10 Reasons I Am Not Voting This Election

This coming Tuesday will be election day in the United States. It’s no secret that I have strong political opinions. Most days I read my Bible, a local newspaper, and some thoughtful magazine articles. Usually, those readings bring me to prayer. As I pray God reminds me that many times, I am to be the answer to my own prayer for community needs. This is the process Old Testament prophets went through as they saw their own frailty, God’s holiness and redemption, their community’s needs, and said, “Lord send me.” (Isaiah 6.)  Every sermon I preach that concludes with a “We should ___” statement is a political message. When we preach the Gospel and disciple people, we ask for them to responsibly live in community. We are to be good citizens if the Lord lives in the hearts of ourselves and our community. After months of wrestling, I’ve decided I can’t in a clean conscience vote this Tuesday. I will be a Protestant in both denominational and partisan affiliation this coming Tuesday. 

 

I make no judgement of others who choose to vote. My only hope is that they vote in humility with well researched opinions. Most elections do leave us with sin soiled hands. Whatever choice we make will be one that in the end leaves us like the Old Testament prophets calling out, “Woe is me for I am a man of unclean lips.” 

 

I suspect this Sunday many will hear prayers in their churches for the elections. I concur with those prayers. I also suspect that many will hear encouragements to get out to vote as good Kingdom citizens. I empathize with that encouragement. Yet, I do think the history of our faith and the current partisan options do not mandate voting to be a good disciple living in community. I suspect few are explaining valid reasons to abstain from voting from their Christian leaders, so I want to give a few of mine.

 

First, we are instructed to avoid every appearance of evil (1 Thessalonians and 1 Peter deal extensively with this concept.) When I place my understanding of Scripture related to the issues that most concern me in policy such as the unborn, the immigrant, ethnic reconciliation, economic justice, and grace neither partisan cluster crosses my tolerance for evil in ordinary living threshold. Each instead tries to persuade me to cast a vote demonizing the opposition while asking for me to ignore substantive issues.

 

Second, we’re instructed in making judgements to judge ourselves first (Matthew 5 to 7.) I grew up in a conservative denomination rooted in the South. I acquired a bachelors and master’s degrees from their best universities. I’ve been affiliated with local church ministries for 30 years among white evangelicals. I’ve served in America’s global cites and networked with faith leaders. I’ve pastored in a total of 3 evangelical denominations. I have significantly more bad memories of institutional sin in those churches and their structure than I have good memories. I’ve lived through lies, abuse, division, racial animosity, both threats and acts of violence, financial exploitation, tolerance of systematic sexual exploitation, and flippancy with protecting the life and health of vulnerable people. I’ve seen measures of truth, confession, and repentance; but it has been inadequate when placed against the magnitude of systematic sin. Thus, I can’t just vote with my tribe as I know how hard the hearts are.

 

Third, I’ve explored other options thoroughly. I’ve read the policy positions. I’ve gone and sat at a picnic table with our local independent candidates. I’ve signed petitions and written letters. I’m not convinced that reasonable compromise on my strong positions is possible.

 

Fourth, I’m empathetic to other nations' Christian Democratic parties. I watch as they win a few seats, make their arguments, and then negotiate policy. I could be content in that genre where I don’t get my way but do have a seat at the table that arrives at a less than ideal consensus. The American Solidarity Party may one day fill that niche. Evan McMullin in Utah is running in that ballpark. Yet, in North Dakota I don’t have that option on the ballot. Thus, I’ll stay in the faith traditions of waiting, praying, and mobilizing for the future. 

 

Fifth, I recognize that at some point in the next few weeks the votes will be counted, and winners announced. No matter who wins I’ll be governed by pagans. So what? Almost every believer in Christian history has been in the same situation. Most believers around the world are in that situation. Why should I think that my American citizenship should produce an option different from most other followers of Jesus? 

