Ministry
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My first ZOE outreach!
A few times a year a short term team comes to Thailand to work with ZOE International. Whenever a team is in Chiang Mai they go on an outreach with the ZLT (Zoe Leadership Training) students to share the gospel and spread awareness about child trafficking. My dad has gone on just about every single outreach because he works with the ZCR (ZOE child rescue). I didn’t realize that I was even allowed to go for a while but as soon as I heard that I could go on a ZOE outreach I told my dad that I would love to go with him. But before I got the chance to go I broke my foot and Josiah got to go instead. I was really bummed that I couldn’t go so I told my dad that I wanted to go on the next one. So as soon as the next one came and finally I got to go on my first outreach with my dad and Josiah!
ZOE Outreach Day #1
It was about a three hour drive to the Hmong village. The Hmong village is on Doi Inthanon mountain which is actually the tallest mountain in Thailand. When we got to the village I went with Chome (my roommate) to our room and unpacked a little. Then we headed off to dinner and when we finished eating we played some fun ice breaker games with the team and ZLT. My favorite game we played was the game my dad was in charge of. Basically about 10 people from each team (we split into four teams) would get in a line and would hold a long skinny pole with only our two pointer fingers. Then as a team we would all have to lower our pole to the ground with out letting any of our fingers off of the pole. If on person even slightly lifted their finger off, the whole team would have to restart. The first team to get all the way to the ground wins. It’s actually a lot harder than it sounds! After we played a couple more games we headed off to our hotel rooms and went to bed.
Zoe Outreach Day #2
We woke up kinda early to go to breakfast. I believe we had fried rice with ham and eggs which was really good. Then we went to the Hmong church. We didn’t stay for the whole service because the preaching was in Hmong and if we were to stay they would need to translate it into Thai and then into English which would have been to much of a hassle. It was still really cool to go to a church service in a completely different language that I have never heard before. We then went back, had lunch and listened to a couple testimonies. After that we split into little groups and started walking around the village. We would go up to peoples houses, talk to them, give them goodie bags, pray for them, and invite them to come to our thing at the school that evening. I think we went to around 3-4 houses and even though I didn’t understand most of what they were saying it was a really cool experience. Many of the people in the village have a much different life style than I do and lots of them are very poor. It was really cool that I got to go and pray for them and help them out even with just a goodie bag and an invitation.
When we were finished we headed back for dinner and then we went to the school and started to set up. Then people started showing up. There weren’t that many people but that’s ok. We started with prayer and worship. Then the ZLT did a drama and we helped with one too. After that we gathered around some people who wanted prayers and prayed for them. Out on the street there were even some people who were stopping and sitting on the curb to watch. Then we distributed the rest of the goodie bags and went to our hotels to get some rest for tomorrow.
Zoe Outreach Day #3
We again woke up bright and early for breakfast and some worship. After that we went to the school to get ready and set up. When the kids came out of their classes the ZOE staff welcomed them with games and prizes to get the kids in a fun mood. One of the STM (short term mission team) members dressed up in the iconic ZOE elephant.
But it soon became more serious when the ZLT did their drama. You could hear the room go more quiet and the expressions on the kids faces started to become a bit less goofy. The drama drama showcased a trafficker manipulating, and abusing children. The things that some children have gone through are unimaginably horrible. There were no words in the drama only a scream. Out of everything I did and saw through out the whole outreach I think that drama was the most impactful for me.
We had the kids split into little groups and rotate through stations. The stations were about the different types of child trafficking and one about the gospel. The children rotated through the stations learning about each one and playing different games. We had the older kids in one big group staying in the main area and the younger kids rotating throughout the classrooms. And then when they had gone through all of the stations the kids switched. The older kids went through the stations and the younger ones stayed in the main area. Then when our help wasn’t needed, my dad, my brother, and I went back home.
I had so much fun on this outreach. I learned things I didn’t know before, I had experiences that I don’t think that would have anywhere else, and it was definitely something I would love to do again!
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My First Outreach
Many times throughout the year, ZOE has prevention outreaches to many places in Northern Thailand. Every few months or so, a short-term missionary team, usually from America or Australia, comes to Thailand for ZOE. They do several things around ZOE, volunteering anywhere and everywhere they are needed. And then comes the outreach. This is where the short-term team, ZLT Students (Zoe Leadership Training), and the Child Rescue Team, go to the little villages in the mountains and preach the Good News of Jesus and spread awareness about human trafficking. Since my dad is part of the ZCR (ZOE Child Rescue), he goes on nearly every single one. And, when there is enough room, some of the missionaries’ families are allowed to tag along and help where needed. Well, there was extra space and I went on a prevention outreach to Doi Chang (a mountain village, known world wide for its quality coffee). It was a really great opportunity for my first outreach because it was ZOE’s first youth team, 15 or so teenagers from America.
