Avoiding ministry burnout

Ever heard of Perspectives? For years, I've heard stories of life-change from anyone lucky enough to take this rich, intensive 15-week course on missions. We have a joke that no one can talk about Perspectives without using the word "perspective"...because, well, a new perspective on missions, on God and even--or especially--their own relationship to Him is what everyone leaves with.

 

So when hubby and I started Perspectives this spring, I was expecting to be changed on a global scale for global mission. But this was different. This was much closer to home.

 

Somewhere in Lesson 2, I arrived at the article by Tim Dearborn entitled “Beyond Duty”. He wrote about the tendency for many churches and mission agencies to motivate people into missions using “bad news”.  It all sounded so familiar:

 

Statistics of the hundreds of thousands dying without Christ.

Photos of malnourished children in Sudan.

Overwhelming numbers of martyrs dying each year for their faith...

and on and on.

 

Not only did it remind me of sermons and mission conferences, it reminded me of my own prayers in the past: full of heavy tears and a crushing burden for the lost and broken.

 

In Dearborn’s own words, I had “worked myself into exhaustion with exhortations to give more, do more, be more, care more, serve more, love more, sacrifice more,” but I always ended by feeling hopelessly inadequate for the task.

 

Because of course, I was.

 

And then, this:

“Mission is ultimately not a human response to human need. …Lack of interest in mission…is best remedied by intensifying people’s passion for Christ, so that the passions of his heart become the passions that propel our hearts.”

 

Wait, mission is not human response to human need? *mind blown*

 

As I sat with highlighter poised, God began to clarify truth even beyond what Dearborn had written. Human-centered motivations, because they originate in finite humans, will always be limited. No matter how earnest my compassion, no matter how much I immerse myself in knowledge of the world’s needs, no matter how much zeal I fan into flame with my own will, it will all fall flat eventually because I myself am finite.

 

An Infinite Source is needed.

 

Suddenly He whisperered to my exhausted heart. Cherise, this is part of why you felt burned-out in your homegroup.

 

Me: Ohhhhhhhhh.

 

I realized that I had served and lead from a dry well of self-generated desires and passions to serve human needs rather than from a simple, pure desire to love and please my Father. When the people I served became hard to love or did not return my friendship, I fizzled. I was counting on my own compassion and love to sustain me, but (shocker!) it proved a poor source for long-term sustainability.

 

It turns out that the same incomplete motivations for global mission are just as incomplete on the home-front.

 

BUT there is a higher motive that is a deep well, never running dry! It has nurtured and upheld missionaries in generations past, enabling them to give and serve for years without thanks, without praise, without the support of community or the comforts of home.

 

It is this: The glory of His Name. His honor. God receiving the praise He deserves.

 

If I live for His praise, I won't be living for mine (and won't be crushed when I don't receive it.)

 

I have a sneaking suspicion that this will be a lesson learned over and over. 

 

The ugly truth

I've been working on a post for more than a two weeks. Every day I'd tap out a few lines, tweak them, delete them. The writing was good, but something didn't seem quite right.

Some of you have already heard the story I tried to blog. How a faculty member thought I was an undergrad student, how his comments jerked the band-aid off my carefully-concealed insecurities and desires for a second degree. How I felt devalued.

"Oh," he said, once he learned I worked at the front desk full time. "I see. So what are your career goals? What's the plan?"

I thought I was simply insecure.
I thought it was an example of secular "success" clashing with the things God had called me to be successful in.
I thought it would make a good blog, neatly tied at the end with something pithy that would make me sound mature.

The truth is far uglier. I'm proud.

The realization came last night like a 5000-watt spotlight, piercing past my self-deception into the muck I'd hidden from myself. I was listening to this podcast by Nancy Leigh DeMoss titled, appropriately, "A Pride Test". With each convicting question, I cried harder into my tortilla soup.

Do you think of yourself as more spiritual than your mate, your co-workers, other Christians you know?
Are you quick to find fault with others and then verbalize those faults to others?
Are you proud of the schedule you keep? How disciplined you are and how much you are able to accomplish?
Do you give undue time or attention to your physical appearance?
Are you a perfectionist? Do you feel irked with people who don't do things as well or as quickly as you?
Do you often complain about the weather, your heath, your busy-ness? (We will complain if we think we deserve better). 
Do you talk too much about yourself?
Do you get hurt if your accomplishments or contributions are not noticed or rewarded?

Pride thinks it deserves respect, and is easily injured when it isn't taken seriously. This is what I felt that day as I tried to explain and defend my career. I should have known: one of Pride's favorite costumes is insecurity.

ouch.

And it's a good hurt. I need to feel it, to look the ugliness full-on in the mirror and recognize it as me.

