I took a 19-day whirlwind adventure around a few parts of Asia recently. I can't say I was expecting a lot, but I was surprised by Grace... (As usual, I hear you say)
I've travelled a fair amount in my time. But travelling with a "pastor" title can be quite a different experience, as I come to learn.
Like the immigration officer that does a double take when he looks at your occupation title on your immigration form. You can't tell if he's sheepish because he thinks he needs to let you through without asking questions or if he suddenly thinks he needs to treat you with more respect simply because you have a religious title.
Or when you're in the home of another pastor and suddenly you're no longer the kid waiting patiently at the dining table for the pastor to say a blessing before we all eat. No, it's a little bit weird when you're the one who's asked to say the blessing.
I've heard heaps of stories of pastor friends who have spent time in a village in one of the African nations where they were treated like the guest of honour. The chicken that has been saved for the special occasion is caught and slaughtered. And I remember thinking whenever I heard those stories that I would feel so uncomfortable being in that place of being a "guest of honour".
And then your hosts have you feasting on one delicious meal after another, and these mangoes that are so sweet and juicy as they take you around their city and share with you about their ministry. And you suddenly realise your hosts have been treating you like that "guest of honour," and you suddenly feel really uncomfortable.
But when your hosts usher you into the guest room upstairs and beam with pride when they tell you that you're staying in the room that "Reverend Don and Caroline stayed in when they were here," you suddenly realise you're not a guest of honour because of anything you've done. No, it's because your hosts recognise that as you fumble around in your early years of ministry, you're merely trying to find your sense of balance as you stand on the shoulders of giants. And they simply want to be gracious hosts to you as you pass through along your journey.
At least, that was my experience in my less-than-24-hour stay in Manilla, Philippines with Brother Eddie, Sister Fely, Sister Marlene and Pastor Bob, and all the other good people at Grace Family Helper Project. And in all the correspondence that followed after that short less-than-24-hour stay, they constantly remind me that I'm not alone in my passion for student ministries.
This.
This is what it means to be the recipient of grace from those who are the hands and feet of the Living Christ.
And this is why we, at The Bridge, are looking forward to partnering with the church in the Philippines.
16 April 2014
11 April 2014
"Remember Your Baptism"
11 April 2004
I remembered being immersed in that water, and coming out feeling nothing different. The rational part of me knew that was normal, but a part of me wanted to feel different.
But that was the beginning of everything.
For years before then, I had been thinking about the blessing that came when God changed a person's name in the Bible.
Abram to Abraham.
Sarai to Sarah.
Jacob to Israel.
And I had wanted that blessing, but I felt like there had to be a reason or occasion for that blessing.
Easter Sunday was rolling around that year. My brother and I had decided we wanted to be baptised that Easter Sunday. And I had brought up the name thing, so my mum got involved with the process of looking for a new name.
We wanted names that started with the letter J to keep with our legal names. For some reason, my mum didn't want me to pick the name Jezebel (I wonder why). And so we kept searching.
Then one day she said she stumbled upon the name Jael and told me to look up what it meant. Everything that Google found said it meant "mountain goat" or something along those lines.
So we took it to my pastor, and in his best attempt to parse the Hebrew name, we came up with "Ja" sounding like Yahweh or Jehovah, and "El" sounding like El Shaddai -- something along the lines of calling out to God.
And then I read the story of Jael in Judges 4. I was impressed by the strength that woman possessed to be a part of Kingdom work, so mountain goat or not, Jael was the name to be. It was short and simple, and I grew to like it more and more.
But... Well, back to that time of immersion in water baptism.
I came out of the water feeling nothing different. What I didn't realise was that that was the beginning of what I now affectionately call "all that crazy".
At the time, I thought it was a momentous occasion because... well, there was that name change thing. And the guy I thought I was going to marry at the time (all grown-up at 18-years-old) was there as well.
More importantly, my BFF was there. She wasn't a church-goer and we didn't share the same faith, but she was there because she knew it was important to me. And to this day, even though she still wouldn't say we share the same faith, she reminds me constantly of that water baptism. That commitment I made, that even if she didn't completely understand, to surrender my life and call to my belief and my faith. Juan, you really are the best.
