Amy Medina

Dear New Missionary

Dear New Missionary,

I spent last week with about 40 of you, helping with your training.

I saw the fire in your eyes and the urgency in your prayers but heard the waver in your voice.

I saw myself in you, 16 years ago, when it was I who sat in your chair with the same simultaneous passion and anxiety.

What do I wish I’d known? What do I wish I could tell you now?

It’s going to be hard. Really hard.

And it won’t just be the things you anticipate will be hard. Sure, there will be the bugs and you might hate your kitchen and driving might terrify you. You might cry because the potatoes are just not cooking right and you accidentally insult someone and no one speaks to you at your new church. Your kids might get a strange rash and you will buy the wrong medicine and you’ll wonder what on earth you were thinking to bring your family to this strange place.

Then there’s the fear. You won’t let your kids play outside without you; you’ll hold your purse a lot more tightly; you’ll worry about the pollution affecting your lungs. You’ll sleep a lot less soundly and get up at night just to check out the windows, one more time. It might feel like everyone is smirking at you behind your back. And you’ll wonder why you ever thought you could have an impact on this new place.

But then there will be the things you didn’t anticipate would be hard. Your sin won’t stay in your home country, in fact, it will seem to ooze out of you in buckets. Your team leader won’t have enough time for you, and you’ll feel left dangling, high and dry and bewildered. The poverty surrounding you will hang constant guilt around your neck. You will communicate like a two-year-old. You’ll lose your sense of self-respect. You won’t feel good at anything anymore.

You will, in essence, lose yourself. And it might feel like dying.

But, in that losing, you will find yourself. And in that dying, you will live.

In the hardness, you will find that you are capable of enduring more than you thought possible. You will find that you actually can drive in that traffic, that you can make a pumpkin pie from scratch, that you can say something intelligible in another language. You will look back after a year, two, three years and be amazed at all the things you can do that you never thought you could do.

You will experience the astonishing joy of realizing that different does not have to be scary. The woman behind the veil is more like you than you would have guessed; the foreign pastor has the same worries for his congregation as you do. The alley that looked so dark will one day feel familiar; the words on billboards will start to make sense.

You will find that having less means that you find more joy with less. A can of root beer will make a great Christmas present; sticks and rocks will entertain your children far more than Toys R Us ever did. The poverty surrounding you will build a deep and abiding sense of gratefulness for what you do have.

And the sin and loneliness and conflict and fear? They will give you daily invitation to press into the One who is your refuge. In deeper ways than you ever realized, you will come to know the One who emptied himself and left heaven for a foreign land. Names like Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace will find new and rich meaning. The saving power of the gospel will not just apply to those you are preaching to, but daily to your own heart.

The longer you stay, you will find that this journey has been a whole lot more about what you needed to learn than what you had to give. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll wake up one day and realize that you have made an impact on this new place. But in the same moment, you’ll realize that this place has had a far greater impact on you.

And you’ll find you have experienced the biggest privilege of your life.

Godspeed, New Missionary. It will be hard, but it will be worth it.

When Missionaries Think They Know Everything

A few years ago, a video started making its way around my Facebook feed–shared by lots foreigners who live in my part of Africa. The video showed two African men shoveling sand. There was a very large pile of sand to their left. The two men were shoveling the sand into a wheelbarrow, filling it up, and then dumping it…two feet away.

The person filming this video obviously thought the men were complete idiots. “Watch this! Wait for it…wait for it…” she gleefully exclaimed. And when the men dumped out another wheelbarrow of sand just inches away, she could be heard bursting into giggles.

By the time I saw the video, it had over 13 million views and 300,000 shares by people who obviously thought the men’s idiocy was equally hilarious. I didn’t share it, but I had to admit that it did seem pretty amusing.

That is, I thought it was funny until two African friends set us all straight. They explained: While making concrete, in the absence of a cement mixer, a builder will use a wheelbarrow to measure. One part cement, two parts sand, three parts gravel. These men were not idiots. They knew exactly what they were doing. They were using the resources they had to do something that was actually quite rational.

Oh.

Oops.

I was terribly ashamed. Not just for myself, but for the millions of foreigners who come to Africa and think that we know everything. That one little video made me re-evaluate how I view my host country. It made me wonder how many other times I had the same attitude of condescension about something I knew nothing about.

There was a tag on that video: #TIA: “This is Africa.” This is a common hashtag in my part of the world, but foreigners often turn it into something demeaning. For example, “Spent all day waiting for my car to be fixed, and then realized they ‘fixed’ the wrong part. #TIA.”

But let’s step back a minute and take a look at that from a distance. What is “TIA” communicating in this instance? That everything always goes wrong in Africa? That no one knows how to fix anything? That we should have the expectation that everyone in Africa is an idiot? What would the mechanic think if he read it?

As Christian missionaries, it’s easy to assume that we are above this kind of behavior. After all, we’ve been vetted, interviewed, and scrutinized more than most people will be in their lifetime. We’re supposed to be godly, right? We’re supposed to love the nations, right? Missionaries could never be racist….right?

Call it racism, stereotyping, or ethnocentrism, but one thing we need to get really clear is that it dwells in all of our hearts in some form or another. If we’re really honest with ourselves, we have to admit that we really do think we know what’s best. Our way of doing things is really the most effective. Basically, I am better than you. Or at the very least, my culture is better than yours.

We assume that we could never be that person, yet that’s just the problem. We ignore the fact that despite the pedestals we have been put on, we actually aren’t saints; that signing on to missionary work didn’t actually get rid of our sin. We are, by nature, prideful and arrogant. Insisting that we aren’t just allows it to come out in unintended ways. The first step to rooting out sin in our lives is by acknowledging that it’s there—in all of us.

Of course, I’m not suggesting that we put on rose-colored glasses and pretend that our frustrations don’t exist. Inefficiency, foolishness, and downright evil exist in every culture, in various forms. I’m saying we need to check our attitude towards these things. Are we holding ourselves above the culture as if we’re better than it, and insisting we have all the answers? Or are we sitting down in the dust next to our local friends, learning to love the things they love and experience the frustrations they feel within their culture?

Marilyn Gardner writes, “Cultural humility demands self-evaluation and critique, constant effort to understand the view of another before we react. It requires that we recognize our tendency toward cultural superiority. Cultural humility gives up the role of expert, instead seeing ourselves as students of our host culture. It puts us on our knees, the best posture possible for learning.”

