Nine Lessons For Your Short-term Mission Trip

It’s June, which means the short-term mission season is about to shift into high gear.  Tens of thousands of people from every age bracket will board planes, buses, and third-world taxis for the experience of a lifetime, cameras and bug spray at the ready.  They’ll eat things they never knew existed and meet people which a smile is the only common ground between them.  Language barriers will, at times, seem insurmountable, and at others, insignificant.  Jesus will shine and the devil will unleash.  Facebook will fill with albums titled a hundred different countries followed by “2012.”  You’ve seen it.

This is great, sort of.  I grew up doing the “short-term” thing and am all the better for it (although I wouldn’t do it over).  I first left the country when I was 12 and haven’t spent more than 18 consecutive months in the US since.  As I’ve transitioned into full-time ministry and now spend the better part of my life on African soil, I have had the opportunity to lead many teams and witness countless more during their time on the ground, specifically Uganda.  Through years of tough decisions and learning from my mistakes, I’ve discovered a few ways to make the most of your trip.  If you happen to find yourself planning an overseas trip this summer, I hope you can glean some wisdom from my mistakes.

One. Don’t go.

Let's get the big one out of the way.  Not everyone who goes on a mission trip needs to be there, and not all mission trips are effective.  Not every organization is in a position to efficiently use volunteers (if you’re a leader in an organization, it is your responsibility to ensure you create trips that are Biblically purposed).  Crossing cultural boundaries isn’t easy and I have served with more than one person in my life that should NOT have been on the field.  Before you waste your time reading the rest of this post, make sure every element of your trip is thoroughly bathed in prayer and careful thought.  Seek wisdom and counsel from a trusted pastor/mentor on your mission.  Give careful thought and discussion to your goals; involve your host missionary or organization.  At times, mission teams pay thousands of dollars to go and do something that locals could have been hired to do for a fraction of the cost.  Sometimes there are benefits outweighing this reality, other times there are not.  Even worse is using God’s resources to go on nothing more than a journey of poverty tourism (more about this later.)  Like it or not, there are cons to every trip.  Your job is not to eliminate them, but to weigh them against the positives and make the best possible decision on following through.

Two. Ask God to make you fluid.

If you’ve spent any time in African missions/aid, you know the phrase “TIA”, or “this is Africa.”  It’s a saying, often accompanied by rolling eyes, used a reminder that nothing goes as planned on the continent.  I’ve heard it is similar elsewhere, so save yourself the hassle before you begin.  Go ahead and assume that the taxi picking you up from the airport on the equator has no air conditioning.  Go ahead and assume that the fan in your room will be broken, your bed net will have a hole and you will end up doing some sort of ministry you begged God not to make you do.  If you’re going with a good organization and/or serving with quality missionaries, you will quickly discover that people are infinitely more important than programs.  Canceling, rescheduling, and substituting are regular agenda actions.  Be okay with this.  Flexible isn’t enough anymore, you need to be fluid.  

Three. Leave your cape at home.

You aren’t a superhero and you aren’t going to swoop in and save the day.  You are not on a mission trip to impart your western ideologies and methods of church, Christianity, business and/or life skills (OR to pass out candy).  One thing present on the foreign mission field today is a severe lack of teachable spirits, something I am so often guilty of.  The best thing you can do for yourself, those around you, and those whom you seek to serve, is know that the moment you step onto African soil (or wherever you are going), you are a student.  The language, customs, traditions, they are all different.  Leave your Captain America costume on the plane and put on your Indiana Jones hat.  (That’s a metaphor.  If you own one, I salute you, but please leave it at home, also.)

Four. Carry a notebook and pen.

If you have ever been in a position of teaching, consider what an honor it is to have those under you taking notes.  It shows they care and are interested in what you have to say (or they just think it will be on a test.)  When another human sees you taking notes, it screams “I am here to learn and I am taking that seriously.”  You can write down words in the local language you wish to use later, names of villagers to pray for, and the occasional unique custom you wish to share with your girlfriends over salads at Ruby Tuesday when you get back.  Forget feeling weird and cheesy.  Your friends will be coming to you post-trip asking for the spelling of greetings and the name of that cute little old lady cooking over the fire in her mud hut.

Five. Ask. Listen.

