Fear and Faith

I think one thing that most parents have in common is fear. We are afraid about different things, but we are all afraid for our children. One parent may be paranoid about germs; another may worry about the bus system, while another may fear their child falling in with bad friends.  We all have areas of weakness, but I think I fear mostly feels the same.

Someone told me once that fear blinds you.  I have experienced it, and it’s true.  But knowing that you are blind doesn’t help you see.  It doesn’t solve the fear.

As a missionary parent, options of things to be fearful about seem to be doubled or tripled.  Should I be afraid of poisonous snakes, crazy taxi drivers, unsafe drinking water, and lack of healthy food choices?  Or should I worry about my child’s bilingualism, worried that they may feel caught between cultures, wondering where they will find role models, and how I am doing as a parent.  The options are limitless.

Yet there is one option that trumps all others. And that option is faith.  I can spend endless time fearing every bad thing that could happen. Or I can choose to trust God. I can choose to trust him in a world where bad things happen, where nothing seems to make sense, where the suffering I see around me tries to sink my faith once and for all.  My only option is to hold on to faith. And to hold on to God.

He is the constant. Somehow, in ways I can’t understand, he is holding my children.  He didn’t give me the guarantee of a problem free life.  That deal isn’t offered to anyone, least of all missionaries.  But he told me that he has our lives in his hands.

What other hands could we want to be in?

My sister Hannah told me once that we don’t own our kids, and if we think we do we are only fooling ourselves. She told me that we can only hold them in open hands and trust God. Every piece of advice she has told me has been right on, and this one was no different.

It seems like a paradox. I am supposed to care for and protect my children, and yet I can’t depend on myself to do it.  God is the one who holds them in his hands.  It’s as if I am a steward who should do their job faithfully, caring for what belongs to another. My children belong to God. Even as I must be accountable for the care I give them, I can also trust him to ultimately be the one who has even their hairs counted.

May God give us parents both strength for our task, and the strength to let them go into his trustworthy hands.

Packing again...

We are packing again.  I seem to be forever packing for a trip, unpacking from a trip, cleaning up after a trip or cleaning the house before we leave on another trip.

We are leaving early this afternoon for the coastal community of Platanares.  We are going with our friends Steve and Malana Ganz for a week of teaching.

Last night as we started packing my three year old was convinced that I needed her help. She began packing randon items into whatever bags she could find. I have a large bag full of material and clothes waiting to be mended, someday when I get my sewing machine repaired.  She decided that everything in that bad HAD to go.  Around bedtime she had a total meltdown when Alex and I told her that we WERE NOT packing that bag.  Fifteen minutes later, after I remembered that she had skipped her afternoon nap, she was asleep.

This morning, as I finished throwing in last minute things, I kept finding ramdom items that she had put in when I wasn't looking, like the remote control to our fan, which she is convinced is a cell phone.

Life in missions is crazy, unpredictable, exciting and confusing at times. I often wonder how all this traveling will effect my children. Will they look back and remember the adventures fondly, the times spent together, the beautiful views of the ocean, the friendships formed? Or will they remember the heat, the bugs, the tiredness, the tears when they try to go to sleep in a strange place, surrounded by strange sounds and sights?  Will they thank us for giving them such diverse experiences and opportunities, the chance to see life as many children never will? Or will they lament the things and experiences they could have had growing up in the US?

Ultimately, there is no way to know. The future has not yet been written.  Right now we can only take the next step, trying to keep our hearts close to the Shepherd so that he can guide us in the next step. We can only be thankful for what we have, keep our minds on the people we can impact, the lives we can touch and lives that may be changed forever. 

With our children we can only stay close to their hearts, listen to their fears, comfort them, challenge them, help them grow where we are today.

Now our bags are all stacked by the door.  The girls keep coming up and asking when we are going on the boat and I am telling them very soon.  Thankfully, they are excited about this trip.  Going on the boat is nothing new, and they have long since stopped complaining about the life jackets.  I know they will enjoy the fresh shrimp and fish we will eat, and likely spend hours running to and fro with the local kids.

As we go out, I am praying that the bugs won't be too bad, wondering if I am a bad missionary for dreading those bugs, and having to use outhouses.  But bad missionary or not, I am willing. I think that is enough for God to use me, to use our family.

Where does our value come from?

Almost two years ago...

