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The Special House and the Beautiful Home

/ Jared Waipouri

Recently we were asked to house sit for our friends. Their home is a comfortable 4 bedroom house with a reasonably sized living room, a distinct dining area, and a large kitchen. The master bedroom has an ensuite, and the main bathroom is a good size.

Contrast this with our house: One room does double-duty as a master and children’s bedroom, with a compact bathroom attached. The second room has an efficiently laid out but small kitchen, and the other half of the room is lounge and living space. The entire building wouldn’t exceed 35 square metres.
It is a small house.
With a 2 year old high energy toddler and a 3 month old in the home, space for sewing and craft projects is limited, not to mention cooking, playing, and relaxing. It’s probably little wonder that I was thoroughly excited when we moved into the expanse of our friends’ home. A home our daughter soon began referring to as our “Special House”.

The joy of having space was real. The ability for her to run around without being outside in the rain or in the unsecured right-next-to-the-road yard was, by itself, an amazing relief. In addition, I had a room just for me, an office. Joyce had an entire table to herself, able to leave her sewing or earring projects where they were without needing to pack them away every time she stopped work. 

The benefits were worth the extra logistics of now needing to drive half an hour to work in place of a 5 minute walk. They were even worth the obligation to feed our friends’ animals. 

But very soon the reality of what was to come hit me. Our special house was amazing, but in a few short weeks we would need to downsize back to our tiny home in the swamp. We would force ourselves back into a cramped and sometimes stifling space, in which only one of us can spread out on the kitchen table at a time. 

As a traditionally influenced family man, I felt this reality in a very clear way: I need to provide a bigger house for my family. How can I do that? Inevitably, facing the truth that our current income just barely covers increasing living costs, I felt a sense of sinking hope and rising anxiety. As a faith-based missionary working a full-time role with little room for respite from the demands of the job, I could not see what I could “do” to improve things.
It’s not that I cannot get a normal paying job to qualify us for a mortgage, nor is it about a willingness to work hard. The tension resides in the call of God on our lives to serve as missionaries freely, trusting in His sovereign provision. It is a call which means that we recognise his faithfulness, and trust Him to meet our financial and practical needs through the generosity of others as we give our time, energy, and talents to serving His Kingdom. And years ago I learned that trying to shortcut that process by dividing my time between my core “missions” work, and paid employment is not how He wants me to operate…mine is the call to do one thing, and do it with my whole heart.
So reflecting on all of this left me feeling a little powerless to “make it happen now” as I wanted to.

Around this time, my daughter found a way to better define the difference between our friends’ house where we were sleeping, and our actual house, where she, her brother, and Joyce spent the days while I worked. Our friends’ house was already the special house, and soon our house became known as our “Beautiful Home.”

God was speaking. Part loving reminder, part exhortation, part rebuke.

I should point out that since well before I began my YWAM journey, I have heard God speak, and then watched Him deliver on what He said many, many times. Each time has been as much a miracle as the last.
In fact, in the last 12 months He invited us to buy land and then miraculously provided ALL of the funds we need to do that. He has continuously shown that when we trust Him, He is found faithful.

So as we drove along, my daughter asked if we were going to our beautiful home. In that question the Lord reminded me that this beautiful home, small and cramped as it may be, is His sovereign provision. He reminded me how in 2019 my friend felt led to give me the shipping container, initiating the build of the original part of the house. God gave us all of the funds to build, furnish, and sustain it. Then in late 2020 He provided again for us to expand it in preparation for our daughter’s birth.
Yet here I was treating God’s provision with frustration, irritation, and disregard (maybe even disdain).

God used my daughter to remind me that He always gives us good gifts. Gifts like our beautiful home.
It is a beautiful home not because it is nice to look at, or has ornate furnishings, or is very large, or even very efficient. It is our beautiful home because God himself provided it, and then gave me a family to fill it up with. 

The special house was a precious time of rest for our little family, a time we could have space and comfort. But moving back to our beautiful home was a sigh of relief: small as it is, it is OUR beautiful home. It has been God’s provision for US in this season. So as He provides for new land and a new home, I know that this one will continue to be a beautiful provision for V2 Life’s staff team.

Our God does not leave us uncared for.
He cares for us.
He gives us what we need to point glory back to Him.
He always loves.
And sometimes He needs us to be uncomfortable to make sure we keep our eyes on what’s important.

What beautiful provision is He reminding you of today?

But Lord how do I fight corruption?

