Valleys that Prepare

My faith has been tested over the last two months. And, as a result, it is stronger than ever. Let me share that journey with you.

Almost three months ago, our ministry hit a financial crisis greater than any we have faced before. Literally, our group homes were out of money with our monthly wire transfer to Guatemala coming quickly. We have faced financial crises before, but this was a new level.

We are used to trusting in God for what we need. Wanda and I have done that for our entire married life. We never pursued money, instead pursuing Jesus, trusting Him to provide what we needed as we served Him. We have faced financial need more times than I can count, and each time God showed up, usually in just the nick of time. So, I rarely worry about money, focusing instead on ministry.

But this most recent crisis was the biggest I have ever faced. And fear threatened to take me down. What will happen to these children? What about the faithful workers we employ and their families? They are not just employees, they are family. What if we can’t pay them? It was a dark valley of fear and self-doubt.

But, in the midst of it all, I would remind myself that God has always been faithful. He loves these children far more than I ever could. He will not abandon or forsake them. And I would lay my fear at His feet and experience peace and joy. But a day or two (or maybe only an hour or two) later, I would realize that I had picked it up again.

We had enough funds in our overall bank account to transfer what we needed down, but it would throw our group homes’ account severely in the negative while draining our other accounts. But as I prayed, I sensed God asking me to trust Him. Order the transfer from the US and trust Him to replenish all the accounts by the next month. So, I did. And I waited, prayed, and surrendered. And then would find myself carrying fear and worry again. That cycle repeated itself several times.

About halfway through the month, I was spending time with God in prayer. And as I was openly confessing my fear and lack of faith, I heard Him speak. He said this: “Daryl, your faith needs to be bigger for what lies ahead. I need you to trust me more than you ever have before.” It was not a harsh voice spoken in anger. It was gentle and loving, like a father encouraging his child’s toddling steps. And it took my breath away. Suddenly, I understood the purpose of this trial. And I was finally able to lay my fear and doubts at His feet…and leave them there.

And, over the next two weeks, I enjoyed peace and joy in a powerful way in my life. God began a process in me that I can only describe as revival. My relationship with God became more intimate than I have ever known, my hunger for the Word exploded, and my joy began to overflow. And, with a snap of His fingers, the financial crisis was resolved. God met our needs in a way that was exceedingly and abundantly more than I would have ever imagined.

And my passion for Jesus and His Word has continued to grow. And He has continued to speak more clearly than ever before.

Last month, Wanda and I were given an opportunity to spend two nights away in a little cabin on a mountainside. It is only about a 40 minute drive from our home, and it is beautiful and quiet. So, we pulled together a last minute retreat.

We needed the time together, but we also needed time to talk and pray together about what God is doing. And, during the time, He confirmed what He had been saying for the previous three weeks: “Prepare yourselves.” He is getting ready to call us and stretch us in ways that are unlike anything we have experienced in the past. So, we are buckling our seatbelts and getting ready.

At the same time, I have been hearing another message. It is not really a new message, but it is louder and more urgent: “Stand with the broken!” And I believe this message relates to standing with the least of these both physically and as an advocate. Where there is suffering, I need to run to it and help. But I also need to cry out on their behalf to a church that is distracted by everything from politics to comfort and security.

Three weeks ago, we received word that the town of Florido Aceituno, Escuintla had been flooded. Homes had been destroyed and hundreds had been displaced. This is the town in which we run our Aliento Feeding Program. In fact, our team had just left the town when the rains began. And the river spilled over its banks just a few hours later. 

My truck was in the shop when I received the news, so I called my mechanic to see how soon he could get it ready. He pushed it through quickly so we could hit the road mid-day, and we gathered food and supplies while we waited for the repairs to finish. Then we headed out.

When we arrived we found a town that had bonded together to help one another. They had opened a shelter in the school and the Catholic church across the street. Neighbor was helping neighbor. Those unaffected by the flood were bringing donations, preparing food, and helping with childcare. But there was very little assistance from the outside.