 

Sixth, I choose to suffer. My decision not to vote may be a factor in post-election violence. My decision not to vote may be a factor in continued poverty for families like my own. My decision not to vote may further the suffering of vulnerable people in America. Yet, I have been instructed by my Lord not to seek out my own best interests but the common good of my fellow man. Thus, I am at peace with the cost of not voting.

 

Seventh, I believe I know well the national and state issues my vote could influence. Yet, I don’t have a clue about local elections. I live in a rural county where our local newspaper collapsed. I haven’t been able to find information to make either an informed vote or informed abstinence in voting locally. It seems to me that I should trust those who know local issues to vote wisely. If I voted locally all I could currently do is add to ignorance, bias, and foolishness.

 

Eighth, I notice that among friends with different partisan affiliations I’m still trusted. We still have conversations that are kind and thoughtful amongst disagreements. If I choose to vote in such a partisan time, I risk losing that diversity of relationship network. I hope a day may come in which civility matters. I will do all I can to prepare for that day.

 

Ninth, I’m still called and spiritually gifted as a missionary. I never voted in local elections in the nations to which I was called though I voted absentee from my sending nation. I now sense that’s where I need to stay. I was sent as a missionary from Africa to America and that’s who I am.

 

Tenth, I’m radically committed to good citizenship and believe that is the substance for cultural change. I will still most days read my Bible and local papers. I will still pray. I will still know my neighbors. I will still be involved in local churches. I will still use my spiritual gifts. I will still labor. I will still be my best son, brother, husband, dad, grandpa, uncle, and cousin I possibly can. I will still serve with diaspora people and their organizations. I’ll still attend school board and county commissioner meetings. I’ll still call or write my political leaders a few times a year about concerning matters. I may even try to restore institutions that could increase knowledge and grace in our community. My hope is that those disciplines will have greater good than a single day of voting. 

 

My hope is that my Protestant vote this Tuesday will speak loudly. I will write each winner and loser in the coming month to explain why they didn’t receive my vote. I do believe in American’s ideals, institutions, and leaders. I do believe most people in America are decent. I do believe despite strong differences of policy among ordinary Americans consensus is still possible. God help us all.

 

North Dakota Ruth

 

There was a man from North Dakota named Eli.  He was a German from Russia.   He had a cousin named Boaz.   Eli was ambitious and adventurous.  Boaz was a home body.  Both Eli and Boaz worked hard and were strong.   Eli married his high school sweetheart named Naomi.  She too wanted to see the world.   While Eli and Naomi were the life of the party when they were young, Boaz was a geek.   Boaz was a computer nerd when nerds were not cool.   Though Boaz was honest and liked by everyone he could not get a date for the life of him.

A long drought hit North Dakota.  Eli and Naomi lost interest in life on the farm, packed up their bags, and moved to southern California.   While in California they did very well.   They had two boys, Mike and Chad who also did well.   Their boys married California girls, Ruth, and Oprah.    Eli came down with skin cancer and it quickly spread all over his body.  He died in California, was cremated, and his ashes were scattered in the Pacific Ocean.   His boys decided to gamble big on the latest tech opportunity.   They mortgaged all the family property, neglected to keep it insured, and then were killed in an earthquake that demolished their possessions before the investment matured.  Naomi, Ruth, and Oprah were left penniless.

Naomi was at the end of her end.  She heard stories of God’s grace in North Dakota.  There was a new oil boom.  It was even raining, and the crop forecast looked good.  She decided to go home to North Dakota.   Her daughters-in-law wanted to come with her.  She was like a mother to them.   However, Naomi knew what they were getting into.

“My daughters,” she said, “I am not having any more sons. You girls are beautiful.  You are well educated.  You have your life before you.   Go back to your southern California friends and family.  Meet a boy.  Please start over without me.  God will be kind to you.  However, you cannot follow me back to North Dakota.  You will not have a future.”

Oprah decided to leave Naomi.  They wept in departure.  Naomi blessed Oprah.