I sat in the tent with my two small girls.  It was pitch black except for the small flashlight in my hand.  Outside I could hear the song of the crickets and the occasional dry of a night bird.  The tent sat inside a thatched roof hut.  I could hear the sound of a church service in the distance.  Alex, and the rest of the out reach team, were there.

On this particular outreach, we happened to have a church service every evening, and my one and three year old just weren't up for that.  So we had just finished our evening shower, managing with an outdoor shower and a barrel of water in the dark.  The girls were dressed in their bedtime attire (just diapers) and we were well into our bedtime routine.  Each girl got slathered with anti-itch lotion, to combat that day's insect bites, and then a shirt became a make-shift fan as I sang a lullaby.  Singing and fanning, singing and fanning, praying they would go to sleep.  One of the girls drifted off easily, but the other woke up suddenly as her bites began to itch. 

Crying and scratching, she woke her sister.  So the fanning stopped, and I began to rub their legs to lessen the itch.  Waiting for them to finally fall asleep, I couldn't stop the question from presenting itself any longer, "why are we here?"

All the "real" ministry is going on over at the church, I thought.  When the girls are asleep, it will just be me and the dark tent.  During the day, keeping tabs on a busy one year old holds me back from participating in the ministry.  And frankly, I'm so tired at this point that I can't even have a meaningful conversation with our host.  It's all I can do to get through another day, taking little girls to outhouses, figuring out how to bath them, trying to keep them healthy, and safe.  I don't feel very spiritual, and I don't feel that I am contributing ANYTHING to this outreach.

Moments like this can bring into question our value, if we think that it is derived from what we do.  In a missionary organization like YWAM, it is all too easy to start focusing more on what we can accomplish than anything else. We start to calculate how valuable this new staff member will be for the ministry.  We lament another co-worker who "isn't pulling their weight".  We feel like there is so much to do, and God is depending on US to save the world by the end of next weekend.  And we secretly feel good about how dedicated we are and how we haven't taken a day off since last year.

So then when our season of life shifts, and suddenly we find ourselves mothers with little ones at home, our whole value system can fall apart. Suddenly we don't feel like we are contributing.  We haven't preached a sermon, and lead an outreach, or even sat through a church service for a long time.  We can't even remember what it was like when we had a whole hour carved out in our daily schedule for a quiet time. That sounds like an unreachable luxury now.

While I think there are many reasons that mothers can feel inadequate, I think that for those of us in missions, the over emphasis on GETTING STUFF DONE is a huge culprit.

I think all of us, whether you are a mom in missions, a missionary around moms, or anyone else who resonates with this, need to take a few steps back every once in a while and think about where we are deriving our value from.  How is that coming out in our comments and actions?  How is it causing us to judge others, or judge ourselves?

When I begin to struggle with this again, I remember this line from scripture...

"We set our hearts at rest in his presence..."

Difficult outreach moments and what I have learned from them

It's been on my mind lately to write out some of my memories and lessons learned on the mission field, here is my first attempt:

 

 

 The above picture was taken in 2011, on the first day of our two month outreach.  There is a story behind it.  We had left early in the morning, hoping to reach our first destination by nightfall. But instead we found ourselves trapped when the highway was blocked by a protesting community.  The day began to heat up and there was no shade anywhere.  Rows of cars lined the highway on both sides, and proved the only distraction for a bored three year old and one year old.

We spent a good amount of time observing a truck full of baby chicks, and even got given one, which proved a great distraction after that. Unfortunately, we couldn't take it with us on outreach.  We spent five hours waiting and praying for the protest to end.  All that stands out to me from that day is being drenched in sweat.  At some point the girls napped on the van seat.... more sweat.

We walked down the highway to the community and through the middle of the protest to buy something to drink, then back again, stopping at a truck carrying watermelons, and bought one to share.  Finally, sometime after noon, the protest disolved and the highway was again open to traffic.

There was no longer time to make it to our destination that day.  We ended staying in a small church building.  We were thankful to their hospitality, but all that stands out to me was the long muddy walk to the outhouse, and even longer, muddier walk to the outdoor shower. Did I mention that it was rainy season and that I had a recently potty trained child?  And the giant hole in the ground along whose muddy edge we had to walk to get to the shower?  And... well, let's move on.

I look back now and laugh, and I get it.  I understand why that outreach was so grueling for me.  Not even the first day could be relativly easy.  The months leading up hadn't exactly been easy either.

