A Faith Story by Kathy

This year we have a new first grade teacher on staff, Miss Kathy.  After retiring from principal at a mission Zuni school last year at the age of 70, Kathy decided she wasn’t quite ready to be done teaching yet.  She grew up as a missionary kid on the Navajo Rez and has been doing education and mission work since.  Needless to say, she is an incredible teacher and I’ve already gleaned so much wisdom from watching her with the kids.  This week she wrote a story for Zuni school about a child at our school and in her class, Emmanuel.  Emmanuel is one of those children that make you want to bang your head off of a wall.  (Teachers know exactly what I’m talking about)  He refuses to obey, constantly in motion, and fulfilled by being the center of attention… Her story about Emmanuel and a child named Binx is quite touching.  I thought I’d share 🙂

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A Faith Story: Emmanuel and Binx

Last year in Zuni, I had a feisty endearing naughty little first grader in my class. “Call him Binx,” his mother told us. And so we did.

In November, Binx’s mother was tragically killed. When I learned of her death, I felt the yawning distance between me and the children that I wanted so desperately to comfort and embrace. The truth is that I needed comfort too. So as we left school that day, I told the three first graders that I teach this year at Immanuel Mission about the little boy in Zuni whose mom had died. Not wanting to frighten the children, I told them that Binx’s grandma would take of him but that he would miss his mom very much. So we prayed for Binx, his brother, his sisters and his grandma. I was comforted. And that was that.

Until a couple weeks later. At prayer time one afternoon, we were talking about two of the children’s sick grandpas. After we talked, I said, “Let’s pray for your grandpas.” Emmanuel quickly added, “And Binx.”

In the days that followed as we sat in our circle for closing prayer, Emmanuel often reminded us, “Don’t forget Binx.” This little boy—so hard on himself—so generous towards others. This little boy—so stubborn and challenging—so close to Jesus.

One afternoon as we were ready to pray, Emmanuel offered his usual reminder, “And Binx.” But this time, after a thoughtful pause, he asked, “Does Binx have a dad?” I answered, “Yes, he has a dad, but he doesn’t live with Binx. He’s just like you. You have a dad, but he doesn’t live with you.” Up to then, any casual reference to ‘dad’ elicited Emmanuel’s quick emphatic response: “I don’t have a dad! I have a Pawpaw [grandpa]!” But this time, he gave my answer his solemn consideration. After a bit he said quietly, “He’s like me. I have a dad but he doesn’t live with me.”

Recently, at the end of the day, I asked Emmanuel to pray. He stated his thanks. He prayed for his Pawpaw: “Let him be strong. Let him have breath. Don’t let him die.” And, of course, he prayed for Binx: “I hope Binx is O.K. with his grandma. I hope he listens to his grandma.”

I love this little boy, Emmanuel. I love that little boy, Binx. And surely, I give thanks to God for settling my heart at Immanuel Mission School through the prayers of a generous-hearted little Navajo boy for a grieving little boy in Zuni.

Modern Day Magi

Christmas has always been special to me.  Like almost every other red blooded American, I spent my childhood wrapped up in the gleam of the Christmas lights and the sparkle of gift wrap.  However, I’ve made it a point in my adulthood, a true analytical soul, to set aside time each December to think on the Christmas story.   And every year, I’m drained of the sparkle that once carried me through the season.  I’m horrified.  (Last year I wrote about a tearful vision of the grungy manger with my first graders, you may remember.)  This year my pondering was provoked while the kids sang one of my favorite Christmas songs.  A line that for years seemed unimportant, stood out like never before.  “Gold for his honor, frankincense for his pleasure, and myrrh for the cross he’ll suffer.”

The magi.  I’ve not thought about the wise men much, apart from how inaccurate nativity scenes are.  The description of Jesus’s birth is surprisingly small in Scripture.  Every part of it must have significance.  And in that small story, the wise men are mentioned.  We don’t know how magi there were.  We don’t know whether they came from Babylon or Iran or Yemen or elsewhere.  We don’t know exactly what the scientific deal with the star was.  But the Bible lets us know… they came.  Why?  What was the significance in these wise men? 

