Desert Experiences

"Don't wish the desert experiences out of your life."

Nearly two decades ago, a beloved college professor gave us this challenge.  It has stuck with me, edified me, and haunted me for years.  Just when I thought I had it mastered, the Lord raised the stakes by adding, "Don't wish the desert experiences out of your children's lives."  

Oh, how this lesson hurt. I spent a lot of energy regretting my oldest children's childhoods as they were living them.

For his first birthday in Africa, Titus asked to stay home because every time we left our house was hard.  On hers, Emily asked to visit a Lebanese hotel an hour away to see the grass.  If you can imagine a life where the best things your six and eight year olds can think of are staying home and seeing grass, it hurts.

They went up to fifteen months at a stretch without a hug from a grandparent or an encouraging word from a Sunday school teacher.  The only adults pouring into them (in person) were us.  (Sound familiar?)  I hurt for them often, knowing what love they were missing out on in America.

When they only saw English-speaking friends one morning a month at missionary worship and another three times a year at homeschool co-op in the capital, their loneliness hurt me.

So, why am I re-living all of this to you now?

Because I hear these same regrets in friends' voices today as quarantine birthdays disappoint their children and sports seasons are cancelled.  Kids are going weeks, turning into months, without a hug from a grandparent.  I see that heartache.  It is similar to the experiences of missionary kids in remote regions of the world.  Perhaps you can find a little solace in hearing the rest of our story...

As we were leaving Africa, Emily shared with me something profound.  She explained that she didn't share my regrets for her childhood. "I am not sad for missing those things in America," she said, "This life is my normal."  

All that pain I was carrying for her? She didn't have it for herself.  I wished I could re-live her childhood with her perspective.  Despite the years I spent hurting for them, I am so proud of who my children became. They have seen suffering; they have known sacrifice.....and they are better for it.

Yours will be, too.

One silly, but true example is our kids' ability to sit through long dinners of adult conversation when we returned to the States. We could be at a dinner table with our friends for hours, and our kids were sitting right there with us the whole time smiling along. Our hosts would be amazed by them. "They really are enjoying it," I tried to explain.  "All these conversations are in English; all the food is recognizable; all the seats cushioned.  What's not to love? They are having the time of their lives."  They became teenagers who appreciate tiny comforts and know the difference between being inconvenienced and actual suffering.

It's hard to believe it now when you're seeing the boredom, the tears, the loneliness, and the loss of what this spring could have been, but our kids won't be defined by what they are missing out on right now.  They will be shaped by what they are gaining in resiliency. Through today's quarantine hurts, God is pouring wisdom and strength into an entire generation.

"Don't wish the desert experiences out of your children's lives."

Ministry in the Era of Coronavirus

There is no need for me to write about the toll the coronavirus is expected to take in West Africa.  There are news articles that already do this, like the one here: Coronavirus in crisis-hit West Africa

But what the news can't tell you is the ministry impact in our community.  For our families receiving formula, this is a global layer of crisis on top of their community crisis of poverty on top of their immediate crisis of losing a mother.  May the Lord sustain them.  We continue our formula distribution (these babies need to eat!), but we have adjusted our methods to minimize community travel and interaction.

As you already know, without running water in their homes or refrigerators to store food or ventilators for the sick, our Host Families are in a vulnerable region of the world.  Through the work of our team and partners on the ground, each Host Family received rice, oil, and the luxury of hand sanitiser just as coronavirus was confirmed in town.  Resonating with Paul's expression in Galatians 2, providing for the families in crisis is the very thing we have been eager to do all along, virus or no virus.  The pandemic just adds another layer of crisis with which to reckon.

In the midst of the mess, we have front row seats to the glory of God at work through his people.  In Africa, we supported the local efforts to prepare well.  I did wonder, though, how we would make up the unexpected cost of coronavirus preparations.  Would this expense mean there is less to spend on formula?  Lo and behold, within twenty-four hours of presenting this need to some of our supporters, it was covered.  Covered. Praise God the coronavirus crisis did not overshadow the unrelated crisis of each tiny baby who recently lost her mother!

Additionally, our friends in Africa have great compassion for their brothers and sisters in America.  They have lived their whole lives without adequate healthcare and with the possibility of food insecurity.  Now, as they see some Americans facing such challenges for the first time, they are praying for us.  They are offering their strength in our weakness. Praise God for the Church around the world who share the same Spirit and the same Word from our Savior: "A new command I give you.  Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know you are my disciples, if you love one another."

When I take all of this in: the expressions of generosity and solidarity combined with the tragic need for it....I am reminded of another blogger's quote, "It is well with my soul - it really is, but it still hurts my heart."