"Whoever causes one of these little ones to sin..."

When I first started this blog, I said that I would use it to write about things I've learned and also things to which I don't yet have an answer. This post is one of the latter.

I think every parent knows that we can often learn some of the most surprising insights from our children.  Today as I sat in the church of one of our TEE pastors, I noticed something in the little children playing around the church. This observation combined with my current experience with our own children to get me thinking about a potentially serious issue.

At church yesterday, about five or six little children were sitting near the front of the room while the pastor was preaching.  They would sit a while, get up, go outside, eat a snack, and keep themselves occupied while the service was going on.  I noticed one little boy who had a marble - just one.  He would roll it around, bounce it across the floor, toss it outside, laugh, and go chase it.  Another boy had some kind of a small tin can about the size of a sardine can with maybe a 12-inch-long metal rod stuck through the middle of it.  It was nothing.  He sat there looking at it, turning it this way and that, spinning the can on the wire, running it across the floor, and smiling.  Before too long "metal boy" and "marble boy” were sitting beside each other.  Metal boy seemed about three years old and marble boy was probably two.  While I watched them, marble boy showed his marble to the older boy and then handed his prized ball over to him.  The older boy took the marble and smiled and handed the little boy his tin can toy.

Fast forward to that afternoon (or about any afternoon in this month).  Kyle and Ellee are playing together.  Kyle is holding his two favorite motorcycles which he lost back in the States, but were recovered and mailed to him by our family last week.  Ellee is over by the TV pulling out every toy in the bottom drawer.  Finally she settles on one of Kyle’s planes and crawls over to Mommy and me, smiling and giggling about her special toy.  Kyle hears the happy sounds and comes over to see what’s going on.  “Ellee, no, that’s my plane,” he says, trying to take it away.  “No, Kyle, let her play with it.  You haven’t been interested in those planes all day.”  After some grabbing and maybe some crying, he goes back to his motorcycles.  Snack time comes and suddenly the motorcycles are sitting alone while Kyle eats his apple.  Seeing her opportunity, Ellee speed-crawls to grab a motorcycle and the fight ensues again.

Those were my observations.  Neither one is complete, I’m sure.  I know Kyle and Ellee are sometimes very good at sharing toys and playing together nicely.  And I’m sure the two boys also have times when they don’t get along.  But my observations got me thinking about possessions.  How often do we observe that those with less are more inclined to share and those with more and more inclined to hoard?  It’s one of the things I hear most often about cross-cultural mission trips: “These people have nothing, but they insisted on feeding us and caring for our needs.”  I hear missionaries raising support for the field (and have been one) wondering why the family with the giant house can’t spare $20 per month or why the church with the million-dollar budget can’t give $100 per month to see the gospel spread.  Why is this?

The West is rich; the Majority World is poor.  The West is typically selfish; the Majority World typically shares.  Are these factors totally unrelated?  Is it only our individualist mindset vs. their collectivist mindset?  Or is it that the more we get, the less we give?

Our kids have literally a tent full of toys.  Most of them were the favorite at one point or another.  We have trouble getting rid of the toys because we remember how much he once loved them (oh my goodness, this tore me apart when we were moving to Africa and had to give away most of Kyle’s baby toys).  But eventually, the new one replaces the old one.  As a parent, I still walk through the toy store (occasionally) and think, “Oh, my kid would like that so much!”  Like our heavenly Father, I do love to “give good gifts” to my children.  I love to see the surprise and excitement when Kyle’s favorite movie character jumps off of the screen and becomes a plastic buddy in his hand to accompany him on his daily adventures.  But I wonder, am I hurting him in my good intentions?  Are my “good gifts” really “good”?

What is the problem?  Why do the kids with one toy share so happily and the kids with many fight over one?  Is it just our children’s inherent sinfulness?  Is it the selfish heart, the lust of the eyes, and the greed of human dissatisfaction?  Or is it the tyranny of the new?  Are their desires becoming ruled by the fact that they often get something new and so the new becomes “mine”?

This makes me wonder even more: Are our possessions a blessing from God or a curse from Satan?  What does Jesus call our “needs”?  He said, “...do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on . . . your heavenly Father knows that you need them all” (Mt 6:25, 32).  He doesn’t even mention a house.  He said, “the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head” (Mt 8:20).  These are the things Jesus says we need.  He gives us much beyond that, but we must be careful to realize that they are not needs.  He never promised abundant possessions.  So when we have abundant possessions, are they really from God?  Or does God give all we need (and more) and then Satan gives us abundance to corrupt our desires and turn our hearts away from God because “you cannot serve God and money” (Mt 6:24).