The wise men were unlike the other characters in this story.  They were educated and smart.  They were foreigners.  They were pagan.  And something about their arrival brought glory to God.

So much of Jesus’s birth must have been surprising.  A baby in the midst of a green, dysfunctional marriage.  A king born in a dirty stable filled with the stench of livestock habitation.  The Emmanuel’s inconvenient arrival on Mary’s uncomfortable trip to Bethlehem.  This wasn’t how anyone was expecting God to break the long silence.  What a long journey the wise men made for such an underwhelming child… 

The magi traveled over 1000 miles via foot, camel, donkey… some form of slow transportation.  The months of anticipation, what did they expect to find?  The magi were studied scientists, more like wizards, studying stars to foretell the future.  Did they not know the long journey before them?  Did they not understand the strange family they would find?  Did no one tell them that they didn’t qualify to meet the Lord?  Or… did none of that matter?  The certainty of this new king drove them.  Jesus was already drawing people to himself.  

All the places they passed, to come to the humble home of a carpenter in Jerusalem.  Directed by sight of a star they were sure would lead them to a king, regardless of the glamour he lacked.  A child from a poor family and lineage of bad reputation.  They went anyway.

I think the fascinating part is that they carried with them three very specific gifts for Jesus.  This was far from a coincidence.  Gold, because he was king.  Frankincense, because he would be their High Priest.  And myrrh, because he must die.  Jesus didn’t need these gifts, you see, but they needed to bring them, because all of those things were true, and the truth of who this king was and is draws us all.  The Jew and the Gentile.  It draws sinners, like magi. 

I wonder if today we bring the same in our journey.  We are foreigners and sinners, drawn to the king, with small gifts to bring.  We bring a life of honor because he is king, a life of worship to the High Priest, and a life reflecting his ultimate sacrifice.

The most somber gift to consider is myrrh, because it was the most obvious.  Funeral preparation, brought to a toddler.  Everything about the Christmas story seems hard breaking.  (Until we get to Easter!) 

Perhaps God answers deep prayers (or long periods of silence) in a seemingly underwhelming, unexpected, and painful way.  And He asks us to leave our sin and bring our gifts anyway.

Even if the journey is long, led only by one star you know is true. 

Even if it means that you are a foreigner, a pagan, not like the Jews.  He calls you anyway.

Even if the gifts you bring are small for a king, Matthew called them treasures.

How many of us look at our lives and wonder where things went wrong?  We weren’t supposed to be single, poor, divorced, widowed, barren, unsuccessful, terminal, disowned… Surely this isn’t God.  Surely after hundreds of miles, this isn’t where God would lead us.  And yet, he leads us like he led the magi.  To himself.  To exactly where we need to be.

This Christmas, let us not forget that although we may feel confusion in God’s movement, there is also sovereignty and salvation in our circumstances and pain. Let us not forget that he calls everyone to the truth of who he is, and leads us all on unexpected journeys to himself.

And even in a cold stable, this gives us reason to celebrate.

Merry Christmas, friends!

Ways to help missionaries in the field

Our former missionary friend composed a list of ways you can help any missionary on the field.  We thought it was so good, we’ve borrowed it for some of our presentations 😉  If you didn’t get a copy of a chance to hear it, here they are!

