Let me tell you why I (and you) should go. To other countries.

Over the last few months, and particularly within the last few days, I've come across multiple articles and blogs that send a message that blast the idea that white Americans should stop going to do humanitarian work and missions work overseas. For some reason, these articles seem to be biased against single, white, young females going to Africa specifically. This is partially annoying because I am THE stereotype of those who "should not go."

"We should stop giving money to organizations. We should stop going. We should stop going and taking pictures with small African children. We should stop changing our Facebook profile pictures." Those are not exact quotes but they are main ideas. Should we stop bringing awareness to the things we witness?

You know what it makes me want to stop doing?

((That's right, polite, sweet, kind and compassionate Melissa has a fire under her again. {Excuse the southern drawl at this point!} She's baaaaaaccccccckkkk at it. Ranting and raving. Kicking and screaming. You're so welcome in advance and if you should be so easily offended, stop reading this now. I am quite serious. STOP. ))

If you've passed the test of drama, please continue reading below.

Do you know, or have any idea, what it makes me want to stop doing, as in right this very second? I want to stop being angry about it and I want to tell you exactly what's on my mind. So OBVIOUSLY, that's what I plan to do. There are two major things I have a problem with in all of this.

1. One of the articles I read talks about "voluntourism." It's this basic idea and principle that a white man or woman becomes a philanthropist/journalist/tourist and it becomes offensive to groups of people on the field because they never stay. I actually completely agree with this idea. I have a major problem with a church or organization that chooses the tour stops and does not create a sustainable relationship between the partner and the field. I have problems with people who don't stay. 

2. The second thing I have a problem with is what is now being called "The White-Savior Industrial Complex." The basic idea is that the white man or woman comes in and rescues the 'victims' and leaves them rescued with nothing to sustain them. I do have a problem with that. The article I read about this talks about Americans creating this cycle of colonialism. I agree with this to a point. This idea of the power hungry taking over the poor and weary and destroying what liveliness they have left in them. This is quite possible in missions, humanitarian work, and, of course, government and militant processes.

BUT (you knew this was coming), I cannot stop going. I cannot stay in the states and pretend I don't know what's going on with the education of small children in villages along Lake Tanganyika. I cannot sit idly by and pretend that entire families are not war torn in the Middle East and northern Africa. I cannot stand the thought of young women and children being trafficked in southeastern Asia. And I cannot bear the idea of children who have lost their families to natural disasters, poverty, sickness and the drug cartel in Latin America.

I can't tell you how many days I've wondered about Mapalo. Is she in school? Did she grab the hand of someone else as she was walking through the village? Did she wear her broken zippered dress for the rest of that year? Is she healthy? Does she love Jesus?

Mapalo was a little girl I met in the village of Nzovwe in 2009. Boy, did this sweet little thing leave an imprint on my beating heart. She looked at me like I was crazy for the first few days but as the days went on... she moved a little closer. She wasn't staring at me from a distance or looking away pretending she didn't know I saw her. She moved in and eventually, this feisty little toothy girl was sitting in my lap. One day, my team and I were walking in the village, going from door to door, when I felt the hand of a little one grab mine. And yet, it was Mapalo, her toothy grin and broken zippered dress standing next to me and holding on tight, ensuring that I did not walk off without her.

When I close my eyes and think of Africa, I see her. I see a beautiful, educated young woman fostering and developing leaders in her village. I see her courting and marrying and loving children of her own. I see her washing dishes along the shore of the Lake and carrying water from the closest spring. And I pray. I pray that she develops the women under her. And you know what else I pray? That the change in her life had NOTHING to do with me-- that it was everything to do with Jesus.

Did you cringe when you read that? Did you feel different? Did you feel a small inkling in your soul that something is not right in the world? That you are to be a repairer or plower for some group of people, who don't need just you alone, but who need an advocate? Are you a little uncomfortable? It makes me a little uncomfortable-- that's for sure. This idea that I know someone but don't know where they are. It gets at me a little at night when I'm dreaming/waking and making up ambitions and plans for my future. I see her.... walking next to me in the village and I see a vivid picture of her hand in mine, although I have no physical picture of her hand.

