Why do so many of us have small faith and small dreams? Part 2

 

Last week I asked, “Why do so many of us settle for small faith and small dreams?”

 

But then I also think of those with large faith and large dreams:

 

All these years later, I still marvel

at the gutsy, plucky faith of Uncle Cam

(Cameron Townsend)

and my new Lomalinda colleagues—

people who, because of that faith,

dreamed bold, daring, dreams.

People who prayed, honorable,

principled, confident prayers.

 

I also shared with you Lloyd John Ogilvie’s words that so aptly describe Uncle Cam and those who settled in that remote mission compound, Lomalinda. Ogilvie said of such people that Christ “uses [their] imagination to show us what we would not have thought of or worked out for ourselves. . . .

 

“This requires persistence. . . . It means asking, seeking, knocking [Luke 11:9-10] . . . three steps in using imagination in cooperation with Christ. . . .”

 

Ogilvie continues:

 

“Some Christians think of solutions we would not have considered.

They have persisted patiently in prayer.

Some are amazingly creative in what they think and say.

Long prayer vigils and complete trust are the reason.

They are like an inventor who waits for, searches,

tests until the great ‘Ah-ha!’ comes.

 

“[They] do not give up.” 

(Silent Strength for My Life)

Recently I keep coming back to this question: What's the difference between

• people of bold faith and big dreams, and
• those who settle for small faith and small dreams? 

Here are some thoughts:

 

Sometimes we get derailed, maybe by tragedy, or by heartache, or illness—or even boredom. Many years ago, A.B. Simpson wrote of those of us whose “faith grows tired, languid, and relaxed,” whose “prayers lose their force and effectiveness.”

 

He wrote of those of us who “become discouraged and so timid that a little obstacle depresses and frightens us, and we are tempted to walk around it, and not face it: to take the easier way.”

 

Even though God and His promises stand ready to help, we wimp out: we complain about the hard work involved in praying—and then waiting for God to answer! And trusting Him!

 

Instead, maybe we take things into our own hands and try to force events or answers to happen the way we want.

 

Or we look to other humans and human remedies. As Simpson said, we “walk around some other way.”

 

“There are many ways of walking around . . . instead of going straight through. . . . How often we come up against something . . . and want to evade the issue with the excuse: ‘I’m not quite ready for that now.’ Some sacrifice is to be made, some obedience demanded, some Jericho to be taken . . . and we are walking around it” (A.B. Simpson, quoted in Streams in the Desert).

 

In other words, we bury our heads in the sand. We allow—we even welcome—distractions that lure us away from doing the hard work of waiting on God.

 

Simpson challenges us to put into practice Hebrews 12:12-13: “You have become weak, so make yourselves strong again. Keep on the right path" (NCV).

 

Or, as the Living Bible words it: “Take a new grip with your tired hands, stand firm on your shaky legs, and mark out a straight, smooth path for your feet. . . .” (See also Isaiah 35:3).

 

That means we’re to refuse to be weaklings, cowards, those who give up too easily— (that’s often a hard one for me). Instead, we are to be disciplined, persevering, tenacious people—both spiritually and in practical, everyday life.

 

We are inspired to be that kind of people when we

hang out with those like Uncle Cam

and my Lomalinda neighbors and colleagues.

 

We are mentored into becoming that kind of people

when we watch them live their faith in action on a daily basis

and over the decades.

 

What a privilege God gave us when He sent us to work alongside such spiritual giants!  

 

Come back next week

for more thoughts on

why so many of us

settle for small faith and small dreams.

 

Laughing at impossibilities—or not: Why do so many of us settle for small faith and small dreams?

 

Lloyd John Ogilvie describes exceptional people like Cameron Townsend, founder of Wycliffe Bible Translators. (See last week’s post about him, Laughing at impossibilities.)

 

He writes that Christ “uses [their] imagination to show us what we would not have thought of or worked out for ourselves. . . .

 

“This requires persistence. . . . It means asking, seeking, knocking [Luke 11:9-10] . . . three steps in using imagination in cooperation with Christ.

 

“When we ask, we surrender the problem.

 

“When we seek, we wait for Him to show us His best among the many alternatives, opening our minds to His insight.

