Wayne with hospital volunteers. | Haiti | 2010

Who | Wayne Fairley

Where I’ve Traveled With Kingsland | I’ve traveled with Kingsland missions teams to Kurdistan and to Haiti.

What I Did | In Kurdistan, we helped Heather Mercer develop her community outreach program by teaching a course on servant leadership for government administrators around Irbil, Iraq. The pervasive cultural understanding was “power is leadership” so we contrasted with examples of how others have led by serving.

We went to Haiti a few days after the earthquake. I was blessed to work alongside our medical team in a community hospital in Port Au Prince. My job was to carry things and to encourage the injured and their families. We moved people around the hospital on stretchers to enable the triage and surgery and recovery processes.

How God Touched My Heart | I saw the vast potential in Kurdistan where the craving for freedom and all things Western among the young people created open doors and open hearts to expand their understanding of Jesus. I saw Heather’s work there was a very unique opportunity to influence that region.

What Has Happened Since | After the first visit to the Freedom Center construction site, I got involved in planning its future operation. That has evolved into continuous work in the development of Heather’s ministry. As a board member of Global Hope, my responsibilities include financial oversight and involvement in myriad topics toward realizing Heather’s vision and mission in the Muslim world.

In Haiti, my new friend Herve Celestin now has two prosthetic legs. We’ve raised some resources for Herve and will invest in Herve’s education and future.

Why I Will Continue to Go Beyond | A newly discovered word from Pastor Alex is orthopraxy, the practice of my faith. A key orthopraxy for me is to continue capturing opportunities to serve others near home and far beyond.

Barbara (l) with Aiesha the potter. | Morocco

Who | Barbara Gilcrease

Where I’ve Traveled With Kingsland | I have traveled with Kingsland to Nicaragua, Bangladesh, Morocco, India, Mexico, Mongolia, and Kurdistan.

Why I Enjoy Going Beyond | I have always enjoyed a good challenge. When that challenge makes me totally dependent on Him, you can’t beat that feeling. The results last forever.

One Place That Touched My Heart | Shanti Dan — Mother Teresa’s home for destitute and ill women in Kolkata, India. We saw more need for love and care than we could ever fill in a short time. Our effort at being “Jesus with skin on” blessed us as much as it did these precious women. It was as simple as holding a hand, taking a walk, or throwing a ball with them. Each day the good-byes were difficult.

One Person I Will Never Forget | Shoab (or “Shawn”), our translator in Dhaka, Bangladesh was such a blessing. He asked many questions about life in America. Yes, there are many blessings in American life, but Jesus is one that we share because He lives in Dhaka, too. I often wonder how Shawn is doing and what his position is with Jesus today. It feels like unfinished business, which is not a good feeling to have.

My Advice To Older Adults | At sixteen years-old, I made a commitment to serve in whatever way God led me. It doesn’t surprise me that He allowed me to have these missions experiences at my age. I pray that I haven’t been a drag on younger team members. The call of God on my life when I was a teenager has made the seemingly impossible possible. I can’t even imagine not going beyond.

Note from Omar | Barbara is an inspiration to younger generations. She has been a delightful traveler and compassionate servant on every trip she has participated in. Rather than being “a drag on younger team members,” she has inspired us to do our work without complaining and to step up our game. She is the “Where’s Waldo” character and “Energizer Bunny” all rolled up into one person!

Laura Childs in Afghanistan

Who | Laura Childs

Where I’ve Traveled with Kingsland | I have had the privilege of traveling with Kingsland short-term mission teams to Nicaragua, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Northern Iraq, and Tanzania. I have also been able to go on some of the student mission trips to a few places in the states. Traveling overseas is always fun, but hanging out with the students is always a blast and an adventure.

My Most Memorable Experience | This is a tough one. There are so many memories from my travels. One of my most favorite memories is listening to my good friend, Leah Pullin, share her story again and again about how the Lord cured her of her cancer.  We traveled to Pakistan last year to do some breast cancer awareness education. We visited several hospitals to teach the nursing students, we visited a home for girls to teach the young ladies who lived there, and we stopped by several apartments where some women the missionaries were trying to reach lived.

