The Giver, Not the Gift

This is quite possibly the only post of this nature I will ever write.

First, because it GREATLY contradicts my philosophy on missions and guilt and friendships and money. It's uncomfortable.

And, second, because I vowed early on never to be "that" missionary but here I go . . .

A couple of months ago, I was listening to a podcast by David Platt. He is NOT the guy you want to listen to if you enjoy  complacency in your faith walk or if your comfort zone is a place  you've planned to occupy until there's nothing left to binge watch.

Yes, the guy who wrote "Radical". That's the one.

So, he quoted Leonard Ravenhill, a British pastor who was openly critical of the First World church until his death in 1994.  And here is the quote:

Cringy? Convicting? Annoying?  It's going to hit different people in different ways.

I PROMISED early on in the life of our ministry here in The Philippines that I would not be that missionary. . .you know the one.  The one who comments about how giving up your Latte for a month could provide clean water for the Hookabooka people for seven centuries (I made that up but you know the type).  I very much do not want to be the missionary that makes her friends feel guilty for going to Disney World six times a year while kids languish in the streets of Asia eating from trash cans.

I'm not the Holy Spirit. 

I don't convict people.

I don't decide how fellow Believers distribute their God-given resources. 

But IF this quote by Ravenhill is to be believed, the Body of Christ has to do better.  We have to.

That includes me.  

I know what you're thinking. 

"Ah, giving must be low at Mercy House right now so it's time for Nikki to pull out the big guns".

And I respond to that,

"Not at all. This is not about our ministry alone and it's not about  'getting more money' out of

first world Believers. 

It's highly probable that I'm "preaching to the choir" here because the people who take the time to read a blog post about missions are probably already giving sacrificially, serving locally and praying fervently for the gospel to go out worldwide.  

This post is for YOU.  First world Christ followers. It is solely intended to benefit you. Not our ministry or any other ministry.

Check this out:

I recently did a short study on Philippians.  Chapter four contains a couple of the most quoted (and misquoted) scriptures in the Bible. One of them is Philippians 4:19 which reads

"and my God will supply every need of yours according to His riches in glory in 

Christ Jesus"

Missionaries LOVE that verse.  Anything that reminds us that God cares about our needs and will supply them is balm to our living-on -love gifts souls.

But Paul did not write that verse for himself or his fellow missionaries. That scripture was for his supporters!  Read the whole chapter. Paul is praising the church at Philippi for being his ONLY supporting church and reminding them he is not seeking more "stuff" from them but that he is seeking the fruit of the gospel.  Paul reminds the church at Philippi that the fruit of his work is to THEIR credit. 

How beautiful is that?  

The gospel goes out and the messenger is not given the credit but the ones who support the messenger are.  

I love God's economy.  

It's nothing like the world's.

The "silent partners" are the ones in the spotlight . They are the ones for whom God will "supply every need".  

That makes my heart sing. 

How desperately I want the Lord to bless every Believer who invests in missions. And His word says He will. He will provide for your needs as you provide for those who GO.

As I type this blog post, my mind travels to some precious faces in the First World. I imagine you sitting down at your computer and clicking on our web site to give. I imagine you writing a check, getting a stamp and giving "old school" through the regular mail as you think of us and share your resources with people thousands of miles away who don't have their basic needs met and who do not know the saving love of Jesus.

And I am smiling right now.

I don't know if the quote by Leonard Ravenhill is true. I suspect for many it is. 

But for those who do sacrifice for global missions, I believe God IS providing for your needs. He said he would.  His word is trustworthy. 

And if God has pricked your heart while reading this blog post, can I ask one tiny favor?

Don't stop feeding your pets! 

"You Can't Save Them All"

How well I remember it.   My husband and I were living in The States together with our three children.  We were preparing to adopt a fourth child from a very sad circumstance - a disrupted adoption. 

 When we shared this news with our immediate family, one member  said "we're very proud of you but just remember, you can't save them all".   

At first, I felt a little indignant at that remark.  It stung.  I took it personally and felt the speaker was accusing me of having a "super hero" complex. 

But I understand that statement much better now, thanks to the little boy in this picture. 

This child came to live with us at Mercy House just two days ago.  He is no longer here.
When we met him two weeks ago at his shelter, he was burning up with fever, listless, painfully thin and only semi-conscious. I was so afraid he would be dead before we could get our paperwork in order to admit him.
But he lived.  And got over the fever. And has started to walk.
He is five years old.  And diapered.
We began to fear we had made a mistake in admitting him within just an hour of having him in our home.  He tried to eat paper, toys, the fur he puled from our dog, banana peels from the garbage - anything in arm's reach.
He pulled all the items from our shelves and tried to pull the television over on himself.
He had seizures that we were unaware of.
This child needed his own caregiver 24/7.  He could not be allowed to walk around our home.
He bit me and drew blood.
(This next sentence is NOT for the squeamish - you are being warned).
He reached inside of his dirty diaper TWICE and proceeded to eat the contents with great gusto.
All of this done in complete SILENCE with no eye contact and no response to his name or any stimuli.
This child was in such peril!
His cheeks  were covered with bruises and his body with scars, many round scars that resemble cigarette burns.
His arms and legs were stick thin and his belly distended.