When I first went to Zambia in my summer of 2008, I was sick over it. I saw high flying kites made of plastic grocery bags in small shack villages and I saw the deepest, sweetest brown eyes I had ever laid my eyes on begging to be loved. To be seen. In one of the following two summers (I'm almost positive it was 2010), I was at an AIDS orphanage in Kabwe. I sat on the ground while the girls played with my hair and touched my skin and the boys played drums and laughed and danced. They didn't speak English. We didn't know most of their names. But I cannot forget their faces. I cannot forget the little girl who crawled all over me for a couple of hours. I cannot forget the kiss on my cheek from a little boy named Chola, which always made me think and pray for the kids, especially in gangs, I had at Mack.

So each year, I traveled back to the United States and I told their stories. The stories of kids who had lost their parents to HIV and AIDS. The stories of missionaries on foreign fields who were being persecuted. The story of Innocent, a little village boy who would have nothing to do with me on the first day of our kid's conference and who would not leave my side by the end of that 4 days. A little boy who returned to hug me when we found him the following year and let me rub my hand across his sweet bald head while he just stared and smiled and stayed at my leg for a while. The story of Mapalo and the village of Nzovwe. Their stories raised awareness and made others get involved.

Their stories changed me and not in a narcissistic way that totally focuses on me. I didn't go to be changed. I actually went to do something that I thought was productive and American and efficient and would change them.... but in the process, I was changed by brown eyes and little hands. Cheek kisses and hair tied in knots. Skipping rocks and water bottles on heads. Chalk on the ground and shower caps. And those images, those roaring photographs in the crevices of my mind, changed the people around me because I could share their stories.

The beauty of my "GO" is found in pictures, yes, maybe a few Instagram pictures and Facebook photos. The beauty of my "GO" is found in working with an organization who is trained well, who meets needs, and who loves people on the field. The beauty of my "GO" is found in the confidence that God created me to be about Him, which means I'm about the business of others, and not just myself. To take the wretched, broken, yet healed and mended pieces to place them in the hands of those on the other sides of the world who can learn and grow with me, while creating relationships in their language, culture, and circle of influence. The beauty of my "GO" is found in a compassionate, loving Jesus who pursues justice, rights wrongs, loves orphans and windows, and feeds the hungry, who returns wronged money from the tax collectors, and makes the lame walk. The beauty of my "GO" is found in Jesus who forgives freely, frees me to love Him, and then urges me to walk in Him by sharing my gifts, passions, and abilities with His loves across the globe. 

I cannot say no. How can you say no to a "GO" that is that incredibly beautiful? 

I dare you to go. Don't give in to the idea of humanitarianism being self-centered and arrogant and don't think that you alone can change the world but remember the God to whom you serve and how deeply His love is for peoples of the ends of the Earth and how passionate His plea for us to go and love and serve Him?

I go because Jesus has done a great work in me and I want to share that. He has placed a great call in me and I want to do that. He has gifted me so succinctly for his plan and I want to fall into place where He desires me.

Praying your "GO" would be more beautiful than ever before.
And also praying you will stay.

Love you, from the bottom of my heart-- Melissa

"You answer us with awesome and righteous deeds,
    God our Savior,
the hope of all the ends of the earth
    and of the farthest seas..." Psalm 65: 4

The Lurking Lion in the Unknown

This past week has brought up so much insecurity. I will not get into the multiple reasons it has done so but I know one thing. The lion of insecurity that creeped in last week that was seemingly defeated?  Yes, him. He's still hanging around and has backed me into a corner a few times and then pretended as if he is protecting me. I know he's an emotional protector. He doesn't make decisions based on the long vision or what is best for me in the long run. He makes them based on his momentary emotions. Then, he presses me to do the same. He is extremely arrogant about these emotions and I'm outraged to know how and why he thinks he controls so much of me.

Maybe it's because sometimes I let him.

Sometimes I'm afraid of the truth. Sometimes I'm afraid of what awaits on the other side of my submission to God's good for my life. Sometimes I run into the cave to be protected. He waits there, all the while Jesus is with me, actually protecting me. Literally with me, but I'm focused on the vision of the lurking lion of insecurity and I can't shake him. I can't get around him, under him, over him. 

