Going the Distance

As those of you who are FB friends with Dave or Joshua know, Joshua recently returned from Singapore where his team, “I,Pagasa,” won Singacup 2014, a first time win for any Philippine team in the tournament.  It wasn’t his usual school team but a hand picked team of a two-year-old club located on another island. They did not allow a single goal during the entire tournament.

Joshua loves to tell stories, which he tells me is “talking,” not really telling stories. Upon his return I expected stories about the opponents and how tough they were.  He mentioned them a little bit, but most of the stories were about the antics of his teammates. This team succeeded because of talent AND great team chemistry, something that a skills test or a team tryout cannot always predict. Two of Joshua’s I,Pagasa teammates play for a fierce rival team in Cebu City,  but it never became an issue on the field.

When I chatted online with Joshua while he was gone, I asked him whom he considered a close friend on the team. Without hesitation, he said Lou (not his real name).  Joshua and Lou played together on a club team in 2012 but had since gone separate ways.  He would see Lou at various city soccer tournaments and they would greet one another, but that was about it.

Lou looks grateful after the victory

Joshua and his Cebu City teammates

The moms of the players decided to meet the team at the airport at 4:00 a.m. on Sunday morning and then go to a local beach near the airport to celebrate with lechon baboy, a whole roasted pig—snout, tail, legs, and lots of fatty meat. While at the beach, I learned Lou’s story from another mom.

When Lou was 10, he woke up one morning to discover that his mother had abandoned him and his four younger siblings.  Lou was left in charge of the family as his father was working overseas.  After some time passed (not sure how long), an aunt took in all five children despite already having five children of her own.  His family eats on credit at a local store and his father sends money from time to time to pay the debt.  Lou was able to get a full scholarship for a good private school in Cebu.

Joshua loves Lou’s spirit. He has never given into defeat and he has never given up on his family. He consistently shows gentleness and respect to others.  I wouldn’t question Lou if he were bitter, but he’s just not.  While in Singapore, Joshua dared Lou to ask a girl for a photo. Lou did it. The girl said no, but Joshua was still on the hook because Lou actually had the courage and asked.

This anecdote seems insignificant in light of the week’s events, but it’s just about young men being friends and not caring about differences that could separate them. They’ll always remember the victory and to go along with it they have the silly, memorable friendship moments that were not captured in any photo. They were captured in much deeper places.

When the team walked off the field after the final victory, there were many tears of joy. However, tears of sadness came when they said goodbye to one another at the airport. Those tears said, “The win was nice, but winning for one another was better.” 

Risk Aversion

A few years ago, two Italian researchers came to Cebu to study factors of vulnerability and prospects for reintegration of former victims of trafficking at two large government shelters.  In short, they looked at what led the girls into trafficking and what their futures may look like. Most of the 69 participants were between the ages of 14-18.  They assessed educational levels, family composition and dynamics, history of abuse, household decision- making, and decision to leave the household among other factors. Their findings provide useful information for aftercare facilities to consider when rehabilitating and reintegrating trafficking survivors.

I heard the researchers present their findings at a seminar shortly after I arrived in Cebu. What stuck out to me the most were two words: risk averse. Trafficking survivors, at least in the Philippine context, are overwhelmingly risk averse. While there are exceptions, it is not the norm to happily take risks. But isn’t this opposed to logic? After all, didn’t this same population engage in risky sexual behavior? Well, some did and some didn’t. Even then, few chose to engage in risky behavior; they were desperate for money and felt they had no other option or a relative or a friend sold them to customers without their consent or they thought they were getting jobs as waitresses. The reasons are as varied as their lives.

In the western world we are often taught that taking risks is brave. We pay money to jump out of airplanes, we invest in the stock market, and we leave our families and all that is familiar to pursue education and new opportunities.  The women I see daily just don’t think about doing things without a sure outcome. I guess I was reminded of this after a conversation my social worker and I had with an SGI resident yesterday.   She’s considering her internship options as she’s about to begin her last semester of college. This is a woman whom I consider brave on so many levels. However, she is reluctant to take a risk with an internship which could open doors for a financially stable future. I have no doubt that she would do well, but the idea of plunging into a place with many unknowns gives her anxiety. I backed off, despite really wanting to push her to take the opportunity.

There is a spiritual lesson here about risking it all to follow Christ, who risked everything for us.  I would love to see that kind of trust, but I can’t be the one to push her over the edge.  She’s making her way forward ever so carefully and even wisely and she’ll get there.  We’ll be there to walk alongside her and gently nudge her when it’s time.

We have a blog?