CONRED, the nation’s disaster relief organization, had come that morning and taken photos for their website. I confirmed that they had posted the pictures and were asking for donations, but they were not there. They did nothing to help. Likewise, the Red Cross had shown up for a couple of hours and then left, the only evidence of their visit being a Red Cross banner hanging outside the school. We, along with one other Christian organization, were the only outside presence in the town.

They needed food, and we were able to provide them with 2160 meals of fortified rice. We also had several large boxes of donated clothes. When we realized that they had no toilet paper for the shelters, Jeremiah and I made a run to a store to buy 240 rolls. The next day, we returned and moved the feeding program from the health center to the shelters. We also delivered enough water filters to assure both shelters clean drinking water.

And I was grateful to see more assistance show up. The Church of the Nazarene had shown up with a doctor and supplies. Another Christian group was passing out excellent hygiene kits to families. CONRED and the Red Cross were still not found there, but the church was stepping up.

And that is the key. It always has been. The church is supposed to STAND WITH THE BROKEN. We see it in both the Old and New Testament. We see it clearly in the words of Jesus. Our Savior is the hope of the world, and we are His hands and feet. It was God’s plan from the beginning that we be His channels of grace, mercy, and hope to a suffering world.

But we have gotten distracted, and the enemy is delighted. 

In the days since, God has continued to unfold opportunities to stand with the broken. So, this ministry is continuing to expand. Here are a few examples:

• In the next year, we have numerous children in our group homes turning 18. Our plan has always been for them to remain in our home after they age out. But some of the courts are making it clear that they have to be in a separate area for adults only. And we have no space for such an area. So, we are faced with a choice. Do we surrender these young adults that we love to the system to be placed in an institution, or do we open a home just for them? If you know us at all, you know the decision we made. So, we are beginning work to open Hogar Nueva Esperanza (New Hope Home) for adults. No, we don’t know how we will do it. But we know that God would not have us allow these young men and women to move from our family to a crowded institution. So we are confident that He will provide.
• The Aliento Feeding Program in Aceituno is going wonderfully. But there is a spiritual darkness that we are fighting in the town. People are trapped in cycles of poverty, abuse, and addiction. And the local school is a nightmare that is feeding the crisis. Crowded classrooms and burned-out teachers lead to a setting in which very little learning occurs. But we now have an opportunity to make a difference. One of our ministry partners, BuildingGuate, has been used by God to transform the local school near our birthing center. The Departmental Superintendent of Schools has asked them if they could reproduce that program in other schools. So, our ministry will be stepping up to provide a sponsorship program for students through which we will pay for additional teachers and provide incentives for current teachers in Aceituno. In exchange, we will be allowed to provide Bible and character development classes to address the systemic issues of physical and sexual abuse and the identity crisis that many children face. Again, we are not sure how we can make this work, but God does.
• Our home’s school for children with special needs has outgrown the single teacher system that is currently in place. We have three more children from our homes who need to begin classes in January, as well as families in the community asking for admission. So, we need to add an additional teacher and expand. Here we grow again!
• And we just made contact with a ministry in Chiquimula, Guatemala. That department borders Honduras and has the highest level of malnutrition in the country. In some communities, stunting malnutrition tops 90%. I have wanted to begin ministry there for over four years, but God kept closing the doors and telling me to wait. Now we have an opportunity to begin a formula program for malnourished children and for pregnant and nursing mothers. This will be our third formula program in our attempt to fight the growing nutrition crisis in Guatemala.

And there is more coming. I can feel it in my times with God. I can sense His hand on my shoulder and His voice in my ear telling me to prepare myself to see His wonders revealed. I praise God that he saw these expansions coming long ago and is sending help, with three new couples and a single young lady joining our team in the first half of 2020.

Pray for our faith, that we will continue to trust the One who is more that trustworthy. Pray for wisdom to recognize God’s guidance and hear His voice. And pray that God will do God-sized works that are above human understanding and imagination, so that He will be made famous!

Blessings from Guatemala!