So here's the thing. Please don't write a comment and tell me I'm not proud. I know you'd be doing it to be kind, but it would be way too easy to believe you. Self-deception is so attractive. CS Lewis wrote this about pride:

"If you think you're not conceited, it means you are very conceited indeed."

God doesn't flatter me. He aims the spotlight on the muck so that my disgust will bring me to Him, the Cleanser who already paid an ultimate price for my shame.

It's a severe mercy. But I need mercy in every form.

Staying = Radical Obedience? Sometimes.

They were sitting there on our blue couch, earnest and eager as they told us about the Bright Mountain People*. Hubby and I traced curious fingers over pictures they had brought and tried to imagine living there, with all the foreign tastes, sounds and mannerisms. Such a beautiful people, but such a hopeless future without a Savior.

(not actual picture...only my imaginings)

As teens, our friends had heard about missionaries like Wycliff, Carmichal, and Elliot, but always as a history lesson to encourage the now. All the dangerous work had been done, they thought.

But then, they had a profound realization:

There are still entire cultures that have never heard the name of Jesus. 

 And each year, millions of people die without ever hearing of the God who loved them and died to buy their freedom from death. So our friends went, committing to a lifetime of language learning, relationship-building, and sacrificial living so that the statistic could change.

I was sitting there on the other couch, feeling as if I had swallowed a bag of hot marbles. What am I doing here while people are dying? I wondered. The faces from the pictures were still there when I shut my eyes, and I had a sudden urge to quit my job, sell my car, and book a flight. What if I missed my calling? I even felt a throb of jealousy, that they were living my old dream while I did laundry and brought home paychecks.

My response was not entirely wrong; it is right to be heartbroken over the eternal death of millions of people. If we feel more sadness over a flat tire or a disappointing football game, we need to do a serious gut check.

But I have a tendency to want to rescue people myself, rather than looking to the Rescuer.

An even bigger confession: I have a deep, inner aversion to averageness. Even as a 2nd grader, I hated earning less than an A+ on school assignments.  As a teenager, when I pictured my future, it never included the typical elements of the American Dream. I never wanted the picket fence, the cul-de-sac, the 2.5 kids or the fat paycheck. I wanted to be 100% sold out for Jesus and His Kingdom. In my mind, that meant that I would live sacrificially,  give extravagantly, and home school my nine children while my husband and I went to the furthest corners of the globe with the good news that Jesus reconciles broken people.

And none of this is bad in the least. Even now, many godly people are living this lifestyle and giving all the glory to Jesus.

 But do I desire this radical lifestyle because Jesus desires it from me? Or is it because I want to be "a cut above" your average Jesus-follower? Maybe it's a mix. Most of my movitations are, if I get real with myself.

Truth: even good activities can be downright disobedient if God hasn't asked you to do them. 
(King Saul found that out the hard way. For his story, check out 1 Samuel 15:22)

As I've prayed and journaled through these thoughts, here are some in-progress conclusions:

1) I should make sure my heart is in a position of continual availability to go. Maybe the answer I have taken as "no" is in reality "not yet." If I knew He would send me outside the US in five years, how would that knowledge affect the way I live today? As my cousin, Jeremy recently tweeted: "Your vision of the future affects the decisions of your life today. Without a heart set on eternity you will live for only temporary things."

2) I should be humble enough to realize that Jesus may want me to live a life of faithfulness and relative obscurity, devoid of the moving stories, exotic passport stamps or flashy sacrifices. Am I willing to accept obscurity, the life of the suburban soccer mom and "sideline involvement" in missions if that's what Jesus asks of me? It takes faith to believe that being still and patient can accomplish as much as radical action. Staying can be its own sacrifice, and secret prayer may be more news-worthy in Heaven than any foreign travels on earth.

*The "Bright Mountain People" are called by a pseudonym here, to protect our friends and other workers who bring them the Good News. 

The Point of Deserts

"And you shall remember the whole way that the Lord your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that he might humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep his commandments or not. And he humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord. Your clothing did not wear out on you and your foot did not swell these forty years. Know then in your heart that, as a man disciplines his son, the Lord your God disciplines you." 

(Deuteronomy 8:2-5)

Everyone in the LT program has been using this book to study the life of Jesus this summer as our example of leadership. Even though the stories of Jesus' life have been part of my personal fiber since toddler-hood, I've found myself challenged in new ways and fascinated by details that I never saw before.

We were studying Jesus' relationship with the Holy Spirit, and I had just read about his 40-day stint in the desert without food.

In his humanness, he got hungry. He got thirsty. After 40 days, he was probably sunburned, with dry, swollen lips that cracked when he answered his tempter those three times. But what had Jesus said in the desert?  "Man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord." Huh...sounds like Deuteronomy.

And it was after that desert experience that "Jesus returned in the power of the Spirit to Galilee" (Luke 4:14).    

