I’ve been going through this constant, drawn out period of introspection. It seems to happen every winter, but it was especially poignant this year. I had an entire day where I felt completely alone; like God had abandoned me and like I was strongly doubting His existence. I grew bitter towards myself for “wasting” my time and for being such a phony leader. (As an aside, I have to give my friend Richie kudos for the wisest thing I’ve ever heard anyone his age say. He was leading our devotions one day in Mexico and going through the concept of wasted time. He concluded that time cannot be wasted, since God is sovereign and in control of time and all of our surroundings. He essentially said that when we start thinking of time as wasted, we are doubting God’s sovereignty and doubting His will for our lives.)

This all stems from my old life of atheism. I always considered organized religion to have a good side to it, rather than how most atheists view it as wholly evil. I knew that religion could often inspire goodness in people. Throughout my day of flashing back into that mentality, I viewed myself as a false prophet and false teacher, leading lambs to their own slaughter. I can’t quite put it into words, because it honestly doesn’t make sense outside of that mindset. It’s a package of lies from Satan. The first one starts with a grain of twisted truth. The next one strays further from the truth, and eventually you start doubting your own faith and start doubting your convictions and start doubting that you are loved by anyone or even capable of love. For me, I start remembering a vision I had years ago in Sun River, Oregon at our youth camp. I was leading people in a dark place. They were all trusting me in every direction I gave. Eventually, I led them off a cliff as I stood by watching each one fall into nothingness. I came back to reality terrified. I’ve never forgotten that day, and it haunts me every time I start questioning the calling on my life.

In other depressing leadership developments, my Bulgaria missions team is falling apart in front of my eyes. A few weeks ago, one of the girls let me know she wasn’t coming back to school and couldn’t be on the team. Last week, we found out that we had been planning for the wrong dates. Instead of June 24-July, the trip is going to be May 24-June 3. Today, because of the date changes, my assistant team leader and the last remaining girl had to drop off the team. That leaves only myself and my roommate. The two of us would gladly go by ourselves, but we’re not yet sure if the missionary wants a two-person team or if our school would approve the trip with only two of us.

Getting back to the whole spiritual battle, my feelings of solitary confinement (I use the prison themed rhetoric to convey the feelings of imprisonment and oppression) are so complete that I feel like the enemy has an entire battalion after me. I’m being bombarded and battered on multiple fronts every single day. I’m missing out on the types of affirmation I know I need. Physical touch has always been important to me, but it goes beyond just that. I know that what I’m truly missing isn’t the types of intimacy and contact my flesh tells me I’m missing (the desire for romantic contact has been welling up, but I both know the timing isn’t right and know that who is interested in me isn’t the person I’m supposed to be with, so I’ll be continuing to avoid that). I’m missing meaningful mentoring and discipleship. I don’t have anyone here yet who truly desires to see me grow and to make it happen. Correction: I haven’t allowed anyone to become that person. I have potential mentors and potential close peers all around me, but I’ve been too guarded and too jaded to let any relationship develop into that.

Last week, after going through the day of doubt, I had to attend some meetings for campus leaders. I thought most of them unnecessary, and several other people agreed with me. Unfortunately, this feeling turned into a full scale rebellion on my part, including just not showing up for the second half of the day. I was angry, doubting my purpose, and tired of people trying to encourage me out of my mood. I was even avoiding the intimate service planned for that evening, until I got a text from a good friend essentially telling me to man up. (The last thing a self-pitying person wants is to be preached at) He simply told me to come to the service. He didn’t sugarcoat it, make it sound nice, or fluff it to meaninglessness. He simply said “Come on, we have service. Get here.” I left my conversation and went. Throughout worship, God was dealing with my hopelessness and my self doubt. Then our leader, instead of starting to preach, opened up the microphone for confession, prayer requests, and true transparency. Essentially, he could have just said “Willem, come get everything off your chest so we can pray with you and show you we love you and we’re in this battle with you.” That time was incredible. I was encouraged, emboldened, and liberated.