Daryl, Wanda, and the Crew

The Person in Front of Me

I can be impatient, and I am usually in a hurry. These two facts are a deadly combination, especially living in a country like Guatemala.

Before moving to Guatemala, we lived in Troy, Ohio. My ideas of a traffic jam were rooted in my regular trips to Dayton. During rush hour, the amalgamation of roads known locally as “malfunction junction” could cause a traffic jam that could delay you for up to (gasp) 45 minutes. Until I encountered traffic in Guatemala City, I had no idea what a real traffic jam could be. Now I know that if I leave for the airport at 4:00 am it will take me 55 minutes. If I leave at 5:00 am, it will take me two-and-a-half to three hours.

Guatemala is crowded. If you go to most restaurants over lunch time, you will have to fight for a table. And don’t even think about going to a mall’s food court during a heavy traffic time. A trip to Walmart in the city on a Saturday can look like the last shopping day before Christmas in the States. And a simple visit to the bank can leave you standing in a line that extends out the door and down the street. In other words, this is not a good place to be either impatient or in a hurry.

And God, with His infinite sense of humor, sent me to live and serve here. I can picture Him laughing so hard He has to wipe tears as He watches me in another line of traffic. And I think He especially likes it when I, the guy who refuses to leave my house on Black Friday, find myself pressed into a massive crowd at the Pricesmart checkout area. He enjoys highlighting my weaknesses to keep me humble and reliant on Him.

But the big problem with my whole impatience/hurry problem is the way it causes me to see people. In those moments when I am looking impatiently at the time on my phone and then looking at the people in front of me and calculating how long it will take me to get done or arrive, the people in front of me become an obstacle. They become “things” that are standing in my way. And I just want them to move and let me through. After all, “I have ministry to do.” 

In 1991, when I was in one of my first youth ministry positions, I was preparing for our annual winter retreat. It was a big deal that attracted lots of teens and required lots of work and planning on my part. There were lessons to plan, activities to schedule, youth leaders to coordinate, and more. I had set aside a full day to work on just the retreat, but I was constantly interrupted. The parents of one of the teens who was dealing with depression stopped by to ask for counsel. A teen who was struggling to fit in at school stopped by to just visit. My phone was ringing frequently with questions about the retreat and other events (this was before the days of e-mail and texting). And I was feeling the pressure of another short night of sleep due to my “unproductive” day.

So, I went down to complain to the Senior Pastor, Clark Miller. I leaned against his doorway and explained how lousy my day was going and how little I had gotten done. I told him about all the people that had interrupted me and kept me from my important ministry work. He smiled and nodded, even as I did the same to him. Then, as I turned to go back to my office, I heard him yell out, “Yeah, Fulp! Ministry would be great if it weren’t for all the people!” I returned to his doorway with a pained expression and mimed pulling an arrow from my heart. 

His words were true and powerful. The very people who I had seen as a barrier to ministry were, in fact, crucial ministry

I have had to re-learn that lesson many times over the last 28 years. And it seems I have to re-learn it daily here. These people that crowd me in traffic and lines and stores are not obstacles on my way to do ministry, they are my ministry. In fact, God is showing me that my most important ministry is whoever is in front of me right now. No person is an obstacle, they are someone created in the image of God for whom He died. And yet, I often fail to even notice them on my way to “ministry.”

I shudder to think of how many times I have likely rushed past a person whom God has led into my path. Even worse, how many times have I frowned or rolled my eyes at them in frustration? He put them next to me and slowed me down so that I could acknowledge them, engage them, listen to them, and extend love to them. But I was too busy checking the time and calculating an exit strategy to notice them. One of my great sins is that I am often so far-sighted that I fail to see the person right in front of me. Jesus, please forgive me!

Busyness and rushing is the enemy of love and ministry. Which means, all too often, I am their enemy, as well.

I keep reminding myself of some basic truths: 1) I have no control. I cannot control the traffic, crowds, or lines. 2) God IS in control. He is sovereign over all those things, and uses them for good all the time, even when I don’t see or understand that good. 3) I do have control over my response and attitude in the midst of them. When my attitude goes south, I bring harm instead of the healing and hope God intended. 4) Every person that God puts in front of me is my most important ministry in that moment.