Ruth refused to leave.   Naomi decided to tell her like it is and held nothing back.

“My people are stubborn and independent.  They will not let anyone tell them what to do,” she said.

“And let me tell you about the weather.   Every winter it is below forty for weeks.  You might have two blizzards in April.  Droughts can last years.  Sometimes it is in the nineties for weeks in the summer.  You never know when a hailstorm or tornado will come out of nowhere.   Most people cannot handle it.  Those that do will still drive eighty miles per hour on the interstate on icy roads.  It is nuts.”

Ruth refused to leave.  

“With God as my witness I will stay with you the rest of my life.   I will eat Fleischkuechle and sauerkraut.   I will go to church with your relatives no matter whether its Lutheran, Catholic, or Evangelical.   I will be buried with you on a lonely prairie cemetery.”

Naomi gave up.  They gathered their remaining belongings, got on a train, and went home to North Dakota.  When they got home Naomi’s extended family came to meet her.  They could not believe what had happened.  Naomi no longer was the life of the party.  She was bitter and angry.   Naomi got a job as a Walmart greeter.  Ruth flipped burgers at Wendy’s.   Then Ruth heard a rumor that a wealthy farmer needed a gopher for the harvest.  She quickly got in touch and was hired on the spot.  

As luck would have it the wealthy farmer was Boaz.   Financially life had gone well for Boaz while Eli and Naomi were in California.   The North Dakota economy shifted where technology and finance skills were essential for agriculture.   Boaz made the right choices time after time.  Being a computer geek was to his advantage.  As others struggled Boaz expanded time after time.  

Boaz changed.  He went from being awkward to just shy and soft spoken.  When he did speak people listened.  He never married.  Time altered his body.   Though still remarkably strong from his labor he was a bit overweight.   The sun had prematurely wrinkled his skin.   He wore bifocals.  His hair went gray and then started balding and he never got a decent haircut.  He wore a hearing aid.  His cholesterol and blood pressure ticked up.  His doctor told him he would get healthier if he married, and then they both giggled at that unlikely outcome. 

Ruth arrived at work early and left late.  She did all that was asked and found what was not getting done and did that too.   She was out of her element and naïve; but asked questions, read voraciously when she was not at work and began mastering both the culture and business details.  

Boaz noticed Ruth and spoke kindly to her like if she was his own daughter.   Somehow God’s name naturally flowed from his lips as he wished her well.  He was thankful his cousin’s wife had such a daughter-in-law.   At the end of the day, Boaz occasionally gave Ruth a box of steaks, a bag of sweet corn, or fresh vegetables from the garden to take home to Naomi.   Boaz noticed Ruth’s beauty and the eyes of his crew watching her.  His men worked hard, but he knew their failings.   When Ruth was out, he pulled his men together and gave them a lecture.

“Boys if you give this girl any ________ I will kick your _______”

Ruth came home each evening dirty and tired, but with cash in her pocket, healthy food, and Boaz’ encouragement.  Naomi had an idea.   There was a twinkle in her eye with a twinge of hope.  What if Boaz and Ruth were to get married?    Yes, they were kind of related; but it was distant and not through blood.  Yes, there was an age difference; but Boaz was not as old as he looked.  Yes, there were cultural differences, but the churches they grew up in spoke German just a generation ago.  And at church they heard stories every Sunday about God’s love for all people.  Why not try?  Naomi coached Ruth through how to make an audacious proposal that might be heard.

At the end of a long day of harvest Boaz and his crew tidied machines up in a distant shop.   They had a cold beer.  The old farmhouse on this spot had collapsed.  Boaz drug an old RV out to this site for him to sleep, but everyone else drove home or to a cheap hotel.   

As the sun set Boaz stepped into the RV and there was Ruth.   She had left work a bit early and cleaned up.  Wow!  In front of Boaz was a candlelight steak dinner with fresh North Dakota vegetables.   Naomi and Ruth still had several bottles of good California wine, and the glasses were filled.