I can also look back now and have grace for myself. I can forgive myself for my percieved "failures"; losing my temper, feeling overwelmed, thinking I lacked vision for the ministry because I wasn't feeling all these warm fuzzies about our experience.  Mostly I just felt tired.

After that first challenging day, more of the same awaited me.  The next day found us riding up a flooded river, one of the scariest boat rides I have ever experienced. I ended up on a different boat than Alex, clutching the girls between my knees as the narrow canoe rocked in the dirt-brown torrent.

Upon reaching our destination, we found that other than the flooded river, there was no water available.  Saying there was no water other than the river doesn't really register until you realize that you have a one-year-old still in diapers, who get's into everything, and an almost-potty trained three year old who still has accidents... and there is no where to wash off.

The house we were offered had no outhouse, but plenty of rats.  Picture me in the evenings, after the team had left for the nightly church service, and the girls were asleep. Let's just say I was very thankful we had decided to bring our tent, and had that between us and the rats.

Most evenings I was back in the house fighting rats while the girls slept and I could hear the church service in the distance.  I missed almost every ministry activity because taking care of the girls took all of my energy.

I distinctly remember the one ministry activity I lead. It was a bible class for children, and we were going to tell a bible story, sing some songs, do some games, the usual.  Only, because of the school schedule that day, only preschool aged kids showed up.

None of them spoke Spanish.  Turns out most of the kids don't learn Spanish until they start school.  I sent for a translator, but no one was available.  My one chance during that week to teach something meaningful to the precious kids in the community, and they couldn't understand a word I said.

That moment represents well how I felt that whole outreach. I felt like I was working all day and night just to survive till the next day, but I wasn't seeing any results from my labor.  My eyes were focused on changing diapers and getting toddlers to sleep, and finding and outhouse or somewhere to shower.

All around me, significant ministry was happening. Our DTS student team was deeply impacted by their outreach time.  The relationships we formed on that two month outreach ended up opening up the doors for us to be here now, living here in Chepo and working alongside the Wounaan churches.  None of this would have been possible if we had given up after that first, horridly difficult day.  Well, the whole week was difficult.  It took some perserverence, but we saw fruit from our labor.

When I look back, I see reflected in myself other missionary moms who are wondering if they make any difference.  Maybe they decide not to even venture out on a ministry trip because they feel like they won't be able to do "ministry". Maybe they are so focused on getting through another day with their little ones that they can't see the significant things that are happening around them.  My advice to you?  Keep perservering and you will see the fruit of YOUR labors. It just may take some time.

How the Wounaan won my heart

 

 

The low tide had caught up to us.  The Platanares River, which rises and falls with the tides, only allows for boat travel at high tide.  That, apparently, was hours away. The boat wouldn't go any farther.

"We'll have to tell Alex to come and get you here!" Laughed our captain.  I wasn't sure whether he was joking or not, so I just said, "Dale, pues!"

Alex was already in the village of Platanares. The girls and I had stayed behind because of some scheduling overlaps.  But the afternoon before I got a call from the man who was now tying the boat to a nearby tree (his name is Tovar). He told me he was heading up to the village and Alex had asked if I wanted to come along.

I had no way of getting ahold of Alex, so I just went for it.  We packed up, caught a taxi early the next morning to the port, and here we were. Well, I wasn't really sure where we were.  I knew the village was up river, but I didn't know how far.



Soon it became evident that we were getting out to walk the rest of the way.  I tried to remember where the girl's clothes were packed, so that we would have a clean change of clothes when we arrived, but Tovar and his helper lifted our bags to their shoulders and started across the river.  Managing the smaller bags as best as I could, we started hesitantly across the river as well.  Carolyn was soon hoisted onto a pair of shoulders as well, and I told Abigail that we were going to have an adventure.

As we climbed up the opposite shore, I realized that I was going to have my first experience hiking through mangroves.  I kept telling Abigail how brave she was being as we ducked and wove among the roots and overhanging branches, trying to avoid the deepes, stickiest spots of mud.  At one point my flip-flop got stuck.  I fished it out with my hand and went barefoot the rest of the way.

Finally we came out of the mangroves and crisscrossed back and forth through the river.  I kept hoping that Abigail wouldn't ask to be carried because I was pretty sure I couldn't handle the backpacks, plus the slippery river rocks, plus her.  She never did ask, but forged ahead through the river that was chest deep at times for her.