Recently I began to pray a prayer each morning as I walk out of my bedroom door to face the world. I am making it into a little sign to post next to the door to keep it in the forefront of my thoughts each morning. It goes like this:

Lord, with your help, today I will be last and least. I will not demand my rights, but will lay them aside to bless and help others. I will be a servant, and expect no one to serve me. I will remember the mercy I have received and extend it to others. I will notice the person in front of me, and I will honor and love them in Your name. With your help, I will be more like you than yesterday. Jesus, please help me. Amen.

As soon as I finish typing these words, I will leave this place and head to another in order to minister. But every step and mile along the way, there will be lots of ministry waiting in the form of people. Please pray that I will notice and minister. And I will do the same for you.

Every person we encounter every day needs more of Jesus. Let’s slow down and give Him to them.

Blessings from Guatemala!

Daryl, Wanda, and the Crew

Grief and Grieving

We lost another child last week. It was not a surprise, but it still felt like a kick in the stomach.

Little Edy had been struggling for most of his time with us, which was over three years. He was missing a large part of his brain, and his brain stem was damaged. As a result, he would stop breathing on a regular basis. At some point, he stopped swallowing, so he had to be put in an NG tube. We never bothered having a G-tube installed because we were told that he did not have long to live, and we did not believe he would survive the surgery.

But day after day and month after month, Edy continued to fight. Many times we thought the end was near and we would say goodbye. But, in typical Edy fashion, he would turn a corner and improve, moving from near death to laughter in a few hours.

Over the last year, he had declined significantly. His bad days outnumber his good days, and we all began to pray that Jesus would take him home. But he continued to fight.

Wanda and I flew to the States on April 25th. The night before we left, I said goodbye to each of the children, and when I came to Edy I stayed with him a little longer. He was looking bad, and I wondered if he would live out the week. But, since I had thought he was dying so many times before, I shook it off and told myself he would fight through it, as always. But, as I said goodbye, I told him, “Little buddy, I will either see you in eight days, or when I get to heaven. Either way, I will see you soon.” It was the last time I saw him.

Wanda and I flew into Pennsylvania and participated in a family wedding that Saturday. On Sunday, we drove to Ohio to see our daughter, Ashley, and her family, including our new grandson, Sonny. We also visited with friends and spoke at a church. And on Thursday we drove back to PA. Before we left, I received a message from Katie Riley saying that Edy was not doing well. He had not been conscious for three days and was bloating badly, a sign that his internal organs were shutting down. While in the States, our Guatemalan cell phones do not work, so we rely on WiFi for communications. We committed to connect every time we stopped to check for updates.

At around 11:00 am we stopped for gas, and Wanda’s phone connected with someone’s WiFi. The message arrived then. Edy had passed away at around 10:25 am.

I had listened to his struggling breathing for the last two years. I had seen him worsen, and I had prayer that he would go to Jesus. Many times I held him and comforted and told him to stop fighting. Yet, when Wanda told me he was gone, it felt like a ton of bricks hit me. The grief of losing him, combined with the reality that we were not there and could not make it back by his funeral, completely overwhelmed me.

We stopped shortly after for an early lunch and to use WiFi to connect, comfort, and make sure the details were covered back home. Then we drove to get back to PA so we could fly out the next morning.

The next 36 hours until we were home with family was a blur. Grief, traveling, concern for those back home, thoughts of the funeral…they all came together in a fuzzy ball. When we were finally able to enter our home and hug our children (by blood, adoption, and internship) I finally felt like I could breath again.

For our family, grief can be difficult, because we are not allowed the same space to grieve that others are given. We have lost nine children from our two homes. Each time, the grief threatened to overwhelm us. And, in some case, the grief was accompanied by the trauma of sudden death and the frantic activity of CPR. And, each time, our family and interns grieved deeply.