We need to ask ourselves:

Would I make this complaint if I knew a government official would hear it?
Would I tell this joke about my host country in front of my local friends?
Would I write this Facebook post if I knew the pastor of my local church would see it?

And what about my own kids? How are my children going to perceive our host country if they absorb my attitude about the government, the police, the mechanic, the drivers on the road? Are they learning from my words and actions to show grace or to display arrogance?

Even if you think you are just kidding around, be careful. Obviously, even local people complain about certain things in their country and even make jokes. But remember that playground rule when you were a kid: It’s okay for you to tease your little sister, but if your friend does it, then “them’s fighting words.” Even if your local friends disparage or mock aspects of their own culture, that doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to do it too. We are guests in our host countries. Let’s be considerate ones.

Of course, there’s a fine line here. If I see a Facebook post that says, “Saw a baboon on the back of a motorcycle today. #TIA,” well, that’s fun all around. No problem there. But keep in mind that it may take you many years before you know where that line is. And the longer I’ve lived overseas, the further I back up from that line. I continue to realize how much I have to learn. As I understand more and more that I don’t have the answers, the more deeply I appreciate the differences that I originally may have mocked.

In humility, consider others better than yourselves.

Even if it means giving the benefit of the doubt to two guys shoveling sand.

Your Short-Term Trips Have Not Prepared You For Long-Term Missions

I can still remember the random thoughts that shot through my head during my first couple of weeks as an adult long-term missionary. Wait, what? There’s nothing planned for us today? So what are we supposed to do? Hey, when is someone going to take us souvenir shopping? I was really looking forward to that! Why is no one telling me what to do with the trash? What am I supposed to do with it? Why is no one telling me what to do about anything?

I caught myself many times. No, Amy, you live here now. This is not a short-term trip. I knew that, of course, especially since I had been an MK. But it was weird how my short-term trips had programmed my brain with certain expectations.

This is not a post about the good or the bad of short-term missions (STM), or how to do them well. This is a post about the limits of STM trips as preparation for long-term missions.

These days, just about every long-term missionary has been on at least one STM. Of course, many long-term missionaries choose that life because of a short-term trip—which is a wonderful thing indeed. But what is often not discussed is how different long-term missions is compared to short-term trips. And sometimes, those misplaced expectations can actually make a long-term missionary’s transition even harder.

So if you are headed for long-term missions after a series of short trips, what differences should you expect? Here are four things to consider.

1. No one is going to hold your hand. STM trips, when done well, are carefully controlled. Your entire schedule, down to when and what you will eat, when and where you will sleep, and how you will spend all of your time, have been decided for you. You might not even get to handle local money yourself.

So when you arrive on the ground as a long-term missionary, it might come as a shock that you will be more or less on your own. If you’re lucky, there might be a few missionaries who will show you around and get you oriented. But they will be busy, and you will find yourself thrown in the deep end a lot sooner than you wanted. It might be scary and overwhelming and not nearly as fun as your short-term trip.

2. Daily life is not all ministry; in fact, most of it isn’t. My husband remembers his first STM trip when he was in college, and the shock he experienced when he realized that his host missionaries not only watched television regularly, but they had cable. What? Missionaries need rest? On STM trips, you might joyfully work 12-hour days and fall into your sleeping bag at night feeling smugly satisfied with all you accomplished.

But as a long-term missionary, you might waste 5 hours driving all over town, looking for the right-sized lightbulb. Or you might spend all day in the immigration line. You can go whole days where all your time is consumed by figuring out how to just live, and you think, Ministry? What’s that? On top of that, you’ll soon discover that burn out comes really quickly if you don’t allow some downtime into your life. Even if that means getting cable.

3. True results take a long, long, long (long!) time. When you went on that STM trip, you may have been ecstatic to see the kids who raised their hand at the VBS. One of the best moments of your life might have been when the poor family stepped into the new home you built for them. And you will never forget the party that broke out in the village when they witnessed the well you paid for. But a few days later, you got on a plane and left. You weren’t there to notice that the VBS kids never showed up at church again. You didn’t see the poor family get pushed out of their brand new home by an older relative. Six months after the well was built, you weren’t there to see it broken and rusting.

But when you sign up for long-term service, those disappointments become your reality. And if you’re expecting quick, easy, fabulous success stories, you’re not going to last very long in your new country. You’ve got to start your new life with your teeth clenched in determination, with lots of grit, and humble, long-term perseverance.

4. Going home will be a whole lot harder. Anyone who has gone on an STM trip will secretly admit that the best part is coming home. You’ve got a great couple of weeks behind you. You eagerly discuss with your teammates which fast-food restaurant you will go to first when you get home. Your church and friends and family are bursting with questions and praise and eyes full of wonder at your stories. And when all the excitement dies down, you settle back comfortably into your old life.

Except, coming home after two or three years looks nothing like coming home after two or three weeks. Your friends have moved on with their lives. You are a different person—you feel different, and your friends treat you differently. They don’t know what to ask you and you struggle to relate to each other. You may find that the home you dreamed about now feels confusing and disorienting.

One of the keys to adjusting to a new culture is holding loosely to your expectations. Unfortunately, STM trips can actually make that worse by creating a false picture of what your new life will look like. I still love short-term missions trips when they are done well, but it’s important to understand their limits in preparing you for long-term service. Don’t be surprised if you need to un-learn some of what they taught you.

Visiting Home Might Not Be Everything You Dreamed

When I’m overseas, I dream about Target. Everything I need, all in one place, at reasonable prices! So when our furlough started a month ago, I visited Target the day after I arrived.

We’ve been missionaries for 13 years, so I should know better by now. Target’s awesomeness can be a little too much to take in just 48 hours after leaving East Africa. I was instantly bombarded with hordes of conflicting emotions. Wow, it’s all so amazing! Look at all this stuff! Yeah, what’s wrong with Americans? Why are they so materialistic? That one pair of shoes could feed a family for a week in Tanzania. And in just a couple of years, all these clothes will be cast off and end up in some market in Africa. So why should I even bother shopping for them now? Oooohhh….but I really like that blouse.

Emotional whiplash. I couldn’t keep up.

