I sat at a table last night with a young child who’s imagination grew restless after about the first 5 seconds of the adults talking. Soon the chair became a jungle gym and his food was being covertly flung across the table. A lack of discipline wasn’t this boy’s problem; his father removed him from the table three times as we tried to “overtalk” the sound of crying from the other room. Just the lack of adequate sensory input was more our fault than it was his. Soon the imagination wandered and Fish Stars somehow found themselves in the story.
Sitting out at the edge of a savanna under the moon and star lit sky the boy’s stories grew bigger and bigger as the night wore on. I seem to recall something about a lion or a leopard in one of the exaggerated tales. At one point I think I made out the part in the story where I was some kind of astronaut sailing into the sky eating fish stars. I think I rescued everyone sitting at the table by going all the way up there to swallow them to keep them from falling and hurting people. I mean think about it, who wants to get hit by one of those? It felt kind of nice to be a hero for once.
Most of the times with the Nomad (intern) teams I’m kind of a familiar face that they all try to figure out. Laughing at times, joking at times, yet pushing them to give a hundred percent of themselves to the kids in the presentations at the schools. I train them and try to teach them to rely on and trust each other. I may ask more of them, I may make them work a little hard, I may break their will to live, but I do my best to prepare them for something. See I may not be a hero, but soon they’ll be one.
Soon they’ll stand in front of thousands of children and young people and relay God’s message of Truth and Purpose for their lives. They will be the ones rescuing and protecting those who’ve been hurt and had their lives broken. These are the ones who will be a child’s answer to whether anyone cares for them or not. The child searching for hope, the child feeling the burden of raising their younger brothers and sisters, the child who on that day they enter their school, has decided to give up on life. I’ve trained another semester of heroes.
How long has it been since you’ve been a hero? How long since a child could point at you or remember the day a simple word you said rescued them? I don’t think we realize what kind of impact the smallest word or a smile, an encouraging email or a phone call can make. How much time does it take to be a hero to someone searching for hope?
Pray for those heroes that are out there right now. Two teams near the border of Swaziland, sharing a smile with those searching for a hero. Pray for safety and unity in their teams Pray for me as I work in Malawi to level the roads for teams coming here. Pray for safety and God’s direction in my life. Pray for us as we point children to a true hero, and point to Him yourself. You don’t have to eat fish stars just to be a hero.
….become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of Life…
Phil. 2:15
Thanks for reading...
9.26.2007
9.01.2007
The Gristle
I had to spell check that word to make sure it was right. But I came up with a different meaning than what I had intended. Unfortunately this isn't going to be a hugely spiritually significant post on a life lesson learned. It's 130 in the morning and I leave in about 5 hours for South Africa so thoughts and ideas are slightly scattered. I kind of just finished packing...
Usually before I travel I cut my hair pretty short, so right now the gristle refers to the feeling of the short freshly cut hair, maybe it should be the bristle... Perhaps due to lack of adequate sleep my mind has settled on a word that shouldn't be used.
Being in Southern Africa always hits you with so many emotions. The helplessness, the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy, the anger and frustration at how so many children's innocence is stolen. It's hard to describe driving through places where you know the children's life expectancy is only about 30 years. It's frustrating trying to answer secondary student's questions about HIV/ AIDS. A disease that is honestly and literally going to cause some of their countries to be extinct if behavior doesn't change.
And somehow I'm supposed to prepare 14 young people to be ready to face these situations for the next three months.
In Africa AIDS is destroying the nations, in America materialism is corrupting our thinking and our priorities.
The gristle is that it's so easy for us to not even take five minutes to pray for God's Justice and His hand to rescue those in need.
I'm going to post this now, and someday soon I'll probably go back and read it and edit it... trying to make sense of what I was thinking... or not thinking... the gristle.
Thanks for reading
Usually before I travel I cut my hair pretty short, so right now the gristle refers to the feeling of the short freshly cut hair, maybe it should be the bristle... Perhaps due to lack of adequate sleep my mind has settled on a word that shouldn't be used.
Being in Southern Africa always hits you with so many emotions. The helplessness, the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy, the anger and frustration at how so many children's innocence is stolen. It's hard to describe driving through places where you know the children's life expectancy is only about 30 years. It's frustrating trying to answer secondary student's questions about HIV/ AIDS. A disease that is honestly and literally going to cause some of their countries to be extinct if behavior doesn't change.