Because. I want to do it alone. All the while, Jesus rests there. Waiting. I am an often negligent daughter. In my selfishness, I become a negligent human being and forget about everyone else and worry about myself. Giving the lion as much power as He wants.

He tells me all the reasons I shouldn't send an e-mail, make a phone call, send a text message, say certain words, tell someone I care, etc... he has a grocery list of lies that he loves to tell. I have to stop listening to the list. I HAVE TO. You do too. 

Back at the beginning of April, I had the INCREDIBLE privilege of sharing my story at the RefresHER Women's event. In my talk, I read a letter I wrote while I was in Africa in the summer of 2009. I was desperately covered in fear. What was going to happen when I went back to the U.S.? Was I still going to lose weight and be seemingly unhealthy? Was I a poor teacher? Did I have character? Was my character so flawed that I wouldn't be able to lead well? What if I couldn't make friends? I am the QUEEN of the most amazing "What if?" questions that have absolutely no bearing on real life. None of the scenarios I make up in my head ever come true. ((I should pause there and tell you how thankful I am for this. What an utter tsunami disaster my entire life would be if I stayed there. And even that feels as if it is an understatement.)) Anyways, this letter was to fear. Boy, was I SO angry when the missionary told me that this was an assignment. In the long run, this letter has guided me and saved me but I was not happy about writing it then.

When I went back to watch the video of me reading this letter myself (which is really the first time I've gone back and watched myself like this), I cried because I so desperately needed the words I read. I needed the tears I cried and the way I felt and the heartache that I was overwhelmed with. I needed someone to know and I needed to know I wasn't alone. I needed God's Word to saturate my broken soul. I needed to identify with myself. I needed to know that what God had said about me was true. And it was, and this letter proved that. The video of that part is below. I encourage you to press play and close your eyes. Hear the words, instead of just reading them. Let those words be for your fear of the unknown to and let those words be a reminder to you that YOU ARE NOT ALONE, despite what the grocery list of the enemy says.

I am praying for you as you hear and watch and do what Jesus calls you to. May He find your broken heart and put it back together. May He bind your wounded mind and replace it with a fullness of joy. May He wipe your tears as you close your eyes on your pillow case and may He remind you that there is no fear in walking with and in Him. I promise you that He is faithful despite what the enemy says. He does not let go.

He has done all of those things for me more times than I can count and there are tears as I even write this. My goodness, He is increasingly faithful.

He loves you, as do I. -Melis

The Roaring Lion of Insecurity

I was driving home yesterday and it was, "You didn't do that well. You really messed that up. You're very selfish." 

Last night, going to sleep, it was, "You're not worth it. Who would think so? What makes you worth it? You're a mess!" 

These words come at my hungry, angry, and tired moments. They lurk like a lion waiting for the kill. For just the right time. For the right second to insert drama. I can't even see them coming and they still come. Charging, somewhat gracefully, over the rest of the normal, clear voices I have believed until that point. 

Have you ever felt that? You're totally fine, you're feeling good and all of a sudden, and the lion shows its mane and begins taunting you in a circle. You look at it and realize that there's no possible way you can defeat this wild animal. Because it is exactly that- wild, untamed. It circles when my mind is not in tact and I'm willing to go to a new place. I just didn't realize the new place was going to be that. The lion stares directly into my eyes without blinking because it does not believe the truth I keep telling myself. 

"I am enough. I am worth it. I am covered by grace. Jesus is in control. My life is about Him." I repeat these truths to myself in the secrets of my heart until devastated by the damage the lion has done, I begin saying them out loud and begging God to just please. Overcome my unbelief. One more time. All the things I don't believe about myself. Make me believe them. Make me brave enough to believe them. 

Jesus steps in and the lion is FORCED to leave but the lion never leaves without a fight. The fight that led Jesus straight to the cross. And Jesus tells me He was willing to go there so I can believe Him.