And then when I finally did finish shopping, I felt like an idiot as the clerk tried to help me use the chip card machine. Shoot, I thought I was doing well by just remembering how to use a credit card, and then they go and change all the rules on me! “Sorry,” I mumbled to her. “I’ve been living overseas a really long time.”

Ah, going home. We dream about it. We long for it. We count the days until take off. But when it finally arrives, the reality just doesn’t match up. And we find ourselves in the midst of adjusting, all over again, to a place that we thought would feel like home. We find ourselves struggling with disillusionment and discouragement.

So why can visiting home feel so hard? Here are some thoughts.

People move on. When you leave home for a just a few weeks or months, it’s easy to slip back into the same routines of life. Friends, social events, and jobs all come back together just as they were before—just with more stories to tell. But when you leave for years, life goes on without you. In your mind, time stood still back at home, but in reality, your friends have gone through hard stuff and happy stuff, and you were not there to experience with them. And all those people who sent you overseas with much fanfare? They are a lot busier now, and might forget to roll out that red carpet you expected.

You are a different person. Spending years in a different country changes you. You’ve adapted to new ways of speaking, interacting, shopping, sleeping, and raising kids. There are literally new pathways in your brain. It’s not so easy to just drop all of that on a 14 hour flight and expect to become the same person you once were when you get back home. You are not going to see the world the same way ever again.

Which leads to the next point: You won’t be treated the same way you were before. You’re in a different category, and even close friends might not know how to relate to you. People often won’t be able to understand your life overseas, they don’t know what questions to ask, and you’ve entered a spiritual plane that is intimidating.

Your home country will not look the same. You might go out to dinner, and find yourself feeling guilty about how differently that money could be used in your host country. The people around you might appear more fickle than they did before you left, and you might feel a lot more critical of your home culture. The barrage of new emotions can be disconcerting and disorienting.

And to top it off, Furlough never looks like real life. During all those years overseas, you day-dreamed about your life back at home. You imagined yourself back in your happiest of memories: Christmases by the fire, family movie nights, Sunday lunches with grandma. And though you may get to re-experience a lot of those things on your furloughs back home, you quickly come to realize that furlough life is nothing like your old life. You are living in strange places out of suitcases, you travel constantly, you have to be an extrovert even if you aren’t one. You get glimpses of your old life, but it’s never really the same.

But. Before you despair, let me encourage you with this:

There truly are a lot of wonderful things about visiting home. Absolutely. You will certainly find an abundance of joy in reuniting with the people, the churches, and the food you have missed for so long. And even Target, of course. But adjust your expectations. Don’t get your feelings hurt by people who have moved on. Don’t expect the red carpet rolled out for you. Don’t be surprised by bombarding emotions and know that not all of them will be happy feelings. And do expect that the feelings of estrangement and isolation will increase with every progressive furlough. Enjoy the wonderful parts of visiting home, but don’t be surprised when it’s not everything you hoped it would be.

Also, learn be content with where you are. Don’t spend your entire time in your host country dreaming about life back at home. Work hard to be all there, to fully immerse your mind and your heart completely in your new country. Remind yourself that as much as you miss life back at home, that it was never perfect, and you’ll find that it’s even less perfect than you remember.

In Defense of Second-Class Missionaries

Imagine what it would look like if western churches hired their staff with the same priorities that they choose overseas missionaries to financially support.

First of all, a Children’s Pastor would definitely be out. Not strategic enough; he’s only supporting the children of believers. Youth Pastor? Also out, unless he targets neighborhood kids.

How about a Music Pastor? Or Pastoral Counselor? Nope. Those are just support roles. Not enough front-line ministry.

Administrative Pastor? Receptionist? Good heavens. We could never dream of paying someone for those kind of inconsequential jobs.

How about a Preaching Pastor? Well…..that’s if-y, but he probably doesn’t make the cut either. After all, he’s only feeding the Body. Most of the time, he’s not actually reaching the lost.

So that pretty much leaves only the positions of Community Outreach Pastor or Evangelist. Yet how many churches even have those paid positions?

I’m not suggesting that churches go about firing two-thirds of their staff. I just want to talk about a double-standard I often see.

Let me introduce you to the class system among missionaries.

Who is on the A-List? Well, that would be the Church Planters. Among unreached people groups gives you A+ status. Pastoral Trainers and Bible Translators might be able to squeak by with an A.

The B-List? Doctors and other health workers, community development and poverty alleviation workers, ESL teachers.

The C-List? Administrators, missionary member care, MK teachers, or anyone else considered “support.”

Whatever tends to be the current trend in “justice ministry” also often ends up on the A-List. These days, that’s fighting human trafficking. It used to be orphan ministry, but that’s pretty much been relegated to B-status now. It’s cool, but not that cool.

Granted, this class system doesn’t usually originate with the missionaries themselves, but it’s come out of the culture of missions in their home countries. How many missionaries have sat before missions committees back home who examined if they fit into their “grid” of priorities? And often that grid looks exactly like the hierarchy I just outlined.

My husband and I worked for eight years in TCK ministry at a missionary school. When trying to raise support, we called and sent information packets to over 200 churches in California. We heard back from two. Churches told us, over and over again, Sorry, but that ministry doesn’t fit into our strategy.

That all changed when we transitioned to theological training of East African pastors. Finally, we had churches calling us. It was nice. But frankly, kind of frustrating. We didn’t change ministries so that we would become more popular with churches. We switched because that’s where God was leading us. But the truth is, we don’t consider theological training to be any more strategic, or any more exciting, than what we were doing at that MK school.

Unfortunately, the missionaries themselves are often acutely aware of this hierarchy, and it makes many feel like they are second-class. Over and over again, I hear things like this from missionaries:

Yes, I love my job as an MK teacher and I know it’s really important, but I fill my newsletters with pictures of the slum I visit once a week. After all, that’s what my supporters are interested in.

Yeah, I’m a missionary, but not a ‘real’ missionary. I live in a city and spend a lot of my time at a computer.

My visiting short-term team was supposed to help me out with my ministry to TCK’s, but they only want to spend their time with orphans.

Why do these missionaries feel this way? Maybe because when Christians stand up and say, I’m called to missionary care! I’m called to teach MK’s! I’m called to missions administration!, the churches say, Well, sorry, you don’t fit in our strategy. We’d rather get behind the exciting church planters and the pastoral trainers and the child-trafficking rescuers. Except, we expect them to do it without all the other people they need to be successful.