But even more importantly, that was the beginning of "all that crazy".
You see, I didn't know it at the time, but later that year, I would move to Anderson, Indiana for college.
And Anderson, Indiana was the beginning of "all that crazy".
Good crazy, I should probably add.
And there was no turning back.
10 years, a whirlwind of life experience and a whole collection of passport stamps later, here I am in Auckland, New Zealand, remembering that baptism.
There was nothing special about that water.
And I didn't come out feeling any different.
But things were becoming different.
Remember your baptism
I remembered being immersed in that water, and coming out feeling nothing different. The rational part of me knew that was normal, but a part of me wanted to feel different.
But that was the beginning of everything.
For years before then, I had been thinking about the blessing that came when God changed a person's name in the Bible.
Abram to Abraham.
Sarai to Sarah.
Jacob to Israel.
And I had wanted that blessing, but I felt like there had to be a reason or occasion for that blessing.
Easter Sunday was rolling around that year. My brother and I had decided we wanted to be baptised that Easter Sunday. And I had brought up the name thing, so my mum got involved with the process of looking for a new name.
We wanted names that started with the letter J to keep with our legal names. For some reason, my mum didn't want me to pick the name Jezebel (I wonder why). And so we kept searching.
Then one day she said she stumbled upon the name Jael and told me to look up what it meant. Everything that Google found said it meant "mountain goat" or something along those lines.
So we took it to my pastor, and in his best attempt to parse the Hebrew name, we came up with "Ja" sounding like Yahweh or Jehovah, and "El" sounding like El Shaddai -- something along the lines of calling out to God.
And then I read the story of Jael in Judges 4. I was impressed by the strength that woman possessed to be a part of Kingdom work, so mountain goat or not, Jael was the name to be. It was short and simple, and I grew to like it more and more.
But... Well, back to that time of immersion in water baptism.
I came out of the water feeling nothing different. What I didn't realise was that that was the beginning of what I now affectionately call "all that crazy".
At the time, I thought it was a momentous occasion because... well, there was that name change thing. And the guy I thought I was going to marry at the time (all grown-up at 18-years-old) was there as well.
More importantly, my BFF was there. She wasn't a church-goer and we didn't share the same faith, but she was there because she knew it was important to me. And to this day, even though she still wouldn't say we share the same faith, she reminds me constantly of that water baptism. That commitment I made, that even if she didn't completely understand, to surrender my life and call to my belief and my faith. Juan, you really are the best.
But even more importantly, that was the beginning of "all that crazy".
You see, I didn't know it at the time, but later that year, I would move to Anderson, Indiana for college.
And Anderson, Indiana was the beginning of "all that crazy".
Good crazy, I should probably add.
And there was no turning back.
10 years, a whirlwind of life experience and a whole collection of passport stamps later, here I am in Auckland, New Zealand, remembering that baptism.
There was nothing special about that water.
And I didn't come out feeling any different.
But things were becoming different.
Remember your baptism
04 April 2014
3 Weeks of Grace Part #1: The Good Soil
I took a 19-day whirlwind adventure around a few parts of Asia recently. I can't say I was expecting a lot, but I was surprised by Grace... (As usual, I hear you say).
It would be ten years this August since I last lived in Singapore. And of course, it's only taken me the last ten years of being gone to realise I was lucky to have landed in good soil. And no, I don't mean blessed. I mean lucky.
Luck would have it that I landed in the good soil of a family that rallies around in times of need.
Luck would have it that the winds blew and the storms came, but somehow we are still standing and holding each other in gestures that may not quite suggest intimacy as much as simply the need to ensure each other's survival.
Luck would have it that I landed in the good soil of a circle of girls that still stick around, twelve years after our school days.
Luck would have it that we all landed in a school, way back in the beginning, that would churn us out ok--successful perhaps not by the world's standards, but by the abundance of health, laughter and the ties that bind us together through the years--and that the dramas of our lives pale drastically in comparison with so many of our contemporaries.