Boaz thought this must be some big misunderstanding and tried to make a gracious exit. 

“I didn’t realize you were dating one of my men,” he said.  “This is where I am sleeping.  You must have got lost finding his place on these roads.  GPS never works right out here.  Who is it?   I will drive you to where he is staying.”

Ruth responded, “Nope this is for you.  You know my mother-in-law can be difficult to live with, but sometimes she has clever ideas.   I know this must look impulsive or crazy, but when I walked through the history museum and checked dates this is not unheard of.   Let’s get married.  You are the kindest man I have ever known.  Naomi thinks our pastor will be supportive.”

Boaz sat down, ate his meal, and pondered these matters.  He spoke.

“Wow.  What can I say? May the Lord richly bless you.    I did not expect this.  Yet, Naomi had promising ideas when we were kids.  You are stunning, smart, and hard working.  You are incredibly loyal.  Everyone speaks well of you.  You are right this is crazy for our days, but our grandparents lived like this.  Please do not be afraid.   Why not, let us get married.

Yet, there are some unresolved family matters.   There is a section of land that Naomi seems to have an inheritance claim on.   Our cousins are squabbling.  If we get married without that matter resolved, it will escalate family tension.   If people find out, you spent the night here gossip will get out of hand.   Here is what we will do.  You sleep in the bed tonight.  I will sleep on the couch.  You get up and be gone by 4 am.   Do not let anyone see you.  Do not show up until 6 am at this shop.     Do not say a thing to anyone but Naomi.   I will call my lawyer and banker in the morning and start talking to my cousin about that section.    I will write a gracious check for that section of land. With God as my witness, I will get this matter resolved ASAP.

Now, before you leave grab a pack of walleye out of the freezer for Naomi.  I have more in the freezer than I can eat.”

When Ruth got home Naomi was eagerly waiting for her.  Ruth told Naomi all that had happened.  Naomi giggled.  Naomi said,

“My family can argue over land for years.  I bet this matter will be cleared up by the end of the week.  This is going to be interesting.”

The next day, Boaz called his lawyer and banker.  He found a way to meet both at a small café far enough away that his relatives would not know they were talking.  After crunching numbers and playing with ideas he started making phone calls to his cousins.   Though there was family tension there were still enough good childhood memories and shared interests that they would pick up the phone.   He invited all the concerned ones to meet for breakfast at the conference room of a local restaurant. 

The next morning, they all arrived with a few surprised looks at who all was in the room.

Boaz started the conversation, “This is a bit complicated, but I wanted all of you to hear this news from me and see if we can work this out without a squabble and paying too much money to lawyers.   You have probably noticed that cute California girl, Ruth, who came home with Naomi.   We have dated a bit and plan to get married.”

Before Boaz could get to the part of his speech where he discussed the land, his cousins started laughing and poking fun at him.

One cousin exclaimed, “I was raised Catholic, but I am going to have to become Pentecostal.   Miracles do still happen today.”

Another hopped in, “Well I am going to stay Lutheran until a doctor certifies that Ruth is not blind.  Come on guys, have you honestly looked at Boaz.  No way.”

After the laughter ended, Boaz continued.  

“Ok.  Here is the difficult part – We all know there is a section of land our family has squabbling over.   It is complicated with lost documents and unclear wills.   One of you has a claim on it.  So does Naomi.   So, do I.   If Ruth and I have children instead of them growing up playing with all your grandchildren those kids will be rivals.  I cannot let that happen.   I am willing to buy the section outright today and put this all behind us.   Name your price.”

The concerned cousin was a bit embarrassed and muttered a bit.   He tried to delay and make a phone call to a banker and lawyer.   Before he could get on the phone, another cousin hopped in.

“Come on man, we all know you have talked to your lawyer about this a multiple of times.   You know what the land is worth.  Give Boaz a number.  Besides, my wife got me taking dance lessons and I am ready for a wedding dance.  No more delays.”