/ Jared Waipouri

Many years ago, shortly after arriving in Vanuatu as a long term missionary, the government was facing another motion of no confidence. Each time this happened, the opposition would cross the floor to take control of parliament, cabinet would be reshuffled, new ministers appointed, and government-appointed roles reallocated. The result for anyone working with a government department at the director level, would be to begin the conversation again as a new minister (and often director general) defined their particular policies for the department. It was frustrating to see little achieved, or to begin again after losing the ground covered since the last reshuffle; but more troubling was that each time there was a political move like this, the appearance of corruption throughout the entire system was obvious to many.
As I drove along one day, I was having a discussion complaining to God: I realised that as missionaries we are called to speak life and truth. More than that, our mission organisation – Marine Reach – had a sense of calling to discipleship on a national level. So my complaint to God was founded on those two assumptions being true. I asked the question “Lord, what should I do about corruption?” He answered me with a question: “what is corruption?”
After a bit of thinking I suggested to Him that corruption was about putting truth and legal “right” aside, in favour of personal gain. His response to me?
“Ok, so based on that definition, are you corrupt in any of your ways?” I realised that He wasn’t talking about my most recent visit to the ministry of health, or my leadership of others, but my relationship with Him as a redeemed-by-the-cross follower of Jesus. The question shook me and recognising my own failures, I felt disheartened: if I, as a person in vocational service to God, was corrupt, I couldn’t possibly find moral ground from which to judge others, nor challenge them to be better. I asked the Lord what this all meant.
We started to talk about democracy and the mustard seed kingdom of Jesus Christ. He pointed out to me that in a democracy like Vanuatu or New Zealand, where each adult has a vote to choose their government, the government elected on any given day will broadly reflect the values of the people voting.* Therefore, if the majority of people individually think that being in debt is okay, they’ll be comfortable voting for people who put the nation in debt. Or, if people think that occasionally “bending” the truth is acceptable for some situations, they’ll be willing to vote for those who lie. If I followed this logic, I saw what the Lord was pointing out: that people with corrupt hearts will accept corrupt governance.
Now before you think that I’m claiming that some people are more corrupt than others: this all got personal really quickly. God reminded me that I was corrupt in some of my ways, that I hid the truth if I felt it would cause me shame, that I was quick to forget His sovereign faithfulness when money got tight. Therefore, to the extent that I am willing to live with my own dishonour of His biblical laws and truth, I would also be willing to accept that same dishonour on a governance level.
Based on all of that, I felt an answer to my original question coming through:
We fight corruption in nations by beginning in ourselves. By actively working to align our hearts, thinking, and actions more closely with God’s heart of love, truth, justice, faithfulness, mercy, and grace, we fight back against the hate, lies, injustice, and disgrace we see around us every day. By choosing not to accept those things in our personal lives, we will do better at resisting them in our leaders and governments.
How do I deal with corruption? It starts with me loving and honouring God more fully in every area of my life.
What do you think? Is fighting corruption as simple as being a better Jesus follower?

*My friend Dave pointed out that this principle goes both ways, that prophetically a nation will get the government they deserve based on the way they love and honour God.

Featured

Why Grassroots impact should get your attention (and cash)

/ Jared Waipouri / 2 Comments

I’ve been in the faith-based humanitarian field for about 10 years. In that time, I’ve been involved in some really awesome things, and rubbed shoulders with incredibly generous, kind hearted people. Along the way, I’ve seen people give their property, blood, tears, and sweat for the people they’re serving. I’ve seen friends come to the point of failure and keep going, risking reputation, livelihood and security to care for the people they’re serving. These are grassroots workers: people who are right there with their beneficiaries in homes, workplaces, disasters, mess, and brokenness.

I’ve also seen huge quantities of cash poured into large multinationals who have beautifully moving advertising with big promises of fixing poverty, making a major difference in emergency relief, and grassroots impact. Those organisations mostly began as grassroots movements of people with a vision to bring life-giving change to those around them. But since that point, they have grown into massive machines which, while trying to effect grassroots change, put huge resources into writing opinions, lobbying politicians, and producing advertising copy on a wide range of issues. They have bureaucracies which include grassroots workers, office staff (abounding), and many layers of lower, middle, and senior management. Some (myself included) argue that their big management structures cause them to produce far less impact per donor dollar than they have potential to. Yet the converse argument (which I also make at times) that gigantic budgets allow them to achieve far more grassroots impact despite the actual spending only being a tiny portion of their total revenue also has merit.
These big organisations can boast that through broad management structures they employ many grassroots locals in salaried roles, injecting much needed income through vital jobs. This is something few grassroots organisations can claim, and most could never support with often meagre donor income.

So why would I think grassroots movements need your attention and cash? Why would I claim this when so few are in a position to be registered as charities? Why would you want to hand them your cash when even the registered ones often fail to report their results well, they miss deadlines for legal obligations, and are often “winging it” when larger groups have beautifully polished presentations and 10 year plans?

People. It is people.