1. Pray!
   We all do it… We say, “I’ll be praying for you,” then forget.  But praying for a missionary is one of the most powerful ways you can give.  We never know what the day holds on the field, and sometimes your prayers are answered at exactly the right moment.
2. Give
   Regularly or surprise gifts.  We know, we know… missionaries are always asking for your money.  How dare they!  But we ask because we need to.  The gifts from our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ are what keep missionaries on the field, we can’t do it without you.  If you can’t go, please prayerfully consider the biblical command to send.  No matter what the gift, even $5 can be an answer to prayer.  All gifts are valuable to those on the field and honored by God.
3. Respond to their newsletter
   First, sign up for them.  Also, read them.  And, let us know!  It sounds silly, but literally every single time we’ve gotten a reply to our newsletters we’ve gotten excited.  Some of them have been something as simple as “Thanks for the update.”  The hardest part for most missionaries on the field is the feeling of being alone and forgotten.  Just hearing that someone has read their newsletter and has been thinking of them can very seriously be the biggest encouragement you can give someone serving on the field.  Also, it’s free and it’s easy, even for those of us who have very busy schedules.
4. Care packages
   This one is fun for everyone.  One of the best ways you can brighten the day of someone serving on the field is to send a care package.  For most missionaries like us, even getting a package of oreos is no easy task… Anytime we get a package in the mail, we are so excited.  Packing the care package can be a fun way to get your kids involved too, and an opportunity to teach them about the Great Commission.  If you are not sure what to send, you can talk to their families about what they like, ask your kids what they would want on the field, or be creative.  We posted a list of things we love on this blog, and it may give you some ideas of what of other missionaries like too 🙂
5. Care for their families
   One of the biggest reasons missionaries leave the field is due to family.  At our Mission we had two (out of a team less than 20) leave this year alone because of family.  We miss holidays and birthdays, and we can’t be around for family emergencies.  Our families miss us too, and it’s hard to leave them and deal with the guilt of not being around.  You can help by caring for the families of those on the field.  Send notes and check in.  Again, even if you are busy, this can be an easy and simple way for you to give huge support to those on the field.

We hope this list can give ideas to those who want to get involved but simply don’t know how.  For those who didn’t get a copy at churches we’ve recently spoken at, sorry, we really didn’t expect such a big interest! 🙂  It’s been encouraging to see how many people want to get involved and help.  We hope this can be a year the Lord stirs all of our hearts for the Great Commission!

Care Packages

We’ve had so much fun in PA, speaking at churches who are excited about the work at the Mission!  We’ve been asked recently about care package ideas.  Although any package is really exciting for us since we live a few hours from a store, here are a few ideas for those who need some help getting to know us  🙂

Some things that we could use together include:

• Gas station/Walmart gift cards
• Letters of encouragement (SUCH a big one!)
• Books/Devotionals to go through together and/or separately (i.e. Married devos and/or Man/Woman devos)
• Stickers/Candy for the kids at school
• Art supplies for school
• Stamps/Stationery (We ALWAYS need stamps!)
• Fun foods/snacks to try

Some of Tim’s favorites include:

• Coffee
• Movies
• Pens/Pirates stuff
• Chips
• Jerky
• Magazines (Motor Trend, This Old House, Outdoor Life)
• Stuff for Joe
• Camping/Hiking stuff
• Nonfiction books
• Favorite colors: Green, Blue, Orange

Some of Jen’s favorites include:

• Yogi tea (I love all of the flavors!)
• Magazines (fitness/health magazines, food magazines, HGTV)
• Healthy snacks like trail mix
• Mugs
• Gardening things
• Sketch pads/art supplies
• Stuff for Java  🙂
• Essential oils
• Ted Dekker books
• Favorite colors: Green, Navy, Teal, Purple

Packages can be sent to:
Tim & Jen Mullen
PO Box 1080
Teec Nos Pos, AZ 86514

 

Remember, if you are in the area and are interested in speaking with us this summer, please let us know soon!  As the summer goes by we will continue to get busier, but we’d love to meet with you.  We will head back to the Mission toward the end of July.  We’ve been having a wonderful, relaxing summer so far.  It’s been a much needed time to recharge and see our loved ones.  🙂

Also, if you are interested in supporting us in the upcoming year, please let us know as soon as you can, so we can better budget for the fall.

Happy Independence Day!

Another one joins the team!

Teaching first grade has taught me that the Gospel really is offensive to all of those who are not saved.  It’s been interesting to see, even though they are small, first graders who aren’t Christians have the same exact response to the Gospel as adults.  Every day in Bible class I look and see five kids, uninterested, totally glazed over.  I’ve heard, “I hate Bible class” about everyday.  Not Math, Reading, or Science.  Just Bible.  I’ve wondered if I am just bad at Bible teaching, but I’m convinced that the problem is the very essence of what I teach.  It’s never easy to hear “You are a sinner and need to repent and get saved,” even as a kid.  One of them however, has been totally engaged.