Luck would have it that I landed in the good soil of a "youth group" (which really isn't a "youth group" if you look at our ages, but we just don't know what other category we fit into) that had managed to somehow still stick together through the tumultuous years of church politics.
Luck would have it that each time I return, the landscape of that "youth group" changes drastically, yet somehow, the few remain faithful and committed to each other's ridiculousness as much as we were in the years that passed.
Don't get me wrong, I truly believe also, that I'm blessed. I'm just not convinced that landing in good soil was one of those blessings, as much as what often feels like random selection (luck, perhaps) because I did nothing to deserve better soil than my neighbour.
But Grace.
Grace, both in spite of, and because of, my unworthiness.
Grace that landed me in good soil.
Grace, from random selection
Now that, I might just be brave enough to receive.
It would be ten years this August since I last lived in Singapore. And of course, it's only taken me the last ten years of being gone to realise I was lucky to have landed in good soil. And no, I don't mean blessed. I mean lucky.
Luck would have it that I landed in the good soil of a family that rallies around in times of need.
Luck would have it that the winds blew and the storms came, but somehow we are still standing and holding each other in gestures that may not quite suggest intimacy as much as simply the need to ensure each other's survival.
Luck would have it that I landed in the good soil of a circle of girls that still stick around, twelve years after our school days.
Luck would have it that we all landed in a school, way back in the beginning, that would churn us out ok--successful perhaps not by the world's standards, but by the abundance of health, laughter and the ties that bind us together through the years--and that the dramas of our lives pale drastically in comparison with so many of our contemporaries.
Luck would have it that I landed in the good soil of a "youth group" (which really isn't a "youth group" if you look at our ages, but we just don't know what other category we fit into) that had managed to somehow still stick together through the tumultuous years of church politics.
Luck would have it that each time I return, the landscape of that "youth group" changes drastically, yet somehow, the few remain faithful and committed to each other's ridiculousness as much as we were in the years that passed.
Don't get me wrong, I truly believe also, that I'm blessed. I'm just not convinced that landing in good soil was one of those blessings, as much as what often feels like random selection (luck, perhaps) because I did nothing to deserve better soil than my neighbour.
But Grace.
Grace, both in spite of, and because of, my unworthiness.
Grace that landed me in good soil.
Grace, from random selection
Now that, I might just be brave enough to receive.
07 March 2014
06 March 2014
2014 Lenten Meditation #2: Brother Frank and the Bird Song
"I sing because I'm happy
I sing because I'm free
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know he watches me"
- Civilla D. Martin and Charles H. Gabriel
As some may know, I wear Brother Frank on a chain around my neck.
Brother Frank (better known as St Francis of Assisi) was given to me by Momma H, Pops Fry and the 3Ts (better known as Heidi, Ed, Thad, Toby and Theo Freer-Fry) when I first left Anderson 2.5 years ago. He currently hangs out with Jesus (or at least, the cross anyway) on that chain. Pops and Momma gave that to me when I left Anderson last (northern hemisphere) summer.
In my previous role as children's pastor, I often get seven- and eight-year-olds asking who it is I'm wearing on the chain.
How do you explain that St Francis of Assisi is this great monk with deep theological insights (but no, he's not my boyfriend) to a seven-year-old, whose attention span (when asking this question anyway) is about ten-seconds long?
As I stumbled over my own words the first time, I found myself praying, "Crap. Jesus, please let me do justice to the sainthood of Brother Frank without sounding too dumbed-down or too smart to be irrelevant."
Then the words came.
"My friends gave me this chain when I left America a few years ago. St Francis of Assisi, or as my friends and I like to call him, 'Brother Frank,' was this guy who learnt how important it was to take care of the small things. He liked spending time with the birds because it reminded him that even the little things were important. And I wear this chain because it reminds me that God wants me to take care of the little things, and especially the little people like you guys."
It is the second day of Lent.
As I sit here fiddling with the chain, I find myself willing myself to slow down and notice the little things.
I listen to the cicadas outside--their buzzing becoming a familiar soundtrack to my day.
The clock on the wall provides an accompanying rhythm as I listen to the seconds tick away.
