The Reflections of a Battered Missionary

I am sharing this post today as we near the five-year mark of serving orphaned and abandoned children here in The Philippines.  It feels like a lifetime and yet also seems were were just landing
in the Manila airport, six kids in tow, wide-eyed and idealistic and with no idea what we were actually doing.

These five years have been fraught  with  highs and lows that I do not believe  are accidents.  God has used every joy and every pain to shape me into the image of  His son and I have come so far. And yet, still have so very far to go.

The joys:

Our first Muslim child (without the hat) is an amazing, strong young man

Three boys from very different and very hard places forging a brotherly bond 

A 'family' birthday party to honor one of our faithful caregivers

By far, with no exception, the JOYS of serving street children outside my first culture are the kids themselves.  I have witnessed startling transformations, seen children come to salvation in Christ, reunited some with long, lost relatives who thought they were dead and have handed others over to nervous and excited adoptive parents who prayed for them before they even knew their names.
And those are just a few of the indescribable joys of life serving the fatherless.

The Pains:
I have become more cynical and jaded about people, their motives, their honesty and integrity since moving to this place. "We are NOT in Kansas anymore, Toto" .  For Reals.


And to avoid using this blog as a place of vengence, I will refrain from calling names but, when we were new here, a woman who is older than I and has been in child welfare for much longer than I reached out to mentor me.  I was grateful. She was a sister in the Lord and someone I respected immensely.  I called her with questions about everything from paperwork to how to register our newly-admitted children to public school here. Everything was so new and different.

One day, she called me to meet for coffee. I was relieved. It had been a particularly hard ministry week and I needed that time away.  When I got to the coffee shop,  she looked right into my eyes and asked me  not to "step into her sphere of influence".   I had no idea what she meant and she would not elaborate.   I did not know if she was asking me not to be friends with her staff, not to have contact with her financial supporters, not to go near her husband . . . WHAT??? What had I done? What was she afraid of?   I still do not know. We haven't spoken except via email since then and nothing has been resolved.  She only responded that whatever I had done was "confidential". That's a big fat cop out.
Just a few weeks after that confusing meeting, I received a very strong letter from someone here who is a government official in charge of the work we do. That letter accused me of kicking one of my own adopted sons out of our home and not allowing him to come near us.  The information was UNTRUE and the situation was nothing like it was presented in the note.  But then I remembered. The mentor "friend" who asked me not to step  in her "sphere" (what even IS a "sphere"?) questioned me previously about the struggles we were having with that particular adopted child.
And  I realized what a naive, trusting, wide-eyed ding bat I had been.   And vowed not to let that happen again.

If that experience had been one-of-a-kind, I would probably still be  giving more grace and less suspicion of  folks. 

BUT . . . 

And staff has stolen from us (in small amounts) and had to be fired.  Kids have told lies about us to deflect from their own misdeeds and we have had to defend ourselves unnecessarily.  But none of that holds a candle to the CALLING we have to stay here and serve street boys.

If the enemy wants us out of this country, he's going to have to do better than that.

And in these nearly five years, I have not only been wounded, I'm sure I have been the one doing the wounding.  I am no better than the "friend" with the "sphere" .  I'm wretched in my own ways.

Aren't we all?  

If you said "no, not me", you probably have a "sphere". 

I know. I need to get over that. 

Five years of living outside the USA has given me a more global perspective than I ever had. I realize that the world outside my home country is huge and different. Better in some ways and worse in others.   And that people inside and outside the States all need the same things:  Forgiveness and a relationship with their Creator, a place to  be loved and belong, the security that someone is FOR them, even when they make poor choices and mess up and just to be respected and treated with dignity - whether rich or poor, brilliant or not, productive members of society or dependent ones.

So, five years has been challenging and a blessing with overflow so rich I can not contain it all.  I would not trade it, nor change it.

Even the pains. They have a place.    

I look forward with great expectation to the next five years, lessons to learn, children to bring off the streets, new families forming and, more than all of that, a deeper walk with my Savior as He uses all the joys and all the pains. 

That is Him. 

Compassion Fatigue and the Furlough

Compassion Fatigue: a gradual numbing to the needs and hurt of others facilitated by being continually inundated with images and stories of extreme poverty and hardship while not experiencing those events firsthand.

For the first time in almost a year and a half, since packing up our willing-ish family and letting go of our place in the United States, I was blessed to return there just a few weeks ago.

I left with a considerable level of  fear. 

There you have it. 

Not the confidence of a child of the King but plain old worry and fear. 

Common and Sinful.