The concerned cousin scratched a number on a napkin and handed it to Boaz.

Boaz shifted the conversation, “By the way guys, I am buying breakfast.  Do not even worry about the tip.  I have it all.   I am still old fashioned and want to add 15%, but it seems today the going rate is 20%.”

Then Boaz wrote a check for 20% more than his cousin had asked and pushed the check with the napkin back to the concerned cousin.

“Wow! I accept,” proclaimed the concerned cousin.

“Great,” Boaz said, “After we leave, I will call my lawyer and draw up the papers.  You will have documents to sign by the end of the day.” 

The room clapped and laughed.

Then Boaz pulled out a box with brand new cowboy boots and handed them to his concerned cousin.    “It seems your wife did keep the secret,” Boaz said, “I called to ask what size you wear and if she had seen you eyeing any new boots the last few months.  These should fit you just fine.”

When the laughter had died down the oldest cousin spoke up,

“Cousins I cannot believe this.   Yes, there really is a God out here on the prairie.   Boaz, May God richly bless you and Ruth.   May you have scads of kids.   May abundant rain fall upon our lands.   May the cattle calve with ease.   May your wealth increase.   May all these old stories we heard from our grandparents repeat in our times.   May God’s name be glorified through this breakfast, your upcoming marriage, and the abundance of the land.”

Everyone said, “Amen,” and then dismissed.

Boaz and Ruth married.  Within a year they had a son.  They named him Obed which means, “The servant of God.”

Naomi quit her Walmart greeter job.  She moved into the old homestead house that had been sitting empty but was just next door to Boaz and Ruth’s home.    Every day, Naomi came over to Ruth’s place and played with Obed.   She held his hand and walked with him on the farm.  She told Obed stories her grandparents had told her plus about her days in California and return to North Dakota.  

Besides going to church Naomi once a week went to town to quilt with her friends.    There was always some local gossip to share.   The wise women at the quilting group directed the gossip to sharing recent good news with hope for a better future.   Naomi’s journey sometimes was the topic of quilting gossip.  The quilters proclaimed,

“Naomi, you have been blessed.  The Lord did not leave you alone.   We would trade seven of our sons for one daughter-in-law like your Ruth.   We trust your old age will be full of joy. Enjoy that dear little, Obed.  This story is not over yet.”

The Art of Neighboring When Terrorists Attack Our Home

 

In 2016 I did a blog post in Chicago Now that was well read. Chicago Now is now offline and I didn't want to lose the post. I'm putting it up on this blog so there is an internet record of it. Though 6 years in the past I still reason this way. 

 

THE ART OF NEIGHBORING WHEN TERRORISTS ATTACK OUR HOME

 

I can’t imagine I’m the only one in Chicago land who the attack on the Brussels airport on March 23 felt a little too close to home. After all O’Hare is in our midst and one of the busiest airports in the world. The Belgium Kingdom has a Consulate in Chicago. There must be scads of us who hop on a plane at O’Hare and fly to or through Brussels. Not only would it be those of us with business in Belgium or Europe, but it also easily includes those with family and friends in former Belgium colonies like the Democratic Republic of Congo, Rwanda, and Burundi. I’ve walked out of the Brussels airport and then got back in the departure line where the bombs went off. My family rested on chairs like the ones I see victims resting upon. It is not hard to see myself with little kids nearby when the bomb went off. In fact, as I watched Facebook friends check off that they were safe I knew many of us felt the ISIS attack in Brussels was close to home. As I checked around my Chicago home I even found my 13 year old son was checking to make sure his friends in Belgium were safe.