Now, I’m just trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. A bit. I’m considering switching over to become an English major. This would not necessarily change my career aspirations, as God has called me into student development and missions, primarily in Muslim areas of the world (along with church planting, the Engage program, and what I’m sure will be multiple years pastoring in the US). My interest in an English major stems primarily from my love for the language (and all languages, really…even French). Many times, I have been told that I should consider majoring in English, for multiple reasons. The switch would also allow me access into many situations as a teacher of English as a second language, which would make accessing “closed” countries significantly more possible and make residency in many other countries more likely attainable.

Along with the long-term vision, I’m trying to figure out exactly what that means for today and what God’s vision for my present is. If I’m going to live the crazy life I just described, I’m going to need quite a special partner for that. What that means is that I’d sure better prepare myself to be deserving of someone like that…one of God’s most beloved daughters. That means redefining purity, healthy relationships, and manhood. Along with preparation for the future, I have opportunities to model all of these changes; this progressive sanctification. I’m finding more and more chances to pour into other guys here on campus, to challenge them to live intentionally.

Oh yeah, and I’m involved at church now. I serve coffee on Sundays, help strategize and plan for the young adults group, and am transitioning onto the leadership team for the youth group, which is exploding. Our church is going to three services this month because the place is absolutely PACKED each week. Our pastor is asking us, the college students, to staff the third service. I, of course, am finding roles to fill. So much to do…

Anyone have advice? Thoughts? Questions? Hit me in the comments.

Since I moved here, I haven’t been to the same church twice. Now, I know it’s normal to search around for what’s supposed to become your “home” church when you get to school, so the process isn’t as depressing as I make it out to be. However, the method I’ve been using disgusts me. I’ve been looking for whichever place is already established; where I’ll be able to simply come to be stimulated every Sunday. I instantly ruled out a church just because I didn’t like their style of worship. Another didn’t make the cut because of the annoying voice of the worship leader. I axed another because I thought the preacher was obnoxious. I liked the megachurch I visited, but I’m not sure if I liked it because of the style of worship, the preaching, the video announcements, all the opportunities available, or because I was with people I was comfortable with.

Over the last week, I’ve been struggling with where to call home. I ruled out the megachurch for various reasons, which for the time being will remain private. I’m down to the last two I visited. One is led by a man of great vision who is establishing the precedent for great things to come. The other is a seemingly dying hispanic church that seems entirely set in their ways. I know I would be useful to both. One is on the way up and I could learn a lot and be a part of something great and successful. The other is on the way down and I could be a part of something miraculous or disastrous. I really don’t know where I’m going. I’ll let you know in the morning, I suppose. Either way, where I go tomorrow is my new home. God will let me know.

…yeah…me neither. Not until today.

That turned into one of my top three most important and influential prayer times ever (1. Salvation 2. Holy Spirit Baptism 3. Today). I realized, for the first time, how thankful I was for all the blessings in my life, but how thankless I was for the blesser. I realized how much I desired to be godly and to act pious, but that I had never been capable of it because I had the improper motivation. I realized that I was putting good things (that God may indeed have planned for me…in HIS perfect timing) between myself the greatest good of all: God. I realized how selfishly I have been acting, in turn realizing how much of a hypocrite I’ve been, especially in my prayer times. Well, God laid it on me to fix it. Now.

After that, I spent time praising, worshiping, glorifying, and simply enjoying Him. Not His blessings. Not gifts. Not situations. Not promises. Him.

This awakened a passion in me for that which He has called me to (namely, Bulgaria and my college dorm: the two places I will minister most deeply in the next year).

I know I’m being rather vague about this whole thing, but I need to be right now. I just sacrificed something I’ve wanted for something I needed. It hurt. A lot. Spiritual surgery always does. But then, we are healthier for it. The Lord is our great physician, and we must trust Him in times like this.

Towards the end of my prayer time, I asked God what the next step was. I was led to 1st John, which brought me to this passage:

¹⁵ Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. ¹⁶ For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions—is not from the Father but is from the world. ¹⁷ And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever. (1st Jn. 2:15-17 ESV)

I’m not going to break it down. I’ll simply admit that this whole entry is disjointed and very emotionally-driven. For now, it will have to do.

