You're reading the month of #missions series.  Read more: may = month of missions bless the mamas 6 ways to ruin a mission trip the long-term impact of short-term missions i'm home. now what?

It was my first mission trip, so I wasn’t sure what to expect.

Many of my friends ribbed me before I left saying this trip was just a “glorified vacation.” I wasn’t really sure how to respond.

Arriving in Guatemala, I can tell you that my trip was anything but a glorified vacation. We served continually that week. By week’s end I didn’t think I had one ounce left me that could be poured out.

As I returned from Guatemala I knew I was changed. And I wasn’t ready or prepared for the restless nights and the faces that wouldn’t leave my mind.

Her precious face.

She was so young and full of smiles. I wondered how that could be when everything around her was trash. The Guatemala City Dump to be exact. The stench. The mess. The site that literally took my breath away was her home.

And the Potter’s House.

In the middle of what seemed like hopelessness in the dump, there was a ray of sunshine. This small school where I saw her precious face. A school that feeds nutritious meals, educates, and speaks of Jesus. No wonder she could smile.

But my mind continually wondered . . .

How was her day at school? Did she return to a loving family?

Where is she sleeping tonight? Is she warm?

Did her mom find enough work there in the Dump Community to sustain them for another day?

When will I get to go back?

My life had changed and what was I to do.

I soon realized I couldn’t sit idle. Maybe that’s where my friends began considering mission trips as “glorified vacations,” when people return and live the same life as usual.

But my mind wouldn’t let me. I knew I had to step out in faith and do something. I began asking others to sponsor children from the Potter’s House. I asked people to buy lunches for the children there. Children were getting sponsored and fed, but the faces still haunted me as I tossed in bed.

Fearfully I made phone calls and talked to missions. I felt as if I was going to burst if I didn’t bring awareness to those children living in the dump. I had to tell. I had to invite others to get involved. I had to do something.

Finally a plan emerged. Another trip was booked. A trip to take 20 more people back to Guatemala to let them serve the children at the Dump Community. A trip that I hope will change more lives. A trip I pray will get more children sponsored. A trip I’m excited to lead.

If you’ve ever been on a mission trip and your life didn’t change radically, I’d invite you to come with me back to Guatemala in October and be changed.

When you are changed, you can help change other’s lives. [click to tweet]

Have you struggled with what to do now that you are home from your mission trip?

Let’s step out and be brave together, because we can be world changers that change others!

I can’t tear myself away from the Weather Channel.

Away from the photos and videos of devastation and heartbreak.

I can’t breathe for the weight on my chest and the ache in my heart.

And I’m stunned by the power.

Oklahoma.

Where the wind came sweeping down the plain.

Fast and furious.

The massive twister turned and churned and carved up the landscape in a swath at least a mile (some say two miles) wide and at least twenty miles long.

It tore down the power.

It pulverized ten-inch cinder block walls, stacked up cars like matchboxes, and made TinkerToys of buildings. It spun debris like snow in a globe. Someone said it hurled horses through the air.

It blew lives apart in a heartbeat, over a span of forty minutes.

It took aim at two schools and shattered them, shattered families as it stole their children.

Children sent to school with hugs and kisses and have-a-good-day and cookies waiting warm from the oven that nobody will eat.

Some drowned in the basement, the very place they’d gone for protection.

Some lived because a teacher wrapped herself around them.

God, I can’t breathe.

“Our house is gone,” one woman in Moore told a reporter with KWTV-9, crying and clutching her two children’s hands. “Everything but where we were is gone.”

The woman said she and her children hid in their bathtub with a mattress over them. Had they been anywhere else in the house, they would have been killed, she said.

The death toll mounts, and the storms mount on.

And some speak of blessings. Because they live, and it’s just stuff.

But we don’t understand, and hearts bleed, and God we can’t breathe.

Yet we know this…

That though Oklahoma lies in pieces, even in the pieces is His peace.

And with the pieces He can weave a beautiful whole.