I talked to another teacher about the situation a few weeks ago and she asked me if I’d ever talked to the girl.  Well, no…  And to be honest, I just didn’t know how.  Her parents are outspokenly traditional, and she will often come to school telling me about how she was up late at a ceremony.  I feel annoyed when it happens, because her parents know what we believe.  Don’t they know I’m not okay with it?  How am I supposed to talk to a six year old, and tell her that what her parents have told her is wrong, and what I’m saying is right?  I’ve not had great interaction with parents in general this year, it just didn’t seem as easy as “talk to her.”

Wednesday the guilt got to be too much.  We were talking about the Crucifixion story.  I looked into this girl’s big brown eyes, misty with sadness, hanging on every word I said.  I had to talk to her.  So I asked her to stay for a minute during recess to talk to me.  When I asked her if she’d ever thought about asking God to forgive her sins and become a Christian, she smiled wide and responded, “I already have!”

I was stunned.  I asked her when it happened.  She said earlier this school year, when she was alone in her room at her house.  She started to tear up and of course, so did I.  We talked a little more and I realized that she wasn’t intrigued by my great (or not so great) teaching, or simply thinking about getting saved.  She was fascinated because she already was!  And her natural response was to soak it all up.

And then I realized my huge mistake- Somehow I thought it mattered what I said, as if her salvation was dependent on me.  I spent weeks stressed over what to say, feeling totally inadequate as a teacher and a failure as a missionary.  (Because missionaries just know how to share the Gospel without feeling dumb, right??)  It didn’t matter at all what I said.  The Holy Spirit was already doing his thing.  Somehow we assume missions means saving people, and what I thought was humility was really my arrogance.  God doesn’t want me to do His job, just be obedient.  We don’t have to worry what to say, God’s already written it on their heart.  We just have to love people enough to get over our fears.

 

The Best Valentine’s Day Yet

How quickly time goes by when there’s so much to do.  I actually wanted to write this post a month ago, on February 14…

Let me begin by saying, I do not like Valentine’s Day.  I think America has chosen to replace sacrificial love with a bunch of philosophies that are just stupid, and I’d rather stay out of the whole scene.  However, little did I know… Valentine’s Day is a very big deal to first graders.  So, unlike every other day, when I practically beg them to bring homework and needed things for class, but am greeted with empty handed children, I came to breakfast to find our table covered with armfuls of festive candy, cards, boxes, cakes, and toys from every child.  I was also eagerly informed by my kids that parents would be coming later for the party they had all assumed I had planned…  Again, I don’t like Valentine’s Day, and it probably goes without saying, I don’t like parties.  Also, I don’t plan.  By 7:45 I was searching my desk for Advil as I realized this may be one of the most stressful days of my life.  As the hours passed and I juggled several cups of coffee, no break, and being asked 250348239 times when our party would be.  I felt like a Valentine’s Scrooge surrounded by a bunch of Tiny Tims…

I really fear being vulnerable about my struggle to be in ministry, because I don’t like seeming ungrateful or negative of the life I’ve been given.  There are stressful days that turn into stressful weeks, that turn to months of questioning why I came here.  This year my job doesn’t include many things I’m good at, it’s not what I came here to do.  And lots of things have fallen apart at the Mission this year, all unplanned.  The stress has made me lose my temper on my friends and family more times that I care to admit, and kids who once loved me being at their school have now found themselves writing five hundred sentences  that say, “I will not be a jerk to Miss Jen”.  This year has been nothing that we expected, and though we don’t know what the future holds, I often find myself looking back and asking myself- why in the world did God send us here this year??