I rode along half the way in Nick and Heather’s (fellow Zoe Missionaries) truck and then we all met at a PTT (gas station) to gather and regroup. We still had about and hour or two ahead of us so we all grabbed snacks at the Seven-Eleven. Something I noticed right away is that teens are much more adventurous than most adults. Especially when it comes to food. They ate fun chip flavors like Ghost Pepper, Hot Chili Squid (my favorite), Garlic Bread, Seaweed, and many more. They would see something they haven’t seen before and just get that. Most people who come to Thailand, unless they are young tourists, are more likely to stay with their safe and reliable Coke and Snickers instead of trying something new. I personally enjoyed this. I have become much more adventurous in my food while living here. As a Nebraska kid, seafood always kinda grossed me out, I couldn’t handle spice, and I was not comfortable eating anything without knowing about everything in it. Now I am sure I have eaten intestine and not known about it. Sometimes at restaurants, I just pick the thing with the funniest-sounding name I can find and eat whatever I get. I love most seafood now, and can handle pretty spicy things. It was kinda refreshing to be around several other people who were just as adventurous.
I rode with some of the teens in one of their vans the rest of the way and compared chip flavors. They, of course, were still jet-lagged and several of them would get car sick so they slept most the way and missed the amazing mountain views. We were driving through rainforest-covered mountains the whole way and we were surrounded by awesome views the whole time. We even stopped at a view-point before getting to the village and took some photos there.
We got to the village and had lunch before heading to the local village church. One thing to understand about all these little villages in Northern Thailand is that, they are not all Thai. There are people from surrounding countries and several other tribes and groups that are too small to be considered their own nations even though they have their own languages and traditions and clothes and cultures. The people we visited were the Akha Hill Tribe. They, obviously, spoke Akha (or Akhanese) which is probably similar to Thai but still another language altogether. This led to a few language barriers between ZOE people and the older people of the village. However, the younger people who went to schools were taught Thai and sometimes English. Several of the ZLT students also speak other languages so we could still get around just fine.
Well, kinda. Language wasn’t the main problem with getting around. I don’t know how these people get around in these villages. They are twisting, winding, skinny roads with no organization whatsoever. And every single turn has steep inclines that feel like 80 degree drops. The two-way roads looked like they couldn’t even fit one car. How it works here is, on the skinny streets, if you are going one way and someone else is coming the opposite way, the person who made the least amount of ground backs-up and lets the other through. How the van drivers got around is beyond me.
Anyway, through a lot of winding and turning, we got to the church and split up into small groups. Each group had a translator or two, ZLT students, STM (short term missionaries, I know the acronyms are confusing), and some volunteers who lived in the village. The teams would spread out throughout the village and just go knock on people’s doors and offer to pray for them and invite them to the church for a worship service. I tagged along with one group where our “village volunteers” were three small girls who knew exactly what they were doing. While leading the way to the different houses, they would run around and just hang on to our arms and take our hands to show us something, as we walked down long, steep roads and went from door to door talking about Jesus and prayed for people and invited them to come to the worship service that night. After that we went back to our gathering place and ate dinner. Then we went back to the church and welcomed people as they came to the service.
There was an outdoor seating area as well as the inner sanctuary of the church. Everyone who came went into the church and so only a few people were outside. Me and Dad stayed outside because we both hate hot stuffy rooms overflowing with people, but also it opened up space for people to be close to the message. Fortunately, they set up a camera inside that was connected to a projector outside so we could watch everything going on inside, such as the worship, dramas, and prayers.
(P.S The Akha people showed some of their culture as well)
After everything, we handed out goodie bags which the STM had helped prepare. We went back to our hotels and slept.
ZOE had reserved rooms at several different motels for the missionaries while the ZLT and ZCR members had these large cabins with multiple mattresses and rooms. Me and my dad stayed at Hotel Charlie which was comprised of several small “duplexes.” Our room had about a two-feet wide walkway, in-between the first bed and the wall. There were two beds with thin hard mattresses and pale pink bedspread. Also, there was a small balcony with an amazing view and a small Thai-Style bathroom. Thai-Style bathrooms are small, tiled rooms with a toilet, sink, shower-head and a drain or two on the floor. There is usually nothing separating these things so you can literally shower while using the sink to brush your teeth. After the shower, almost everything in the bathroom is covered in water so you have to be careful where you put your towel.
Now, as far as I know, no outreaches are the exact same, but they usually have the same layout. The first day is the door to door stuff and the worship service. The next few days though, is going to schools and spreading awareness about human trafficking. So that is what we did the next day. The school in this village was large with a big gymnasium/auditorium. Behind that was a good-sized open-air coffee shop for people to rest and regroup.