Time and time again I heard the miraculous story of Leah’s healing while watching the faces of the women who listened so intently. Even though she was speaking to followers of Islam, the story of how Jesus visited Leah in a dream always invoked a look of wonder. I loved to see the smiles on their faces and would watch to see how they would invariably flock around Leah after her testimony to hear more of her story. The power of Jesus spoke clearly though Leah and it was awesome to see.

Why I Encourage Others to Go Beyond | The journeys that take you outside your comfort zone, the ones that carry you over that line that marks the farthest you have ever gone…those are the ones that change you the most. Sometimes it’s a simple change of realizing that people who look different aren’t really that different after all. But other times, it changes you so radically that you come home a different person, with a new perspective and a new passion.

Where I Am Serving Now | My “service” now is a bit different from my trips in the past. I still get the opportunity to meet with poor widows in villages, I still get surrounded by young children who are fascinated with foreigners, I still get the opportunity to enjoy the hospitality that is so common in countries like this and share tea with new friends, and I still have the opportunity to walk through captivating bazaars and crowded streets lined with litter and streams of urine. Only now I wear body armor and carry a pistol, a rifle and a whole bunch of ammo (which thankfully has yet to be needed!).

I’m currently deployed to Afghanistan in support of Operation Enduring Freedom on an Agribusiness Development Team. I also lead our Female Engagement Team which offers me the opportunity to work to improve the state of women’s rights here in Afghanistan.

My mission trips trained me well to understand the culture of an Islamic country, how to effective communicate through an interpreter, and how to see past the dirt, the poverty, and seemingly hopeless state of life.  I can see the hope of the women I meet instead of being distracted and uncomfortable with the unfamiliar environment that is so different from home.

While we are unable to share our faith with those we meet here, I strive to act in such a way that those I come in contact with can see Jesus through me. I also have great hope that our efforts here will set the stage for a safer environment so that others can follow and share the love of Christ with a country filled with some lovely people who share a painful and violent history.

Our team and the work we do is chronicled on our unit blog: Texas Agribusiness Development Team–IV.

Painters | Kurdish Refugee Clinic in Northern Iraq

   Our conversation about mentors took a new twist when Dr. Don Ellsworth asked us to share about historical personalities who have shaped our worldview — people now dead but who serve as our historical mentors. What an intriguing thought. While there are many historical figures whose lives I enjoy reading about, I have never thought of them as my historical mentors. So, we filled our cups with this new brew of conversation and took our first sips by defining historical mentors. Here are a few of the things we discussed about historical mentors.

   First, historical mentors have already lived and died. Their story is not likely to change. Barring some unforeseen discovery, we know what we’re getting. No big surprises. Their influence, whether good or bad, continues through what they wrote or through what others have written about them. We can learn good lessons from both their good and bad examples.

   Second, historical mentors are always available to visit with us. We can approach them anytime of the day or night. They can accompany us on any journey. We can pack them in a suitcase or toss them in a backpack. Their wisdom lies buried between the pages of books and is accessible to anyone willing to carefully dig through layers of words.

   Third, historical mentors provide a standard by which to measure or evaluate our own progress. Their flags are still waving atop the summits of their respective achievements. Their accomplishments or failures are permanently etched on history’s map. We can avoid their mistakes, smell their sweat, and trace their steps.

   I like the idea of historical mentors. Outside of my favorite Biblical characters, I have enjoyed learning from men like Ernest Shackelton whose failed trans-Antarctic expedition in 1914 made him the most successful failure in history. Trapped on the ice for two years, he did not lose a single man. Mother Teresa is one of my newest historical mentors. Her love for Jesus and desire to serve Him led her to found the Missionaries of Charity. She led by an example so extreme that she continues to inspire others to look for Jesus in the distressing disguise of the poor.