Now I bring you to my recess duty on February 14.  One of our students who has been in and out of our school has found a special place in my heart over the past few years.  He’s a little awkward, in my opinion moderately OCD, and far from popular.  Scanning the playground I saw a few boys looking at Wacey, as he was curled up in the far corner.  I saw he was crying and started walking, giving the boys around him the teacher look (Which is, by the way, my favorite super power of being a teacher).  They shrugged and ran away, so I sat down next to Wacey and asked what happened. 

“Please forgive me, Father.  Amen.” 

I realized his tears were from pure sobbing, so I started to get worried.  “Wacey, happened?” 

He didn’t answer me, just kept his eyes closed, tears rolling down his cheeks.  Then the teacher voice came, “Wacey, stop, look at me!  What happened?!”

His answer was unexpected and changed everything about my day.

“I try to do good things, but I keep sinning.  And I don’t want to go to hell, I want to go to Heaven.  And I was telling God that I’m sorry and asking Him to forgive me.  And I’m praying for my friends, I want them to go to Heaven too!  I want my family to go to Heaven too.  But, Miss Jen, I don’t want to sin, and I want God to know I’m sorry.”

For a few seconds I was speechless.  Never in my recollection do I remember witnessing an adult weep, with total disregard who saw them, with giant tear filled regret over their sin.  I’ve heard lots of sermons about the mourning of sin, and I’m sure it does happen in the world, but I’ve never seen anyone truly let themselves be devastated over the thought that they need God to know they are sorry.  And I realized, Wacey didn’t even fully understand what had just happened to him.  Because kids don’t have fancy theological words to identify their soul’s churning.  (Though they have much to teach us.)  And without an attempt to draw special attention to his conversion, but with total disregard over his appearance, this small soul allowed the Holy Spirit to wreck him over his sin, right on the playground.  It couldn’t wait until later, simple as that.  And at that moment, the angels of heaven were rejoicing over him.

I started to tear up and told Wacey that God had heard his prayer, and He forgave him.  And that because of what he had just done, he would be in Heaven too.  I didn’t have much time to talk, because the bell rang and Wacey quickly shuffled to class.  But as I told his teacher in the hallway, we both smiled with tear filled eyes and praised God for a much needed reminder of His grace and why we are called to whatever God calls us to do.  The next day I asked Wacey for a minute to talk.  I asked if he’d ever prayed like that before, and he said no.  I told him to remember that day.  To tell everyone, and I mean everyone about it.  He just gave me his crooked grin and with a little “kay,” he ran off.

There will continue to be days I don’t want to be in ministry and many that I feel confused over why God would call me to it in the first place.  I’ve never been good at being content, but I think part of it is because I’m not home yet.  But when I do get home, Wacey will be there with me, with his skinny arms raised and cheesy grin wide.  Because Heaven just booked another resident for eternity 🙂 And that’s why we do what we do.

Merry Christmas from the Mission!

Last weekend I was traveling for a best friend’s wedding.  It was a short trip, only there just for a day.  Six different planes in a matter of hours, taking me from Colorado to Virginia.  It’s been a little while since I’ve flown, and all the feelings from years ago surfaced as I stepped into the airport.  I remember why I hated it so much… The stress inevitably gives me a blurry eyed headache, I get no sleep, the small seats make me cranky, and regardless of weather or experience I always feel sure I’m about to see the airplane break apart out my window and plummet to the ground and my death.  But as I was breathing deeply in the back of the jet on Friday, wishing I’d remembered my headphones because I’m certainly not an extrovert on a plane, I remembered a particularly stressful experience a few years ago…