Breathe.
And I remember this time last year.
In the middle of chaos, and crises and wilderness, I drove home one morning in tears.
Some of the little people in my life were in a complicated situation that I accidentally walked into, and I didn't know how to help them.
As I pulled into the driveway and sat in the car weeping, a sparrow appeared on my rear-view mirror and sang its song for a little while while I continued weeping.
And then the words came:
"His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me."
Because even in the little things, there is a Sovereign Being who holds it all.
And we are merely dust. And to dust we will return.
I sing because I'm free
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know he watches me"
- Civilla D. Martin and Charles H. Gabriel
As some may know, I wear Brother Frank on a chain around my neck.
Brother Frank (better known as St Francis of Assisi) was given to me by Momma H, Pops Fry and the 3Ts (better known as Heidi, Ed, Thad, Toby and Theo Freer-Fry) when I first left Anderson 2.5 years ago. He currently hangs out with Jesus (or at least, the cross anyway) on that chain. Pops and Momma gave that to me when I left Anderson last (northern hemisphere) summer.
In my previous role as children's pastor, I often get seven- and eight-year-olds asking who it is I'm wearing on the chain.
How do you explain that St Francis of Assisi is this great monk with deep theological insights (but no, he's not my boyfriend) to a seven-year-old, whose attention span (when asking this question anyway) is about ten-seconds long?
As I stumbled over my own words the first time, I found myself praying, "Crap. Jesus, please let me do justice to the sainthood of Brother Frank without sounding too dumbed-down or too smart to be irrelevant."
Then the words came.
"My friends gave me this chain when I left America a few years ago. St Francis of Assisi, or as my friends and I like to call him, 'Brother Frank,' was this guy who learnt how important it was to take care of the small things. He liked spending time with the birds because it reminded him that even the little things were important. And I wear this chain because it reminds me that God wants me to take care of the little things, and especially the little people like you guys."
It is the second day of Lent.
As I sit here fiddling with the chain, I find myself willing myself to slow down and notice the little things.
I listen to the cicadas outside--their buzzing becoming a familiar soundtrack to my day.
The clock on the wall provides an accompanying rhythm as I listen to the seconds tick away.
Breathe.
And I remember this time last year.
In the middle of chaos, and crises and wilderness, I drove home one morning in tears.
Some of the little people in my life were in a complicated situation that I accidentally walked into, and I didn't know how to help them.
As I pulled into the driveway and sat in the car weeping, a sparrow appeared on my rear-view mirror and sang its song for a little while while I continued weeping.
And then the words came:
"His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me."
Because even in the little things, there is a Sovereign Being who holds it all.
And we are merely dust. And to dust we will return.
My friend, Ed Breeden shared this on Facebook this morning,
which was a big part of the inspiration for today's post.
05 March 2014
2014 Lenten Meditation #1: The Scattered Community
"We've travelled through deserts, survived by His grace
We've kept souvenirs to commemorate
All the times that he washed the tears from our faces
Showed us new places to help renovate us"
- Renovatus
It is Ash Wednesday here in Auckland.
As we sat in St Patrick's Cathedral this morning reflecting on Ash Wednesday and this season of Lent, my mind drifted back to this time last year.
My scattered community were gathering for the first time, at least in a sense of spiritual togetherness, even if we weren't able to gather physically.
We were each travelling through our own seasons of wilderness.
But around that spiritual table, the seasons of wilderness became less lonely.
The deserts were still dry. Our souls were still parched.
But at least, we were together.
That's already better than wandering in the desert alone.
This year finds us in a different landscape.
Still together, but in a different way.
Yet around the ashes, all is the same.
We remember.
We remember the roads travelled.
We remember the dust.
We remember the struggle.
We've kept souvenirs to commemorate
All the times that he washed the tears from our faces
Showed us new places to help renovate us"
- Renovatus
It is Ash Wednesday here in Auckland.
As we sat in St Patrick's Cathedral this morning reflecting on Ash Wednesday and this season of Lent, my mind drifted back to this time last year.
