This is the fun part.

I want to tell you about the generosity of 3 families and why it makes me love being a support-raised missionary. I know I talk about this stuff a lot, but keep in mind it’s my job: the thing I spent most of my energy on right now. I hope this can encourage the hordes of folks who (almost daily) say to me, “I could NEVER do what you do.”

We spent the weekend in Duluth at a missions conference with 21 other missionaries. We left feeling exponentially more rooted and connected in that community. It made us want to be the kind of missionaries that churches dream about supporting: invested and involved. But the highlights for us personally were outside the conference, in the relationships we built.

We stayed all weekend with a big gregarious (they insist they’re introverts) family with 4 small children. He’s a pediatrician, canoe paddle builder, baby whisperer, expert crepe-maker, and assembler of high-quality light sabers (you heard me right... they're called "saber smiths"). She’s a music teacher, photographer, blogger, and symphony-goer (and I think she parents four kids in her spare time). They’re the kind of people with a contagious thirst for the good life that inspires people. They leap headfirst and know how to laugh. We loved them immediately: especially the warmth with which they welcomed others into their slightly insane life. On Sunday I had to be at church early to lead worship. So I gave him (the dad) the keys to my van and he dropped off Debra and the kids at the door. Then instead of parking, he must have gone shopping. Because when we later loaded up the van and drove away from their house, we discovered a giant sack of groceries: coffee (he knew we were addicts), juice boxes, pistachios, coconut water (was that a jab for my disparaging remarks about coconuts?!), and on and on. Digging deeper we found a wad of bills: $200 actually. And looking at our gas tank, the needle now miraculously sat on “F”. We kept discovering goodies and gifts. All this on top of their expressed desire as we walked out the house to become financial supporters. ….oy.

The next day we visited a pair of retirees we’d been in touch with through the church’s missions committee. They live in a simple mobile home on a few acres of quiet woods with a bunch of instruments and just as many dogs. We ate venison chili and listened as they played bluegrass and Irish reels for us on banjo, guitar, and fiddle. He passed along a beginner’s banjo book to me so I could learn. A former software developer (and administrative guru), he said he had some extra time in retirement and asked if he could help me in my ministry. Halleluiah!!! I now have him creating data-bases and helping me figure out the enigma of spreadsheets and other administrative “evils”. They also said they plan to support us financially at $25 a month.

We went straight to another friends’ house. They have wanted to become supporters for some time but because of medical bill weren’t able to until now. A little “side hobby” of pottery had become a legit business (they’re REALLY good) and now they are pledging 10% of their pottery proceeds to us. We walked in the door just to “say hi” but ended up staying for over 4 hours! They had presents waiting for both our kids when we came in and they slowly loaded them down with more over the course of our stay. Debra got several sewing patterns for her crafty collection. And we both got to take a tour of the pottery shed and pick a couple of our favorite mugs (for which they refused payment). Best of all, they gave our daughter hours of undivided love and attention, from which she was soaring on cloud nine afterward.

Imagine if the people writing your paycheck loved you unconditionally. What if the folks supporting your family enfolded you into theirs? Working for a business or even a church does NOT guarantee that my employers are for me. But I can tell you that our supporters are for us: not because of the work we do but because of who we are. If God called us to outer Mongolia, or Atlanta, or the suburbs of Minneapolis, I can name a couple dozen folks who would cheer us on and support our decision with sacrificial giving and intentional prayer. As missionaries we receive not just cash and prayer from people: we receive lots and lots and lots of love. Everywhere we go we are welcomed into people homes and showered with love. Our work is to give our hearts and our time to relationships and to wear Jesus on our sleeves everywhere we go. Our job is to hang out with people. That’s not such a bad life is it?

I’ll be the first to admit that the prospect of raising support is often the source miniature panic attacks for me. I can’t stand rejection (go ahead and wax eloquent about how I ask not for me but for the kingdom). But I'll tell ya what. The fruit of support-raising is as tasty as the idea is terrifying. I think I like it. That is… I think I’m glad to be forced into it. It’s shaking my beliefs in a good way, making me bolder, and bringing me to a life of more blessing than I could have imagined. Not such bad gig after all.

Hangover. Ugh.

This morning I awoke with what I can only call a ministry hangover.

