photo credit: IMB.org
Go. Serve. Love is happy to welcome Timothy, a student with Fusion, the dynamic missions program at Spurgeon College in Kansas City, Missouri.
The sun beat down on the back of my neck as I struggled to will each step forward.
Recently I sat with another missionary, stocking feet curled beneath us. We were reflecting on some of the more painful parts of missionary life.
I’m talking things that were hard to understand if you hadn’t been overseas, hadn’t had moments in a foreign land defined by sacrifice or loss. They were like scars, covered by clothing.
Reading Time: 7 minutes
Editor’s note: For this perennial topic, we’re pulling some tips from the archive for all you spouses wrestling through what do to when your spouse is all-in, sign-me-up, let’s-do-this -thing-for-Jesus! But you don’t feel as “called.”
Hey. Every situation is different, I know. But I’ve talked to a few of you.
I’ve seen the look on your face—not just the usual culture shock or pre-departure if-this-country-doesn’t-kill-me-packing-for-it-might expression. There’s a nearly imperceptible tightness in your smile.
Because you signed up for this. But at the same time, didn’t.
You signed up to follow Jesus, your name on the dotted line beneath the great Commission. And the ring on your finger keeps reminding you of unending constancy; faithfulness.
(But did that mean my spouse’s dreams? You wonder every now and then.)
Or maybe your brain has signed up, knowing God doesn’t just call one of you. (Right? you ask me.) Knowing he asks a whole family to go or to stay.
But your heart signing up? That part could take awhile. And unfortunately, with the lack of medical care for your kids and the size of the reptiles, it could take longer than you planned.
I’m obeying you, Lord. This is my choice. (Write this down—I made the right choice when it killed me, and took me away from my mom living right down the street to help with the kids.)
I don’t know if you’ve already made your decision, or are waffling a little as the gravity of this choice starts to show like the hem of a slip.
(Spoiler alert: At the end of this post, you will still not know exactly what to do.)
I can only tell you what I know.
This decision is hard enough when you feel completely called and feel zero hesitation.
But what’s not okay, even when you don’t feel as called? Choosing to be powerless.
When it was time for us to head back from Africa, that’s the time I felt the least “called” anywhere. It felt like a perfect storm of circumstances were grounding us from flying into Uganda—and what had become like home.
During that tumultuous home assignment, we were straddling two continents and homes. And that included, what? At least three evaporating sources of identity for me. (Missionary. Teacher of refugees. Educator of my kids.)
I remember words my husband spoke to me as we wound our way over a New Mexico highway. He cautioned me, encouraging me to dig into my confusion, my low-burning anger.
He said something like,
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Why? Because your life is about to change just as much.
And the demands and required teamwork of overseas living require more buy-in from a spouse than simply submitting to another’s passion.
I have seen this subtle, underground division work its way into the cracks of a marriage’s foundation like ivy, spreading slowly in a thick blanket. They’re so subtle, a person may hardly notice until it’s nearly too late.
There’s such wisdom in the words of 1 Peter: Finally, all of you, have unity of mind, sympathy, brotherly love, a tender heart, and a humble mind.
That verse ratchets things to a whole new level, right? It’s not just unity of action. It’s my mind as one flesh with yours.
“Calling” gets tricky these days. It can be wielded as “a rubber stamp from God on doing what I really, really want.”
It can also be a mystical, vague buzzword that gets us hung up.
And the truth is, “calling” gets tricky in a marriage. Because few of us have had actual writing on the wall. For most of us calling is less “I’ve heard an audible Word from God–and more synthesizing passions with Scripture and the world’s need.
It’s a working out of what would be our own alabaster box, our own act of beautiful, sacrificial worship, to a God worthy of every loss.
But Jeremiah, Jonah, even Jesus? They had words with God about their calling.
What about when your spouse’s desires are different? When you just don’t feel as called?
Desires are not just something to steamroll over as an act of faith. Trying to rid yourself of desire is actually more…Buddhist. We see Jesus’ example in the Garden of Gethsemane of total honesty with his desire, yet total surrender.
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In case you missed it, allow me to say it openly: God accepts you fully whether you go overseas or not.
Whether or not this is an “obedience” issue for you isn’t something our blog can weigh in on. But do the hard work of exploring your call together, knowing your particular application of the Great Commission is your joyful choice.
Side note: Depending on your theology, you may feel that this is an area where you need to submit to your spouse. That may be the case.
But let us encourage you that–as demonstrated in Esther or Ruth or Proverbs 31–submission does not mean silence. (Jesus shows this in his submission to the Father in Gethsemane.)
Like I mentioned in the beginning–I promise you no easy answers.
This is your time as a couple to be transparent, to think deeply and broadly (and Scripturally) about what is right and good for your marriage, your family. It’s time to seek God’s face together, for what you can willingly, open-handedly give him.
