Confessions of a Failure

Note: There is a special video of a precious little guy name Anderson at the end. Don’t miss it.

I consider myself a writer, not because I believe I am particularly gifted in the use of words but because it is how I think best. For some reason when I type out my thoughts they come together in an orderly manner instead of the random clutter that normally crowds my head. So allow me to put together my thoughts in this very public forum.

I have come to the conclusion that I am a failure. This is not the first time that I have reached such a conclusion, and it will probably not be the last. I find that, more often than not, when I try to do something I fail in some manner, and I find that to be the case in my current ministry more than ever before. This is not a pity party as I am not particularly discouraged. It is a simple statement of the facts.

I know, I can hear the objections even as I type. There are plenty of people who are more than willing to convince me that this is not true. My family, friends and plenty of blog readers are more than willing to interrupt the clatter of my keyboard to try to convince me otherwise. But they don’t see me as I do, and they don’t see this ministry from the inside. On a daily, weekly, monthly and yearly basis I fail more than I succeed.

On a semi-regular basis (because I frequently fail to update my blog as I should) you can read about the successes of our ministry. You see the children we feed and to which we give wheelchairs. You see the child who has begun to walk due to braces and therapy that were provided. You see the leg that is healing, the little girl that is gaining weight and the teenager that is back in school. I have no doubt that it all sounds wonderful and our ministry seems successful…from the outside.

But what you do not see is how many people we do not help. The ones we turn away, not because their needs are not legitimate, but because we lack the resources, time or skills to help. The mother of a disabled child who is living through rainy season with a very leaky roof. The lady who died because we did not provide the surgery. The child who is still facing horrendous seizures because there is no way we can afford his medication. The young man who needs new prosthetic legs because the ones he has were fitted when he was 12 and he is now 22. You don’t see the list of children that are waiting for us to come evaluate and help. (It is over 20 children long, represents four different villages and is sitting on my desk next to my keyboard, taunting me as I type this.) I estimate that for every person/family that we have helped we have turned away two others, and that does not include the ones that I know have needs but have never asked us for help.

You do not see our ministry’s budget that is facing shortfalls in almost every area at a time when our expenses are increasing. You do not see my crowded inbox waiting for responses or the to-do list that is awaiting my attention. You do not see the frequent times that I disappoint my children and let down my wonderful wife. And you do not see the times that my faith seems gone and I find myself wondering how many more ways I can fail both man and God.

And frequently in the midst of those moments I will receive a message from someone who tells me how wonderful and inspiring our ministry is, and I don’t know whether to burst out laughing or break down crying at the irony. The reality is that I fail more often that I succeed, at least from a human perspective. And, as a human, that tends to make it my perspective.

But I am learning something important about failure. God does not judge it the way that I do. He is not keeping track of the people we help to compare against the list of those we do not. He is not judging my life and this ministry with a scale or calculator. In fact, just because we give assistance to a person does not make that moment a success in His eyes, and just because we meet our budget does not make Him view it as a triumph. He measures my life as a Father, not as an accountant. And that changes everything.

I remember the first time my eldest daughter, Brittney, walked. I considered it a brilliant success on her part, even though it was only three wobbly steps that ended with her diaper-clad bottom firmly planted on the floor. I clapped and cheered for her and called my parents to let them know. And as she saw my joy and heard my cheers she became even more determined to take more steps.

I am coming to realize that God has the same view of me. His standard of success and failure is not rooted in what I do and do not accomplish but in whether I am doing it with my eyes and heart set on Him. He knows the capabilities of both me and this ministry, and He knows that we cannot help everyone. He did not call me to Guatemala to help every person in need, He called me here to love people in His name and bring glory to Him. But, above all of that, He called me to love Him while I do it.

I have often heard people talk about their desire to hear Jesus say, “Well done, good and faithful servant!” When I one day cross the finish line of my life, I want to hear that as well. But I am finding that I need to break that goal down into much smaller segments. As a result, I find myself simply wanting to hear His Spirit whisper to me at the end of each day, “Good job, Daryl! It was a good day because you kept your eyes on me!” I figure if I can string my days together in such a manner, one at a time, the big finish line won’t be a problem.

I am slowly beginning to realize that success does not come from always saying “Yes!” to every need or by a full ministry bank account. Instead, it comes from walking closely to my Jesus through whatever come my way. As I learn that truth and stop focusing on my own standard of success and failure I can almost hear him clap and cheer each step, even when it is followed by my butt firmly hitting the floor.

That is all for now. Blessings!

Daryl

PS – Here is one of our successes. Anderson is three years old, blind and deaf with cerebral palsy. If he can find joy, what is my excuse?

Anderson Laughs