My biggest struggles while in Washington were that I feel like I don’t have a home anymore (Yakima isn’t home, which I discovered my first week back, and Seattle isn’t home, which I’ve always known) and feeling useless. I’m so used to having predefined purpose for every day, and all too frequently I place purpose only on my interactions with other people. I often forget that time spent alone can be purposeful. When I got to Mexico, I knew that and cherished my alone time, both the time spent seeking God and the time spent simply being. Somewhere along the way, I kind of lost that. It became incredibly apparent while back in Washington.

Those of you who know my history with vehicles will be not at all surprised to learn that the jeep I was given back (yep, the one that was stolen twice) caught on fire while I was driving to ultimate frisbee one Monday night. I put out the fire, but somehow managed to lose the key while doing so. This is my life, and I love it. It’s now sitting at my buddy’s house, who still technically owns it. He’ll figure out if it’s salvageable and sellable or if we’re going to have to let it go for 350-500 to someone who wants to put in the time. I took the stance that it’s still a gift from God to have anything coming in for income for a car (all the money I make from the jeep will be put towards buying a car in Texas so I can get to and from work), so I was going to be happy and content with whatever form that gift comes in.

I had a couple of farewell dinners in Washington. If you couldn’t make it, thanks anyway and I wish you the best. Those of you who did: thank you for coming. It meant so much to have those final moments spent with great people and great conversations and food.

Getting here to Texas has been quite the encounter so far. I think I have more culture shock (or culture stress, as Joel Watson explains it more accurately) coming here than I did arriving in Mexico. Last night it was proposed that I expected everyone to be just like me, since we’re all Americans. I, however, believe that I was simply used to Mexicans from living in Yakima, so being in their country wasn’t drastically different; whereas the only Texans I’ve ever been around have either been distant from me or living in the same house with me in Mexico, so they had some other influences going. It’s probably a mix of both. Either way, yesterday was something I wasn’t quite prepared for.

I had a moment yesterday evening in my dorm room that sums up everything I need to fight. I have this room with two roommates; it’s a cold, lifeless room and it already smells like football (I’m living with two football players). I’d been talking with them on Facebook for the last few months: getting to know one another and looking forward to living together. However, they messaged me on Friday asking if I would agree to switch rooms with another football player so they could all live together. I hadn’t even gotten there and I was being alienated. Combine that with knowing only Katlyn and Megan here, then take them away because they were taking sorely-needed naps, and add in the heartless room with my sparse decorations (aka my clothes and my computer…that’s all I have) and you had one lonely guy. I started feeling trapped, panicky, desperate for human interaction and yet not willing to initiate that interaction (that’s a whole different blog for a whole different day).

I really started feeling very anxious and scared, thinking maybe I made the wrong decision and I shouldn’t be here and that I would never belong here. I had to stop, collect myself, put on some music, and lay down for a moment to pray. I spent about 15 minutes going over how I got here, praying intermittently like it was just a conversation with God, and by the end I realized that I was being attacked, which means I’m exactly where I need to be.

I’m exactly where I need to be. I suppose that means that for now, I’m home.

I’ve been bitter over the last week. No, it extends longer than that. I’ve been bitter at my home church the entire time I’ve been away. Over what, you ask? Well, over anything that I could find wrong with them, of course. I’ve been bitter over the lack of financial support, while they renovated the entire worship center. I’ve been bitter over my pastor insinuating that I was fat while I was on the screen in front of the whole church. I’ve been bitter about the lack of mention or reception of any kind upon my return. I’ve been bitter about everything and everyone.

And you know what? I’m now bitter that nobody’s had the cojones to call me out on it. On all of it. I let every single one of those things slip or show in some way, and not one person has told me to man up about it. Not a single person has looked me in the eye and told me to get over it. Well, there was one. Tonight, I experienced love via a spiritual 2×4, thanks to a pastor and friend picking me up and taking me to a worship concert that almost nobody showed up at. The only important guest showed up though, and He knocked some sense into me while He was there. The Holy Spirit absolutely walloped me tonight. Straight messed me up.

I could not be more thankful for this amazing night. I’m starting to see lessons in each and every situation where I’d held my church responsible for some slight or apparent misdeed. Instead, they were simply following their own direction from the Holy Spirit, as well. I had simply misunderstood each situation by taking the wrong perspective: forgetting for whom and why I was sent.