My scattered community were gathering for the first time, at least in a sense of spiritual togetherness, even if we weren't able to gather physically.
We were each travelling through our own seasons of wilderness.
But around that spiritual table, the seasons of wilderness became less lonely.
The deserts were still dry. Our souls were still parched.
But at least, we were together.
That's already better than wandering in the desert alone.
This year finds us in a different landscape.
Still together, but in a different way.
Yet around the ashes, all is the same.
We remember.
We remember the roads travelled.
We remember the dust.
We remember the struggle.
We remember that we are from dust, and to dust we return.
27 February 2014
South Pacific News: A New Day is Dawning
A new day is dawning in the South Pacific.
The pastors and leaders of the Church of God in Australia and New Zealand have, for a long time, desired to connect as co-labourers of the Kingdom across the Tasman Sea. Thanks to the wonders of technology, Chad Davenport, Dwayne and Kara Goldman, Marissa Haskins, Dave Ravell, Dave and Greta Reames, Janice Spearritt, and Jael Tang, together with Regional Coordinators, Don and Caroline Armstrong, had the opportunity to convene on Skype for the first time this week.
Australia and New Zealand are geographically isolated from most other parts of the world, which has historically left ministers in this region feeling isolated in ministry as well. Ministers in this region have recognized the unhealthy of doing ministry isolated, and have been eager to bridge the distance across the Tasman Sea. Today, geography no longer stands as a barrier to building community. Participants in this week’s conversation are looking forward to making this a part of the regular ministry rhythm, convening once a month to share celebrations and struggles.
A new day is dawning in the South Pacific. We are better when we are together.
The pastors and leaders of the Church of God in Australia and New Zealand have, for a long time, desired to connect as co-labourers of the Kingdom across the Tasman Sea. Thanks to the wonders of technology, Chad Davenport, Dwayne and Kara Goldman, Marissa Haskins, Dave Ravell, Dave and Greta Reames, Janice Spearritt, and Jael Tang, together with Regional Coordinators, Don and Caroline Armstrong, had the opportunity to convene on Skype for the first time this week.
Australia and New Zealand are geographically isolated from most other parts of the world, which has historically left ministers in this region feeling isolated in ministry as well. Ministers in this region have recognized the unhealthy of doing ministry isolated, and have been eager to bridge the distance across the Tasman Sea. Today, geography no longer stands as a barrier to building community. Participants in this week’s conversation are looking forward to making this a part of the regular ministry rhythm, convening once a month to share celebrations and struggles.
A new day is dawning in the South Pacific. We are better when we are together.
24 February 2014
True Confession: I Hate Fundraising
I've been meaning to write this post for a long time, but for a variety of reasons never got around to it. So here goes.
True confession: I hate fundraising.
The more I'm in this fundraising process, the more I dislike it. I know it's a necessary evil for being in my current ministry role. And I know even in your dream job, there will always be stuff you dislike about it. And while I've learnt important lessons like not taking for granted anything you have because people have sacrificed so you can have your next meal, and the humility that comes with asking for partnerships, I still hate the process. And here's why:
1) I hate walking the fine line between celebrating what God is doing and making a splash with a "success story" to "win" support. I love stories, and I love telling stories, but I have often felt compelled to simply share "successful" statistics, or moving stories of major transformation. I see life change happening everyday in baby steps, but they don't make for fantastic success stories to tell. I want to celebrate the spectacular things God is doing, even if only in baby steps, but the pressure of the fundraising process often weighs so heavy that I feel obligated to only tell "success stories". And I hate that because it disrespects the life story for what it is--a journey in process, not a successful statistic.
2) I hate talking about myself or what I am doing, and the fundraising process often feels like we have to "market" ourselves. Amber and I had this discussion a little while ago that missionaries should fundraise in pairs because it's easier for us to talk each other up than for us to talk about ourselves and our ministries. Which leads me to the main point of today's blog post.
