use my newest favorite word, I was stupefied.
Unfortunately I realize that much of the way I define myself has been through the work I’ve been doing for God. If you had asked me yesterday who I was or what I do, I’d have no problem telling you all about Book of Hope and what we do around the world. But that’s not the question or the answer. Who am I as a person? Who am I deep down in my soul and heart? Am I just my abilities and talents? Am I really all the things that I’ve built up around me? It’s almost as though suddenly you’ve been completely exposed and laid out in front of everyone to see what you’re truly made of and what you’ve got. It’s as though someone is taking everything that I’ve held onto and forcing me to let go of them. I think I know who that someone is and why He’s doing this.
Part of the problem comes when people ask me what I’m doing next semester and where I’m going. An answer of “I don’t know yet” sometimes fulfills the wonder. Not this time though, I know exactly where I’ll be but I have no idea where I’m going.
A book I've been reading recently talks quite extensively about this subject of the danger of building your ministry into who you are. The book challenges us to make our ministry a result of the intimate times we spend with God, not the other way around. I've always thought that my relationship with God grows as a result of my ministry, but it should actually be that my ministry grows because of the quiet time I spend with Him and learning to listen to His voice.
So that’s my question now to you. I ask you to think of the things we may be hiding behind to avoid the quiet times alone with God. What work or busyness are we engaging in to avoid the soul searching? I would never ever have thought this day would come; I always saw my life as being on the right track and my relationship with God is good. I suppose your ministry or work isn’t an appropriate gauge of who you are in Christ.
So who am I? I’m planning on finding out. And who are you?
I am not quitting Book of Hope, I have not been fired or downsized or “let go of”. My assignment this next spring caught me by surprise to say the least; to use my newest favorite word, I was stupefied.
Unfortunately I realize that much of the way I define myself has been through the work I’ve been doing for God. If you had asked me yesterday who I was or what I do, I’d have no problem telling you all about Book of Hope and what we do around the world. But that’s not the question or the answer. Who am I as a person? Who am I deep down in my soul and heart? Am I just my abilities and talents? Am I really all the things that I’ve built up around me? It’s almost as though suddenly you’ve been completely exposed and laid out in front of everyone to see what you’re truly made of and what you’ve got. It’s as though someone is taking everything that I’ve held onto and forcing me to let go of them. I think I know who that someone is and why He’s doing this.
Part of the problem comes when people ask me what I’m doing next semester and where I’m going. An answer of “I don’t know yet” sometimes fulfills the wonder. Not this time though, I know exactly where I’ll be but I have no idea where I’m going.
A book I've been reading recently talks quite extensively about this subject of the danger of building your ministry into who you are. The book challenges us to make our ministry a result of the intimate times we spend with God, not the other way around. I've always thought that my relationship with God grows as a result of my ministry, but it should actually be that my ministry grows because of the quiet time I spend with Him and learning to listen to His voice.
So that’s my question now to you. I ask you to think of the things we may be hiding behind to avoid the quiet times alone with God. What work or busyness are we engaging in to avoid the soul searching? I would never ever have thought this day would come; I always saw my life as being on the right track and my relationship with God is good. I suppose your ministry or work isn’t an appropriate gauge of who you are in Christ.
So who am I? I’m planning on finding out. And who are you?
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