I am sure it took much longer than Tovar and his patient helper wanted, but we finally made it to the village. I will skip over the part about climbing up the muddy river bank. Let's just say that Carolyn and I took a good amount of mud with us.

The first thing I noticed upon arriving was that (hallelujah!) the biting flies, or chitras, weren't anywhere around.  We were dutifully delivered to the pastor's house.  I asked Tovar how much I owed him (I know it's usual for passengers to pay a few dollars to help with the gas costs) he wouldn't take anything.

Later I learned that Tovar had suggested picking me up himself, when we saw that Alex had brought the group and we had stayed home. Then he changed his schedule to make it more convienient for me.  I was touched.  How often does someone go out of their way, change their plan, carry your bag through the river and the mangroves, just so your family can be together.

It's experiences like this that have made the Wounan win my heart.

Raising kids in between cultures

As I listen to other moms share their struggles, it seems that many, if not all moms struggle with the expectations of others.  We wrestle with what our family expects, what society expects, what our spouse excepts, and even expectations with have of ourselves. The big problem is when we fail in fulfilling those expectations.  They can begin to rule our lives.

While this is something I think that moms all over deal with, it's especially difficult for missionary moms, for two reasons.

One reason is the public nature of our work.  Lots of people know us, our whole job is connecting with people.

We have a large network of people involved in our lives (a big blessing) and a lot of people interested in what we are doing and where we are going, in life and in minstry. This can also get tricky.  While the great majority of those people are nothing but encouraging and supporting, some can add on a few more expectations. It's almost like walking by someone at the grocery store with their arms loaded with groceries, and stacking a few more things on top.

While it might be a simple question about us deciding to homeschool, or a challenge about risks that we take as a family, these can weigh on the mind of a mother who is already concerned about how she is doing as a parent.

If you happen to be living in a Christian community (like a YWAM base) you may have to deal with your family being under a microscope 24 hours a day.  Pretty soon it's feels like you are being judged for how your kids behave at the staff meeting, what they ate for dinner, how long they use a pacifier, and a thousand other parenting challenges every day. If you let it, it can drown you.

The second reason I think parenting is difficult for those of us living cross-culturally, is that we have not one but two societies loading us up with expectations.  For me, there is the American mindset, a complicated set of values that wants our kids to be safe (above all else) have a strong self esteem, eat organic foods, whole grains, no sugar... and on and on it goes.  Then we are living in a culture that will give our 6 month old baby a sucker to quiet her down, but criticize us because her hair is not perfectly combed.

I have to admit, this one is hard for me.  In Panama, little girls are expected to have their hair done up with every hair in place, a matching outfit (her hair bows and shoes should also match the outfit) every time she steps outside your yard. God forbid you let your three year old choose her own outfit, or give up after the third time she has ripped the bows out of her hair.

On the flip side, running around in their underwear is totally fine in your house and yard, and it would be perfectly acceptable for me to go out and rake the leaves up in my night gown.

My intent here isn't to criticize their values, just show how different two systems can be. In  the States, we celebrate children getting dirty as they explore life and have fun. Here, where getting dirty is a lot easier, parents fight it every step of the way (probably out of necessity).

I had to laugh when we returned from a fun camping trip while we were back in Oregon this past fall.  Our first stop after camping for two days was the bath tub for the girls.  I just sat there in the bathroom, shaking my head. After two days of playing in the dirt, eating hotdogs with their fingers and running around the forest, they were noticably cleaner than a normal day back home in Panama. I blame the sweat.  Some days the girls are just drenched in sweat, even from playing in the house, and every piece of dirt sticks to sweat.

Back to our subjcect, what do we do with all these expectations? Well, I haven't totally figured that out yet. What do YOU do?  I am guessing that at the root of the matter is obedience to God. Every decision we make can be criticized by someone.  Being a foreigner in a host country, I am always going to be different, no matter how good I get at making Arroz con pollo.  So I need to accept fact that and put my energy somewhere that really matters.  For example, in spending time before God asking him for the next step, for wisdom, for help in making all those parenting decisions that weigh on me, for patience and love, and how I should spend my days.

Although I know in my head that the only person I need to please all the time is God, walking that out can be complicated.  From what I hear other moms saying, I think most of us find it complicated.  Right now, all I can do is trust that my Shepherd knows where we are going and keep following.