And so what happens? The talented church planter gets bogged down by administrative tasks. The mom who is gifted and called to women’s ministry has no choice but to homeschool. The child-trafficking rescuer has a nervous breakdown because he has no one to help him work through the trauma of what he is facing. Missionaries are particularly prone to burn-out. Could this be partially because they are trying to do too many jobs themselves?

I’m all about strategy in missions, and it’s important for churches to be careful in their vetting process of potential missionaries. But can we expand our idea of what strategy means? Missionaries, as an extension of the Church, must function as the Body of Christ. Could the Western Church function by only hiring evangelists? I realize that mission work can have different goals than churches back at home: Missionaries are working ourselves out of a job; they are doing everything they can to replace themselves with national believers. But to get there, they need the Body of Christ.

We, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another. Having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them. (Romans 12)

The legs can’t do anything without the arms and fingers and neck. So go out today and find your nearest missionary accountant or counselor or MK teacher. Join their support team. Encourage them in their pursuit of their calling. Affirm their value to your church or your team. And remind them they are never second-class.

Please Ask Me the Non-Spiritual Questions

When we’re on furlough and giving presentations about our ministry as missionaries, we always end with, “Does anyone have any questions?”

A hand goes up. And the question is inevitable.

“How can we pray for you?” Every. Single. Time.

Sometimes someone will ask to know more about our ministry. Or a person we are investing in. Or maybe, “What has God been teaching you?”

The questions, almost always, are spiritual.

This is not a bad thing. Of course, we’re thrilled people want to pray for us. We are excited if they are excited about our ministry. But do you know what we long to be asked?

The non-spiritual questions.

Sure, our ministry is extremely important to us. But that’s only part of the picture of our lives overseas. We moved to the other side of the world. We landed in a country that most people only see on the news. We had to learn new ways of shopping, cooking, eating, sleeping, educating, traveling, parenting, and talking. It was not easy. In fact, it was the hardest thing we’ve ever done.

We are different people now. And it is bursting out of us. We might look the same on the outside, but we are totally different on the inside. And you know what? We long to talk about it with you. We desperately want you to be interested in all of our other life, not just the spiritual parts.

My husband and I have been missionaries for 13 years now. And I must admit: The people back home who ask us the non-spiritual questions are few and far between. In fact, they are so rare that they stand out in my memory by name.

I’m not sure why there are so few people who ask the non-spiritual questions. I think that sometimes, folks just don’t know where to start. Or maybe they think that they already should know all those things and they don’t want to look stupid. Or maybe they just assume that we don’t really want to talk about such mundane things. (After all, we’re super spiritual…right?)

So let me just re-iterate: Please, ask us the non-spiritual questions. We missionaries would love to answer them.

Not sure where to start?

That’s easy. Start with what you are interested in.

Are you into technology? Then ask about the part that technology plays in your missionary’s country. Ask about internet speed. Ask about cell phones. Ask how technology is shaping the culture.

Are you into fashion? Then ask about styles and fabric and cultural modesty standards in your missionary’s country. Ask how your missionary manages to blend her own sense of fashion into her new culture.

Are you a foodie? Then ask about grocery shopping and cooking. Ask about whole food options, if you are into that. Ask about the struggles your missionary has faced in adapting to a new diet.

Are you a mom? Then ask your (mom) missionary about what it’s like to raise kids overseas. Ask about what her kids have struggled with and how this new life has changed them.

Are you fascinated by politics? Then ask about the government of your missionary’s country. Ask how America’s politics (or your home country) has affected your missionary’s country.

I think you get the idea. How about health care? Transportation? Housing? Architecture? Language? The sky is the limit. You will learn something new, and you will make your missionary friend’s day just by being interested.

Now, it is true that not all these questions will be appropriate during a group presentation. But when you are one-on-one with your friend, or you have her family over for dinner, or when you are responding by email to their newsletters, please, ask the non-spiritual questions!

And if you know your particular missionary really well? Then don’t be afraid to go deeper. All missionaries need someone in their lives who is asking them about their marriage, their emotional state, the needs of their kids, and their walk with God. Just keep in mind: Don’t ask the deep questions if you are not ready to be a safe place. Don’t ask these questions unless you are prepared to be entirely confidential. Most people don’t have their job on the line if they confess to marriage problems or depression—but missionaries often do. This makes them terrified to share openly about the hard issues. Be a safe place—and work together with your friend if you think someone else needs to be brought into the conversation.

So yes—if it’s the right time and place and you are the right person—then go deep. But asking about the everyday stuff can be just as important. Being interested in your friend’s life overseas is one of the absolute best ways of showing your love.

You know who are our favorite groups to talk to back home? Children. They have no inhibitions! We get asked: “Do you ride elephants? Do you eat bugs?” We absolutely love it. Sometimes we wonder, Do the adults think these things too, but are too afraid to ask? If that’s the case, then today I give you full permission: Ask about elephants and bugs. You will make your missionary friend’s day.

Dear Supporter, There’s So Much More I Wish I Could Tell You

Dear Supporter,

I wrote you a newsletter today. I told you about the success in our ministry, about the lives being touched and the happy stories. Everyone was smiling in all the pictures. But there is so much more I wish I could tell you.

I wish I could tell you that lots of times I feel like a total failure. I’ve asked you to pray for the Big Event, or the Camp Sign-Ups, or the Grand Opening. You might not realize that afterwards, I don’t always tell you how it went. That’s because sometimes, despite weeks of hard work and lots of prayer, the event is a total flop. Five people show up. Or no one. And I can’t bring myself to tell you.

Then there’s the time when I realize that I’ve hurt a national friend. Or a missionary colleague and I are having a huge conflict. Or I’ve made a major cultural mistake. Or I’m just not learning this language. Or everything blows up in my face. There are many, many times when I wonder why I’m here, or if I really am the right person for this job. But I’m afraid to tell you, because then I think you will wonder why I’m here or if I am the right person for this job.

I wish I could tell you about my personal struggles. Sometimes I feel like you make me out to be more spiritual than I am, but I wish you knew that becoming a missionary didn’t turn me into a saint. In fact, sometimes I think it brings out the worst in me. I wish I could tell you about the immobilizing depression or the fights with my spouse. I wish I could tell you that my anxiety was so bad that I needed to travel to another country to see a professional counselor. I wish I could tell you about that time my friend was robbed at gunpoint in his home, and I couldn’t sleep for weeks afterward.