More than once I have had a Ugandan friend approach me after a group of visitors left and ask me what in the world was just said.  Some people simply feel the need to show up, shake hands, give a twenty-minute monologue on their childhood and family traditions, then finish by gawking at the fact the local they are speaking with has 14 siblings and poops in a hole.  Then, as cheerfully as they came, they hop on the bus and off they go.  They don’t know a single, meaningful thing about the person they just met, but they have another few lines for that killer journal entry coming up after dinner.  “They squat to pee and bathe in a bucket! I can’t imagine living like that!”  Of course you can’t, the keys to your mind are still at the airport security checkpoint.  I’ve been here and done it more times than I’d like to admit.  I know nothing of the majority of the people I met on my first several trips as a teenager because I never bothered to ask.  Don’t repeat my mistakes.  Sharing your faith doesn’t always start with talking.

Six. Pictures aren’t always worth a thousand words.

Unglue your finger from the shutter button on your camera.  Like it or not, there are times when photos are not appropriate.  There are moments in missions that are far, far too sweet to capture on any manmade device.  Do yourself a favor and don’t try.  Be sensitive to the times when you’re in the village connecting with a person through a translator.  Take your camera off your neck and pack it up.  Get out your notebook and relish the moment God has given you to connect hearts with one of His children.  One of the biggest lessons I have learned over the years is coming home with ten stories is better than ten thousand pictures.  Take my word for it: when you come home and are flipping through your pictures of cute kids, you will regret that you never took the time to learn their names.  Every morning, I have a list of about 28 kids I pray for, by name, all around the world.  I might not have pictures of and with them all, but I can tell you their personality quirks, dreams, and my favorite moments with them.  And my prayer time is all the better for it.  When you’re busy connecting hearts, a picture suddenly becomes an intrusion to the moment.

Seven.  You are poor.

Who am I to call you poor?  Yet, that’s exactly what we do in a third world country.  We assume, based on our ethnocentric values, that the people we observe are poor.  Poor because they don’t have a car like you?  Or a house with working A/C or the money to feed two dogs, a ferret and the neighbors cat? (curse that cat for pooping in your yard!)  I drive a car in Uganda - most recently a very nice Land Cruiser.  When I drive through our village, people stare.  Because they are jealous I have a car, I thought.  So, I stopped to ask.  The general response?  Giggles.  “What would I do with a car?  If I had one, I would sell it.  Where would I drive, how would I afford fuel?”  They rarely need to go further than their feet will take them and if they do, there are taxis.  But our assumption tends to be that those without a car are below us.  These assumptions aren’t limited to the vehicle analogy, but the same rules apply.  Remove your western glasses and see the world through Jesus’ eyes.  Who is poor, and who is rich?  (Hint: the answer is in the Bible)

Eight. Make disciples.

Sharing your faith is like sharing toys.  You don’t dominate playtime, you interact.  You share toys, play together, and learn together.  Making disciples is no different.  We can’t dominate the relationship being made, it’s a journey.  I have been guilty of coming to a village outreach, sharing my testimony of my troubles as an American teenager and how God rescued me, and immediately asking if the young man wanted to accept Christ.  If this is our method of making disciples, we are completely out of line.  The easiest thing to do on a mission trip is go for the numbers - to make converts.  How glorious it would be to come home and share with the church that you saw 400 people come to know the Lord!  The more raised hands, the more credible your trip becomes, right?  Wrong.  A disciple is one who constantly studies the word, yearns to be like Christ, and strives to lead others in the same.  In order to do this, they must be connected with a body of believers.  The greatest dis-service you can do is lead someone to Christ and not ensure they are followed up with by a theologically sound, Bible-following pastor or Christian.  If you build a connection with someone, use a translator (if necessary) to Biblically lead them to Christ, and don’t ensure follow-up, you have facilitated the spiritual birth and abandonment of a new baby.  Better you make one disciple than a hundred converts.

Nine. Be. Just be.

