No Magic Button

The God Ask by Steve Shadrach refers to a Magic Button option, in which all expenses are paid by one great big donor, a winning lottery ticket, or large inheritance, and fund-raising is no longer necessary.

Shadrach says he would not take that Magic Button.

“I refuse to exchange the raising of my own personal support for any amount of salary or so-called ‘security’” (Shadrach The God Ask, 2016).

For the value of the relationships built by fund-raising, these appointments with people perhaps we’ve never known before, the humble exchange, mutual respect and trust, the PRAYERS, are far more valuable than some Magic Button.

I have to agree.

I’ve always hated asking for, even accepting, money. Money should be earned. If I didn’t work for it, I shouldn’t have it. When I started going to Haiti, as a short-termer, writing support letters was a challenge, but preferable to asking for funds in-person. Writing has always been far easier for me.

To my surprise, funds always came in. I believe our first two trips together, my support letters, aided and edited by Mom and sent through her address book, evoked generous enough response to send her and I virtually expense-free.

Praise God!

Despite my immediate love for Haiti, the home-coming feeling, devastation at departure, and assurance I must return, I denied the option of long-term missionary because those brave souls consistently, continuously asked for money. A one-time donation, a gift like for birthday or Christmas, to fund an eight to ten day trip after which I’d return and enthusiastically present about, was [bad] enough.

How could I ever request folks, strangers!, give their hard-earned money to me, so I could live in a place far away, never returning any fruits to their hands? The fruits of such labors wouldn’t benefit these donors. Why should they pay me for work done to others? And consistently! A long-term, full-time missionary, those rarely seen persons, push pins on a map in the far reaches of the world, had no timeline, no end date. When they asked for funds, they asked for a salary—an on-going payment for an indefinite, foreseeable future.

From personal experience with my own very limited resources, I know the struggle to part with money. I love giving gifts, purchasing something plotted and presenting it to the specified loved one with proper occasion and frills; or filling a shoe box for Samaritan’s Purse: packing toys, school supplies, and toiletries for a child’s Christmas.

These are visibly rewarded expenditures.

Since visiting Haiti I can easily imagine little hands eagerly receiving the singular Christmas box, something to brighten hovel or slum; I’ve long known the pleasurable exchange of gifts at home Christmas and come to delight in delighting with a well-planned gift.

But dropping money in the offering plate, pushing bills through plastic lids or freely handing over cash—these are challenging for me. How can I ask someone to do so for me?

So for years I avoided this task.

Like Jonah, or perhaps Moses offering alternatives to God, I shied from “missionary” and sought paid positions. After college graduation, I looked, even applied, but between low confidence and little French, found nothing suitable for full-time employment in Haiti.

After two years of part-time, no leads I went to Korea to teach English as a second language (ESL). While there I completed applications for two internships at large non-profits in Haiti, thinking these entrance positions might lead to jobs. Near the end of my year’s contract a post appeared on Facebook from a woman I’d long eyed as a potential employer. We’d never met but she was well-known and even my mother had visited her school briefly on one of our trips to Port au Prince. The post asked for English-speaking high school teachers. Teaching high school did not appeal to me—those kids were bigger than I was—and their sarcastic sass would be lost on me, for my Creole was childish at best. And, the best part, it was an unpaid, voluntary position. I’d have to pay my way. Depending on costs and my own frugality, I might have to ask for help (the dreaded fundraising.)

But…it was an offer.

It was something.

“Okay, God,” I said, continuing to scroll down the Facebook homepage, “if this is still there in a week, I’ll message her. I’ll do something about it.”

Guess what?

A week later the post was unchanged. The need was unmet. Time to act.

I sent a message, outlining my credentials, and lack there-of. In little way was I qualified to teach chemistry or physics, or probably manage a class of teenagers, but I was an English-speaking, English-teaching, Haiti-loving, willing servant.

The last was the most important qualification.