Janel Breitenstein is an author, freelance writer, speaker, and senior editor for Go. Serve. Love. After five and a half years in East Africa, her family of six has returned to Colorado, where they continue to work on behalf of the poor with Engineering Ministries International.
Her book, Permanent Markers: Spiritual Life Skills to Write on Your Kids’ Hearts (Harvest House) releases October 2021. You can find her—“The Awkward Mom”—having uncomfortable, important conversations at JanelBreitenstein.com, and on Instagram @janelbreit.
Different Strokes? Marital Differences as You Look Overseas, Part I and Part II
Help Your Marriage Thrive Overseas! Part I, Part II, & Part III
8 Ways to Help your Family Flourish Overseas!
Reading Time: 4 minutes
Even though it was years ago, I remember it as clearly as if it were today: the year our Christmas was a sickly yellow.
It had taken me a good while to adapt to life in Ghana. After many mornings of tears–morning is when the reality of life there would hit me–I adjusted well. Life was good: The evening Bible school was off to a good start, we were getting to know our neighbors, Gary was mentoring a couple of men and I was helping Nicole, French and married to a Ghanaian, grow in her new faith.
Our world came crashing down around us when Gary got very sick. Just a couple months before he’d had typhoid fever and malaria. What was happening?
When Gary turned yellow, I guessed his diagnosis.
But borders were closed. Supplies in the country were so low that he could not even get a blood test to tell what kind of hepatitis he had.
At the time none of our colleagues were in the city. We did live near the university and knew the dean of the medical school. He started making house calls “with empty hands,” for there was nothing he could do.
An actual photo of Dotsie writing by oil lamp in Ghana.
Those were dark days for us as Christmas approached.
We tried to make the best of it with our two small boys, while we watched “Papa” get thinner and thinner. The bile under his skin caused severe itching and relief only came with a scalding bath followed by a cold shower.
Then Gary would sit under the ceiling fan clad only in boxer shorts––any other clothes irritated his skin. But this routine wasn’t always possible with frequent power outages and lack of water.
And we were almost out of food. He needed some good nutrition.
I was not a coffee drinker, but needed to stay awake for some “alone time” in the evenings, so learned to drink it. I was exhausted but wanted to write letters back home to people who were praying for us.
Often sitting with only the light of an oil lamp, I’d hear God speak words of comfort and peace. He showed me Isaiah 40 and reminded me of it again and again.
He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak…They will soar on wings like eagles…
God’s grace amazed us with gifts!
A knock sounded at the door one evening. Linda, a Peace Corps friend, greeted us with a special piece of meat wrapped in shiny tinfoil and a festive Christmas bow. It was delicious.
Later our adventuresome friend Keith showed up with a cooler full of meat and a sack of potatoes bought in a neighboring country; he’d slipped across the border in a desolate area. What a treat! (We’d never eaten potatoes in Ghana. They don’t grow there.)
Not long after that, a missionary friend traveling through our city walked into our house with a gunnysack over his shoulder. He dumped the contents out on our kitchen table. My eyes opened wide when I realized Howie had shared from their “special times” stockpile.
What stood out the most was a can of powdered lime drink. Now Gary could have at least a sort of fruit juice. The tiny ants marching around the glass at his bedside didn’t irritate me as they usually did; I was overjoyed to offer him such a treat.
Most exciting was the day a truck, oddly, pulled up to our door. I was certain it was a mistake, especially since on it were two small barrels for us. It didn’t make sense until we learned they had been flown in from London by friends who used to live near us in Ghana.
Having heard of Gary’s illness and knowing what the closed borders would mean for our food supply, Graham and Sue knew exactly what to send us.
The thrill of unwrapping foods fresh off English grocery shelves is embedded in my memory: beautiful, clean packages of flour, sugar, and powdered milk with special Christmas treats tucked in.
We were overwhelmed by God’s tender care for us.
Before long the medical school dean told us Gary was not getting better and we needed to go home to get medical care. Gary had lost a garish 65 pounds.
It was unsettling to abruptly leave a home and ministry we loved. But we knew God doesn’t make mistakes. That he cares deeply for us.
So we trusted.
It took a couple of days to prepare to leave, and we certainly wanted to celebrate our Savior’s birth before we left. We made clothespin ornaments representing our family to put on our little tree.
Back in the U.S., Gary initially was isolated in a hospital room until they determined for sure he had Hepatitis A. He ended up being yellow with the severe itching…for four more months.
God provided a house for us near my family and a main supporting church of ours. And a friend, starting up a pizza business, gave us a case of frozen pizzas and a pizza oven so Gary could gain back some weight.
Six months later we returned to Ghana, eager to get back to our work.
Our clothespin ornaments are falling apart now, but we still hang them on our tree each year. And as we do, we remember what God taught us during our yellow Christmas.
