embracing the ordinary

In the two months that have passed since my most recent post, a lot of life has happened:

• 2 weeks in Israel on a study tour with my Dad, my doktorvater, and my pastor
• 10 days to pack for a cross-country move and say our goodbyes
• a garage sale in Wheaton
• a drive across 7 states to our new home with a 3-day stop in Colorado to be with family
• Easton's 6th birthday
• the death of my grandmother, age 93, in Washington state and her memorial service the day after we arrived in Oregon
• getting settled in our new home and integrating all of my grandma's things into it
• reconnecting with friends and family
• a garage sale in Oregon
• finding a new church in our neighborhood
• figuring out grocery stores, libraries, parks, museums, etc.
• a 5-day camping trip with Danny's mom and all of his brothers and their families
• helping with a week of Vacation Bible School at our home church in Oregon
• getting the kids registered for school
• organizing and re-organizing the garage to make room for Danny's office
• buying a washer and dryer
• beginning dissertation research again after a 4-month hiatus

With the exception of my trip to Israel, this list is not glamorous. It represents a lot of sweat and a lot of stress, and even a good deal of fun, but it does not appear to be a recipe for changing the world (or making a splash in academia, for that matter). This was brought home to me when I encountered a (very blunt) young adult from our home church this week who has watched the adventure of our life unfold over the past dozen years. He remembers when we set out for the Philippines in 2002, ready to reach the lost for Christ. Our early letters, he says, were exciting and inspiring. But then life got ordinary. We moved to North Carolina to work at headquarters, and our "biggest" news then was playing soccer [sic: kickball] with the neighbor kids. He didn't need to even mention our next move -- a journey into academic obscurity in Wheaton -- for me to get his point: we've become rather ordinary, nothing to write home about.

Fair enough, I told him, and moved on with the task of eating my dinner and getting ready to be mobbed by more than a dozen precious kids, well over half of them hispanic, for a loud and crazy night of VBS. All through the crafts, games, snacks, and Bible stories, I pondered our brief conversation. Was he right?

In my younger years, when we started our adventure in missions, I would have agreed with him. Life was too short to waste it on ordinary suburban life -- a house with a cute front yard, a minivan, 2.5 kids, plenty of time with family, and occasional trips to Disneyland. I still agree that if that's all there is to it, something is amiss. But a dozen years in ministry has taught me that the recipe for a transformed life calls for large quantities of patient, ordinary, faithful investment and only an occasional headline-making event. Going to Israel was great, for example, but the true fruit will come from years of Bible teaching injected with personal passion and on-the-ground experience. 

View of Ancient Shechem from Mt. Gerazim - Photo C. Imes

A Samaritan Village on Mt. Gerazim - Photo C. Imes

 On Tuesday night of VBS, we heard the story of the Samaritan woman at the well, which I've blogged about before. I was excited for two reasons. First, the story was being told in first-person by my teenage daughter, who did a fabulous job!  But I was also excited because I have been there. While we couldn't get to the well itself because we lacked a bullet-proof bus, we drove to the top of Mt. Gerazim and looked down into the valley where the ancient city of Shechem (and Jacob's well) has now been swallowed up by modern-day Nablus. 

We drove right through a Samaritan village and climbed off the bus at the site of their annual sacrifice (commemorating the sacrifice of Isaac on -- they say -- Mt. Gerazim). We saw their distinctive dress and saw first-hand how the 600 Samaritans alive today maintain a distinct identity from their Jewish neighbors. 

A Samaritan Priest - photo C. Imes

It was my first opportunity to spice up a Bible lesson with a story from our trip, and I hope there are many more opportunities in the days ahead. Our lives may look ordinary on the outside, but it's never been about us anyway. We carry inside this ordinary vessel the extraordinary power of the gospel:

"For what we preach is not ourselves [good thing!], but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus' sake. For God, who said, 'Let light shine out of darkness,' made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God's glory displayed in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay [that is, ordinary jars for everyday use] to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. . . . So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." 2 Corinthians 4:5-7, 18

We have new neighbors who need to meet Jesus, and we'll be far more likely to earn an opportunity to share Christ if we take the time to play kickball with them than if we decide that the effort is not worth our time. So here's hoping for lots of ordinary days . . .

the story God is writing

Ten years ago today, Danny, Eliana, and I boarded a plane bound for the Philippines, officially moving from "appointee" to "field" status with SIM, an interdenominational church-planting mission. We moved from green and temperate Oregon to the hot and sticky concrete jungle of metro Manila, where we studied Tagalog and learned how to live away from our families and our own culture. The adjustment was difficult, but we came to love mangoes and jeepneys, open markets and the smiling vendors who worked there. New faces became part of our story, and we theirs, as our lives were knit together.