I’m stunned by His power to do the impossible.

But right now, all I see is a hole. All I see is one. huge. hole. A hollow of what once was. And I stand in the rubble with you, Oklahoma. And I weep with you and wrap you in my heart. All I know to do is pray for you.

“Everything but where we were is gone.”

And everything but where we are can go, and still we’re safe under the mattress of His care.

I know this.

But right now, God, I can’t breathe.

My front porch is a healthy slice of heaven.

Oh, it’s not perfect by a long shot. The paint is chipping, the swing has been permanently tattooed by someone I have never met, and the renegade dandelions sprout up audaciously between framing hostas. But these things do not outweigh its charm. It faces northwest, the perfect angle toward which we can watch the sunset and drink long draughts of that enchanted northern breeze. Tractors circle the house on every side, kicking up pixie dust wherever they plow. The swing is wide enough for me and four children, and we often use it as our time machine – reading and flying, reading and adventuring, reading and resting. My husband bought me a beautiful hanging basket of flowers, with which I am smitten. They are petunias (I think), and they adorn this slowing-down-space with a generous grace from the corner just below the ledge that the swallows have claimed for the season.

It is loveliness incarnate to me.

As is often the case, two of the boys are swinging gently while reading together. The older one, usually known for his torment of the small ones, is almost paternal in pointing out pictures of hippos and apples and igloos and helping the two-year-old learn. That, being the miracle it is, was certainly not something I was eager to interrupt. But adrift in the cadence of the swaying seat, inhaling peace in all its glory, I happened to glance up at my petunias and notice that they needed work. There were many dead blossoms, hanging there withered; and upon further inspection, I also discovered the soil to be dry as a bone. Sensing it would not be too disruptive, I tiptoed back into the house and filled a pitcher with water.

The boys were still engrossed when I returned. I watered the flowers and began the ever-tedious process of picking off the dead ones, to the tune of pleasant boy voices and “no, look, Buzzy, this is an oc-to-pus“ in the background. Water ran out of the bottom of the plant and just as I was thinking this moment could not get any sweeter, the dog tipped her head up at the steady stream of water coming from above and started licking it.

My oldest daughter appeared by my side then, although I didn’t notice her coming, still absorbed in dog hilarity – watching that hairy beast snatch a rogue drink from such an unlikely source. And her words startled me.

What are you doing, Mom? She spoke and my eyes met hers, blue on blue.

I glanced at my hands, still tenderly, patiently tugging at the wilted blossoms.

Oh, this? Well, some of the flowers are dead and need to be pulled off, I explained, like so.

We pluck together for a moment, my rough hands and her smooth both keeping rhythm with the coo of mourning doves who find their own swing on the wire that runs from the house to the pole near the street. Sacred northerly breezes lift her hair here and there. The boys are studying that camel picture in the book for all its worth.

Y’know, I used to do this job for my mom when I was a girl your age . . .

And I surprise myself. I wonder where in the world those words came from. Maybe it was the sprinkle of magic on the wind or the melody of repetitious cooing punctuated with squeak of swing’s back and forth lilt that coaxed it out. I never told anyone how it made me feel to sit in the sun – breeze now teasing, now caressing my hair. I never admitted to the glory I sensed in the small task of caring for a thing of beauty, holding in my hand the death and the life of the earth-bound. I never fessed up to finding the thin place in the veil that hangs between heaven and dirt when absorbed in the minutia of common everyday gardening. How it made me feel at the same time both so loved and so small.

But somehow, I knew it was time for her to feel it, too.

And sometimes things are better taught without words.

Our fingers work side by side, and then she gets an idea. She braces herself with her hands on the railing and leaps – first balancing on her knees, then trusting one foot at a time – and gingerly shuffles down toward the basket, only the railing beneath her feet. She reaches out to prune the top flowers, but with her hand still tightly affixed to the pole, she can only reach a few.

Mom, I want to do the top, but I think I’m gonna fall if I don’t hold on to something . . . and she extends her hand in my direction.