 

I also can’t imagine I’m the only one in Chicago who felt like Al Shabaab’s attack on the Westgate Mall in Nairobi, Kenya from September 21 to 24 2013 was also a little too close to home. Chicago land’s Woodfield Mall feels comparable in size and selection to Nairobi’s Westgate Mall. Chicago has attracted Kenyan students and professionals. There is a thriving Kenyan community in Chicago and they celebrate frequent Kenyan wins at the Chicago Marathon. For those not familiar with Kenya, Nairobi is the economic hub of East Africa. If you’ve done business in East Africa you pass through Nairobi. If you’ve ever been part of some benevolent mission in East Africa you’ve probably passed through Nairobi. While in Nairobi there are opportunities to shop, play, and eat in the malls that are not so frequent in rural parts of Africa. There must be hundreds of us in Chicago land who frequented the Nairobi’s Westgate Mall. During the four day siege we watched the news constantly. I don’t know any in Chicago that counted the lost 67 lives as family. Yet, as we watched funerals on YouTube we saw pastors we knew perform funerals and we watched neighbors grieve. 

 

The numbers may get a bit smaller of those who can quickly list a few more times terrorists have

attacked places we consider home, but I’ve got two more. On July 10 2010, Al Shabaab set off bombs in two locations in Kampala, Uganda. Though I was posted in Rwanda at the time we had lived 11 years previous in Uganda. Both the Ethiopian Village restaurant and the Kyadondo Rugby Club (where bombs exploded) were places we frequented. My wife, Jana loves Ethiopian food and sometimes we share it on our Friday dates. My kids played soccer with Kampala Kids League and a couple of times our teams practiced at the Kyadondo Rugby Club. The bombs went off while crowds were watching World Cup soccer games on big screen televisions. New Vision, a local newspaper was sponsoring the World Cup event at the Kyadondo Rugby Club. These are the type of events I on occasion attended.

 

It is not a big stretch of the imagination to see myself at the Brussels airport, Westgate Mall, Ethiopian Village, or Kyadondo Rugby Club when terrorists attacked. My places of comfort on my journey with many earthly homes have been attacked. My guess is that there are a few hundred like me in Chicago. The attacks can feel personal, but they are not. We whose sense of home safety has been violated just carry a few unique characteristics. We’re educated, international, entrepreneurial, and fun loving. We live in airports, shopping malls, ethnic restaurants, and sports establishment. We carry passports from nations with significant disagreements with international terrorist organizations. We can easily become collateral damage. People like us gravitate to Chicago land with its diversity and big shoulders opportunity. Yet, this diversity has implications bigger than our entrepreneurial instinct. Every now and then we do a google or twitter search and see rumors that terrorist organizations have networks in Chicago. Just skimming through census reports we see similar languages and places of birth with those who terrorized our other homes. This really freaks me out and I’m sure I’m not alone.

 

How do we respond when terrorists attack our home?

 

Take a deep breath. Those who show up in Chicago as refugees from places like Latin American drug war zones, Eastern Congo, Southern Sudan, and Syria have seen much worse. I’d like to believe my middle class economy, education, and international connections keep me safe. What’s violated is my sense of safety, but ultimate safety is never more than an illusion that denies both human frailty and depravity. 

 

Fear is the terrorists’ goal. Their desired response is for us to wallow in fear. That fear can easily produce two outcomes. The first is to be too emotionally paralyzed to live. We travel less, take less entrepreneurial risks, and cease to laugh with family and friends over good food and music. The second is to act out of prejudice and rage. We ponder the outlandish. Sometimes we even speak and act in hateful ways.

 

Yet, the wisdom of the ages from generations past whispers to us, “Love your neighbor as you love yourself.” That wisdom is part of many religions experience. It is also part of the movements that changed the world. Those movements were polarizing to their contemporaries. Yet, history has been remarkably kind to those who loved their neighbors well. We must particularly do that today. In times of terror close to home we must increase our skill in the art of neighboring. 

 

Practically, what does that look like? How do I do this?

 

First, I must simply know my neighbors. I smile when I inadvertently make eye contact with a stranger. I say, “Good morning or good afternoon, sir / mam.” I meet those who are close in proximity. I know my neighbors’ names and a few details about their lives. When appropriate I do just a little more. I pick up trash that is not my own, shovel an extra sidewalk, and help jump start a car. I also must know myself well enough to know we all leave some form of dog poop nearby. Pick up your dog poop. 