We had no idea that our sojourn in the Philippines would only last 2–1/2 years before SIM would recommend that we relocate to Charlotte, NC, so that Danny could serve in a more strategic role at SIM's international headquarters. He's filled an administrative position for Sports Friends (a ministry of SIM) ever since—tracking funds so that young people around the world can experience the love of Christ through a godly mentor. Charlotte, too, was far from home and family, and some of the cultural differences took us by surprise. We learned to like sweet tea and "barbeque," our neighbors' drawl and our neighbors, period. New chapters in our story included Gordon-Conwell, Good Shepherd UMC, public schools for our kids, and enriching fellowship with other SIM missionaries.

Our next move took us to the Midwest, where winters are cold and days are short, but people are equally friendly. After 18 months in Wheaton we feel right at home. Family is still far away, but we're finding community just the same. Thanks to Skype and email Danny can communicate with teammates in Ethiopia and Thailand, Nigeria and Peru from his attic office. Thanks to this blog, I can keep in touch with a wide circle of friends while I study in the library in preparation for teaching ministry. Our story has become one of anticipation, wondering what doors God will open when my schooling is over and we are free to move again.

Looking back on 10 years of ministry with SIM, our hearts are full of gratitude. We've lived in 10 different homes over these past 10 years, attended 7 different churches and 16 different schools. We've been in 11 countries and 31 states. In each of these places God has blessed us with more friends than we can possibly count whose stories have intersected with our own.

This year for Christmas we're going on a pilgrimage of sorts to see some of those dear friends. We'll get to stop in Charlotte to reconnect with neighbors, friends, and our church family—a special bonus after 18 months away. Our ultimate destination, though, is SIM's retirement community in Florida, where we'll spend Christmas with Phil and Julie Parshall.

Phil and Julie were there 10 years ago at the airport in Manila when our plan landed, waiting in the humid night air for a first glimpse of the eager young family from Oregon who had come to join their work. Their friendly welcome meant so much to us after some 30 hours of travel with a toddler in tow. The Christmas we spent together just a couple of weeks later was the first of many more shared holidays, though none of us knew it at the time. Who could have foreseen that when we left the Philippines Phil and Julie's retirement would soon follow, and they would end up choosing an apartment in Charlotte just over a mile away from us?

We had nearly 6 more happy years together in Charlotte as God continued to interweave our stories. Shortly after we left Charlotte Phil and Julie moved to Florida. This Christmas will be the 6th or 7th we have spent with them. The Parshalls (and so many others) have been part of God's provision for us in these 10 years away from home. As Jesus reassured his disciples,


"And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or fields, for my name's sake, will receive a hundredfold, and will inherit eternal life." Matthew 19:29 NRSV

We don't know what the next 10 years will hold, or who else will walk onto the pages of our story and stay for a while. No one does. But the Author knows what he's doing, and if we let him hold the pen it will turn out beautifully in the end.

Spiritual Life of Missionaries: Lessons Learned from the Field

If you're new to my blog, then you might not know that Danny and I have been missionaries with SIM for the past 10 years. I was recently asked to share with undergraduate students at Wheaton on the topic of spiritual formation for missionaries. I thought that perhaps some of you would appreciate hearing our story as well. Living in the Philippines was very difficult for us spiritually, not so much because of Filipino language, culture, or climate, though learning to live there had its challenges. The biggest challenges for us were internal, related to our expectations and identity, and missional, related to our roles and opportunities for service. I hope that our story is helpful to you in some way!
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Danny and I were model candidates for missions. We were both Bible college graduates with supportive families and a strong sending church. We had experience in short-term missions and in church ministry. We were considered “strong Christians” by all who knew us. We passed our psychological and other evaluations with flying colors. We set a new record in SIM: In less than 12 months we had completed all of SIM’s pre-field training requirements, sold or stored all of our worldly goods, raised all of our support, and were on a plane bound for the Philippines. Our vision was crystal clear: we were going to see a reproducing church planted among a minority ethnic group in the Philippines.  Danny would serve our SIM team by handling the administrative tasks that bogged them down. I would engage in outreach and eventually Bible teaching and discipleship. We planned to stay a really long time.

But then we landed in Manila and reality hit. Learning Tagalog would not be easy. Sweating all the time was not fun. Our team was spread out across a sprawling metropolis with some of the worst traffic jams in the world. We were isolated, lonely, and discouraged. But worst of all, after a grueling year of language study, it was no longer clear to us how we could even help. Danny’s administrative tasks only took him a few hours per month. Our team was too small to need a full-time administrator, and SIM was actively considering whether any more westerners should even be sent to the Philippines. I tried no less than 7 different ministries inside the local neighborhood where our target people group lived. Every one of them was a flop.

We thought we were going to the Philippines use our gifts to build God’s kingdom. But we were frustrated at every turn. Danny is most fully alive when he is in some kind of helping role -- working behind the scenes to make things happen (which is why I’m here speaking while he is shuttling our kids between school and after-school activities) -- but Filipinos wouldn’t let him set up chairs or clean up after an event. Such tasks are too menial for a white man. And our western teammates didn’t actually need his help. It was very debilitating for him. I, on the other hand, had gone to teach, but for the first time in my life I sensed very strongly that God was asking me to keep my mouth shut. It was time to learn. As time dragged on my confidence gradually drained away. I began to doubt if I had anything worth saying.