   Do you have a historical mentor? If not, then make your way to your local library or bookstore and start a new friendship with someone who can enrich your life, challenge your thinking, and inspire you to live adventurously for God. You’ll be glad you did.

• • • • •

Note | This discussion took place during a long drive in Kurdistan on Wednesday, October 22, 2008.

   Heather Mercer shared a challenging thought with our team at one of our morning devotionals in Kurdistan. She challenged us to do three things as we engaged with people throughout the day. First, look into the eyes of others and notice the color of their eyes. Second, remember the names of those you meet. And finally, make people smile. That’s quite a challenge, especially for people accustomed to moving through life at a pace so fast that people look blurry. In order to do any of the things Heather challenged us to do we must learn to walk slowly among the people — slow enough to look into their eyes, learn their names, and deposit the kind of interest in their hearts that will register in a smile.

   Mark recorded an account of a miracle that Jesus performed in two stages (Mark 8:22-26). A blind man was brought to Jesus at Bethsaida. Jesus took the man aside, spit on his eyes and laid hands on him, and then asked him if he could see anything. The man replied that he could see men, but they looked like trees walking about — an indication that his sight was blurry. Jesus laid His hands on the man’s eyes a second time and, as a result, the man could see everything clearly.

   I know that Jesus could have healed the blind man with one touch. Instead, He chose to touch the man a second time. I’m glad He performed this particular miracle in two stages because it serves to remind us that insight often comes slowly. Most of us move through life so fast that the people around us look like trees walking about. We cannot distinguish the color of their eyes or any other features. That’s why we should ask Jesus to touch our eyes a second time so that we might see others clearly and with greater insight. Only then will we notice the color of their eyes, remember their names, and make them smile. So, slow down a bit and accept Heather’s challenge. It will make a difference in your life and in the lives of others.

• • • • •

PS | Pastor Alex and I leave for Uganda on Monday. Please pray for us as we meet with the staff of The Comforter’s Center and talk with local leaders about the sanctity of human life. I will try to post from Uganda as I have opportunity.

   Zawee Spi is the name of a place that is not written on a map. But, it’s there. Located outside of Harmoda, it’s one of several camps that Kurds displaced from Iran call home. This huddle of bland, earth-colored houses is barely noticeable against the barren backdrop of the surrounding hills. But, it’s there. Zawee Spi is a simple place powdered with dust, pock-marked by time, and governed by despair. However, if you listen carefully, you can still hear the faint pulse of hope. It’s there.

   Those who live in Zawee Spi share more in common than the poverty that tethers them to this spot. Every family is on a first-name basis with Death. The shrouded specter is no stranger here. I listened to widows mourn the untimely departure of husbands and providers. I looked into the eyes of children penalized for a lifetime by Death’s unwelcomed intrusion into their homes. I walked with a father to the grave of a daughter near an ancient olive tree on a rocky hillside. We stood silently. He wiped his tears and then slowly touched his forehead and shoulders as he made the sign of the cross. The cross: the ultimate symbol of death and, for this grieving father, the only hope for life.

   Death continues to employ despair in an attempt to kill the people of Zawee Spi before they actually die. In fact, many of those living there are already lifeless. But, Death will not have the final word. Members of our team immunized the hurting with compassionate touches and injections of prayer. Our team members played with children … children running and laughing while rows of headstones standing in the adjacent cemetery looked on in silence. The presence of children: the fruit of those lying silent beneath the field of death.

   Death has encamped among the Kurds for centuries and refuses to leave. Most recently, Death paid the rent with the currency of Saddam Hussein’s initiatives against the Kurds. I listened to a man describe what it was like to watch Saddam’s military make an example of two of his childhood friends, boys he had once laughed and played with. Those are the guys who were pushed out of a helicopter to their deaths (see post entitled “Field of Death”). “I love George Bush,” he said, accenting every word with a raised finger, “because he removed Saddam.” This was an oft-repeated theme among the Kurds.

