He Costs Too Much

Miniature houses for the spirits of his ancestors sat in his front yard.

He shared with us that when he erected the "houses" for the spirits of his ancestors to dwell in, he began losing his sight from that day forward. Soon, his family would come to sacrifice a lamb before them, that his ancestors might give him back his sight. He used to follow Jesus but he left Him for a different path long ago. The details of his coming back to the Lord are for another time, but in the end, we watched him burn those houses/altars to the ground. Then praying for the final time for his sight to return, he was able to tell us how many fingers we were holding up. Upon our return trip three weeks later, his smile was contagious as he explained that his sight had only continued to improve. Yet, it was his confession afterwards that is the fuel behind my writing.

He said that he felt despair. He realized that his way of making money over the last few years had been performing witchcraft for people in exchange for payment. Now how would he provide for his family? I imagine that my experience in talking to him must have been something similar to what it is like to talk to a man about to go out on the ledge. Like, he was internally pleading with us to give him a good reason not to go back to his destructive lifestyle.

"Jesus costs too much.'"

This is the essence of what he was weighing out.
Many of us have concluded the same, and I would agree.
Jesus does costs too much, but He only costs "too much" for those who are looking to hold something back for themselves after it is all said and done. Words like surrender, sacrifice and consecration have for many of us been categorized as a thing or state that we will continue striving to attain "one day".

"One day I'll be at that place spiritually."
"One day God will be able to use me in that capacity."
"I'm just not at that place yet."
"Life is too hard if I can't have my ___."
"I have ____ going on right now."
"I can't change all at once."

We are all confronted with that day of decision. It is ugly. It is raw. It is painful.
Sitting on his log "couch", my heart broke for him. A familiar feeling crept over me, and a lump rose in my throat. I felt such compassion for the man. No person's circumstances are the same, and no one can make the decision for anyone else. I could relate to the look in his eye and the feelings he was expressing. I remember my husband and I quitting our jobs and becoming full time missionaries. I remember not knowing where the next paycheck was coming from. I remember using up every last bit of our savings to get out on the mission field, but I also remember the place where I found peace. It was that quiet place of prayer and worship, locking eyes with my Savior. Only He gave me a joy that literally made my burden light. No one can physically take us to that place. We have to choose to go there.

The ultimate expression of this has to be Mary pouring the jar of perfume on Jesus' feet. If she had looked at the sandy toes and smelly feet she was pouring her costly gift on (probably representing her security, life savings, etc), she might not have followed through. Dirt and perfume don't mix... and no one would have faulted her for feeling that way. But, thankfully, it wasn't the filth that she was focused on, it must have been Jesus' face. She knew what it was like to lock eyes with her Savior, and let her familiarity with His face lead her into that place of absolute surrender. After all, he had raised her own brother from the dead (Jn. 11:2).

Maybe your brother wasn't raised from the dead. Maybe you have no guarantee of what will happen next. Maybe it seems to some that it is unfair for absolute surrender to be required of us. Maybe we would argue that it is not unreasonable of us to keep something back for ourselves. And while this is an area that I am finding myself constantly tested in, I can say that whatever perfume I have found myself pouring out, He has ALWAYS taken care of me. And so, I would encourage all of those still holding onto their "bottles", Jesus doesn't NEED perfumed feet... but after you start pouring, you will instantly wish that you had more to give. He is worth every drop.

An Exchange

A black cord was tied around her neck.

Our eyes were immediately drawn to it. Usually, symbolic of a witchcraft agreement the person made. Little did we know that murder, pain and a broken family were all wrapped up in this simple black cord.

She originally came to us for prayer for physical healing, but afterwards, we could see there was such deep sadness in her face. When asked where her true pain was coming from, she told us the story of her daughter being viciously attacked and murdered by her own father with a machete.

All the while the black cord hung from her neck...

She said that she had not made any witchcraft agreement, when we queried about the necklace, but that it was a reminder to her of her daughter. She was literally "wearing" the weight of her death around her neck.

I felt the Lord Himself was looking to make an exchange with her. I looked to my own neck to see if I had a necklace I could replace it with. Death to Life. Bitterness to Love. As I realized I was wearing no necklace, Donna was already taking off her own and handing it to her. She explained that the Lord was giving her joy instead of her mourning. I held my water bottle in my hand and explained that if someone wanted to hand me a gift, I would have to put down the object my hand was already holding in order to receive it. Would she be willing to give her bitterness and unforgiveness toward her daughter's murderer to receive the gift of forgiveness, peace and healing the Lord wanted to give her?