Something that ZOE does really well, is how they teach about human trafficking. This is a serious topic. It’s a scary topic. It’s a topic that doesn’t really get discussed around children. What ZOE does is they have people leading the younger kids in crafts and games that teach about trafficking while teaching about Jesus while the older kids are in the auditorium learning about trafficking. The speakers in the auditorium will make sure kids are listening by telling them how many times to clap randomly throughout the speech which is kinda fun and will throw prizes to kids who answer questions correctly. The STM and ZLT also had silent dramas showing the seriousness of trafficking in kind of a fun way but still very serious. It isn’t just fun and games. It’s serious and the speakers will talk for a long time teaching kids how to be safe and telling them how to be aware of what might be going on in their own village.
While all this was going on, I didn’t really have a specific job. Heather’s main job at ZOE is these outreaches and I was basically her assistant. She organized everything and I helped her make sure everything stayed organized. I would go around to all the different stations and tell them when they would need to rotate or come back to the auditorium. I would run and grab things for people and help set up things, just be wherever I was needed.
We had lunch there and had a few more things to do there after lunch, but mostly we just hung-out with kids and with each other. We also got to benefit from the coffee shop and get coffee from there although we had a hot water machine and instant coffee and cocoa drinks whenever we wanted.
After that we got back to our rooms to shower and rest before going back to the gathering place to sing worship songs and eat and play games. One thing I know we all appreciated was the team of cooks who had come with supplies in advance and spent the entire outreach cooking for us while we worked or had fun. The food was the best Thai food I have ever had and we had something different for every meal. They rarely had leftovers because we were all hungry and it was all so good.
The next day was similar to the second one, though it was our last day in Doi Chang. We all packed up in the morning, had breakfast, got in the vans, and headed to another school. How ZOE ever discovered this school, I will never know. It was a rather large school but was completely hidden in the mountainous jungle. We spent over an hour on the worst roads known to man to get there. Skinny and ridiculously bumpy. The craziest thing was that some ZLT members were sitting in the back of the truck the whole way and they even fell asleep while us inside the cap were trying not to hit our heads on the roof of the truck. It was that bumpy. We got to the school and basically did the same thing we did at the other school with fun stations for younger people and older kids in the auditorium.
They did the dramas and the skits and then we had fried chicken and rice that they had cooked for us ahead of time and packaged in individual plastic containers. Then we packed up and headed home.
I totally enjoyed that outreach and have gone on another since then though Selah is talking about that one. It was nice having all those teens to hangout with and talk to though it was kinda crazy and hectic. I am not saying I am the most mature teen in the world but I am the most mature teen that went on that trip. They were a lot of fun but I just wished they would turn the volume down a bit.
I would love to go on many more outreaches. The atmosphere and the people at ZOE is probably the best atmosphere in the world. Our family likes to think of it like there are many cultures, none better or worse than the others, but ZOE culture far surpasses every other one. The people at ZOE are the most kind, most faithful, most fun, and most enthusiastic people in the entire world and our family is blessed to be connected to them like we are!
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Getting Nudged When I Can’t Be Trusted With The Truth
There’s a memorable scene in Avengers: Infinity War where Dr. Strange is floating in the air, a green ribbon of light swirling about him while his head is shifting about frantically in a trance like state. After several moments, the trance ends and Dr. Strange drops back to the ground and reenters reality among a group of other would be heroes awaiting an explanation.
- Dr. Strange : I went forward in time… to view alternate futures. To see all the possible outcomes of the coming conflict.
- Peter Quill : How many did you see?
- Dr. Strange : Fourteen million six hundred and five.
- Tony Stark : How many did we win?
- Dr. Strange : …One.
Against all human logic, reasoning, and wisdom, Dr. Strange does arguably the most asinine action, giving up the very thing staving off humanity’s destruction. Dr. Strange willingly gives the Time Stone to the ultimate antagonist Thanos, ensuring the Avengers defeat.
The movie ends with Thanos having all the infinity stones and with a single snap of his fingers, half of the world population turns to dust, including Dr. Strange. The audience, as well as all the remaining Avengers, are left with a profound feeling of loss, failure, and tragedy.
Fast forward to the next movie, Avengers: Endgame, all the way to the end. A moment comes when Dr. Strange looks at Tony Stark in the eye and holds up one finger, flashing back to the scene in the previous movie that out of over 14 million possibilities, there is only one way to win. It’s in that moment that the audience, as well as Tony Stark, realizes that Dr. Strange’s seeming betrayal was actually a step on the singular path for global victory. And the bigger point, is that if Dr. Strange had told Tony Stark about the only option to win, Tony would have never followed through. Tony could not be trusted with the information at the time when he thought he needed it most.