What do I mean? Every grassroots organisation begins with one person whose heart to be a blessing finds an opportunity to connect directly with someone in need. For one, it might be giving a pair of sunglasses to someone with a pterygium, for another it might be teaching a young man to read diverting him from a life of crime, for yet another it might mean loading emergency and medical supplies onto an old boat to deliver to hurricane devastated communities.
Grassroots impact looks like individual people making direct, personal connections with people who need help and support. Grassroots impact is what it looks like to break inertia for struggling people. Big organisations and academics call them “beneficiaries” or maybe “clients.”
Those of us doing grassroots ministry call them friends, we call them by name and we feel their pain. We cry with them in their desperation and try our best to walk with them as they find pathways forward. The friends I watch making true grassroots impact will be up early in the morning, working like crazy all day, and often fall into bed mentally and physically exhausted. A lot of that time and energy is directly spent on their “people”: the ones they have committed to helping. Some days they succeed, celebrating wins small and big. Other days poor choices are made, funds dry up, or they hit regulatory road blocks. Those days are tough. While in the big organisation a worker might have a beautiful supportive set of colleagues to fall back on, in the small work, these are the days when the grassroots worker has to confront the reasons for what they do alone, deciding yet again that it is still worth the effort despite the pain.

“So what,” you say. “They’re cowboys, often refusing to work with others who might be able to support them. They refuse to play well when things get political, they don’t attend the (endless, interminable) collaboration and consultation meetings, and they’re hopeless at following rules and doing paperwork.”
In many cases you’re right.
In many cases those “weak points” exist for a reason. For all of the “support” a partner can offer, there are endless meetings, paperwork, new obligations, and extra expectations, all distractions from the people that we set out to serve. For the “being nice” when things get political, there is rarely benefit beyond perhaps the big guys taking stories and using them without crediting the original worker. For the hours and hours spent following the rules, we could have helped our person (or people) so much more, if we hadn’t been distracted by busy work. For all of the paperwork we don’t quite understand, there’s a hurting person we do understand.
So let us get on with it!

But those are excuses right?

Yes, they are. And YOU might have the answer without realising it. Why do I say that? A personal story:

My friend, lets call him Stew, had a heart to serve young men. So he started visiting the local prison to connect with people Jesus said we should visit. As he did, he became more moved for those who need help, both in prison, and out. The more he was around, the more he saw that boys (and young men) get into crime not for fun, but from hopelessness and desperation. He started getting together with them. They would drink tea, tell stories, read the bible, and talk about the realities of life. Stew didn’t have a budget. A few friends who heard his story gave him enough for cookies and tea. They could see that he was doing something for which he is uniquely skilled. There was no business case, no presentations, no 10 year vision, no legal framework. Just a man connecting with young guys and trying to help them find a better way forward in life. Stew is skilled in the people stuff, he’s not an administration guy. He’s not about to invent a 10 year plan. He’s not going to dream up a multi-layer bureaucracy, or establish a charity.
Stew will respond to what he sees his guys need, and what God highlights for him.
Stew will do what he needs to do this week to show his guys that there is hope.
Stew will avoid paperwork, because it sucks up energy which he needs for his guys.

I watched all of this beginning and I didn’t have cash to give Stew, but I realised that I can give something. I am good with administration and charity stuff, so maybe I can offer him support that way? Another of Stew’s friends is a website designer, so she offered to help setup a website. Another is a business advisor, and offered help to formalise a charity and a bank account.
Soon, a charity formed with a board, a constitution, and a system for Stew to receive donations. It all centres on one thing: Stew is good at ministering to young fellas, and we MUST empower that.

That’s just one story. I have other friends providing 3D printed limbs to amputees in the jungle from a sailing boat, others who take supplies to hurricane-devastated communities, and more whose vision is educating children without access to school. I have friends who work with surgery candidates who can’t get surgery in their home country and will die without it.

There is one common theme. They’re all busy doing the work, to fuss with the administration necessary to play by the rules of the “big guys” takes more time and mental energy than they should be asked to give.
So why should you give your attention and cash to the grassroots workers? Because your skills as a web developer, accountant, copy writer, mechanic, builder, painter, or medical professional can help them to stay effective and engaged in their field of impact.

You can help them to do what they’re called to, and make a difference in the life of the one person right in from of them.

But the caveat is this: grassroots workers won’t compromise their peoples’ needs for your preferences. If you’re going into the conversation with an agenda and expectations which don’t help them, expect to be told where to go. Quickly. The converse is true: come into the discussion fully supportive of what’s going on, and you will build long-term, life-giving relationships. That connection will mean that you can always trust that your energy and cash is being put to the best use it can be, because you know your grassroots worker is committed and trustworthy.