3) I hate that fundraising sometimes feels like a competition. Some of my favourite people whom I have journeyed with and have a great deal of respect for are stuck in the same fundraising rut that I am. I've been thinking about writing this post since my dear, dear friends Dan, Christy and Sofie Kihm, and Jenny, Bobby and Moore Mihsill were still in their fundraising process. These two families have finally finished their fundraising process, and the Kihms are now in the Netherlands and the Mihsills are at language school in France, preparing to move to Cote d'Ivore.
I wanted to tell you why you should support them financially and why you should believe in their ministry.
And I want to tell you why you should support Zach and Audrey Langford and their involvement in 3Worlds, particularly because of Audrey's role with missionary kids. Because I *get* why it's a challenge trying to raise support to go somewhere that is a part of the developed world when it's often easier to get folks to give compassionately to a mission in the developing world.
And I want to tell you why you should support Rebecca, Ryan and Ashton Hodges because I truly believe God has called them to Kenya--and not just because we should feel compassion for the poor, starving children of Africa.
And I want to tell you why you should support Emily Clark and the Place of Promise on Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota. Because it's a ministry that is near and dear to my heart having been on the reservation myself seven years ago.
And I want to tell you why you should support Amber Livermore, and help her get back to Aotearoa New Zealand for another two years to build on all the good work she has started here. Because I love watching her interact with the youths across all the churches in the Wesleyan Methodist Church of New Zealand, and the way she's earned the respect of the local pastors here.
But in my completely selfish internal dialogue, I find myself thinking, "If I advocate for them, who's advocating for me? And will there be any funds left for me?"
And this is what I hate most about fundraising. I truly believe that God has called each one of us, and that there will be enough resources in the Kingdom so that all who are called will be taken care of. But through a few unfortunate conversations along the way, I've come to realise that if we're not careful about the way we view the process, we're going to feel like we're competing against one another when we're really all playing for the same team.
And I am completely aware that churches and missions committees sometimes have to make difficult decisions about which ministries to support because they are all worthy causes--to which I sincerely applaud you for taking the time to pray and discern. But all I'm asking is that in your process of prayer and discernment, please be gentle with us who are in this aggravating fundraising process when you tell us you've decided to go in a different direction. While I truly believe there is enough for everyone, the process of knocking on doors asking for support can be very discouraging. Help us to not have to feel like we're in a competition against people whom we love and respect dearly.
From the depths of my heart, thank you for giving sacrificially so that Kingdom work can keep happening all around the world.
I just... still hate fundraising.
True confession: I hate fundraising.
The more I'm in this fundraising process, the more I dislike it. I know it's a necessary evil for being in my current ministry role. And I know even in your dream job, there will always be stuff you dislike about it. And while I've learnt important lessons like not taking for granted anything you have because people have sacrificed so you can have your next meal, and the humility that comes with asking for partnerships, I still hate the process. And here's why:
1) I hate walking the fine line between celebrating what God is doing and making a splash with a "success story" to "win" support. I love stories, and I love telling stories, but I have often felt compelled to simply share "successful" statistics, or moving stories of major transformation. I see life change happening everyday in baby steps, but they don't make for fantastic success stories to tell. I want to celebrate the spectacular things God is doing, even if only in baby steps, but the pressure of the fundraising process often weighs so heavy that I feel obligated to only tell "success stories". And I hate that because it disrespects the life story for what it is--a journey in process, not a successful statistic.
2) I hate talking about myself or what I am doing, and the fundraising process often feels like we have to "market" ourselves. Amber and I had this discussion a little while ago that missionaries should fundraise in pairs because it's easier for us to talk each other up than for us to talk about ourselves and our ministries. Which leads me to the main point of today's blog post.
3) I hate that fundraising sometimes feels like a competition. Some of my favourite people whom I have journeyed with and have a great deal of respect for are stuck in the same fundraising rut that I am. I've been thinking about writing this post since my dear, dear friends Dan, Christy and Sofie Kihm, and Jenny, Bobby and Moore Mihsill were still in their fundraising process. These two families have finally finished their fundraising process, and the Kihms are now in the Netherlands and the Mihsills are at language school in France, preparing to move to Cote d'Ivore.
I wanted to tell you why you should support them financially and why you should believe in their ministry.