I don't think it's any secret to anyone who knows me in "real life" that I'm afraid of flying. The irony of my Heavenly Father is that he would send me almost as far as possible in the opposite direction of people I treasure and then to require that I get on an unfathomably heavy piece of machinery for about 20 hours of prayerful uncertainty.  I was uncertain. Not Him.  The flights were fine and actually enjoyable in spots.  The variety of movies blew my mind and I watched SIX of them between Japan and Atlanta.  I ate my meal in peace with not one miniature person asking me for a bite or needing a napkin. Just me, my movies and a tray of beef and noodles. Okay. And saki. I tried saki for the first time because I could.  Meh.

Of course, I arrived safely and every minute hurtling 38,000 feet above the Earth was worth it to spend time with the people that live deep in my heart and kept a part of it in America with them when I left.

Taco Bell with my Bio babies

Hanging with my handsome Daddy

Cook Out and shopping with Mom

As if these weren't enough good gifts, my sister surprised me at the airport, my brother and his family came to see me as well as some unexpected friends who drove hours to hear me talk about the work of Mercy House and give out some hugs.   I am blessed.  And I am fearful.

The fear I harbored in coming to the US again was so little about the flight or any changes in the country I left. I was not afraid of ISIS or a mall shooting or even of changed relationships between me and the people I love.  Not much.

I was afraid I would get "Compassion Fatigue" and not want to come back to The Philippines.   I was gripped with fear that seeing my loved ones,  living in a home with no geckos or bugs, having the freedom to go anywhere and never be stared at even once would over ride my desire to come back to the ministry.  I was unfettered for the first time in more than a year. I stayed up late. I slept in. I had full and uninterrupted conversations with other English-fluent adults who understood even the jokes and sarcasm specific to my first culture. I basked in "me time".  It went from feeling odd to feeling freakin' awesome in a matter of a day!

This furlough was an experiment of sorts.

Upon arrival, I just could not get enough of American life.  Everything smells good in the states.  You can drive for miles without a single urge to cover your nose (unless you're in the car with teenage boys - ha ha).  I immediately noticed how CLEAN it was. I never gave any thought to how clean my home country is before. It just was.  I noticed there were no children roaming on busy streets - or any streets- who were not safely in strollers or held by adults.  And where were all the stray dogs with obvious signs of nursing pups nearby? I didn't see even one.   Drinks have free refills in the states and food portions are immense.  There is too much of the good things and none of the heart-wrenching scenery I take in daily in Asia. At least not where my people live.

These observations made me feel guilty.  I love The Philippines.  And it's not fair to compare her to an already-developed nation.  She can't stand against that kind of scrutiny.  I knew when I was doing it that it was wrong.  But I was playing a mental game of "will I still love you when this is over?" with my two countries.

I was honored to speak at several gatherings about our work with street children and orphans. Every time I spoke, my heart pricked. Every time I showed our ministry slideshow, I tried to hold back tears.
Most of the time I couldn't.  They just came. 

I saw their faces and thought of the feeling of their hugs.  One of them always puts his face on my neck in the morning.  I know that warm hug as well as any. It's like my morning coffee. Just a part of the day.  One of the nice parts.

And as good as life in America is.   And as much as I ache for my big kids, family and loved ones when we are apart, it was apparent that no trappings of good smells, big drinks or clean streets could rob me of that magnetic draw to The Philippines.  It may be going too far to say I was made for this country but I often think that way.   Does God make people for countries other than those of their birth?   Does he place people in one country for many years while preparing them for another? It feels like "yes".

After a wonderful visit with my North Carolina people, I headed to California for the wedding of my husband's youngest brother.  He's adding yet another "white chick" to the Filipino family. I knew he would.  I could tell from his teen years.  Welcome to the family! 

And my furlough wrapped up with some precious time spent with my husband's side of the family.
This time solidified what I knew to be true.  I did not have "compassion fatigue".  I was not tired of the ministry or the country I now call home.  Just hearing so much Tagalog spoken and eating the familiar foods again confirmed it.   I was starting to feel excited about going back - not fearful and certainly no sense of dread.

With the California family

 So it's confirmed. I don't have compassion fatigue at this point.  I pray I never get it.  I pray YOU don't get it either.   This visit to my first home washed me over with gratefulness.  The number of friends, new and old, who came to find out what is happening at Mercy House or just to catch up and have a meal together  was more than I even would have hoped for.  Thank you, my friends and family for caring about me, my family, the street kids of Cavite, Philippines and the fatherless.   Thank you for the way you give and pray and encourage.  And for those who opened their homes and just wanted to talk about "regular life" thank you for reminding me what it felt like to be a mom talking to another mom - not a missionary - for just a few minutes.  It's grounding to have those reminders.  It was sweet and of much more value than it may have seemed as we stood in your  kitchen and talked about our kids.   Thank you.  And again . . .