Without a doubt, the largest and most frequent thing we see in missions is the need to be accomplishing something, to do.  It is the western mentality that you have two weeks in country so you’d better be as productive as possible.  Build that church, paint that school, do, do, do.  What you don’t realize is that the locals, and even the missionaries, are often overwhelmed by your drive to accomplish something.  Life moves slower in other parts of the world - deadlines fade and relationships flourish.  The completion of the brick wall isn’t half as important as the friendship you build with the local mason teaching you how to lay a brick.  Everyone wants to come and get their hands dirty.  Here’s a perspective: get your heart dirty.  Being Jesus means entering in to the thick of life with someone and spending time with them there.  Guys, drop the shovel and sit down with a local boy that lost his parents to AIDS.  Girls, cash out of painting day and spend the afternoon being lazy under the mango tree with a girl your age.  Leaders, stop pressuring your team to do and encourage them to be.  Connect, learn, be Jesus.  Yes, Jesus did things during his ministry time on Earth.  He healed, fed, raised, and taught.  But these things were integral parts of His overarching mission - to be an incarnate representation to the world of the Father, the Creator of the Universe.  If your team makes the main goal of your trip to be Jesus to a hurting world, lives will be changed.

Missions is the Creator, the Author of Life, giving us, little us, the opportunity to play a part in His love story for a broken world.  It’s cliché, but you might be the only Jesus someone ever sees.  Burn your agenda and open your eyes to the doors He is going to open for you this season.  Then, and only then, will you change the world.

Joel

I've been in Uganda for several weeks doing research for the startup of a ministry called Xchange International - a faith-based mission to provide high quality education to young people around the world from the most dire sitiuations.  We don't plan on running a typical child sponsorship program, and our website will explain more about that when it's finished.  Right now we're building the foundation for a similar program for older kids, age 17 and above.  It doesn't have a name yet, and we're not even sure it ever will.  The cool thing is that when you meet teenagers like Joel, suddenly the name of the program which he is pioneering becomes irrelevant.

I met Joel a few weeks ago through a Ugandan organization called CRO.  Child Restoration Outreach takes in street kids and helps them through the long journey back into a proper place in society.  Dorothy is a teacher there and unbelievably committed to her work.  She loves the kids and when I walk around the village with her, she knows the name and situation of every child they have rehabilitated back into society.  Enter Joel.

Joel was born in a local village afterwhich his family moved to Kampala in search of a better life.  At age five, his father sent Joel, his siblings, and his mother back to the village where he was born.  Life in the capital was likely too expensive, so the father found work and began sending money home to support the family.  After finishing primary school, school fees increased and Joel's father disappeared, leaving Joel no schooling options.  In an effort to support his sister and mother, Joel took to the streets and began begging, where CRO found him.  Because he was so responsible and bright, he was given a scholarship to continue his schooling.  During this time, his mother had taken a job as a housekeeper and cook at a local church.  As Joel was finishing S3 (10th grade), his mother fell sick.  Once again, Joel dropped out of school to care for his mother.  The sickness was fatal and the last of Joel's caretakers was gone.

Instead of taking back his scholarship opportunity, Joel requested it be transferred to his sister.  This was about six months ago, and Joel has been out of school since then.  When I met him a few weeks ago, I learned of his dream to become a cook like his mother was.  After countless interviews with me and some of our trusted Ugandan contacts, we believe Joel is the real deal.  His previous grades in school are amazing and he truly asipires to be a chef.  After doing our homework, our team on the ground here in Uganda made Joel a commitment - that we would get him back in school and see that he becomes the best chef he can possibly be.

Joel is a pioneer, not only in caring for his sister, but in our investment program.  We believe God brought him to us as our first candidate.  Because of this, he needs an investor.  And here's our plan.

Over the next 1.5 years of high school, we're going to send Joel to the best day school in town.  We're also going to link him up with a few chef friends of ours here in town to be mentored one or two nights a week.  Next will be vocational school for two years, so that by age 21, Joel will be working full time in his dream profession and can provide for his sister.

The cool thing about Jesus is that someone, somewhere, is reading this and imagining how much of a joy it would be to invest in Joel.  We know because, well, we are there too.  We made the committment to invest in him because we know someone is going to step up and help us financially to meet his needs.  To get Joel from where he is now to becoming a full-time chef in 4 years is $1,920, or $40/month over four years.  This includes school fees, housing, food, and cullinary training.  We're even going to buy him the best set of cooking tools we can find as his graduation present.  It's going to be a blast, and Jesus is going to get so much glory that we'll all just be laughing at how good God is.

