An exciting life

But it can’t be that simple, can it?

/ Jared Waipouri

A while back I wrote about my opinion that the key to successful fundraising as a missionary is Doing what God says. It might seem a bit simplistic to some, and totally unreachable for others. Let’s talk about it.

I realise the claim I’m making. To recommend doing what God says, I’m claiming that God speaks today. Assuming that’s true, and I’m confident it is, I’m also claiming that knowing what He’s saying and acting on it is possible. Again, I’m certain that we can know what God says AND act on His instructions in obedience.

Why am I so certain?
These are results of the finished work of Jesus Christ, dead on a cross, buried for three days, then resurrected, freeing those who put their faith in Him from the eternal death caused by sin. Jesus didn’t simply die to be our fire insurance, preventing us from burning in hell. He rose again so that we can live in relationship with a God so eternal that we struggle to comprehend His magnificence. Knowing His voice, and being free to respond to it is a vital part of that relationship.

So God SPEAKS?
To use the phrase “do what God says” is perhaps a little misleading or simplistic. Not because He does not communicate, but because for many believers who have learned to listen and obey, hearing an audible voice would be really unusual. Some people do hear God speaking to them in a voice, and I am a little envious (it would be so much more certain). But for many others, the “voice” of God is found in a quiet “nudge” in their mind. For others it can be more easily felt as a sense of rightness (or wrongness) in the gut. For others still, they read words on a page as though highlighted, and in reading them sense God talking directly. There are some who have God dreams, and others who have God visions. The point though, is that God speaks as much today as He did in the time of Isaiah or Jeremiah. The relief is we’re less likely to be stoned to death if what we thought He told us turns out to be less god and more gas.
I understand those who feel uneasy with all of this, for many people the thought of having a spiritual voice talking to them, especially if it is the creator of the universe, is terrifying, or maybe arrogant…how could I think that a omniscient God would want to talk to me, a total mess-up?! For others, they learned that God stopped speaking directly to His people after the revelation of John, so how could I be hearing Him?
I’m not a theologian, and can’t dig really deep into those things.
I can say that God does speak today through the Holy Spirit. As lovers of Jesus, we must listen.

How can I be sure I’m hearing Him?
1-When Jesus told his disciples that he was going back to heaven, He promised to send the Holy Spirit, and that when they Holy Spirit came they would experience “peace that surpasses understanding.”
As you try out listening to God, look for a sense of peace in your heart and mind. All of the world around you might be falling apart in spectacular ways, but if find that there is a feeling of “it’s okay.” That might be the peace of the Holy Spirit.
When you’re sensing God speaking or leading, it will always come with a sense of peace that isn’t necessarily logical or explainable.
2-If you’re thinking you’re hearing God speak, check your bible. The leading of God is not going to contradict God’s law and principles as found in the bible. If you think He’s leading you to murder someone, steal your neighbour’s stuff, or dishonour your parents, check your bible because I’m fairly confident it’s not God talking to you.
3-Seek Godly advice. Whenever we think God is leading us, we can expect that He will give us some sort of confirmation. Sometimes that can be a mentor saying “no, do this other thing first” other times it can be a seasoned missionary saying, “God gave me this verse for you, I think He’s in this crazy idea you have.”

As you learn to listen to His “voice” look for these three signposts: have you got peace, is it consistent with God’s biblical principles and laws, do you have a sense of confirmation from trustworthy Godly leaders around you? If you can answer “yes” to all three, you’re probably moving in the right direction. If any of those are less than a firm yes, keep praying that God will bring you more clarity.

