It's the Becoming

It's the actually doing the thing you say you're going to do. 

It's the saying yes when God says to do the thing you swore you'd never do. 

It's the realizing you could never do it on your own. 

 

It's the waking before the sun, before the noise, before the goings on of the day just to get a glimpse of the Father.

 

 

It's the praying for someone else what you desperately want for yourself. 

 

It's the daily walking to the ministry for which you haven't been gifted, prepared, or excited. 

It's the praying for strength for every single one of those days. 

It's the knowing that strength will come. 

 

It's the deciding to hold and love on a diaperless baby.

 

 

It's the climbing a million stone steps, moving a million concrete blocks, preaching a million unexpected sermons, with joy instead of grumbling.

It's the washing of the feet of the destitute. 

 

It's the preferring your teammate, contact, or a complete stranger when you think it's ridiculous. 

 

It's the exchanging of emails with a stranger so you can continue having  conversations about the eternal.  

 

It's the mourning over the children you have to leave behind after calling them your own for three weeks. 

It's the acknowledging that they were never yours to begin with. 

 

 

It's the believing that God is still good when He doesn't do what you think is right.

It's the speaking out life over other people. 

It's the receiving those words of life that were spoken over you. 

 

It's the letting go, the moving on, the extending of grace when they are words of death instead.

It's the believing that healing, redemption, and restoration are on the other side. 

It's the getting there because you let Him carry you. 

 

It's the sharing of mine for the sake of ours. 

 

It's the determining to be vulnerable.

It's the knowing. 

It's the being known. 

 

It's the walking with authority because you know you're loved. 

 

 

It's the deciding to make the hard choice, break the pattern, let go of things that are good for the things that are great. 

 

It's the longing just to hear His voice. 

It's the learning how to listen. 

 

It's the fixing of your eyes on Jesus.

It's the asking Him to purify your heart so you can see. 

 

It's the giving up of the control you never had. 

It's the walking in freedom when you don't even know where you're going. 

It's the trusting that He knows. And He has you.

 

I Can See Everest from My House

We are in Nepal.
You can just leave me here.  
Really.
I love it.

The work.

The scenery.

 

The people.

We spend our brief hours of official ministry time hanging out with 18 students at a Bible school in Kathmandu, which was started in 2007 by our contact, Reuben Rai.  Our assignment?  To teach them basic computer skills.  Session topics on the list included blogging, photo and video editing, everything Microsoft Office, and "How to Tweet."  We never got around to the last one, which was kind of a bummer, but I did help two of our students set up their very own blogs!  Feel free to check them out, leave some comments...  Encourage them to post more than one...

Sam:  Holy Stone Band
Ishwor:  Ministry in Sindhupalchock

Students come to this school from all over Nepal with their Bibles, notebooks, clothes, and registration money in hand.  If they don’t have the tuition fee for the month-long term, they can pay in rice, potatoes, beans, flour, chicken, or essentially anything they have.  In addition to our highly technical computer training, our precious students learn about things like church planting, discipleship, Bible distribution, and Nepali church history.

Hinduism, followed by Buddhism, is the dominant religion in Nepal.  The Christian church is fairly young here, and many of the students are first or second generation believers.  Regardless of their ages (15-50) and the few possessions they can call their own, they are all excited to return to their home villages and spread the Good News.

And I’m excited for them.

Their graduation ceremony was held in the Methodist Church, which is merely a small room at the bottom of the dorm type building where we live.  I got a little teary during one of the “commencement addresses,” reflecting on the number of lives changed through this program and the way God is blowing up this country for His glory.  Many Christians are persecuted here in Nepal – beaten, excommunicated, left by their spouses, cast out by the families that raised them – yet the numbers continue to grow.  And the people are on fire.  It’s beautiful.

It was at that moment that I started seeing pictures of myself:  trekking through the wild, spreading the gospel throughout the Himalayas, teaching at the Bible school, adopting Nepalese kids… becoming a part of the movement.  Embracing what God is already doing here.  

I can’t yet claim that God is calling me to Nepal, but I can say that peace is all I felt.  

We’ll see what happens.

Hiking through the mountains of Tatopani


Baptism in the river


Residents of the Buddhist "Monkey Temple"

Buddhist temple
 

Mt. Everest from my (airplane) window

My Month Was All the Things (Part 2: Meat)

…After we settle into our big, cushioned seats directly across from each other, we each take a sip and a breath.  Since you obviously have a deep interest in the goings on of this month, and you want a little meat with the milk, you would ask me to talk about my heart.  How have I grown this month?  What were some of my struggles?
 