 

“Then . . . He gives us an answer. It’s then that we can knock, asking for the provision to accomplish what He has revealed.” (Silent Strength for My Life).

 

Ogilvie’s words offer us a profound glimpse into the life of Cameron Townsend (Uncle Cam), a spiritual giant.

 

And his life and faith inspired thousands of other people—among them my new Lomalinda co-workers—to be people of exceptional faith, too.

 

Ogilvie points out traits Uncle Cam and my fellow Lomalindians possessed: “. . . Some Christians think of solutions we would not have considered. They have persisted patiently in prayer.

 

“Some are amazingly creative in what they think and say.

 

“Long prayer vigils and complete trust are the reason.

 

“They are like an inventor who waits for, searches, tests until the great ‘Ah-ha!’ comes.

 

“[They] do not give up.”

 

This still boggles my mind:

God gave me and my family the great, 

humbling opportunity

to work alongside such giants of the faith,

some three hundred colleagues who, I would soon learn,

served Him with zeal.

 

It’s not that they talked about God all the time or spoke in hallowed tones or prayed a lot in public.

 

No, they were ordinary souls who chose a humble lifestyle so they could live a radical faith, despite consequences that would come their way.

 

Now, looking back, I don’t hesitate to call them spiritual giants, choice saints. But I didn’t recognize that in the beginning. They were camouflaged as regular folks (from Chapter 10, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir).

 

I wonder . . .  Why do so many of us, in contrast, have such small faith and small dreams?

 

We don’t have to settle for small faith and small dreams.

 

But why do we, so many of us, so often?

 

A big, no-turning-back decision

 

Transitioning to life on the mission field can be a slow process—stumbling through unknowns, waiting for elusive answers, and figuring out new identities.

 

It’s an offbeat experience because people lose their bearings, they live in an in-between state—awkward, incomplete.

 

Transition is stretching, re-thinking, expanding. It’s a vulnerable time, a time of letting go of the old even before figuring out the new.

 

In Lomalinda, I had finally turned a corner, and with God’s help, I would have to let go of old dreams and instead, dream new dreams.

 

Letting go of old dreams and embracing new ones is uncomfortable. So uncertain.

 

But on the other hand, since my plans and dreams had been too small, too tame, what did God’s ongoing plans for me look like?

 

I needed to make a big, no-turning-back decision: Would I embrace God’s plans? Could I do that with joy?

 

After all I’d gone through, my answer had to be “Yes.”

 

That meant I had to figure out what to do with culture shock.

 

Culture shock had left me stymied and disoriented, baffled, bamboozled, and befuddled. It was mysterious, maddening, tear-inducing, annoying, humiliating, and terrifying. And sometimes amusing.

 

Transitioning through culture shock is a time of upheaval, of loneliness. It had been robbing me of my energy and shaking up my sanity. It inflicted chaos upon me—emotional, mental, physical, and spiritual.

 

It hurt.

 

Culture shock for me was an aversion to anything different from my home and people and food and geography, the prickly awareness that strangers surrounded me, and some spoke a foreign language and had different ways of doing things. But if I wanted to transition out of culture shock and settle in well, I’d have to change my perspective.

 

Strange odors made me long for familiar smells—the perfume of fir trees in the rain, the aromas of Puget Sound and seaweed drying on the beach. I compared Lomalinda to everything back home—red-orange soil instead of my dark foresty earth in Seattle. But if I wanted to transition out of culture shock and settle in well, I’d have to change my perspective.

 

Heavy, humid air and triple-digit temperatures pressed down on us instead of cool, fresh Pacific Northwest air. While our temps soared, I missed the anticipation of autumn’s chilly, crisp days back in Seattle. Folks back home would soon pull out wool sweaters and scarves and socks but, in Lomalinda, we were shedding shoes and as many clothes as was decent. So if I wanted to transition out of culture shock and settle in well, I’d have to change my perspective.

 

I wished for a North American grocery store, well-known flavors, paved roads, and a warm shower. But if I wanted to transition out of culture shock and settle in well, I’d have to change my perspective.