The hardest part is obeying
This whole thing is a really simple process…hear His voice, choose to respond, OBEY.
One of the problems is that while it’s simple, this OBEY part is not easy, in fact sometimes it can be downright painful.
It can be difficult because it requires us to act outside of what might be our natural or cultural tendencies. It can be scary because we are invited to step into unknown and sometimes untested actions. It can be painful because there will be times when we are forced to choose a path which means leaving behind cherished people, routines, or places; and embracing a future which looks full of difficulty and sacrifice.
For men, especially men who have been influenced by more traditional mindsets, this can be extra painful when money is involved.
Here’s where I get personal. Going into marriage, I knew that my “job” as a husband (and later a father) would be to protect, provide, and procreate. The tension as a missionary is that being led by God means trusting Him for finances, meaning the “provide” part looks quite different to what would be considered “normal.”
On the one hand, there will be people looking at my life choices and thinking that I’m not being a good husband or father because I’m not working a job to earn money to provide a house and financial security. On the other hand, our financial security is directly tied to the relationship I have with the creator of the universe, so as long as I remain connected and obedient to His call on my life, we will be cared for. This is all well and good as words on a screen, but when your family of four is squeezed into a flood prone tiny home of 33sqm (330sqft) it’s raining heavily, and the kids are bouncing off the walls because they want to be outside, the temptation to find some paying work to buy your way out of the situation becomes very strong. In that temptation, the choice to obey God and stay there while He works on providing a new housing option is simple, but not easy. Not easy because I don’t get to control what He says, when He says it, or where He leads me. Simple because I still get to say “yes” and obey Him anyway (I wrote about this uncomfortable challenge with our beautiful home a few weeks ago).
The not-so-easy choice for us all is to take the risk of obedience, knowing that our fallible humanity might mean our hearing isn’t always spot on, and trust that the God of heaven will be faithful anyway.
The alternative choice, to feel always in control, going the way we think is best, is easier in the short term, but isn’t great for our relationship with the Jesus we’re trying to follow.
The results are fairly simply put: when we choose to respond to His leadership with obedience, He will help us to fine-tune our hearing.
If we choose to go our own way, we will feel the lingering questions of what might have been, and likely notice that His voice is more and more faint as we choose to ignore it.

What do you think? Is following God’s specific leading in your life as simple as all this?

Do what God says

/ Jared Waipouri

As long term missionaries in Youth With a Mission (YWAM), we raise all of our annual financial needs through fundraising and personal relationship. That’s right, no salary package with the role, no mission board or home office making up the shortfall, no furloughs with prearranged speaking engagements.
It’s YWAM value number 10: “Faith in God for finance.” It is a controversial value, both within and outside of YWAM, and that’s because it has both great strengths and glaring weaknesses. It is a strength because it challenges each YWAMer to keep faith at the centre of what we do, not becoming complacent or comfortable in our secure salaried job; it is a weakness (to some irresponsible) in that it allows young people with a sense of God’s calling to launch themselves into the mission field “long term” with as little backing as the cash for a one way flight. In the worst case, this can be a recipe for failure and embarrassment. In the best case, God demonstrates His faithful provision in miraculous ways and His sovereign name is glorified.
Needless to say, the big task each of us face is growing and nurturing a prayer-fuelled support team who give generously, regularly, and often sacrificially. Although the field each YWAMer is in varies with calling and annual budget, the challenge to raise support is constant. When it all comes together, it keeps us in the field in a sustainable and productive way, freeing us up to do the work we’ve been called to.
Despite its vital nature for YWAMers, raising support is one of my least favourite parts of the mission; this feeling in many ways exposes a weakness in my theological understanding and my view of God’s Kingdom economy. And still, over the years as I’ve learnt to trust God and follow His leadership, I’ve seen Him grow my support team from one generous family with a new baby who gave less than 10% of my need, to a squad of dozens who pray, give, and encourage every month.
Over time, I got to a point where I had my basic living costs met. There was a little extra for “wants” and being generous beyond my tithe. I guess it started to look like I knew what I was doing when one day, one of the many young people I’ve worked with asked me for some advice on fundraising, perhaps hoping that I might give them a practical formula which guaranteed results. Initially my answer was not what they hoped for when I said:
“Do what God says.”
They looked at me wondering if I was spouting some useless cultish cliche, so I expanded.
I explained that while every one of us is called to fundraise, each of us comes from a different culture, family context, and calling. I explained that in my observation this means that God will usually have a specific strategy for us in how we communicate the need, invite, and grow the relationships we need in our support teams. Because each of us might have a unique strategy from God, that would mean that the practicalities differ too.