 
Feedback.  Remember this?  I know it’s been awhile.  With the presence of a challenging environment, everyone’s true colors emerge.  And we all struggled.  Food, communication, not getting to wear what we want, make the choices we want, or generally be entitled to anything we want…  Those things were really, really hard.  It was difficult to accept constructive feedback when all you wanted to do was stop sweating and eat a sandwich.  To figure out, as a team, how to honor both your teammates and a culture nothing like your own.  To navigate through conversations with both teammates and ministry contacts that really weren’t going as well as you had hoped they would.  To know when to speak and when to keep your mouth shut.  Good lessons.  But hard.
 

 
Spiritual envy.  I often felt like everyone else was getting the crazy growth and Holy Spirit revelations except for me.  At least that’s what it felt like sometimes.  Among many other things with which I struggled, this one in particular reared its ugly head pretty often.  So I vented to God in my prayer journal.  Everyone’s getting the good stuff.  What about me?
 
Rejoice with those who rejoice.  That was the Jesus lesson those days.  Instead of willing myself NOT to be ticked and/or jealous, or even willing myself to be happy, what would it be like for my automatic, Spirit-filled response to be celebration for someone else’s blessings?  To genuinely thank God for what He’s doing in their lives – without coveting it for my own?
 
During our Month 4 debrief, the one in Moldova where I realized Jesus loved me, Bill Swan (who ruined all of our lives) made us think about the thing we wanted most for ourselves from God.  Then, he had us find someone to pray with… and pray that thing – our greatest desire from the Lord – for the other person. 
 
And so after I finished listing my complaints to God about all the ways I sucked at life and ministry, I rejoiced over the ways that my teammates didn’t.
 
You have gifted her with the ability to communicate well.  You are glorified when she does.
She hears Your voice.  She is Your mouthpiece.  How can I learn from her?
She is perceptive of others’ needs.  That is exactly what was needed the other night.  Thank You for using her to love that person.
She is becoming a spiritual leader for the team.  She is an example of You.
Thank You for blessing me with a team of women who genuinely love children.  They make up for my lack of love and energy for them.  Help me to follow their example…
 
And on and on it went.
 
Just one giant spoonful of humility at a time – by force or by choice.  That’s the Race.  That’s life.
 

 
Perspective.  God had been speaking to me through a couple of specific verses over the past couple of months.
 
“…let us fix our eyes on Jesus…”  Hebrews 12
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.”  Matthew 5:8
 
There were and are so many things by which I’ve allowed myself to become sidetracked over the course of these last 8 months.  Struggles I thought I could leave behind and then maybe revisit in real life, but not here, where all the Christians are supposed to be only awesome and surrounded by sin-proof clouds.  False.  So most days included some aspect of pleading God to purify my heart – I want to see You!  Take away all the crap that’s in the way, all the things that avert my eyes from being fixed on You.  I don’t want them anymore.  That process was painful and hasn’t stopped.  But it’s so good. 
 
And even though I often feel “behind” on my projected spiritual growth this year, I’m constantly reminded by my teammates and leaders that, ‘Reagan, you really are growing.  Look here and here and here.  See how you’ve changed?  Don’t give up.  Remember all those dreams you had at the beginning?  At Training Camp?  At Launch?  Maybe you haven’t reached those yet, but keep going.  Don’t give up now.  There is so much more that God has for you, and the best is yet to come.’ 
 

 
Phew.  Alright.  Quality time:  fulfilled.  Our second cups of coffee are drained now, and it’s time to get going.  Nepal awaits.
 

My Month Was All the Things (Part 1: Milk)

 “How was your month?”
 
If we sat down to coffee right now at some elusive Starbucks in Mumbai, India, this is how I would answer that question.
 
My month was all the things.
It was really, really hard.
It was exactly what I thought the World Race would be… every month.
It was great.
It was filled with Sprite and ice cream.
It was filled with miscommunication and frustration.
Spicy food.
Lots and lots and lots of it.
New friendships.
Free time.
Ministry time.
Prayer.
Preaching.
Testifying.
Prayer.
Gospel sharing.
Prayer.
Sweat.
Team bonding.
Team conflict.
Vulnerability.
Tears.
Inside jokes.
 
And then I might tell you some stories, regardless of whether you wanted to hear them.  Don’t worry, I’d show you some pictures to make tales of both woes and celebrations come alive in your mind. 
 