It had been one of many journeys that had been riddled with chaos.  Until this year I have never gotten to my destination without delays.  During the mentioned trip, I was especially stressed, due to a series of events including several delays, an emergency landing, lighting hitting the airport, and a torrential downpour as I attempted to drive home, to name a few.  As I drove home from Durango, it was late, I was screaming obscenities, and I just wanted to get home.  I’ve been through severe storms via a car several times, and they undoubtedly have been some of the most terrifying experiences in my life, as I have been deeply intimidated by powerful storms since I was very young.  As I was creeping down the road from Durango, lighting struck along the road, about 15 feet from my car (or so my story-telling memory tells me).  And then, I got mad… real mad.  Why couldn’t God just throw me a bone and help me get home?!  At the same moment the thought crossed my mind, if was as if the car knew.  “Indescribable” was on the radio, and I heard Chris Tomlin remind me, “who has told every lightning bolt where is should go?”  Dang… God’s power became so personal during that drive.  God told that lightning bolt to hit the roadside as I drove by.  God told that storm to rage on as I cried.  God did.  As I cowered at the strength of the storms, a lifelong fear, I suddenly realized, they may be powerful, but they are simply commands of a much, much more powerful God.  A God who loves and takes care of me.  A God in my corner.  Filled with peace and love in the car that day, I felt so amazed at God’s powerful hand.

And that brings a new appreciation for the Christmas story.  What I love most about teaching kids here at the Mission is the opportunity to tell the Christmas story.  Their lives are different than our lives.  Monday, after I read the story, I set down my Bible.  You have to understand, almost every one of my students, though small, has had to watch sheep in their lifetime.  They understand shepherds.  They’ve all been in “mangers,” though they don’t call them that.  We’ve been working through the Old Testament, and we’ve talked a lot about how big God is.  Big enough to split the Red Sea, to send fire from Heaven, to help little David kill big Goliath… He’s so mighty.  The God who so easily could have come to the world with all the frills we could imagine, instead, came in a barn, in a undesirable town, through a misunderstood family line.  As I asked the children about mangers, they told me about theirs at home.  They are dirty and stinky.  They have animal food and droppings all over the floor.  When I asked if they’d eat in their manger, I heard “Ew! Nooo!”  Now I have to add, 4 of my 7 students have had a new sibling born in the last 2 months.  All 7 have younger siblings.  So when I asked them to imagine their new little baby brother or sister being born in a manger, and I told them that our Lord had chosen such a birthplace, I looked around and saw quiet, horrified faces. I don’t choke up often, nor am I often willing to shed a tear in the presence of even those close to me.  But as I told the kids of how their God loves them and wanted to be a part of their broken world, to understand them and come save them, I realized I was speaking to children who understand the pain of Jesus far more than I ever have. 

I don’t think that most of my students are saved.  And I don’t know if my words will ever make a difference to them.  But I do know that they need the love of Christ more than I completely understand.  And I know that deep in their little hearts, they know that’s true.  They know that their broken families aren’t how it’s supposed to be.  They know that medicine men don’t save them.  They know that alcohol isn’t the answer.  Because they’ve lived through it. 

I love Christmas.  Lights and presents and decorating and cookies are about my favorite things in the world.  But I pray that this year, you would join me in seeing Christmas through the eyes of a child not as fortunate as us.  Hear the story for the first time.  See the horror and somber reality, along with the immense hope in the Christmas story.  See the mind numbing, breathtaking love that is daily showered on you, and let the story of Christmas bring you to tears again.  And I ask that you would pray for the kids at the Mission and around the world, who are still wedged in a raging battle for their souls.  Pray that the love of the Gospel would stop them in their tracks, and heal wounds in their small hearts.  Pray for us who share that story with them, that we can be effective in our delivery, patient for the Holy Spirit in their lives, and ever in awe of God’s power and love.

Merry Christmas, friends!

 

Going Back to the Cross

Nothing will grow you in self denial quite like marriage or the mission field.   I’ve never thought of myself as being a selfish person, or a weak person.  But, as a friend often tells me, when the heat raises, the dross comes to the top.  The past few weeks (and by weeks, I mean months) preparing to go back on the field, now as a wife, the heat has been turned up and my dross has been visible dissatisfaction with almost everything, due to the fact that none of it has really gone the way I’ve wanted it to.  If there’s one thing I know about crucifying oneself like Jesus instructed, it’s that it’s not comfortable.  It’s not natural.  And it will never coincide with our feelings.  Just the word crucifixion implies pain.  I often make the mistake of thinking that my time of coming face to face with the Gospel lies back years ago when I became a Christian.  But as believers, it’s what we always come back to.  It’s the basic truth of what we still believe.  We fear evangelism because we know that the Gospel is offensive.  Should we then expect the confrontation and abrasive nature of that Gospel to completely fade after we believe?  Even seasoned believers can tell you that the idea of sacrificing everything, putting ourselves last, and placing full trust in an unseen God is still fairly uncomfortable.  Elisabeth Elliot, one of my favorite women due to her no nonsense approach to just about everything, had to the belief that we should stop tuning into our feelings and just do what’s right.  I know that if I really had that mindset, my life would be an entirely different animal.