I shared how in my early days as YWAM staff I wanted to do “tent making” where I earned money doing car repairs to pay my bills. Fairly soon I realised that God was not blessing those efforts, and in prayer I saw that I’d chosen this from a motivation of insecurity, not to honour God. That insecurity was rooted in what is arguably a good mindset: the idea that “if I want money, I should get off my butt and earn it, not bludge off other people.” I grappled poorly with the view that if I was being faithful to God I was worthy of the wages I needed to live, and that insecurity worked overtime as I wrote newsletters with a sense of panic around my need for cash. Unsurprisingly it didn’t work, so eventually I went to God in prayer and frustration asking Him what I should do. I was late to this praying approach, but it was the best choice I could have made! I felt Him asking me to change the focus of my newsletters to a specific, intentional focus on His glory, telling the stories of what He was doing around, through, and in me. Soon after, I felt His prompting to call a specific family and ask if they would give. They said “we’ve been waiting for your call, how do we do it?”
So the primary lesson from “do what God says” is about realising His wisdom for your particular situation, and following that in fundraising. Considering that He is the owner of literally everything and has all wisdom, we can be certain that He will lead us well.
But as I explained the big view of what I was trying to say, I went further, reminding my friend that God always provides for what He calls us to do. I talked about how He provides every time, when we are where we should be, when we should be, doing what He asks us to do. In the big picture, that means that the key to effective support raising is also the key to living as a Jesus-following disciple: do what God says! The bible says that when we are obedient, He is faithful and He will provide for our needs.

A couple of pointers if this “doing what God says” thing is new to you:
1-The first place to look is in the bible, God’s word is jammed with instructions on how to live a good life which brings Him glory.
2-If you’re the kind of person that hears His voice in your heart, mind, or ears, remember: His spoken (or felt) word will not undermine His written (bible) word or His character. If you think it does, look again, and seek wise counsel.
3-A prophetic word from a person should be a confirmation of something you’re already feeling Him saying; if it’s new information, avoid taking it as fact until you have peace that He has confirmed it in some other way.
4-If you’re unsure of something, seek advice from a God-honouring leader. A trusted pastor or elder is a good start if you have a healthy church connection.

So today, if you’re trying to raise $10 for your next meal, or $100,000 for your next home, my encouragement is the same:
Do what God tells you
and trust Him to take care of the rest.

Becoming a chicken farmer, and other unexpected developments

/ Jared Waipouri

This post was inspired by my answer to a bachelor’s party quiz: “if this season of your life had a title, what would it be?”
At the end of 2018 I arrived back in Vanuatu having declared that I would work on getting more boats reaching the remote island communities of Melanesia. As somewhere I’d facilitated boat outreach for a few years already, Vanuatu seemed like a great perfect starting point. I had no idea how the coming 2 years would expand my priorities. I was full of vision, passion, and a little caution as a result of the challenges I encountered in the Caribbean, but I was confident that my friends and mission colleagues would encourage me. I was more than a little surprised when just a few days after getting back my good friend Roger suggested that I bring my vision for boat outreach along and join his team at V2 Life. My surprise was was less in his support for my vision, but that he’d be willing to welcome all of the risk and liability of being associated so closely with a new effort, when his ministry was so comparatively established.

But he welcomed me, asking for help to grow what was, at the time a youth training ministry, into a fully-fledged primary school. At first, things were as I imagined: I spent a few days a week onsite working on whatever challenges I thought I could help with, and the rest of the time was dedicated to doing whatever I could to get boats of every kind recruited to carry help and hope to the remote parts of the country.

My problem is, whether I’ve been asked to or not, I almost always feel a need to fix problems when I see them, even if they’re just marginally within my realm of responsibility; I tend to naturally pick up on responsibility once I catch a vision. So as I worked on the myriad challenges facing V2 Life, I identified more and more with the underlying vision: to equip children and young adults with relevant skills they can use to transform their communities. With such a deep sense of responsibility, each new issue became a challenge to face head on. I worked on updating the website, I looked for fundraising opportunities, I created publicity documents, I coordinated volunteers building a new dormitory building.

Amid all of those important things were three really big events.

