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.

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.

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.

Becoming like a child...

I have recently been reading an excellent book called " Ministering Cross-Culturally." The author, Sherwood Lingenfelter, tells about his experiences living in another culture and says that as we adapt to the new culture, we become 150% people: 75 % our own culture, and 75% our new host culture.

It's an interesting thought. Obviously, if we are to be effective missionaries, we must adapt to our host country and culture, taking on a new language, cultural norms, foods, even climate. But we always remain American (or whatever our country of origin is).

In a way, when we enter a new culture, we become as little children. We must learn to eat, learn to speak, learn manners, even how to go to the bathroom or bathe. Everything is new. This is perhaps one of the most difficult things to accept. At home, we were someone. We had a place in society, we felt at home, we knew what was expected of us. But now, we are ignorant foreigners. When we speak, people laugh. When we make a cultural mistake, people think us rude. When we make rice wrong, they tell us so (I know that from personal experience).

I have crystal clear memories of a certain jungle outreach where we spent three weeks mostly hiking from village to village in an area inaccessible by car. As the days wore on I felt my self esteem taking a fatal blow. The locals who accompanied us soon left us behind. Every river we had to cross reminded me of my foreignness as I struggles across the rocky river bottom, slipping and tripping. Then at the other side of the river, I struggled to empty my rubber boots of the water (which inevitably spilled over the edge of the boots). I watched the rest of the group move on, knowing that even though I was pushing myself to the limit physically, I wouldn't be able to keep it.

It's an incredibly humbling experience, to realize that in this world, you know nothing. It changes you. There is no going back once you have been stretched by an experience like that.

After 13 years in the country, in many ways, I have adapted. I can speak Spanish fluently, make many of the local dishes, get around the country, and I usually know what is expected in social situations. In many ways, I have become a Panamanian. I even have my residency papers to prove it (and having an Panamanian husband also helps).

Yet in many ways, I will never be Panamanian. The color of my skin, my hair and my eyes shouts to the world that I am different. Even as I have tried to adjust, I find a part of myself resisting. As I try to be a good missionary, part of me shouts, "I don’t WANT to be a Panamanian." I think that's why I loved his statement of being 75% of one culture, and 75% of another. I have given up my homeland, my culture, submitting myself to the laws and customs of another land. I have given the last 13 of my years, hoping to make this nation a better place. Yet a part of me remains forever American. The foods, holidays, and values of my culture remain, pulling me back continually.


It's been a painful experience at times, and has changed the way I see the world. And still I continue to learn. And many times I still feel like a little child, just starting to learn about the world