I've heard it said before, and thus far have seen it consistent throughout Scripture, that Satan is not an innovator as much as he is a corruptor.  That is, he does not invent new evils or create new types of sin.  Rather, he takes those things which God has given in good measure and corrupts them towards evil purposes.  He takes the high value God has placed on man and makes man to overvalue himself.  He takes God's good intentions for sexuality and tempts man to take it outside of the boundaries God has set.  Could he also turn God's good purposes for work into overwork?  Could he not try to corrupt God's faithful provision of possessions and turn it into selfishness and idolatry and "the love of money," which is the root of all kinds of evil?

Considering these things makes me think of more questions.  What does this say about missionaries who spend all their time giving away possessions to those who have less?  Are they helping at all?  I know missionaries who do this 24/7.  It’s all they do.  Certainly it is motivated by compassion.  We love to see the African and Mexican children receiving toys, footballs, and candy.  We feel happy to know that we have given to help them.  Furthermore, we want to do these compassionate ministries as a way to show Christ’s love to the world, praying that they will see Him, believe in Him, and receive Him.  These are right motives.  But are they right actions?

What about programs like Operation Christmas Child?  We in the West celebrate Christmas by giving gifts.  We assume everyone else should, too.  Our cultural lenses let us see this in the three wise men who gave gifts to Jesus at the first “Christmas.”  Somehow, though it’s not the same.  The magi didn’t give the gifts to each other!

This is not even about creating dependence, “When Helping Hurts,” "When Charity Destroys Dignity,” or transformational development principles.  Are we helping at all?  Or are we exporting our materialism to the children of the world?  Are we “causing one of these little ones to sin”?

These are my thoughts.  I don’t have the answers.

Praying in Faith and Acting in Obedience

I am so excited to share this post. At various points in my life, the Lord has taken me through seasons of experiential learning in regard to prayer. I have always believed in the power of prayer. I have seen answers to prayer as God provided for my family, growing up on the road and living on support. When I was in my first year of traveling on my own with Life Action (when I was 18), the Lord took me through about 8 months of learning to pray a very specific prayer request and expecting that He would answer, not just hoping He would. This month has been a similar experience.

On October 1st, we contacted AIM about our current support levels in order to update our friends and supporters on our progress. We soon discovered that our numbers were not lining up. We were told that we had 96% of our outgoing support, but our records were showing only about 50%. The bottom line is that the entire portion of our budget designated for a vehicle was not included in the original number. To be honest, our hopes of leaving on schedule in January seemed nearly lost. We were now left with only two months to raise around $17,000 and I tried to begin preparing for a delay in our plans. At the same time, I was trying to think of some way that we could come up with the money on our own - since it seemed God hadn't handled it. I would never have admitted that, but that's sort of how my mind was working.

Then my dear wife and I began to talk. I am convinced that this is one of the reasons that God brought us together (and why he brings any man and woman together). At times when I am down or I lose focus, God will use Abby to say something that gets me back on track, or vice-versa. So we say, "I guess we need to pray really hard this month." One of us says, "Well, let's pray for something specific; specific prayers get specific answers, right?" "OK, then let's just pick a number." So one says, "Let's pray for $10,000 this month." The other says, "Whoa. I was thinking something more realistic, like half of what's left." The one says, "Why? Is there like a limit for how much we can ask for?" We chuckle at the reality of that statement. I mean we're at God's mercy anyway, right? He owes us nothing. Anything He brings in will be more than we deserve and only a taste of what He can provide. So we decide to pray for that number. Every night at dinner, we asked Jesus for $10,000 to help us get to Africa. Each time we would pray with Kyle before putting him in his crib, we would pray, "And please provide the $10,000 that we need to move to Africa. In Jesus' name, Amen."

Thus we were praying. We've prayed that every day this month, multiple times. To make practical steps, we began to contact more people. We wrote people who had already expressed an interest in supporting us. We emailed people whom we've never approached about support, but we knew their hearts and trusted that they would be willing to pray about giving. It would be up to the Lord to move hearts to give.