And somehow I'm supposed to prepare 14 young people to be ready to face these situations for the next three months.
In Africa AIDS is destroying the nations, in America materialism is corrupting our thinking and our priorities.
The gristle is that it's so easy for us to not even take five minutes to pray for God's Justice and His hand to rescue those in need.
I'm going to post this now, and someday soon I'll probably go back and read it and edit it... trying to make sense of what I was thinking... or not thinking... the gristle.
Thanks for reading
8.01.2007
Let darkness pass by
I went to a mall today. Filled with moms and dads and kids and teenagers. Tables of sales and shoes and phones and clothing; two food courts and multiple levels of consumerism. Plenty to be bought and browsed and looked at and desired. Strollers and people holding hands, shopping bags filled with the latest accessories and must haves. I went to a mall today where I found myself one of only five other pale faces that I counted as darkness passed by.
This mall is in a Muslim dominated country. The women here wear a head covering as part of their work uniform. Fitted neatly to their head and color coordinated to the uniform they wear, it’s an overwhelming sight. Yet my eyes are drawn to another crowd as I walk the lanes of the busy mall. You see there are many other visitors here like me; they are people who don’t belong in this country as well. And they come from places I’ll probably never be able to reach them at.
Every year thousands of college students leave their families to study abroad. Every year they come to places not their own. They come seeking a better life, a better education and Truth. The problem is that they will be indoctrinated into a knowledge system based on a theory that claims we’re here by random chance giving our lives no meaning and no purpose. Yet there is another belief system claiming life does have meaning and they have a Father who cares about them. The problem being they have no one to tell them.
As I walked the lanes of the mall ladies young and old are hidden behind a veil of darkness. Coming from Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Iraq, Iran, U.A.E., and other places where Islam has blinded them from the Truth about the meaning of their lives. And I feel helpless, as I can’t do anything about it. I stand absolutely stunned as I realize they stand right before me living in places that I will never be able to get to. Yet they come here looking for happiness in a shopping bag.
There are some interesting facts about college students in the U.S. Many of them come from places around the world. In fact according to some estimates:
“The 2006 Open Doors report was released this week, showing that the overall number of international students in the US has held steady from last year, at about 565,000…”
Do we see the numbers there? It seems that when we “can’t” get to some countries because of religious or political reasons, God brings the people to us. He brings them right to our door, or next-door if you live near a University; and then He gives us an opportunity to reveal Christ to a people group that may have been closed off to the Gospel. Think about it, there are students living, eating, shopping and going to school right next to you that have no family, friends or community around them they are familiar with. When we don’t go to them, God brings them to us.
I wanted to walk through the mall today handing out Books of Hope to all the visitors. Laws made by men prevent me from being able to do that. My heart aches knowing I can never share with them the Truth they are seeking. I want to go back to the mall and just sit and start conversations with people and let God lead. I want to go back and hear where people are from and what they’re doing here and see God work. I want them to be able to go back home with stories of an encounter with their creator and not new clothes to show off.
The article I referenced earlier went on to say this:
US States with the Most International Students
California 75,385
New York 64,283
Texas 46,869
Massachusetts 28,007
Florida 26,058
Leading Countries of Origin
India 76,503
China 62,582
Korea 58,847
Japan 38,712
Canada 28,202
Again, interesting to note that the two most populous countries in the world, the two with some of the most influential markets and economies of the world are sending young people to us. Interesting to think about how many times during those four years they’ll get to sit down with an average American family and be listened to and fed and told the Truth about a God who crafted them with a purpose and plan for their lives.
We don’t have to go far to find people who need to know about Christ. In fact we can be people who not only support missionaries by praying and financially giving, we can also be people who change the course of lives and send them back as missionaries to the villages, towns, communities and families they left in their countries. Places we may never go.
I want to reach into the dark places of the world to change people’s lives. Sometimes all that means is stepping into the lives of one of their young people. Find out who they are. Invited them to dinner one night a month. Listen to their hearts. Send them back as missionaries. Let the darkness pass by and return with the light. Here’s how you start:
“Hello. Where are you from?”
Thanks for reading...