 

Second, don’t let kindness become an excuse for idiot behavior. Idealists hope to create a better world through kindness. Pragmatists recognize nonsense thrives in anonymity. Some of my neighbors are not good people. I lock my doors. I turn on the lights at night. I call the police if something doesn’t feel right. A concerned phone call makes more sense and looks less paranoid when I’ve been a good neighbor.

 

Third, I must make some friends who are different from me. One of my most profound moments after the Westgate tragedy was realizing that though I had lived 19 years in East Africa and took pride in my diverse friendships I struggled to be able to name a single Somali friend. I had absorbed the region’s prejudices and needed to make amends by forming new friendships. Practically, I started drinking tea and eating food in Chicago’s Somali restaurants. I used Somali taxi drivers. I made a couple Somali friends and found them to have many similarities with myself. 

 

Though today’s immigration rhetoric tends to focus on the immediate and who should or should not be

admitted into the United States as an immigrant almost all those identified in the recent terror attacks are citizens of the nations attacked. Most are second generation immigrants who were unable to find a sense of home. I can easily assign some sense of group blame until I realize two matters. First, my own kids are quite similar to second generation immigrants. If not for good fortune of a few friends, a decent school, and an opportune moment my own kids could have been seduced. Second, when we do the math for terror attacks in Western countries white frustrated males are the profile, and I can sometimes be one. 

 

Thus as I seek out diversity I discover anew how similar is our human condition. I have some religious disagreements with the local imam. Yet, we deal with the same basic realities over and over again. Our people turn to us when life makes no sense. We ponder the profound seek to offer hope. The kids in his mosque go to school with the kids in my church. We can’t pretend we’re not part of the same community. We both pray for our young people’s success and hope they find a place to thrive. As we journey with our people we watch them marry, have children, process loss, at times thrive, and then pass from this earth. Though passing is never pleasant we both feel a sense of accomplishment when hundreds gather around a simple family and acknowledge this was a life well lived. We both grimace just a moment when the news features caricatures of us. At times the world speaks unjustly ill of the imam just as it times does me. If I won’t speak well of him why should any speak well of me.

 

Thus though terrorists attack my home I will still practice the art of neighboring.

Clinging to the comfort of God

 Dear Family and Friends,

The last eight months have been a wild ride.  The last couple of weeks have been especially hard.  We’ve had to pause and remember.  A part of the Bible that has greatly encouraged us is 2 Corinthians chapter one.  We’ve read a multiple of translations and J.B. Phillips resonated the most with us.  It reads,

 ^“May grace and peace come to you from God our Father and from the Lord Jesus Christ.

Thank God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, that he is our Father and the source of all mercy and comfort. For he gives us comfort in our trials so that we in turn may be able to give the same sort of strong sympathy to others in theirs. Indeed, experience shows that the more we share Christ’s suffering the more we are able to give of his encouragement. This means that if we experience trouble, we can pass on to you comfort and spiritual help; for if we ourselves have been comforted we know how to encourage you to patiently endure the same sort of troubles that we have ourselves endured. We are quite confident that if you have to suffer troubles as we have done, then, like us, you will find the comfort and encouragement of God.

We should like you, our brothers, to know something of what we went through in Asia. At that time, we were completely overwhelmed, the burden was more than we could bear, in fact we told ourselves that this was the end. Yet we believe now that we had this experience of coming to the end of our tether that we might learn to trust, not in ourselves, but in God who can raise the dead. It was God who preserved us from imminent death, and it is he who still preserves us. Further, we trust him to keep us safe in the future, and here you can join in and help by praying for us, so that the good that is done to us in answer to many prayers will mean eventually that many will thank God for our preservation.