Instinct grabs her by the forearm and we’re connected now by so much more than blue on blue. I steady her, yes, but holding her tight, it dawns on me slowly that there are many ways in which she steadies me, too. I wonder back to my childhood days in the sun and my mother who planted petunias. How that simple job gave me so much more than just a disciplined work ethic. Did I steady her as she (perhaps unwittingly) provided that thin place for me to feel the grasping and holding of God in all its beautiful fury?

Perhaps I did.

Perhaps she does.

And could it be? Perhaps this is what mothering is all about.

You're reading the month of #missions series. Read more: may = month of missions bless the mamas 6 ways to ruin a mission trip the long-term impact of short-term missions i'm home. now what?

We are so happy you found yourself here today. We know you have a desire to serve others, and we are pretty sure  mission related topics make your heart pitter-pat a little bit faster.

May is Missions Month here at Bibledude.net.

Last week, Ray schooled us in ways to ruin a mission trip. This week he’s back. Ray is making us think about mission work, handing out candy, and the cycle of poverty.

Here’s Ray—

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I begin to unpack the group’s bags and they have the same materials every previous group brought; medical supplies for the doctors and nurses, construction materials to help repair the school, and candy, lots and lots of candy. This group of volunteers has just traveled all the way from Pittsburgh Pennsylvania to serve a mission in La Croix Haiti. I had been working at the mission for quite some time as a long-term volunteer, and I have the rare opportunity to see the long-term effects of short-term missions.

Though short-term volunteer trips are limited, they can have long-term effects on the community being served, sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. Quite often the negative affects incurred by a short-term missions trip result from activities that seem inconsequential at the time.   

One of the best examples of a long-term effect from a short-term trip was the effect candy had on Haitian children. So many groups of volunteers came to Haiti saddled with large bags of candy. In Haiti there seem to be small children everywhere, and quite often the American volunteers would pass out candy whenever they went into a new Lakou, or group of homes. This was fun for the volunteers, and it seemed pretty innocuous at the time. Each volunteer had four or five cute little kids hanging around them, and just a small Tootsie roll would produce the biggest smile. In the moment everyone was happy; unfortunately that was not the end of the story.

Children learn not just by what we say but by what we do, and as more volunteers gave out candy, these children began to associate us with handouts. We became the “Blans” (white people) passing out goodies. We weren’t the people improving the schools, we weren’t the people helping develop more sanitary toilets, we’re the people with candy. Without fail, every trip outside of the mission saw at least one kid shouting “Blan give me candy”. Some of the young adults would come up to me saying “give me a dollar”. When I said no, they walked forward and just acted as if I was never there.

We don’t go on mission trips to be a delivery men, we go to strengthen community institutions, we go to help people become self-sufficient. We see people suffering under an inescapable cycle of poverty, and we try to end that cycle. Bringing people out of poverty is difficult and requires people changing not only their circumstances but their attitudes; it requires community engagement on the most basic level. If the only thing the children think we’re good for is passing out candy, our message of development is lost once the candy is unwrapped.

When the volunteers passed out candy they didn’t see it, but they were labeling themselves as “people who give candy”. The children didn’t want to have that much to do with them unless they were walking away with something. The children were not being unreasonable, they only knew us as people with candy. Development work is difficult, but in order to do it well we need to not just talk about progress, we need to act it out, we can’t just tell people about self-sufficiency, we need to help them rebuild their lives. Some times this is a school or a clinic or a church. It’s something that helps people improve their own lives, and unfortunately freely handing out candy doesn’t do that.

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Thanks, Ray. If you are interested in keeping the conversation going, make sure to visit Ray’s blog.

A little more about the author, Ray: Part Time Writer, Part Time Adventurer. Ray is based in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania, but finds himself wandering around the world looking for places where faith, technology, and people come together and produce an interesting story. Author of the upcoming The Trouble with Candy in Haiti (from BibleDude Press).

