Failure and Regret

Caution: You might have a different view of me after reading this post.

When I was growing up, I would probably name my biggest fear as the fear of failure. I hated, hated failing at anything. I remember one time my mom told me I had forgotten a chore and I cried. I had failed as a good daughter. I remember the first “F” I got on a test in Bible College and I cried. I had failed as a student. I remember breaking one of the biggest rules in my mission organization when I was on a short-term trip, and I cried. I had failed as a short-term missionary.

For a long time, whenever I even heard the word “failure” I would cringe. I remember the first time I heard the song “Invitation Fountain”, where there’s a line that says:

All who have failed

All who are broken

Come to the Rock

Come to the Fountain

I was bawling uncontrollably.

All that seems petty now in light of my more recent failures on the mission field in Mozambique. I have so many regrets; I so wish I could turn back the clock and do it all over again.

Missions is about relationships. I didn’t make any close friends. Missions is about compassion. I hardened my heart. Missions is about generosity. I grew stingy. Missions is about forgiveness. I grew bitter.

I’ll never forget one little girl I turned away. Every week we went shopping in Beira, the biggest city close to us. I got so sick of beggars coming up to me in the streets, I would get approached dozens of times every day, on every street, at every stop. Of course they often targeted me just because I’m white, and after a while I hardened myself to where I never gave anything to anyone. Ever.

Then there was that one little girl, probably 8-9 years old, trying to sell little packets of peanuts for 1 met each (about 3 cents). She came up to me asking, begging me to buy just one packet of peanuts from her. She followed me all the way down that bock, across the street, and to the corner where I waited for several minutes for my ride to come pick me up. All the while she kept asking, asking, asking me to buy some peanuts. I didn’t want any peanuts, and I just wanted her to go away. She wasn’t “my ministry area”. I kept telling her no, but she kept insisting.

I don’t remember what her face looked like, maybe because I never even looked at her. But I remember her voice. It haunts me to this day.

“Please miss? Just one met? Please?”

“No. And I’m not going to change my answer,” I said firmly. She hung her head and walked away sad.

I could have easily afforded to give her 100 mets ($3), that would have made her day. I could have asked her name, if she had a family or a home, if she wanted me to buy her lunch. I could have shown her compassion and love, like Jesus would have, but instead I brushed her aside. I joined the countless others in her life that said she was worthless.

Oh, how I wish I could find that little girl again and apologize and help her in any way possible, to tell her she is the daughter of a King, to show her His love. She was just one of the many treasures, so dear to the Father’s heart, that I ignored, but she is the one I remember the best. She was so desperate, and I was so mean.

Near the end of our time in Mozambique, I started a new ministry that specifically looked for beggars to help and bless them, to give them food and pray for them. It was partly me trying to make up for my failures, but it was so little, and so late. In our 3 years there, I feel I failed probably 90% of the opportunities God gave me to be a beacon of light, hope, and love. Instead, I became hard, bitter, and cruel. All I can hope now is that I learned from those mistakes, and that I won’t make them again.

I’m probably not a “goody-two-shoes” missionary, or even Christian, in your eyes anymore. That’s okay. I don’t mind you knowing the truth about me, that I’m not perfect, and that I fail. A lot. All the time. I do try to learn from those failures now rather than just wail about them, but they are still there, glaring like ugly flashing neon signs when I look into my past.

“Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me... For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

“They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’

“He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me’” (Matt 25:41-45).

Jesus came up to me begging. I turned Him away.