 Now it is a matter of pride to us—endorsed by our conscience—that our activities in this world, particularly our dealings with you, have been absolutely above-board and sincere before God. They have not been marked by any worldly wisdom, but by the grace of God. Our letters to you have no double meaning—they mean just what you understand them to mean when you read them. We hope you will always understand these letters (as we believe you have already understood the purpose of our lives) and realize that you can be as honestly proud of us as we shall be of you on the day when Christ reveals all secrets.”

This text so much describes the last few months.  We hope that God will keep us in North Dakota in our current roles.  If we want to minister well, we must suffer to understand others struggles.  This first year in western North Dakota has been one to stretch and learn.  In our seasons in Africa and in Chicago we saw a multiple of times in which painful situations prepared us to serve others. 

To start with news: As I came out of surgery on my spine on July 6 the pain running down my right leg

was largely gone.  Also, I could again start to feel the top of my left foot and had more movement of the toes on my left foot.  The surgery removed the pressure on the nerves going down my legs.  I’m very thankful.  Though I was making progress on healing my broken ankle, full healing would have been impossible without some resolution to my spine issues.  My next doctor’s appointment is on August 23.  Until then I am restricted from bending, lifting, and twisting.  I’m limited in my work.  If things look good, then I can start lifting up to 25 pounds and do some minimal work after this first appointment.  

The final appointment is scheduled for September 23.  I hope at that point to see the spinal fusion has healed and be told I can go back to work and life.   Currently, my days consist of walks on the prairie, rest, reading, and doing all I can to heal well.  

I had expected to receive 60% of my salary on short-term disability.  Yet, last week I only received $22.69.   I’ve made phone calls and sent emails but have yet to get an answer concerning what our finances will look like while I am on temporary disability leave.   We’re almost out of money to buy food and fuel.  

It has also been a difficult season for our son, Timothy.  We thought we should also let you know how things are going for him.  In August last year his supplement security income from social security for his disability was stopped.   We’ve appealed and are waiting results.  When we visit other families with children with similar disabilities denial and appeals process have been common recently.   That has meant a loss of about $800 per month and with that loss limited how much forward progress he can make.   We had been hopeful that he would have a good summer with Paralympic track.   He had worked hard and was stronger and more explosive than in past years.   However, he came down with a case of Covid and missed being able to go to meets.   When he’s at his best his times and jumps are close to being internationally competitive.  Yet, we’ve had several summers in which he becomes injured or is sick.  It’s been quite disappointing.   For the last two weeks he has been struggling with headaches and stomach pain.  He has had one seizure in the last two weeks.   We’re making appointments with specialists and hopeful he’ll eventually turn a corner.

Lastly in our difficulties has been the health of our goldendoodle, Bayley.  We have her as a therapy dog and she’s far exceeded our expectations.   Last month, we noticed blood in her urine and a cyst on her bottom.   We’ve spent approximately $1,000 hoping a less invasive option would cure the problems.   However, our veterinarian now thinks that Bayley will need surgery to remove bladder stones. 

Through all of these struggles of the last month, Jana has taken great care of Timothy, Bayley, and me.   I don’t know how she does it to get us to health appointments, keep our household organized, and keep all of our spirits up.  

My pain has been decreasing and I have almost gone a week without prescription pain medicine.  We are hopeful that this season of struggle will end.   I am scheduled to do interim preaching at 3 churches later in August. 

We are very thankful for how gracious so many of you were last year when I had my first surgery with a broken ankle and was out of work for several months.   We ask again that you help get us through this season.   We are resolved to stay on this course.  If you would like to financially share the journey you can mail a check directly to us, make it out to Dave and Jana Jenkins and mail it to 11309 Main St., Killdeer, ND 58640. Or if you would rather give online through Venmo our Venmo account is @Mzee-Jenkins. Any amount would be helpful.

Thanks so much for your encouraging messages, prayers, and support so many of you have given.

Mungu akubariki (May God bless you,)

Dave