I have a blog? I was checking out my home church’s new website, and of course I naturally try to see what links the casual web surfer to our mission or to us as missionaries. I see that we have a number of opportunities to get involved in local and global outreach. Among all of the descriptions of various ministries and trips planned for this year, I see the Shields’ family blog. It’s like turning over a test to see the grade you know you don’t want to get when I click the link. The last entry? October of 2013. I read the piece from my wife about the loss of her father and decide that there simply is no way to follow her. That sounds like a good excuse, right? Once you have a “perfect” post, there is no need to add to that, right? Right? To be fair we have been busy with relief operations, Red Window Project, Solid Ground International, speaking engagements, soccer and basketball games, traffic, the boys, and on and on. But busyness is not a good excuse. The fact is we do realize that not only is it our job to communicate with our supporters, it is an amazing privilege. We are so thankful for anyone and everyone who reads this and prays for us. So here is what I am thinking: Maybe you can help us make this blog more interactive. What would you like to hear about? Would you like us to post thoughts on the evolving theology of missions? Working with human trafficking survivors? The Christian struggle? Our family? Is there something specific about our work that you would want to know more about? It would really help us in our effort to communicate with you. I will leave this request up for a week and then respond to any questions you put up in the comments. If no one comments, I will assume that you don’t want us to write any more blogs and that you want to come and see for yourself what is happening in Cebu.

Tribute to My Dad

My father died unexpectedly earlier this year. Here is a tribute I wrote for him, which my brother read during his memorial service in NY.

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Among daughters, I am blessed. If there’s something traveling around the world has taught me, it’s that having the godly father I did is not common among women.

Because of him I understand that sometimes faith is messy, but it’s always worth the struggle. He instilled in me the confidence and courage to live obediently to what God has asked me to do, no matter where it may take me. I have always admired his commitment to his family, his integrity and work ethic, and his sincere love for all things sacred.

He was in many ways the personification of my Heavenly Father on earth. He was my rescuer.  I remember the time when my Chevette broke down in Brockport, NY at 11:30 p.m. on a freezing January night. He got out of bed and came and got me.  When he pulled me on the snowmobile in Kendall and I got my face planted in the snow, he would pick me up and brush off the snow.  I used to be so frightened of thunderstorms, but he would always sit with me on the porch as the thunder clapped and the lightning bolted. Today, living on a tropical island, I absolutely love a good thunderstorm.

My dad also represented unflinching grace. I didn’t always make stellar decisions, but he never judged me for them—even when I judged myself. He was just always present, constant, and understanding.  I always knew he was proud of me despite the sometimes painful, strength-building processes I had to go through. His love never had any conditions attached to it.

I miss my dad every day. I miss the genuine excitement in his voice every time we skyped or talked on the phone no matter how many miles and oceans separated us. I miss lecturing him about diet and exercise.  I used to dream about living next door to him so that we could do some “light” exercising together every day.  I miss knowing that he was always there for my mom. What an amazing example of a husband who loved his wife as Christ loved the church he was. I miss the father who always put the needs of others before his own.

To be honest, even with the eternal promise of heaven, I still long to have him here on this earth. Just a little more time is all I want—time for him to see his grandson play in a soccer game, time to cook him one more meal because we all know he loved his food, time to have him tell me one more time to be careful and safe, time for another round of euchre.  I want just one more hug and one more reassurance that even with life’s unpredictability, everything is going to work out well if I trust in God with all my heart, mind, soul, and strength.

Thank you, dad, for teaching me so much about living this life with dignity and unreserved loved and for raising me to know the promise of the life hereafter. I can’t wait to reunite with you again in the sweet by and by when we meet on that beautiful shore.

Always and Forever,

Your Daughter Kimberly

Thread Bare

I was thinking about some of my favorite things, my favorite t-shirt for example. My favorite t-shirt also happens to be my oldest one. It is a Captain America t-shirt that I bought to wear with my groomsmen at our wedding. As much as the wedding means to me, it is not the reason it is my favorite shirt, but rather the simple fact that it is my oldest. It is stretched (especially around the middle), worn, and comfortable. Other favorites of mine, books, movies, shoes, coffee mug, Patriots hat (yes I have a favorite) all have one thing in common: they are well used. I mean to say that I don’t lock them away in a glass case to preserve their pristine condition, they actually get worn, read, watched, etc… every time I sip coffee from my Patriots mug (are you noticing a trend?) it increases the personal value for me, even if it loses a resale value. For those that think faith is an antiquated idea, I view my personal faith in the same way. Faith only has value to us when it is used. It can’t be locked up in an academic case, or a stained glass house. It must be worn, read, watched, run in, drunk from. Every time we use our faith, it increases in value to us. It doesn’t make much sense to someone who is watching from outside the arena of struggle, but faith needs to be scratched up. Here is the hard part of this short idea: faith can only be used where faith is necessary. After all, “who hopes for what he already has?”. If I follow this thought to its conclusion, sometimes if I feel distant from God, distant from faith, maybe I need to get back to where faith is necessary. Even as a missionary pastor I default to a comfortable level where situations get filtered through ministry policy or “best practice” instead of wrestling through prayer with the issue. I want to wear my faith out this year. I want to believe for huge gigantic things. I want to utterly depend on God for a miracle. I want my faith to be thread bare from movement. Join me.