Xchange's infrastructure isn't really setup yet, so here's what you can do.  If you want to invest in Joel, send me a quick email at josh@xchangeinternational.org.  Just let me know what part you want to play and I'll send you a quick email back with how to do it.  My goal is to be able to tell Joel that his entire schooling will be covered before I leave Uganda in two weeks.  Big goal, bigger God.

Thanks for reading!

PS - we're setting up a photoshoot with Joel soon, but I was too excited not to post this beforehand.  If you're brave enough to invest in him before seeing a picture, I'll be so proud.

Building for the Future

I've stared at a blank page for days, contemplating how to even begin this third post in a series of entries on the work being done in Uganda, Africa.  We've reached a point where a lot of the groundwork has been laid and the resources needed for progress are increasing.  Look at it this way - if building a school in Uganda was a race (likely a poor analogy as nothing but children and geckos move quickly in this country), we have our running shoes on.  Our number is being pinned on, and the loudspeaker is beckoning us to the starting line.  The excitement is stirring.

Xchange International is an organization that the Lord birthed this year using a small team of people dedicated to taking Jesus to impoverished children around the world using education as the vehicle.  We're registered in the U.S. and our 501(c)(3) (tax exemption) application is in process.  We are weeks away from being recognized in Uganda as an official Ugandan NGO (non-governmental organization).  Our architect is wrapping up the drawings for the school (you'll either cry or laugh when you see them - this is a modern day Noah's Ark project).  We have almost completed our search for contractors, and they will be putting in their bids for the project in the next few weeks.  The bottom line is simple: in just a few weeks, our progress will be haulted until we begin fundraising.

Here's the plan in a nutshell.  This first project as an organization is to build a Primary school in Uganda -the US equivalent of Kindergarten to 7th grade.  It's the most basic level of education which all other training here is built on.  We'll be using the national curriculum and supplementing it's known weak areas such as problem solving, critical thinking, and others.  One of the buildings will double as a church building for a church plant, and a well will be dug that will serve a community which currently has no water source.  I wrote an email to our team recently that said the standard of this building alone is so high that it will rival the best schools in the country.  I finished with saying "When this school opens, the entire world will know that the love of Jesus, expressed through educational empowerment, has firmly planted itself in the Jinja district of Uganda.  It will be a lighthouse in a community filled with poverty, suffering, Islam, and witchdoctors."

As we ready ourselves for the firing of the gun, I would like to invite you to consider becoming a part of this story.  When we release the final drawings for the school and our timeline to complete it, you'll know this is going to be nothing less than a God-sized project.  As William Carey said, we are attempting great things for God and expecting great things from God.

We'll be releasing the final project details soon along with ways you can get involved.  We're practically ecstatic to show you what God is doing here in Uganda.

The Birth of a Dream

Perhaps many of you are slightly lost after reading a random announcement that I just bought a couple acres of land in Ugandan village.  I guess that isn't the type of thing people say frequently, so I'll give you a quick background before I recall how the events leading up to the land negotiations.

Before my junior year of college at Liberty University, I took some time away from school and worked full-time for World Help and their international children's choir, Children of the World.  Nine of our kids were from Uganda, so I was exposed to this particular country that way.  I had been coming to other parts of Africa for years, but Uganda was different.

On a World Help trip to Uganda, the founder and president, Vernon Brewer, gave me an opportunity to represent the organization in a meeting with the former VP of Uganda, Gilbert Bukenya.  During that conversation, Bukenya shared how education had changed his life and that we would never know where each child we invest in would end up.  God used that meeting to set the course my life would ultimately take - bringing Jesus to kids around the world using education as the vehicle.

For the past few weeks I've been in Uganda researching alongside a few local NGOs that focus on education.  They are staffed by some of the most brilliant Ugandan men I've ever worked with - most of them having studied development or social work at the university level.  Working through nationals allows (most) processes to be more efficient, such as finding an area in need of a school and puchasing land.

I arrived at the Source Cafe in Jinja at 9am for my coffee and to wait on the other men to arrive.  My contacts showed up with a few of their directors and we set off for Bufula, the village I had been told was in desperate need of a school.  Keep in mind, this trip followed many others to surrounding villages walking the paths, asking questions, and listening for God to speak.