She responded, this Director of a well-known school in Port au Prince, and sent me a lengthy application. The application included questions of theology and required Biblical research and scriptural analysis. In the end the application was twenty pages (I’ve always been thorough.)

By the end of my contract I’d sent off the application and the Director requested we meet in person. Any considerations of renewing my contract or seeking employment somewhere else in Korea were dropped, and I booked a ticket to Boston and then to Orlando, Florida, where I could meet the Director on one of her trips to the States.

After thirteen months abroad, I spent two weeks in New Hampshire before seeking the next adventure, the adventure for which I’d been waiting ten years. We met in Orlando, the Director and I, in a church that was collecting and packing supplies to ship to her school. She offered me a job, requesting a one-year commitment, I cried, and all but accepted this impossible position.

The position included teaching high school courses such as physics, chemistry, algebra, history, and literature, taking an intensive culture and Creole course, learning to drive stick shift, and possibly living on-campus.

The Director believed I could do it, because she believed that God equips those He calls. No matter my qualifications or lack thereof, I could do this job, because God would provide what I needed. I was less sure, but upon return to New Hampshire, began preparations. From the attic I pulled out high school chemistry and biology notes, college algebra binder, and stacked my math-oriented older brother’s textbooks for study. I typed up notes, oriented myself over again with cell structure and the periodic table, and recommitted to Creole and French practice. I began piling books that would accompany me, classic literature and writer’s handbooks. In his stick-shift red pickup I circled the church with my brother, shifting gears and stalling. At the thrift-store I sought longish skirts and sleeveless dresses. Rereading Kisses From Katie by Katie Davis for encouragement I cried a lot.

Then, the Director said I couldn’t come. It wasn’t going to work out.

Horribly disappointed and incredibly relieved, I stewed on this news. My heart had been in such turmoil. I was so afraid. I didn’t want to act out of fear, and I didn’t want to not act out of fear either.

I emailed the Director, saying I was committed. I would live anywhere that was available. I would do whatever.

She responded that it just wasn’t possible.

The door was shut.

They say when God closes one door He opens another. Rascal Flatts says sometimes it’s a window. My opening was more of a gate, a causeway.

Some woman named Beverly had emailed me during my preparations. She ran a kindergarten in some town west of Port au Prince. She wanted to tell me more. I responded that I was pleased to hear from her but was committed to working at the director’s school: Thanks but no thanks. Once the Director said no, and no again, I emailed Beverly, saying I would hear about her school.

We spoke on the phone for an hour and a half, this Texan and I, and by the end of our conversation I was enquiring about suitable books to bring.

She laughed. “Wait a minute. Does this mean you’re agreeing to come?”

I didn’t laugh. “Yes, I think so,” I said.

I had committed to the Director to come and work for a year, at her request, so naturally I was ready to commit a year to this other director, who I’d never met, living in a town I’d never visited.

We spoke on the phone a few more times. I asked all the questions I’d listed and been advised to ask, about the school, her expectations, the living situation, and what I ought to bring, and each time her joviality set me at ease, although once again, I was agreeing to work for no pay. Eventually my Korea savings would run out and to continue I would need to fundraise.

I looked through photos on the school’s Facebook page and her own profile, compiled different stacks of books to accompany me, and booked a plane ticket.

Three weeks after our initial conversation, I was in the Miami airport with overstuffed backpack and purple roller case, awaiting the flight to Port au Prince. I saw a woman with short gray hair and long skirt filling up her water bottle at the nearby fountain. Beverly.

We met and our adventure together began.

After the first few months I couldn’t imagine leaving “my” kids, and decided even fundraising was worth staying with them.

I’ve worked with Beverly for two years now. When I began in September 2016 the school was Christian Light School of Petit Gôave. Now, we are Christian Academy of Petit Gôave (CAP), and have the most beautiful 169 children in Haiti, in the world. We are not biased.