Grassroots impact is vital to millions of people in tough spots all around the world. There is someone you know who is doing something grassroots.

Find them.

Listen to them.

Once you’ve listened, support them.

You may only have a few dollars or a few hours to give each month. Give it. Don’t be embarrassed by the meagre contribution, most of us (because I count myself as doing grassroots impact at V2 Life) are deeply blessed when we know you’re thinking, praying and helping us.

What do you think? Have I missed part of the conversation? Have I been unfair to the big guys? Make your argument (with respect, please) in the comments.

“He was my friend”

/ Jared Waipouri

It has been a year since we said good bye to Dave and I still miss him a lot…here are some thoughts I put together at the time.

A few days ago I had just arrived at work when I got a message to say that our pastor, Pastor Dave, had just experienced a massive heart attack and the paramedics were in attendance. You have to understand that Dave had prior near death experiences and often talked about how in that time the Lord had reminded him of his fragility, and God’s sovereignty over both life and death. Dave was no stranger to health challenges, so my first thought was to pray for his family. I prayed for peace and grace in a scary time.

Then I sent him a short message, I said:

“Praying for you my friend. 

“He’s God, I’m not.” One of my favourite Dave quotes.

May His peace and healing be all over you.

Much love”

A few minutes later, I was told that the paramedics had stopped their resuscitation attempts. He never read my message. He had joined our heavenly father in glory.

Dave was a pastor, called to the ministry as a young man in a dramatic way, and he gave his best to that calling. He loved people the way pastors should: being there for them in their pain, praying for them in hospital, celebrating with them in marriage and birth. He presided over countless weddings, funerals, and baby dedications. He was a lover of God and of people, and those who spoke to him even once, knew that. He taught the word of God, the love of our saviour Jesus, and the work of the Holy Spirit without compromise. He was my pastor, and I was grateful for his wisdom.

Dave was a leader. He had a remarkable ability to draw a team around him and then empower and encourage them to flourish in the potential God placed them. And those people were drawn to him, giving freely of their time and energy for the sake of service to the God of heaven, responding to the gift Jesus gave with their passion, time, and abilities. He was a leader to me, and he was easy to follow.

Dave was a visionary. When I met him, he was about to catch a call to ministry in Vanuatu as the pastor of the International Christian Church. At the time, the church was a small but dedicated group of mostly expatriate missionaries and pastors looking for Christian community and an english speaking Sunday service. Dave saw the vision of the Lord to grow that little church to reach out beyond the missionary community in Vanuatu, and minister intentionally to the not-churched expatriate community. He saw the opportunity and God’s vision to love and care for those in Vanuatu who weren’t being reached by other churches. He saw that we would need more space. He stretched to both increase the church’s giving, and to raise funds to build our own building. It was a vision far bigger than any of our individual skills, but he knew God had spoken. He challenged me often to believe God for much more than I dared.

Dave was a mentor. He was that kind of pastor who didn’t simply lead his team. He would sit with them and hear their hearts. He would speak truth in love, even when it was uncomfortable to hear. He would stand with people during their tough times, speaking life, calling out the good in people that they often couldn’t see themselves. He was a mentor to me: rebuking me when I needed it, encouraging and exhorting me to be who God called me to be. He showed the love of Jesus, showed what it was to love Jesus well, and what it looked like to love others that way.

Dave was a father and husband. He was a father to two wonderful, God honouring children who are a tribute to he and Julie’s parenting. He was a husband to one wife, Julie, who complimented him beautifully. He loved his children and wife with a passion which he was not afraid to show. His ability to recognise and honour the strengths and gifts they have was an example to those who spent time with him. Dave was a father figure to countless young men whose own fathers left gaps in their upbringing. He was a father to me, championing me when I needed it, boasting on me when he found a chance, and declaring the transition I was embarking on in important moments. He spoke fatherhood over me as I grappled with the arrival of my own daughter.

But the one thing which has repeated in my heart over and over since Dave went to be with the King?

Dave was my friend.

As a friend, Dave expressed an aspect of Jesus we rarely get to see worked out in life. When things weren’t good and I needed to share my heart, Dave showed Jesus’ heart, he listened and understood. Dave told stories to make me laugh and cry, stories which had a point. When Dave was convicted by the Lord or full of vision, when he was having a tough time, he shared his heart. Dave knew that he’d be loved and that I’d share what I could see, that I would see “Dave.” He saw Jared, and was seen by Jared.

Dave was a lot of good things, he was rightly referred to by many titles: reverend, minister, pastor, leader, visionary, father, and mentor. He was sometimes frustrating and exasperating. But on the last day of his life, amid all of the other good things, one title stood out the most to me.

Dave was my friend. I miss Dave.