Before and After

This is a writing that began late one night almost three weeks ago, that carried on well into the early morning hours. I just picked it up again and finished it this evening. It is quite personal in nature. Feel free to skip it if you please, because it is long, doesn’t have any classy pictures, and really doesn’t share anything specific to living in Liberia. The last sentence is worth reading again! I place this writing here on this blog because it provides the context of where this adventure with Mercy Ships began in the first place for those who know me and have been following this experience.

I just finished reading the writings of an ancient Jewish leader named Nehemiah. It was an encouragement to me. It is a chronicle written by Nehemiah of his thoughts, his prayers, his interactions with people, and his adventures. In many ways, he was just an ordinary fellow, who sought God's blessing as he went about his business, and by being intentional, some wonderful stories unfolded. God used him. He oversaw the rebuilding of the broken walls of Jerusalem (important for security), he helped the city to begin functioning again, he lived with the people- not enjoying special privilege, and he helped the people focus on what was most important to them. Nehemiah did this while sometimes living with his Jewish people, and other times by living off with the Persians, the peoples who had conquered his people. God used this regular man.

When I read Nehemiah's account, I can't help but be drawn to some of the parallels of his story and my own. I ascribe to be like Nehemiah. I will not pretend for a moment to be anywhere near the man that he was; but in the theme of Nehemiah, of telling stories as they are, and of being thankful for the ways that God moves in simple tangible ways in this Earth, I'd like to go back just over seven months ago, and attempt to provide a context for this journey.

December 22, 2006.
I was alone in my office at church where I was the middle school youth pastor. I had come in to work for a few short hours to wrap up some loose ends before leaving for the Christmas holiday, for a week of vacation. While working there, since day three, it was my custom to begin my time and work at church k by stopping to pray. Sometimes this was thirty seconds, other times this was ten or more minutes. Sometimes it was focused and selfless, other times I was tired or my mind was racing ahead to other things reducing it down to a mere tradition or ritual. It was my way to ask God to move, to honor God with my work, to ask for blessing, and to seek direction for my time. On this afternoon, I was shaken. It was all four of these things.

I almost didn't stop to pray, because I was only going to do busy work. As I glanced over at the chair that I would sit in to pray in this manner, that inner voice in my head asked me bluntly if I was really going to pray. I hesitated, inclining not to. But then I told myself, no, this is indeed why I pray each time. So, I did. This fifteen minutes changed everything.

There are times when I pray when I feel like I am talking to myself (and feel quite silly). There are times when I feel like I am praying to God and that God is somehow absent. There are other times when I pray when I feel a closeness with God and prayer becomes a time of listening with my mind and heart, a time of sharing my thoughts and questions. There have also been a very few times in my life when I have experienced such intimacy with God and have felt tangibly guided by God with that voice in the back of my mind. This was one of those few times.

When I arose from this time of prayer, I felt that it was time to step out of my role as youth pastor accompanied by a tangible, surreal, deep peace. I was bewildered to say the least. I glanced over at the piles of folders stacked on my desk that has just become irrelevant, and left my office.

For the next ten days, until the next staff meeting at church, I processed, and prayed, and recited over and over the reasons for why this couldn't happen. But what about all of the relationships formed for the last year? You don't just step out halfway through the school year! I love this work. What will the students and volunteer leaders do? What will they think? What about finances? What does this mean that I step into... I asked over and over in prayer throughout the days if what had happened that afternoon was real or not. And every time, I felt that it was, and to step out. For the first few days I kept this to myself. I then shared with a few very close friends with a deep faith. We talked through it, we cried, we prayed. I was a mess on the inside, because at 23 years old, you don't do things like this. But the peace never left and my heart kept telling me that indeed this experience was real.

On the eleventh day, after Christmas and New Year's had come and gone, I found myself at the weekly staff meeting looking around the table. Taking a deep breath while my heart fluttered, I shared with my co workers what had happened, starting with the catalyst on that Friday afternoon, to the peace, to my questions, to how I felt it should manifest itself in action. I ended by sharing that I intended on doing exactly what I felt guided to do, to step out now. Four weeks later was my very last day.

These four weeks were a blur of a series of announcements, of meetings, of planning for my absence, and of rapidly tying up loose ends. These four weeks were a blur of emotions and feelings and doubts. I was afraid. I was afraid of being a fool. I was afraid of my identity, my relationships, and of what stepping out meant stepping into. I was a mess. But in this, my posture towards God softened from me telling God what I could do for God, to me trusting that God will do what God will do and that it is my role to offer my whole self to be used if God so desires. One posture is telling God what I can do for him. The second is offering my assistance. Big difference.

This posture continued to soften as I entered two months of uncertainty. I expected for something to come my way immediately, making sense of why I stepped out so suddenly. Instead, I waited for what seemed like an eternity. However, at the beginning, Mercy Ships kept coming to mind when I would stop to pray about what to do. (I didn't know what else to do.) After a week of it coming up over and over, I relented and sent in an application to volunteer. I didn't know much of anything about this group until I finally sent in my application. Expecting something to come up right away, I waited. And then I waited some more. Nothing happened. Well almost nothing happened. I had a lot of time on my hands- a lot of time to try to escape from the deep anxiousness in my heart, and a lot of time to dive straight into it, if I was willing.