   For the past several days, my friends and I have walked slowly among the Kurds and looked for every opportunity to wipe away the suffocating film of death from their hearts. We have talked about life and the life-giver and watched smiles return to vacant faces. We have served in the name of the One who has defeated death. We have liberally planted seeds of life in the places death has marked off-limits. The life-giver is at work here and His harvest is coming.

   We are on our way home as I write this final journal entry. The Kurds have purchased real estate in my heart with their open arms, gracious hospitality, and persevering spirit. I will pray daily and often for the triumph of life, the kind of life that only Jesus can give, among this people accustomed to death. I also return home with the dust of Kurdistan on my shoes. I like that and I won’t wipe it off (Luke 10:8-12). The dust on my shoes will remind me of the open-armed welcome I received among the people of Kurdistan – a wonderful people who live in a terrible place.

   Prior to coming here, Harmoda was just another name on the map of Iraq, one among the many centuries-old names marking a place far from where I live. Our journey brought us to this particular place because just outside its cluster of colorless homes there is a colony of Kurdish refugees from Iran. We are here to connect with this tiny slice of hurting humanity — people swept onto this rocky shore by winds of conflict and waves of rejection. They have been marooned here for years but have learned how to survive.

   Today, Harmoda became more than a name on the map of Iraq. It became a name that is now engraved on the geography of my heart. The cartographer was an elderly Kurdish gentleman who spoke excellent English with a sophisticated accent, smoked lots of cigarettes, and whose belief in God had long since been evicted from his heart. The violent history of this place is tightly woven into the fabric of his life. It’s as if all that has happened to the generations that have lived and died here has happened to him.

   “Do you know what Harmoda means?” he asked. Without hesitation, he continued. “It means field of death.” He pointed to the mountains in the distance as he recounted that 50,000 people had once called this place home — until Muslim invaders descended from those mountains and slaughtered the masses. Since that time this place has been called the field of death. Thinking this slaughter had occurred in recent history, he clarified that it happened 1,400 years ago. Because of that brutal massacre, death is still memorialized in the name of this blood-stained piece of geography.

   Later in the day, another man recounted something that Saddam Hussein’s forces had done here in 1988. Pain mixed with anger accented his words. “Saddam took two Kurdish men,” he said. “Then, he placed them in large sacks, took them up in a helicopter, and pushed them to their deaths.” The field of death received Saddam’s violent offering and drank the blood of these two helpless men, and one more page was added to the community’s thick volume of violence.

   As I thought about the field of death throughout this day, I reflected on what Jesus said to His disciples about another field. “The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field” (Matthew 9:38). The Lord is looking for those who will sow the seeds of life in terrible places like the field of death. That’s what we are here to do. Perhaps you can take a moment to find Harmoda on your map. You might be surprised to find that it’s closer to you than you think. Then, allow the Lord of the harvest to use you to sow seeds of life in fields of death.

   “It’s always hard,” he said, as he looked at me with intense, piercing eyes set in a face chiseled by hardships. “But sometimes, I like it.” I choked down his words – difficult words prepared on the stovetop of persecution and served to me across the table of our new friendship. These were the words of a 48 year-old pastor who had already endured two imprisonments this year. “Have you been imprisoned?” he asked me, as if it were a normal part of the Christian experience. “No,” I softly replied. “Sometimes, I like it,” he continued, “because my flesh becomes very small and my trust in God grows very big.” Those are words spiced with the kind of insight that is found only in the pantry of dark, dangerous, and terrible places.

   Later in the afternoon, we drove past the place of his imprisonment. He pointed to his cell window. I sat quietly. His wife recalled, “I cried when they took him away and imprisoned him on false charges. I told him that he was like Jesus who was numbered with the transgressors” (Luke 22:37). In prison he found a new congregation among transgressors, men with hearts buried deep beneath the debris of their sinful choices. He tossed aside the encumbering manacles of self-pity and got to work. He determined to allow God to use him in this terrible place.

