long term – A Life Overseas |

The Ignorant Bliss of a Know-It-All

When we stomped off to mission school we knew we were headed to Bolivia. We knew the five-fold reach of our ministry would be: churches, bible schools, social outreaches, Bolivian missionaries sent out, and mass media productions. Our shiny vision statement listed everything in plural with big numbers. We knew that we knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, as they say, what our next few decades, heck, what the rest of our lives looked like.

Or so I thought.

The Ignorant Bliss of a Know It All darkened valley.docx

This November 1^st marks 13 years in Bolivia. So much has changed in that relatively short span of time. I miss the ignorant bliss of being a know-it-all.

Right now as I walk through the valley-of-the-shadow one of the few certainties I have is the shadow of doubt.

See if you can identify a pattern as I share some of our journey.

We were pastors of a local church for 8 years. We are no longer the pastors.

From that church Bolivian missionaries have been sent out. The congregation is still connected to these sacrificial souls, yet we are not directly involved.

We ran a bible school program for over a decade during which time we helped start over 60 training centers throughout South America. We no longer oversee that program.

We led a series of leadership conferences attended by thousands throughout Bolivia and South America over the span of 12 years. We no longer do that.

We authored, translated, and published a number of books and biblical teaching material. We also made available online resources. We discontinued our production department.

Three things have survived the start-stop process that characterizes our efforts.

We founded an orphanage that has helped over 50 kids in the last 8 years. Fourteen kids still live in the House of Dreams. We decided to not accept new children.

We started a K-12 Christian school six years ago. Over 100 kids, the orphans and ours included, receive bi-lingual education from a Bolivian staff.

We purchased the town’s only bowling alley a few years back in hopes to create sustainability within Bolivia. We still hope to see positive results.

In some of the examples above the transition meant Bolivians now lead the operations. In other cases the programs simply stopped. We were able to check off all five things we set out to do from the start. We should be ecstatic!

So why do I feel like crap? Why do I battle depression? Why does doubt feel like a noose around my soul’s throat?

The trade off was too big. Home life is strained. Our finances suffer under huge debt. Relationships have become difficult. I could go on with the list of stressful situations we face; I’ll leave the rest for my skype call counseling sessions.

The ancient story of the Hebrews who clamored for a king haunts my heart. They thought they asked for a good thing. Finally, God answered their prayers in the affirmative. He gives them a king, even though He knows they will be sorry. He knows the oppression they invite when they transfer the rule to human hands.

This shadow of doubt that hangs over my head tells me history repeats itself. Why should I think I would have been any wiser than those folks back then? I truly thought I asked God for a handful of really great stuff. He answered our prayers in the affirmative. Did He know we would be sorry?

King David wrote the psalm I have alluded to with my talk of shadows. Maybe if you are alongside me in a dark, shadowy time we might be comforted as we contemplate the truth of these words.

…though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me…
(Psalm 23:4)

Another scriptural reference to shadows speaks of an unexpected source of darkness.

This deconstruction has been a long, painful unclenching of the fists of control. Surrender thumps as a mandate, a warning of worse if not heeded. So maybe this shadow of death and doubt, as I relinquish and mourn the loss of these good works, comes not from the evil one. Or if it does, there may be a greater Good overshadowing the immediate struggles.

David as king was not God’s original plan, but He worked with it. Listen to the words of this warrior poet about a trustworthy shadow.

“David, when he fled from Saul into the cave: Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me! For my soul trusts in You; And in the shadow of Your wings I will make my refuge, Until these calamities have passed by.” (Psalm 57:1)

More verses about the Almighty’s shadow: Psalm 17:8 , Psalm 36:7, Psalm 63:7, Psalm 91:1

So darkness closes in and I can’t see the path. I walk slow and unsure, weary and wary. Maybe you are right here beside me, unseen but within ear-shot. This is me calling out to you. I extend to you solidarity in the hurt.

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Are you going through a similar season in your life? Have you had to live through relinquishment and loss? In the interest of conversation please add your thoughts below in the comment section.

Step Away from the Guilt

I was worried I’d grown numb to it. Maybe I’d become calloused. Hardened. Immune.

Because poverty wasn’t affecting me like it used to.

When I faced it as a teenager—on mission trips to places like Nicaragua and Botswana—my eyes and my heart were opened to things I never knew existed in the world. I was wrecked to discover such unimaginable and inescapable poverty, and it messed with me. I’d return home and make all kinds of extreme commitments. I vowed to be less materialistic. I took radical stances with my “self-absorbed” Christian friends. I soapboxed about America’s obsession with excess. I volunteered more, and served wherever and whenever I could.

But as the aftershocks of my experiences with poverty wore off, so did my radical life changes. Until my next mission trip.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

It was a vicious cycle of the best intentions that did nothing more than fuel my need to continually strive to be better, do more, and—somehow, hopefully—be enough. I’m not saying I didn’t genuinely have compassion, conviction, and passion to live a life that makes a difference. I did. But it translated into a guilt-driven reaction to the extremes I saw and experienced, because I couldn’t reconcile the poverty I witnessed with the life I lived every day.