And I want to tell you why you should support Zach and Audrey Langford and their involvement in 3Worlds, particularly because of Audrey's role with missionary kids. Because I *get* why it's a challenge trying to raise support to go somewhere that is a part of the developed world when it's often easier to get folks to give compassionately to a mission in the developing world.
And I want to tell you why you should support Rebecca, Ryan and Ashton Hodges because I truly believe God has called them to Kenya--and not just because we should feel compassion for the poor, starving children of Africa.
And I want to tell you why you should support Emily Clark and the Place of Promise on Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota. Because it's a ministry that is near and dear to my heart having been on the reservation myself seven years ago.
And I want to tell you why you should support Amber Livermore, and help her get back to Aotearoa New Zealand for another two years to build on all the good work she has started here. Because I love watching her interact with the youths across all the churches in the Wesleyan Methodist Church of New Zealand, and the way she's earned the respect of the local pastors here.
But in my completely selfish internal dialogue, I find myself thinking, "If I advocate for them, who's advocating for me? And will there be any funds left for me?"
And this is what I hate most about fundraising. I truly believe that God has called each one of us, and that there will be enough resources in the Kingdom so that all who are called will be taken care of. But through a few unfortunate conversations along the way, I've come to realise that if we're not careful about the way we view the process, we're going to feel like we're competing against one another when we're really all playing for the same team.
And I am completely aware that churches and missions committees sometimes have to make difficult decisions about which ministries to support because they are all worthy causes--to which I sincerely applaud you for taking the time to pray and discern. But all I'm asking is that in your process of prayer and discernment, please be gentle with us who are in this aggravating fundraising process when you tell us you've decided to go in a different direction. While I truly believe there is enough for everyone, the process of knocking on doors asking for support can be very discouraging. Help us to not have to feel like we're in a competition against people whom we love and respect dearly.
From the depths of my heart, thank you for giving sacrificially so that Kingdom work can keep happening all around the world.
I just... still hate fundraising.
17 January 2014
IGNITE 2014 #2: Highlights
I'm finally beginning to process some of my thoughts from the three nights I spent in Ngaruawahia at IGNITE 2014, the national youth camp of the Wesleyan Methodist Church of New Zealand (WMCNZ). This might take a few blog posts because my attention span is completely shot, so bear with me.
As I continue reflecting on the weekend away at camp, two vivid images come to mind continually.
The first is of the first full day of team challenges. My team, the Blue Smurfs, was pit against the Orange Tigers. There were several formidable opponents in the Orange Tigers, but the one that I remember best is probably a young man by the name of Mikaele. We had several one-on-one run-ins during game time. I knew there was no way my old, achy body would out-run his buff Island warrior build, but I had to give it my best shot anyway.
But it was later on during the camp when I saw him on stage with his youth group in their Fijian traditional dresses that really left a distinct impression. How many other young men do I know who will get their game on as hard core as Mikaele did on the field as they are on a stage singing a worship song, complete with dance moves, looking like they actually want to be on stage getting into worship? Not that many.
The other is of the final rally on the last day of camp. The camp speakers, Rob Reynolds and Frank Ritchie, from TEAR fund gave an "altar call" of sorts. Instead of the usual "Come to Jesus" altar calls, the youth were invited to respond to playing their part in the missio Dei (again, theologically profound--but that will be for a later post). As they walked up to the front, they were greeted by their youth pastors/leaders who would pray with them individually.
During that time of response, I had the privilege of standing beside the youth leader of some of the girls I've had significant conversations with over the weekend of camp. And as each one of them came up, tears overwhelmed as I remembered again why I was a part of this kingdom work--something I thought had been buried deep in the memory boxes of yesteryear.
God is still at work, even as I struggle with my sense of call. And for that, I'm thankful.
Malo Sisu
As I continue reflecting on the weekend away at camp, two vivid images come to mind continually.
The first is of the first full day of team challenges. My team, the Blue Smurfs, was pit against the Orange Tigers. There were several formidable opponents in the Orange Tigers, but the one that I remember best is probably a young man by the name of Mikaele. We had several one-on-one run-ins during game time. I knew there was no way my old, achy body would out-run his buff Island warrior build, but I had to give it my best shot anyway.
