Tagged: missions

Clarkston Life

Clarkston, Georgia is the epitome of diversity. If you ask me, it’s comparable to being at the airport, the Olympics, or a United Nations meeting. There are people from literally all across the globe. But the thing about Clarkston is that here you find people of all ages from all different countries living in the same CITY. In the same apartment complex, even. When I step outside of my apartment, I can run into a Nepali man in a colorful wrap skirt, an Iraqi woman wearing her burqa, a Somalian family piling into a worn-down sedan, and a swarm of barefoot Eritrean kids within just a few yards. This is Clarkston life.

Clarkston is this way because it was chosen a while ago to be the relocation center for millions of refugees coming into America. These refugees come from lives of chaos, danger, persecution, and rough conditions in countries such as Iraq, Iran, Bhutan, Nepal, Burma, Thailand, Afghanistan, Somalia, Ethiopia, Eritrea, and Uganda. And they’re squeezed together into this one square mile south of Atlanta.

A lot of the refugees here aren’t fluent in English or even know the alphabet. They struggle to find jobs and pay rent. Homesickness is the least of their worries. They come here with nothing and are expected to thrive when the most they can do under this pressure and in their situation is simply SURVIVE.

I’m spending my summer in Clarkston (for the second time) because 1) these refugees need love, and 2) these refugees need Jesus. I’m working with an organization that strives to provide those two things in the form of ESL classes, summer camps for kids, gardening, prayer, and day-to-day conversations.

But not until today did it occur to me that they have something to offer me, as well.

This morning, my roommate Hannah and I stumbled across a scene we had never seen: an Iraqi woman with her young daughter, an Eritrean woman with her special needs son, and a Nepali woman with her infant… sitting on the same bench and conversing. We approached the three women and joined in on their conversation to the best of our ability. Do you know what they were talking about? How much our apartment complex stinks. They’re unhappy with the complex manager and how they’re treated. With kids in lap, through broken English and thick accents, they were engaging in a dialogue about these irritating and discouraging experiences.

And there was something beautiful about the way these three very different women were taking turns shaking their heads in disbelief, nodding in agreement, and sharing these burdens. Never mind the fact they come from various war-torn countries and different faiths and backgrounds. They just wanted to sit together and bond as next-door neighbors, as mothers.

In that moment I felt like I knew nothing.

I’m a not-even-twenty-year-old who has much to learn about independence, financial burdens, marriage, and raising a family. If I were to sit with two women of my choosing, it’d be women my own age who have no children, no real responsibility. Our greatest burdens would be choosing a major or dealing with our protective parents. And I don’t say that to talk down those burdens. I say that to show how much I have left to experience and learn.

Who am I to think that I’m here in Clarkston to solely teach and to change lives? No. I’m also here to have MY life changed by these refugees.

Image by Leonid Plotkin on Flickr (https://flic.kr/p/j4t1oc)

Image by Leonid Plotkin on Flickr (https://flic.kr/p/abzFKN)

I don’t want to let my pride prevent real friendships from forming while I’m in Clarkston.

I want what those three women had: common ground forged in even the mundane trials of life.

I want to knock on that Iraqi woman’s door and ask her to show me the way of motherhood. How do you raise three children? How do you carve time for your marriage? When you’re a stay-at-home mom, do you struggle to find purpose?

I want to sit down with that Eritrean mom and hear her experience of having a special needs son. Were you scared? Are you still? How does it change you? 

And then I want to spend time with the Nepali woman and her infant son and see how a love for a newborn grows from the start. What was it like when you first took him home from the hospital? What are your dreams for his life?

And then I’d ask them all about living. Not just living as a refugee, but day-to-day living. Is it hard to pray and pursue God in the busyness of life? Do you have unrealized dreams and how do you cope with that? How do you get stains out of clothing? 

I know nothing. And these women know something. Instead of trying to teach, I think it’s time to learn.

And while doing that, perhaps I’ll be opening up doors for giving them the two things I still want to offer: love and Jesus.

I’ll keep you updated on how this goes. I’m nervous, but excited. Maybe I’m on the right track here.

Image by Alex Saurel on Flickr (https://flic.kr/p/j4t1oc)

Image by Alex Saurel on Flickr (https://flic.kr/p/j4t1oc)

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I Don’t Know Why I’m Here

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Photo by Laura on Flickr (https://flic.kr/p/aSqBok)

I’ve been in Clarkston (see previous post for details) for almost a month now, and it’s been hard. 

Not so hard that I want to leave or I’m not enjoying my stay. It’s just the kind of hard where you know you could curl up on a bed and sleep for days if somebody would let you.

I miss my family. I miss having Tuesday night dinners with my grandparents. I miss watching Glee with my mom. I miss being able to talk to my boyfriend every day. I miss phone dates, television marathons, and ice cream outings with friends. I miss sleeping next to my dog every night. I miss my church and the middle schoolers I work with.

But I know I’m supposed to be here.

Why?

Well, I haven’t figured that part out yet.

And I have to keep telling myself that it’s okay to not know.