Let’s go through each case.

Lack of financial support: This helped me to learn how to build my own fundraising base, how to rely on God to provide, and how to “work like it depends on me, while praying like it depends on God.” Furthermore, the caveat of “while they spent the money on x,” will never hold up, so long as any part of what they’re spending it on is reaching people for the Kingdom of God. Without their financial support, I was still able to do what I needed to do. Without them spending it on what they spent it on instead, that wouldn’t have happened and the people it impacted wouldn’t have had the experiences they did.

Pastor Larry calling me a fatty: Even though I had actually already lost some weight, this event helped to inspire me to eat better and start exercising. I’ve lost almost 15 pounds since this incident, and everyone here has remarked upon it, meaning it’s actually a noticeable difference. Furthermore, there is no possible way Pastor Larry could have known what a nerve he was touching, and I’m 100% certain he meant no harm by it. If he ever reads this, I want him to know I entirely have forgiven him. If he doesn’t read this, nobody needs to tell him he hurt my feelings.

Not being welcomed home: This one’s a bit tricky. I’m going to try to draw a conclusion that may be beyond my wits, but I think I’m drawing it correctly. God is using this feeling of unwelcome to illustrate to me that this isn’t “home” anymore. I cannot consider Yakima my home from this point, because it simply isn’t feasible. Most of the friends I’ve made in Yakima are either gone already, soon leaving, or not actually my peers (ie people who I shouldn’t really expect to continue doing life with any longer). Now, there are some who don’t fall into those categories necessarily, but those are the ones I’m sure will use technological advances to maintain relationships, for the most part. However, as long as I cling to where I’ve been, I’ll never fully be where I need to go. Texas and SAGU are supposed to become home. For that to happen, Yakima can’t continue to be home. It’s time to move to the next phase of my life, and that includes leaving this place…possibly forever.

No Call-out: Who exactly was supposed to call me out? I never opened myself up to anyone about this, except for my one accountability person in Mexico, and he simply doesn’t operate that way. He talked me through it in a way to show me that I needed to deal with this bitterness, but he trusts the Holy Spirit to do the work of conviction. I hadn’t stayed close enough with anyone in Yakima for them to do the job. No. This was a moment it had to be that conviction from within. And it came.

So where’d the moment of conviction come from? I went to a worship concert tonight that I was mostly avoiding, due to the bitterness and not wanting to see anyone. However, like a typical hypocrite, I wanted to convey the illusion that I had simply forgotten to arrange a ride, so I was out of luck. At 7:15 I sent out a tweet, that went to facebook of course, saying “Concert starts in 15 minutes and I just realized it. Guess i’m staying in tonight!” Thankfully, Pastor Gary doesn’t put up with that mess. He immediately offered a ride. I had a moment where I almost refused, and then I buckled, realizing that if my pastor was going to leave the concert to come get me, I needed to be there.

During the set, I started out feeling like the whole thing was corporate, disconnected, and dispassionate. Then i realized that it was me. Not the church. Not the band. Not the audience of worshipers. Not the new sound setup. Me. I was disconnected. I was disassociated. I was dispassionate. I had let something come between me and Jesus. As the songs transitioned to talk of the amazing love He has for us, I started praying, rather than simply singing the words without meaning them. Something started to break down.

Finally, during the second to last song (Everything, by Hillsong) I had that moment. I was holding on to so much that I needed to let go of; so much that was coming between me and my purpose. I was whining so much, I couldn’t worship. I had lost sight of my only reason for going on the mission field in the first place: Jesus’ awesome love.

Let’s not forget the love of Christ. He came for us, lived a sinless life in the face of temptation for us, walked into unspeakable torture and embarrassing execution for us, and then rose to give us hope. He is the ultimate expression of hope, triumph, and love. Let’s not get caught up in all the hurts and the slights of this life, lest we forget the real point of life: to love. That love is the expression of our worship. Quit whining. Get back to worshiping.