 

At six in the evening, blazing sunsets filled the enormous sky, silhouetting the Macarenas, a low mountain range in the distance. I recall catching my breath at the splendor of the scene—but then a steely grip hardened my heart, and I said to myself, “But they are not my mountains.” The Macarenas looked wimpy compared to the jagged, snowcapped mountains in my Seattle backyard. I grew up between two mountain ranges—the Cascades to the east and the Olympics to the west—and they offered dazzling sunrise and sunset views. They were my mountains and my sunsets. But if I wanted to transition out of culture shock and settle in well, I’d have to change my perspective.

 

I would have to reorient my thinking about what a home was or where home was. I would have to leave behind the feeling that we were not at home and instead, transition into feeling we were at home. That was a big deal because I was (and still am) fiercely attached to everything that “home” means. I had strong opinions about where “home” was, and which people lived near that home. If I wanted to transition out of culture shock and settle in well, I’d have to change my perspective.

 

At that time, I assumed any culture and place unlike mine was second-rate. I suppose we all wrestle with that. It’s called ethnocentrism—the assumption that our flowers are prettier than their flowers and our meat tastes better than their meat. It’s the belief that we do things the right way and they do them the wrong way, that we are superior while they are inferior—traditions, values, music, race, appearance, language, smells, religious practices, humor, marriage, child-rearing, medicine, and food, to name a few. And often our assumptions are incorrect. That’s ethnocentrism, and it was part of my culture shock. If I wanted to transition out of culture shock and settle in well, I’d have to change my perspective.

 

My heart, my mind, my compass—all were oriented to the life I’d lived in Seattle. But if I wanted to transition out of culture shock and settle in well, I’d have to change my perspective.

 

God had already caught my attention and started me toward those changes. Continuing that new direction seemed daunting, especially since I had little trust in myself to pull it off. Yet God . . . .

 

Yet God . . . .

 

If you could have overheard my conversation with God that afternoon, it might have sounded something like this:

 

“Have mercy upon me, O God, because of your unfailing love. Because of Your great compassion, blot out the stain of my sins, according to the multitude of Your tender mercies. . . . Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. . . . Restore to me the joy of Your salvation, and uphold me by Your generous spirit. Keep me strong by giving me a willing spirit” (Psalm 51:1, 10, 12).

 

And you’d have heard God reply something along these lines: “I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, yes I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand” (Isaiah 41:10).

 

My answer would have sounded like this: “The Lord upholds all who fall, and raises up all who are bowed down, bent beneath their loads” (Psalm 145:14).

 

And I would have continued: “I think how much you have helped me. Because of that, I sing for joy in the shadow of your protective wings. My soul follows close behind You. Your right hand upholds me. Your strong right hand holds me securely” (Psalm 63:7-8).

 

I can tell you this: God stuck by me, gently sustaining me moment by moment, doing things that would amaze me, things I wouldn’t have believed even if He had told me right then (Habakkuk 1:5).

 

Though I couldn’t see into the future, He was turning my life upside down and inside out and it was going to be so good!

 

“When a door opened . . . that let the future in”

“There isn’t one of us,” writes dear Frederick Buechner, “whose life hasn’t flamed up into moments when a door opened somewhere that let the future in, moments when we moved through that door. . . .” (A Room Called Remember)

 

That day—the one I’ve been telling you about, day three in Lomalinda—has always stood out in my memory. After more than forty years, recalling it still pains me. But let me hasten to say the memory of that day also amazes me, it makes me smile, it warms my heart.

 

Here’s why: Even though I was shattered—broken, stunned, scared—on that afternoon, a door opened—God Himself stood on the other side of the door, and He opened it—even if I hadn’t fully grasped that yet.

 

Since that day, I’ve long taken comfort in what the Bible tells us: God goes before His children—He is the vanguard—in the lead, on the front line. (1 Chronicles 14:15, Isaiah 52:12).

 

God was already in Lomalinda when I arrived. He was there, welcoming me, opening a door to my new life. I was a nervous wreck, but He was unflappable. I was disoriented, but He was steady, focused.

