MK forum

I've recently been self-amusing with putting my very ordinary life into prayer letter form:
Dear Prayer Warriors,
Hello from snowy Pennsylvania! As I companionably shovel snow with my neighbors, I think how we are blessed with living in such a multi-cultural area, and thank God for the many opportunities to share the love of Christ with them. [i](Notice if you write opportunities you don't have to annotate them).


You get the point . . .what would happen to the faith of those who serve, if there were no such props? If I could get up in front of a group of people and describe the daily life of my work as a pediatric nurse, I think I would feel better about what I do! And then go back every quarter . . .and give out pictures of the children on my lap, or as I push them thru the halls at school? How about if people were so trusting of me and my work that I didn't have to write notes or clock in and out? Wouldn't that feel special? If I were forgiven, and paid anyway, for being sickly? If every couple of years I was paid to have a recharging time? If people sent me cards, extra money, books? If my words were so sacred that I would be invited to speak to congregations? And the handshake with money in it?

Musings. Much love.

Dear Prayer Warrior
Today I was truly blessed
For I emptied the bedpan
Of someone nearing eternal rest

And I ministered
To a wrinkled rear
Cleaned up you know what
Which most people won't go near

Then I checked for golden blessings
In each little catheter bag
While suggesting to Mr Smith again
To put out his filthy fag

I was truly blessed
To do the doctors round
The words to describe his arrogance
I have alas not quite found

Then Dear Prayer Warrior
I clocked off after an exhausting day
And I hope my reward is in heaven
For it sure ain't in my humble pay

Some great thoughts here!

The longer I've been away from the missionary life the more clarity I have about just how removed from reality that life actually is. I grew up as an MK and then was an adult missionary for 27 years, so until 2001, I knew no other lifestyle, and that was my norm.

Now I punch a time clock, work a full time job (night shift no less), barely keep the bills paid, don't get any of the special treats or perks that I once took for granted. If the car needs to be replaced, we can't just send out a prayer letter asking people to "pray" about our need and then watch the money come pouring in. We see a lot fewer "miracles" of God's provision, and instead must try to squirrel away our hard earned dollars little by little for several years until we finally have enough to replace our vehicle.

I think about how hard we used to think our life was, and yet we really did have so much freedom, so little supervision or accountability, and yes, those lovely year-long vacations every four years, during which we drove around presenting our perfect little family and our perfect little ministry, and enjoying the bountiful potluck dinners and the free gifts from the "missionary cupboards".

Yeah. It was a rough life.

Prayer cards, prayer letters, perks, and props? Most missionaries would deny the perks as perks. But what I'm wondering is . . .a spiritual life is definitely one of evolution, of change, progression, regression, growth, movement . . .but what if you're already with the most righteous church? At the frontier? Have given your all to God Himself! Already gave up and forsook your family? If you publish in missions magazines? What then do you do with doubt? Not an easy thing, to go experiment with a different church? Some I have known, will pour over yellow pages in vacation towns, looking for the right IFCA church (Independent Churches of America.) to visit one time. All of those props can then be a cage . . .and it gets lonely in the cage, so keeping the family in the cage gets very important.

Just tell me to shut up already. I can take it.

No, don't shut up ... this is all good. Who knows, there might even be a few current pinnacle perchers reading ... and maybe they will not be too high above us to give this some thought.

Another P for me was pedestal.

I was a part of one the most respected and renowned families in NTM. All but one us us children re-upped in the mission as adults. My own career was also pretty impressive. My husband and I had the rare privilege of being the first to enter a new tribe, baptize the first believers and translate the entire New Testament into their language. Our children were all well behaved and beautiful. And yes, I wrote many articles for the mission magazines!

On furloughs the pedestal felt so high I practically had a nosebleed. People were in awe of our sacrifices and our accomplishments. I had a syrupy spiritual response to everything. Praise and presents were piled on us all.

And I thought I deserved it.