I wish you knew that I hate it here sometimes, and there’s nothing more I want than to go home. But I know I need to stay, so I don’t tell you because I’ve heard the stories of friends forced to go home because they confided in the wrong person. I don’t tell you because I can’t imagine you would want to support such a flawed person.

I wish I could tell you about the perks. We live in an exotic place, so sometimes that means that we take our kids snorkeling the way you would take your kids to the park. Sometimes it means that our conferences or layovers take us to exciting places like Thailand or Johannesburg or Dubai. Sometimes it means that lobster is cheap or the historic castle is just a day-trip away.

But I am afraid to tell you about these experiences, because I’m afraid you think missionaries are supposed to suffer. After all, we often live in poor countries and we always subsist on your financial sacrifice. I’m worried you will think we are being extravagant. And I’ve heard stories of missionaries who have lost support because of their vacations. I fear your judgment.

I wish I could tell you that I long for more connection with you. The first couple years were great because we got lots of care packages and Christmas letters and everyone asked us how it was going. But time goes on and people move on and we realize that we’re really not that exciting anymore. It’s hard to come home and feel like we have to be pushy for opportunities to share. It’s hard to feel like people are intimidated to talk to us because we are so different now. Our newsletter program tells us that only 60% of our list open our email updates, which isn’t that surprising since we only get a handful of responses.

Part of that is okay because we don’t need care packages as much anymore, and you’ve made new friends and we have too. But I wish you knew how much it means to me when you remember to ask about a detail I wrote about, or when you continue to send me your Christmas letter. When we are together, it makes my day when you ask about my life in my other country—when you really look me in the eyes and want to know how it’s going. Listening is the best gift you can give me. And the scariest part of feeling disconnected is wondering if people are still praying for us. So when you tell me that you are still praying for me, that makes all the difference.

I wish I could find a way to express how much you mean to me. Despite how hard this life can be, I have the tremendous joy of doing God’s work in the place I am called. And there is no way I could do it without your sacrifice. I hope you know how important that is to me. How important you are to me.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Your Missionary

How Do I Make Goals for 2017 When I Know I Can’t Meet Them?

Missionaries are experts in high expectations.

I mean, who else has a job like this? Most of us went through a stringent interview process just to get here. Pages of applications, hours of interviews, weeks of training, our references were asked for more references. We are held up as examples of godliness. We have high expectations of the kind of people we will be.

And then, once we are accepted, our pictures are placed in the foyers of churches and on family refrigerators all over the country. We are paraded around like celebrities. Not only are we expected to write strategic plans every year and submit them to our supervisors and our supporting churches, but then we are required to write monthly reports to hundreds of stakeholders. If it feels like they have really high expectations for how we will perform, well, our own expectations are probably even higher. After all, if we are going to sacrifice so much, if we are going to ask others to sacrifice so much on behalf of us, then we better see results.

Based on our yearly goals (or you could call them glorified New Year’s Resolutions), and the amount of accountability we receive, missionaries should be the world’s most productive and healthy people. And really, the world should be saved by now. Right?

On one hand, I’m thankful for this aspect of missionary life. I am a goal-oriented person, and I like the accountability. I think it’s a great thing to think long-term about how we are going to accomplish what God is calling us to do.

On the other hand, we just never reach those expectations, do we? We move overseas, and it brings out the worst in us. As a spouse. As a parent. As a friend. As a minister to others. And as for our ministry? What we felt called to do? What we felt called to be? Well, that just never goes as we planned. And sometimes it’s even a total disaster.

So how do we find that balance? How do we set goals for ourselves, for our ministry, when we have experienced disappointment and failure? When we’ve been betrayed by too many friends? How do we temper the anxiety of not being able to reach the expectations of those who are holding us up?

After 15 years as a missionary, it’s true that my early idealism was smashed a long time ago. You know those times of wonderful rejoicing, when all is going the way it should? Well, it just takes one stumble, one new piece of information, and suddenly it all falls apart. What seems like a happy ending can still turn tragic in the end.

Does this make me cynical? It can, sometimes. But I’ve also been around long enough now to learn that sometimes the worst things—when I feel like all is lost—well, sometimes in the end they weren’t such a big deal after all. Or even if they were, God can beautifully redeem them.

I have learned to just trust. John Piper writes, “God is always doing 10,000 things in your life, and you may be aware of three of them.” So yes, we do need to plan, we do need to dream big, we do need to work hard towards God-centered goals. But in the end, we must remember that this is God’s work, and He will do as He pleases.

I love these words by Andree Seu Peterson: “Only God sees around corners, and therefore it is very wise to not try to figure out our own way to happiness and safety by relying on our own understanding and worldly wiles. The wise person will trust in God’s ways and stick to them, knowing that life can get messy in the middle, because the person who makes God his trust, the story will turn out well in the end, in the very, very end.”

Maybe you’re looking at 2017 with dread. To you, I say: Be faithful. Keep getting up in the morning. Keep doing what God has called you to. Keep walking out your front door, even if it’s terrifying. Keep showing up, because that’s often the most important part. Or maybe you’re looking at 2017 with great anticipation. To you, I say: Be humble. Be excited, but hold it all loosely, knowing that things aren’t always as they seem.

And in all of it, trust the God who sees around the corner. We might try to write our story, or at least figure out the ending, but He is the one who already knows it. And He knows how He wants to get us there. Set your goals, keep your eyes on Him, and find joy in the journey. In the very, very end, we know the story will turn out well.

Don’t Ask Me About My Christmas Traditions

My first Christmas on African soil was when I had just turned six years old. We had arrived in Liberia only three weeks earlier, and my mom was in the throes of major culture shock. My parents had shipped over a few presents, but nothing else for Christmas. My mom managed to find a two-foot plastic tree at a store, and decorated it with tiny candy canes wrapped in cellophane. After just a few days, the candy canes turned into puddles inside their wrappers. My mom says it was the most depressing Christmas she’s ever had.

liberia-1 — Our first Liberian Christmas: My brother and I with our punching balloons, and my sad Mama.

I remember that Christmas, but the funny thing is, I thought it was great. I remember being concerned how Santa would get into our house without a chimney, but my parents assured me they would leave the door unlocked. We had a tree, we were together, and it was Christmas. I was happy.

