The Willem

Lessons from Nepal

// December 19th, 2009 // No Comments » // Perspectives, Reflection

My best friend from childhood recently got back from over a year of teaching English in South Korea, but had an opportunity to go hiking in the Himalayas before coming home. The following is a poignant note that I asked permission to post here, because I thought we could all benefit from reading it.

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.

Papa Duck is Proud.

// November 24th, 2009 // No Comments » // Prayer, Reflection

One time, at church camp, Naomi Platt called me Mama Duck. I’m not about to adopt the nickname and she’s not about to read my blog, but I recognized what she was saying.

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.

Scare the Hell Out of ‘em!

// November 9th, 2009 // No Comments » // Life, Reflection

That was the goal for the Hell House. Not necessarily to scare people, but certainly to scare the Hell out of them, and to scare them out of Hell.

For the Halloween weekend, we completely transmogrified (thank you, Calvin & Hobbes) our youth center into the set for a 5 act drama, wherein we depicted the errant life of a Mexican teenage boy who, instead of going to church, goes to a party, gets crunk, crashes his car, dies, goes to judgment, and is sent to Hell. The storyline also included a funeral, but that obviously didn’t have our main character doing anything. The set took hours upon hours, over a week to set up and we ended up opening late our first night so we could finish everything last minute.

My role was originally going to change each night, but due to unforeseen scheduling complications and the fact that Brittany simply doesn’t make a passable silhouette for God, I was a party participant and God every single night. Because there were two very short scenes between the long party scene and long judgment scene, I had to run out of the party and around the entire youth center to get to my position before the group came in. A couple times, I didn’t make it in time, which ended up being pretty comical.

We had a great many hiccups throughout the weekend, which to me signifies that the enemy didn’t like what we were doing. Instead of getting down and broken, though, our entire team managed to keep spirits up, devise quick solutions, and laugh about everything.

hiccups:
The curtain hiding God (and also showing His silhouette) fell. Repeatedly. Every day except the last.
The lights going out on the Judgment scene.
Music/ipods missing, starting at the wrong times, playing the wrong tracks. Every night.
Not being in place on time.
Bottles breaking in the party scene.
Lightbulbs breaking all the time.
The power went out one night.
Rowdy kids.
Hannah got egged at the entrance door. Also, she’s slightly crippled right now and had to be the bouncer.
Physical, mental, and spiritual exhaustion.

Solutions:
We bought tape. We bought other tape. We finally drilled to nails into the ceiling and strung up the curtain. One night, there was no taping it, so we wrapped me in it for every group after I ran in from the party scene. This was by far the most ridiculous hiccup.
We figured out that it was just going to keep happening, since the only place we could plug in the lights was poorly placed. I just plugged it back in after each scene, but the first one was a scramble.
We laughed. What else could you do?
Samesies here.
Played it off like it was a real party and gave the person a hard time, then swept it up between groups.
We gathered up all the broken lightbulb glass and put it at the car crash. Nice touch.
There was no power on the whole block, so we prayed for God to reveal His power and that we needed no light aside from His, that if we had to change our story to whatever story He wrote for us, we would be willing and happy to do so. We then started preparing to do the night without power, but when Matt and Mike went home to get all the backup supplies, the power company showed up and made it happen.
Hannah is straight up a champion. I have no idea how she did it, but she kept kids from stampeding, killing each other, or killing her, all the while yelling and singing and entertaining them in Spanish for four nights. She was amazing.
Prayer.

We had a ton of friends throughout the city helping us out on various nights. Jensen played Satan one night, Isai supplied us with party music he made, Adrian stuck it out with us all four nights in the party room and in post-Hell prayer, Uriel helped with partying and prayer, Alina was a guide for a couple nights and the sister of the main character two other nights, Brittany helped us party, pastors showed up to help with prayer, even one of our Spanish teachers showed up one night. Oh yeah, and God kinda helped us out I guess.

Some of the most entertaining moments were due to groups interacting with us at the party scene and, from what I heard, in Hell with our demons and Satan. However, the best moments for me were during setup and prayer each night. We came together as a group, many of us not initially believing this would be successful, and threw our full support and our whole hearts into the project. We knew that if even one person over the four nights was reached and transformed and came to know God intimately through a new relationship with Jesus Christ, then our efforts were well worth it.

Setup and makeup for the demons cracked me up every single night. Initially, Loree was our only makeup artist. As the second night drew near to the opening, we discovered that there was yet much to be done. What happened at that point? Oh yes, you guessed correctly. I joined the makeup crew. Here’s a little-known (I usually like to keep it that way, but this is worth spilling here) secret about my past: my sister and I went through modeling classes, including makeup application, lighting, commercial spots, and runway stuff when we were kids. I managed to retain all of that information and, coupling it with what I learned in theater in high school (where I was the only straight guy who could do both my own and other guys’ makeup), I set to work making Mike terrifyingly beautiful. He looked like Heath Ledger’s Joker, no joke. This guy looked terrifying every night. On the second night, I put a hole in the middle of his throat –complete with dripping blood– on top of the cheek scars and generally horrific demon look. On our final night, Loree was getting frustrated and was exhausted, so I ended up finishing everyone’s makeup after she got the base stuff on them all. I have been trying not to boast lately, but they looked fantastic. Rachel, Jen, and Justin all looked awesome (HUGE assist from Stacia, Rachel, and Katlyn on making Justin into an incredibly stunning Satan), but Mike was my pride and joy. I slit his neck with makeup. No joke, it looked like someone had slit his neck and let it scab over, but that it had opened up and dripped in a few spots. I think this is the best art I’ve ever done, oddly.

I just spent over 1100 words not telling you the most important parts of the Hell House (La Casa del Terror) experience, so here’s the good stuff. I expected maybe 20 kids a night. We had 106, 102, 106, and 126 people on four nights. I didn’t know if anyone would give their lives to Christ. Our count showed 294 people praying for their salvation over the weekend. We handed out 400 Spanish Bibles to a neighborhood in desperate need of hope. When we heard the final tallies, I broke down. I was blowing snot bubbles while tears streamed down my face, and all the while, I laughed. The Lord filled me with such joy that He would be so gracious as to use us in such a way. I, a sinner for sure, was no more deserving of His grace and mercy than any of the people I met that weekend, yet He used me to reach them and establish His relationship with them, expanding His Kingdom.

After those four nights, after the previous two weeks, we were dead tired. And yet, as much as we all wanted to go home and sleep for a week, we knew the hard work had just begun. The Great Commission of Matthew 28:18b-20a says “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.” It doesn’t say “get people to say a simple prayer and then return to living exactly as they have.” Jesus tells us to make disciples, to baptize, to teach. That means that our work is just beginning, and that we have an incredible task ahead of us. It’s time to get to work.