One time, Rahelama was handed a baby and asked to name him.  We decided on Josiah.
 

 
We went to prayer meetings most nights.  There were lots of lengthy worship songs and off-beat clapping.  Then one of us would preach, while another one of us would give a brief testimony of the way God saved us.  Sometimes we got to share the Gospel with kids who had never heard it before.  Sometimes we got to share the Gospel with adults who had never understood it before.  Then we would pray for everyone:  for healing, for blessing, for spiritual growth…
 
        
 
One time, we got invited to a wedding.  They took as many pictures of us as they did of the bride and groom.  And they asked us to sing.  We sang “Lean on Me.”
 

 
Pretend Time made a reappearance this month.  When we were scheduled to go somewhere at 10, we could expect it to get pushed back an hour, and then maybe we’ll each lunch around 2 first, and then we might as well just head out once people wake up from their naps around 3:30.  But when it’s time to go, it’s time to go NOW.  Candice likened it to a SWAT team raid or a fire drill.  Like a thief in the night.  Every time.
 

One time, I got my nose pierced.  When we walked outside to leave, I decided it looked kind of weird, so I tried to have the guy fix it.  He, of course, got off his motorcycle, pulled out his rusty pliers, and started finagling the hook inside my nostril for about 30 seconds before he pulled it out.  The pain made me pass out.  I was fine.  My nose is still nekkid.
 

We all got sarees, punjabis, bangles, and henna.  We felt very beautiful and fancy. Indian women wear these things everyday like it’s no big deal.

 

    

 
We lived in the home of a pastor and his family.  They were kind, hospitable, hilarious, and Jesus-loving people who would do anything to make sure we were comfortable and well-provided for. 
 

 
We rode an auto everywhere we went.  Our driver was the pastor’s wife’s brother, Babu.  It was loud and bumpy and crowded and ridiculous, but we made it work.  These things are small but extremely space efficient.  Instead of allotting each seat to a corresponding rear end, Indians opt to fit as many bodies as possible, or as necessary.  We think they’re supposed to stay on the left side of the road, but they mostly just drive wherever they can find a spot.
 

 

    

 
One time, our family took our team to see a waterfall.  On the way back, five teenage boys followed us on their motorcycle, teasing and insulting us for being Americans.  So Babu stopped the auto, and he and Pastor Philip got out and laid the smack down on these kids.  They stopped bothering us after that.
 

    

 
Animals of all kinds roamed the streets.  Sometimes you would crash into a group of pigs while riding your bike.  Sometimes you had to stop your auto for a few minutes while a herd of water buffaloes passed by.  Sometimes monkeys stole your food.
 

 
People were starstruck by us.  Adults turned their heads and gawked as we drove by, and children ran up and stared when we arrived.  Surprisingly enough, though, teenage girls were the worst.  They kissed our faces and pinched our cheeks and stroked our henna-bedecked hands and showered us with compliments on our attire (really?) and couldn’t hear a responsive greeting enough times.  And they constantly giggled, as if we were the cool, older guys they all had crushes on.
 

 
One time, we went to a village to preach the gospel and prayer for people.  Someone got healed.  It was awesome.
 
One time, we went to a prayer meeting, and God told Candice to pray for a specific woman wearing a blue saree.  She prayed for this woman, who was in tears because her abusive, alcoholic husband hated that she was a church-going Christian.  Her husband came out of their house next door and started screaming at her for being at the church.  Terrified, she huddled in corner and wept while Candice held her.  This woman came to visit us a couple of days later, saying that God told her to have the Americans pray for her and her situation.  Her husband had left, and her daughter was supposed to get married in a few days, and she didn’t know how the dowry would be provided.  We prayed for her and her family.  We don't know what happened afterwards.  We do trust God to take care of her.
 

 


At this point, we both would probably require a bathroom break and a coffee refill…

The God Who Hears

I don’t remember his name.  Seems like something I would have wanted to find out after the fact, but all I can recall is that he was just another Indian man who heard that a pastor and his seven American friends had come to call.
 
We had just finished consuming another large meal of chapati, rice, and chicken curry while swatting flies away from our faces and food.  Visitors from the village were in and out as usual, coming to gawk at the strange, white females that had shown up an hour or two ago. 
 

 
“It’s time to pray.”  Our translator Isaac says these words often, as prayers of blessing and healing are the predominant part of our ministry this month.  We lay our hands on recipients of the aforementioned blessing and/or healing, whisper a few words to the God who thankfully knows a lot more about these people than we ever will, and they walk away with a smile and a head bobble.
 