Memos from a Christmas Robbery
Christmas, Rewrapped: Navigating Overseas Holidays
Advent: When You’re Not Where You Hoped
Reading Time: 4 minutes
My husband and I, kids in tow, were maneuvering at a snail’s pace through a traffic jam in our trusty high-clearance minivan. Our speakers happily trumpeted the Christmas CD my mom had sent, and we chatted, our energy high for our Christmas shopping in the city and the Christmas party of our non-profit (which, with the barbecue and kids running around in shorts, tends to look a little more like the Fourth of July).
It was sometime after “Let it Snow” that our heads all swiveled to the driver’s side, where a man was banging—hard—on the outside of our van. Never a good sign in Kampala.
And that’s when his partner whipped open my car door and swiftly grabbed my bag slouched at my feet. My casserole dish skidded across the pavement as I unbuckled without thinking, standing between the unmoving lanes and yelling something very helpful, like, “HEY!” as he and his cronies ran away with my reading device, my phone, the drivers’ licenses from both countries, and our house keys.
I make it sound lighthearted. But really, I just started sobbing, my hands shaking. It probably frightened my children just as much as the stranger flinging open the car door. Robbery, even a purse-snatching, is a level of trauma.
Truthfully, the highlight of my day took place about thirty seconds after that lowlight. My eleven-year-old: “Guys, it looks like mom is really upset right now. Let’s all pray.”
You know, when he was born, all of the parenting magazines kept telling me how to keep him safe from everything: from choking, from bullies, from cyberspace. And keeping our children safe is a godly desire.
But I’m also reminded God’s “faith school” for my kids is so good to teach them, even while they are quite young, who he is in suffering.
As a friend wrote me the week of the robbery, The very thing we would protect our children from experiencing may be the very thing that God wants to use in their lives now so that when they are adults, they’ll know how to respond to crisis.
That he gives, and he takes away, and we can sing Christmas carols with full hearts afterward. That this isn’t a “when bad things happen to good people” kind of thing. From dust I came—and hell I deserve.
After the police report, after the two hours spent at the phone company, after breaking in to our own house in absence of my keys, my emotions were as tangled and frazzled as my hair.
For one, all of my muscle to make it to the end of the year in a foreign country felt suddenly spent—a year complete with harrowing accident and move to a new neighborhood and all the little pecked-to-death-by-a-duck cultural frustrations.
The sledgehammer in my heart had fallen, and the bell at “WEARY” dinged.
After the robbery, I felt vulnerable. Violated. Stupid. Shaken.
And still—I kept thinking, This is why He came. This is why we need Christmas. Not for some vague, nebulous, Dr.-Suess-movie “Christmas is about giving! The Christmas spirit is in our hearts!”
Because Christmas is—but it isn’t.
We needed Him because Christmas—an unselfish, give-till-it-doesn’t-make-sense, fatal rescue mission—was not in us as we mourned in lonely exile here, basting in our own junk and selfishness, as both victim and criminal.
He, too, was here to help, and people wanted to take what they could get for themselves.
Jesus was subject to far more injustice, theft, and hate than a robbery.
He bore so much more grief than I have, so that my treasure could be not in a purse or an iPhone, but in a place untouched by thieves and tears.
This is only a pinprick of suffering. But his hand seemed to rest on my slumped shoulder when I happened on C.S. Lewis’ words from The Magician’s Nephew.
I saw that “faith school” though it may be, God’s pain in the midst of my pain is real. I am not merely a project to be sanctified, but a child who is loved after a crime:
“But please, please–won’t you–can’t you give me something that will cure Mother?’
Up till then he had been looking at the Lion’s great feet and the huge claws on them; now, in his despair, he looked up at its face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) great shining tears stood in the Lion’s eyes. They were such big, bright tears compared with Digory’s own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his Mother than he was himself.
‘My son, my son,’ said Aslan. ‘I know. Grief is great.”
And so I found Christmas–with a side of robbery–yet again painting in vivid strokes that God is with us. wrapping our injured flesh around him, breathing our air and walking our sod.
Thank God for Christmas.
Christmas, Rewrapped: Navigating Overseas Holidays, Part I and Part II
Creative Celebration: Why It Matters Overseas
Advent: When You’re Not Where You Hoped (FREE PRINTABLE)
Janel Breitenstein is an author, freelance writer, speaker, and senior editor for Go. Serve. Love. After five and a half years in East Africa, her family of six has returned to Colorado, where they continue to work on behalf of the poor with Engineering Ministries International.
Her book, Permanent Markers: Spiritual Life Skills to Write on Your Kids’ Hearts (Harvest House) releases October 2021. You can find her—“The Awkward Mom”—having uncomfortable, important conversations at JanelBreitenstein.com, and on Instagram @janelbreit.
Reading Time: 5 minutes
The dust, fine and red, coated the plants lining our roads. Sweat beaded on my upper lip. As my children lay awake in bed, I stuck my head in and reminded them to keep guzzling plenty of water, after a friend of theirs landed in the clinic due to dehydration.