I remember very distinctly one day walking in the tropical heat down a crowded street to the open market to do my shopping. I looked at the street vendors lining the sidewalk … watched them arranging their goods. I knew they would be lucky to make 50 pesos of profit in a day, and that they had left their babies home in the care of older siblings, some only 5 or 6 years old. At any moment the police could show up and clear the place out. Sidewalk vending was illegal. But it was the only way they could find to survive. Suddenly I felt very empty. What did I have to offer that these people actually needed? My sophisticated methods of Bible study were useless to them. Their modes of thinking and learning were almost entirely oral. Their focus was on survival. What’s more, they were already cheerful, generous, selfless. When I looked deep inside myself, I saw no great reserves of those qualities, or any others that would give evidence of a spirit-empowered life -- joy, faith, peace, gentleness, self-control. Spiritually-speaking I was just about bankrupt.

About a year after we arrived in the Philippines, I wrote this poem in my journal and later posted it on my (old) blog. It will give you a window on my heart in that very dry and difficult season.

empty

before I journeyed here
my heart was full
  ideas
    skills
      techniques
        strategies
now I sojourn
far from home
emptied of all I once knew
        nameless
      voiceless
    useless?
afraid that before I find
my voice in this culture
I will have nothing left to say
what was profound and meaningful before
now seems
        out-of-touch
      foreign
    irrelevant
  unneeded
so, Lord, I sit here
empty
like the jars at Cana lacking wine
thirsty for You to fill me again
with your living water
so I can pour
into the lives You've gathered
around me

Come, Lord Jesus,
do your miracle in me.

God’s answer to my prayer was not what I expected. There was no instant miracle. I hoped for overflowing joy or successful ministry opportunities or at least peace that we were on the right track. He gave us none of these. But he did give us a gift that we learned to treasure – his gift was longing. Danny and I became desperate for God. We were constantly and painfully aware of our own weaknesses, our inabilities, our absolute need for Him. We lived every day for months on end with an ache in our souls that would not go away. A craving for God to do something. A thirst for his presence. And we waited. We waited beyond what we thought we could bear and then waited some more.

During that lonely season, authors—dead ones, even—became some of my most trusted spiritual guides. Henri Nouwen, Larry Crabb, Lettie Cowman.

Henri Nouwen taught me (in his books Wounded Healer and Reaching Out) that ministers of the gospel must be unafraid to venture into the depths of their own soul so that they can lead others to wholeness in a fragmented world. Being broken is not the end of ministry, it is the surest beginning. I was certainly broken, and I did not like what I saw in my own soul. But Nouwen said this was as it should be.

Larry Crabb’s book Shattered Dreams also ministered to me deeply. In it he wrestles with the same questions we were asking. He wonders out loud why God allows suffering: "He could do something. Yet He does nothing, at least not what we ask Him to do. Why? To deepen our desire for His Presence, to strengthen our passion to pursue Him, to help us see how preoccupied we are with filling our God-shaped souls with something less than God." (121)

Crabb says, "When God seems most absent from us, He is doing His most important work in us." (157) I clung to the hope that somehow God was using our isolation and struggle to do something deep in us.

Lettie Cowman’s Streams in the Desert was also a source of hope. I learned that some of God’s most precious gifts can only come to us wrapped in suffering. There is simply no other way to receive them. God does not delight in our pain, but he delights in the deep work that he is able to do in us in the midst of that pain. "There are blessings we can never have unless we are ready to pay the price of pain. There is no way to reach them save through suffering." (Sept 19, quoting Dr. Miller)

My season of silence did not end until we came home from the Philippines. It was the longest two and a half years of our lives. Eventually SIM recommended that we change fields and serve where Danny’s skills were more critically needed. We returned to the states and moved to Charlotte, NC where Danny began working for a new ministry of SIM based out of the International office. The six years we spent there were some of our richest and happiest years. Everything seemed to go our way. Our kids had great schools, we found a great church, lived in a great house in a great neighborhood with great neighbors. I got to go to seminary, which I absolutely loved. Danny’s job with SIM was a perfect fit for his personality and gifting. After six years in Charlotte God opened the door for me to continue my education here at Wheaton. I’m working on a PhD in Old Testament under Dr. Block. Once again our situation is totally ideal – house, schools, jobs, everything. Danny has been able to continue serving in his role with SIM remotely, and this year we’re approaching our 10-year anniversary of service with SIM.

We are of course relieved to have moved out of a dry and difficult season of life and ministry. But happiness has its drawbacks. I have carried with me a deep sense of appreciation for the spiritual desert that we lived in for 2 years in the Philippines. I met God in a powerful way, ironically, through his “absence.” I discovered new things about myself, my own limitations, and my desperate need for the Savior. That gift never comes through success and victory and ease. It only comes wrapped in suffering. And it has changed me, I hope, forever.