The first big event was succeeding in organising volunteer yacht outreaches using S/Y Rendezvous and S/Y Hapai. It was immensely exciting for me to see our concept come together. We pulled together a small collection of normal people willing to jump on a boat with glasses, medical care, and bibles to the Island of Emae. Though simple, this outreach confirmed what I’d suspected: that it is not only possible to run outreach on sail vessels, but that for some island communities of Vanuatu they are far superior to large missionary boats. Why? Because with lower overheads and smaller teams, we could slow down, take time to meet each person, understand what’s happening and adjust to meet the needs we see, not just the ones we are expecting and planning for.
Don’t get me wrong, larger vessel, large team outreaches are amazing, and the ability to deliver care to hundreds of people a day far from any significant infrastructure is nothing short of a miracle. But quite often in the hubbub of trying to make sure everyone gets seen, it can be easy to miss a mother who is exhausted from trying to care for a disabled child without tools or support; or the elderly gentleman who despite his huge difficulty walking hangs back to let the younger patients get seen first.
When we’re on a small yacht outreach with just four or five people we can’t hope to see hundreds of people in a day, but we can search out the people hidden in their homes because of shame and disability. We can take the time to listen to the needs a little more, we can respond when we find something special, something which might otherwise be left undone.
This ability to respond was best seen when our team on S/Y Rendezvous discovered a little boy lying on his family’s concrete floor in a pool of his own waste. He needed a wheelchair, his mother needed encouragement, support and tools. There was nothing available on the island, and very few qualified to help in the nation. A few months later we’d pulled together the resources: a custom wheelchair, an occupational therapist, a doctor; loaded on S/Y Hapai we returned to help this family. We spent a week, custom fitted the wheelchair, gave mum and son hope. We discovered how the little boy’s condition was limiting his communication, and we helped his mum learn to care for him better. The day we left, there was hope. Hope for a dignified life, for community life. We’d taken a week for one boy and his Mum, and shown that they were loved and cared for by a God who is totally willing to send a bunch of strangers to give them what they needed, what could not be found on the island.

The second big event was less glamorous: with Roger and his family away, I was confronted by a big stack of eggs sitting in our kitchen: our ministry chickens were laying really well, but the eggs weren’t selling. Naturally I saw a need to sharpen how our farm was operating. This could improve overall sustainability, our ministry’s access to protein, and our training options. So in I jumped, selling all of the excess eggs and beginning to put the profits aside for feed, upgrading the cages, and new hens. A few months in with a serious chunk of change saved, we built additional hen houses and runs, giving us the ability to keep more hens, raise more chicks, and (in theory) start to put some profits into our now flourishing Primary School. We ordered more hens, and our egg farm was back to being a serious part of our ministry.

The third event was, by all accounts, the most transformative: I got together with Joyce. Now my wife, we started our relationship with lunch on a Sunday in October. The following day I got on S/Y Hapai for the outreach to Emae Island mentioned above. Every day was a full effort, with many things to keep my attention, but each evening messages were flying back and forth as Joyce and I learned how to communicate as a couple, as we allowed ourselves to start falling in love. Within months it was clear that we both had the same end goal in mind, to marry someone whose heart is for the Lord, for missions, and unafraid of travelling to the far-away places. Late in the year Joyce’s dad came to visit from the Solomons to check on this Kiwi fella who was showing so much interest in his daughter. He gave his fatherly blessing and by January we were engaged to marry.

None of us could have predicted what would happen next. With our newest hens growing toward laying eggs, and wedding preparations underway Joyce and I went off to New Zealand for a wedding and to meet and greet my family. During our visit we began to hear about some kind of virus in China. With my standard level of minimising, (the kind which gives someone the ability to sleep through a category 5 cyclone) I brushed off this “coronavirus” as a storm in a tea cup and returned to Vanuatu to start ordering more layer chicks which we would need in a few months. To my surprise, by the time they were supposed to arrive in March, I was being proven very, very wrong as borders closed and import of live animals was no longer possible.

In no time we’d been forced to postpone our yacht outreach plans for the year, as well as all of the other volunteer teams we were expecting to host. Facing closed borders Joyce and I postponed our wedding by a month in the hope that things might come right. My brother found himself stranded and lent a hand with completing the little container house I was building, but soon even the joy of having his company came to an end when he was evacuated to New Zealand on an airforce Hercules.

