I Asked for Help and got Fired Instead.

It’s ironic that the policies and procedures of my missions sending agency, which were meant to ensure my safety and success, brought about more harm in my life than anything else to date.

As a young man in college, I felt God pulling my heart in the direction of international missions. My church pointed me toward an agency that offered some impressive training and offered a wide range of jobs from all over the world. The application and interview process were quite thorough. They asked about education, theological perspectives, worship styles, financial choices, and personal habits. They also asked some very personal questions that only a trusted friend would have knowledge of. One applicant even said the interview process for the FBI was actually easier.

Once through the application process, I was sent to a two month training to prepare me for life on the field. It was incredible! They dug into the Bible, went over a history of missions, explained some modern practices, and taught us how to reach individuals in locations where the culture as a whole doesn't want to hear about Jesus. They gave us a personality test and taught us how to better understand ourselves and interact with our teammates. They also heavily emphasized accountability and perseverance. We were told that for our own well-being and longevity on the field we needed someone to share deeply with, be accountable to, and receive support from. We were instructed to seek that from other field personnel because if we were talking with someone back home too much, our focus would turn back and we would want to go home early. Ending a term early was generally viewed as failure and unspiritual in the extreme. Here they applied Luke 9:62 which says, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.”

There were a few things about the culture of the organization that became evident to me during this training time. It was clear that they believed that this agency and training was among the best and told us that we should consider ourselves fortunate to be trained by them. They put a special emphasis on the natural-born leader personality type as the one God most uses to expand his kingdom. Other personality types that are more reserved and intellectual, like mine, were allowed but clearly not valued. They also gave honor to those who were kicked out of countries hostile to Christians, and shame to those who couldn’t finish a term for other reasons.

Once I arrived on the field, I did well for the first year or so. I was out learning the language, telling people about Christ, leading some to faith, discipling a few on a weekly basis, traveling to other towns to meet with people, and planning pastor training events. I was doing what I came there to do and I was good at it. But as time went on, I noticed I was just not myself. I thought through a list of things to check: nutrition, sleep, exercise, and sun exposure. I mentioned it to my team and they made an effort to make sure to include me in more things and check up on me more often. But looking back, I realize that what was missing was depth in relationships.

I was on my own. I was the only single man on my team and had no one to room with. When I first arrived on the field my supervisor instructed me not to find an accountability partner in the city because he was afraid it would cause inter-team conflict. But since the agency had told me not to be in touch too much with people back home, I had no one to do or share life with. There were positives like sharing my faith, being invited out to villages to share with extended families, and how I was improving in language studies. I also faced difficulties: standing out in a crowd brought more attention than I wanted, being overcharged because I was a foreigner, beggars intentionally deforming their children for financial gain, even one horrible instance of being offered a child prostitute. I understood more fully why Jesus sent His disciples out two-by-two. There was so much to process and deal with, but no one for me to actually share it with.

After a while, it all began to wear on me. I reached out to my agency's care team and asked if I could get some help. I filled out a few questionnaires and concluded that I was dealing with burn out. I wanted to learn some coping skills to get me back on my feet. They instructed me to travel to a bigger city with better access to services for a few days, so I packed my carry-on and hopped on a plane.

The agency set up a few appointments with a field counselor for me. I went in hopeful that I would receive the help I was looking for and be back home in a few days. Having had no previous experience with mental health care, I didn’t know what to expect. When the counselor asked if I had ever considered suicide, I pondered a while and answered that yes, it had crossed my mind at some point in my life. It hadn't been on my radar and was not something I could do to my family, teammates, national friends, or the work that God was doing through me, but I wanted to be as open as possible. She then asked if I were to choose suicide, how would I go about it? Being someone who is very logical and an internal processor, I ran through the list of possible ways, assessed which method would be most realistic, and gave an answer. My thought was that maybe she was seeking out some underlying meaning that would help me get over my troubles and continue telling people about Christ. I didn’t understand the implications of answering those questions.