But, in many cases, there is a failure to understand our grief. While it is never spoken out loud, the attitude is regularly conveyed that it is not as hard for us when we lose a child because they are not really our children. They are just children in our group home, and we signed up for these kinds of things. So we are not given space.

I am not trying to complain, just making an observation. More is expected of us than would ever be expected of other parents and siblings that had just lost a son or brother. Whereas other parents who had just lost a child would be visited, comforted, receive food gifts, and be encouraged to grieve and talk about their loss, we are not. Brief words are exchanged, and the conversation moves on.

We moved to Guatemala to be a family to children without a family, not to be an institution. Ever child in our home calls us mom and dad, and we call them our sons and daughters. Our biological and adopted children call the kids in our home their brothers and sisters. We love them as our own family, because they are. Yes, our family is way bigger than most, but the size makes us no less of a family and does nothing to diminish our grief when one of them leaves us. It does not make it easier when we prepare their little bodies for burial and place them in little coffins. It does not diminish the grief of standing beside their tomb. It wounds us to the core of our being.

When this happens, I want to be able to take a week off to be with my family and grieve. I want to be able to talk with friends about it instead of receiving a cursory condolence and moving on to the next topic. But I don’t have that freedom. Nor do Wanda and our children.

My friend, Drew, helps me a lot. He listens and understands my need to grieve. He keeps encouraging me to talk and let it out. I met with him two days ago and told about my fear. I am afraid that if I let down the spill gate on the dam that is holding back my grief of all the children we have lost that the flood would drown me. That, once it starts, it might never stop.

At the same time, I realize that holding back my grief is ugly, as well. It bottles up inside me and comes out in the form of anger and impatience. I lose my joy and begin to isolate myself. Even small tasks seem overwhelming. So, I have to let it out. But I have to find people who understand and will give me room to grieve. Drew is one of those people. Wanda is another. Dick is another. And I am learning that they have to be enough.

People often tell Wanda and I how strong we are. They really have no idea how weak we are. If they could see us in the privacy of our room as we struggle to figure out how to keep going, how to keep our marriage and family healthy, and how to get up the next morning…they would not call us strong.

So, we can only throw our tired and discouraged selves into the arms of Jesus and trust God’s promise that in our weakness, He is strong.

A song that has ministered to me over the last week has been “See You In a Little While” by Steven Curtis Chapman. I will leave you with the lyrics.

I hold your hand and watch as the sun slowly fades

Far in the distance the Father is calling your name

And it’s time for you to go home

And everything in me wants to hold on

But I’m letting you go with this goodbye kiss and this promise

I’ll see you in a little while

I’ll see you in a little while

It won’t be too long now

We’ll see it on the other side

The wait was only the blink of an eye

So I’m not gonna say goodbye

‘Cause I’ll see you in a little while

And just one more thing before I let you go

Please tell my little girl I love her

Though I’m sure she already knows

And ask the Father to please tell the Son

That we’re ready and waiting for Him to come

I’ll see you in a little while

I’ll see you in a little while

It won’t be too long now

We’ll see it on the other side

The wait was only the blink of an eye

So I’m not gonna say goodbye

‘Cause I’ll see you in a little while

Maybe you’ll teach me all the songs they sing in heaven

Maybe you’ll show me how you can fly

And I’ll hear you laugh again

And we won’t remember when

We were not together and this time it’s forever

I’ll see you in a little while

I’ll see you in a little while

It won’t be too long now

We’ll see it on the other side

The wait was only the blink of an eye

So I’m not gonna say goodbye

‘Cause I’ll see you in a little while

I’m gonna see you in a little while

Blessings from Guatemala,

Daryl, Wanda, and the Crew

Dangerous Prayers

I have been thinking a lot about the prayers we pray and how dangerous they can be. I want to take a few moments to pour out my heart about those dangerous prayers, but first I want to tell you a few stories about our lives and ministry that have occurred recently and apply to those prayers.

Story 1:

About 6 weeks ago I was contacted by my friend, Dick Rutgers, regarding a child with whom he had been working. He found little Kevin some months before, lying in his home alone and covered with urine. He was horribly malnourished and suffering from cerebral palsy. Immediately, Dick found sponsorship for him, and we began providing him with formula.