With borders closed, there would be no yacht outreach in the foreseeable future, Joyce and I were facing a wedding day without family present, and my chicken farming efforts were facing a pretty serious hurdle. I could do nothing about the borders and our family coming for the wedding…but I could do something about the chickens.
Without further ado, and with a borrowed rooster, we commenced a very experimental breeding program. Though we did get some imported chicks in early 2021, our hopes to raise our own layer hens came to fruition a couple of months later when our first batch of cross bred hens began laying regularly. Despite challenges with reliable incubation, we’ve started to consistently hatch chicks in the hope of one day being completely independent of imported layer chicks.

The season is exactly what I wrote in the answer to that question in my bachelor’s party quiz: “If this season of your life had a title, what would it be?”

Becoming a chicken farmer, and other unexpected developments

What would you call your current season of life?

Postscript: Joyce and I have now been married for a year, and our hope is to be able to visit our families as soon as we can when borders open. Yacht outreaches are still in limbo as we wait for the COVID restrictions to ease enough to allow visiting vessels to enter the nation more freely.

When seasons change

/ Jared Waipouri

Although sometimes it can be hard to identify a change in life’s season when you’re in the middle of it, change is going to happen. It is one of the most consistent aspects of life. A couple of years ago I had a chance to watch myself respond to a season change. While I didn’t like what I saw, I at least realised what was going on. By realising that a significant change was happening, I had a chance to try to be more self aware, more intentional, and more patient with myself and those around me as I navigated the insecurity and excitement of it all.

Let me paint the picture.

I had been working for years as part of a volunteer team to grow an amazing medical outreach program which used a ship to reach remote communities. We had the privilege of providing simple but essential services to some hard to reach corners of the Pacific, it was rewarding to say the least. The organisation’s leadership took a decision which changed the direction of the vessel, both literally and figuratively. I did my best to stay loyal and we started from ground-zero, reestablishing the organisation, ship, and outreach programs in the Caribbean. We arrived in an exciting and challenging context offering people, equipment, and resources we felt would provide big impacts in communities whose lives had been turned upside-down by huge hurricanes.

I jumped in with passion and energy; seeing our results over recent years had me convinced of the potential product we could deliver. For months we worked at growing appropriate relationships, fundraising for day to day costs, and demonstrating what we could do and why we were there. I was doing what I do well: helping to press ahead toward a vision alongside visionaries, workers and supporters. As the months wore on we began to find traction, we began to see our efforts producing impact in tangible ways, and we saw a new region start to get behind us both financially, spiritually and professionally.

While all of this was going on with no little stress involved, I was aware of a niggle in the back of my mind, a niggle which kept me thinking about the opportunities that still existed in the region we’d left: Vanuatu seemed to be calling me. I felt that I should be going back there but couldn’t see how I could bear to leave this growing work in the Caribbean; though we were finding traction, we had a long way to go to be really sustainable. In the following weeks I travelled extensively, meeting various obligations in different regions, and when I returned to the ship, it was waiting in an unexpected spot while we raised funds for the next step.

Over the next few months a series of small, apparently unconnected issues began to come up, culminating in a very uncomfortable phone call one afternoon. With a lot of travel under my belt and all of the normal stresses of the endless task list added to this new challenge, I was thrown into an internal tail-spin, realising that my attempts to be loyal to the cause were being profoundly undermined by that niggle to be in Vanuatu. It was a niggle I’d hoped I was suppressing when really it had been showing itself regularly. I did the missionary thing and prayed, asking the Lord to help me filter through all of the circumstantial stuff, the swirling emotions and feelings of failure, grief, embarrassment and shame, and understand how He would have me respond. Very quickly He helped me to realise that I was on the cusp of a change in season.

You see, in the course of my missionary “career”, I’ve regularly been in positions to help establish a thing at it’s beginning. Whether a new building, a new ministry office, a new outreach program, or a new organisational relationship. These roles are usually in support to the person with the vision, roles with a lot of responsibility. My time in the Caribbean was no different. But the challenge in these roles has consistently been the change of season: you see, when someone who’s good at setting things up gets to a certain point in the growth, they begin to become a hindrance rather than a help, to the continued growth. They still see all of the things which need to improve, but their best move is to recognise that the growth is now stable, get out of the way, and let the next guys step up to the challenge.