We live with a local family, we are part of that family, and sing “I’m So Glad I’m a Part of the Family of God,” as our school theme. I speak and translate Creole and un peu de français, plan and teach Bible, administer first aid, fill water buckets, wash dishes and clothes, sing, dance, play, snuggle, laugh abundantly, and yes, teach English.

Relationships are what make CAP successful. Our relationships with God, then with one another: staff, students, parents, families, community, and partners. Our partners in the States enable our continuity.

In August Beverly and I took a two-week road trip from Virginia to Alabama. We were hosted by friends; we did presentations and had meetings organized by partners. Our partners scheduled, invited, opened their homes, provided food and drink, advocated for us and our students.

Denise and Danny shared their retirement retreat with us, that beautiful spacious log cabin perched high in the Smoky Mountains. Bev and David opened their suburban home to a house presentation and our residence. Pastor Bradley gave up his sermon time; then he and Ms. Patricia brought us out for lunch. Jaimie and Philip literally gave up their bed, sent us off with snacks and Thirty-One merchandise. Ricky and Debbie took us on tour and bought us candy. Emily paid the group breakfast bill and Tracey and Morgan gave us an afternoon of restful art. Tracey and Nathan welcomed us as family with a 28” pizza. Cate and Garrett agreed to host us before knowing who we were, welcoming us simply as part of the Body. Jennifer braved public speaking to represent us. Tammy shared her cozy home with us and guests for presentation, and introduced us to the Florida beach. John, Paul, and Jade made us honored guests at dinner. Dr. Reuben and Minnie introduced us to their Sunday school and treated us to lunch. Stefanie, Brian, and Wayne invited us to their party. Leonard and Laura gave us run of their ample house and hosted a twenty-guest dinner. All of these hosts cooked and cleaned for us, drove us, arranged meetings and presentations for us. They did all of this around their normal schedules, some of which include full-time jobs. We were not permitted to pay any restaurant bills and were told sincerely that “our home is your home.” We know many of these wonderful people because of CAP, because of God’s ministry in Ti Gôave. We are now closer to all of them because of CAP.

Relationships. That’s what keeps us going. That’s what enables CAP to continue through all the Haitian struggles and all the exhausting hours. So to all of you who partner with us, in prayer, in supplies, in finances, in labor: our warmest thanks. Thank you for enabling us to keep going. Thank you for your intercession, representation, advocacy. Thank you for your encouragement in word and deed. We cannot do this without you.

I still don’t like fundraising. Standing before a crowd and asking for financial partnerships is still intimidating sometimes. Mingling can still make my toes curl (introvert here). But we, too, believe that God equips those He calls, and for each situation, each crowd, congregation, house party, each deep-pocketed donor and blue-collar laborer, God gives us the words we ought speak, and the Spirit of courage.

And now I understand at least a bit what Steve Shadrach says in The God Ask. I would not push the Magic Button either. If all expenses were paid, fundraising superfluous, how fewer relationships would we have! How fewer friends in places far and near; places of misty mountains, rolling hills, cotton fields, tobacco farms, Spanish moss,  little country meeting houses and sprawling mega churches.  

These dollars given from our friends, new and old, are worth more. They go farther, for they are given with honest love.

Praise God for His provision. Praise Him that He has provided you.

Yes, we love for you to come and work at school. Yes, we appreciate when you bring supplies, or just those snacks we’ve run out of (trail mix.) But we treasure most that you come, that you share time and sweat with us. For your fellowship is far more precious than your luggage. You are far more fantastic than some Magic Button.

See you soon, Friends.

I'm so glad I'm a part of the Family of God,I've been washed in the fountain, cleansed by His blood!Joint heirs with Jesus as we travel this sod,For I'm part of the family,The Family of God.
You will notice we say "brother and sister" 'round here,It's because we're a family and these folks are so near;When one has a heartache, we all share the tears,And rejoice in each victory in this family so dear. 
From the door of an orphanage to the house of the King,No longer an outcast, a new song I sing;From rags unto riches, from the weak to the strong,I'm not worthy to be here, but praise God I belong!