The counselor said, “excuse me for just a moment,” and stepped out of the room. I sat there awkwardly not knowing what was going on. She then returned and continued the appointment as if nothing had happened. We met for another session the next day and I felt really encouraged, like we were making progress and starting to nail down some of the issues I could work on. I learned later that during that break, she had called my sending agency to inform them of her belief that I was a suicide risk. Something she never communicated to me.

The following day some members of the care team sat me down and said they needed to have a difficult conversation with me. They told me that there was really not a way to treat what I was dealing with on the field and that I was being sent back to the States. Shocked, I asked if there was anything I could do to change their minds. There wasn’t. My heart sank. I asked, “So I can’t say goodbye to my national friends? My team? Pack up my apartment?” They said they were sorry, but no. My brain went numb. They handed me a phone to call my parents to let them know that I would be on the next flight. Once I had done that, they took the phone and spoke with my parents as I packed up the few things I had brought with me. 

My parents later told me that the care team informed them that I was suicidal. They advised them to take me to an ER for a psych evaluation straight from the airport. At that moment though, I was left to wonder what was so wrong with me that I was being fired for it.

They drove me to the airport and introduced me to a man who was assigned to fly home with me. Once on the flight, we talked quite a bit about our families and lives. Much later into the flight he revealed that there were only three reasons someone would be sent home from the field with an escort: a death in the immediate family, or if they were a danger to themselves or others. Based on the many hours of conversation we had had on the flight, he knew my family was fine and I wasn’t dangerous. He proceeded to ask if I was indeed considering self-harm. 

Comprehension descended like a load of bricks. I was horrified! I told him I wasn’t, that the counselor must have misunderstood! I was struggling, yes, but I was not suicidal. He offered what words of comfort he could. When he met my parents at the airport, he pulled them aside and said, “I don't know what they told you, but he's ok. He's tired and stressed, but he's going to be fine.”

After I returned to the States, I didn't know what to do. I had always planned on going overseas for a few years then coming back and pursuing a secular career in my degree field. I tried and tried, but there was a recession and finding work was nearly impossible. The agency gave me two months severance pay and insurance, then I was on my own again. Left to spend my days alone and ashamed on my parents couch. I felt worthless. Like a complete failure: spiritually and vocationally. I struggled deeply for some time and questioned whether or not I had misunderstood God's leading me into missions. I wondered what I had done to cause God to dispose of me in this way. I questioned whether I was even worthy of being used by God for His purposes and desperately tried to make sense of it all.

About 6 months later, I was invited to a reentry conference with many of those I had trained with. It’s meant to help returning missionaries find their place back in their home culture and process what they had experienced. While there, I met with a representative of the agency to discuss what happened and how I had been doing since. At no point did he attempt to clarify what my mental or emotional state had actually been. I told him I didn't feel like anyone was out to get me, but more like I fell through the cracks. He replied that that was concerning because it would be easier to deal with an intentional attack than negligence. I then shared with him that a counselor I met with upon my return had concluded I needed to forgive the agency for their misunderstanding and poor handling of me in order to move forward. He looked at me and said very politely that, “no forgiveness was necessary, we did the right thing.” 

I just sat there in open-mouthed shock. It felt like he was telling me I was in sin for struggling and asking for help and that there was no possibility of the agency making a mistake. That they knew my mind better than I did. His response brought renewed anger, heartbreak, and confusion. It pushed back the progress I had made significantly.

I was once again left to sit alone in my brokenness by the very agency that broke me. They separated me from any support I could have had while promising to provide that support for me themselves. Yet what I received was loneliness, incorrect assumptions, harm, and blame shifting. Matt 7:9-11 points out that even imperfect human fathers wouldn’t give their sons harmful things when they asked for care. So why then did this agency that was supposed to represent God to the nations give me, their dependent, a stone when I asked for bread?

The direct link between my counselor and my employer, coupled with their arrogant belief that after a single counseling session they knew my mind better than I did, was harmful and dangerous. While suicidal ideation was thankfully not part of my story, I can’t help but think that such treatment is far more likely to push someone toward suicidal thoughts or actions than away from them. When a voice cries out for help, help should be offered. Taking someone’s job, ministry, financial stability, and agency over their life, then shunning them is not help. It is harm. May those representing Christ learn to do better.