So at that moment in the Caribbean, I was realising that my season of helping set up this amazing ship outreach program was ending. I realised that the last few months of niggling difficulties, underlying frustration and stress had been contributing to the message that my time there was drawing to a close. It was a moment of mixed emotions: on one hand, I’d be able to follow that niggle and head back to Vanuatu, I’d be able to work more closely with wonderful people, I’d be able to go back to a region I love; on the other hand, I would leave a ship I’d poured so much time, energy and passion into, I’d leave precious friends and amazing colleagues, I’d say goodbye to a recipient community who’d been very gracious to me.
And then the insecurity arrived: I’d made comments which would not reflect well on me. I was going from a productive and successful outreach program, to a nation where I had no actual role or well-defined vision: would people think I was quitting? Was I hearing God right, or just being silly? Did I really need to move on?

The weeks following the decision to finish in the Caribbean held the incredible opportunity to help deliver an eye surgery clinic to hundreds of people. We processed, assessed, treated, and in some cases gave surgery to people for four intensive days. The surgeons worked late into the night, our young volunteers worked tirelessly with often frustrated patients, our engineers fixed faulty gear at a moment’s notice, and grass-roots people met Jesus while getting their sight restored. I’d love to say that being aware that I was in season change meant that I had my swirling emotions and insecurities under control, that I was well rested, cool, calm and collected, a consummate professional; never becoming frustrated, never snapping, never becoming irrational, controlling or micro-managing. But I wasn’t always in control of my self, all of the emotion of ending my season with the ship, all of the frustration at my own failures, all of the grief at my imminent departure added up. There were days when the patience of our volunteers was tested not just by our patients but by my own lack of self-awareness, moments where I made comments or decisions, or snapped when snapping was unproductive.
That week was an incredible one. Despite the tough moments, I ended the week and my time on the vessel with a memory of one of the most successful surgical outreaches I’ve been involved in. Peoples’ sight was restored, lives were committed to Jesus, grace was seen and experienced, kindness was given and received, and we saw the goodness of God in action.

A few days later I walked along the dock before dawn and by the end of the day had travelled through three different airports on a week-long return to Vanuatu. I was tired, I was grateful, I was sad. This was the peak of a season change and I didn’t really know what would come next.
That is so often the way seasons change.
Despite high emotion at times, despite the sadness of leaving behind what is known and comparatively comfortable, I knew that moving on was the right thing to do. I knew that stepping into the unknown would be good: I had a new vision to help grow, and the right person would step into the gap on the ship, taking that vision to higher heights.

By the time I reached Vanuatu I’d talked with the leaders of Marine Reach. We decided that I would finish working with them. 8 years after arriving for a 5 month course, I was landing in Vanuatu looking back on memories which can’t be summed up in a single blog post. The change of seasons was far more significant than I realised standing on the bow of the ship months earlier.

God was in the middle of it all. He always is. A change in life’s seasons can be hard, it can be scary, it will often highlight our least attractive character traits, our ugliest insecurities, our most absurd fears. As we navigate season changes more, we must either learn how to deal with them, as I am beginning to do, or do the less-excellent thing by choosing to avoid season change at all cost. Don’t do the latter, I promise you that it is neither possible nor healthy. Don’t be the person who refuses to do something new for fear of the unknown; nor the person who tries to control everyone around you in order to assure your position in the world. Neither of those people succeed, and when it comes crashing in, it always hurts more than simply accepting that change must come.
Seasons will change, for me that means I get to help start some amazing projects. It also means that I have the responsibility to hand them over before I’ve stayed too long, before they’ve reached their potential. My place is in the starting, and it hurts to leave when good people are still working their butts off. But I must move on to the next thing before I break the thing I’ve given my best to. God gives us the grace for what He calls us to, and He gives us the ability to step into the new, secure in the knowledge that He IS with us.

What season are you in? How do you navigate season changes in life?

Since finishing with Marine Reach, I’ve been working for V2 Life Association, a tiny charity running a growing primary school and missionary training campus in rural Vanuatu. It’s not what I thought I’d be doing…you could say that about every season since I started in missions 10 years ago.
One thing remains constant: no two days are the same.