The other day, you came to me with a spark in your eyes and said,
“I want to do what you did. I want to help people. I want to GO.”
And my heart… it cracked a little.
Not because I don’t want that for you. I do.
But because I know the weight of what you’re saying. I know the dreams you’re beginning to form. And I know the disillusionment that can come when something sacred—serving others, learning about the world—is overtaken by systems that care more about appearance than people.
I want you to go. I want you to love. I want you to chase the world and step into cultures with humility and wonder.
But I also want you to listen to your own heart, first and always.
Because not all good things are done in good ways.
And not everyone who does good is good.
I learned that the hard way.
Years ago, I stepped into what I believed was my dream job—supporting global outreach, organizing trips to other countries, sharing my faith through action. It felt like faith and purpose and calling, all wrapped into one.
But the deeper I got, the more I saw.
I was responsible for logistics and budgets. I watched as money that was meant to support local communities was quietly rerouted—toward nicer hotels, fancier dinners, and private transportation. The people we came to “serve” became the backdrop to our comfort. And the gap between our lives and theirs widened.
I couldn’t ignore it.
When I spoke up, the consequences were immediate. My integrity was questioned. My role was threatened. I was given a choice: stay silent and protect my job, or speak the truth and lose everything.
I chose my family.
We were only months away from bringing home three children through adoption. We needed the severance I was offered—tied tightly to an agreement to stay quiet. I accepted it. Not because I didn’t care—but because I had to survive.
But I never stopped carrying the weight of that silence.
And now, because of you, I’m finding the courage to tell the story—not to name names, not to expose, but to invite something better. To call us back to humility. To call us back to listening.
You see, I no longer believe I have to bring something to people to be helpful.
I don’t want to lead—I want to learn.
I don’t want to rescue—I want to receive.
I don’t want to stand above the table—I want to sit at it.
I don’t want to spend donor funds on luxuries that separate us—I want to sleep on the floor, if that’s where my hosts sleep.
Because maybe the point of going was never to change the world.
Maybe it was to let the world change me.
So when you say you want to go, I want to tell you this:
Yes—go.
Yes—love.
Yes—learn.
But don’t trade your voice for a platform.
Don’t let someone else’s comfort override your conviction.
Listen first. Keep your eyes open.
And know that not everyone who does good is good—but the good is still worth doing, when it comes from the right place.
Presence will always matter more than performance.
Faithfulness will always be louder than fame.
And the most powerful thing you can do for someone is sit beside them and say,
“I see you.”
This world is vast and beautiful. I love it. I love the people in it. And I want to spend my life listening—not preaching. Observing—not assuming. Learning—not leading.
That is enough.
That is holy work.
Love,
Mom