It was with great sadness and a decent amount of defeat that we had to call his referring agency and inform them we were not equipped to keep him and the other children safe.

Being bitten by a child who eats his own feces is a terrifying experience.  I now know this firsthand and pray I never experience it again. SIDENOTE: Do not "google" anything related to human bites unless you want nightmares.  END SIDE NOTE.

In fairness to the referring agency, we ASKED for this child.  The last time we saw him, he appeared to be dying of an untreated illness. We intended to get him to hospital right away. His file says nothing of seizures, pica or the other behaviors we witnessed.

He was on the streets with an older sibling and I have no idea how this child did not get hit by a car or fall into some deep ravine. He has no safety mechanisms.

So, yes, we took him back yesterday.  He did not seem to notice or care. He is in a place much safer for him, with plain rooms empty of all but a few beds and mattresses.  He has a teenage caregiver assigned to him 24/7.  He sleeps beside her. She feeds him. She was very happy to see him return.
But we care.
Now we must care for him from a distance.
We will buy him "onesies" and pull-on pants so he can not access his diaper easily.
We will take some teething rings and baby toys to him next week so he can, hopefully, bite those items instead of people.
We will pray for this boy, and the sweet girl who cares for him.
The cruelty of poverty, homelessness and lack is manifest in this situation in countless ways.

We will remember the words that once stung and now rang true.
You can't save them all . . .

I Notice

Hey. Little boy digging in the dirt next to the fruit stand.
I see your torn t-shirt, two sizes too small.
I see your ribs poking through the tear on the left seam.
There are tracks in the dust on your face where a tear fell today.
I see you.
I notice.

Little boy walking down the street outside my neighborhood. Too small to be alone but you are.
Carrying an empty plastic bottle of pebbles, shaking out a tune as you go.   I see you watch the children as they leave the gate at the school.  I see you follow their smiles with your eyes. I see you watching them line up at the sari sari store to buy a snack for the walk home. I can tell you would love to be in line, in that red and white uniform, choosing from the bags hanging above their heads.
I see you.
I notice.

Tiny, thin girl. How old are you? Eight? Maybe nine? I see you carrying your little brother down that busy road where the cars and jeepneys drive so close to you, it makes your hair blow up. I see your intent eyes, and how you keep your brother hoisted just inches off the ground because he is almost as big as you are.  I can tell  you are a wonderful big sister.
I see you.
I notice.

Twelve year old boy in a temporary shelter for street children. I see you sitting against the wall in the room while the twenty-something other children play. I can tell you are unhappy. Your shorts are too small and they were intended for a girl. You don't chase after me like the other children, trying to thumb wrestle or hold my hand. You keep to yourself. And never smile. So I come to you and ask your name in my pitiful Tagalog. But you understand and even spell it for me. I tell you I will look for you when I come back.  And I see a hint of a smile.
I notice you.
You are worth more than all of the gold in all of the mountains in this whole, wide world.
Do you know that? I think you don't.  Yet. 

Children are everywhere here. They are free to roam in ways that make my mother- heart skip a beat. . . . down busy roads, on precarious piles of rubble, on trash heaps. They are the most abundant resource in this beautiful and terrible place.  They are the future, but they are often disregarded.
I see them barefoot, sometimes naked, occasionally crying, often begging.   They spot my white face from afar.  They notice me.
But not the way I notice them.

Little boy with the dusty face, you interrupt my peaceful sleep.
Sweet preschooler who watches the "lucky" children,  I brought you home in my heart.
Precious girl in your mother role, far too soon, I thought of you fourteen times today, or more.
Twelve year old boy, in your misery, I know your name. It's Jhon Matthew. I won't forget it. 

I notice that you are precious and worthwhile and deserving.
I notice that giving you those few pesos might make you smile today but may reinforce your low self worth, verifying that you are "just a beggar child", choosing your white-faced target wisely.

You are infinitely more .  .  .

And THAT is why our path here has taken a hard left turn.
YOU are why I can not be satisfied just to do good things for a few.

I must do more than notice.    I must act. And that action must be immediate and intentional.

 I am praying for you. I am changing my life's path for you. I am taking a leap of faith that  has me shaking in my shoes.
I am making a place for you.
Because I noticed . . .