But it was later on during the camp when I saw him on stage with his youth group in their Fijian traditional dresses that really left a distinct impression. How many other young men do I know who will get their game on as hard core as Mikaele did on the field as they are on a stage singing a worship song, complete with dance moves, looking like they actually want to be on stage getting into worship? Not that many.
The other is of the final rally on the last day of camp. The camp speakers, Rob Reynolds and Frank Ritchie, from TEAR fund gave an "altar call" of sorts. Instead of the usual "Come to Jesus" altar calls, the youth were invited to respond to playing their part in the missio Dei (again, theologically profound--but that will be for a later post). As they walked up to the front, they were greeted by their youth pastors/leaders who would pray with them individually.
During that time of response, I had the privilege of standing beside the youth leader of some of the girls I've had significant conversations with over the weekend of camp. And as each one of them came up, tears overwhelmed as I remembered again why I was a part of this kingdom work--something I thought had been buried deep in the memory boxes of yesteryear.
God is still at work, even as I struggle with my sense of call. And for that, I'm thankful.
Malo Sisu
16 January 2014
IGNITE 2014 #1: First Impressions
I'm finally beginning to process some of my thoughts from the three nights I spent in Ngaruawahia at IGNITE 2014, the national youth camp of the Wesleyan Methodist Church of New Zealand (WMCNZ). This might take a few blog posts because my attention span is completely shot, so bear with me.
I came away from IGNITE 2014 on a high. And I was surprised, because it wasn't the "camp fever" type of spiritual highs that I was used to from all my years of being a good church girl.
No, it was a very refreshing high. It was a high that would have more longevity than the other camps--particularly youth camps--I've been involved with in one way or another.
Every component of the camp struck me as well thought through with intentionality and theologically reflection. Perhaps the biggest thing that impressed me was that there was a lot of thought put into connecting the students back to their home church environment so that there can be as much follow up as possible by their youth pastors/leaders and home church.
Hats off to Rev. Joanne McKinnell, Rev. Amber Livermore and their leadership team. I've been in on some of the struggles they've had and continue to have moving forward from here, and they would say it's not quite where they want it to be yet. But to borrow the words from dear sage and mentor, Ann Smith, "Focus not on how far you have to go, but how far you've come." With only eight short years of an event history and the amount of personnel they had pulling off all the various pieces, this camp has already surpassed the level of excellence that can be achieved at this stage in the history of WMCNZ.
On a more personal note, what amount of respect I already had for both Jo and Amber have just been majorly upped because they don't simply talk good theological reflection--they also put good theological reflection into bite-sized, age-appropriate portions.
To borrow a Tongan phrase, "Malo Sisu" (Thank you Jesus)
I came away from IGNITE 2014 on a high. And I was surprised, because it wasn't the "camp fever" type of spiritual highs that I was used to from all my years of being a good church girl.
No, it was a very refreshing high. It was a high that would have more longevity than the other camps--particularly youth camps--I've been involved with in one way or another.
Every component of the camp struck me as well thought through with intentionality and theologically reflection. Perhaps the biggest thing that impressed me was that there was a lot of thought put into connecting the students back to their home church environment so that there can be as much follow up as possible by their youth pastors/leaders and home church.
Hats off to Rev. Joanne McKinnell, Rev. Amber Livermore and their leadership team. I've been in on some of the struggles they've had and continue to have moving forward from here, and they would say it's not quite where they want it to be yet. But to borrow the words from dear sage and mentor, Ann Smith, "Focus not on how far you have to go, but how far you've come." With only eight short years of an event history and the amount of personnel they had pulling off all the various pieces, this camp has already surpassed the level of excellence that can be achieved at this stage in the history of WMCNZ.
On a more personal note, what amount of respect I already had for both Jo and Amber have just been majorly upped because they don't simply talk good theological reflection--they also put good theological reflection into bite-sized, age-appropriate portions.
To borrow a Tongan phrase, "Malo Sisu" (Thank you Jesus)
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