Fast forward 25 years to when I started raising my own TCKs in tropical Africa. I was a young mother around the time when social media was really taking off, and I felt suffocated under the expectations of creating a magical Christmas for my children, complete with handmade crafts and meaningful traditions. Not only that, but I was quite literally suffocating in a southern hemisphere tropical climate. There weren’t going to be any pine trees or snuggling up in pajamas while going out to see Christmas lights. In fact, the only festivity to be found in our city was a five-foot high, mechanical, singing Santa in our grocery store that terrified my two-year-old and made her run away screaming.

We can tell ourselves that “Jesus is the reason for the season”—and even believe it—but we all know that we have expectations for Christmas to be more than that. The traditions, the parties, the “magic,” even the cold weather, all are wrapped up in what we dream Christmas is “supposed” to be.

Which is why my first few Christmases as an adult in Tanzania were hard. I missed my family. And I missed the smell of wood fires in the air, wearing hats and scarves, and Christmas carols by candlelight. I mourned over what my children were lacking. But then I remembered that first Christmas in Liberia, and how I really didn’t care about the absence of icicle lights or pumpkin pie. I remembered other childhood Christmases in Africa, like when our neighbors from Arizona taught us the Mexican tradition of luminarias—paper bag lanterns that lined the road on Christmas eve. Or how our British friends introduced us to Christmas crackers, or the time a German guest stuck sparklers in the turkey. I remembered being thrilled with the goofy, cheaply made presents found at the open-air market. Or that year in Ethiopia when the Christmas tree was just a green-painted broomstick with branches stuck in it.

Just as TCKs dread the question, “Where are you from?” as a child I also dreaded the question, “What are your family’s Christmas traditions?” Because growing up, we didn’t have traditions. Every year was different because we absorbed the traditions of the people around us. We had a tree, we had each other, and we had joy. That was enough.

I’ve learned to relax about trying to create traditions or give my children a magical Christmas. I’ve learned to be happy with our green, warm Christmases in Tanzania, even if it means I need to delete the “winter” songs out of my holiday playlist in order to be content. My kids don’t need Hershey’s kisses, black-and-gold velvet dresses, or Toys R Us catalogs to be happy. It’s often refreshing to be away from the commercialism and the psychotic busyness of the States at this time of year. In fact, sometimes the untraditional, lonely, sparse aspects of an overseas Christmas help us to identify with the Incarnation just a little bit better.

And as for our traditions in Tanzania, they have sprung up naturally, with little effort on my part. We close the windows and splurge on air conditioning in the living room for two weeks in December. We have a water balloon fight. I love to bake, so we make gingerbread houses from scratch. But even these traditions I hold loosely, knowing that every year will vary by country or climate or what’s available at the grocery store.

If you are one of those amazing moms who manages to build traditions that transcend country and climate, go for it. Share your ideas with us. But if you can’t, or won’t, or the mere thought of it stresses you out, then take a lesson from my childhood and don’t worry about it so much. If you have a tree—even if it’s two feet tall or made from a broomstick–if you are together, and if you have joy, that’s all you really need.

When You Want a Different Life

I live in a tropical paradise. The glorious Indian Ocean is my backdrop—I can see it between the trees at my house, when I run errands around town, and when I watch my daughter’s soccer games. For fun we take a little boat to an uninhabited island and snorkel over colorful coral. The weather is always warm; even in “winter” it rarely goes below 70 degrees at night. We can drive just a few hours to see all the famous animals of Africa. I am surrounded by people who are friendly and generous, eager to help and appreciative of any attempt to speak in Swahili. I can walk down the road to produce stands heaped with fresh pineapples, avocados, mangos, bananas. I live in a 3 bedroom house with a yard big enough for a soccer field for less than what we paid for our tiny, one-bedroom apartment in California. I have a house helper who comes four mornings a week and does my cleaning and laundry.

My children attend a top-quality school, an incredible place that is the best of many worlds. Their teachers are kind and wise Christians, and their classmates come from a wide range of nationalities and religions. Their curriculum includes art, music, computers, Swahili, and swimming. My husband and I work in pastoral training and have the privilege of seeing lightbulbs go off for church leaders as they grasp God’s sovereignty or grace for the first time. We get to do something significant for eternity, and we get to have fun while we do it.

Sound great? Envious? Wish you had my life?

It’s all true. But this is also true:

I live in a developing country. Infrastructure is poor in this city of five million. That translates into snarled traffic where many drive dangerously, little law enforcement, garbage piled next to the streets, and no public parks. Customer service is not a cultural norm. There are often a lot of bugs. And rats. And snakes. Electricity and water supply are unpredictable. There are three seasons: hot, hotter, and rainy (which is still hot). The humidity is suffocating for most of the year.

Crime is high. Our car has been broken into twice. I can easily list off two dozen good friends who have experienced violent home invasions. One was slashed in the head with a machete. One was stabbed. Another was shot at. We sleep behind alarms, padlocks, and iron bars.

As we’ve struggled to get our ministry off the ground, we have often felt like failures. We often feel like we are in over our heads. In twelve years, there have been times when everything we’ve worked for has blown up in our face. Language learning is incredibly exhausting and often discouraging. The missionary community is a constantly revolving door, and every year we lose good friends and have to start over again with relationships. My parents visit once a year, but it will have been three years by the time we are able to see all of our other family members. As the years go on, we feel the pain of lost memories with our family more acutely.

Maybe my life doesn’t seem so great after all.

Two perspectives. Two ways of seeing the same life. My goal in these descriptions is not to invoke envy or pity but simply perspective. I’ve found that when things are going well in my life, I focus on all the good stuff. When life stinks, all I see is the bad. Yet both perspectives are equally true at all times. It’s just a matter of what I choose to focus on.

These ebbs and flows are a part of life, and sometimes our perspective will change even throughout the day—especially when adjusting to a new place. But what we do often forget is that we have a choice. Maybe we can’t always control our mood, but we can control what we think about. What we focus on. What we choose to see around us. I can guarantee that if I choose to focus on the negative things around me, then everything else rotten will be highlighted. If I look for the positive, more good things will come into focus. And here’s the Truth: There’s always something positive. Always something to be thankful for. Always.