In this process of praying expectantly, I have noticed one thing to be significant - possibly critical. If one is to truly pray in faith, he must be in a position to rely wholly and completely on God, with no backup plan of his own in case the Lord does not answer as planned. In other words, there is often some crucial step that must be taken - some practical sign of surrender - before the Lord will answer the request. Here is what that looked like for me. As I began to pray for this month's $10,000, I was formulating in my mind some financial gimmicks that we could work together to come up with the money. For example, we could try to eliminate budget items we don't need as much, or we could pay everything from our own savings account and then finance the balance with some of our monthly salary, etc. None of these would come up with all the money we needed, but they would at least bring in a good portion of it, "making things easier" on God. My step of faith came on Tuesday, October 9th.

We have been planning on completing two of my ten seminary semesters before leaving in January. My next 8-week term was scheduled to begin on October 22nd, but I hadn't signed up yet. Since hearing about the big financial need, I had talked to Abby about not taking this semester and putting the money towards Africa. "I would rather be a semester behind on my studies than be delayed in going to Africa," I said to her. Looking back, I can see my lack of faith so clearly. I'm sure most of you can as well. I thought I was being wise. I thought I was even being sacrificial, putting my family and ministry ahead of my own goals. But as we prayed through it for the first week of October, Abby was the one to say, "I think you should go ahead and take your semester." The cut-off date for registration was October 10th. I registered on the 9th. And I remember as I signed up thinking, "OK, Lord, that's the last of my plan. There is no way that we'll be able to come up with this money unless you provide it."

I was at work that Tuesday. I actually registered for classes during my lunch break. Around 2:00, Abby called Chick-fil-A and asked for me. She told me that an old family friend who lives about 45 minutes from here just called. We have never heard from him personally and I haven't heard from him at all in probably 10 years or more. He had read of our needs in my parents' newsletter. He was meeting with the other elders of his church the next day at lunch and asked if I would come to share our Africa plans with them. I asked my boss if someone could come in and work for me for a couple of hours the next day. Someone did and I went to the meeting. I was very blessed by my time with the men. I sensed in the elders a very simple and whole-hearted commitment to the Lord and His work. We had a wonderful time fellowshipping together and discussing mission work. Later that evening, our friend called back and said that the church wanted to contribute $5,000 to our expenses. To give you the full perspective on this provision, the church has about 50 members, or 14 families. We ought never to underestimate what God can do with a small group of spirit-filled believers committed to do His will.

This is only one story. Family after family responded to us, committing $1,000 here, $500 there. Some families who already support us monthly committed to send extra for the coming months before we leave. Nearly every day, I have come home from work to Abby saying, "We got another $200 from so and so." Once we were praying in faith, with no backup plan of our own, God began to provide faster than we've seen him provide at any other time in our lives. As of this morning, between the commitments people have sent or pledged this month and the monthly support that will come in during November, we have 100% of our outgoing expenses pledged! We were asking for $10,000. God has brought in over $14,000. Our records won't officially reflect this until all of the pledges are in, but God has provided everything we need - not just half.

As we've prayed, I've anticipated writing this post. I told the Lord that I would. God's purpose in answering prayers is to bring glory to Himself. This is how we were praying: "Lord, please do this, so that we can tell everyone how great You are and how miraculously You've provided." He has. He is. Praise His name and His great power. I pray that this post will motivate each of His children to pray big things in faith, acting in obedience to everything He leads. Give God the chance to prove Himself great!

Tourist, Open Your Eyes.

This will be the most difficult piece of work I've ever had to write. The story shared here happened to me over two years ago. I have never told this to anyone outside my family and I have never been able to tell it to anyone in my family without choking back tears many times. What happened to me here truly "rocked my world." By definition, I would call it the most traumatic - "psychologically painful" - thing that has happened to me, but that word is usually linked to some type of death or physical injury, which did not happen here. Outside of all things spiritual, nothing has altered my psyche more than this day did. It happened in Mexico. I remember him as "The Man from Chichén Itzá."

In March of 2010, Abby and I were in Mexico, serving as missionaries. Abby's parents came to visit for a week and we had a wonderful time catching up with them. As part of their trip, we decided to take them to Chichén Itzá. Many tourists come through the Yucatan Peninsula and visit this ancient Mayan ruins, famous for its unique architecture indicating the spring and fall equinox. For anyone who has toured Mexico, it is commonly known that local artisans, musicians, and craftsmen set up small shops or tables lining every area that the tourists will walk. To most tourists, this merely adds to the charming atmosphere and cultural beauty of tourist destinations. I felt the same way up until this day.