While I’ve never been involved in an intergalactic, all-of-humanity-at-risk conflict (yet), my mind is drawn to a situation many years ago where I thought I was smart enough, mature enough, and wise enough to be told the solution, but in reality I wasn’t.
I’m not a rancher. Neither is my dad, though he owns one and loves it immensely. One of his favorite joys is building fence while walking over rolling hills of his Nebraska Sandhills prairie. One afternoon, I was building a stretch of fence with my father that was maybe 1/2 a mile long or more. A fence must be straight, so getting all the posts in alignment is critical. Yet, due to the rolling terrain, we were unable to see from one end post to the other. With two hills between the end posts, my father and I each on a hill, we could see both the other person and the end post behind them. Both of us could align 3 of the 4 posts needed to make a straight line.
Think of a crooked line with four points; two end points and two spaced somewhere between. The points in the middle were my father and I. I knew where I was, could see him, and the post behind him. Likewise, he obviously knew where he was, could see me, and the other end post behind me. The strategy was for us to help line up the other person so that all four points were in perfect alignment. Dad had this ridiculous method, complete with silly hand and arm gestures to direct me where I was supposed to go, which happened to be west. But he was wrong, and I knew it. I made sure he knew it and I argued with him. Without engaging in my muted tantrum, he simply kept directing me west. I was hot under my collar. I had devised a little method (without him looking) that clearly showed we needed to be going east. But he kept moving me west. West and west I walked. Further and further away from where I knew I was supposed to be. Then all of a sudden, we stopped. I looked over my post, over him, and he was exactly in line with the end post. He looked over his, over mine, and I was exactly in line with the end post behind me. We had made a perfectly straight line, and yet, I was about 50 yards west of where my supposedly perfect, but clearly incorrect line was.
I don’t know why that moment on a hot Nebraska afternoon has been seared into my memory. But I’ve reflected on it often. The take away I keep coming back to was that dad never once explained his method to me. He just kept nudging me in the direction I was supposed to go. I used to get irritated that Dad didn’t try to explain his reasoning, because gosh darn-it, I’m like smart and stuff.
The reality was, I wouldn’t have listened. I turned off my ears to actually listen because I was too convinced he didn’t know what he was doing. If you’ve followed any of the Avenger’s movies you know Tony Stark wasn’t about to let anyone tell him what to do. He was the smartest guy in every room he entered. And while his character was based on his extreme brilliance, the truth was, Dr. Strange knew Tony couldn’t be trusted with the truth.
My family is in a season of trusting God in immeasurable ways. Somedays it feels as if we have no direction and are left to figure it all out on our own. There is no doubt God can make everything easier for us by simply wiggling his pinky toe, yet He apparently hasn’t. The point is not God’s ability for solving the problem, it is His reason for not doing so. He is not punishing us. He is not distant. But at the moment, He is silent, while gently nudging us in a direction often feeling counter intuitive from my standpoint.
I’m slowly realizing that, as smart as I am, and as strong as I think my faith is, the uncomfortable reality is that if I was really as smart, wise, or faithful as my mind believes, God would’ve trusted me with the reasons for his apparent inaction. Since He hasn’t shared his wisdom, the problem is my lack of faith and responsibility, not His withholding action or explanation.
God is so much more than some guy with green light and the ability to see the potential future. God is both in the future and ever present with my family now. Nothing is beyond His control, power, or dominion. God’s ways are not my ways, but His ways are always good, right, and purposeful. While I find myself in the season of wondering why God isn’t explaining his reasoning, I guess the best course of action is to just watch, take the small steps in the direction I’ve been given, and trust the paths will be made straight.
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, says the LORD. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.” Isaiah 55:8-9
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How to Spot a Monster
I’ve often wondered with regards to human trafficking, “How do you measure the effectiveness of prevention?” It seems as if there is no metric to know if efforts on the front end have prevented the feared atrocity from occurring in the first place.
On a prevention outreach near the Myanmar border a few months ago, I witnessed first-hand encouraging evidence of the ZOE Prevention Team’s effectiveness at stopping a horror before it begun. In front of an audience nearing a thousand refugee children, The Prevention Team performed a powerful drama. Absent any dialogue, the play showcased how children are often lured into human trafficking and the many subsequent forms of exploitation.
The story began with three happy siblings enjoying their family when tragedy befell their father, now no longer able to care for his children. On stage arrived a well-dressed couple, clearly appearing at a higher socio-economic level than both the pretend children on stage, as well as the actual children in the crowd. The audience vocally cheered at the arrival of these well-to-do folks on stage who appeared as reputable heroes to the tragedy-stricken siblings. The siblings left with the well-dressed duo, in hopes of a future filled with opportunity.
