Shattering perceptions.

"For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus." (Romans 3:23-24, ESV)


In this weeks blog, I am setting out to bust a myth. One that I was well aware of before I joined the missions community.

Myth:
Missionaries are perfect, godly, wholesome, daily Bible reading Christians who know God more intimately than "regular" Christians.

First, I would like to start off by saying this... I personally know many missionaries who possess these qualities! They inspire me everyday to know and love God more. They are people I look up to and want to be like.

But there is one really important detail about missionaries that most people seem to forget... We are real people. We sin. We mess up. We disobey God. We can be unkind and unholy. We are learning. We are growing everyday. Just like you.

Since this is my blog, I will willingly throw myself and, with permission, my roommate under the bus to prove the point that missionaries are just average people. Please pardon my sarcasm throughout this process.

I'll begin by spilling the beans on a few of my guilty pleasures.

Sometimes, at the end of a long day, my roommate and I enjoy sitting in our living room sipping on a homemade alcoholic beverage while we debrief on the craziness of our lives. Now, we aren't alcoholics. We don't go crazy and drink too much. But it is nice, on occasion, to kick back with a cold one. Or to have a cocktail with dinner.

Another guilty pleasure of mine is my choice in movies and television shows. There are days when I'm perfectly happy watching Frozen or Pride and Prejudice. But there are also evenings when I can't go to sleep unless I have watched The Heat, which happens to be littered with profanities. Or 300, which boasts half naked men and plenty of violence. I like to get inside the heads of psychopaths with Criminal Minds, and laugh along with shows like Friends and The Big Bang Theory.

Here's one that might be shocking for some people... I don't read my Bible everyday, and neither do a lot of other missionaries I know (gasp!). There are days that I use the excuse of being too busy or too tired. Mornings when I spend more time perfecting my coffee and breakfast rather than spending time being fed spiritually. There have been weeks when I couldn't even stand to pick up my Bible, let alone read anything out of it. Times when God seemed a million miles away. I make a marked effort to carve out time each day to spend with Jesus, but I'm human. And it doesn't always happen.

And there are many a Sunday when my roommate, and others we know, spend the morning at home lazing around rather than in their designated seats in front row of the church service.

Also, just because we are on the missions field does not mean that our speech is always wholesome and uplifting. Some times we get angry and we yell at those around us. Or we fling a profanity or two out of our mouths. Occasionally we gossip. Instead of responding in a godly way that would make Jesus smile, we can be selfish and needy, responding in the flesh rather than the spirit.

And a real kicker... I, along with many other missionaries, tend to rely on myself more than I rely on God. I make plans on my own. I decide things without consulting God. I get angry when God throws a wrench into my plans and it messes up my design. I would rather take credit for the things I do and experience than give God props. And I hate it every time I do it.

Praise God for new mercies every morning.

Now, there are two things that I am NOT trying to say here...

One is that these things are not regular occurrences. I don't know many people over here who swear like sailors, or drink in excess. It's just that we are normal people, too. We mess up, we loose our self-control. We are under a lot of pressure to be shining examples, but the reality is that we don't always live up to that expectation.

The other thing I'm not trying to do here is condemn all missionaries. There are SO many people I know who fit, to a T, the mold of the model missionary. But it's so important to me that you realize not everyone fits the stereotype. That we are regular people, we struggle with things just like you.

We are still a part of progressive sanctification, right alongside you.

We still hang out with friends, have fun, and experience life. We still love God, love others, and serve. We have just been called to do those things in a different part of the world.

Partners in crime.

"Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 2:3-5, ESV)



I bet I can guess some of the first images that come to your mind when you hear the phrase "partners in crime"...

Your best friend.
Your sibling.
Bonnie and Clyde.
Your spouse.
Timon and Pumba. You know it's true.
Batman and Robin.

Since moving to Nepal, my new top picture is Evil and Apathy. They are a caustic duo that is ravaging the world.

It seems as though every day another tragedy has occurred. Whether it's in Missouri, Ukraine, Israel, Iraq, Liberia. You name it, something horrible is happening. We are encountered by evil every day, whether or not we choose to see it.

And it continues to be appalling.

Appalling that these things are happening. That people are capable of actually enacting and enabling these horrific things. And appalling that so many more people are sitting around watching it happen.

Sure, we feel outrage when someone is killed unjustly, whatever the circumstance. We feel angry that countries can't seem to work out their problems peaceably.

And yet there we sit. On our couch. At our desk. At the kitchen table. In a coffee shop. Some of us trying to wrap our minds around the evil we see so blatantly played out in front of us. Others turning the newspaper page to read the comics or the sport articles. Trying to push the atrocities from our minds.

Because it's easier. It's more comfortable. We don't have to become involved or get sucked in.

Sure, we know that South East Asia has one of the largest sex trafficking trades in the world. Sure, we know that people are being stolen, then bought and sold into slavery. Sure, we know that people are dying every single day from very curable diseases. Sure, we hear about children being abandoned because their parents don't want them anymore.

