When I came to Mongolia as a brand new missionary, I had set my heart to give.

To receive is good. But to give, well that's a whole new kind of goodness. If you've never felt this kind of over-the-top goodness from giving, perhaps you've never given until it hurts. It's in the giving until it hurts that your world sort of comes undone...the right kind of undone.

But, having never been a foreigner living in the slum district of Mongolia, I didn't know what it would look like to be a good giver there. Before I arrived I remember guessing what I could bring. At one time I'm quoted in our local paper as saying that I would teach the Mongolians in my community to have better "hygiene." (note to self: DON'T do articles about your work before you've started working). I cringe when I read that now. Ignorance. I cringed back then when I first arrived and noticed they had the whitest teeth of any being I'd ever met before. Suddenly my teeth looked so....yellow. It wasn't long before I was asking them for the secret to their ivory smile! *Let's just say, they've got that covered. 

I didn't know what I had to give to the Mongolians or if they needed anything I had. I was familiar with the concept that the uncomfortable feeling of, "I don't really want to give THAT" was oftentimes a good signal that selfishness would die in that place if I went ahead and gave whatever that was. So I decided to start there. Any time I was tempted to substitute a gift to make it hurt less l would notice that desire to substitute, I would call it out in myself and give anyway. The most difficult thing to give was my time. When meeting new families that were struggling and I knew it would take a sizable life investment to walk with them through it, I wanted to put a sign around myself that said, "Hear Ye! Hear Ye! I'm here for you...until I say I'm not." My time was precious to me, and I didn't like the feeling of it being wasted on people who would take advantage of me or just never get it. 

My money was precious too. The nicest way to say it is, I wanted it all for myself. For my family. I had a line between ministry money and personal money. Our missionary salary wasn't HUGE (although it was twelve times the amount of our new neighbor's salaries) I often found myself protecting it, calling it "My money." 

My pride was another precious thing. In truth well... I loved it. Simply put, I needed to be liked, praised and accepted... always. 

These, of course, were the first three things I needed to practice giving. Practice is a good word because it takes a lot of it to boldly give until it hurts.

 The Righteous gives and does not hold back ~Proverbs 21:6

 I learned immediately that I could not wait for the "feeling" to give. The only feeling I usually had about giving until it hurt was, "ummm...no way." I learned that giving is an action. I needed to DO it. Determined to become the kind of woman that gave what was needed versus what was easy, I went for it. And boy did it hurt. In the end, which we are all too quickly arriving at, I gave a life away in Mongolia. And I don't say that for a pat on the back...because as you read further you'll see I've already received that, and so much more. 

Giving didn't get any easier over the years. That was a surprise. I don't know why I thought it would...but it seemed like eventually, it would just sort of flow. Still, all these years later, with all this ministry behind me, there is this stop, pause before I give until it hurts. It's not a graceful dance. But I keep on dancing, like a clumsy fifth-grader...I'm dancing the givers dance. Why? Because of the other surprise. 

There is one who scatters and yet increases all the more, and there is one who withholds what is justly due, and yet it results only in want. The generous man will be prosperous, and he who waters will himself be watered. ~Proverbs 11:24-25 

All this giving, the hurtful kind of giving of time, money, and pride... well it came back to me. Pressed down, shaken together, overflowing. I've become the receiver. A receiver of others giving until it hurts. And whoa... friends... that kind of receiving is the world coming undone kind. 

Our dear friend came to our door the other day. I first met him as the guy I paid to drive me to the grocery store. But as God would have it our lives and families were intertwined and woven together after that. His story written into ours, and ours into his. His eyes full of tears. Heart full of love. The love was basically leaking out all over my front steps. He handed my husband Troy a one hundred dollar bill. Crisp and clean. I know he went to the bank with his Mongolian money to exchange it for this... for us. "I heard about your son," he said. Our son had recently been hospitalized in the USA. He was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes and had no health insurance. His insulin cost was over five hundred dollars for one month.

 "I love him like a brother. I love you like my family. I know my brother is suffering, and I want to help."

I couldn't speak as I watched this exchange. Our friend is sick too. Very sick. Here in Mongolia, there is not a proper doctor to rescue him from this specific condition. The medication he needs is from Russia. He had just sold some of his most precious items to buy medicine for himself. There was no surplus for him. He did not have this to give. I watched Troy want to hesitate. I knew he did not wish to take this. The one hundred dollars went into Troy's hands. Both of Troy's hands, held out like a cup because that is how you receive from a Mongolian. I wanted to interrupt... "We can't take that!" But I knew better. When Troy hugged him, it was the hug of a brother, an equal. There was no Missionary and Mongolian. 

Receiving from someone who is giving until it hurts provokes you. It threatens your pride. Brings it down like Goliath. And right there, the world gets better. The world that is a seeping mess of pain on the internet news feed... it looks clean in that moment. And it happens all the time. Notice it, look for it. 

The mother of five little ones all toddling about who met me in the street a few nights ago, 

"Shari I heard you were leaving us...I'm so sad." She seemed to be thinking about what she could do, and grabbing my arm with joy she said, "I'd like to clean your whole house for you after you leave!" I smiled at her knowing she chose the hard gift... the one that would take her a little longer, cause her to go the extra mile. "Thank you," I replied.

 Our community has basically carried us through these eight years. Sure we gave our life... but we found one too. I was right when I thought that I didn't have a lot to give to the Mongolian people. They are strong, resourceful, and full of promise. The things they needed turned out to be the hard things for me. The things I least wanted to share. And the things I received turned out to be priceless. The things I needed the most. I will leave this place as the giver who in turn was gifted with so much more than she could ever carry home. The gifted giver.

 Give generously to him and do so without a grudging heart; then because of this, the Lord your God will bless you in all your work and in everything you put your hand to. Deuteronomy 15:10 

* plain white yogurt... the secret. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Dried yogurt bars that are as hard as jawbreakers, yogurt ice cream in the summer... YOGURT! Who needs Crest?! (I knew you'd want to know)

Excerpt from Diary of A Homecoming - found in full at www.tvrdiksinmongolia.blogspot.com