 
Those are the words that beckoned us toward the center of the porch.  Surrounded by men and saree-clad women, we knelt down to meet this man who sat on the ground before us. 
 
What does he need prayer for?
 
He had a stroke.  His speech is slurred, and his walking is labored.
 
Alright. 
 
Healing prayer number 1,000. 
 
Here we go.
 
We laid our hands on him and talked to Jesus all at once.  “God, make his legs work, in the Name of Jesus Christ.  Please heal him.  Please give us the faith…” 
 
The final “amen” was given a minute or so later, and he stood up to leave.  As we watched him drag his ravaged body to the courtyard gate, it was obvious that nothing had changed.
 
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe there was more to be done.
 
“Hey, Isaac.  Should we pray again?”
 
“Do you want to pray again?” he asked.
 
I nodded.
 
We grabbed the guy a chair and had him sit back down, not without some effort.
 
Alright. 
 
Healing prayer number 1,001.
 
Here we go.
 
The laying on of hands and collective murmur ensued once again.  This time, I prayed with passion and conviction, choosing to actually believe in the God of angel armies.  The God who sees.  The God of miracles.
 
Lord, we believe.  Heal our unbelief.
 
We stood back to assess the situation once again.  Isaac pulled up a chair right in front of the man, sat down, and leaned forward as he began the interrogation.  “What is my name?  My name is Isaac.  What is it?”
 
The man uttered a few responses, and Isaac looked at us.  “Before, he couldn't speak clearly, but now we can understand him.  His speech is healed.”
 
What?
 
Tears sprang to my eyes. 
 
“How are his legs feeling?”
 
Isaac beckoned the man to get up and walk.  He stood, forcing his feet to fulfill the  purpose for which they were created.  One step at a time. 
 
It all looked the same at first.  A few more steps in, though, something changed.  He wasn’t limping, struggling through every move forward.  His gait was slow, but… normal.
 
Well done, sir.
 
Your faith has made you well. 
 
Or maybe it was mine.
 
And the tears came.  I looked at my teammates and laughed.
 
“He hears!”
 
When I decided I couldn’t hold it together anymore, I went inside.  Time to process.  To grasp what had just happened… after waiting for such a long, long time.
 
You heard.
 
You answered.
 
Thank You, thank You, thank You.
 

Kingdom Come (Part 2: Bring It)

“Your Kingdom come, Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”
 
Earth isn’t like heaven at all.  We’ve covered this.  More than once.  But that’s been the theme of my heart, mind, and writing lately. 
 
I see things that are horrible, and I obsess over the way those things ought to be.  I can’t keep my eyes closed anymore.  They are wide open.
 
Those men and women dying of AIDS?  Those statistics we see on the news and images at which we can hardly look?  Those are real people.  I’ve met them.  I’ve held their hands and prayed for their healing.
 
Those children who are starving?  The ones who don’t get to eat over the weekends because their parents care more about alcohol than about them?  They’re real, too.  I’ve filled up their Tupperware containers with pop and beans and taught them songs about how radical God is.  I’ve heard stories about what they’ve seen and what has been done to them:  detestable, horrendous things that no one, let alone children, should have to go through.
 
I’ve seen and heard and felt overwhelmed by it all.
 
But the more countries I visit, the more people I meet, the more ministries I pitch in to… the more glimpses I get of how things will be.
 
And this gives me hope.
 

 
Team Oasis took up residence in Cape Town, South Africa during the month of July.  Chantel, director of Volunteer Mzansi Afrika and our primary contact, desired that this would be a time of refreshment for us.  For our first week of ministry, she arranged for us to live in the homes of different families in the community.  We were told that South Africans are exceptionally friendly, and we would be accepted as their own loved ones – “So, if you don’t want to be loved, then don’t go.”
 
Rebekah and I got the privilege of staying with Daniel and Vivian Du Plessis, and loved us they did.  We laughed and shared stories over ungodly amounts of coffee and Ama Dip-Dips.  We slept in real beds and took real showers and did laundry in real washing machines.  We lived “real life” with people who became our family. 
 

 
Danny and Vivan, pastor and wife of Fellowship Bible Church, run a mission school that targets the children of the alcohol-ravaged community surrounding it.  We got to serve with them by making food, washing dishes, organizing closets, and teaching extracurricular classes like soccer, dance, music, and art.  These kids, whose ages range from four to fourteen, deal with every behavioral disorder under the sun.  They come from homes that are broken, moms and dads who don’t see them, and expectations that their lives will amount to nothing.
 