We arrived at the land available for sale and began to survey.  The brick foundation that was in place came with a story.  Eight years ago, a Ugandan man had come into the community saying he would build a school.  He collected money from the community, was given permission to build on this particular piece of land, and the contractor was hired.  Three weeks later, the man was gone, and so was the pot of the communities hard-earned money.  The contractor was never paid.  Needless to say, local leaders were cautious when I, the foreigner, rolled onto the scene.

We spent the morning visiting villagers in the area, asking questions about the current schooling situation and digging deeper into the rich, albeit unfortunate history of the area.  Noon came and it was time for the community meeting.  Leaders from Bufula and neighboring villages came and gathered under a tree.  It was a melting pot of young and old, mom and leader, and even the original contractor and some of his workers.  Everyone had a stake in what was to come.

The next two hours were spent introducing one another and discussing the need for a school.  The contractor stood up and announced that never being paid wasn't an issue - for him, the school took priority and he trusted things would work out.  Finally, an elderly man, the locally elected government official known as the Chairman, spoke up.  In his language, he asked me what confidence they had that I wasn't going to do the same thing the last man did.  Somehow I knew this was coming, yet I was no more prepared to answer.  Immediately, I began to ask God for the words.  All eyes were on me, and each one of them held a sliver of fear and skepticism.

In short, I explained to them exactly what was on my heart.  I boldly told them that this project was not for me, or for them. It was for God.  This school would have His name attached, and that I was not accountable to the leaders or contractors or children for my work, but that one day I would give an answer for how I treated God's creations.  I finished by saying "My confidence is in Jesus.  If you put yours there too, fear will not be in you."  I finished, and translation began.  As all eyes were fixed on the translator, I became quite nervous that my words were stern and could be met with resistance.  I was wrong.  The old man smiled, stood up, and walked over to me.  He bent down to shake my hand and in his broken English said, "God loves our village.  Bless you."

With his approval, we could move to the final step - negotiating for the land.  Myself, the elderly land owner, her son, and a few of my contacts moved our chairs elsewhere and began talking.  Twenty minutes later, the asking price came -10 million Ugandan Shillings, or $4,000 USD.

I had spent that twenty minutes reviewing the excitement for education in this village.  I smiled, shook my head, and said "that is too much."  All were quiet, and I'm practically begging for Jesus to say something.  Actually I'm thinking, "did I just say that, or was that you?!"  I'm flipping through the countless hours of cultural training trying to figure out if I'm on the right track or if I have just blown my dream.  Then it hits me.

"I'll give you 2.5 million ($1,000 USD).  But, you tell the Jja Ja (grandmother, landowner) that all of her grandchildren will go to our school for free."  The son translates for his mom and before he's done, she gets up and runs over to the awaiting crowd, yelling and clapping.

The son laughs, and I'll never forget his words.  "She accepts your offer.  You see, it isn't the money that concerns us.  We need education, and you have honored her and our family.  We accept your offer."

So, there you have it.  Acquiring land in Africa certainly isn't the same as America.  If there's one thing you have to admit, it is that this story is too good not to be a part of.  I'm already dreaming of an opening ceremony five villages large.  Hundreds (or thousands?) of people, food, celebration.  And Jesus.  Center stage.  Jesus.

Our land in Bufula, also showing the existing foundation.

Our partners, the chairman, a local pastor, and the landowner and her son.

We Bought Land

I've long been fascinated with the idea that God, the Creator of the universe and arguably the greatest author in and outside of time, is still in the business of writing stories. I also believe that as the created, there lies within us a natural curiosity and zeal for knowing these stories, even playing a character in one. Like the presence of God, these stories are all around us, many of which we ourselves are a character in. We're a supporting role to a friend, a one-sentence appearance to an acquaintance. Occasionally, we are given the opportunity to read the page of a story and because of it, we can no longer fathom a life of happiness without being scribed in as a character.

I read a page recently, but it was so much more than that. More than reading a story that had since been completed, I was living it - the page filling as the clock ticked. In a small Ugandan village called Bufula, God is writing another one of His provocative love stories, interwoven with the elusive sense of humor so many fail to see. When old community leaders start squirming in their chairs because they want to dance, are there words? When a woman, so exciting her grandchildren will go to school, runs home to bring her contribution to the tremors of celebration - a small bag containing five pieces of fried bread, are there social protocols? When you feel yourself being swept into a story having never seen the casting sign, do you strap up your boots or retreat?