Referenced from: http://www.internationalfinancialaidblog.com/2006/11/number-of-international-students-in-us.html
This mall is in a Muslim dominated country. The women here wear a head covering as part of their work uniform. Fitted neatly to their head and color coordinated to the uniform they wear, it’s an overwhelming sight. Yet my eyes are drawn to another crowd as I walk the lanes of the busy mall. You see there are many other visitors here like me; they are people who don’t belong in this country as well. And they come from places I’ll probably never be able to reach them at.
Every year thousands of college students leave their families to study abroad. Every year they come to places not their own. They come seeking a better life, a better education and Truth. The problem is that they will be indoctrinated into a knowledge system based on a theory that claims we’re here by random chance giving our lives no meaning and no purpose. Yet there is another belief system claiming life does have meaning and they have a Father who cares about them. The problem being they have no one to tell them.
As I walked the lanes of the mall ladies young and old are hidden behind a veil of darkness. Coming from Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Iraq, Iran, U.A.E., and other places where Islam has blinded them from the Truth about the meaning of their lives. And I feel helpless, as I can’t do anything about it. I stand absolutely stunned as I realize they stand right before me living in places that I will never be able to get to. Yet they come here looking for happiness in a shopping bag.
There are some interesting facts about college students in the U.S. Many of them come from places around the world. In fact according to some estimates:
“The 2006 Open Doors report was released this week, showing that the overall number of international students in the US has held steady from last year, at about 565,000…”
Do we see the numbers there? It seems that when we “can’t” get to some countries because of religious or political reasons, God brings the people to us. He brings them right to our door, or next-door if you live near a University; and then He gives us an opportunity to reveal Christ to a people group that may have been closed off to the Gospel. Think about it, there are students living, eating, shopping and going to school right next to you that have no family, friends or community around them they are familiar with. When we don’t go to them, God brings them to us.
I wanted to walk through the mall today handing out Books of Hope to all the visitors. Laws made by men prevent me from being able to do that. My heart aches knowing I can never share with them the Truth they are seeking. I want to go back to the mall and just sit and start conversations with people and let God lead. I want to go back and hear where people are from and what they’re doing here and see God work. I want them to be able to go back home with stories of an encounter with their creator and not new clothes to show off.
The article I referenced earlier went on to say this:
US States with the Most International Students
California 75,385
New York 64,283
Texas 46,869
Massachusetts 28,007
Florida 26,058
Leading Countries of Origin
India 76,503
China 62,582
Korea 58,847
Japan 38,712
Canada 28,202
Again, interesting to note that the two most populous countries in the world, the two with some of the most influential markets and economies of the world are sending young people to us. Interesting to think about how many times during those four years they’ll get to sit down with an average American family and be listened to and fed and told the Truth about a God who crafted them with a purpose and plan for their lives.
We don’t have to go far to find people who need to know about Christ. In fact we can be people who not only support missionaries by praying and financially giving, we can also be people who change the course of lives and send them back as missionaries to the villages, towns, communities and families they left in their countries. Places we may never go.
I want to reach into the dark places of the world to change people’s lives. Sometimes all that means is stepping into the lives of one of their young people. Find out who they are. Invited them to dinner one night a month. Listen to their hearts. Send them back as missionaries. Let the darkness pass by and return with the light. Here’s how you start:
“Hello. Where are you from?”
Thanks for reading...
Referenced from: http://www.internationalfinancialaidblog.com/2006/11/number-of-international-students-in-us.html
6.12.2007
The Addiction
I cross a border today. One I crossed once before a few months ago. There is a misguided allure and an intrigue about living this kind of life. Filling up a passport with stamps from new countries is always a rush. The feeling of hearing about the next country you’ll be visiting or the layovers in far off places is always a kind of high, especially if you’ve never been there before. There is something unmistakable about returning home only to receive you’re next shipping out date. This addiction is a hard one to break.
Two weeks ago today, I stood in front of 140 Secondary students in Northern Ireland and spoke truth into their lives. The room was absolutely silent as I explained that they must take into account that their lives and choices matter. Their eyes fixated as I told them it is no mistake they are here, that they were created with purpose and intention. As the presentation ended we opened the time for questions and answers. In reality, the presentation was over and we were ready to pack up, the teacher however, didn’t want to let the students out into the hallways. The students somewhat hesitant at first, soon began voicing their wonderings. A hand in the back shot up. He was one of the older students, shaved head, his uniform in order. I thought he’d ask a simple question about what we thought of Northern Ireland. Instead “What’s your story?” He asked.