 

God sends the stormy wind of his providential and painful visitations, to sweep away the clouds and cause the hidden luminary to shine forth. ~ John Angell James, Benefits of Affliction

Every day I have a choice – to choose despair or delight, grumbling or gratitude, pugnaciousness or peace – despite my circumstances.

And honestly? I don’t always choose well.

I’m anxious to make my way out to the edge of the pasture where the patch of black-eyed susans reach for the sun, but it may as well be at the end of a rainbow.

I’m not going to make it and I’m frustrated and angry and even bitter. Why did you give me a camera and then RA? I grumble.

I sit down right where my legs and lungs give out in the middle of the pasture. When I look up, the clouds of frustration are swept away at the hidden luminary before me, as Great Southern Whites with their blue-tipped antennae dance in a field of flax.

Grumbling turns to gratitude at the grace that was given in my sorry condition and at what I could not see when my heart was set on black-eyed susans at the end of the rainbow.

Christian contentment is that sweet, inward, quiet, gracious frame of spirit, which freely submits to and delights in God’s wise and fatherly disposal in every condition. ~ Jeremiah Burroughs

And you, dear friends? When has affliction been grace for you?

He hands me a mason jar full of crumpled fives and hard-earned ten dollar bills. He’s only been here since December, our newly adopted son, but he’s no stranger to hard work and has earned well for himself.

“I want to help my brother buy a new computer,” he says. “You guys have given me so much. I want to give something back. You know?”

It is an offering of grace and selflessness and I tell him to keep his money but he insists on doing this.

“I didn’t have anyone to help me out when I was his age.”

There is something more beneath his words and I hope he knows it already but I tell him anyway, look square into the 15-year-old eyes that thank me every time I see them.

“We are yours already. You don’t have to earn us, son.”

He looks down and whispers, “I know.”

But a lifetime of instability has taught him differently and he is forever trying to prove to us his goodness, to show us that he is more than the sum of his past mistakes, diagnoses and quirks. He works hard to prove to us, to himself, that he deserves what he has been given.

I wrap my arms around his squaring shoulders and my Father wraps me up in His. It is my crumpled bills too that make their way into the tithe basket, my attempts at service and righteousness to pay back what I have been given. I want holiness because I want more of Him but also because I want to deserve it, but I know I never can.

“You cannot earn Me, Daughter.”

But when the time arrived that was set by God the Father, God sent his Son, born among us of a woman, born under the conditions of the law so that he might redeem those of us who have been kidnapped by the law. Thus we have been set free to experience our rightful heritage. You can tell for sure that you are now fully adopted as his own children because God sent the Spirit of his Son into our lives crying out, “Papa! Father!” Doesn’t that privilege of intimate conversation with God make it plain that you are not a slave, but a child? And if you are a child, you’re also an heir, with complete access to the inheritance. –Galatians 4:4-7 MSG

The crumpled bills, this broken soul were always His. But I am adopted.

You are adopted.

And the whole beautiful inheritance belongs undeserved to us ragamuffin orphans who He wraps in his arms and lovingly calls His own.

You're reading the month of #missions series. Read more: may = month of missions bless the mamas 6 ways to ruin a mission trip the long-term impact of short-term missions i'm home. now what?

The above picture captures how you feel. Excited, excited, excited! People, you are going on a mission trip.

You prayed. You planned. You raised support money. You researched all possible facts about your destination. You met with your mission group. You want to see God move in big ways.

You certainly don’t want to ruin your mission trip, even unintentionally.

This month we are talking about mission related topics. I’d like to introduce you to Ray.

Ray Van Cleve, knows about mission trips. Ray has spent the last year working at the La Croix New Testament Mission in Haiti. During this time, Ray witnessed the impact American volunteers have had on La Croix community.

Today, Ray is sharing about six ways to ruin a mission trip (Hello, excellent information on attitudes to avoid). Here’s Ray.