I woke up after a long, exhausting, but richly rewarding weekend we spent at my home church for a missions conference. I had shared my heart with a whole church. I had cast a vision and seen lots of fruit: both in hearts blessed and friends made. I led worship on Sunday and helped facilitate an altar call that brought several folks forward with a new sense of direction and purpose in their lives. I gained new supporters and greater sense of community with my home church. I was by all accounts successful.

But this morning, I woke up with a stunning grief that genuinely surprised me and left me bawling in front of my wife. I discovered today that in spite of my successes, and all the awesome God encounters because of my line of work… I carry with me a deep sorrow and disappointment about my life.

What could I have to be disappointed about? All my needs are met. A recent inheritance and a big tax return has just put me out of all but school debt for the first time in years. Someone snuck $200 into my car yesterday just because. My parents are proud of me. My friends are loyal. My wife is supportive. Even when I do zany weird things, people approve of me (all the more in fact). I live with purpose, I walk by faith, I see miracles, I do what I love, and my daughter likes to snuggle in the hammock.

Yet here I am… crushed by the weight of grief. Crying like a little kid. And worse, my disappointment has been spawning hideous little judgments, stress, and criticisms all year toward myself and those closest to me. Guess who feels it the most? My wife. Poor Debra… that’s totally unfair to her.

I’m still too proud (or private) to admit my specific disappointments to you. And I’m sure some of it is spiritual backlash, demonic discouragement, whatever. But I think a lot of it just has to do with my expectations. I expect too much (or just the wrong stuff) out of people, situations, God, life in general. I’m not talking about faith. I’m talking about unhealthy and unfounded beliefs about what will be true of life. It’s one of my hardest habits to kick. Just ask my friends.

A couple years ago I joined WDA and I felt I had glimpsed the Promised Land.  I saw a near future in which many of my dreams would come true. So I began to imagine scenarios in which all my dreams came true and envisioned all the specific things that would lead up to them coming true. Metaphorically, I saw the land of milk and honey, and I started to draw maps, make invasion plans, and list my 5-year goals… all relating to things I hadn’t seen.

So here I am almost two years later. And in my estimation, I’m only halfway down the mountain. I have no stinkin’ clue how close I am to the Promised Land. And if I’m honest, I’ll admit the view from the mountaintop was a bit hazy to begin with. So I’m not totally sure what to expect out of this nutty adventure called life. I don’t know when or if I’m going to Atlanta. I don’t know if I’ll do all the things I want to do in Africa. I don’t know how long I’ll be in this line of work. I don’t know if I’ll change the world. I don’t know I’ll ever amount much of ANYTHING.

I’m painfully tempted to end with a positive spin (hmm… where did I get that?) but I’ll try to avoid that and risk everybody giving me advice (Hey! That’s MY job!). But I will say two nice-sounding things. And I think they are genuine sources of comfort and solace for me:

1.     Crying is cathartic. I want to do it more. Mission accomplished.

2.     As obstinate as I am, I’ve found that utter humiliation is an effective and often necessary tool in my discipleship.

Fail, Fail, Epic Fail

I’ve been studying the curiosity of Jesus’ behavior those last few weeks leading up to his execution. From where Jesus shoots down his brothers’ advice on how to become a public figure… to where he raises a guy from the dead in a dramatic scene gaining him loads of new followers… to a victory lap into the city during which he predicts his death and shouts at the crowds. Sometimes, he seems bent on driving away his followers.

But it helps for me to read in John 12 that playing on repeat in the back of the Messiah’s head the whole time is an ancient prophecy about him:

⁹ “Yes, go, and say to this people,

   ‘Listen carefully, but do not understand.
      Watch closely, but learn nothing.’
 ¹⁰ Harden the hearts of these people.
      Plug their ears and shut their eyes.
   That way, they will not see with their eyes,
      nor hear with their ears,
   nor understand with their hearts
      and turn to me for healing.”

Like Isaiah, Jesus seems to view his ministry as a ministry of failure. Or more accurately, Jesus chooses over and over to take the long view of things. He knows that after raising Lazarus from the dead and then riding in Jerusalem, he’s poised to change the balance of power in the ancient world. The crowds are desperate for bold new leadership and are ready to follow this miracle worker. It’s like Jesus is being offered a golden opportunity. “Wanna change the world? Here’s your chance.” “No thanks,” he replies. “I’ll hold off for a bit and then change all of human history instead.” He knows that his failure as a leader and teacher during his life will result in greater fruit after he’s gone. So it seems sometimes that he’s dismissive of new followers and new opportunities because in his haunted foreknowledge, he knows what his existence is for… That’s crazy faith if you ask me.