Its funny, you know. When you take the plunge into someone else's story, God is writing the best parts of your own. He wrote the most awe-inspiring love story in history, and then He says to us, so unworthy of even His peripheral, "I'm entrusting it to you. Go, tell everyone, and make disciples of them. And as you go, I'm going to fuse my story into yours. Trust me with the middle and I promise, the ending will shame your wildest imagination."

This particular story in Bufula began Saturday afternoon. The chapter ended with our negotiations for a piece of land on which to build a school. I haven't recorded the day's events into words yet, but I could make a guess at the last paragraph. The community watched from several yards away as we negotiated the price for the land between myself, the land owner (an elderly woman), her son, and a few leaders. I found out later that the community was reserving their celebration for after a final agreement was made. When our negotiations ended, the land owner jumped up and ran back to the crowd yelling and waving her hands.  On our way home, my translator told me what she said: "God is here! He loves our village! We have settled on a price and my grandchildren are going to school!"

And with that, the news is out. We took our first step of faith of this unknown journey. We bought land. Pictures and more details on their way this week.

Tom, Marvin, and Isaiah

As I drop the car into park on Main Street, I know what's coming. Better yet, who. A pair of white, beady eyes peers in at me through the passenger window as he proceeds to back up and call over his friends. He announces in the local language that within the car he now props himself against is a mzungu, a white man. Loud voices ensue and as I open my door, it suddenly becomes strangely light. Dark hands of all sizes open it for me and begin their ritualistic plea for money. They tell me how much chapatti is (a local staple of fried bread), that they are "feeling hungry.". Through being here, I know that most aren't as desperate as they come across, but actually make decent money employing this plot on unsuspecting tourists. A few words in the local language telling them where I stay confirms to them they'll get no paper from my pocket. Their mood changes to laughter, as if they know they have been uncovered. They walk me to the door of the small restaurant I've come to visit and leave me to enjoy my evening. I sit and enjoy a cold drink, a welcomed refuge from the day's hot weather. A simple soda costs what some people in the villages make in a day. My meal, ordered off the appetizer menu - 8,000 Ugandan Shillings, equalling about $3.25. As I consume, I reflect on my blessings and how a full night of asking for money on the street likely yields half of what I just spent on a potato covered in cheese. As I make my way out of the restaurant, my new friends find me and run over. Im already plotting how best to ignore them. Only this time, there is no request for money. They introduce themselves by name and walk with me across the street. We make a few jokes, I tell them they have grown in number since my last visit to Uganda, and I get in my car to head home. As the diesel engine comes to life, the smallest one nearly jumps out of his skin. We all laugh, and in that moment, my spirit wrote a check my flesh didn't want to cash. I turned the engine off and out I came. Onto the curb went by backside and away I went. I made fun of the oldest because he had a mzungu name - Tom. Marvin had a sense of humor like none I've ever seen, and Isaiah knew hardly any English, which only fed Marvin's comic relief. If I asked him a question, I got a blank stare as the other boys translated. They made harmless fun of our communicating, and the conversation went on. Tom told me he wanted to be a boxer. So I did what any man does when he meets a boy who wants such, I challenged him to a match. We stood up and took turns taking swings, the others laughing histerically. The laughter bled to Tom and I, and we couldn't muster the strength to continue. We sat back down and began talking about their days, why they aren't in school, and what they think about this life. My temptation to believe they were lying about their past, even as some here here might assume they were, was strong. Deception is rampant here, and one of the most difficult parts of ministry in Africa is discovering truth. Thus, my skepticism always runs high. However, that was not my place then, nor is it now. Convicted, I realized Jesus didn't want me to sit on that curb and discern truth from sob-story. It wasn't my place to call Marvin out on his far-fetched account of his upbringing. I just listened, gauged their interest in school, God, and other things, and called it an evening. As I got in the car, Tom calls out: "see you tomorrow, boxer!". I laugh, but something inside of me, however small, thought, "I hope so." I know so little about this culture, about the truths behind stories or the likelihood that these boys even need to be on the streets begging. I have no saving power, no intentions of playing hero and taking these boys in off the streets. I claim to know nothing of their problems or a solution. However right or however wrong, I simply enjoy being with them. Maybe one day I'll discover their hearts benefitted from our visit as much as mine. Perhaps Tom and I even get a chance for a re-match.

on loving your neighbor...