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Six ideas to avoid when you are serving others on a mission trip this summer:

1. I’ve seen it all:

Poverty does not have one cause that can be removed by just adding money. Poverty is a cycle people fall into, a cycle that hinders a person’s ability to provide for him or herself. There are many factors, everything from bad nutrition to a little access to education, that contribute to the cycle poverty and every community is different. In order to help someone, we have to understand why they are struggling and what has caused them to fall into poverty.

2. Give me something!:

A lack of material wealth is not the cause of poverty, it is a symptom. Those in poverty do not need handouts they need more opportunities. Just handing stuff out won’t help people come out of poverty, and in some cases it might make their long-term situation worse. Let the aim of your project be focused on helping people gain more opportunities for themselves rather than simply giving them more stuff.

3. They need to think like us:

The communities we serve may have cultural values that seem foreign or backward to us. Many times values are the fabric holding the community together. We may be tempted to combat certain cultural impulses because they impede our initiatives, but doing this without first understanding the culture’s roots within that community will make us seem elitist, killing any chance for success. We have to remember that we are trying to help real living people who are different from us.

4. I’m the first one who’s thought of this brilliant idea:

If you come to a community and think “this community really needs _____”, odds are you’re not the first person to think that, and most likely the initiative has been tried before. Look to past successes and learn from past failures. Not only will it give you insight into your intended project, it will familiarize you more with that community.

5. Look at that cute kid, get our picture!:

There will be thousands of opportunities for great photo ops. A cute picture of you playing with a small child may get a bunch of likes on Facebook, but it won’t mean anything if you’re not actually helping that child. Talk with people, understand their lives and what has caused their struggles. By building relationships you can come face to face with poverty, you can start to help a person rather than just diagnose a problem.

6. I’ll work, you pray. 

Prayer is not only a time to convene with God, but it is a time for deep thought and reflection. Prayer is an opportunity to holistically think about what we do well and what needs to be improved. Prayer is a chance to recognize our faults, both in ourselves and in the work we are doing. If we spend time in prayer we will not only see where we can improve but we can find the inner peace needed to fix those flaws.

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A little more about the author, Ray: Part Time Writer, Part Time Adventurer. Ray is based in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania, but finds himself wandering around the world looking for places where faith, technology, and people come together and produce an interesting story. Author of the upcoming The Trouble with Candy in Haiti (from BibleDude Press). Learn more about Ray through his blog, Ray in Haiti.

You're reading the month of #missions series.  Read more: may = month of missions bless the mamas 6 ways to ruin a mission trip the long-term impact of short-term missions i'm home. now what?

They mother the motherless, the mamas in this orphan village. The team that traveled to Jeremie, Haiti, the month before us went specifically to love on them. The photo of women washing the feet of women who wash feet nearly undid me.

These mamas carry hearts heavy with Jesus. Though some bring their own children with them, many leave them in the care of others so they can spill love into the empty, into children with no mamas or papas. (One of the mamas is going to school to become a nurse.)

They receive a small compensation along with room and board—likely pennies from our perspective. But how can mere money compare to their sacrifice?

Each mama makes a home for about fifteen children—all girls or all boys. They brush and braid and tie ribbons. They wash and fold and cook and clean. They make sure their charges get to school in the mornings and settle them on their mattresses at night. They soothe the sick, tend to scars, and smother with hugs. They’re the ones who chase away the nightmares and the fears, wipe the tears.

sophonie and her mama

(A little about Sophonie here and here.)

These mamas, they pour out and pour in, day in and day out.

And so when we took Christmas to the children in December, we also took gifts for the mamas and had some special time with them. We gave them beauty bags of lotions and sprays for those with beautiful feet.

We hugged and kissed and many of us prayed over them.

And then, one by one, several stood up and prayed for us. For us, the ones who had come to give.

We received so much more.

And I was undone.

Puddled.

And if you catch a whiff of heaven, it just might be one of these mamas passing by. Maybe you’ll also catch the fragrance of Bath and Body Works—maybe a little Sea Island Cotton or even Beautiful Day, a perfect scent for those who help bring a little beauty out of life’s rubble.