I’ve been beating myself up for being so clueless. Sometimes I have a lot to do; sometimes I’m free all day and just wander around aimlessly. Setting out lunches, making copies, and running errands are my specialty, but there are days when it feels like that’s not enough.

I keep trying and trying to not waste time, but sometimes that’s how time feels: wasted.

Like I could be doing something more, but I’m not sure what.

Here’s what I’m starting to think: God, in His sovereignty and by His grace, uses His people… even when they don’t feel like they’re being used.

I think about the people in my life who have impacted me, encouraged me, and challenged me in ordinary, non-exciting times. Many revelations have been had over coffee at Starbucks. Warm feelings have been exchanged over brief smiles.

An impactful, godly life sometimes looks a lot like an ordinary life.

Could it be that God is found in my own ordinary moments? That the things I am finding mundane are godly and important?

I pray that this is true.

Maybe as I set out lunch each day I am showing these interns I care. Maybe my offers to pray for the girls I live with will be received with more gratitude than I could ever know. Maybe the way I do the little things shows that I can be trusted with the bigger things.

The truth is, anyone could do a lot of the tasks I take care of. But for this summer, these tasks have been entrusted to me.

And no matter how ordinary or seemingly unimportant they are, I want to treat these things like they’re special.

I don’t HAVE to spend my summer serving here in Clarkston. I didn’t HAVE to commit to this and leave my family, friends, and home.

But I GET to.

What a privilege to be a part of something bigger than myself. I might just feel like a useless pinky right now in the grand scheme of the body working together, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be times I can be a helping hand, listening ear, and loving heart.

I hold on to the belief that God uses His people for His glory— in the highs, lows, and in-betweens of life.

When I’m wondering why I’m here, I’ll tell myself this.

I still don’t have answers, but I have faith.

To Be Recognized and Known

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Image by Martien van Asseldonk on Flickr (https://flic.kr/p/5wNWib)

Right now I am in Clarkston, Georgia, the most diverse square mile in America. It’s true.

I’m working with an organization that is aimed at serving refugees and sharing the gospel with unreached people groups. It’s amazing work, my friends. I can’t brag enough about the selfless, life-giving work being done here in Clarkston.

I worked with this same organization two years ago and I finally decided this past January that it was time to return.

For the next few months I get to play a role in what’s been unfolding here for years with the help of so many hands, tears, smiles, and acts of love from all over the world. This is a community, a beautiful family that just wants Jesus to be made known. And I, Jessie, get to contribute something, too. I get to pour my heart out into this mission. I get to be a part of what God’s doing in Clarkston and in the lives of these refugees.

And what I want to share with you right now is one of the things I love most about Clarkston.

I love that people are recognized.

And I don’t mean the sort of recognition where everyone stands up around you and applauds the great things you have done. No, this is the sort of recognition where you’re just known. You’re not a stranger. Your stories, your past, your gifts, and your vision are known and cherished by the people who serve alongside you.

In Clarkston, sacred memories are made, each one serving as a reminder that you are loved, you are appreciated, you are known.

Sacred memories like the one of four of my roommates huddled around me and praying over me on the floor of our living room as I cried over a break-up I didn’t know how to cope with. It didn’t matter that I had just met them the week before. They recognized my pain. My hurt and my burdens were welcomed there.

Sacred memories like the one of having my feet washed, reminiscent of the washing of the disciples’ feet by Jesus. This person, this strong servant of Christ, knelt on his knees before me and washed my dirty feet. He wanted to anoint me for a greater mission, a mission I couldn’t fathom myself. He saw Jesus in me. He saw a calling in me. Even the things I felt unworthy of were recognized in me by others.

Sacred memories like the one of neighborhood kids screaming my name as I step outside my apartment each day. I felt like a celebrity. I felt like a big sister. All I had ever done was remember their names and play with them, and that was all they needed. They recognized the love I had for them and they reciprocated.

Sacred memories like the one of my friend and I sitting on the couch in our apartment, sharing our deepest thoughts and feelings as we read together through the book of James. I was fascinated by her life and she was fascinated by mine. We wanted to know each other’s past and present so we could support and encourage each other in the present and future. We weren’t there to teach or to gain. We were there to listen and give. The value of her story was recognized by me, and the value of my story was recognized by her.

Sacred memories like the one of crying in the arms of two beautiful ladies as we were all just completely moved by Jesus. I don’t even know why we were all crying, to be honest. But there we were, praying and crying and wiping our noses. This fellowship we had, this honest and freeing relationship between us three women in that moment, demonstrated just how deeply Jesus can forge love between those who are willing to know and be known by others.

These are just a few of the memories I hold on to from that summer I spent in Clarkston two long years ago.

Now there are new sacred memories to be made.

I’ve been here for three days and I see it beginning again already.

Not every neighborhood kid remembers me, but there are the few who do. I see the recognition in their eyes as connections are being made. I’m somewhere in their memories, maybe some of their own sacred ones. They call out my name as I step outside my apartment, just as before. It almost feels like I never left.

