Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead,I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.
-Ephesians 3:13-14
Jesus said to him, “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”
-Luke 9:62
Lately I’ve been reflecting on a particular flaw in my character that the Lord has exposed–an issue that I can see repeatedly when I look back at my life. I could summarize it this way:
1. At times I’ve tried to hold on to that which wasn’t meant for me.
2. I’ve caused myself considerable grief by doing so.
Put another way, I’ve had to learn how to let go.
I’ve learned to let go of the past. Letting go of guilt certainly applies. But I’m thinking more in terms of seasons of life that I enjoyed immensely. I’ve had a tendency to try to prolong or even recreate these. But life just doesn’t work that way: seasons come and go, and God has a purpose for each one (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8).
I don’t want to miss the blessings of this moment or the future by trying to re-live yesterday.
I’ve learned to let go of people. There are relationships of all sorts that simply failed the test of loyalty or time. There are mentors and friends that God graciously sent my way, each according to what I needed, before moving on. There are loved ones I’ll never see again this side of eternity. These are just a few examples that come to mind.
I can be thankful for the lessons learned. I can cherish the memories. I can grieve.
But I can’t hang on.
I’ve learned to let go of rejection. Not every opportunity I pursue is meant for me. I learned this most recently (and painfully) during our first three years here in the States after returning from the mission field (2013-2016). I remember those times when I second-guessed myself or even the Lord because His only answer came in the form of closed doors.
I want to have a heart like Moses, who desired to go only where the Lord was leading. He loved the presence of God more than the promised land (Exodus 33:15).
I’ve had to learn how to let go.
Granted, there are times when God’s will isn’t so clear–times when we need to ask, seek, and knock until know the next step (Matthew 7:7). We can trust God to show us His will in His perfect time (Proverbs 3:5-6).
But that’s not what I’m talking about here.
There are times when God clearly shows us that whatever (or whoever) we are clinging to is not from Him. His blessing isn’t in it, and nothing we do, no argument we present, will ever change His mind.
These are the times when it’s best to let go.
Letting go may be temporarily painful, but disobedience always hurts more in the long run.
Letting go gives you the freedom to fully pursue God’s best for you–whatever that may mean.
We can let go with the confidence that God knows best. He has a plan for His glory and our joy.
I thank my God in all my remembrance of you . . .
-Philippians 1:3
“This is what the past is for! Every experience God gives us, every person He puts in our lives is the perfect preparation for the future that only He can see.” ― Corrie Ten Boom
I patched together memories and came to the conclusion that this trip happened in ’93. But I wasn’t 100% sure, and that was as good of a question as any to ponder on a hot, sleepless night in El Paso.
I started a Facebook chat with a few of my old college friends the next morning. They confirmed Spring Break of ’93 as the correct time/decade. We began exchanging stories, then photos. Vivid memories, over 25 years old, came back to visit.
That week profoundly affected all of us. It was my first time to minister to people that grew up in a culture so significantly different from my own (complete with their own language). I’m sure it was a small part of God’s preparation for a future missionary.
It also turned into my first opportunity to have my writing published. Heather, one of my fellow students, had taken pictures and had the opportunity to have them printed in a Christian magazine. She called me and asked if I’d be interested in writing the article to go with her photos. I jumped at the chance.
The following article, entitled Scars of a Nation, was published in The Student magazine (a Lifeway publication) in August, 1994. I have included some of Heather’s pictures as well:
The 1994 Article
I have been on seven SPOTS (Special Projects Other Than Summer) trips during my four years of college and consider myself a SPOTS veteran. I have seen God working in vastly different parts of the country, from inner-city East St. Louis to the small town of Winder, Georgia. This is my account of our trip to the Bogue Chitto Choctaw Reservation near Philadelphia, Mississippi. It was one of the shorter trips I’ve taken in terms of distance, but I traveled to a different world.
We were told that the project would involve “light construction.” Our first day on the job taught us to accept quite a liberal definition of “light construction” as we began tearing down the old, rotted exterior of a small church. More frightening was the fact that we would be replacing the old wood with new siding. I was put in charge of this work crew for reasons unknown—perhaps I didn’t look “constructively challenged” in my borrowed overalls.