Unfortunately it paralleled my parched insides. So many tasks to which I put my hand seemed to droop, languishing and limp. The cost-benefit ratio of my parenting, my ministry there in Uganda, and a handful of relationships seemed tilting precariously in the wrong direction.
It’s funny how perceived failure–and waiting–stirs up silty questions that had lain quiet in the soul.
What am I doing here? Why am I doing this? Does any of what I do matter?
A friend had mentioned that week how, when we trust God in the dark, it’s amazing how so many things begin to happen.
Honestly?
I was thinking, What about the times when you trust big, and nothing big happens? What about when everything feels sluggish, fruitless, and cracked?
Am I the only one who feels like waiting has been a recurring lesson of adulthood? Indeed, to prep for this post, I searched “waiting” on my personal blog–and found 8 pages of posts.
Sometimes army-crawling through my own seasons of advent (Christmastime or not) feel like one of God’s favorite scalpels. It lies ominously–no, lovingly! I tell myself– next to the one labeled “suffering.”
I was embarrassingly late into adulthood by the time the word “advent” revealed itself for what it was, i.e. not the name of the month before Christmas, where we have to wait a whole 25 days.
It’s this word that remembers the waiting, the inevitable coming true–to the tune of millennia, generations upon generations “that mourn[ed] in lonely exile here.”
Maybe, looking at where you hoped to be, everything seems…off. That promises or hope, if advent were real at all, would be fulfilled by now.
To get married. Or be able to start filling applications rather than taking care of aging parents or changing diapers. To be done raising financial support. Or go overseas when the borders open. To have ministry that feels like it’s worth the career and family and comfort and validation you’ve given up.
Maybe it feels like you’re on the wrong side of a three-legged race. Something’s dragging. You’re lurching. Everyone else seems to fluidly gallop ahead, while you’re stuck with a mouthful of turf.
This is not the life I pictured.
I have become a different woman as God changes me in the muscular, faith-filled waiting: for the months-long process of appealing our denied work visa. To go overseas, when the man I married wasn’t feeling led that direction. For a child making decisions that seized my heart with fear. For God to restore a sense of purpose after we returned from Africa.
In those times, it has felt easier to do anything, really, rather than be still, my soul; bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.
I think of Abraham, waiting twenty years after God’s promise for a son. He even tried to rush it a bit. So I must include one of my favorite truisms a la Peter Scazzero:
I, like Abraham, had birthed many ‘Ishmaels’ in my attempt to help God’s plan move forward more efficiently.
French activist and philosopher Simone Weil’s wrote on some of the ways affliction–and, I would offer, waiting–changes us. It’s our decision how we respond to these wearying side effects of waiting.
And two friends reminded me gently during those hot, heavy months on my soul and body–my own mini-advent–What if we redefine success to mean “faithfulness”? Sure, God wants us to get excited about results, too. Purpose is part of his perfect design.
But don’t forget the “fruit”, in His eyes, starts long before what we see.
You will arrive at precisely the time God has ordained–for the good works he’s created for you to do: “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them” (Ephesians 2:10).
God has “determined allotted periods and the boundaries of [every person’s] dwelling place”. If your Plan A has gone unfulfilled, that fulfillment would actually go against God’s design. Over 100 verses speak of his precise timing.[su_pullquote align=”right”]But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son… -Galatians 4:4[/su_pullquote]
Could this waiting be a form of God’s mercy? Is someone being primed for the perfect opportunity to receive the Gospel? Are you being protected or perfectly prepared?
With this in mind, we’ve got a download of the four verse graphics in this post–printable here–for memorization and meditation in this season of Advent, of waiting.
One morning, I stirred in the early hours to a rushing sound outside of my flung-open windows; a deep rumbling had brought at least one child toting pillows and blankets to the floor around our bed.
And yes! Pouring rain grayed the sunrise sluicing down the sidewalk. I pulled the sheets taut around my shoulders.
The next day, I addressed my new class of refugees. Somewhere, amidst the raised hands and laughter, I thought, I can’t believe I get to do this job. I felt the term’s potential ripening in my hands, sweet and red.
I don’t know what you’re waiting for this Christmas. I’ve got a feeling it’s for something more weighty than hooves on a rooftop. But let me assure you: Those who wait on him aren’t ever–ever–put to shame.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.
Like this post? Don’t miss
Purpose While You’re Waiting to Go Overseas
Out of Place: When You’re Not Where You Thought You’d Be
Janel Breitenstein is an author, freelance writer, speaker, and senior editor for Go. Serve. Love. After five and a half years in East Africa, her family of six has returned to Colorado, where they continue to work on behalf of the poor with Engineering Ministries International.
