Shipwrecked

  

  “You’ve never been shipwrecked. You haven’t been bitten by snakes.” I listened to the words of this North American pastor as he responded to a fellow missionary’s plea for understanding about the difficult circumstances we sometimes deal with on the mission field, although I understood he was talking about the life of the Apostle Paul who shared in 2 Corinthians 11 many of the trials he had faced for the gospel. None of us even thought to compare ourselves to this hero of the faith, but here it was in front of us, a statement to humble us and show us that we did not understand true hardship for the sake of the gospel. Spiritual warfare is something that we talk about in church, but we seldom really say what it looks like. It is a nebulous thing that we reserve for those that face truly dire circumstances perhaps, or for describing what the disciples went through in persecution after the resurrection of Jesus.

  

     This last year for several of my close missionary friends and our family was no doubt the hardest we had ever experienced. Each of us had what felt like continual adverse circumstances challenging us one by one. One couple faced the terrible loss of their unborn baby. Another family was completely shunned by some of their closest family when they chose to obey God rather than man and stay on the mission field. There were health issues for others requiring surgeries and new diagnoses meaning lifetime treatment. Two of the families had to give up the foster children they had been raising like their own because the families decided to come back into the picture. There were unfounded accusations made against the integrity of some missionaries, and several of us faced the doubt of people in the US about the next steps where the Lord was leading us. Hardest yet, there were many goodbyes for several of us to the people we had invested multiple years discipling and loving. And for each of these families there was the added financial strain placed upon all of us in the midst of the other trials, with many questions from without and even within about the “call”. None of us were sorry to say goodbye to 2018.

    

      As soon as we arrived back in country to begin work after the Christmas break, we thought perhaps there would be a reprieve from this weighty feeling of having what felt like a “target” on our backs. Our load seemed lighter as we looked at a new “field” and a new harvest. The honeymoon lasted about 2 weeks. I knew the day my 12-year-old son came home and told me a man dressed like a woman had tried to touch him and then yelled at Cade when he pulled away that we were up against something very dark in this place. That was again confirmed by a local pastor who told us that a local coven of witches had been trying to “cast spells” on the work being done by our group of missionaries. Shortly after this news, one of the missionaries had a terrible accident, breaking her leg in the process. Accidents and incidents abounded after that, affecting each of our families. One after another, the hits kept coming and continue.

     But none of this is being shipwrecked, snake bitten, or flogged. When I look at the list of the hardships that Paul endured, I wonder if I really even know what it is to suffer for the gospel and count it all joy. I struggle with the weight of the call to serve in another culture as I see the never-ending poverty and hopelessness in the eyes of those I serve, and I feel like the little bit of help we give is just a small drop in an ocean. I feel the burden of trying to help these special needs kids receive an education knowing that there are not enough hours in the day or days in the week for me to truly make a measurable difference in the limited time I have with them.

      As I consider how we measure success in our lives in the States; making the big sale, having the patient wake up without nausea or pain after their surgery, landing that big account, having a great turn out at our event, these are what we use to quantify success. The missionary life doesn’t have a measure like that. Some missionaries spend a lifetime on the field to only have a couple of true disciples. My great-grandfather was one of those people. As one of the first missionaries to southern Africa, he served in Mozambique  and South Africa over 18 years as a missionary, losing his first wife to illness, and then himself leaving his second wife a widow with 2 small children after his third bout with dengue fever claimed his life. Although he had started a small church and personally discipled a handful of men, he never was able to start the seminary to train pastors of which he had dreamed.

     Can I be real? This is what burdens us more than anything, the desire to leave a legacy of Christ above all but wondering if what we are doing in the grand scheme of things is having any lasting influence. How do you measure those hours spent teaching sign language to a young deaf girl and whether they will have a lasting spiritual impact? How do you measure explaining to a group of 10^th graders the difference in what the Bible says about grace versus what many cults have to say about “earning” your salvation and if they will ever apply that knowledge in their lives? In the daily grind of opening up each cupboard to see ants everywhere…in your cereal, in the dog food, in your toothpaste, will you focus on the work or on the trial? In weighing the two, will the daily cultural barriers you face seem worth it when you send the next one off to college, knowing you will not see them for at least a year or more because of your commitment to stay on the field? How do we measure these outcomes in the face of the daily trials and sheer exhaustion that comes from fighting the battle?