Instead of allowing my mood to dictate my perspective, my desire is to train my perspective to dictate my mood. If Corrie and Betsie Ten Boom, languishing in a Nazi concentration camp, could learn to thank God for the fleas because they kept the guards away from their Bible study, then I too can learn to focus on what is positive. The God who commanded us to give thanks in all circumstances will also give us the perspective carry it out.

Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. (Phil. 4:8)

When we want a different life, maybe we just need a different perspective.

*baby sea turtle photos by Gil Medina

How to Host the Best-Ever Short-Term Team

In our twelve years as missionaries, we’ve seen some doozies of short-term teams. The first team we witnessed up close (which was a large group of fully-grown adults) thought it would be funny to see how many days each of them could go without showering. Of course, they had a perfectly good shower available to them, but they had some sort of a bet going (or something). We did not find it funny. Nor did our local friends.

We saw other short-term team members who openly criticized the missionary who was hosting them–because apparently living here for three weeks made them experts. Another church insisted on sending their missionary a gigantic team of about twenty people. The missionary had no idea what to do them all, so they ended up painting walls. In a city where there’s 40% unemployment.

Eventually we started hosting our own short-term teams. Though they weren’t without bumps, thankfully we never experienced any total disasters. We learned a lot along the way, and got better at it as time went on. There’s been a lot written that’s been directed at the short-term participants. But since this is the time of year when churches might be contacting you about hosting a summer team, I want to focus on you: The Host Missionary.

How can you ensure that your visiting team will be the best-ever? Here’s what I’ve learned.

“Exposure” is a perfectly good purpose for a team, so let’s not pretend it has to be more.

There are basically two types of short-term teams. A skilled team is a group of people with a specialized skill who come to fill a specific need, like medical, dental, specialized construction, or technology. The other kind (which tends to be the majority of short-term teams) is an unskilled team. I’m talking about a group of people with willing hearts, curious minds, and a hard-working attitude who want exposure to missions. Of course, that doesn’t mean that these kind of teams have no skills to offer—because of course they do, and their enthusiasm and critical mass might be just what you need for your ministry project. But the primary purpose for this kind of team is exposure, and it’s really important that you get that clear in your mind and in their minds.

I think that a lot of the pitfalls of short-term missions can be prevented when we all recognize the elephant in the room and name the true purpose of most teams. There is nothing wrong with a group of people going overseas to learn about culture and missions. In fact, it can be incredibly beneficial. But from the beginning, you need to make sure your team knows its purpose. If you ask for a building team, is your real purpose because you need the funding? Then be honest about your motives, and make sure you are careful not to steal the dignity and independence of your community. Do you ask for a team because you really just want to build a greater connection with your sending church? That can be a great reason too, but don’t pretend that their assigned “project” is more needed than it actually is. If we want to fight the mentality of I’m going to save the world in three weeks! and encourage a mindset of learning, then it’s important that we’re straightforward about our motivations.

And if a church wants to send a team, but you really don’t have meaningful work for them to do, don’t just create a job could cause more harm than good to your ministry. Instead, graciously invite the team to come and learn. Use your local friends to help the team go through a typical “Day in the Life” of your country. Set up interviews for the team with other missionaries. Take them to visit various ministries. Have them experience local places of worship. Ask them to take notes and participate in discussions. And even if you do have a specific task you need them to accomplish, make sure they know from the beginning that learning is going to be a big part of the purpose of their trip.

How much you communicate ahead of time will directly correspond to the level of success of the team.

There needs to be one leader on your side and one leader on their side, and before the trip, all communication needs to flow through only these two people to the rest of the people involved. If you are co-hosting the team with another missionary, pick one to do the communication. If the team has co-leaders, you need to know which one is really in charge. We learned this the hard way, so trust me on this. You will avoid a lot of misunderstanding and hurt feelings this way.

The more you communicate ahead of time, the better the trip will go. Get detailed. Write a purpose statement for the trip about what you want to gain and what you want the team to gain, and a concise, daily schedule. Require the team to read cultural or historical information about your country or people group. Tell them exactly how you want them to prepare. (I highly recommend requiring Cross-Cultural Servanthood for all team members.) Tell them exactly what you want them to bring (or leave behind). Anticipate questions before they arise. Answer emails quickly.

Their best learning will come from you personally.

The worst thing you can do with a short-term team is to drop them off at their “ministry” and leave them for the day. Not only will the results be unpredictable, but the team will significantly lose out on their main source of learning: YOU.

If a team is going to learn what missions really looks like, they need to be around you and your community as much as possible. You are the host. Helping the team to be a success will take more time than you can imagine. You need to integrate them into your entire schedule for the duration of the time they are in your country. This means that you avoid housing the team in a hotel or church building. Instead, arrange for them to stay with you in your home or the homes of national friends, even if it means they sleep on the floor. Sure, that might mean that they see your messes and they might even witness you snap at your spouse. But they’ll also see how your routines flow with the culture, how you interact with local people, and that hey—even missionaries watch TV sometimes. Maybe falling off their pedestals is exactly what they need to see you do.

This doesn’t mean that every time you are with them is a lecture on the benefits of oral storytelling in a non-literate culture. It means that you see the entire trip as an opportunity to infuse the messy beauty of missions into those who are sharing your life for this short time.

Know your limits and stick to them.

If your car only has room for four extra people, then it’s okay to say that you only want four people. If you don’t have the energy for high schoolers, then insist on college students. If you only have two weeks in your schedule available for this trip, then stick to those dates. It’s really important that you are calling the shots on these things. Sometimes church leaders at home are so focused on what this trip is going to mean for their people, and you might start feeling pressured to let just one more student join in, or that really mature 15-year-old, or to add just a few more days to the trip. Of course, if it’s realistic to flex on these things, then do so. But remember that at the end of the day, you know what is best—for your family, for your ministry, for your energy level. Push aside those people-pleasing tendencies and shoot straight with the team leader.

Don’t be afraid to be controlling. (Yep, I said that out loud.)

For years, we hosted short-term teams to run our summer youth camps. The first summer, we handed the team a blank slate: Here you go….do what you want…just make this a really great camp! That was dumb. We found ourselves constantly putting out fires. Oh, you can’t sing “I Have Decided to Follow Jesus” since most of these campers are not Christians. Oops, you can’t play games that allow boys and girls to touch each other….that doesn’t work in this culture. But these mistakes weren’t the team’s fault! They were completely new to this country and we hadn’t given them the guidelines to know what was appropriate.