Support raising is a vital part of missions, whether it be a week long trip or on the field full time.  It’s where God takes your faith and comfort zone and stretches it in a way that you probably haven’t experienced before.  It’s not an experience that feels natural or comfortable.   On the contrary, it provokes months of exhausting and panic inducing conversations, as you wonder if God is actually going to follow through on His word.  And He asking the same thing about you.  And every week or so you will contemplate whether it’s worth it.  Because you’re tired.  You’re frustrated.  You hate packing.  You love your family.  You don’t know rich people and the money isn’t exactly rolling in.  And you think maybe God made a mistake and doesn’t know what He’s talking about… And eventually you learn to go back to his cross and take up yours, and you stop tuning into your anxious feelings and just do what’s right.  Which is sometimes just trusting Him.  I’ve done support raising before, but I’m a professional kind of stubborn, so I’m learning it all again.  And my husband is learning it.  And recently, it’s gone something like this…

A week after getting my beloved Jeep, the universe seemed to have wanted to destroy it, with a series of destructive events.  Reality told me finances would prevent us from fixing them all, but the most pressing of the repairs for our upcoming journey was replacing the windshield.  Last week the crack had finally progressed across the entire span of the glass and I was starting to confront my irrational fear that it would implode and cut my face off.  The cost would be $200 to replace, which we didn’t have.  Fast forward one complaint filled day, we get a check for $200 in the mail.  At the time, because I’m stubborn, I simply thought it was a beautiful kind of coincidence.  And our real problem was going to be the moving truck. One way or another, the truck will cost about $2300.  A number much higher than our bank account.  With support being cut, there’s been a delay in funding the move itself, and we had no idea how we would pay for such an expense.  A few days later, an unexpected refund check came in the mail for, you guessed it, $2300.

This is support raising.  This is our God providing.  The beauty of our faith is not an idea that we believe in an uncertain God.  It’s an invitation to place our hope in the surest and most capable hands, knowing He is strong enough and faithful enough to protect and provide for us.  And we are not.  Our feelings and logic chronically lead us astray.  Our Father does not.  He satisfies.  He comes through.  He goes before us.  He’s a Father worth bearing our cross and following.

Matthew 16:24-25: Then Jesus said to His disciples, “If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me.  For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.

———————————————————————————————————–We are still not fully funded for our monthly support.  But don’t think God won’t provide.  This past week is evidence that He does!  It’s hard to hold onto that promise, but His promises are good.  And His Great Commission can’t be stopped, regardless of our fear for support.  Our prayer is that you would want to join in. 

Remembering Romans

The books of Romans is special to me.  If you’d seen it on my old prayer cards or stamped on my foot, you might have picked up on that.  It became so during my senior year of college.  I was taking 18 credits, creating a portfolio, completing my internship, working part time, and serving about 10 hours at a church with a 30 minutes commute from my house…  Basically, I didn’t sleep.  And somehow I decided that what my caffeine driven senior year didn’t need was a relaxing spring break.  Rather, I’d go on a missions trip.  At the time it was merely a humanitarian experience.  I found a trip that included work in South American high schools and youth groups, and it seemed up my ally.  And so, added to my schedule was a Wednesday night meeting I squeezed between my painting class and youth group, where I learned about the culture of Ecuador with my team, and what to expect while we served there.