To sum up a pretty miserable time, I learned about my identity and about connecting the dots from what I know in my head, to what I believe in my heart. I had to deal with knowing that my identity on the inside doesn't come from my job, or how much money I earn, or how much stuff I own, or how busy I make myself, to what other people think of me, or how I look, or if I'm in a relationship... to believing it. I had to enter into believing in my mind and heart and action, that my identity comes from being created by a loving God, in God's image. Yes, this will manifest itself in all of these other things, but central to who I am is in relationship with Jesus. This was an uncomfortable time of redefining 'success'. But it was good. My perception of many things was turned inside out, for the better. But oh it was hard.

One morning almost two months later, I found myself in my beloved orange chair in the living room as had become my morning ritual. I was there with my coffee, cereal, and Bible to begin my day by trying to be focused. Meanwhile, the application process with Mercy Ships seemed so incredibly slow to the point where I was afraid I wouldn't even be able to serve with them anymore if I was going to come back for the three weddings I was going to be in during the summer. But, I had come to the point in learning about contentedness and identity, where in my chair I thanked God for where I was. I thanked God for where he had brought me thus far, that he was in control, for many of the blessings in my life-big and small, and for a brand new day. I prayed that the application process would be swift, but the thankfulness was genuine. Regardless of what external thing happened, I was grateful. After this, I went to my next ritual of checking my email for any word from Mercy Ships. Ready for another delay, or more likely, no word at all, I waited for my email to slowly pop up on the wireless internet that our neighbours were so kind to share with my housemates and I. But there it was! An email from Mercy Ships inviting me to arrive in England in four days! I read it a second time slowly, got up from the kitchen table, and returned to my orange chair in disbelief. I continued thanking God, when my phone rang. It was from Mercy Ships in Africa! I talked with a nice lady with an English accent who asked if I had gotten her email. I replied that indeed I had. After a few more questions back and forth, we ended on the understanding that I would contact her back in a day with a decision.

It was an exciting day for me. It was what I had been less than patiently waiting for. Internally, I felt every confirmation to go. I met with my parents for dinner to seek their input, and they were a little less than excited to send their son off to a potentially dangerous voyage from England to Africa, and rightfully so. They asked some really good questions and tried really hard to be supportive. I tried hard to emphasize with their concern. That night I got together with a few close friends to seek their council, questions, and prayers. At the end of our gathering, I knew that I would be going!

For the next two days, I made travel arrangements, packed up all of my stuff in the apartment and moved it to my parent's house with the help of friends, acquired new health insurance, discontinued auto insurance and cell phone coverage, packed for an anticipated two months, and said goodbye to people. I was fortunate enough to be able to spend the final evening of youth group for the year with the amazing students to share the news and to say goodbyes, and to even arrive home to a farewell party arranged by friends at my house to celebrate with me. I shared the good news, we celebrated, and they prayed for me before the night was over. Brian Mulder even played a song he had recorded about it! I was sent off with much love.

Fast Forward a little bit here- past travelling, past arrival on the m/v Africa Mercy, past engaging in a new community, past beginning to serve in the galley on board, to a month later.

As the departure of the Africa Mercy came closer and closer, I was faced with a tough decision. The original plan would no longer occur. At first, I was going to serve in England, sail down to Liberia with the ship, be in Monrovia for ten days, and then fly home to be in the wedding of a good friend. Because our estimated date of arrival in Liberia had been moved back, I was faced with the choice of flying out of England prematurely, or of sailing and missing the wedding. After sharing the situation with Tony, he understood, and before I even asked anything, told me that I should sail and see what there is to see in Africa, thereby missing the wedding. So, I did. I dearly missed standing up with my friend in his wedding, and celebrating with his community. I was also exhilarated to continue on in this adventure.

I was left with an open-ended ticket on the Africa Mercy. I was told that there was always a space for me in the galley. It then became my place to choose a date of departure. When I looked at the situation, my options, the remarkable environment I was in, and prayed about it; I felt like I would be in Liberia for quite a while. And I have been!

After quite a while, the date of August 20 kept popping in my head when I would pray about the future. After a handful of times, I got up and looked at a calendar. August 20 is a Monday- the only day each week that has a flight from Monrovia to London, where I had an airplane ticket waiting for me to fly me home from London. A week later, three weeks before August 20, I had purchased an airplane ticket. And now, I’m headed home.

It has been strange for me to be here, not knowing how long I would be here for. It has been good though, helping keep me from becoming complacent. But now that leaving is real, a set of anxieties of what comes next is knocking on my door. The anxiety is back. But, when I look over my shoulder at how leaving to go to college went, at how stepping out and serving with Mission Year in Chicago was, at how I became the youth pastor at church, and at how coming here has gone, I know that it will be ok. I know that it will be more than ok. Serving in a manner like this has been a dream of mine that I never would have expected to have come true so early in life. Looking over my shoulder, I am so thankful and incredibly hopeful for whatever comes next, whatever it may be.

-Scott