My eyes well with tears as I remember the cross. The cross of grace and mercy. A blood that was more than enough to cover all of my sins, well wishes and mistakes. All my good works, selfish intentions and unworthy phrases. He covered it all. How sweet it is to love God- who is willing to fight and even die on my behalf.

"How marvelous. How wonderful. And my song shall ever be. How marvelous how wonderful is my Savior's love for me." 

My heart is silenced because I am deeply loved by Jesus. I believe again. Because of Him. The precious blood Jesus shed for me covers my insecurities and feeds my identity that makes me want to love him more. 

You're not alone in this. Jesus advocates for me about a million times a day. To stop the raging lion of insecurity and replace it with a sincere security and Truth that cannot be taken from me. 

Praying for security in Jesus alone- Melis 

Goodbyes are the worst.... the absolute worst.

I hate goodbyes. ((Insert crying mess here... literally tears running down my face for most of the last weekend and week while I've written letters to my Leadership kids and while I'm writing this... and mostly every time I think about it.))

I'm sure I'm not the only one. I know I can't be.

They just are literally the worst and I have to do this... every. single. year. It is so incredibly hard. 

This year has been a year of answered prayers, overcoming Mountains, and figuring out my strengths and weaknesses. I have had a lot of moments of stress, hope, fear, courage, failure and bravery.

Most teachers are so grateful when summer begins. I am really tired. I am utterly exhausted. Yet, I am so content and satisfied with my first year at this new school. Don't get me wrong... there are PLENTY of things I need to change and the sweet girls who said Government class was perfect on Friday are just full of grace and mercy, nonetheless. I have had so many opportunities to share my stories with my kids and for them to share their stories with me... and a few times to share their stories with other people who can help them. Whew. I have an increasingly grateful heart. I have very mixed feelings on this beginning of summer.

One of my boys sent me a message today that said, "Can you imagine that tomorrow will be the last morning talk we are going to have?" I literally yelled at him, although I was completely alone in my apartment. It's crazy to think it is. He, almost everyday, and a few of the other kids, sporadically, come in during the morning time and always tell me what happened after school the day before, to ask a question, or to ask advice.... or just to talk. It's just like I'm talking to my family.

Maybe that's the hardest part. My kids have really become my kids, my family. I have been (for some of them) the first person inside a school to care, to listen to them, to pay attention to their craziness, to let them be themselves... I mean, for Heaven's sake, I know WAY too much about some of their lives and they just keep talking. So to my kids... thank you. I have prayed my heart out for you this year in your worst moments and your best.

1. To one of my girls who sits alone on purpose- I see you. Don't do this to yourself... there is so much more.
2. To one of my girls who lost a family member and left the country for a few weeks, you are more than welcome to an older sister hug any time.
3. To one of my girls who needs a friend and has hard a really hard last few weeks, I get it. Don't stress yourself out over it. You have amazing people and friends around you and I'm happy to be a person in your life.
4. To one of my boys who called me sensitive, you're right-- you are the 3rd person in the last week to tell me that. Thanks for being honest. :) It's also funny that you say I'm "sensitive" since your favorite hobby is making me mad... just saying.
5. To a few of the girls who are constantly harassed by the boys, join the club my dears. They harass us all. They are indifferent to age and responsibility.
6. To one of my girls who said I was sweet-- you are so kind. She also included that no one should try to make me angry. Boy, do they know me well! 
7. To the boys who asked me for food in 4th period-- thanks for finally getting it right and telling future classes to never do such a thing.
8. To one of my boys who said that you were one of my boys... that is truly it. You are.
9. To one of my boys from my morning talks... I make no promises on crying tomorrow when you all leave. I find this already very difficult.

It is hard to believe that tomorrow is their last day of school. My sweet class of 2014. The ones who were a part of me facing my mountain in 2009-2010 as 8th graders and now this incredible group of seniors I've had the privilege of spending the last 9 months with. They are my kids.... and I'm grateful.

Tomorrow will not be easy but I have full confidence that they will be a generation who changes the world.

I'm sure this is completely out of context but I have no clue what I'll do in such a quiet classroom Thursday morning cleaning and packing my things. I will miss the noise of my kids.
Love each of you sweet things... Miss Gillespie