During the last six years there are certain moments that feed the addiction to what I do. There are presentations or testimonies or encounters that fuel the need to continue. A chance meeting on a bus with a young man looking for God. A teacher approaches you after a presentation and through her tears she hugs you and thanks you for sharing your story and promises to use the Book of Hope to teach her students. Laughter from a room full of primary school students wanting to be loved, laughter in an all boys secondary school, the students wanting to be believed in. Moments that will freeze in your mind and in your memories and continue to create the desire to commit another six years. The addiction.
I shared my story that afternoon in Northern Ireland. The room sat still as I explained life circumstances, a single-parent home, choosing to wait until I’m married, growing up in church and having to make my own choice about my parents religion. When I finished, something happened that I’ve rarely seen. The students clapped. Not because someone on our team started it and the students joined in. Not because of an awkward silence and certainly not because of my incredible abilities. Simply because God was there. That is the addiction.
I left the school that day on a different level. God had fueled a passion and a desire that is unlike any other feeling in the entire world. Given that I haven’t tried everything else I still wouldn’t trade the absolute rush of knowing this is it. This is worth all the missed flights, asking people for money, lost luggage, haggling with taxi drivers, no home, no car, living from a suitcase. There is nothing glamorous about this. But I’d do it all again for those moments when God is there. He is the addiction.
Here at a small farm in South Africa I’ll leave today to lead five young people into a nation I’ve never been to before. I’ll do my best to lead and protect and disciple them during this next month of their lives. We’ve spent the last six days living and eating and practicing dramas together. We’ll depend upon each other and lean on each other and trust each other. We’ll feed the addiction together as we see God move in ways we could never dream or imagine. We drive today into Botswana from South Africa. Tomorrow we continue with a ten hour drive into Namibia where we’ll spend the time in schools presenting children with the Truth about who they are.
God is the addiction. And it’s worth it.
Two weeks ago today, I stood in front of 140 Secondary students in Northern Ireland and spoke truth into their lives. The room was absolutely silent as I explained that they must take into account that their lives and choices matter. Their eyes fixated as I told them it is no mistake they are here, that they were created with purpose and intention. As the presentation ended we opened the time for questions and answers. In reality, the presentation was over and we were ready to pack up, the teacher however, didn’t want to let the students out into the hallways. The students somewhat hesitant at first, soon began voicing their wonderings. A hand in the back shot up. He was one of the older students, shaved head, his uniform in order. I thought he’d ask a simple question about what we thought of Northern Ireland. Instead “What’s your story?” He asked.
During the last six years there are certain moments that feed the addiction to what I do. There are presentations or testimonies or encounters that fuel the need to continue. A chance meeting on a bus with a young man looking for God. A teacher approaches you after a presentation and through her tears she hugs you and thanks you for sharing your story and promises to use the Book of Hope to teach her students. Laughter from a room full of primary school students wanting to be loved, laughter in an all boys secondary school, the students wanting to be believed in. Moments that will freeze in your mind and in your memories and continue to create the desire to commit another six years. The addiction.
I shared my story that afternoon in Northern Ireland. The room sat still as I explained life circumstances, a single-parent home, choosing to wait until I’m married, growing up in church and having to make my own choice about my parents religion. When I finished, something happened that I’ve rarely seen. The students clapped. Not because someone on our team started it and the students joined in. Not because of an awkward silence and certainly not because of my incredible abilities. Simply because God was there. That is the addiction.
I left the school that day on a different level. God had fueled a passion and a desire that is unlike any other feeling in the entire world. Given that I haven’t tried everything else I still wouldn’t trade the absolute rush of knowing this is it. This is worth all the missed flights, asking people for money, lost luggage, haggling with taxi drivers, no home, no car, living from a suitcase. There is nothing glamorous about this. But I’d do it all again for those moments when God is there. He is the addiction.
Here at a small farm in South Africa I’ll leave today to lead five young people into a nation I’ve never been to before. I’ll do my best to lead and protect and disciple them during this next month of their lives. We’ve spent the last six days living and eating and practicing dramas together. We’ll depend upon each other and lean on each other and trust each other. We’ll feed the addiction together as we see God move in ways we could never dream or imagine. We drive today into Botswana from South Africa. Tomorrow we continue with a ten hour drive into Namibia where we’ll spend the time in schools presenting children with the Truth about who they are.
God is the addiction. And it’s worth it.
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