Unbeknownst to the siblings, the couple were paid for introducing the crestfallen kids to an elegant woman in a beautiful, bright-red dress. With make-up, high heels, bundles of cash, and poise, she entered the stage to roaring applause and cheers from the audience. Her presence, demeanor, and attire conveyed power, wealth, and sophistication; attributes seemingly unattainable to the children in the crowd. As the story unfolded, the woman in the red dress was revealed to be not the hero the audience expected, but rather a beautifully dressed monster in disguise. She sold one of the sisters into sexual slavery. The brother was forced into hard labor. The other sister had her eye’s removed for black-market organ sales, was beaten, and forced to beg for money on the street.
It was an emotionally powerful story. While it is a fictional depiction of the real-life terrors experienced in human trafficking, none of it was exaggerated. As powerful as the drama was for me, the most memorable part was the shift in reaction from the audience. The children in the crowd were incredibly poor. Their lives have been devastated by war, poverty, brokenness, and difficulty. Tragically, pain and hardship are much of all they know. Seeing the classy, well dressed, and sophisticated actors on stage garnered an immediate reaction of ovation and approval. But as the story unfolded, the true character and motivations of those face-value heroes was unveiled and the audience’s adulations diminished. Their former applause turned to silence. Their cheers switched to gasps. Children looked away and others covered their mouths in astonishment. The apparent heroes were the actual villains. I was able to watch these children recognize there was more than meets the eye.
The truth remains, it is incredibly difficult to objectively measure the effectiveness of prevention. But if what I witnessed was any indication, those school children are now far more aware of the real-life predators actively looking for them, seeking to cause harm and destruction, desiring to take advantage of their innocence.
The rest of the outreach was filled with fun training, resources and techniques to help keep those kids safe. As the adage goes, an ounce of prevention is worth more than a pound of cure.
Helping these kids navigate life with the cards they’ve been dealt is worth all our efforts and attention, while simultaneously praying they’re never in a position requiring rescue.
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Want to ELIMINATE child trafficking? Pray for Saul.
I’ve been reading through the book of Acts as if I’ve never encountered those stories before. With that frame of mind, I’ve encountered these familiar narratives from unfamiliar angles. I am discovering ideas and experiencing insights slightly different than I remember. The Sunday school felt board teachings are being eroded away and replaced by a harsher reality. Maybe it’s my age. Maybe it is my station in life as a missionary. Maybe it’s God deepening my faith. The reason pales in comparison to my newfound understanding.
Before the name change, Saul was particularly evil. In my previous readings of Acts, I rushed past the accounts of Saul hunting down new believers, ripping them from their homes, trumping up charges against them, locking them in prison, and stoning people, all because I knew Saul was later the Apostle Paul and Paul blends better with my sensibilities. Saul was not just a passionately religious jerk. He was a militant terrorist of the early church.
Acts chapter 9 starts off with a doozy, “Meanwhile, Saul was still breathing out murderous threats against the Lord’s disciples. He went to the high priest and ask him for letters to the synagogues in Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, whether men or women, he might take them as prisoners to Jerusalem.” If I stop right there, and know nothing more about Saul’s story, I’d label him a tyrant. Just imagine “breathing murderous threats” being used to describe someone’s demeanor. Chapter 8, verse 3, says, “But Saul began to destroy the church. Going from house to house, he dragged off men and women and put them in prison.” This man is a church sponsored vigilante. He approved of the stoning of Stephen by personally overseeing his execution. He’s the guy I’d cross the street to avoid walking past, afraid to accidentally make eye contact with. If I was in my car, I’d lock my doors and pretend to be distracted for fear of drawing his ire.
Knowing Saul eventually became the celebrated Apostle Paul, my tendency is to rush past the discomfort of knowing just how terrible he was; or worse, dismiss the severity of his actions. I say “worse” because, if I’m being honest, what I’m really saying is that if Saul was really as bad as the writer Luke described, God wouldn’t have used Saul. In essence, I don’t trust God’s judgment. Either God didn’t know how bad Saul was or Saul wasn’t as bad as it seems. But there’s a third option. One that really grates on my preconceived notions and requires I allow myself the horror of admitting that while Saul was the evil and murderous marauder, God chose him. I’m not alone in thinking this. Ananias was clearly thinking the same thing.