I’ve heard story after story about the way things were.  The skin-and-bones children who appeared at school on day one are not the kids I saw while I was there.  They are healthy, lively, and no longer worrying about whether they will eat at least five days out of seven.  If a child doesn’t show up to school one day, Danny and Vivian drive to his house at 6am to find out what’s going on.  They let their students know how important it is to learn, be responsible, and believe they have futures beyond the ones others have paved for them.
 

 
Our World Race parents weren’t just parents to us.  They became a mother and father to kids who, for all intents and purposes, have none.
 
Danny and Vivian’s greatest desire, though – more than the kids having a quality education or food in their stomachs – is that they are saved. “Really, all of this means nothing.  All that matters is that they know Jesus,” Vivian says.  That’s why they hear Bible stories and learn songs about the God who loves each of them individually.  If nothing else, they will hopefully walk away with souls fit for eternity.
 

 
Family.  Belonging.  The love of God.  This is the Kingdom – where there is always enough. 
 
Danny and Vivian are those who bring it to earth.
 

Kingdom Come (Part 1: What's the Point?)

For about a month now, I've felt like I have nothing to say.  I like to write when I’m inspired, when I see Jesus doing crazy, cool things, or when I feel really funny.  But I’ve been none of those things for awhile now.  Of course, there are moments of greatness when I think, “Wow, God, You really do come through for me/love me/bless me,” and all those kinds of things that are always true about God, we just forget to care about them sometimes.  But, overall, the Africa Reagan that was meant to emerge the instant I set foot on this continent has remained dormant…  Or maybe it’s India Reagan that will become the super-Christian Reagan that will surpass all other ish-Christian Reagans of Reagans past.

 
Swaziland was a month of mixed emotions. 

There are a lot of kids there.

I would never call myself a kid person, as kid people, in my mind, are people who thrive on child free play for unlimited numbers of hours.  I am a person of bullet-pointed, color-coded spreadsheets, so put me in front of a class and give me a lesson plan, and we’re gold.  So, as far as my relationships with the care point kids went, our interaction was essentially limited to classroom time.  I didn’t seek them out on the playground, spend countless hours teaching patty-cake, or cry the day we said goodbye for the last time.
 
Really, at the end of the day… I didn’t invest.
 
I did get to know the teachers.  I did encourage them in the hard work they did for very little payoff.  I did wear a long skirt and sit in the back of a crowded kombi everyday without complaint (mostly).
 
But my heart wasn’t in it.  I didn’t give all I had for those kids – those kids who don’t all get fed over the weekends, who may or may not be infected with HIV, who might have parents who love them… or parents who abandoned them.  Those kids who each have 4 or 5 or 6 years of a story all their own, beautiful or ugly. 
 

My lack of deep emotional involvement was more than lack of predilection, though.

There is a struggle within that resurfaces at the end of every month when we say our farewells, wondering at how 3-4 weeks went by so fast... again.

What's the point?

I will only be here for a few weeks.  Should I allow myself to get attached?  Should they?

Is it okay for us to come for a month, build relationships, invest in people… and then just leave? 
 
I’ve had more than one conversation about this, but I think the best input came from my good friend and squadmate, Johnfrank: 
 

“When you are serving in each country, whom are you representing?  Your contact.  And regardless of how you are feeling, take comfort in the fact that they will still be here once you leave.”

Okay.
 
But that’s a little harder to swallow when your wonderful, godly preschool teacher stands before you in tears, wishing you could stay one more week, just one more week.  Telling you how unhappy the kids are that we won’t be around on Monday, that they love us, that she loves us, that ‘you mustn’t forget us when you leave here.’
 

 
What do you do with that?
 
Do you withhold the “extra mile” kind of love so no one has to deal with feelings at the end of the month?
 
Do you avoid short-term mission trips altogether?
 
Or do you invest all the way, love all the way, give all the way, be all the way – trusting God that those seeds weren’t planted in vain?
 
That maybe He’s big enough to take that baton you pass on the day you leave?
 
Is there some kind of compromise?  A healthy balance?
 
I don’t really know.  But I can say with certainty that we weren’t made for goodbyes.  These cravings for the eternal, these fleeting tastes of the Kingdom, are what make us long for Him all the more.
 
So if it’s about His Kingdom coming and His will being done on earth as it is in Heaven…
 
Then let’s bring the Kingdom.