Today, I realized that though I pray for the children every single day, I’ve failed to pray for the mamas.

outside the kitchen

God, forgive me for forgetting about these precious women. Thank you for calling each one to this place at this time. Thank you for the perfume of compassion they so freely shed. Give them a deep sense of your presence as they minister to and care for these children. Nourish them with yourself. Help them to feed the children well, not just their bodies but also their souls. Help them to cling to the knowledge that they are your beloveds. Keep them healthy. Help them to reflect your light and to love one another. Bless their families, and redeem their sacrifice. Don’t let me forget them. Amen.

There is a way for us to behold glory, and it looks like reaching across the table and just crying with someone who’s hurting, not saying much.

Sometimes all you can say, your arms around them, is this sucks.

I understand what it means to be angry at God–I’ve been there–it’s okay.

Because really, that’s what God wants to say to them if He could, audibly, but He wants to use us.

Jumping into someone’s life and offering advice is a sacred thing. They’re making room for you in their secret places, their inner chambers, their heart of hearts, letting you see all their dirt and grime, the dust on the furniture, the stack of food-crusted dishes in the sink. And the last thing they want you to do is point it out, or to look embarrassed when they make apologies. It’s best to just give some serious disclosure –girl, look, you don’t even want to see my dishes right now–they are way worse.

There is a way to behold glory and it’s not in pretending we are righteous. It’s not in our walls and our thick layers that protect and our fears that keep others at a distance.

See, I have this huge dream to behold glory, to see Kingdom come here on earth. It’s a scary dream really, because I’ve been burned enough to put my faith right out.

But that’s the thing about hope–it’s stronger than fear. It just keeps enduring, keeps flickering back on and won’t be snuffed out. Satan hates this, I think.

There is a way to behold  glory and this dream is that The Church will trust God to save the millions, and stop marching forward with our crusade in haste, leaving the wounded and the weak in faith falling to the sides in our wake. I hope that we will love well the few right around us, that we will make the time to reach across tables, across pews, across airplane aisles and checkout counters, really see the people behind the eyes we are looking into.

I don’t like conquests just for conquest’s sake, and I don’t think God does either.

I dream that we will reach out with a hug when that someone walks in the door a little tear-eyed on a Sunday morning.

I dream of bringing groceries by to the family that lost an income, not because the pastor announced the event in the pulpit, and we think our name may be printed in the bulletin, but because they whispered it to us, they trusted us, and we quietly showed up, Jesus at their door.

I dream of personal, one-on-one, left-hand-not-knowing-what-the-right-hand-is-doing kind of ministry.

I dream of a time when we don’t call it ministry. We just call it Love.

Compassion doesn’t mean feeling sorry for someone–it means entering into suffering with them. This is what Jesus meant when he said Blessed are those who mourn.

Because last I checked, I sin every day and God said none of us is righteous, not one.

We are still using a grading system for our sins, for their sins, his sin, her sin, this group’s sin, that group’s sin, and just like the Pharisees we have so many unspoken rules.

Because of this, doors have been slammed shut in my face, too.

We think we have come so far. Yet, we deceive ourselves to think that we really have no sin, that we are not in a perpetual state of sinner-saved-by grace, a hopeless state of constant sinning, if not for the cross and grace of one very scandalously loving God.

We could ask ourselves this revolutionary question: How do we know they don’t go to sleep every night, sobbing, asking God to forgive them, to change them too, the ones we push away?

So I dream and I dream big. I dream of a time when all the walls will come down and we will love fierce. A time when we won’t be cowardly afraid of what’s thought of us if we invite that pregnant, unwed friend to church and sit next to them, or have coffee with a gay friend, or invite that family from across the tracks over for hashbrown casserole.