“But the Lord said to Ananias, ‘Go! This man (Saul) is my chosen instrument to carry my name before the Gentiles and their kings and before the people of Israel.’” – Acts 9:15 (emphasis added). Ananias had just been instructed by God to speak to Saul directly and pray for him. Ananias’ response is certainly the one I relate to, “Lord, I have heard many reports about this man and all the harm he has done to your saints in Jerusalem. And he has come here with authority from the chief priests to arrest all who call on your name.” – Acts 9:13-14 (emphasis added). Ananias is saying the quiet part out loud. “Um, hey God. Do you know about this Saul guy? He’s like a really bad dude and does mean things in your name. Not certain you’re aware he’s claiming your name for with his actions. And you’re not a bad God, so, I don’t think you meant that I should pray for the bad guy, because you don’t do those crazy things. Just thought I’d help you understand the situation down here because it seems like you aren’t thinking clearly. Hope that helps. Now, that we have that straightened out, what do you really want me to do?” If I were to be radically honest, it’s hard for me to believe God would choose to use someone as malicious as Saul for His glorious purpose.
What does Saul have to do with the terror of human trafficking? Why am I taking the time to write this post and hash out my thoughts? Because Saul isn’t some far off guy we have no association with. He’s not just a character in a historical and religious text. Saul is alive today and his atrocities are terrifying us just like first century Saul’s actions did a couple thousand years ago. Biblical Saul was a known man, with a known face. Today’s Saul is someone we’ve never met, yet the world is waking up to see his actions. Americans are waking up to the horrors the “Sauls” of today have with their power, influence, and reach, as well as the depth of their depravity. The size and nebulous nature of our modern era Saul leaves us with a feeling of helplessness as to do anything about him.
Movies like The Sound of Freedom, among other documentaries, reports, articles, discussions, court cases, and interviews are introducing people to the present day Saul’s of this world. I’m not referring to the people who are purchasing kids, I referring to the kingpins at the top of the stomach churning power pyramid, who profit from the sale of children for sadistic pleasure. While the biblical Saul was persecuting the new church because of self-imposed moral superiority to please God; the reality was he was an offense to the God he was trying to please. On the road to Tarsus, Jesus confronts Saul and says “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.” Even though there is no account of Saul attacking Jesus personally, any persecution of those whom Jesus loved is an attack on Jesus himself. Time and time again, Jesus expressed his love for children and instructed people to care for them. Ergo, harming children is attacking Jesus. When Saul snatched Christian men and women from their homes to stone them to death, that was an attack on Jesus. Yet, in spite of that attack, Jesus chose to step in and confront Saul, but not only to stop him, but to use him. This is what I get wrong. If I were Jesus, I would have swiftly ended Saul’s evil reign. But Jesus claimed Saul for himself, renamed him Paul, and the entire world has been blessed through Saul’s conversion.
My prayer has been for the Sauls of our day: the ones who instigate and profit from child trafficking on a global scale. I want to see child trafficking in all its forms cease immediately, and I’m committed to the cause. But my timing is not God’s timing. My ways are not His ways. Those are GOOD things. Thank God I’m not God. As I pray for the Sauls at the top of the heinous power echelon to encounter the course-correcting, name-changing Jesus, I will daily go to work helping to rescue and restore children already caught in their evil snares. I am convinced that the work we and others around the globe employ to combat the scourge of trafficking is a great and noble effort. Children are being rescued and offenders are being arrested and prosecuted. There is no wasted time, opportunity, or effort to rescue children from the talons of dark and evil villains. However, if we think these efforts will solve the problem, we’re bailing a sinking boat with dixie cups. We need holes plugged and the only way that can happen is for Saul to meet Jesus and have his name changed. God only knows what can happen then.
This is the paradox we live in. Want to stop child trafficking once and for all? Pray for Saul.
*Do you know your name? Have you had your own “on the road to Tarsus” moment where Jesus called out your true identity? I’ve been diving deep into this topic and first wrote about it here. Walking in the way God designed me and knowing my name has transformed my faith and want to see others experience the joy I’ve discovered.*
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Lay Down Your Old Chains. Pick Up Your New Name.
It’s still June. You’d have to be living under a rock at the depths of the Mariana Trench to not know about Pride month, which in essence is an entire month dedicated to identity. While I have plenty of opinions on the merits or lack thereof regarding an entire 30 days dedicated to the discussion of orientation, I’m more drawn to the idea, the concept, the value of identity and its implications on our individual lives.
Several years ago, I pondered the impact of a name. When something inanimate, or even a typically mundane creature gains a name, the level of importance, value, and dignity changes. A dentist hunted a lion. No one cared. But that lion had a name: Cecil. And suddenly he wasn’t just a feline anymore. His death subsequently gained worldwide attention when before we’d be hard-pressed to think of any other time a lion was hunted became noteworthy. A law in Colorado is referred to as the Samson Law because an archery hunter killed an elk. Not just any elk, an elk named Samson. I ruminated on the idea of abortions and what their prevalence would be if we first called the “clump of cells” Rebecca, Stephen, Megan, Quinton, or Sarah. Would we toss their small bodies in trash cans if they had names? I’m not certain we’d be so cavalier about the procedure if we named the “fetus” before executing them.