Her book, Permanent Markers: Spiritual Life Skills to Write on Your Kids’ Hearts (Harvest House) releases October 2021. You can find her—“The Awkward Mom”—having uncomfortable, important conversations at JanelBreitenstein.com, and on Instagram @janelbreit.
As cited in Keller, Timothy. Walking with God through Pain and Suffering. New York: Penguin Books (2013). Kindle edition.
Reading Time: 7 minutes
Editor’s note: When God begins to pull your hearts in an overseas direction, that potential decision is inevitably a life-shifting chapter of your kids’ calling and story, too.
We’re pulling this post from the vault to help you navigate.
I’d say–and most sites agree–as soon as possible.
Your goal? Well-adjusted kids with ownership in your decision, and who can eventually follow God courageously in their own life decisions.
If your kids keep secrets as well as mine did didn’t, it can be hard to discern (“What if they tell people in Sunday School and our cover is blown? We’re not ready to tell the whole church”).
But even before you tell-them-tell-them, you can start planting seeds in your kids’ heads.
The more kids feel “brought along” in the process, being able to ask their questions, process, understand how and why you’re thinking this way, the less they’re likely to feel excluded and out of control.
Take advantage of times when a conversation at the dinner table turns to events around the world, or your church service brings up missions. (Or get a little sneakier, and bring up age-appropriate world events yourself.) You could ask questions like,
Let kids choose a country each night, and perhaps look up a few facts or pictures about those countries. Eventually, start to talk more about how many people in your future host country don’t know Jesus, and the specific needs.
Look up videos and photos, and read kids stories and blog posts (missionary stories work, though realize many are told to demonstrate missionaries’ sacrifice–and kids may get the idea you’ll be in a mud hut with no other kids around and asked to die for Jesus. Use discernment, m-kay?). See if missionaries you’ll be with can send a video or photo of their child and their house.
This may sound weird–but after my husband and I returned from our vision trip to Africa, I started telling my kids about a pair of fictional siblings. They will always remember “Shiloh and Summer stories I told as we drove somewhere.
These kids just happened to be my kids; age–and just happened to be moving to Uganda. (This site suggests using toys–perhaps a plane and some dolls?–to tell younger kids.)
Without overselling it, get excited about a new “adventure.”
I talked about how the kids had to go through airport security, had to sleep under a muggy mosquito net but were thankful they wouldn’t get sick, and realized people around them looked at lot different now, but were mostly really nice.
These fictional characters missed grandparents, and yet made new friends. They counted down the dates till Grandma and Grandpa came to visit, when the kids got to be the hosts.
Kids can have an uncanny “you’re not for real” radar. Let them know they can trust you–that there will be no spin on the truth when they want to know how things really are. That’s not to avoid optimism, but let kids no that no questions or answers are out of bounds.
A friend was overwhelmingly glad she made this decision.
Older kids are rightfully growing more independent–and are more likely to feel the threats of moving. They can keep secrets, generally.
So as you wade through this, show them the respect of communicating openly about the pros and cons; the questions you’re asking.
Demonstrate how you make godly decisions. Ask your child’s opinion, as long as they understand you’re the one with veto power. Hear their hearts. Shepherd them through their hearts’ most profound questions without resorting to spiritual platitudes.
Don’t let them feel written off. Help them feel like a valuable member of your team–and that if God’s calling you, he’s calling them, too.
[su_button url=”https://www.goservelove.net/missionary-kids/” target=”blank” style=”3d” background=”#00779b” center=”yes”]Don’t miss ‘WE WERE MISSIONARY KIDS. HERE’S WHAT MY PARENTS DID RIGHT”[/su_button]
They’ll have relationships to establish, too. Help eliminate some of the weirdness by getting them a tutor, an app, a class.
Kids, having no framework of life overseas, might envision leaving everything.
Try to make it as long-term as possible. (“We’re going on a plane and watching movies!” isn’t much consolation when your child is missing his old home and tired of mosquito bites and power outages.)
Don’t gloss over mourning by just propelling your kids forward. Sit with them and cry a little about leaving cousins, grandparents, and the friends they have here.
Ask friends to contribute photos; save Christmas photo cards. Download Marco Polo or another strategic way to connect with friends. (Just remember you will likely no longer live in the land of free wi-fi.)
As you progress through your journey, continue to ask questions about how kids are feeling, what questions they have, what they’re scared or excited about, etc.
Consider recruiting family friends to take your kids out individually and ask questions/listen to them talk, in order to give kids other arenas in which to discuss their feelings and thoughts.
With the exception of preteens and teenagers (at least one missions org has been rumored not let you move with kids around this age), my kids were bouncing around Uganda in about two minutes. (Their parents took considerably longer.)
If it’s home to you and you’re there, kids will feel like home. If you’re willing to try new things (roasted grasshoppers. Boom), they might, too. (Don’t miss 8 Ways to Help your Family Flourish Overseas!)