Jesus taught me a lesson today that I think everyone should know.  Christian, Muslim, Hindu, atheist or agnostic, this golden nugget of life transcends religious and cultural boundaries, albeit having originated from the command of Jesus.  I think if we actually "got" this concept, the world would be a much better place.  But you'll never hear this preceding a "world peace" speech from a beauty pageant contestant.

In chapter twelve of his narration of the life of Jesus, Mark recalls these words from the Son of Man: "Love the Lord your God with all of your heart, soul, mind, and strength.  The second is this: love your neighbor as yourself.  There is no commandment greater than these."

I've often wondered what my life, and the life of others, would look like if I loved those around me as much as I love myself.  It's actually sickening how much I love myself.  I'll do anything for me.  I'll spend money to buy what I want, I'll self-prescribe medicine to remedy sickness (OK, don't do that for your neighbor), anything, really.  I love myself, there's no dancing around that one.  But Jesus told me to love those around me just as much - to act as swiftly and decisively in order to meet their needs as I would my own.  I was given a beautiful picture of this about an hour ago, and I couldn't wait to share it.  It's short, sweet, and took a stab at my pride.

Living as a bachelor is hardly overrated - it's practically heaven.  Cooking for one, however, is tough.  Even tougher when you're me.  Today was an off day around the house, so I decided to throw the two pieces of salmon in the oven and whip up some mashed potatoes for lunch (thanks, mom).  As I'm preparing my plate, I realize there's no way I can eat both pieces and all of the potatoes, and immediately my neighbor comes to mind.  He lives in the townhouse connected to mine, is single in his early 50s, and works the second shift.  The thought crosses my mind: take what's left over to him!  No, that's weird.  Men don't take each other food, that's for women.  It's weird.

After a few minutes of deliberation, I wrap up the other piece of salmon, box up the potatoes, and walk next door.  "Have you eaten lunch yet?"  

"No I haven't, and I was just thinking about going out to get something because I'm running behind."

"No need.  Here's salmon and some mashed potatoes.  It isn't much, but it might hold you over."

Men don't like small talk, and I'm perfectly okay with that.  We talked for a second about work and cooking for one, then went our separate ways.  He was grateful, thanking me several times.  As I sat at my table eating my portion, I smiled at the ceiling (you know when you want to smile at God, you awkwardly smile at the ceiling).  I thanked Him for the courage to go next door and bless my neighbor.  As I'm sitting there eating, it hit me.  I took my neighbor the smaller piece of salmon.  As I recalled, I had deliberately taken the smaller piece to him and left the larger for myself.  I had loved my neighbor, but I had loved myself more.

For the past year, I lived with a family in Virginia who gave me an amazing picture of sacrificial love.  They loved me, included me in their family dinners, and invited me down to watch our favorite TV episodes with them.  They even tried to give me one of their dogs, but I don't think that falls under the love category (they'll get that).  The bottom line is, they showed me what it's like to love those around you as much as you love yourself.  It changed me.

Jesus didn't stop at "love your neighbor."  He said to go all out.  Give them the biggest piece of fish, the full of your attention, the best.  Isn't that what you do for yourself?  Jesus says take that level of self-love and apply it to those around you.

We're surrounded by people.  Following Jesus isn't easy, but it isn't complicated, either.  Find someone and love them.  Lavishly.

I had a wonderful conversation this morning with a man who has grown to be a hero of mine - he is doing big things for Jesus.  In the caste system of this world, one could say he has "made it to the top."  He owns his own law firm, is the Honorary Consul for the Republic of Uganda, is the CEO of a successful organization that fights to restore justice around the world, and he teaches at two, top California universities.  The best part - he claims responsibility for none of it.  My head would explode if I had half those responsibilities.  It is fun to him.  Simply talking to him makes you grateful to be a child of the King.  My favorite takeaway from him has always been his montra that as Christians, we should "leak Jesus."