But he did not improve. We questioned if his family was feeding Kevin the formula or if they might be selling it for money. The answer was unclear, but it was clear that he was getting worse, not better. Dick called me because he had, once again, found him alone in the house and soaked in urine. He was also sick with fever and a respiratory illness, later diagnosed as pneumonia. His mother had agreed to take him somewhere for treatment.

As I heard more about his illness and the severity of his malnutrition, it became clear that he would die soon if he did not get out of his house. We had wanted to welcome him into our home, but we were full. Yet, when Dick called me this time, I asked him to give me a few minutes to talk with my wife. I spoke with Wanda, and we agreed that we would find a way to fit him into our family, even though we did not know how it would work. We had no more room to put a bed. Our staff and interns are stretched thin. And our finances are thinner still. But we prayed and said yes.

It was decided that Dick would find a hospital that could admit him and treat his respiratory illness while he worked with the mom to get him placed in our home through the courts. Dick spent days driving, waiting, and talking with courts, social workers, and the judge. Due to his heroic efforts, they finally got the necessary court order and he came to our home.

It has been around five weeks now. Kevin has gained around five pounds. His face has a pleasant roundness to it, and baggy skin has been filled in with fat. The little guy that would not smile when he arrived now gives a beaming smile to those around him, and even laughs. His high tone spasms have lessened by around 60% and he can sit upright with support comfortably.

In order to make room for him, we moved little David out of the boy’s room. He does not sleep well many nights, so we now put him to bed in the playroom in a crib that allows our night nanny to respond to his needs without waking the others. God is providing financially one day at a time. And, thus far, this story is a happy one.

Story 2:

Last week I was awakened from a deep sleep by a phone call. I stumbled to the phone and mumbled a bleary “Buenos noches.” It was a social worker from the local PGN asking us to take an emergency placement. I was able to wake up enough to activate my Spanish, and the details unfolded. A little boy...severe special needs...severe malnutrition...abuse and neglect...very sick and weak...may not survive. “Can you please take him? He will die in any other home.”

My heart sank. No more room. No more staff. We can’t say yes. So, I gave told them that I was sorry but we had no more beds and no more places to put a bed. They would have to find another home for him.

I hung up and went back to sleep...two hours later. It is hard to sleep after calls like that.

The end of this story is unknown. I likely will not know until eternity, and I fear to learn it.

Story 3:

We have been dealing with numerous malnutrition cases in our rural village ministry. In two cases, the children have recently gotten sick due to their weakness and compromised immune systems. In both cases, the illnesses were serious and resulted in hospitalization.

In these cases, we work hard to monitor the children as closely as possible. In one case, we arranged for the child to be seen by one of our nurses weekly to monitor his health. But a malnourished child can move from stable to sick and from sick to critical in 24-36 hours. We just cannot monitor them closely enough.

At the same time, the choice to place the child in a malnutrition center has its own drawbacks. If you can find space available in one, the family is usually limited in their ability to visit the child. In some cases, they are only allowed to see their son or daughter for a couple of hours once a week. This makes is difficult on both the child and their parents.

So, what can we do? One of our staff offered a creative idea. We should rent a house in our town and open it up to children who are malnourished. They can live in the home with their mom and a director and receive daily check-ups and supervision. The moms would be in charge of their care under medical supervision. Our doctors and specialists would be close by and readily available when needed. Such a great idea.

But it has costs. There is the money (about $3500 of start-up costs and about $1500 a month in operations, based upon 4 mothers with their children). And there is the manpower issues. But it would have the potential of saving many lives.

Again, the end of this story is unknown. We need God’s wisdom to know if we should proceed.

What do these stories have to do with dangerous prayers? The answer to that question is found in Wanda’s and my journey.

Back in 2004, I began to pray my first truly dangerous prayer. It was simple. “Lord, break my heart for the things that break yours.”