What is the value of a name? If you have kids, think about how difficult it was to name them. How many names did you discredit because of negative experiences associated with a person bearing that same name? In many cultures, names are given or changed later in life to further describe the character or calling on the individual. Simon became Peter. Saul was renamed Paul. Here in Thailand, people are often given names but later given nicknames that help define who they are. A translator I knew was nicknamed Shopping because after a rather abusive and demoralizing encounter with his father, his mother took the young boy to a mall where the big letters SHOPPING were displayed above and whispered in his ear, “Someday you will be as big as that mall.” She was trying to keep Shopping from identifying himself as the victim of abuse and to call him to rise above it into something great.
Our names convey identity. We all want to be known. We’re in a constant state of tension between wanting to stand out and yet not be alone. We want to belong. We carry the burdens of past labels: whether someone had spoken them aloud or they were descriptions we placed on ourselves. We’re in a never-ending battle to overcome those false identities. Do we believe we’re stupid, incompetent, ugly, childish, insignificant, or afraid? Where do those identities come from? Why do we think those thoughts and believe those identities? Are they even identities in the first place? Have we elevated a lie and given it authority to define us?
It seems so many self-imposed identities are not identities at all. We drop a plate and suddenly we’re clumsy as if we’ve never been able to carry a single object without breaking it before. We make a mistake in a 4thgrade spelling bee and suddenly we identify as stupid. Our bodies haven’t grown at the same rate as our peers so we believe we’re ugly, gangly, and unworthy. It’s remarkable really. Honestly, it’s so easy to see how others live their identity lies yet we’re blinded to seeing our own.
What if we had a given name? Not just a name our parents may or may not have labored in vain over. But a true identity given to us by the One who actually formed us? Is it possible that He who knows the hairs on our head cares about speaking our true name? The Great God of the universe, the One who SPOKE everything into existence. The One who devised the greatest caper of all ages to rescue those who could do absolutely nothing for Him by sacrificing himself on a Roman cross. That God, who took on flesh, walked this earth, dined with friends, laughed, cried, and told stories, is the God who speaks and calls us by name. Not the name on our birth certificate, but our real name. The name that conveys our true identity, the one He crafted.
What if we knew THAT name? What if we lived THAT identity? I asked myself those questions and honestly, the implications of the answers fired me up. If our great God who sent His only Son to lavish abundant grace on us calls me by name, why don’t I know it? Why can’t I hear it? It seems like a cruel joke. But then, what if I could hear it? What if I discovered and knew my given name? What if the God who speaks calls me by name and I actually hear it? What then? The excitement was powerful.
I believe we all crave an identity. Everyone. All of us. We desire to be known. We know we aren’t just another fish in the ocean, a zebra among a pack of stripes or bird in an indistinguishable flock. We’re more than that and deep down, we know it. But where does our identity come from? From ourselves? Are we sifting through personality profiles, feelings, and experiences? Are we trying to find our individual identity by placing ourselves into various groups, classes, orientations, clubs, and races? Or, is there a way to actually push through the noise, the junk, the lies, the hurt, shame, and chaos to find our true selves? If the God who created you as you and me as me, did so on purpose—with all our nuances, quirks, shapes, sizes, colors, and hair patterns the way He saw fit—is it too much of a stretch to think He actually has a name specifically for you? An identity? A real, authentic, and individually chosen identity?
I know mine. I just discovered it a few weeks ago. God didn’t just now give me a new name. It’s the name he gave me when He created me. It has always been there but now, I was given the tools to reveal it with intention. This discovery has transformed me. The transformation is not the same as going one way and now going another. Rather, it’s more like an expansion. Forgive me for the reference as it’s been years since I’ve seen the movie but maybe the experience is like Jim Carrey’s character in the Truman Show. His world was real inside that dome, but that wasn’t the real world. When he finally discovered there was more than what he’d always believed to be his whole world, things changed. He saw differently. He needed to see who he really was. But unlike a fictitious character in a marginally humorous movie, I have seen the lies, broken free, and found my true identity. I didn’t create my identity and it isn’t the one I would have chosen for myself. But it’s mine. Spoken to the deep crevices of my heart by the God who speaks.
I’ve been going to church all my life. I’ve heard all about having a “personal walk with Jesus.” I know about “praying without ceasing,” and “Love the Lord with all your heart, mind, soul and strength.” I’ve been taught to read my Bible daily and pray so I can be close to Him. But I’ve never understood it the way I understand it now.