So I dream of a better day when maybe pastors wear t-shirts and jeans, and church can be anywhere people are gathered in the name of love, and the red carpet is laid out for all, like our Father does for us, for those who come looking for love a little dirty and maybe their appearance a little different than ours.

I don’t dream of great exploits in God; I don’t dream of being a hero.

I do dream of beholding glory. I do dream of Kingdom come here on earth.

I dream of changing one stranger at a time with our genuine care, and I dream of a church, rising up out of the ash of their own bridges burned and beginning to build a crossway of Love.

From the back cover:
Pamper yourself with refreshing prayer! You’re stressed out, you’re multitasking, and you’ve got a prayer list as long as your arm. But when do you have time to pray for you?

The Prayers for a Woman’s Soul devotional book was written through the blood, sweat, and tears of author Julie Gillies. (Correction: Julie’s sweat and tears were heavily involved, but the blood part was left up to Jesus.)

Printed in a compact size with a spa-themed cover, this book makes a wonderful gift for wives, mothers, sisters, and any woman who needs a boost in the spirit. Julie’s transparency and blunt honesty are captured in 52 hope-filled vignettes, one for each week of the year. As I read it, I personally couldn’t wait a week, so I read one per day to start each morning’s prayer time.

Julie explains in the beginning how a flight attendant’s speech reminding parents to place the oxygen mask on children first served as her wake-up call. Knowing she’d probably fix her child’s oxygen mask before her own, she was startled with the Holy Spirit’s promptings: You need to begin to pray for yourself. Julie’s prayers had revolved around taking care of everyone else first. But with a struggling marriage pounding on top of everyday pressures, she was stressed out to the max.

It was time to put on her own oxygen mask.

In the book, each of 52 concise devotions shares a specific vulnerable experience, pearls of truth, relevant scriptures to encourage and pray, and a prayer to refresh and strengthen women. It is well-written, gut-honest, and relatable to today’s Christian women. I loved it!

Prayers for a Woman’s Soul would make a wonderful Mother’s Day gift. I’d ask for one myself, if I didn’t already have a copy tucked beside my Bible waiting for tomorrow’s devotions.

You're reading the month of #missions series.  Read more: may = month of missions bless the mamas 6 ways to ruin a mission trip the long-term impact of short-term missions i'm home. now what?

Summer is only one flip of the calendar page away, and you know what that means: beach days, icy lemonade, water fun, and mission trips.

Churches everywhere are preparing to send teams of people out on summer mission trips, and for the month of May, the SERVE column here at BibleDude.net will highlight missiony (yes, a totally made up word) topics.

This series will dabble on topics related to both long-term and short-term missions.

Upcoming posts include the following:

-What’s the Long-Term Impact of Short-Term Mission Trips?

-Six Ways to Ruin a Mission Trip

-Five Ways to Keep Your Mission Supporters Involved in the Mission

-I’m Home, Now What?

Since we are looking for expert advice, I have been scouring the internet for smarties on mission related topics, and guess what? I found a few (with the word few meaning a whole crazy load) of missionaries out in the world shaking it up for God.

As I read the blogs below, I sucked into their stories. Peek around. You will find yourself engrossed too. You may discover yourself pouring over inspiring pictures and new places, and you may just ignore your kids for an entire evening. You know, hypothetically speaking, of course.

On to the links from some long-term missionaries:

• A Life Overseas: The Missions Conversation
• Jessica Bowman and crew from Bohemian Bowmans.
• The Owens Family over at Owens to Africa.
• Ruthie at Journey of Faith, Uganda and Beyond.
• Troy, Tara, and family from Live Say Haiti Weblog.
• Kayla over at Rice, Beans, and Love.
• The Dodsons from Along the Way.
• Ginny who blogs at Ginny in Haiti.
• Todd and Amy at Building the Blocks.

Join us this month each Thursday as we delve into the topic of serving through missions.

Tell us about your favorite missionary or missionary family. Feel free to leave links. We want to visit them. Have you ever been on a mission trip or spent time as a missionary? Let’s hear it!

Image credit.