Why?

I know that one of the things people are bound to be curious about (especially any other missionaries out there who may be following our blog to see how the journey unfolds) is why we're leaving. That's a good question, and one I don't really know how to answer succinctly.

I was reading some re-entry resources, and came across one that talked about why missionaries leave the field. In it, a returned missionary said something very powerful: 

There’s the reason you tell your supporters. 

There’s the reason you tell your church. 

There’s the reason you tell your agency. 

There’s the reason you tell your teammates. 

There’s the reason you tell your family. 

There’s the reason you tell yourself. 

And there’s the reason you tell God. 

 Truer words were never spoken. The process of and reasons behind moving from the mission field are rarely straightforward or simple. One reality that complicates this is the fact that the question of when or if it's time to "go home" is a recurring one for missionaries. I don't know of many people on the field who do not occasionally check job boards or keep their ears open for opportunities back in their home country. This doesn't mean there is a lack of faithfulness to the call. In fact, in many ways, we found it to be a healthy exercise that reaffirmed that we were in the right place. After all, it is in the presence of choices that decisions become most powerful, not in their absence. This time around, though, we really weren't looking for something else. It was more looking for us. 

We had been sensing change for a long time - months, really. We love the work we do here, but just knew it wasn't in our future anymore. That was a hard thing to even admit to ourselves, let alone to one another, which probably delayed us a bit in even being willing to pray about doing something different. But, pray we did. Earnestly. Individually. Corporately. In the interest of transparency here, I will admit that situations like this can be difficult for missionaries. We needed to have people praying for and with us, but had to be selective about who we asked and how. There is a reality that donors can get spooked if they perceive as a lack of commitment or faith in missionaries. Because of this - especially since we didn't know what, if anything, would come out of our search for what was next - we selected a few folks to pray with and for us, but were otherwise vague in our general communication. I don't know if that was the right thing to do, but it felt necessary. 

Anyway, we thought God was leading us to a different part of Guatemala, not away from it entirely. We visited the town we thought we would be going to. Started learning more about it and making connections. We were keenly aware of the tremendous need and felt burdened for the people there. I'm still not sure why that wasn't where we ended up. That's hard, and it hurts. I imagine it will for a long time. In the end, the doors just weren't opening for that place, and we were forced to really get down and dirty honest with ourselves and God. 

We looked at our finances - the good and bad, what we lacked and what we had and were having faith for - and then we laid it all down at God's feet.

We looked at our abilities - what we're good at and what we're not, what we can do and what we can't - and then we laid it all down at God's feet.

We looked at our relationships - the ones we had lost and the ones we had gained, the ones here and the ones there - and then we laid it all down at God's feet.

We looked at our family - what was working and what was not, where we were broken and where we were strong - and then we laid it all down at God's feet.

We looked at our emotional health - the ways we'd grown strong and the places we were weak, the hurts and the victories we'd had - and then we laid it all down at God's feet.

We looked at our spiritual lives - the ways we were closer to Jesus and the ways we had wandered from Him, the things that were working and the ones that weren't - and then we laid it all down at God's feet. 

If that sounds repetitive and mundane, that's because it was. It was a painful daily process of taking stock and letting God ask all the hard questions and probe all the hidden places in a more honest and complete way than we expected. I don't mean to suggest that we hadn't been honest or realistic all along, but this was different. Exhausting. Revealing. In the end, what we were left with was nothing, because we'd given it all up to Him, and that's what made us know - beyond a shadow of a doubt - that God was behind this move. (The jobs, housing, finances required to get us back to the States, etc. all lining up at the same time was further evidence of that.) 

This difficult process, though, is also what gave us a list of reasons (layers of reasons, in a way) - the ones we tell our supporters, church, agency, teammates, family, ourselves, and God - rather than just a single, simple one. Please know, though, that there is no artifice or duplicity in this. It just means that different nuances or facets of this complex decision will connect more with different people. Will make sense to them in ways the others wouldn't. And that some - many - of our reasons will always be just between us and God, and that's ok, too. 

So, that's why. The easiest answer is that when we were willing to lay it all down before our Father, the thing He asked us to pick up again was a return to the States. That's not what we thought He would say or what we were seeking or even wanted, but that's what He wants, and that's enough for us.