 

God also goes behind his children—he is the rear guard (Isaiah 52:12). He brings up the rear, protecting us from what might attack from behind. Rearward also means to gather up—God gathers us in His arms when we are weak. He comes along behind and helps gather up the messes and broken pieces we left along the way.

 

So our wonderful God goes before us to lead

and He follows behind us to protect and help.

Front and back, we’re wrapped in His loving arms.

 

If I’d have listened to God, I might have heard Him welcoming me, smiling, and saying something like He said to Habakkuk: “Look, watch—and be utterly amazed. For I am going to do something that you wouldn’t believe even if someone told you about it” (Habakkuk 1:5).

 

On that steamy afternoon in Lomalinda,

standing—in my sweat-drenched clothes—

in that little red brick house,

thanking God for strong breezes

blowing through the window slats,

and listening to parrots and crickets

and an occasional dog bark on a nearby hill,

God opened a new door for me

and welcomed me into my new, good future.

 

And I stepped through that open door.

 

It was as if He was saying, “My thoughts are completely different from yours,” says the Lord. “And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine. For just as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts higher than your thoughts” (Isaiah 55:8-9).

 

And if I had been thinking clearly, if I could have found words, I might have answered Him something like this:

 

“Holy God of love. . . You love me just as I am

and in spite of what I have done.

Most of all, I know that

You are involved with me to enable me to be

the person I was created and destined to be.

I can trust You because

I have found You utterly reliable

each time I have trusted my needs

and problems to You.”

(Lloyd John Ogilvie, Quiet Moments with God)

 

Welcome to my adventures—some of them almost other-worldly

Welcome! I hope you’ll find a few laughs here, a few adventures, plus some encouragement and inspiration along the way.

In coming months, you and I will delve into the challenges and unwelcome surprises—but also the joys and wonders—of living in Lomalinda, a mission center built on a cluster of hills in rural Colombia, South America. (In Spanish, Lomalinda means pretty hill.)

I’ll show you pictures from my scrapbook, intrigue you with links to related info, share recipes with you, and tell you stories you won't find in Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go! A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir.

Sometimes you’ll hear from—and maybe interact with—people you’ve met in my book.

You’ll join my family and me in our discoveries and adventures (some of them almost other-worldly), but you’ll also learn about and, I hope, learn from my lack of faith and my struggle to trust God—who never gave up on me.

And so, be forewarned: Reading this memoir and this blog could change your life!

Here’s a glimpse into what you’ll find in Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: AFoot-Dragger’s Memoir:

What’s a comfortable—and cowardly—suburbanite to do when her husband wants to move the family to rural Colombia, South America, so he can teach missionaries’ kids?

Linda begs God, “Please don’t make me go!” but He sides with her husband, Dave. So, with a good attitude—well, a pretty good attitude—she turns her back on the American dream and, with timid faith and wobbly courage, sets out with Dave and their kids on a life-changing adventure.

But when culture shock, tropical heat, and a certain boa constrictor threaten to undo her, she considers running away and hiking back to the U.S. Instead, she fights through it and soon falls in love with her work alongside current-day heroes of the faith disguised as regular folks.

Once life is under control, predictable, and easy, Linda receives an unwelcome surprise—a request to travel to one of the world’s most dangerous drug-dealing regions where hundreds of Colombians and Americans have recently died. In fact, most of Colombia is dangerous. Marxist guerrillas don’t like Americans, proving it with bombs, kidnapping, and eventually murder. Linda doesn’t want to leave the only safe place—the mission center—because she doesn’t trust God or herself to make the trip.

Again she begs, “Please, God, don’t make me go!” But she does go. How does she find the faith and courage to set out?

In this heartwarming, sometimes humorous, and sometimes shocking memoir, you’ll walk alongside this young wife and mother as she must choose between:

• her plans and God’s,
• cowardice and courage,
• fear and faith.

Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go will inspire you to cancel membership in the Society of the Faint-hearted, enjoy God more, take a quaking leap of faith, and relish the adventures God dreams up.

Be sure to join us on Facebook at Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir.

Come back next week. I’ll tell you more about my escapades in South America.

You can pre-order Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go! A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir at Amazon or, if you’re in the UK, click on Eden.co.uk. Soon my memoir will be available through many more distributors and retailers.