As the visitors stroll through the sites, each area brings many new Mexicans trying their best to speak English and sell their products to the foreigners. "T-shirt, amigo? I make you good deal. Cheaper than Walmart!" No price they quote you is written on the objects and "haggling" or "bartering" is the common practice. Initially, they will give you some ridiculously high price and then expect you to counter their offer. If you lose interest in their product and walk away, they will lower their price with each step you take. If you return later, still interested, they will likely lower their price again or include another product for free. This makes shopping much more fun to the typical tourist.

As I walked around that day, I was taken in by the sights, of course. The endless calls from salesmen were interesting at first, but began to get annoying after a while. I did see a chess set, though, that I thought my father would love to have. So I looked at the set and thought, "I'd be willing to pay $20 or so for that." As the marketer approached me, he would ask which set I liked, explain to me what stones the pieces were made of and then offered it to me for $45 or something. It wasn't a ridiculous price and was better than what I would pay in the States, but I didn't have that much and we had to pay for gas on the way home, so I said no thank you and walked on. He stopped me and said that he would give me the smaller set for $20. I wasn't really interested in that set, because it would be more difficult to play on, so I thanked him and left. After taking in some more of the ruins, we had to return the same way and the man waved me over. He had asked his shop owners (his family) about my offer and agreed to give me the set I'd wanted for $20. I was very grateful and the set made a great Christmas gift for my dad. But the event got me thinking.

We had only been at the site for an hour or so, and I was left with several more hours to observe and learn. God, I felt, was opening my eyes. I began to watch the locals barter and sell to other tourists. Without my chess incident, I wouldn't have noticed the humble Mayan ladies selling beautiful bracelets and hand-woven purses for "One dollar, sir, one dollar?" I wouldn't have seen the poor man desperately following after a group of Americans in Oakley sunglasses, pleading, "Anything, sir, anything you want. Very cheap," or the woman I heard muttering carefully, "Teeee-chirt. Tee-chirt," then approaching a visitor, "Tee-chirt, mam?" The better English the locals spoke, the more attention they received from the Americans, while the Spanish speakers were passed by in confusion.

It was then that I saw the Man from Chichén Itzá. He looked about my age, maybe slightly older. He didn't have a shop or stand like everyone else, but was walking around carrying a big wooden carving. It was beautiful. It was a large rectangle piece, probably 3' x 2', that obviously started as a large single block of wood. It was carved into an elaborate design of animals and plants in a mural format. I only slightly noticed him at first, before a visitor came up to him and was interested in his carving. The man carefully showed his masterpiece to the guest and with his few English words said, "Fifty dollar." I tried to think what a piece like that would cost in the States. I couldn't see it going for less than $100 and more likely $175-$200. The tourist obviously thought it was too much and began to walk away. "No? Tirty dollar?" By now I couldn't look away. There was no way this should happen. I looked carefully over the carving from a short distance away. It was so intricate. I couldn't guess how many days it must have taken to create. And what if one mistake were made? The whole work would be destroyed and need to be restarted. The skill this man must have had and the time he must have put into his work should have earned him a month's salary. The visitor kept shaking his head and walking. "Twenty, sir... Ten dollar." Finally, the man left the tourist. As he turned away, he said something that would forever change my life. Several other Mexicans were standing nearby at their booths. The man passed by them and said, "No sé que más puedo hacer. Tenemos que comer." "I don't know what else I can do. We have to eat."

I was stopped in my tracks. His words sank in. For a moment, I wasn't even sure if I'd heard him correctly, but I watched the faces of the other men as they gave him sympathetic looks, a grimace, and slight nods of agreement. I did hear correctly, and he wasn't the only one in his spot. They all felt his pain; they were all in his shoes. These people, whom I had seen as kind villagers giving the tourists a neat experience and some cute souvenirs, were poor families doing everything they could to scrape out a living - to put food on the table for their children. They were desperate husbands, fathers, wives, mothers, even children, hoping to earn just a small part of the extravagant wealth that passed by them in the pockets of foreigners.