One simple word will now forever echo throughout her eternity...
"Yes."

She is pictured above with her new necklace. Cheerful beads of blue, red, green, black and white, where once hung a painful reminder.

She would later say to a village pastor regarding our encounter with her, "Those people told me things about my life that no one could know."  Hiking back from her village, I had tears in my eyes remembering what the Samaritan Woman said about Jesus- "He told me everything I had ever done." And it's true, whether it is next to Biblical wells, beside African mud huts, in ancient days, in modern days and all the days and places in between, he is still meeting with his kids, waiting with open arms for us to make an exchange.

His beauty for our ashes. 

Along The Way

Our history with this village is more extraordinary than what can be expressed in one quick read. Death threats from witch doctors, vehicle breakdown after vehicle breakdown each time we planned our trip, delay after delay, yet God has had His perfect timing in it all-- this has been their year. 

Throughout scripture, we see a lot of "along the way" moments. While Jesus was on His way to Jairus's house the woman with the issue of blood was healed, the disciples on the road to Emmaus encountered Jesus as they walked, the blind man Bartimaeus on the road- just to name a few.

We have seen a dramatic transition this year, and the frequency of our "along the way" moments is staggering and awe inspiring. This dear woman stopped us while we were hiking down the mountain leaving her village, calling out to us for prayer for healing. The Lord also gave us a word of knowledge for her (something only the Lord could know about her life's circumstances). Up until this point in life, she had not yet made the decision to follow Jesus but wanted to immediately.

People in our villages are seeking more than money or aid. Jesus has stepped into their every day lives, and they have been privileged to see miracle after miracle- neighbors getting healed, friends and family members, the list goes on and on. In our Mountain Village, we saw what the aftermath of Jesus "walking" through a village looks like, we were stopped over and over again by those we met along the way, each with a simple request, "Would you pray for me?". They have encountered Jesus, and they have no need to look for anything else.

Let me paint the picture for you. We are talking about people in mud huts who make their "living" by subsistence farming. People who deal with malaria on a regular basis and premature death due to simple things that we would NEVER see as life threatening in our world. Simply because we have relatively "easy" access to modern medicine, our children don't die of fever, our mother's don't die from tetanus due to a pricked finger, and a broken arm doesn't mean we will never be able to use it again. So, when they see us (foreigners), it is natural for them to flock to us with a litany of requests for medicine, clothing and so on, knowing we (at the very least) came from a town and possibly from a much more developed country. It is amidst this backdrop that we minister.

And now for the transition...

While doing hut to hut fellowship and ministry, we were hit with a tidal wave of awareness- Jesus has walked through the Mountain Village. He has been there. Every hut that we went to had at least one person in it who had been healed of something. Many times, we didn't even ask, they themselves excitedly told us their miraculous stories. People no longer stopped us on foot paths to discuss their sickness and ask for physical help. They stopped us to ask for prayer. There was no reason for the shift except for the simple fact that they had experienced the One who really had the power. Not the foreigner who might happen to have antibiotics on them, but the Jesus who had healed their friends and mended their hearts.

Our prayer has always been for the world to not remember a thing about us but simply remember the Jesus that they encountered through us. I feel like I have gotten to experience the fulfillment of that prayer.

"Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will become thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become a spring of water, welling up to eternal life.'"- John 4:13

What we have to offer is nothing compared to what you give, Lord.
May our faces, names and everything that is less than you be forever forgotten, lost in the beauty of your Presence that remains behind.

When you come to a town, a city, a village, a heart, they never "thirst" again. 

May we remember that at every moment of every day, you are looking to "break out" of your home within our hearts to invade the world around us... 

... And may we never cease to give you that opportunity.

Walking Among Lions

They walk among lions.
Literally.
These people are not of our world.
Bodies wrapped in red, blue and purple robes...
Gauged earlobes stretched almost beyond limit by white and metal beads...
We watched them herd their cattle through zebras and about a mile down the road, 12 lions were laid out in the sun.

They walk with spear in one hand, hit stick on one hip, machete on the other and "go to work" every day, meandering their cows and goats to the grasslands and waterholes... where every other African animal, hyena or warthog, lion or cheetah is headed as well. With walls made of cow manure and roofs made of grass, their houses and families await them back in the village, most of the time, behind walls of acacia thorns to ward of any determined predator. These are the ones we were sent to this past month.