It was a nauseating roller coaster ride as I tried—and failed—to bridge the disparity between my abundance and their lack.

It was years after I moved to South Africa to serve in the poorest region of the country that I finally realized that those things can’t be reconciled or bridged. The contrasts will never make sense.

I mustn’t allow my guilt to force-feed my insatiable striving complex. Nor must I allow it to paralyze me into inactivity or apathy.

I finally learned to step off the roller coaster and actually engage in doing something that would truly make a difference. Not fueled by guilt, but by hope.

I realized that it isn’t about being apologetic for what I have, giving everything away, or looking down on how much people spend at Starbucks. It is about stewarding what I have well—using it to serve, strengthen, and love others.

People often ask me how I could live and work for so long in a community of such dire poverty. “Do you just get used to it?” What they are really asking is the same thing I’ve asked myself: “Did you grow numb?”

And I see now that I didn’t. But somewhere in my 13 years of living in Africa, something did change in me.

I stopped feeling guilty about what I had and the “luck” of being born an American, and I started to feel grateful to be part of the solution.

The problems and challenges are enormous, but I am confident that we can all do something that makes a difference. In our own unique ways, with our own individual passions and talents, we can bring hope into places and hearts that gave up a long time ago.

Not because we feel guilty, but because we are compelled by the hope we ourselves have been given.

What’s been your experience with responding to poverty?

Alece Ronzino

After pioneering and leading a nonprofit in South Africa for 13 years, Alece now lives in Nashville, TN. She is a Nonprofit Communications & Development Strategist, a freelance copywriter/editor, and the founder of One Word 365. She blogs occasionally but candidly about searching for God in the question marks of life and faith. Follow Alece on Twitter and visit her blog, Grit and Glory.

{Photos Source: Daniel C. White}

A previous post by Alece: Bring the Rain

To My 25-year-old Self…

Hey there, you. Yes, you with the big dreams and full schedule. Yes, you getting ready to embark on the greatest mission of your life. Can I have a minute? I know you have laundry to do, support letters to mail, and noses to wipe, but if I may?

First of all, let me assure you – you make it! Yep, you are a missionary. And have been for over a decade. So you can relax – everything does really come together and you really do get on the plane with your newborn, your two-year-old son, and your three-year-old daughter. Though, you must know, that ‘crazy’ label must be stuck with crazy glue because you will forever have someone somewhere thinking it. But you had that hunch, right?

So before you duct tape all your worldly possessions in plastic bins, and before go through all the security check points in a trans-continental journey that will leave you hoarse and would have cost you your sanity had you not already given that up months ago, let me just talk to you and tell you a few things. About yourself. About your life.

You are enough. You will feel like you don’t measure up and that all your efforts are in vain. You will feel the stares of people assessing every detail of your life. You will hear the hurtful comments and feel the sting of rejection, no matter how strong you think you are. You’ve got to grab that bottle of crazy glue and stick this truth to your heart of hearts: you are enough.

See beauty. Look at the leathery skin and see God’s goodness. Look at the aged eyes in young children and see God’s hope. Look at the families who hold so tight to each other and see God’s unconditional love. Don’t turn your eyes from the hurting, keep looking until you see God in them.

Change is the chain around your neck. The more you fight it the bigger it grows until you feel as though you are choking. Submit to change and that chain will shrink until it is as a fine, glistening, gold necklace reminding you of your confidence in the One leading you through these hills and valleys, calm pastures and angry rivers.

You will never regret the hundreds of hours and dollars invested in acquiring language fluency and cultural assimilation.

You will never regret learning to love the land your children know as their first home.

You will never regret the efforts to stay tight with your husband. Go on those dates. Take the trips. Celebrate. Be his biggest fan. Love big, often, and wholly.

Your greatest regrets will come from times when you backed away from human connection, when you prioritized doing over being, and when you forgot that the world is not black and white.

You know that 50 year plan you and your dear man worked out? Hang on to it. It will bring you many fun chuckles after about 3 years into this life that looks like trying to make it out alive while you teeter along on a broken sidewalk, in a never ending earthquake, during a hurricane, next to an active volcano, while being chased by a pack of R.O.U.S..

I give you permission to laugh at that corny Princess Bride reference. In fact, I give you permission to find the humor in tough moments and choose to laugh – rather than growl. Especially when you are on the side of a mountain, in a crowded bus, and the driver tells everyone to get over on the side away from the drop as he shoves another handful of coca leaves in his mouth to stay awake and… oh wait, I don’t want to give away the ending! It’s to die for! [another joke – laugh.]

Okay, you can get back to your scurrying around. Your enthusiasm is contagious! Infect as many as you can! Oh, and when they offer you that first plate of chuño? Be sure to have a napkin close by for quick, yet discreet, expulsion from your mouth. Yuck! Trust me.

Best wishes,

Yourself… with grey hairs, creaking joints, and tons of fond memories from life on the mission field

– Angie Washington, missionary living in Bolivia, South America

blog: angiewashington.com twitter: @atangie facebook: atangie

How about you? What would you say to your former self, knowing what you do now?