     The words of this same Apostle who faced so many obvious spiritual and physical battles come to my mind, “We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” (2 Cor. 10:5) I am blessed to know the end of the story for my great-grandfather, the man I never met, but whose life inspired my calling to obedience on the mission field. Although G. Harry Agnew never saw his dream come to fruition, his wife, Lillie continued to labor on the field, taking over a station with a small school in what was termed "The greatest revival on any station in Africa was given in connection with Mrs. Agnew's labors at Fair View." (History of the Free Methodist Church in North America by Wilson Thomas Hogue) In Beira, Mozambique today stands a seminary that trains pastors as a result of that labor laid so long ago in obedience, despite the hardships and continual spiritual warfare waged against both husband and wife. And so, like my great-grandmother before me, we too pray to in the face of spiritual warfare to “take every thought captive to make it obedient to Christ.” Will you pray this as well for all of us who toil on the foreign field? Spiritual warfare is real, and its effects can take an exhaustive toll, but we are grateful for those of you who are in the battle with us through your prayers and your encouragement in the darkest moments.

Missionary G. Harry and Lillie Agnew and their children in Africa.

One Life

    

     If you and 75 of your church members dedicated a year of preparing and raising over $175,00 to take a mission trip to Honduras, would it be worth it if 200 people were saved? How about if it was just 100 people? What if it was only 20? What if only one person’s life was changed?

     Gilma had a plan. She and her grown daughters lived in Santa Cruz, a small community in Honduras. She decided to put her plan into action as she told her girls to get ready to go to the church service. A service was held each night by the large team from North America that had been providing medical care, food and clothing for the community. The team was a bright spot in a very dismal situation for this single mother who had become despondent at the turn of events in her life and was suffering from severe depression. With no support, no money, and no hope, she really could not see any way out. Yes, she thought, the church service would be a good place for her daughters to go as she sent them out and proceeded to carry out her plan. She was on the way to her back room where the knife was waiting for her, the knife she would use to take the life she no longer wanted, her own, when there was a knock on the door.

     There before her stood three people, one from Honduras, and two from this team from the U.S. They told her that God loved her and that he had sent his son to die for her because of His great love. They told her that hope could be found in Him and that above all her Heavenly Father wanted her to be His daughter. They told her that her life could change today, right this moment, if she would only trust Him and His love for her. Gilma could feel the burden weighing heavy in her soul as she dropped to her knees and wept, crying out for the Lord to save her. She knew that He had surely sent these people to her to stop her from carrying out her plan and to show her a better way, His way! The team gave her a Bible and prayed with her, and instead of ending her life, she began a new one. They encouraged her to go to the church where she could meet Pastor Luis, who would help her to grow in her new faith. Excitedly Gilma put on her best dress and hurried down to the church service. She could not wait to tell her children and her neighbors what the Lord had done for her!

     Three of Gilma’s neighbors have now been led to the Lord on her doorsteps now as well, and Gilma continues to grow as the local pastor and church disciple her in her new faith. This ministry to “Preach and Heal” reaches untold lives here in Honduras and Gilma’s story is one of many who have experienced God’s amazing grace. We are thankful for the partners who have invested their resources and prayers in this ministry. We truly could not do it without them and we thank them for their investment in God’s kingdom through their support of this ministry, and for loving the Honduran people. As we continue to be short $1,400 in our monthly support, we ask those of you who are not partnered with us to prayerfully consider being a part of our team. Together we seek to lift Him up as we reach Honduras for Christ!

Gilma and her grandson with Mark and Timothy from the Jim Brewer team, which recently saw over 200 people saved in Santa Cruz, Honduras.

  

Hill of Light

     It was my first night to come to this hospital on the coast in a rural, poor area of Honduras.  The nearest decent sized town with a grocery store was 1 1/2 hours away via mostly dirt road that had more holes than smooth places due to the torrential rains during the rainy season.  The area was hot and humid when we arrived at the start of the dry season.  My family came with me for the first 3 nights as were warmly greeted and taken to a small apartment where I would stay for my three weeks.     That night I heard the emergency call on the short wave radio for a code in the ER.  This patient was in end stage renal failure and there was very little we could do for him without the ability to dialyze him.  He passed away that evening and another emergency came in to take his place.  This new patient, "John", came to us with 40% burns covering the front of his body from his head to his knees.  The patient spoke English and claimed to be an American.  He said he was a pilot and that he
had been in a plane crash.  We were really not sure of what to think, but his burns did look explosive in nature, and there was little doubt that he had had possibly some head trauma in the accident with potential swelling on the brain.  Because the burns had occurred several hours earlier, his electrolytes were severely out of whack, and we were not sure how much of the patient's story was true versus his obvious confusion from head trauma and electrolyte imbalance talking.  The staff immediately began cleaning and dressing his wounds and trying to treat his obvious dehydration and critical potassium and sodium levels.
     Over the next two days we learned more about this man's story from a nephew from Mexico, a sister in the States, and the police, who helped us fill in the gaps.  Apparently this small engine pilot went down over 6 hours away from our hospital.  He survived the crash and was seen at a clinic nearby where they bandaged him and told him to go elsewhere to be treated for his injuries. Apparently he was then advised to take a local bus to a small town about 30 minutes from the hospital where he could then get a ride to us and receive care.  The military let us know that there had indeed been a plane crash and that the plane was flying without authorization over the country.  They also said that there was a missing "gringo" from the crash and that he more than likely was our patient.  The sister and nephew admitted that John had chosen a lifestyle that had caused him to not have a relationship with most of his family over the last few years.  We later learned this lifestyle involved drug trafficking, hence the late night flight without a passport or permission from the government.  When one of the staff looked him up on social media, they saw indeed that he had multiple Porsches, homes, and apparently traveled all over the world, certainly living an extravagant lifestyle.