Fortunately, the day was almost over when this happened. We were on our way out. I couldn't stand to be around it anymore. I felt hurt and wounded. It was the truest sense of compassion, of sympathy, I think I've ever felt. When I think of Jesus looking out over the multitudes and being moved with compassion by their estate, my feelings that day are how I imagine He felt. Furthermore, I felt ashamed. I felt embarrassed. I felt disgraced by the money in my wallet and the amounts left in our bank accounts. I found myself asking the Lord, "Why me? Why was I born in such a prosperous land and he into such poverty?" I didn't feel "blessed" as we Americans so often say. I felt as if I'd received a position I didn't deserve and he was worthy of a position much higher than what he was given.

In retrospect, I'm glad the carving wasn't sold for such a pittance. I pray that that dear man was able to find someone with much more of an appreciation for its beauty and his hard work and a much looser grip on his own wallet. But the fact remains that all of the work and toil came down to food on the table, even at the loss of such an effort. I told the scene to the rest of our family who was there, but the event played over and over in my head on the drive home. We drove for probably three hours and I spent at least half of those lost in my thoughts and crying.

Now, a balanced perspective is needed. These were only the thoughts going through my head that day. We in America are indeed blessed by God with material goods more than any others in the world, but God has not given us those blessings to hoard for ourselves. As time has passed, I have not forgotten that day or that man, and I have asked the Lord to shape my thinking on how I live with this new perspective.

In a mercado like this, not everything is genuine. Every shopkeeper claims his work is "hand-painted," "unbreakable," or "almost free." In fact, the chess set that I bought I saw again later that day and the man offered it to me for twelve or fifteen dollars. That wasn't the point. I was glad for what I paid for it. The bartering is not the problem either; that is merely a cultural difference. The problem is when the tourists are so stingy that they basically rob the vendor of the reward of his hard work. However, we need not feel indebted to every single vendor for the diligent effort they "personally" put into their products. They may have purchased it just as you will. Yet others can be seen doing their own work and ought to be compensated fairly for their efforts.

The fresh viewpoint began to affect me immediately. As we left the ruins, we passed by the last few locals and I noticed a man sitting near the entrance with a tool in his hand. He was carving a mask just like the hundreds of others I'd seen there. I glanced over at him just as he sat down in the shade, set the mask and the tool down, and wiped the sweat off of his drenched forehead with a sigh. Crying again, I walked out of the gates. Abby wondered what was going on and I told her. The Lord laid something on my heart then. I tried to get back into the park and a guard stopped me. I asked him, "Please, sir, may I go back in for just a moment? I just need to give something to that man right there." He hesitated a bit, but did allow me back through. I went up to the man and handed him some money. "Sir," I said, "I want to give you this. It's for nothing. I just really appreciate the hard work you do. Your mask is beautiful. I also want you to have this," handing him a gospel tract. "This is the Word of God. It can change your life forever." I don't know how the tract may have affected him; we never really do. I didn't give him the money just so that he would read the tract either. I just wanted him to connect the two. He had probably never been paid in exchange for nothing before, so I wanted him to remember that the person who gave to him with words of appreciation was a Christian.

I don't want to make this story melodramatic. I have tried to describe it with the level of seriousness with which it affected me. To say this incident was traumatic is not to diminish other people who have gone through more devastating experiences - divorce in the family, the loss of a child, or the tragic death of a loved one. The description is really a testimony to what an exceptional life the Lord has given me. I haven't experienced many traumatic events. The only deaths I've experienced closely were of my father's mother and my mother's father, both of whom were believers and were happy to leave this life for the next. But this was a painful incident that has changed my perspective forever. I know it is permanent because just last week I was in a similar market in Mexico and was reminded of the Man from Chichén Itzá. It is very hard for me to be in a place like that now.

I also don't expect that this story will affect my readers to the degree it did me. Yet I write it in the hope that God will use it. It truly and permanently changed me. I pray that many will read this. I pray that this message will reach people I will never meet. I would pray that this post receives 10,000 hits, so that I may know that there are now 10,000 people who may travel to another country, remember the Man from Chichén Itzá and give generously of their resources to help those less fortunate. I pray that this outside perspective will affect us wealthy Americans (and that is all of us) so that we will live our lives in moderation and give of our resources to help those in need around us and around our world. Here I leave my story and its results to God.