And we turn our heads to shield our eyes. To guard our minds. To forgo the breaking of our hearts.

We have become apathetic. We have become partners in crime with the evil around us.

We pretend that having the correct perspective on an issue is good enough. That being cognizant of current events will suffice. We want to have an opinion, and to let everyone around us know what that opinion is. But we don't want to be involved.

We don't want to get our hands dirty.

We enjoy residing in our bubbles. They are safe and comfortable. Easy and enjoyable.

But we forget a very important detail...these tragedies effect real people.

Imagine if it was your spouse who was killed in a bombing. Your child who was shot by a police officer. Your house that was destroyed in flash flooding. Your country that was ravished and torn apart by your neighbor.

Imagine that you couldn't escape. You couldn't just flip the page, or click on a different link.

You would want someone to care. You would want someone to take action to help you.

Now, I know that you probably can't garner a peace treaty between Israel and Gaza. I know you probably can't cure Ebola. I get that you can't single-handedly stop sex trafficking. That you can't adopt every orphaned child.

But you CAN do SOMETHING. You can start to peel away the guard of apathy that has been placed on your heart, and that society has condoned. You can do more than just care. You can take action.

There is no way that these people can be freed from this evil unless we carry them to Jesus.

Together we can give evil and apathy a swift kick in the butt.

Like a real child.

"But when Jesus saw it, he was indignant and said to them, "Let the children come to me: do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it." And he took them in his arms and blessed them, laying his hands on them." (Mark 10:14-16, ESV)


Growing up in the church community was one of the greatest blessings I have ever been given. It also has turned out to be one of the greatest obstacles in my walk with Jesus. From as far back as I can remember, words like "propitiation" and "sanctification" and "intercession" were thrown around. But, growing up in the church, it's just assumed you know what those words mean. Like, when you're born, they are engrained in your brain. Etched into your mind by some doing of the Holy Spirit.

No one takes the time to explain them. And I'm not sure that some people who actually use those words understand what they mean. Which really complicates matters when you're trying to fit in, to play the part, and you can't correctly execute the use of the vast vocabulary.

And I found that this same thing, the lack of explanation, rolls over into religious phrases as well. We throw them around because it's expected of us, without fully understanding what we are saying. We may have some idea, but we haven't grasped the full concept yet.

For me, one of those phrases or ideas has always been coming to God with faith like a child.

It's been explained to me this way... Children are trusting by nature. They can't do things on their own, they need to rely on others to help them. We need to trust God implicitly and rely on Him in all things.

Which is true! And great. And I agree completely.

BUT.

It never sat right with me that, that was all there was to it. There had to be something more, right?

And this week it clicked.

Three mornings a week, all the students at school gather together and have chapel. We sing, pray, and hear a short message or story. And every week I watch with a beaming heart and a thankful spirit. These kids love God more than ANYTHING. And they aren't afraid to show it.

Especially one little girl in the preschool class. Silisa is maybe 3 years old, and full of sass and spunk. And she worships God like nobody I have ever seen.

She yells the lyrics rather than sings them, like she can't proclaim the truth loud enough. She claps her hands no matter the speed of the song. God loves a joyful noise, right? She jumps and dances and lifts her hands, like she was King David himself.

She has such reckless abandon when she worships. Like, so reckless that she regularly loses her balance and falls over, or hits the kid next her to her while dancing.

Isn't that one of the greatest things about kids? Their excitement and enthusiasm? Their sheer joy about even the smallest things?

So, if we are told to come to God like a child, shouldn't we be portraying that same level of ecstasy? Shouldn't we be beside ourselves with how much we love God and want to praise Him?

Why aren't we?

Why can't we seem to muster the same abandon that Silisa does? The same joy we feel when we find the perfect shirt to complete our outfit? Or buy a new car? Or sip on a Starbucks at the end of a really long day?

If we claim to be Christians, and we claim to put Christ first in our lives, it should be our deepest desire to praise him completely and wholeheartedly. All the time. No matter what.

We shouldn't be ashamed of being Christian. We shouldn't be concerned with what the person next to us at church will think if we should lift BOTH hands in worship instead of just one. We shouldn't care how desperately the devil tries to distract us.

Because we GET to worship JESUS. Think about that for a second.

Let it sink in.

How COMPLETELY INCREDIBLE is that thought?!

Jesus. Like, THE Jesus. And we get to come to Him and worship Him. Be with Him. Experience Him.

Now, I'm not saying you need to jump around during the next worship service you attend. Or that you should start interpretive dancing in the middle of the mall to show how much you love God.

What I am saying is this... God chose you to be His. He saved you from utter darkness. He desires, and more importantly deserves, your praise. Completely and unashamedly.

So come to Him like a child.

Changing my eyes.

"But to all who did receive him, who did believe in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor the will of man, but of God." (John 1:12 ESV)


A few weeks ago I had coffee with a friend of mine. Just to catch up and chat and see how everything was going for the other person. At least, it started out that way. But by the end, it turned into her placing a huge challenge in front of me that seems insurmountable. And the funny thing is, I'm not sure she even realized it.