Centuries of age old tradition cloak them in more than just unique outer adornments but a beautifully ingrained need to protect, guard and care for that which is theirs. This includes their tribal identity. It was astonishing to see an entire culture centered around "who they are", without racing to be on the cutting edge with the rest of the planet. They are who they are and are determined to remain that way, unmoved by the rest of the world, unapologetic for being "different".

Living in the national park "Ngorongoro Crater", they exist in a society where there is a group of people still given the title "warriors". Why? Because they are. It is their entire identity. Once they become a specific age, their sole job is protecting the tribe from the wild animals and in past years, any attacking tribe. They do not even share a meal with another member of the tribe who is not a warrior, for even their consumption of food is wrapped up in who they are. In years past, killing a lion was a huge right of passage for them, which has since been stopped by the government. They were known as "lion hunters". They are still allowed to kill a lion if it attacks one of them or their cattle, and when going on the hunt, no one will show fear. It would be disgraceful to be afraid, and that person would be labeled before the entire village as coward.

Falling asleep that night in my tent to the sounds of the nearby hyenas, I couldn't get over the feeling that I had walked among lions that day, not the animals in the near vicinity but these incredible people. A people who have had to be so fierce for so long. They have fiercely held onto their identity, despite the efforts of an outside world to "modernize" them, fiercely guarded their families from harm, fiercely combated drought and long journeys with cattle to grazing grounds, lion-like in their intensity.

We had the opportunity to pray with a man from this beautiful tribe going through a difficult time. Before we prayed, we talked about the value of surrendering ourselves to a God who loves us. When we allow Jesus access into our lives, it requires surrender of ourselves to Him. Explaining that if there was someone coming into your house with a gun, you would instinctively throw up your hands to show him that you will not fight against him. We suggested that as a sign of what was taking place in his heart between him and the Lord, he could choose to lift up his hands as we pray- a sign of surrender to the love of God. While we prayed, he stretched his hands up to heaven as far as they would go, even his shoulders lifted. Before leaving, Javen's dad hugged him, holding him as a father would. And that was when I saw a lion hunter cry...

Jesus is inviting a group of people, who have had to be lion-like in their strength through the centuries, to surrender to His strength. His grace can carry them. His love can uphold them. Without changing who they are, He is revealing Whose they are... a realization that will cause even the fiercest of warriors to bow their knee to the One who has been fighting for their hearts all along.

Never Alone

We were showered with gifts upon arrival in the Maasai village (as you can see by my heavily ladened neck), but the greatest gift to us was this precious man to the left (in red). 

In the days leading up to our journey to the Maasai village, our team gathered to lift the expedition up in prayer. Taking time to listen to the Lord's direction, we asked Him to reveal anything specific to us that was on His heart for these people. Javen's mom, Donna, shared with our team that she felt like the Lord said there was someone out there who had been standing alone and crying out to the Lord. She felt that our arrival in that village was largely due to their prayers. We didn't know who it would be, but we knew that our being there would be a confirmation from the Lord to them.

After showing the Jesus Film in the village, the man (to the left in red) came to us saying, "Someone came to me early in the morning telling me that missionaries had come. I ran as soon as I heard! My people have been held down by the devil for years. I have tried to share the Gospel, but they haven't listen, and now you have come!" This was our man that God had showed us. Standing alone. Praying alone. But with the Lord, we are never alone! His heart was so encouraged to see his people warmly accepting the Gospel. We had brought one of our Bibles written in Swahili, just in case we met someone out there who could both read and knew the language (few in that area speak anything other than their tribal language- "Maa"). Guess who can both read and speak Swahili?? Our new friend! He was overjoyed. As we were packing up to leave, the people were already talking with him about him coming through to their village to teach them on a regular basis.

Just when we have run out of our own strength, He clothes us with His own. Thank you, Lord, for caring so deeply about each and every one of Your kids and for reminding us that, with You, we are never alone. 

"After you have done everything to stand. Stand, therefore..." Ephesians 6:13b

Welcome Home: A Humorous and Slightly Gross Peek At Our Lives

When you see things like this, you realize that your comfort zone really is as far away as it feels. What is this, you may ask? These lovely little naked creatures are the spawn of our much detested and very recently discovered rat family, or "The Rat Pack" as they have been renamed, because the names first given to them like, "demons" and "children of the devil", seemed a little harsh. Why do we think of them so fondly? Let me back up a little...