Many Christians--me included!--have often lived for the "mountaintop experiences": the times when life feels easy and joyful, God feels closer than ever, and it's easy to trust that He is good. Oh yeah, I like those.
But deserts?  Blech.  Just like real deserts, desert times in our lives are hot, sticky and uncomfortable. They're often lonely, seem endless, or even pointless. Parts of my life feel very desert-like right now, and it's been tough, stressful, and discouraging. 


But Deuteronomy says that "God led you these forty years in the wilderness" and Jesus was "led by the Spirit" into the desert. God doesn't do pointless things. 


But why?  
"...that he might humble you...
...testing you to know what was in your heart, whether you would obey his commandments..."

Ok, yeah, I do want to be humbled. I need that, Lord. But this is painful! What if my needs for friendship, acceptance, or financial provision go unmet?

"...and he let you hunger and fed you with manna...that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord."


Am I willing to feel the hunger of not having what I think I need if it means that God can feed me in His way?
Am I willing to get filled from an unexpected source, just like manna was for them?

Maybe this is the point of a desert--to learn complete dependence on the One who is the real source of life.

God, if that's what you're doing, you can keep me here as long as you need to. I trust you. After all, you went through a desert too.

P.S.
Coincidentally, this summer, hubby will be co-leading a workshop entitled "Beauty in Pain". More related posts to come, I'm sure. Oh, the irony. 

Risks worth taking

I fervently wish I was a better listener.

I've been trying to keep my mouth shut more often, to listen more intently and remember details. I've been asking God to help me really hear what people are saying.

To that end, this blog might be working against me. Learning to listen is rarely accomplished while delving into my own thoughts. But at least it forces me to honestly examine what I find there, and honesty—if it pricks me in the right places—might pop the pride bubbles that I blow for myself.

Two weeks ago, the whole Italy Mission trip team met in our tiny blue living room for cultural training. As we discussed the many ways that we could embarrass and be embarrassed in a foreign culture, I was struck by the realization that I don’t dedicate nearly enough effort to the study of my own culture.

And culture isn’t the crux of it, as if I could buy a guide book and sail through without snags. The heart of the matter is people.

Sometimes I think, wouldn’t it be great if every person you met came with a user’s manual?  

This is what this person means when they say X.

Here is a list of this person’s likes, dislikes, etc.

Here is how to avoid offence.

But a person is too beautifully nuanced to reduce to a spreadsheet or chart. They are not static, as if the same words would affect them in exactly the same way next week, let alone next decade. They are living, growing, reactive, infinitely interesting persons, and fully worth the risk of embarrassment inherent in getting to know them.

On the flip side, being known is risky too.  I think both are risks worth taking. 

The Beginning of the End

I'm making myself laugh because there is something ironic about giving my first blog post a title like, "The Beginning of the End." No, I'm not having a mid-life crisis, and I'm not a goofy doomsday prophet. But when I was trying to capture my feelings about starting my last semester of college, it just seemed to fit. This was the first week of the last semester, and I'll never have a first week like that again. I'll have other firsts, but not a first day of school first, and it's nostalgic and bittersweet to think about it.

I have only three classes: Political Communication, American Lit Post-WWII, and Spanish 202.  Even though one of them is writing-intensive, so far, none of them threaten to eat my life. In fact, I was telling Jordan just yesterday that it feels...a little too easy?  Wow, I'm almost afraid to write that, as if I'm tempting them to become the hardest classes of my life! But really, I feel something like a baby bird who is almost too big for its shell. I'm 24 and married, but the students sitting around me in class have barely left their teen years. College has grown me and challenged me, but the assignments that would have felt like a two-ton weight when I was 21 no longer seem weighty at all. Maybe God wants to stretch me in other areas than academics this semester.  :) 

He's been doing that a lot lately, and to tell the truth, school is easier than this type of inner confrontation!  I entered the Christmas break with a big wad of anxiety in my gut about my future. To grad school or not to grad school? To do ministry or not? To strike out and get a job in my field or not? With graduation looming and profs nudging me toward a master's degree, it felt like an internal mandate to get my life figured out.

A month later, however, my heart is content to rest in Jesus and just wait for him to lead. And this is NOT my own doing; it's Jesus, showing me my crud-ugly pride in my own accomplishments and ability to do things on my own, showing me his power to direct and guide me, and gently but firmly bringing me to my knees.
 Here is the bald truth that I now recognize: I can't make myself a "success".  If I try, I will constantly be looking sideways, measuring myself by the women of God around me. I'll be my own harshest critic--and believe me, I'm brutal when it comes to me.

But our God is so gentle with me. He is so gentle with us.  He loves us too much to leave us to ourselves, and He knows that the things I cling to--pride, people's approval, achievements--are really poisonous to the beautiful things He wants to do in me.

Please be praying for my heart to be soft.