 I thank my God upon every remembrance of you.
Philippians 1:3 

Thank you for loving, bearing with and understanding.  I pray I can be even a fraction of the friend to you all that you have been to me.  You friends and family members will be the benchmark of what a furlough should encompass.  And you have made it very hard for the next furlough. It couldn't have been much better.   

The Privilege of Sacrifice

2 Corinthians 8
"8 And now, brothers and sisters, we want you to know about the grace that God has given the Macedonian churches. ² In the midst of a very severe trial, their overflowing joy and their extreme poverty welled up in rich generosity. ³ For I testify that they gave as much as they were able, and even beyond their ability. Entirely on their own, ⁴ they urgently pleaded with us for the privilege of sharing in this service to the Lord’s people. ⁵ And they exceeded our expectations: They gave themselves first of all to the Lord, and then by the will of God also to us."

I love this passage.  I hate how misused and taken-out-of-context it can be.  This is a narrative about the generosity of the people of Macedonia toward the ministry of Paul.  He was proud of them. He was commending them for giving despite their own trials.  It was simply a compliment.

It is not a command.

And yet, time and time again I have seen and heard missionaries, pastors and other full-time servants of the gospel lift up this passage and implore their hearers to "give beyond their abilities".   I cringe.

I love reading about the hearts of the Macedonians. We have "Macedonians" in our lives who support our ministry with generosity and we know, for some of our donors, giving to Mercy House is a huge sacrifice.  We have even had friends "urgently plead with us" for the privilege of giving. People have contacted us and asked how to give to our work and had to email me several times to ask -but persevered- because of out sheer busyness, I was lax in replying and out of sheer desire to give, they were compelled not to give up on us. 

When it comes to money and the mission field, there is an innate awkwardness that just IS. We subsist on the giving of our friends, family and those who have a heart for the things God has given us a heart for.  And we pray it doesn't change those relationships and make them "weird". 

But I will never be that missionary who makes my loved ones feel guilty for drinking "five dollar lattes", or taking a beautiful vacation.  NEVER!

 I lived a long and fairly prosperous pre-mission field life.  We worked hard and became debt-free except for our mortgage (Thanks, Dave Ramsey). We took family trips. We entertained in our home a lot.  We had a motorcycle, three cars and I had the privilege of being an at-home mother and homeschooling my beautiful kids.   And we gave to the work of the gospel in The Philippines because, even back then, this country had our hearts.

BUT . . .

I've also  been on the receiving end of pleas from ministries, church building programs and special projects from my brothers and sisters in The Faith that were simply guilt-inducing.  I watched videos of fly-encrusted babies with distended bellies.  I was told repeatedly that most of the world lives for a year on what I spend on one trip to Wal Mart.   I was reminded that mothers around the world watch their babies die of illnesses that I can just whip out my amoxicillin and ibuprofen and take care of easily in my own kids in three days or less.  Often, the idea of giving up my over-priced coffee to save children was mentioned because I could provide clean water to a whole village for the price of said beverage.

And all of those things are real and true.  They are happening.  I have seen them or their victims first hand since moving to this country.   

The plight of orphans and street children is awful here.  The challenge for those of us on the front lines is to balance the sharing of their stories with faith that the Lord moves hearts to give and we only need present the opportunity.  

And at the risk of patting ourselves on the back, we want to be very transparent about how we got here and how we remain here.  I mean, in "money talk". . .

We sold all our "stuff".   We allocated $50,000 of our own money to start Mercy House.  We've been given donations - big and small - by friends and strangers.   God has moved hearts and endeared our ministry to them. It's all HIM.  ALL.  HIM. He could have called any family and used any carbon-based life form to come over here, meet and touch these beautiful abandoned kids. We're thankful He's using us. Just thankful.

But that's OUR story.  

It's not meant to be a prototype for anyone else's story.  The selling-it-all-and-going  Christians are nothing without the staying-and-working-and-giving  Christians.  Period.  We're all pieces of the same puzzle.  Equal.  Vital.  Privileged.   I sometimes think the staying-and-working Believers have a more challenging call than those of us who are the sell-and-go types.  Sometimes.

So, we want to use this little space on the blogosphere to thank our staying-and-working partners, our coming-for-a-short-visit friends,  our praying-for-you-daily partners and our I-sent-you-a-box donors.  Those boxes are like water in the desert to our hearts. Pieces of home. 

 Thank you for your sacrifice.  Thank you for enjoying the privilege with us.  

FOR HIS FAME.

2 Corinthians 9:7 says:

" Each one must give as he has decided in his heart, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver."