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.

How to, part 2

 

In my last post I talked about some ideas to help you take your kids along on outreach trips.  Most of it was practical, and there was one more point I wanted to make.

Overall, you need to believe that what you are doing matters, and YOU matter.  You are an important part of what God is doing on earth.  It doesn't matter if you spend a great portion of your time changing diapers, or taking toddlers to outhouses, or attempting to clean toddlers up after meals, with no available running water.  It doesn't matter if you don't ever show up for the "ministry activities".  It doesn't matter if the team wonders why you came along, or if your husband doesn't have time to or energy to thank you for your presence and affirm you.

You do matter.

Listen to God, and if he tells you to go, than go.  Go knowing that you are sent by him.

Sometimes you may see the fruit of your efforts, and sometimes not.  Your three year old may not say, "Gee mom, thanks for giving me this once in a lifetime opportunity that is expanding my world, teaching me compassion, and honing my Spanish skills."  But you have to believe (and I do to) that it's going to be worth it.

Maybe that woman who came up to talk to you would have been intimitated if it wasn't for the baby in your arms.  Maybe your hosts will be inspired by seeing a couple commited to making their marriage last.  Maybe a young mom will see an example in how your family interacts.  Maybe a couple contemplating going into ministry will see your example and believe it's possible.

And you may not see any of those things.  But you have to believe that if God called your family, and you, and your kids, then it is worth it.  You are worth it.  You are an important part of the team, even when they complain about the baby crying in the middle of the night, or get frustrated with your toddler's temper tantrum.  Even when YOU want to join in the crying, or just give up.

Especially when no one else is telling you this, you need to remember it.  God has called you, and that makes what you do worthy, important, even vital.  Believe that and you can get through anything.

My Battle with the Health Center

Someone more knowedgable on the nuances of politics could tell you if Panama's health system would be considered "socialist". What I do know is that the government provides health care for free or nearly free to anyone who needs it. Of course, you do pay for it in inconvienience, long waits, and less than respectful treatment, at times.

Still for me, it's worth it. Care for all children under 5 is free, so that means all check-ups and immunizations are free for the girls. Not a bad deal. It requires getting there at 6:00 AM, and sometimes not getting out of there until noon, but we made it work.

My problems began when Princess went in for her 1 1/2 check-up. She been weaned and started walking since her last appointment, and had dipped below the acceptable weight on their charts. She was declared "in danger of malnutrition" and I was sent to see their nutritionist. The nutritionist asked about her eating habits. She filled out her little chart and suggested that I not give Princess water with meals, "every drink of water is one less bite of food she is going to eat." I was not overly impressed with her advice. She handed me a bag full of fortified hot cereal, known here as "crema". It's great for kids that really ARE malnourished, somehow I can't see any peditritian in the USA recommending it.

After Princess totally rejected the "crema", we stopped taking her to the nutritionist, and I didn't worry much about her weight. She was reaching all her milestones on time, healthy, alert, and growing.

Then came the fateful day when both girls had appointments the same day: 3 years and 15 months. This time they were BOTH under weight, and the doctor was not happy. She told me in a voice that I can only decribe as offended, that Rose had "the weight of an 8-month-old baby". Didn't matter than in every other way she was totally normal. Off again we went to the nutritionist. Another armload of "crema", and advice on how to get them to eat more. Princess still hates it, but Rose likes it and when I offer, yells for her "c'ema!".

I should also mention that all this was happening while we were heading out on a two month outreach into remote villages. Not the best envirnment for keeping kids healthy and gaining weight.

However, after we returned from the outreach things did eventually calm down a little. Maybe it was the stress of outreach. Maybe they were hitting a growth spurt. But they began to noticably plump up, especially obvious on Rose.

I didn't think about it much the day we headed off to Princess' 3 1/2 year appointment, except to hope that they wouldn't scold me for not bringing her to see the nutritionist. We had a happy surprise. She has edged up into the "normal" weight range. Yeah! No more lectures for me, defective Mommy who obviously doesn't feed her children.

This whole experience is even more interesting to me, seeing as how all the advice coming out of the USA in relation to kids and nutrition, is focused on helping kids NOT gain too much weight. And here I am being encouraged to make sure the girls are gaining plenty of weight. The mindset here totally makes sense. Lots of kids in Panama truly are underweight. I have seen it with my own eyes, and it's terribly sad.

It makes me feel like I am living in two worlds at the same time. One a world of plenty, where food is always available, and one a world where every child who is a little too small is seen as in danger.