I think the lack of writing stems from what’s been going on in my life lately (more poignantly: what hasn’t been going on). I went through about a month of spiritual dryness that left me without inspiration, without passion, and without direction. I had nothing flowing through me, and it mostly stemmed from the fact that God had been trying to tell me something for about a month before that, repeatedly, and I’d been calling His voice that of the enemy, blocking it out and actively praying against it (trust me, the irony is not lost on me). Eventually, I guess God decided that since I wasn’t listening (and therefore, I wasn’t obeying), He would cease speaking to and through me. My prayer life was dead. My Bible reading diminished. My relationships around the house were all stressed. My health suffered. Eventually, I got a ton of people to start praying over me and something amazing happened. The thing God had been telling me to do was the first thing I heard in my head. I broke down, sobbing, recognized it as the voice of God, and immediately repented and obeyed. That was the easy part.

That obedience brought about a huge change in my personal life and lead to an outpouring of all that I’d been missing spiritually, which lead to a completely different outlook on our ministries, my time in Mexico, and all the people in my life (two thirds of that is still going strong). That obedience further led to more commands and understanding of things I was doing wrong, which led to more obedience and more outpouring. Now that I’ve confused anyone reading this, I can honestly say that my heart hurts. The problem with obeying, learning, worshiping, etc. for me is that I want everyone else to experience what I’m experiencing, and I try to do the Holy Spirit’s work for Him instead of being faithful and trusting.

Now, I look back on the past few days of judging and being frustrated, and I wonder why I wonder why I feel alienated and alone. How could I not expect that to happen? Today, I spent most of the day fuming over relationships in the house and pitying myself, only to go off to worship practice at my Mexican church (by the way, I joined the worship team, only I’m currently not really doing anything except running the sound board for practice) and sit at the sound board in the back, not talking to anyone for three and a half hours except occasionally being yelled at to change something (which I mostly didn’t understand anyway). Occasionally, I heard people asking the worship leader what my name was so they could yell at me too. How could I expect to feel fellowship when i sit around complaining and grumbling, then go someplace where I’m further isolated by the language barrier and don’t attempt to talk to anyone?

I currently have no direction. I’ve been sticking to my guns about being called to be a college pastor and then a senior pastor, but I’m realizing more and more that those are just things I felt would fit very well. The only true callings I’ve ever genuinely heard or felt were to go do missions in Holland and that being second in command in a church is in my future. I have no idea what I’m doing right now, but I feel more and more like God has something in store for me that I’m not expecting. Normally, that excites me. Right now, it drives me crazy.

I’m also feeling useless right now. Most of my strengths lie in discipleship, counseling, speaking, and singing. Guess what four things I don’t get to do here? You’d expect some of that from the language barrier, but I feel it in the house more and more. For the most part, people don’t want to hear what I have to say. I see it in meetings, in daily life, in ministries, everywhere. When I pipe up, someone else either talks over me or people just roll their eyes. Usually, I have one person who consistently listens to me, but the ratio is just overwhelming. (Note: this is about students. I feel like most of the time our leaders do a very good job of listening to everyone).

I suppose that’s enough complaining for one night.

On the bright side, our ministries are flourishing, my prayer life is improved beyond belief, and my passion for the people of Mexico is greater than it has ever been. I want so badly to see people all across the world accept the hope and promise that comes with a relationship with Jesus Christ. I want to be a part of that, and that’s something I’ve never really had this same passion for. I guess I’m finally understanding the way God feels on this level.

If anyone reading this could pray for direction, wisdom, and peace in my life, I would greatly appreciate it. If you could pray for unity in our house and for Jesus to be shown through our actions, words, and our hearts, I think I’d appreciate that even more. Finances are also extremely low for me, but that’s normal at this point.

Yes, that sums it up nicely, I think. The last point to me is the most poignant, and the most frustrating. We’ve been on that campus for four months in a controlled environment with a captive audience of international students and professors and we simply don’t have the fruit to show for it that we should have. Perhaps that’s because we only started seriously considering it a mission field over the last month, not really praying for the campus or the students or the professors until recently. Perhaps it’s because we didn’t invest fully into the lives of other students there until the last month or so. Either way, we’re fixing both and we won’t be forgetting.