I felt recognized for the briefest of moments last night as a girl I had met just days before touched my shoulder and asked if I had eaten dinner.

The staff I work with remember little things about me, things I thought maybe wouldn’t be worth mentioning after two years of absence. They remember and recognize my gifts and abilities. I am celebrated.

These little things I hold sacred because they are some of the truest demonstrations of the power of recognition. I am moved by these moments because they whisper, “Jessie, I know you and you are loved.”

And I’ve decided this will be my task for the summer while I’m here: to recognize those around me.

I am not a great missionary. I don’t really know how to share the gospel and I’m awful at discipleship. The fact I didn’t come back to Clarkston to visit during the two years I was gone speaks of the lack of drive and dedication I tend to have. I feel guilty because I know I am a college student stuck in comfort, easy living, and non-committed relationships. I keep to myself because it’s comfortable here. And I can’t guarantee that I’ll branch out enough to truly change the life of any of these refugees this summer.

But what I know how to do is recognize people. I remember names and stories. I like to listen. I like to encourage. And sometimes that’s all a person needs.

I want to be the breath of fresh air to the people I’m working with and to the people I’m serving.

I won’t have the most eloquent speeches planned out, and I don’t have much advice to give. But I can give my heart and let people give theirs. I want people to be recognized here because I’ve seen how it changes lives. It’s changed mine.

Please pray for me as I continue on this journey here in Clarkston. I don’t really know what the summer will contain, but I earnestly desire fruit to come out of my time here. I don’t want to be a waste of space, time, or money, so I am praying that I figure out my niche and how I can serve. Most of all, I want to do those things, whatever they may be, wholeheartedly. I want to wholeheartedly love.

Thank you to all who have recognized me and are continually encouraging me. We need people like you. More people need to be recognized. They’re all around you, just begging to be noticed and heard. Continue to be those eyes and ears.

And if you know how to create, then be a mouthpiece, too.

The medium I choose is words, but it’s not the only one.

Let’s continue recognizing each other. In this forgetful, neglectful world, we need it.

Our Purpose in Life, Part 2

Continuing from my last post, the New Testament, especially the words of Jesus, gives us insight into what God’s purpose for our lives is.

Because God is meant to be glorified, we are meant to bring him glory, along with all the nations.

A few words from Jesus that recognize the importance of God being glorified in all of the world include:

“My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations.” (Mark 11:17)

“… this Gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come. (Matthew 24:14)

“… go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.” (Matthew 28:19-20)

“As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.” (John 20:21)

“… repentance for the forgiveness of sins will be preached in his name for all nations, beginning at Jerusalem.” (Luke 24:47)

The task at hand did not change. All the nations still needed to be reached in order that God may be glorified. Jesus himself recognized the importance of this, and he even commanded that we take part in this mission. He even says that the end cannot come until the unreached are reached, until Jesus is spoken throughout all of the world.

The question now is: Why are there so few people doing it?

Here are a few statistics for you to wrap your minds around.

73% of missionaries go to countries that have many Christians and an access to Christianity.

24% of missionaries go to countries that do not have many Christians but do have an access to Christianity.

3% of missionaries go to countries that do not have Christians and do not have access to Christianity either.

This means that the areas that need the most church planting, the most discipling, the most workers for the spread of the Gospel actually have the least amount of missions workers. Only 3% attempt to reach the unreached.

Even sadder is that 87% of the money given by Christians goes to the first group of countries, 12% of the money given by Christians goes to the second group of countries, and 1% of the money given by Christians goes to the last group of countries.

What this basically says is that the unreached have the least amount of missionaries and the least amount of resources being invested towards them.

There are 2.3 billion unreached people. Unless things change, 2.3 billion Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, the unreligious (especially in China), and believers of tribal religions in the 10/40 window will never hear the amazing news of what Jesus has to offer them, how he died for them and how they can have eternal life spent in worship and in perfect unity with God.

Like Paul says in his letter to the Romans, “How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can anyone preach unless they are sent? As it is written, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!’ ” (10:14-15)

Whose responsibility is it- theirs or ours?

I pray that things change. Like God, we should be aiming for a Revelation 7 future:

“… there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people, and language, standing before the throne and before the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. And they cried out in a loud voice:

‘Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.’
… ‘they are before the throne of God and serve him day and night in his temple; and he who sits on the throne will shelter them with his presence. Never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst… For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.’ ” (Rev. 7:9-10,15-17)

Think about what this means for your own life, what God could be calling you to do.

So many say that you should first feel called to go to unreached people groups, but if this is true, then shouldn’t those who aren’t called overseas feel called to stay? How much more this world could change for the glory of God if the body of Christ, the Church, would dedicate itself to such a cause- the salvation of lost souls.

My challenge for you is to figure out what to do now that your purpose in life has been figured out for you.

Donate? Go overseas? Start a Bible study? Strike up conversations?

But whatever you do, remember the power of prayer.

For such a large task at hand, we need to be in tune with our even larger God.

Now go seek and ask.