In 1993 we learned that 6 years before, a co-worker we considered a good friend had betrayed our trust and violated our daughters, when they were only 11 and 6. That man made a mockery of everything I thought I was ... a loving, protective parent, a person blessed by God, a successful woman who lived a charmed life.

I took a tumble off that stupid pedestal and lay gasping in the mud and muck of real life.

I was a failure. My husband was a failure. My children were gravely wounded. My career was over. My reputation was ruined. My dream life overseas was done. God-- worst of all God -- had utterly failed me. Everything I thought I believed and stood for felt like a derisive lie.

We hobbled home, all of us in so much pain we could hardly breathe. Our broken family lay in the mud at the foot of that now-empty pedestal and struggled. For years. Through depression, panic attacks, eating disorders, cutting, drug and alcohol abuse, promiscuity, unhealthy relationships, failure, humiliation, more failure.

Covered in the mud of failure I raised my head and looked around. All around me were people, as far as the eye could see. Broken people. Hurting people. Angry people. Honest people. Needy people. Real people.

No pedestal down here. No answers to the many questions every truly honest person has.

And ... I blinked my eyes. Could it be? This is where Jesus lives? Yes, it's him! Down here in the mud with all of us losers. Amazing!

And thus began the most important "ministry" of my life. No more perks or pedestals. No more prayer letters. I still don't know the answers. But the mud beneath my worthless old pedestal has become my holy ground.

Please, let's add pedestal. Lord knows, I wasn't allowed in a pulpit. I crave the pedestal. Oh, that would feel right. When I was 14 we were naive enough to be excited about an 8 day missionary conference that supposedly had a big youth group. It was our first furlough. There's nothing quite like American adolescents being forced to go to missions conferences in the middle of summer, to bring the MKs down to size. It was the height of Michael Jackson fever, KISS, 1984. The girls at the church had to wear dresses, many of them with pastel hose and shiny flats. They all attended the church's Christian school, and were relentless in their snobbery. A few weeks later I got on a bus for the most terrifying day of my life. My first day in a public high school. All of the lessons I had learned with the church school kids went right out the window. I had two outfits that fit. Knew no bands. My mom was hesitant about even Amy Grant. Had never worked a locker combination. Tried to sit with shop guys at lunch because my cousin was there. I had no props. I was nothing. In Brazil, my red hair and white skin brought surprise and delight wherever I went. In the States, especially in the area where my genetic code is prevelant, I was proving to be less than wallpaper, more like the flat grey paint of the walls. I wanted anonymity, and yet I really needed my props.
Raz, I love hearing about your life, even the painful parts. I hate what Les Emory and NTM did. But I'm glad you're here.

Thanks, Allbetter.

I'm glad I'm here too. Believe it or not. There's no place I'd rather be.

Well, okay. Wait.

In the spirit of true honesty that we are embracing here, I will say that right now, at this precise moment, I'd rather be on a cruise ship in the Bahamas, sipping a pina colada in the warm sunshine.

This has been quite the winter here in America's heartland, and I'm tired of it.

But you know what I meant.

I have failed! And now I feel I might as well give up and go down the bottom of the garden and eat worms.

After over two years and 3400 posts, my dear friend Raz wants to go to the Bahamas to escape a freezing American winter! And behold who does she know in the Bahamas? Are there MKs in the Bahamas who will cheer up her spirits so much that her dentures fly out? No! I say. Yes, I say No!

And yet she doth not even consider her good friends Downunder, who bask in beautiful mild summer sun, eating magnificent seasonal fare! We are deeply hurt, nay irreconcilably offended that our efforts have been to no avail.

I shall now adjourn to the bottom of the garden, do not feel sorry for me, I know my place, for I have been an MK who was rejected (violin music playing sadly in background, tissues out en masse), neigh verily it is my lot in life.

I shall take down the "Vacancy" sign at the humble Bemused Mansion, tell the fatted calf it is on reprieve and send the excellent selection of wine back.