That doesn’t mean you slap on a happy face. We can talk with kids age-appropriately about times we feel sad or afraid. But in general, where your family is together will eventually be home sweet home.
Janel Breitenstein is an author, freelance writer, speaker, and senior editor for Go. Serve. Love. After five and a half years in East Africa, her family of six has returned to Colorado, where they continue to work on behalf of the poor with Engineering Ministries International.
Her book, Permanent Markers: Spiritual Life Skills for Work-in-Progress Families (Harvest House) releases in October 2021. You can find her—“The Awkward Mom”—having uncomfortable, important conversations at JanelBreitenstein.com, and on Instagram @janelbreit.
Reading Time: 5 minutes
When I first met the head-turning, nearly-too-good-to-be-true man who would be my husband, there was only one possibly fatal flaw.
He didn’t see himself going overseas.
At that point, I had participated in short-term missions in ten countries, give or take. I’d maxed out my university’s Spanish classes and minored in cross-cultural services. My college activities pointed to my love of cultures and helping the powerless.
Geez, Lord. Couldn’t you make this easier?
Serious questions crossed my mind about whether in marrying the man I respected most on Planet Earth, that I would also be…a sellout.
Spoiler: I married him. Nearly every day of our married life, I’ve thanked God for this man. (Without him, I may have been World’s Most Insecure Missionary).
But a decade later, “living my life for God” had slid from those mental images of handing rice to refugees, dust in my skirt. Instead, I was drowning in a sea of apple juice with some Goldfish floating on top. The commercial for my life would have looked less Peace Corps, more Bounty paper towels.
I felt confused. Angry. Exhausted.
And the sellout question loomed large, as if a rocking rubber stamp were about to declare me “Life Opportunities Missed.”
Perhaps if you’ve followed my posts, you know the spoiler: My husband and I ended up spending half a decade in Africa. I felt a technicolor version of alive. (We’re still with the same org.)
But this was not before a tough couple of years when God and I wrestled with whether I’d chosen the best path. When God was growing contentment in me for what I called a “small life”. (Um, despite fierce love and happy sacrifice for my kids and husband. Which I wouldn’t have given up in a bajillion years. Turns out the Gospel matters to them, too).
My heart caught around Kathleen Kelly’s musings in You’ve Got Mail:
Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life. Well, not small, but valuable. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave?
God has grown me exponentially in understanding the peculiar heroism the Church places on missionaries. He’s taught me no role in the Church is unimportant.
God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be?….
The eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you,” nor again the head to the feet, “I have no need of you.” (1 Corinthians 12:18, 19, 21)
I also had to be taught that part of my own desire to life a “big life for God” was the emphasis on my own life being valuable. I’ve been guilty of, in a sense, using God for my own fulfillment more than I love him for himself.
I’ve thought more about this recently for two reasons.
First, I returned from Africa. My sense of co-laboring fell to a much quieter, occasionally indiscernable hum. I lost most of my sexy job titles (Missionary to Africa! Teacher of Refugees!) all over again. (See “Do our Churches Prefer Certain Occupations? Does God?“)
At times, I grew angry that God hadn’t created a more tenable way for us to stay, for making a difference. My identity felt horribly jumbled as I struggled for worth apart from the field.
(This was recognizable, at times, as one who’d lost not just something precious, but perhaps lost an idol, too.)
I’ve also considered this in light of what I’ve read in Skye Jethani’s With: Reimagining the Way You Relate to God.
Jethani explores five primary postures in which we relate to God: Life under, over, from, for, and finally with God. He cites God’s vision in both Genesis and Revelation (and throughout the Bible) to reign with humankind: to be loved as he is, rather than us seeking to manipulate or use him.
“In other words,” Jethani writes, “God would cease to be how we acquire our treasure, and he would become our treasure.”
I won’t explore all the postures here. But Jethani reminded me that many of us have been schooled in Life For God more than With God. Jethani quotes Phil Vischer, creator of VeggieTales, following Vischer’s loss of his company.
“God would never call us from greater impact to lesser impact!” [I thought.]
The more I dove into Scripture, the more I realized I had been deluded. I had grown up drinking a dangerous cocktail–a mix of the gospel, the Protestant work ethic, and the American dream…The Savior I was following seemed, in hindsight, equal parts Jesus, Ben Franklin, and Henry Ford. My eternal value was rooted in what I could accomplish.
Unfortunately, taken to its fullness, this missionalism, this disordered priority for making a difference, brings us to a place the end justifies any means. Including the loss of our own vital connection to God. Our families. Our marriages.
Jethani observes,
A great deal of effort is expended in faith communities trying to transform people from younger sons [in the story of the prodigal son] into older sons. But this is a fool’s errand, because what mattered most to the father was neither the younger son’s disobedience nor the older son’s obedience, but having his sons with him.
In fact, Jesus foretells of some making a difference, achieving great things in God’s name.