The man that would head up my team was a happy man, ironically, named Paul.  And for a long time I sat in that classroom, dreaming of a cup of coffee, and being a wallflower the way I like, wondering at what point I’d accept the fact that I’d never raise all the money and just drop out of the team.  But then something changed.  Paul read Romans 10:14-15, a verse I’d read over 1000 times, but this was different.

“How then will they call on Him in whom they have not believed? How will they believe in Him whom they have not heard? And how will they hear without a preacher? How will they preach unless they are sent? Just as it is written, How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news of good things!” 

And then he said something that punched me in the stomach. “How will they know unless someone tells them… They won’t.” 

I felt like my heart was imploding.  Millions of unreached people in the world, all will go to hell because no one told them about Jesus.  Because I didn’t tell them about Jesus.

God provided the money and I went to Ecuador on that trip.  I gave my testimony, defying all of the instincts of an introvert, and listened as it was translated.  I ate the food I was given, some savory and some otherwise.  (As we were instructed- It might make you sick, eat it anyway.)  I used restrooms that made me cringe, utilized the two words in Spanish that I knew (hola and uno), and at the end of one evening, our host said something surprising along the lines of- “You won’t make much of a difference here.  You’ll leave and everything will continue.  The people will forget your name, and you won’t have impacted a lot.”  How rude, I thought.  Then he said, “The real change can only happen in you.”

I went home and all of the sudden, everything seemed wrong.  I felt like I the world had been flipped upside down.  I began to see little value in my success.  Every outfit in my closet bothered me.  I noticed my almost free supply of clean drinking water and refused to buy anything else.  Suddenly I saw a divide in the friends I chose to spend time with, and became irritated at the thought of shopping sprees and throwing food away.  I took offense when I saw those around me turning down food offered by a host, disregarding the sacrifice made by the one feeding them.  And when I went to Walmart, I finally broke down in the cereal aisle.  

So many kinds of cereal.  I looked at all the boxes, having no idea what I wanted.  Feeling too overwhelmed and impaired by the flood of emotion.  What was I doing?  How could I go on acting as if I have the right to whatever kind of cereal I want to eat?  How could I act like it was my money, my time, knowing I’d left behind a thousand people that still don’t know the love of Jesus in Ecuador, who can’t afford cereal?  And I wasn’t even able to make a difference.

I left my cart sit and I met with Paul.  But I didn’t ask what was wrong with me.  I wondered, rather, what was wrong with everyone else.  My outburst at picking up a Cheerio box genuinely seemed appropriate to me.  He explained the secret in missions called counter-culture shock, and talked with me about what God was doing in my heart, and how He was making me see things differently.  And I started to come to a personal realization- Everything needed to change.  I needed to see people differently.  I needed to spend my money differently.  I needed to spend my life differently.  I needed to be the beautiful feet that shared the Good News.

Four years later, I still get overwhelmed in Walmart sometimes.  And I still hear in my soul- If no one tells them, how will they know?  They won’t. And it doesn’t sit easy.  Lord, grant me that it never will.

We don’t like to wonder what life would be like if things were different.  If we lived in villages without Bibles.  If we had to meet secretly, in dark rooms to worship in fear for our lives.  We don’t like to wonder what would happen to our children if no one shared the Gospel with them.  But what if?  Wouldn’t you want someone to come and share the Good News? 

I’ve seen that there are people on the Reservation who don’t know Jesus.  What if no one tells them, how will they know?  They won’t.  I can’t be okay with that.  When all is said and done, I want my family at the throne singing to Jesus.  I want my husband.  I want my friends.  And I want the kids in Sweetwater.  I want them there, singing Haala Ayoo Diyin.  I want Herbert, our Navajo church friend, with his big tooth smile.  I want the medicine men around the Mission who curse us.   I want to see Jesus get the praise he deserves.

Do you?  And will you get behind us as we go?  Will you join the Great Commission, and help us share the Gospel?  Because if no one tells them, how will they know?  They won’t.

Please continue to pray for us and consider how you can help further the Great Commission.

Sender or Go-er

Something for our friends who aren’t readers (or who just like youtube videos, like us).  An informative and encouraging word from John Piper.  Are you a sender or go-er?