   The only Bible he carried with him was the one written on the pages of his heart. These memorized passages nourished and sustained him from day to day. Soon, others sought him out for counsel. He shared the gospel with one man who suddenly clutched his heart and asked him to stop. “What are you doing to me?” he shouted. “Something is happening inside, I can feel it.” As it turned out, the man was having a heart-attack — God’s convicting words were attacking and breaking through the barriers surrounding his sinful heart. He waved the white flag of surrender and yielded to Jesus as Lord and Savior. This prisoner set free then raised his hands and shouted this praise: “God brought me to this terrible place so that I could hear this wonderful message.”

   I could not help but think about all of the things we think are hard or uncomfortable and inconvenient. Honestly, what must God think of us when we are so unwilling to sit patiently under any blows from His divine hammer and chisel? What can He do through those who complain every time they find themselves temporarily imprisoned by life’s difficulties? Don’t live a bland and tasteless life. Allow God to use the seasoning of hardships to enrich your relationship with Him. The next time you find yourself in a place where your flesh must grow small, learn to like it so that your trust in God can grow big.

Heather Mercer

As we sat around the dinner table this evening, we waded deeper and deeper into conversation about service. Heather Mercer shared the following personal story with us that caused us to consider how others sometimes perceive those who serve in terrible places.

While home on a brief furlough, Heather’s mom took her to the local beauty salon for some much-deserved pampering – the kind you can’t really get in the obscure places Heather calls home. Accustomed to the “Oh, you’re thaaat Heather Mercer” kind of attention, it was no big deal when her presence in the salon turned the tide of conversation. Each stylist related highlights of Heather’s story to their respective captive audiences of one. They talked about her arrest and imprisonment by the Taliban, her current work among the Kurds, and more. Then, something unexpected happened. While Heather was savoring a little slice of pampering, a stranger walked across the salon and stopped in front of her. The woman planted her hands on her hips, looked directly at Heather, and bluntly said, “So, you’re the nutty one who is wasting her life among those people in Iraq.” With her verbal dribble still splattered across Heather’s shocked expression, the woman then turned and walked away.

The world does not understand the value of a wasted life, nor does it understand that in the kingdom we always descend into greatness. We always lose to gain or to turn a popular phrase: “No waste. No gain.” Jim Elliot once said, “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.” Jim lost his life at the end of a spear. A wasted life? Some might think so, but not the One whose judgment matters more than that of people like the woman in the hair salon.

The world does not understand the value of a wasted life. That kind of thinking runs counter to the cultural currents that usher people into the comfortable pews of selfish living. These devoted disciples can recite chapter and verse of the Gospel According to Madison Avenue. And, when the offering plate is passed, they are the most cheerful of givers. They often leave with evangelistic zeal and never miss an opportunity to bless themselves. Jeremiah the prophet understood what really makes a life worthless. He would have shouted the truth on Madison Avenue, “You have followed worthless idols and become worthless yourselves” (Jeremiah 2:5).

Many in Jesus’ day failed to grasp the significance of waste – of giving all to Jesus. While visiting in the home of a man known as Simon the Leper in Bethany, a woman with a very expensive jar of perfume approached Jesus. Then, something unexpected happened. “She broke the jar and poured the perfume on His head” (Mark 14:3). That shocking act of devotion provoked this review from observers in the room: “Why this waste of perfume?” The only thing sadder than those words is coming to terms with all of the jars of unused perfume many of us cling to. What will it take for us to break the jar and release the sweet fragrance of waste for the One who has given us everything?

Let’s determine to look for Jesus in the distressing disguise of those in need. Let’s look for him among the poor, the ragged, the hungry, and the forgotten. And then, when we find Him, let’s break a jar of perfume and release the sweet fragrance of selfless service. And never forget that the world would be a better place if more us chose to waste our lives. So, go waste your life!

• • • • •

PS | Thanks for your continued prayers for our team. We welcomed one of our Kurdish translators into the family of God yesterday!