Why would God give me a gift but not let me use it? The question kept nipping at me, and in response I opened the throttle wider on my Kawasaki dirt bike. My wife and I were headed home following a church service in one of the small villages near our mission station in Sierra Leone, West Africa. I had never felt such frustration, and I expressed it by rapidly dodging rocks and gullies on the dirt road until my wife begged, “Please, slow down.”
Growing up in a pastor’s home, I had learned early the importance of giving myself to the ministry. Like my father, I felt the call to preach. But now I was handcuffed in exercising that gift.
One frustration was the general confusion in an African village service: mothers move in and out to check on children playing outside, men walk to the window to spit, an occasional dog wanders in for a look around, the ever-present crowd of noisy children wait outside for a closer look at the white man. Sometimes in the hubbub I’d lose my concentration and forget what I was trying to say.
A bigger frustration was the language. After two years of learning one local dialect, I was transferred to a new position, which meant learning a different dialect. I had to preach in the trade language, and the parish pastor would translate into the local dialect. But the pastor didn’t always understand what I was saying.
That Sunday as I had begun, my wife, Edie, who was born and raised in Sierra Leone and understood this dialect, shook her head. That meant the pastor had mistranslated something, so I said it again. Again she shook her head. On the fourth or fifth try, he translated it correctly, and I continued. On the way home she explained what had happened. I had said, “I apologize that because of other commitments it has been some time since I have visited you.” His translation: “Do not be surprised if you never see me again.”
Another frustration was the cultural gap. I like to make my messages apply to situations people face, and I use contemporary illustrations whenever possible. One Sunday I preached a sermon on tithing and said that if a Christian cuts ten bushels of rice, one bushel belongs to God. Later the pastor told me, “Dale, what you said was true, but the people know you have never cut ten bushels of rice by hand, and your living does not depend on those ten bushels of rice. So they find it hard to accept what you have to say.” Though I was scripturally correct, culturally I could not identify. I began to feel unsure of my illustrations, and then the other parts of my preaching.
While the joy of preaching was slipping away, I was up to my neck in administration, an area in which I’ve never shown great aptitude. In my first pastorate, board meetings were sometimes called at the last minute, agenda items were left out, or calls weren’t made. Now in Sierra Leone I was our mission’s field director. The stateside director was an organized man who expected the same from the field directors. One of my requirements was to send a monthly praise and prayer list. Months began to have forty-five or fifty days. Since he was five thousand miles away, and mail took at least three weeks to arrive, there was little he could do.
Finally I found myself in a situation I couldn’t ignore. I was chairing meetings where we would work for several hours to make a decision, only to change that decision two months later because we had not considered all the angles the first time Both missionaries and church leaders were frustrated with the constantly changing policies, and they began to share their frustrations with me in a language anyone could understand.
Our director began to ask pointed questions about why, for example, we decided to pay a literacy teacher so much per class, then changed it to so much per student? We had thought paying per class was best. Then the teachers decided that instead of having one class of twenty students they would have ten classes of two students each, and make ten times the money. If we had thought about the situation longer, we might have seen the problem coming, but we had missed it.
Frustration reached the point where I wanted to scream, “Administration is not my gift!” and get out. But I decided to try to adapt, and in the process I learned I could strengthen a secondary gift.
First, I admitted my weakness. I sent letters to several friends in the States, explaining my situation and asking for their prayers as I “administered.” It wasn’t easy to allow them to see this weakness, but at that point I just needed help. God began to answer their prayers.
Second, I began to ask questions of good administrators. Other mission leaders in Sierra Leone also had to send reports, write evaluations, and draft budgets, and it seemed they were doing a better job of it than I. So I quizzed them on specific problems, and I received countless other ideas from Peace Corps volunteers and United Nations staff.
One idea I picked up was to schedule a regular phone call to my home director. This not only saved time, but it cleared the air better than two or three letters. It also made me more accountable. If a report was due on a certain date, I made sure it was sent before the phone call so I could honestly say, “It’s in the mail.”
Third, I analyzed my mistakes, such as the constant second-guessing of decisions. Our meetings involved staff from two distinct areas, and one of the groups gathered more often. While together they would discuss possible programs. Then at the next committee meeting they would bring some proposal. Because they were excited and appeared to have thought it out, we would adopt their plan. Two months later we would have to change what had proved to be a hasty decision.
So I began writing idea papers. As I visited missionaries, I listened to their proposals. On returning home, I would write a paper describing the idea and send it to each missionary before the next committee meeting. They had time to think about it before the meeting, so when we met, we weren’t making a decision on something we were hearing for the first time. We found decisions usually were not as urgent as we’d thought, and we began to make better decisions.
I would never be listed among Sierra Leone’s best administrators, but things did begin to go better. I even found myself liking some aspects of administration. Meetings were more enjoyable: We didn’t feel pressed into decisions, our discussions were better because people had time to consider an idea beforehand, and we had more time to pray together.
We began to project needs for vehicles five to ten years ahead, rather than from year to year, and as a result saved money and kept our missionaries from wasting so much time and energy with broken-down vehicles.
I started a monthly (well, almost) memo containing news and notes from around the field. These tidbits of information made people feel part of what was happening, and relationships functioned more smoothly. Somehow the staff was quicker to follow my leadership when I communicated better.
Now I have returned to a pastorate in the States. I enjoy being able to freely use my gift of preaching again. I doubt I will ever claim administration as my primary gift, but my heart no longer stops when faced with administrative duties. I am following the same formula I used in Sierra Leone: asking other people to pray for my administrative skills, bouncing ideas off them and listening to how they handle situations, and analyzing meetings to see how we work together and where improvements might be made.
Surprisingly, developing this secondary gift has enhanced my primary one. Being better organized, I’m usually finished with my sermons by Thursday now, rather than frantically typing them early Sunday mornings, as I used to. I am able to give them more study time and prayer.
Are there other secondary gifts I will be forced to develop? I don’t know, and to be honest, I’m not looking too hard for any. But if I’m ever again faced with that prospect, at least I won’t have to hide behind the excuse, “It’s not my gift.”
-Dale L. Leinbach
Missionary Church
North Manchester, Indiana
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