The End of a Season

Well, sorry for the silence for so long on the blog. To be honest, we've been sensing change for a while now, but weren't sure what it was. Instead of hitting the keyboard and writing about it, we hit our knees and prayed. And fasted. And prayed some more. For months. The answers weren't what we were expecting, but were very clear - we're going back to Iowa. This season in Guatemala will be coming to an end in 23 days.

Talk about a mixed bag of feelings!

As we've mentioned before, we started this blog as away of being transparent about the process and realities of living on the mission field. Whelp, I guess this is part of it, so we want to share what we're experiencing. At the same time, though, this is, um, beyond not easy. Or simple. And our emotions are all over the place. And some of them are kind of messy and ugly. And, to be totally transparent, in some ways it's felt like we've been living our lives in a bit of a fishbowl for the past 4 years (what with fundraising and newsletters and blogging and such) and we're kind of looking forward to not doing that any more.

Soooo.... I guess what that means is we may blog as it feels useful or informative or cathartic, but we might not. We've received so much support and love through our posts, and we just want to thank you for that! We also want to ask for your grace during the months ahead. We've been warned that re-entry is actually the hardest part of mission life (!?!). We're just sort of starting to get a glimpse of that reality, and even more so because our oldest daughter returned last summer and has shared her experiences with us over the past 10 months. I just want to let you know up front that in the process of going back, honesty and catharsis might not be pretty sometimes, and we hope you'll understand if that's the case.

Thanks for being with us all this time in Guatemala. We know God's got exciting things ahead as well!

Feel the Pain

Living on the mission field, you get used to certain things. You have to, or you may go crazy.  You learn to ignore the street kids trying to sell things on the side of the road.  The woman with scars all over her face, most likely from an abusive husband, selling from her basket of candies, gum. When I first moved down, I thought I would never get used to this stuff. It’s everywhere, though, and there is really nothing I can do about it. 

Every once in a while I will buy some things I don’t need from the kids or a couple of candy bars from the lady with the basket and not take any change.  It is hard to figure out the level to be involved.  Do I stop and talk to the lady with the basket? But, I am from the wrong culture and have the wrong skin color to do much.  Me trying to help in my broken Spanish may seem like a threat. There are still people here in Guatemala who have misconceptions of gringos, one of which is that we will eat their children. And, since many Guatemalans have a big belief in dispensing immediate justice, sometimes by lighting people on fire, it is best not to make too many waves.

It is even harder to not help with the kids. On the main street of town, kids are always begging or selling products or cleaning windshields.  These days, I almost never give to these children. This may sound heartless, but I do so for two reasons: 1. You could go broke giving to all the kids begging (this is minor compared to the second reason).  2. Many international aid groups have documented what happens to kids who beg. If they get money, the likelihood of them going to school goes down because their parents see them as a potential way to make money instead of focusing on their education.  Many of the kids are also forced and abused into working/begging. Giving to them reinforces that. (See here, here, here, here,and  here for a few articles about this.) 

So, I have gotten used to seeing but not processing. How to give here and there but not do more. This is one of the reason I love the Bible School.  Since the people are coming to us, it gives us an opportunity to help them more substantially and removes many of the risks and uncertainties of helping people on the streets.

But, every once in awhile something gets through the shell I have created. Today it was a girl, most likely in her early twenties, who was passed out on the sidewalk.  She had no pants on and was wearing only a dirty, stained pair of underwear, combat boots with no laces hanging off her feet, a ripped shirt, and a dirt-caked sweater.  Her face and hair were filthy and around her mouth there were stains, most likely from huffing to get high.  She was not there when I went into the store, but there she laid when I came out.  As I waited for my passenger, I watched person after person just walk around or step over her, like a crack in the sidewalk.

I wanted to pick her up (she couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds) and take her home.  Help her get cleaned up. Tell her how she has a Father who loves her and wants her to have a better life.

But I can’t. It's not that easy. A foreigner placing a young girl in his van is going to raise suspicion at best, imprisonment at worst.  The police don’t care about things like this, so I can’t call them.  There is nowhere I know of where I could even take her to get her help. 

So, I looked out the window, shedding a tear and saying a prayer for a woman I couldn't help.  When my passenger got in, we headed back to the Bible School.  Six hours later, in my warm house, I wondered where she is at. Is she selling her body to get enough money to buy more glue?  Did she head to her home where she is getting something to eat before huffing again?  Is she dead?  I’ll never know. All I do know is her life on earth is hell and I do not seem to have the tools or skills to help her.

