The Wisdom to Ask Another Question
Summer of Celebration Series …
Celebrating the Faithfulness of God in Ordinary Places
Since my first trip to Africa, I have spent many months in South Africa—visiting missionaries, exploring the country, and meeting the people who call it home.
I have experienced God there in new ways. I have met people who love Him with a passion and dependence that has challenged and changed me.
And I have learned to love the missionary.
I have seen a little more closely how hard missionary life can be. There is a constant outpouring. Missionaries see hard things. They encounter some of the very best and some of the very worst of humanity. Day after day, they pour themselves into loving the people God has called them to serve.
God has taught me how important it is that someone loves them, too.
Love the Missionary
So when a team of ten traveled from West Virginia to South Africa this summer, I encouraged them: Love the missionaries. Find a way to do something for them.
What did the missionaries ask for?
Paint for an orphanage.
Of course they did.
Nothing for themselves, thank you very much. But there was something beyond their current capacity that could help someone else.
At first, it seemed like a no-brainer.
Buy the paint. Bless the orphanage. Come home.
But thankfully, someone asked another question.
And then another.
When Paint Isn't the Whole Answer
After touring the orphanage, it became clear that simply applying a coat of paint—even mold-killing paint—wouldn't really solve the problem. It would make things look better for a while, but there were deeper maintenance issues that needed attention.
And somewhere along the way, the conversation stopped being only about the walls.
We started asking about the children living inside them.
A story emerged that broke my heart.
Sixteen years ago, an 18-month-old little girl arrived at this orphanage. She remained there until she aged out at 17.
Think about that for a moment.
This wasn't a temporary stop in her childhood.
This was her childhood.
These walls were home. The caregivers were her parental figures. Her birthdays happened here. Her Christmases. Her school mornings. Her disappointments and celebrations. Her first day of school and her last. Nearly every formative moment of her childhood happened in this place.
And suddenly the question wasn't, How much paint do we need?
The questions became much bigger.
Who loved her?
Who told her about Jesus?
Who discipled her?
Who helped prepare her for the day she would walk out of the only home she had ever really known?
Who made sure she knew that although circumstances had left her without parents to raise her, she was seen, known, and deeply loved by God?
And where was the Church?
Responsibility and Opportunity
Those questions aren't about blame.
They are about responsibility.
And they are about opportunity.
Because there will be another little girl.
There will be another little boy.
Some will live in an orphanage for years. Others may stay only weeks or months. But however long they are there, what if the Church saw that time as an opportunity to enter their story?
We hear the horror stories.
Lack. Abuse. Neglect. Trafficking.
But what if there were also stories of love?
Stories of abundance where there had been lack.
Stories of adults who consistently showed up.
Stories of house moms who were prayed for, encouraged, supported, and loved as they cared for children carrying wounds most of us cannot imagine.
Stories of children who discovered that there were people who knew their names and noticed their birthdays and prayed over their futures.
Stories of children who encountered Jesus because His people came close.
What if we loved these children the way we would want someone to love our own?
Would we do it even if we could only change the story for one?
The Questions Kept Coming
More questions followed.
Where does the funding for the home come from?
Who is discipling the children?
Who is praying for and encouraging the house moms?
Who is supporting the pastor overseeing the homes?
What happens when a child ages out?
Who is speaking hope into their future?
Where is the local church?
The paint had opened a door to something much bigger than paint.
So Tanisha, one of the missionaries on the ground, began reaching out.
To the local church.
To men.
To women.
To students.
How can we practically love these children and the people caring for them?
And people began responding.
When People Begin to Say Yes
One young man knows something about growing up without parents because he lived a similar story himself. He never knew his parents.
He was willing.
He is gathering men who can step in to paint and help with some of the needed maintenance.
Perhaps women will come alongside the caregivers.
Perhaps others will help provide some of what the children lack.
Perhaps relationships will form that we cannot yet see.
We don't know.
Because this story isn't finished.
And maybe that is part of what we are celebrating.
Sometimes Provision Begins With a Question
This summer, we have celebrated so many answers.
Money that arrived just in time.
People who said yes.
Missionaries who were encouraged.
Children who were fed.
Relationships God had been arranging long before we knew we would need them.
But sometimes God's provision begins with a question.
Can we get the mold off the walls?
Yes.
Can we paint their home and make it a healthier, safer place to live?
Yes.
But can we also see the children who live inside those walls?
Can we see the people who care for them?
Can we look beyond the immediate need long enough to ask what love requires next?
I believe we can.
Our first glance at this project was about $500.
Easy.
Buy the paint.
Except the cost has already climbed.
Financially, yes.
But also emotionally.
Spiritually.
Relationally.
Because once God allows you to see something, sometimes He invites you to look a little closer.
And once you do, you may discover that the need you first noticed wasn't really the whole need at all.
Today, We Celebrate Wisdom
So today, we celebrate something less tangible than a freshly painted wall.
We celebrate wisdom.
The wisdom to listen.
The discernment to look beneath the obvious.
The humility not to assume that our first solution is the right one.
And the willingness to ask another question.
Some of us will go.
Some will give.
Some will pray.
Some will pick up a paintbrush.
Some will disciple.
Some will encourage a tired caregiver.
And perhaps some haven't yet discovered what their part will be.
That's okay.
The story is still being written.
For now, God has brought these children to our attention.
We see them.
And sometimes that is where loving well begins.