Somewhere inside, I JUST want to be able to get to the end of my life and feel like I made an impact. Like all leader-types, I want to leave a legacy of greatness: not a statue of me in some city square or a library named after me in some university… but a clear imprint on the heart of the African church. A contagious zeal for growth, maturity, and love-based Jesus mission. But what if I knew I would end my life in relative mediocrity? How would I live differently now if I knew I wouldn’t live to see my impact on the world? Or better, what if I let go of my need for impact-making altogether in favor of trust and obedience? Is it enough for me to just to live the Jesus life, pursue humility, embody love, and follow those Holy Spirit nudges? I kind of think God would like that better.

Like so many folks in ministry today, I read the story of Jesus and say, “got it. Now I’m gonna do something better, something that really blows people away.” I want to build a grand legacy for Jesus (ahem… well I guess my name will be mentioned in there too) in the form of a ministry, a building, a new movement, whatever.

Sorry folks. It’s tough to improve on Jesus.

Today, I’m gonna try to wrap my brain around the awesome success of failure. I hope I can start to see things beyond the short confines of my life here and start taking the long view. If I can do that, I’m pretty sure it’ll impact the decisions I make today.

Belief. The deep-down kind.

First, can I say that my general disposition has dramatically improved with the weather here in Minnesota over the last week or two. For my seasonally affected comrades out there, you’ll understand… it’s like a weight off my chest. I’m writing this out on the back porch and I can smell dirt for the first time in 5 months. But this state is always moody and I’m not about to be lulled into another winter here. Georgia here I come!!

I’m in John 7. For the last couple weeks, God has been saying to me, “bathe in John”. So I’ve been focusing on small chunks. It certainly is an “immersable” book. Lots of rich stuff getting right at the core of what I feel and believe about Jesus. Today, I’m thinking about belief.

3 Jesus’ brothers said to him, “Leave Galilee and go to Judea, so that your disciples there may see the works you do. 4 No one who wants to become a public figure acts in secret. Since you are doing these things, show yourself to the world.” 5 For even his own brothers did not believe in him.

Sound familiar? It does to me. Advice from a skeptic. “Anyone who wants to become a _________, does __________, so you should _________.” Jesus’ own flesh and blood held him at arm’s length. They couldn’t deny that he was special, and perhaps they thought he was sent from God. But opinion and belief are two different things. It’s my opinion that God is powerful, but ask me to pray for something concrete and I hesitate. I’m confronted with a fear of disappointment rooted in the deep-seated belief that God won’t show up, that he’ll leave me hanging.

Jesus’ response to them isn’t to convince them that he knows what he’s doing. He knows the problem isn’t with their cognition or his communication with them, but in their fundamental beliefs about him.

 6 Therefore Jesus told them, “My time is not yet here; for you any time will do. 7 The world cannot hate you, but it hates me because I testify that its works are evil. 8 You go to the festival. I am not going up to this festival, because my time has not yet fully come.”

He gives them the information: the reason for his behavior. But he doesn’t try to convince them. He is patient and realistic. His actions will speak louder than his words. He must show his brothers who he is because they won’t believe it otherwise.

So what made the difference for me on those occasions that I ignored my core belief about God and acted on what I thought about God? Experience and desperate hope I suppose. I would see God work in undeniable ways through some life experience and extrapolate with desperate hope that God could and would do more. My hope and yearning outweighed my fear of disappointment. Guess what? I discovered that God DID work in cool ways when I did that. And even when He didn’t work (or I didn’t understand the way he worked), it wasn’t as big a deal as I had feared. It wasn’t so disappointing after all. In fact, I kind of enjoyed living on faith, even the result wasn’t what I expected.

I mean, if I were expecting Jesus to be something He’s not, then I’ll be rightly disappointed. But by reading the bible and spending time with Him every day, I get more familiar with what he promises and claims to be. And among those promises is PLENTY of crazy stuff to keep me on my toes, living a radically different lifestyle, expecting WAY more out of Him than I do now. I’m living in the tension of the Kingdom-among-us and the Kingdom-not-yet-here. But even walking that tension I find my core beliefs about Jesus are emaciated and paltry compared with the robust “feast on me” attitude he invites me to adopt.