This prayer sounds noble, even romantic. You picture yourself being sensitive to and responding to the things that make God sad. But that is a shallow understanding of the prayer. And it is ignorance regarding what it truly means to have a broken heart.

The result of that prayer was I found myself being exposed directly to human suffering that had previously been limited to news stories or distant anecdotes told by missionaries. I was not prepared for the reality of the world, and my heart broke. It shattered. I was not prepared for the dreams or the tears. I would experience weeks where I could barely function because of the grief. I was broken.

And, in the midst of that time, God gave me a shocking realization. The grief that I was experiencing was just one drop of the ocean of grief that my Jesus carries. Every orphan without a home...every starving child...every grieving mother and father...every abuse and injustice...my God sees it, knows their pain, and feels it in His being. “Surely He took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows...”

So, at 4:30 in the morning after a particularly painful dream of a dying little girl, I cried out to God with my second dangerous prayer. “Okay! I understand! The world is broken and suffering! I get it! I can’t take anymore! I will do anything you ask me to do, JUST HELP ME MAKE A DIFFERENCE!”

Just help me make a difference.

If I knew then what that prayer would mean, I am not sure I would have found the courage to pray it. This simple prayer that I began to pray many times a day would completely wreck my life, and then rebuild it.

I did not recognize the cost of making a difference. To stay where I was then would have been easy. No uprooting my family. No trying to speak a different language or learn to relate to an entirely different culture. And no excruciating decisions. I did not realize that, in order to make a difference, I would have to put myself in a situation filled with choices that really mattered. Overwhelming decisions. Scary decisions. Crucial decisions.

I did not realize that, in order to save some children, I would have to hold other children while they died. I did not realize that it would mean nine instances of performing CPR in five years, and losing seven of them. I did not realize that making a difference would mean treating maggot filled bedsores or holding a teenager while he cried out in excruciating pain.

And I certainly did not know that making a difference would mean deciding to let some people die. I did not know that opening a home would mean saying no to so many dying children. (I have stopped counting how many because the pain was too great.) I did not know that I would be faced with decisions of whether a good ministry that can save so many is the right decision.

But that is exactly where I live and exactly what I do.

One of my favorite books is “The Insanity of God” by Nik Ripken. I am reading it for the third time as I write this. It resonates with me, because the author gets it. He understand. He writes the following:

“I was often forced to choose which villages we would go to, and where we couldn’t go because of limited staff and resources. Many of my daily decisions determined who lived and who died. These decisions were weighty and terrifying. It was an overwhelming responsibility.”

Those two prayers have led me to where I am today. It has also led my wife and children to the same place. My children have watched children die repeatedly and then wept at their graveside. Those prayers have assured that my children will never be safe or comfortable or callous to the suffering of the world. Our teenagers and young adults have experienced suffering in a way that few people ever will.

I had no idea at the time, but those two prayers are two of the most dangerous prayers we could ever utter.

So, living where I live and doing what I do, am I glad that I prayed them? The short answer is, “Yes.” The longer answer is, “Yes, most of the time.”

I won’t lie. There have been times in which I have regretted it. I regretted it as I held Thania’s lifeless hand in an emergency room after a frantic fight to save her. I regretted it the next morning as the morgue handed me her corpse wrapped in a garbage bag. I regretted it when little Maggie died on Christmas Eve after a 35 minute battle to save her life. There have been brief moments when, given the chance, I would have turned back the clock and stopped myself from praying them.

But 99.9% of my life is filled with a quiet thankfulness that I prayed those prayers. Even with the life-and-death decisions. Even with the grief. Even with the overwhelming need that surrounds us. I am glad that I prayed those very dangerous prayers. Because, at the end of the day, I really do want to be broken by the things that break God’s heart. And I really do want to make a difference. I want my life and my family to matter, not just for this life, but for eternity. 

And for that purpose, I will leave behind comfort and easy decisions for the things that really matter. I will do it imperfectly and will regularly fall short. But I will do it with an incredible wife and children around me.

Will you? I hope so. Pray dangerously!

Blessings from Guatemala!

Daryl, Wanda, and the Crew