One of the worst things is that this young girl's situation isn’t even unique. Here in Guatemala, it is just more visible than the United States, but there are women and men and girls and boys like this in every country in the entire world.

Sometimes it is good to have your heart broken, though.  It is a reminder of the need, and especially how people really need Jesus and to be reconciled to the Father.  If that young woman knew the love of her Father, she most likely would not do those things to herself or let other people do those things to her.  So, we train people at the Bible School to know Jesus and be reconciled to the Father and to teach others to do the same. Hopefully, one of them will get something in their heart to do something, and they know the systems of their country so they could be effective in ways I cannot.

Tonight, though, the only thing I can do is be willing to feel the pain, and pray earnestly for her and that she can know her Father and His comfort.

Memories

I'm pushing 40. I don't know if that makes a difference, but lately I have found myself  really missing the things that I have loved in the past. Sometimes I will get flashes of memories - poignant but brief impressions, really, rather like those left in the sand after a retreating wave - that warm my bones and make me happy on a sort of primal level. Of course, that happiness quickly evaporates at the realization that its inspiration was from a time gone by. In the past. Not going to happen again.

Sometimes the memories are impossible to recreate because the ones who made them happen have died. I suppose it should bring me a great degree of comfort to have loved and been loved so well and deeply that the passing of those close to me - even many years later - brings a twinge of pain. I have experienced loss as a child, a teenager, and an adult, and was even privileged to feel the last heart beat under my hand of someone whom I dearly adored. But, the ceasing of that heart, like the ceasing of all the others, signaled the end of life and all the experiences we had shared together. That is sobering, yet it makes the memories all the more precious.

Sometimes the happy memories that drop into my conscience and then slip away again are impossible to recreate because of choices or circumstances of the others who were involved. People move. They change. They get healthy or regress into sickness. They draw closer or retreat from relationships. Their tastes and habits evolve (or maybe digress!). Some of these are positive on the whole, and the net benefits overshadow the loss of activities we used to enjoy together. I am thrilled for the people whose lives are moving in a positive direction. Some changes or circumstances, however, are not positive, which only adds to the heaviness of the loss of our shared endeavors. It is, in a way, even more sad than a death to know the shadow of possibility or engagement still exists, but not its fulfillment.

And then, of course, there is the loss of things that I have loved that is solely and completely of my own creation. This one hurts the most, because I know it is a deprivation I am inflicting on myself and others. The vast majority of these losses are because of our decision to move to Guatemala. Every holiday I miss, milestone I'm not there for, family health issue I can't help with causes a flood of... of... of something I'm not sure how to name. It isn't doubt exactly, because we believe so strongly in our call to be here. It isn't regret, or uncertainty, or even something as simple as sadness, but a strange amalgam. It is a heavy feeling, and easy to get wrapped up in but hard to wear.

Truth be told, though, the losses are hardly ever the simple result of one person's death or decision - neither someone else's nor my own. That helps with the unburdening a bit. Even if we hadn't made the ridiculous choice to move to a far-flung locale, many (most, if I'm honest) of my treasured memories would still be just that. And, if I'm being totally honest, the treasured memories might not have been totally and completely treasured experiences when I was in the midst of them. Time does have a way of fuzzing things up.

I'm banking on that - the sort of felting of the strands of life that makes things tangled but cozy upon retrospection. It is what causes my memories to be so brief, fleeting, and transient. But, it's also what causes the hard edges that make life rough, like pebbles tossed in the surf, to get smoothed and softened over time; the intensity of life's problems, like the power of mighty waves, to fade over time; the ugly pits and chasms of day-to-day self doubt, like footprints on the beach, to fade over time. It allows growth and regression - for ourselves and others - to happen without entirely blotting out the memory of what came before. That is a comfort to me because I know the people who are gone or different will never fully be gone or different to me as long as the impressions and memories remain. It also means that our decision to be here has moved us, but not fully removed us from the hearts and minds of our loved ones, either. I like that.

(For what it's worth - it's not just nearing 40 or being on the mission field that has caused me to suddenly be introspective about such things. As I was nearing 30, I did the same thing, even blogging about my impressions and musings then, too.)