Maybe our lives are disconnected, lacking purpose, blown around, and shallow because we haven’t been taught how to be known by the one who knows and made us. Doesn’t it stand to reason that if you can truly know God and experience being fully known, just maybe some power or entity who detests God would want to prevent that heavenly orchestrated relationship from flourishing? The same evil that rejoiced when Jesus died on that cross is the same evil who got his teeth kicked in three days later when the tomb was empty. If the Father of Lies comes to steal, kill, and destroy, what makes you think you’re not on his list of targets? Why wouldn’t he make you believe a lie and draw up an identity for yourself through your own power? The last thing he wants is for you to be known by the One who created you.
If any of this pings deep down within you, I’d offer a book recommendation that guided my transformation:
Click here to purchase “Living Fearless” by Jamie Winship.
This is not a casual read but it isn’t some scholarly read for doctoral candidates either. Read it cover to cover over a dedicated course of a few days. Make the time to get away. Turn off your phone. Grab a notebook and a pen. Eliminate the distractions. When you’re done, I’d love to hear your name, that true identity given by the One who speaks.
Let’s lay down our old chains and pick up our new names.
(The title photo is just a beautiful photo I took on the beach in Penang, Malaysia where I read Jamie’s book and uncovered my identity.)
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MORE IMPORTANT THAN A FILTER
I was explicitly told to by my manager at work to always relate whatever project I’m working on or the changes I’m suggesting back to the Scriptures. Let Jesus be THE authority, not Rodney Keim “The Missionary.” The Thai people by nature and culture, are very deferential. Even if they fully disagree with everything I might say, my position as a missionary from America, places me in a position of authority, whether it is merited or not. They might know a better way or have more experience than me, but they will very likely acquiesce to my position simply because their cultural upbringings tell them my status is greater than their’s. We as Americans don’t have a problem verbally battling for better ideas. However, observing our cultural differences is critical to moving forward as a team.
My job title at the moment is “Facilities and Agricultural Advisor.” My current role is to look over the property with fresh eyes and seek out areas of improvement, research how these improvements can be made, and make efforts to implement my research. An area I stumbled upon that didn’t look quite right was the tilapia and catfish farm. ZOE raises their own fish for consumption, but it hasn’t gone as smoothly as they had hoped. The fish have either underperformed, taken too long to reach consumption size, or simply died off. I have no training when it comes to aquaculture, but I do have a knack for spotting things that don’t seem on target. My first look at the fish farm tanks immediately piqued my curiosity as to a potential problem. The water looked like chocolate milk. A general rule I learned many years ago was “animals under stress don’t perform.” Regardless of the animal in question, if they are stressed because of poor handling, extreme temperature, the presence of pests, or low-quality environment, they simply won’t thrive. They won’t eat right or enough. They’ll get sick. The problems pile on top of each other ultimately leading to death.
There are over 300 white and orange Tilapia in this tank. Where are they? I could have explained all my training to the Thai staff, but it likely wouldn’t have landed with the weight with which it had bothered my conscience. Fish in Thailand are raised in dirty water all the time. The large ponds and lakes around are all murky and yet people still catch seemingly healthy fish. Plus, they’re fish right? Who cares about a stupid fish?
Remembering my manager’s imperative to allow the Bible to be the supreme authority, I believe God sparked my creativity. I asked a couple of the Thai staff in charge of the fish farm to picture what the water looked like in the garden of Eden. When everything was made perfect, could they picture what type of water the fish were swimming in? Of course, they said the water was clear and clean. This isn’t a revelation. No one needs to be told what perfect water looks like. We all intrinsically know that water should be clean. Furthermore, I told them to think about the air quality we were experiencing. I asked if they felt healthy, strong and motivated to work. I asked if they thought the air in Eden was smokey. Again, they knew immediately it wasn’t. I explained how we all felt off-balance breathing the smokey air and knew we would feel better when the rains come and clean the air. Would it be hard to imagine that the fish would feel the same way, that the water they live in has a direct effect on their wellbeing like the air we breathe? The lightbulbs clicked on in their heads and got excited about solving the problem.
For less than $60 USD, we were able to build 2, double barrel fishpond filters utilizing a lot of materials already on hand. The one Thai staff member who has felt demoralized by the failures of the fish project, has had a renewed sense of purpose, taking pride in his work. He knows healthy water equals healthy fish, which in turn equals healthy food for rescued kids. He knows his area of responsibility is directly related to restoring trafficked kids and orphans. The pride I’ve seen swell in him as been a joy. He stands taller, smiles brighter, and looks forward to making his area look better. We’re still tweaking and adjusting the fish farm, but the Thai staff have a joy about the process which I hadn’t seen before.
You can actually see the bottom of the tank which is more than 2′ down. Had I not been emphatically told to relate all my projects back to God, we still would have likely installed filters at my recommendation but the joy in my co-worker’s heart would most assuredly be absent. Could it be God cares more about His children’s hearts than fish? I think so. I’m slowly learning to do things His way, but learning nonetheless.