Loree (one of my housemates) has a beautiful vision for a revival to break out on the giant plaza on the campus, shown below. I’ve been playing soccer with international students twice a week and I get to continue doing that for quite some time, thankfully. Other students are joining the theater club, volleyball, and playing ultimate frisbee. We have several students coming over to our house for the Superbowl this weekend, as well. We’re building relationships, casting vision, and praying fervently and frequently for everything about this place.

Not a big update tonight, and not exactly prose, but I just wanted to mark the end of this time as a transition, rather than with a mark of finality.

Panorama shot of UAG

“Like a dog that returns to his vomit is a fool who repeats his folly”(Proverbs 26:11 ESV) is the first. The Jamieson-Fausset-Brown Bible Commentary comments: “11. returneth . folly-Though disgusting to others, the fool delights in his folly.”

“What the true proverb says has happened to them: ‘The dog returns to its own vomit, and the sow, after washing herself, returns to wallow in the mire.’”(2 Peter 2:22 ESV) is the second.

I couldn’t help but think of these references today as I returned from a visit to El Colli. Our favorite (I know, I know, we shouldn’t have favorites) family from the neighborhood is a mom (who babysits Seth during the week) and her six daughters, and she had just moved back into the neighborhood. You’d expect us to be excited to have her back, right? Wrong. She should have stayed three hours away in Aguascalientes with her parents, where we helped move her several months ago. This woman has run away from her drunk, abusive, deadbeat husband more times than she can actually remember, and she keeps crawling back. Why? Why does she do it?

“My daughters miss their dad” was the excuse she gave this time, as the two oldest girls rolled their eyes and shook their heads behind her back. The oldest is now 17, with a baby boy of her own and a deadbeat runaway boyfriend to match. The second oldest is 13 and has recently started to recognize and vocalize the ridiculous decisions her mother is making, but without any guidance is doing so destructively and disrespectfully. I glanced around the sparsely decorated one-room shack, smelling the dust mixed with the odor of an overfull outhouse, feeling the pocked and pitched, broken concrete beneath my feet, leaning upon the bunkbed which slept six girls and a baby boy, soaking in the chill of the open doorways and the symphony of torrential rain on the aluminum roof. My eyes wandered back to “Mom.” She was currently explaining how her husband was “actually changing this time.” How she “could hear it in his voice.” She rambled on about how “even though he’s said all of these things before,” she “knew he wouldn’t hit [her] anymore…certainly not in front of the girls.”

We had helped this sow remove herself from the mire (I don’t mean to call her a pig; I love this woman and think she has a heart of gold, but that’s the biblical example I’ve got to work with so I’ll use it.) and wash herself clean, giving her a new start in a new city free of her old problems. True to form, she then promptly returned to wallow, taking her litter with her. We feel so powerless to help her, because she won’t help herself. The true pain, though, lies with the girls. What are those girls learning about strength, about love, about role models, about respect? What will the impact be on their future relationships with guys?

There is so much work to be done here, and so much we are powerless to do. I am so thankful that we can rely on Christ Jesus to transform hearts, minds, and lives; to redeem the enslaved, to heal the broken, and to encourage and strengthen the weak. I’m praying for this family and this neighborhood, and I would be honored if you would join me in that prayer.

After spending a year abroad there are literally countless stories and experiences I could relate to anyone interested enough to hear them, however few were as poignant as those I had while traveling in Nepal. I may or may not have had a chance to share much with you about my recent trip through the Himalayas aside from photos, but of all the experiences and stories the trip sent home with me there is one in particular I feel compelled to express.

On the 16th day of the hike we were making our way from a village called Tatopani to another named Ghorepani, a distance of 9.9 miles and elevation gain of 3,756 feet. Traversing along the trail, through river valleys that would make Paul Bunyan proud and beside mountains that invoke a small dizzy spell when your eye attempts to find their peaks, we passed numerous smaller villages. The inhabitants of these villages were ever busy using handheld scythes and hoes to harvest their small patches of terraced farmland, spreading grain to dry on flat areas they were able to claim from the slopes, herding mules which carried regional fruits and resources to neighboring districts, and catering to the occasional tourist who would stroll through awe-stricken at the natural beauty and simplistic lifestyle surrounding him or her.