His worldview, his outlook on life, his attitude - Jesus.  Everything else is secondary.  An hour long phone call with a young guy he's never met is not a burden, it's a privilege.  A school he started in Uganda doesn't belong to him, it belongs to anyone who helps.  It isn't a Christian school, it's a school about Jesus, because religion doesn't change a country, the Son of God does.  He told me on the phone, "God is nuts for children."  So is he.

When you come in contact with someone who is 100% devoted to Jesus, it changes you.  Organizations suddenly lose their sparkle, people are knocked of their pedestal.  I would be the first to admit that I am quick to be prideful of my accomplishments.  I don't hesitate to praise the name of an organization, or brag about a person.  But the danger is that these things become the main thing.  Projects become idols; status symbols.  The name of a ministry is more important than the name of Jesus.  A person matters more than people.

As I look over the past years of my life, I think on those people that I've said to myself, "I want to be like him."  The funny thing is, the vast majority of these men have had one thing in common - they were all striving to be like Jesus.  Perhaps it wasn't them that my heart yearned to model my life after - it was the very one they themselves were chasing.

Above all else, Jesus.  Sometimes I'm so focused on doing things for Jesus that I forget to simply be like Him.  My attitude, pride, selfishness - they're birthed out of a desperation to be a successful disciple.  I'm so desperate to do the "right thing" that I completely miss the point.  The Christian life is simple - Jesus wants all of me, and He wants me to give others all of Him.  Fill up, pour out.  Repeat.  Or better yet, pour out as you're filling up.  And keep the faucet running.

Reflection

I just finished reading through the journal I kept on my first two tips to Africa in 2003 and 2004 - all sixty pages. The biggest thing that stood out to me? I was a terrible writer. Boy, did I sound like a 13 year old. Yikes.

Hideous handwriting and grammar aside, the content was the richest thing I've read in months. Not because I don't have any good books by my bed. Piper, Saint, Lewis... They make for some thick reading. My journal, however, is comprised of personal experiences - the words leap off the page and grip my heart in a way that is all too familiar. I'm reading my own story - one that has never been more clear than in this moment.

June 17, 2003. My first trip to Africa. We've been in Botswana a week and I write: "I have a strange feeling that God already wants me back here."

Two days later: "Those feelings, they grew. Last night during the service, I realized there is a place in my heart for missions. God wants me back here."

Skip ahead one year. It's 2004 and I'm back in Botswana, just like the Lord had led me. We've finished our final day of ministry and have made our way a few hours south into a game reserve. As lions roar in the distance (seriously), David Dean shares a message. Those strange feelings from last year had been developing. I wrote: "I'm going to be a missionary. David said something they hit home tonight. Since I can remember, I've wanted to me a missionary, but never felt called. The thrill of travel and adventure excites me. He talked tonight on the fact that we've all been called already. I have the desire, the obedience, and now I know I've been called to do it. God knocked hard tonight, I'd be a fool not to answer."

Eight years and countless Africa visits later, here I sit. Floored, amazed, humbled. God brought me here, He is writing my story. I think back on the past few years and the chapters that have come and gone. Some were painfully short, others couldn't have ended soon enough. I recorded this in my journal in 2009:

"Often times it's not decision that robs us, but indecision." Some decisions are harder than others, especially when it means leaving something you love behind. A person, a job, a lifestyle, a paycheck... Moments of decision require your head and your heart to be in sync - the pain comes when one reaches the right conclusion far before the other. There are days of agony, of praying, of "God, are you sure?"

I read through that journal and it can't be more obvious - the Lord was speaking to me around those Botswana camp fires. I took action on those convictions, and I couldn't be more thankful. If there is one thing I have learned in my life, it is this: when your head and your heart are finally in sync, when you know the call you are about to make is from the Lord, make it. It's rarely easy. People get hurt, and sometimes things get messy. But God is sovereign, and when you follow him despite the collateral, He backs you, and the floodgates of joy open. It's as if He's saying "Alright, you made your move. Now, watch Me make mine."

If your head and heart are divided today, persist. Press on. If God has made His will clear to you and you're stalling, wait no longer, for you only rob yourself. Don't let indecision get in the way of the lavish life of joy God has for you.