We were talking about me finishing up my time here. The things I'll miss, the things I'm excited for, the anxieties I have.

I shared with her my biggest fear about returning home...

That I won't be able to love on any kids in America the way that I love on my kids here in Nepal. That I'll be detached from serving them, which used to be one of my favorite ways to spend my time. I'm terrified that I'll always compare them to my kids, that I won't be able to minister to them because I'll size their problems up to the problems that my kids are faced with.

When I was finished, and I stepped down from my soap box, she looked at me and hit me with it. "You are going to have to start seeing them as GOD'S kids, not YOUR kids."

GAH.

Right in the kisser.

When she said it, I immediately stored it away in my "don't think about it" box in the back of my mind. It rang so true to me, and revealed such an ugly spot in my heart, that I didn't want to dwell on it. I wanted her to take it back, or at least to pretend like she never said it.

And I did just that. I pushed it out of my mind and continued on calling them my kids. Laying claim where I have none, and ignoring the title that I should be giving them.

Until this last week, when I broke some hard news to my class 5 students. I knew that, being a bit younger, they would need a little more time than the older students to understand what I mean when I say I'm returning to America in October. So I decided to tell them on Monday.

I drew a Hangman's Noose on the whiteboard and a series of blanks next to it to form a sentence. And one by one they guessed letters to fill in the spaces. I could almost hear the wheels in their heads turning as we played their favorite game. When it was complete, the phrase read "After two months I will return to America."

This class tends to have a flair for the dramatic, but I had no idea the emotional train that was barreling down upon me.

Angry eye daggers thrown my way. Questions of "Why?" and "How come you don't want to stay with us?" And tears. Oh, the tears.

After doing my best to explain the situation to them, I left the class quite frazzled. And on my walk home, I spent a lot of time talking with God about my hurting heart, and all of theirs. I really thought they would brush it off, thinking that two months was a really long time away. But I was a bit off on that assumption.

Their hurt made my hurt multiply. I knew it was going to be hard telling my kids that I was leaving, but I had not anticipated this level of difficulty.

As I talked with God, I could feel him speaking to my heart. Not in the I-heard-God's-voice-in-an-audible-way kind of way, but in the His-truth-rang-true-in-my-heart kind of way. And my friend's words came back to me. These children are HIS kids. Not mine.

I knew she was right all along, but I didn't want her to be. I wanted to hold on to these children with everything I have. But instead, I am choosing to lay them at His feet. Even though they were never really mine to begin with. I'm giving up the hold I had, the claim I laid.

Not to say that I don't love my kids, or want to spend every moment I can with them. Just that I am beginning to see them differently. To see them through God's eyes, not just my own earthly ones.

What an incredibly beautiful sight that is.

Fear not.

"Peace I give to you; my peace I leave with you. Not as the world gives to you do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid." (John 14:27 ESV)


I always thought that William Shakespeare was a wise man. Granted, I didn't understand most of his material that I read in high school, nor did I spend the time in the attempt to understand it.

This last week I started a poetry unit with some of my English classes, which drove me to look back at those famous poems and plays of Shakespeare. During my research, I continually felt connected to his words. The way he expressed an idea, the connotations behind what he said, the impact he conveyed with so few and simple words.

In the play Hamlet, he wrote "we know what we are, but know not what we may be." Oh my gosh, that is so my life.

I know exactly who I am. I am Megan. I am 21-years old. I am an expat living in Nepal. I am a chosen daughter of God. I am an heir with Christ.

And for a while, that was enough. It was enough to know who I am. What I have gone through, who I have become, and to whom I belong. But the past few weeks, as I have begun to think about what life will be like once I return to America, I found a serious sense of restlessness. A lack of contentment settled into my heart that seemed so foreign.

I became afraid that I will no longer be Mags, or Megan Sister, or Teacher. I won't be the crazy Auntie who tickles kids until they pee, or who kisses their paper cuts and wipes away their tears. I won't be there to challenge my girls to know Jesus more and to love Him deeper.

And, quite honestly, that was one of the most terrifying thoughts I have ever been faced with.

I love the life I have here. In act 5 of Macbeth, Shakespeare wrote "I bear a charmed life." Indeed I do. The fact that I'm able to be in Nepal, serving God and loving on these kids is evidence enough.

But the biggest piece of evidence, which I think I overlook far too often, is that I KNOW who I am. Whether I am in America, Nepal, Paraguay, or Senegal. I am a child of God. I am a chosen heir. Part of a chosen generation. A royal priesthood. I have been called out of darkness into the most marvelous light.

And THAT is what matters. Whatever comes my way, whatever challenge or struggle or victory or change, they all still in the presence of my God.

And despite everything that will come my way, I will choose to live in the light of who I am, who I have become, and who God desires for me to be.

I won't fear the future, or be weary of the big changes that are coming my way. I will choose trust.

And I will choose adventure. "Why, the world's mine oyster," as Shakespeare said in The Merry Wives of Windsor.