Though much of the low mountain population have spent the length of their years living in villages just like these, there is a hint that the same may not always be true. Along the trail bounce bright eyed and energetic youngsters dressed in skirts and blouses for the girls, and shirts and ties for the boys. Happily they are making their way to school, playing and laughing. For these students school is no less than one hour’s walk up the same steep slopes foreigners pay thousands of dollars to prove their cardiovascular prowess on. I would occasionally walk to school when I was a child, yet only while watching these children did I appreciate not having to dodge trains of mules trotting down my path, as well as the odiferous presents they so indifferently leave behind. The oil spots and sidewalk cracks I used to hop over seemed to pale in comparison.

About half way up a particularly steep portion of the trail, devoured by winding rock steps, we stopped to take a water break and enjoy the visual fruits of the effort we had just put in. As we sat for a minute to gaze across the valley and note the technique of the nearby woman rhythmically cutting her grain stalks from their roots, two groups of children came to my attention. The first was made up of about 20 or 30 boys and girls rushing up nature’s Stairmaster with plastic chairs hooked through their arms like an additional backpack. Curious why they had chairs, I inquired, at which point our guide explained that today was exam day, and that they took their own chairs in order to make sure everyone had a place to sit. Just so we’re clear, these kids were hiking, not walking, an hour to school, dodging mules and mule feces, and carrying their own chairs so that they could take a test. You can believe my children will someday hear this story on test day.

I almost didn’t notice the second group, this one made up of three girls standing off the trail just to the side of a small teahouse where the mountain had allowed another small flat space to rest. These girls stood and watched the other children passing by them; they were not on their way to school. Instead of neatly folded uniforms they had weather worn clothes, the reds and browns stained by dirt. Their backpacks were replaced by baskets, half as tall as they were and filled with fruit and firewood, which they carried with a sole strap hiding their hairlines. Their demeanor was not one of excitement like the other kids. It was one of fatigue. They were a short distance from their destination, home was just up the hill, but they remained immobile and looked on as the other children elevated toward their scholastic endeavors. Looking in their eyes it was plain to see that they desperately wanted to follow and to attend school that day. Again curious, I asked why they were not included in the procession of students. Our guide politely informed us that there were still those who did not allow their daughters to go to school because they were just that, daughters and not sons. Instead the parents keep them at home to labor in the fields. As I turned my attention back to these three girls a remarkable thing happened. Though he phrased it more delicately than I, our guide’s words hit me with a force I didn’t expect, and although we spoke different languages no words needed to be exchanged in order for me to now understand every ounce of what these girls felt. Their longing gazes brought a sadness over me, and as we strapped on our backpacks to follow the last of the chair toting school kids up the hill my steps turned to autopilot and I became lost to the world.

One of the things I love about hiking is the opportunity for reflection it provides. I find nothing more relaxing or enlightening than walking silently through nature, and as we walked the remaining miles to Ghorepani, I thought. The sadness transformed to anger, (How arbitrary! Can’t they see their daughter’s faces?!) which over a length of time I can’t estimate evolved again into concerned inquisitiveness (Why do these parents think that’s okay? Why do I not? Who or what could do the work in their place?).

Ironically enough, the majority of us learned in school about children who don’t have the opportunity for education. Witnessing it in person, however, brought a different poignancy. It makes me feel profoundly fortunate to live in a place like America where opportunity abounds by comparison, however it also drives me to believe that simply ‘feeling’ fortunate is not enough. As my tread repeatedly left its print on the earth behind me my thoughts gradually clarified. I certainly would not argue that a life farming and laboring cannot find happiness, far from it, but imagine the tremendous obstacles these girls will have to overcome to pursue something different in life if they so choose. If they do want something different, how limited are their choices because of something as uncontrollable as gender? How many like them have little choice but to resign and accept the constraints of a reality they feel they cannot alter?

Have you ever met someone who has an amazing talent or opportunity and throws it down the drain? It makes you a little bit angry, doesn’t it? If you had that talent, or that opportunity, well you would certainly be making the most of it. Wouldn’t you?

Are you?