As the years went on, we continued to tighten the reins a little more each year. We asked the teams to send us the song and game list in advance for our approval. We chose the camp theme and did the teaching time ourselves. Of course, we still really needed the teams in significant ways—there was no way we could have run these camps on our own. But we found that they felt more successful—and we had a much happier experience—by tightly controlling what they did.

This goes against our instincts, since everything in missions right now is about not controlling, and instead releasing people to do the work themselves. But that doesn’t apply to bright-eyed Americans who have never stepped foot on the continent before. If you’ve only got a team for a few weeks, then yes, you need to control everything about what they do, say, eat, and sleep. Want to avoid some of those short-term team nightmares you hear about? Then be controlling. And make sure they know ahead of time that’s what they should expect.

This means you might need to say things like this:

No, we don’t want you to bring your digital devices to the village, and only one person will be the designated photographer.

Yes, girls do need to wear long skirts, and here’s a picture of what I mean when I say “long skirt.” Let me explain to you why this is important.

You know, it’s really not actually funny that you’re making a game out of not showering. Let me point the way to the bathroom.

But also be full of grace.

Yes, stick to your limits. Yes, be the one in control. But be nice about it. Keep your expectations in check. Remember the mistakes you made when you went on these kind of trips, or when you first arrived in your country. Hopefully you will have agreed to this trip prayerfully and carefully, so if things go wrong, you can trust that God is in control. And since your life is the primary way that this team is going to learn anything on this trip, then let them go back home saying, The grace of God was with them.

If you have hosted a short-term team, what have you learned? If you have participated on a short-term team, what is your advice for the hosts?

When It All Blows Up In Your Face

Sixteen years ago, my husband and I were all of 24 years old when we arrived in Tanzania for our first term. We had only been married nine months, and we were passionate and dedicated, but incredibly naïve. We had absolutely no idea what we were in for.

We were working in youth ministry in a local church plant, and my husband was coaching sports as a way to get to know young people. One young man came into our lives with a real interest in the gospel. He was earnest and really seemed sincere, and it wasn’t long before he made a profession of faith. Since he was from a religion that is usually opposed to Christianity, we were thrilled.

Over the next year and a half, this young man dominated our time and our prayer updates. He was in our home almost every day.

Then, six weeks before we left the country, we found out he had been regularly stealing money from us.

We returned to the States utterly shattered. For many other reasons, it had been an extremely difficult two years. This young man had been a bright spot, and when that blew up, we were completely demoralized and totally disillusioned.

By the grace of God, a couple years later we were back in Tanzania, older, wiser, and a lot more wary. Yet even the loss of our naiveté didn’t really prepare us for everything we would see and experience over the next ten years. Like the ugly split of the indigenous church we attended. Or the married missionary of multiple children who ran off with a woman from the village where he was church planting. Or that time when the national leader who was raised up by missionaries ended up being a narcissist who abused his team. And the worst? A local pastor—discipled, installed, and supported by missionaries for over ten years—was discovered to have an incestuous relationship with his adult daughter.

Boom. And just like that, everything worked for, everything believed in, goes up in flames.

Though we weren’t intimately involved in any of those situations, we were close enough to feel the shockwaves. And they shook us to our core.

Disbelief. Despair. Disillusionment. We can handle the loneliness, the inconveniences, and the bugs that come with missionary life, but not this. Not this. Many missionaries would say that they would rather be persecuted or deported than have their ministry blow up. How could this have happened? Where we did go wrong? Why are we even here? What are we possibly going to tell our supporters?

Of course, these kind of life-altering situations happen also in our home countries. But I think that for missionaries it is especially devastating. I’ve given up everything for this ministry, and there are hundreds sacrificing so that I can be here, we think. And this is all I have to show for it? Blown up bits of carnage? And then there’s that sinking feeling that maybe we should have known better. That maybe it’s our fault.

So what do we do? How do we possibly recover? Move on? Start over?

We start by humbling ourselves. Even if we had no responsibility for what happened, we must do the hard work of searching our souls. Why am I so devastated? Only because of the sin, or because this event toppled my idols of reputation and success? Could my own sin have blinded me to the warning signals I was trying to ignore? Is this public sin bringing conviction on my own private sin?

We do the messy work of cleaning up. This is not the time to gloss over sin or shove it under the rug, despite the temptation to do so. That doesn’t mean that we must share every sordid detail with the world, but ignoring the problem won’t make it go away. Go through due process. Ask hard questions. Find out who all was affected. Examine the width and breadth of the shockwaves, and get help for those who need it. Take personal responsibility when necessary.

We ask for help when we need it. Out of fear for our reputations, let us not neglect to ask for help. This is the time to call upon pastors and trusted friends. Missionary counselors are there, ready and waiting, for times like these. Let us not foolishly assume that we can handle it on our own.

Most importantly, we do not lose hope. The great king Solomon was born to the adulterous David and Bathsheba. Samson was a moral disaster, yet God used him to avenge Israel’s enemies. Peter denied Christ three times, but went on to be a leader of the Church. God does not measure success and failure the way we do. He sees men’s hearts; He knows the beginning and the end, and He can use even the most horrific situation for His good.

In Trusting God, Jerry Bridges writes, “If we are going to learn to trust God in adversity, we must believe that just as certainly as God will allow nothing to subvert His glory, so He will allow nothing to spoil the good He is working out in us and for us.”

Remember that young man who stole from us? After we left Tanzania in shreds, we lost contact. It was the age before social media, and we heard through the grapevine that he had emigrated out of the country. The betrayal so devastated us that for years we rarely talked about it—even between ourselves. But time and God’s grace heals all wounds. We forgave him and moved on.

Then, just a few months ago, out of the blue, he contacted us. He was visiting Tanzania and wanted to see us. Of course, we were happy to agree. We spent a few hours together, reminiscing about old times and catching up on each other’s lives. After all, we had a lot of great memories together.

Just before we said good-bye, he got quiet and emotional. Very simply, he apologized for what he had done to us fourteen years previously.

It was a holy moment.

We’re still not sure what God is doing in this man’s life, but we do know for sure that He is not done. We serve a God of grace and redemption. We cannot possibly imagine what He has in store.