Scene of the crash in the local paper

     All of this did not change the fact that we had a US citizen who was a resident of Mexico in Honduras with no health insurance for the US and no passport and in dire need of a burn center to care for his extensive injuries.  For one of the surgeons and the communications director, the work to
find an accepting facility in the states began in earnest.  We knew that we had little time before infection, sepsis, and organ failure would take over without proper treatment.
     All of us took turns in his care, with several of us praying over him and singing praise songs while we were with him.  We even set up some tapes with scripture for him when people could not be in the room.  On his second morning with us, one of the missionaries shared the gospel with John during one of his lucid moments.  He acknowledged that he was a sinner in need of forgiveness and this missionary prayed with him.  Only God knows the heart, but John did seem to be more at peace after that prayer than he had for the previous 36 hours with us.
     Unfortunately, the response from each burn center was a no, with the first center asking for $750,000 up front for his treatment, and the second naming $250,000.  The family did not have the money, but ironically enough, this patient probably did, but could not get to his money in a small missions hospital in a third world country.  Each day we watched his health deteriorate.  I am sure John knew he was dying and I wondered if he thought about never seeing his daughters or his family again.  On his last evening with us we got a break from a facility in the southeast that was willing to take him the next day if we could arrange transport, but the estranged wife from Mexico suddenly was demanding that he be sent to Mexico for treatment, although she did not have a receiving hospital willing to take him.  It seemed a cruel trick of fate.
     As I gave him his tube feeding that night, I talked with him.  He was more out of consciousness than not as his internal organs were starting to shut down.  I talked to him about the sister who was trying to help get him back to the states.  He said, "She is an amazing person.  Just amazing."   I then talked to him about the fact that he should never have survived the plane crash, and how I felt like God allowed him to survive because he needed to come to this hospital and hear of the God who loves him so and wanted to have a relationship with him.  I knew that John had been told the consequences of the sin he was engaged in was death, but that same God in His mercy had sent John somewhere that he could learn of God's love and make a decision that would change his eternity.  That now he knew of the forgiveness that comes from accepting that Jesus paid the price for that sin.  John looked at me and the last words I heard him say were, "I am a very fortunate man. A very fortunate man."
     The next morning (his 5th morning with us) John passed away quietly in his sleep, the same day he was to fly to the US.  I was sad that he had died alone in a mission hospital so far from home with no family.  The government would not release his body, so it could be somewhere here in a common grave with no marker, no funeral or remembrance.  There are many that would say this man was anything but fortunate in his death, but I disagree.  It was no accident that this man spent his last 5 days on earth at a hospital called "Hill of Light" in Spanish.  It was no coincidence that he had an aunt and several people from her church that had been praying for him during this time to come to know God and His love.  It is indeed very fortunate that John learned of the God whose love for him far surpassed all the sin and wrongs he had committed in his life because Jesus was willing to pay that price for him.

    Yesterday I had Matthew 20, the parable of the workers in the vineyard, for my quiet time.  I was reminded again of the generosity of the landowner and how he gave equally to all of the workers, even the ones that came at the very end.  I remember a time in my life when I did not understand this parable.  I too felt indignant that the workers who had worked all day were getting paid the same as the ones who showed up at the end and barely even put in an hour.  But now I see the brokenness and sin and it breaks my heart too.  I see people separated from God and I understand in my own failures how much I need that same forgiveness, that same grace every day.  I am so overwhelmed by my God's generosity and mercy for John.  How wonderfully amazing that in His loving kindness, my heavenly Father had chosen to make the last first and the first last when he brought John to us.  It never gets old and I praise God for His amazing grace.  I am in awe!

UPDATE:  I have learned that the pilot's body was released and sent back to the US for burial.  The family was able to have a memorial service for him, and I am attaching the newsletter from Loma de Luz hospital which tells the story of this man.

http://www.crstone.org/newsletter-current/