On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?’ And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me… (Matthew 7:22-23, emphasis added)
If we land on the mission field feeling that in some sense we’ve arrived (or perhaps will, after Making a Difference), we will–like the biblical Jacob, always wake up with Leah.
Because the mission itself, or our ability to accomplish it, was never intended to form our sense of worth and fulfillment.
Don’t go overseas with “impact” as your greatest goal. Because missions is not, cannot be, the Great End.
God is.
(And by the way, Honey. I would marry you all. Over. Again.)
Janel Breitenstein is an author, freelance writer, speaker, and senior editor for Go. Serve. Love. After five and a half years in East Africa, her family of six has returned to Colorado, where they continue to work on behalf of the poor with Engineering Ministries International.
Her book, Permanent Markers: Spiritual Life Skills for Work-in-Progress Families (Harvest House) releases in October 2021. You can find her—“The Awkward Mom”—having uncomfortable, important conversations at JanelBreitenstein.com, and on Instagram @janelbreit.
Reading Time: 5 minutes
Editor’s note: David and Rebecca, regular readers of Go. Serve. Love and self-proclaimed ordinary people, recently contacted us with some crazy-cool news. Together-ready, waiting for God’s direction–they recently became global workers in North Africa, one of the least-reached regions of the world.
And all in a span of about six weeks.
They asked if they could tell you his story, told here in David’s voice. Bring it on, David.
My wife is a preschool teacher working on a counseling degree, and I am an MBA student with some freelance work.
We have not:
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We have no delusions of grandeur, no formal “ministry plan.”
No burning bush has been seen. We have heard no booming voice.
We are not “professional” religious workers. We’re ordinary people, folks.
My work was already mostly remote/virtual. And in July, both of our academic programs moved online.
In light of the shift, my wife and I wanted to earnestly consider if there was somewhere else in the world where we should go.
We were able to connect with several teams around the world, including a team that runs a financially sustainable English-teaching preschool in North Africa.
Jesus ends each of the gospels (and begins Acts) with a command to go into all the world and to make disciples.
Still, somewhere in the range of 40-60% of the people in the world have virtually zero opportunity to learn about Jesus. There are no churches, very few Christians, very limited resources. These areas are called “unreached people groups” because they have essentially zero access to any true knowledge of Jesus.
These billions of people are born, live their lives without the hope of Jesus, and die without having the chance to even hear that Jesus made a way for them to be restored to a right relationship with God for eternity.
One of the beauties of the American life? In many towns, you can drive down “church row” and walk into any one of dozens of churches. We have easy access to learn about God.
This is simply not the reality in much of the world.
It has been a journey for my wife and I to arrive at this point. And not everyone will agree with us. But to the two us, the command is so clear.
The default should be to go; that is the command. Instead of anguishing over a “call to go,” we decided instead to consider if we had been clearly, specifically called to stay.
My wife likes to describe it this way: We never question if we should be faithful to a spouse. Nobody ever says “Meh, I’m just not really sure if the Lord has called me to that.” It’s a really clear command!
And yet we seem to pick and choose commands we want to take seriously.
Do we neglect “here”? Of course not.
But if Jesus called all of us ordinary people to go to all the nations, and if 2000 years later, 40-60% of those nations have virtually zero access to learn about Jesus, could we have missed something?
This is not prescriptive. But along with you, my wife and I dream of a world where more people at least realize this is possible.
My wife and I learned in July that all of our school would be online. All of my work is already online.
Our initial response: disappointment. But with the Holy Spirit’s influence, we quickly shifted to “Ok, we can do this anywhere in the world.”
We began to prayerfully explore what opportunities were available.
Six weeks later to the day, our feet touched the sand in North Africa.
COVID-19 has made international travel difficult for Americans. A lot of organizations have brought people back to the U.S. and are limiting travel.
While totally understanding the need for wisdom and risk management, we believe God is establishing the places and the times of people groups throughout the world. Ordinary people or not, we want to be faithful to our role in providing access for people to find Him.
A travel issue delayed us two days in New York City. Our team leaders in North Africa traveled physically to the airport to advocate on our behalf.
It was a rough trip. We are just now getting out of our two-week quarantine. But it was totally doable.
It has been our heart to go and make disciples of all the nations for some time. We weren’t clear on the where/what/how/when, but were intentional in posturing for that eventuality.
We never planned to be in North Africa this fall. Many are the plans in our hearts, but we know that ultimately God’s purpose will stand.
We are currently working through orientation and training with the preschool and settling into a new life here. So far, we’ve been able to interact with local teachers, parents, and children at the preschool.
Mostly, we are trying to humbly learn how to live, work, study, and play in a very different context. We’re just ordinary people seeking to be faithful to Jesus’ command to go to all the nations and make disciples.
Reading Time: 5 minutes
Change doesn’t come easily for me.