We began the fascinating process of learning about the Choctaw people as we worked. Delays in construction provided opportunities to speak with the Choctaw and ask about their unique culture. Bill, our director of student ministry, inadvertently broke the ice by stating that there were “too many chiefs and not enough Indians.” To his surprise, the Choctaw found his politically incorrect joke quite amusing.
Getting to know the people proved challenging, yet rewarding. The process began with adapting to a new language. They spoke their native Choctaw tongue and English, but we quickly learned that these two languages were not mutually exclusive. English phrases could be identified in the midst of an otherwise indiscernible sentence. Words such as “faith” and “Christian” could be heard in an exclusively Choctaw sermon. They had apparently never developed a Choctaw equivalent to some English words and simply used the English word. This hybrid of Choctaw and English was intriguing.
Bill and I thought we were making some linguistic progress. We constructed a simple sentence using a few Choctaw words learned during the week. We were embarrassed to learn that we had constructed our meager sentence incorrectly and we were saying it backward for all practical purposes. I suppose I should not have been surprised, since I could not even pronounce the name of the reservation without drawing laughter from the children.
The Choctaw food was another example of cultures merging. Their fried chicken was some of the best I’ve ever tasted. I was also introduced to a stable of the Choctaw diet known as frybread. Frybread has the texture of a doughnut and is shaped like a very thick pancake. As the name implies, it is prepared by dropping the mass of dough into a pan full of hot lard. Though not recommended by your local cardiologist, it was in high demand by both Choctaws and students.
We also had the opportunity to experience a Sunday worship service with the Choctaw. It was amazing to see that people from totally different worlds could unite together to worship the One true God. We shared song and drama (skits) with the Choctaws and in return heard song and traditional hymns in their language.
The children almost instantly adored us and took up any time not spend in construction. They were especially fond of Trent, our class clown and camera man. Jeff and I drew attention from being fitness minded. While neither of us have world-class physiques, the Choctaw children were impressed and continually asked us to flex our biceps.
The children were also taken back by another difference in our physical appearance. I am extremely fair-skinned, and hours of outdoor construction resulted in a very nasty sunburn. I was in the last in line for shower one evening at a church members home, which gave the children time to learn of our location and gather at the house. The steamy shower added to my sunburn—I resembled a tomato with eyes. The dozen or more children gazed with saucer-sized eyes as the freshly cleaned, giant lobster presented himself in the living room. Stunned as they were, the children still requested another exhibition of my now famous biceps.
Adults and children came together to teach us more about their culture in the last few days of the trip. A special assembly at the school featured a demonstration of their ancient dances, complete with drummer and changer. We were introduced to stick ball, and ancient Native American sport which resembles lacrosse. The two churches with whom we worked prepared special suppers for us on our final two nights and presented special parting gifts as we said painful goodbyes.
I will never forget their faces. Often the Choctaw showed little or no emotion, yet their faces were full of life with a mysterious, silent strength. Their countenance was marked with the scars of a nation, yet contained hope for the future and faith in the eternal. Their eyes were full of character produced by lack of material things and abundance of sacred intangibles. The children’s smiles were like the laughter of angels.
God moved in our own hearts in a powerful way, just as He moved in the lives of the Choctaw with whom we worked. We saw Him at work in a more external fashion when we prayed for predicted rain to be delayed. We needed to work until noon and the rain held off until 12:01. Knowing we would not be able to shower before our afternoon trip, some of us stood in the rain and let it wash off our sawdust. You might call this coincidence, but we considered the delay an answered prayer.
One brief article cannot fully describe what I experienced on just one SPOTS trip, and there have been others just as memorable. Give God a few days during your next school break and be prepared for Him to bless you beyond your expectations.
After Thoughts (back to 2019)
I can’t decide if it feels like this mission trip happened yesterday or another lifetime. The latter, I suppose.
People look at old photos of me like this one and immediately notice the thick hair I once had. I see something else: insecurity, self-righteousness, and a myriad of other issues that plagued this younger version of me.
That’s me on the right (dark shirt, leaning back).
That’s not to say I’m free of these flaws now. But I’d like to think I’m at least more aware of them and more appreciative of the amazing grace that’s needed to cover them. Sanctification is a lifelong process, and God has proven Himself to be very patient with a man like me.
I’m sure I would do at least a few things a little differently if I had my college years to live over. This trip is not one of them. I wouldn’t change one drop of sweat, one hammered nail, one bite of frybread, or one prayer.
