Why are you a missionary? What motivated you to live a life of challenge, adventure, and sacrifice? How did you make the decision to serve in such an intense capacity?
We have lived in Bolivia for over 11 years. From the time I was seven I knew I would live outside the U.S. for most of my life. My husband was in high school when he made the same realization. Those initial prodding desires led to practical steps: Praying. Maps as wallpaper. Counsel. Training. Meager living. Extreme serving.
my husband with one of the Dreamers at our orphanage years ago
So, what got you to the mission field?
I see 5 main reasons people serve on the mission field.
Call of duty – a commissioning ceremony, a scripture that spoke to your heart, a sense of obligation
Itching for adventure – you crave risk, you’re an adrenaline junky, boredom terrifies you
Bleeding heart – your heart breaks at the plight of the downtrodden, compassion fills your soul
Way of escape – deep down you know you had to get away, you are running, you are seeking refuge
Purpose driven life – you want your life to count for something significant, fulfillment
I suppose I might as well give voice to what many are thinking. What about number six? Certifiably crazy. Okay, yes, I can see some validity to that being a common motivator. Right? Smile, I’m just kidding.
my daughter feeding the same little girl in the first picture
Then there’s the fact that what gets you to the mission field might not be what keeps you there. Maybe you are not meant to stay forever. Maybe life happens and you have to move back. Maybe you hate life as a missionary. Maybe you knew this was a short term thing to begin with so you are content to return. Maybe you feel you would be more effective in accomplishing what you feel God wants from your life by being based back “home”.
Those who choose to live as missionaries for the rest of their lives will encounter moments (read: hours, days, weeks, maybe even months) of questioning. Healthy evaluation is helpful and necessary. Putting words to why we continue on in this lifestyle might be hard, but it is worth the effort.
Can you answer with gut honesty and full disclosure transparency in one sentence: Why are you a missionary? Care to share? Dare to share? The comment box is open. Thanks!
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Adoption day for this same little girl four years after coming to The House of Dreams Orphanage here in Bolivia. She’s in Europe now with her beautiful new family.
I’m not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. Friends, don’t get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I’ve got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I’m off and running, and I’m not turning back.
Something has changed. I am not sure exactly when it happened, and only in looking back can I see that it did. But there is no arguing it; things are different now than when we first got off that plane. Back then we were fired up – and ready to take on the needs of the poor even if it meant that we had to sacrifice anything and everything of our own. We had just sold the sum of our earthly possessions back in America, and it was time to give it all for those in need.
That was almost four years ago.
Four years of power outages, bad roads, no money, missing home, water shortages, mystery sicknesses, car trouble, and countless cultural frustrations that brought us to our knees daily. As evidence I submit the following, a photo of our first “kitchen” in Ethiopia.
Now, though, things are easy, or at least easier.
We used to wash dishes in tubs of cold, cloudy well water; we now have a $50 instant water heater next to the sink in our indoor kitchen. We used to spend hours waiting for taxi’s; we now drive a new (if you can call 1997 new) car that rarely breaks down and even has seat belts for all of the kids. We used to run out of water a few days a week; we now have a tank on the outside of our house that keeps the showers on even when the city pipes offer up nothing but air.
Not that life is all perfect and roses now. We still live in a foreign land, and people yell “Ferenj” (foreigner) at us when we walk down the street. Our skin is still the wrong color. We still can’t get Oreos or chocolate chips at the supermarket. On the other hand, we don’t even like Oreos anymore. You don’t miss what you can’t remember.
Part of me, though, feels that with this shift we are not here for the same reasons that we came for. Even though I know that is not true. If anything, we are exponentially more effective today than when we first arrived.
We came to help orphans. When we got here we had to work at helping just one child. Now we help hundreds.
Less complications = more help. Right?
The truth is, though, I kind of miss the struggle. I miss the closeness to God that I felt when I was hurting for the least of these. I miss feeling like I was doing something of value just by being here.
But should I? Was I ever really helping the kingdom more because the couch legs were falling off? Was I somehow holier when I smelled like a tribal person because the water had been out for two weeks?
People keep asking me when I will write a second book. My first was about how we sold everything to move to Ethiopia, messed up our perfect lives to rescue children who were being killed due to a tribal superstition, and nearly lost ourselves in the process. The second book, if I were to write one, would be boring as all get out! I am left to wonder what part of this change our lives has gone through is good.
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Today with this post I want to pose a question to all missionaries, missionary hopefuls, and missionary supporters.
I want to open a discussion about suffering and productivity. I honestly don’t know where I land on this. Some days I am all about making our home as comfortable as possible so that we can “last” longer in this place. Other days I am ready to give it all up so that I can help more people who have nothing themselves.
When visiting friends I can see that every missionary has a different point of view when it comes to how much is “enough”. I know it will never be the same for everyone. Still, I am left here wondering: is there a right and a wrong when it comes to how we should live as missionaries?
Okay. Enough said by me. What do you think?
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Levi Benkert – lives in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia with his wife and four children where they together created a ministry called Bring Love In that unites widows from the local community with orphans from the government orphanages to create new families. He wrote a book called No Greater Love and writes a personal blog at www.LeviBenkert.com
They started telling me their stories. We call the orphans of our orphanage the Dreamers. It caught me at the throat when the children decided to speak about their mothers. Pure fantasy spewed from their lips.
“My mother brought me a huge cake,” he said with arms extended indicating the enormous dimensions.
“My mother is beautiful,” another declared with loving eyes.
“My mother is going to come and take me from this place,” the oldest of the group at seven years old crossed her arms in defiant determination. The possibility may exist, due to the foster type care we provide, that the mother would return. The probability is low. Those words shot forcefully from that little mouth straight through my heart.
Suffering doesn’t touch you until you touch the suffering. And until you are touched by suffering you will not touch a sufferer.
I used to say that I would much rather learn from the Good Book that God has provided for our benefit rather than at the cruel school of hard knocks. That is not the case now. I see value in feeling, to bring me to a new awareness not attainable by facts on a page.
In my ignorance of pushing suffering away from myself I also pushed the sufferers away. As I have learned to embrace the hardships in my life I have also embraced the suffering people. Skirting the valley sent me tumbling down in only to realize that there were others going through as well.
Three days to break the body of Jesus and see it revived again with scars to testify. Thirty-three years suffering with raw and blistering humanity to break his heart, never to see it fully restored. He is a man acquainted with suffering.
Can I be acquainted with him yet ignore his empathy and compassion? Can you?