Or more plainly put, I just don’t like change. Give me a quiet routine where interesting things come along but nothing rocks the boat—and I’m good.
When we moved back to the United States from Africa, I remember my husband getting ready to leave for his first day in his office at our mission headquarters. I burst into tears when I saw him at the door in a suit, carrying a briefcase (a lot more common back then).
We were accustomed to him dressed in shorts, working in the office at our house in Africa, where only fans and glasses of water cooled us from the relentless heat. Life was going to be so different now in the States.
But, of course, I adjusted to the change.
Some years before, our preparation to move to Africa was intense.
I still have the blue spiral-bound notebook where I made my lists, including a chart of the sizes the boys would be in and how many shirts and shorts I had for each size. I even included some future birthday and Christmas presents.
We were told the country to which we were going had empty shelves in shops and only some vegetables in the market stalls along the streets. So we were going prepared for monumental change, even packing rolls of toilet paper.
When departure time arrived, we were exhausted. We said good-bye to our family and friends quickly. I barely paid attention to what I was doing, I was so bewildered, so “betwixt and between” our past and future worlds.
Later I regretted those carefree farewells.
Since our short-term summer there six years previously, I was eager to get back to Africa. When we arrived this time with our boys in tow, the humidity, sounds, smells and sights were familiar.
We exited the plane with a 50-caliber machine gun pointed towards us passengers, and walked across the tarmac. Old and new friends welcomed us. We arrived around the 4th of July and enjoyed a picnic at the U.S. Embassy. It all felt good in spite of jet lag.
And then it was time to take the five-hour drive north from the capital to our new home just outside another large city–and more intense change began.
The ride was bumpy. Steamy hot air blew in through the open windows. Potholes in the road seemed as big as small rooms.
Due to the rainy season, the roadside scenery was sunless and depressing. Clay-colored mud and makeshift houses marked the landscape. At one point, we all climbed out to push the truck out of a deep, mucky crevice.
I had nightmares about that drive for several weeks after we arrived.
Our house lay across from a mosque and on the edge of a Muslim zongo (a settlement of Hausa speakers from Northern Nigeria). The call to prayer over the mosque’s loudspeaker blasted into our bedroom windows at 3 AM.
I slept restlessly, also hearing the sound of cats and dogs fighting ferociously on the street.
And sharing our ground floor flat were iguana-sized lizards. I often found one sunning on our baby’s crib.
Initially, the magnitude of change was too much for me. And yet no one had been more eager to return to Africa. We all were surprised at my reaction.
I decided it was just different having our children there, thinking they were missing so much not being in their home country.
Eventually, I realized how wrong I was about that. I rapidly lost 20 pounds. (Was it all through tears?)
I was so homesick for friends and family. Letters, taking weeks coming and going, were our only way to communicate. It was a long first month before we heard from “home.”
Mornings were the worst. I’d wake, remember where I was, and try to force the breakfast porridge down my throat while fighting tears.
I tried to put on a happy face for my family. I even wondered if this could be mental illness.
Other missionaries began to notice and grow concerned. Our boss kept his eye on the situation and had talks with me and spoke quietly with my husband about it. What were we to do?
We knew people were praying for us. But this adjustment was not going well and we needed to put in a call for extra and specific prayer.
We were willing to be transparent about it, as embarrassing as it was for me.
I’m not sure how word got around. But we prayed. Our team prayed. And somehow people at home knew to pray.
Prayer is powerful. It worked. One day I realized how comfortable I felt, how I loved the rhythm of our days, even to washing diapers in a wringer machine and hanging them on the line.
I enjoyed the market and trying to learn the local language through a new friend. I learned to drink coffee with some expatriate women I met with once a week. And I was so grateful for all that our kids were experiencing.
Some thought that my hard start allowed me an eventual really good adjustment.
Give yourself time to adjust.
Take time to mourn the good-byes.
Be transparent and specific in requests for prayer.
Allow yourself some grace. (We moved to the upstairs flat where there was nicer breeze and the iguanas apparently did not climb stairs.)
I still don’t like change or goodbyes! But I know from experience it’s best to embrace them with prayer, knowing adjustments will come.
Dotsie Corwin comes from a long line of missionaries and Christian workers, but it was the illustration of an unbalanced number of people carrying a telephone pole that impacted her and her husband to commit to a career in mission.
Thinking of only one carrying the pole on one end with the rest on the other, it made sense to spend their lives where there was greater need.
Dotsie and her husband, Gary, are members of SIM (formerly Sudan Interior Mission). After serving in Ghana for several years, they joined SIM’s International Staff where Dotsie worked in Communications for 25 years.
She loves “intentionally grandparenting” their four grandkids; cooking; and mowing the lawn. And we happen to know that her freshman year of college, she tried a little rebellion by climbing the forbidden water tower on campus.
Read more of Dotsie’s story–including what she did right (and didn’t)–here.