Opportunities for growth and betterment are literally everywhere, for ourselves, but perhaps even more importantly for others. Consider for a second what you’ve been given. The opportunities you started out with the day you were borne. They may be few or they may be many, but I’d be willing to bet they are more numerous than someone who is not given the right to an education because of their gender, and is thereby forced into a life of labor looking forward to an arranged marriage, which is still very common in Nepal. Regardless of your circumstances, you are more fortunate than someone. Regardless of your circumstances, you have more opportunities than someone. And regardless of your circumstances, you have the ability to prove your worth to everyone. It is the role of the powerful to protect the weak, not control them. It is the role of the fortunate to help the underprivileged, not pity them.

I will never forget the looks on the faces of those three girls. It was pain, it was jealousy, and it was desire. It is all too often moments like these, which pass in only a minute or two, that can strike a chord deep within you or can be forgotten in the buzz of the world around them.

A life spent in contemplation does little benefit without action to support it. Likewise, action without forethought can do more damage than good. I would challenge you who may read this to reflect on your own role; the role of the fortunate, the role of the powerful; and to summon the courage to act on your conclusions. May we all be blessed and strive toward the better we know is out there.

I had all my junior high boys lined up behind me that entire week, following me wherever I went and doing whatever I did. They spoke how I spoke, they laughed how I laugh, and now, they evangelize like I evangelize.

This week I’ve had three reports back from disciples I had in Yakima who are doing big things.

One is evangelizing at work constantly, being a witness to those around him of the healing power of God and of His overwhelmingly generous provision.

Another is starting a prayer group focusing on the unreached parts of the world. He said he wants me to be involved with one of the many wonderful internet chat options (I’ll probably be using Skype, as that’s the only one I use regularly). He’s also getting others in our church and town involved, as well as a few people from his travels across the country.

The third is a funny story. Here’s a kid who, as long as I’ve known him, has a passion for Mormons. Seriously, this kid’s goal in life is to save Mormons. I, on the other hand, have a soft spot for atheists, as many of you know I spent most of my life claiming to be one.

Today, I had our guys Bible study in the middle of a mall food court. We were interrupted by a couple of white Mormon missionaries who honestly just seemed like they needed some company. They have no friends here in Mexico. They don’t speak Spanish. They miss their families and friends back home. One even SAID “I’m just a lost guy in Mexico, man.” We befriended them, exchanged numbers, and I expect to be spending some time with them when we get back from the December break. I was thinking of my little duckling all day after that. Thinking of his heart for them and how it’s a beautiful and clear reflection of God’s heart.

What do you suppose he did today? He stirred the pot, of course. He took on some atheists and did exactly what Jesus would do: he loved them by challenging them. Now, he’s still learning how to facilitate those conversations tactfully and purposefully, but he’s bold enough to engage in them. I could not fully describe how much I was beaming when I found out. My little duckling is flying today. Flying with purpose and with boldness.

Afterward, I pulled him aside (aka I messaged him on facebook) and we talked about how it went. We talked about how each conversation has eternal effects and each word spoken, including the tone and placement, has eternal consequences. We talked about purposely and intently forming our rebuttals and our statements of faith, as well as delicately and tactfully forming our controversial arguments. It was awesome.

To say that I needed to hear those reports would be an incredible understatement. Because of my passions and my strengths, I often feel inadequate here in Mexico. This isn’t to say I’m useless. Rather, the ministry I invest the most into and that I’m most drawn to is that of personal development and spiritual maturity. Usually, the only people I can communicate that with are the Engage students and, frankly, they’re tired of hearing old man Jongejan blabber on about “maturity” this and “eternal consequences” that and “representatives of Christ wherever we go” blah blah blah blah blah. I don’t yet have the Spanish vocabulary or comfort level to challenge our Mexican Nationals, and our students no longer (I’m not sure many of them did to begin with) respond to my prodding, so I often simply resort to plodding along with everyone else doing stuff that doesn’t necessarily speak to my heart.

God’s provision is a funny thing. We often think of financial provision only, but He is our provider of so much more. He covers ALL of our needs, every day. He provides the breath in our lungs, the food in our bellies, the sun on our faces, and yes, He provides the reminders that our hard work has produced fruit. Fly, my wee ducklings. Fly.