We arrived in Tanzania after 33 hrs of travel. Upon our arrival, ALL our luggage was missing, and we had only 1 day of staying in the city that it was supposed to be arriving in before catching a smaller plane early in the morning to our home town. Missing luggage is nightmarish enough when it is in a 1st world country, it is ten times more stressful in a 3rd world country lacking in rules, workers eager for bribes and many "system breakdowns". In other words, if it doesn't show up, don't get your hopes up. Not to mention that theses bags are carriers of the supplies that are intended to get you through the next 9-10 months of your life- truck parts, bush supplies, clothing, supplies for other missionaries and the absolutely golden items- SNACKS!

We were assured at 11pm standing at the lost luggage counter, despite very jet-lagged comprehension skills, that our bags would arrive at 3pm the next day in time for our final flight at 6am the following morning. Guess what happened at 3pm the next day? A big fat nothing. Gotta love it. By 7:30 that night, we decided to leave our hotel and drive the 30 mins to the airport to discuss how they were going to get our bags to our hometown, since we were leaving at 6am and wouldn't be there to facilitate the process. Why is it such a process, you may ask? The small plane has massive baggage fees and does not even allow extra baggage past a certain point (for this reason, we were going to have all our baggage shipped via bus across the country). But the ride to the airport did not take 30 mins, try 2 1/2 hours. Easter is 3 day celebration here in Tanzania, so the city streets were overrun with partiers, cars and buses. The good news? Along the way, we received the call that the luggage had arrived. I'll spare you the rest of the saga, as our night was filled with customs officials looking for bribes in exchange for our luggage, broken, exploded and leaking items in our bags, repacking all of our bags and washing items covered in various substances (including Marshmallow "Fluff") until 12:30 am. Waking up 2 1/2 hrs later at 3am to leave for the airport, we made it on our flight, bags sent on the bus and finally arrived in our hometown that morning.

The final chapter of this saga is where our beloved "Rat Pack" enters the scene. The more the 7hr. time change took effect on us, the more setting foot in our house and collapsing into our bed became an anxiously awaited event. The leaking roof which had led to a molded, bowed ceiling in our dining room was a little disheartening, but barely dampened our spirits. We moved to the closet in our bedroom to find white mold throughout its entirety, spiders in every nook and cranny, as well as a nest of at least 100 spider babies that broke open. As I pulled items out, they scurried off into the rest of the items still sitting inside. Yet, the storeroom discovery wiped the excitement out of the moment entirely. Rescuing a load of laundry from the mold filled closet, I carried it to the storeroom where my washing machine is kept, only to meet the greatest nemesis of them all. Rat feces everywhere. All over the washing machine and every item in the room and upon opening the storage cupboard inside, the feces were layered an inch high. The smell was just what you would imagine it to be. This was our introduction to the "Rat Pack".

So, forget the laundry, the ceiling and the molded closet. Lets just go to bed, right? We are too exhausted to deal with this now. Tomorrow is another day.

Oh naive little missionaries... today is not yet over.

I have a mosquito net that hangs over my bed and tucks in around the mattress, to ensure that nothing can get in. *Ahem* NOTHING can get in. Well, as we pulled off the old sheets to put on the new (so that we can finally collapse in bed and be done with our travels), we made a discovery. Nestled in the sheets was a lovely pile of unidentifiable poop. Not rat, not gecko, maybe mouse, we still aren't sure, but it was there, in all its glory. Beloved friends... there are no words.

Later, in the middle of the night, we were awakened out of the delirious slumber of the sleep deprived to a "sumo wrestling match" taking place in the ceiling above our heads, the "Rat Pack", alive and well, welcoming us to our... I mean... THEIR home.

It's like the chilling part of "It's A Wonderful Life" when Jimmy Stewart's character is discovering what life would be like in a world created by his absence, except that he was never forced to make a forever life in that world. We, on the other hand, aren't so lucky.

The end of this epic story culminates in this darling picture (above) of the "Rat Pack" offspring discovered last week, as we gutted out our storeroom. Amidst the discovery of the disabled washing machine, truck and generator due to the rats chewing on the wires, the covering to our bush tent eaten, the empty skins of our baby chicks found on the floor (the guards had to stop incubating chicken eggs in the incubator Javen made, because the rats were going in and eating the baby chicks alive) and rats running out between Javen's legs while clearing out the room, we found this group of baby rats.

So, thank you, little Rat Pack, for your interest in our home, but we will be needing it back now. You can consider this your eviction notice. Thank you!




We just thought that you might like a little peek into some of the nitty gritty, not-so-glamorous aspects of our daily lives. All joking and "Rat Talk" aside, we are thrilled to be back and are so excited for all that this season holds in store. Thank you all for praying our bags through! They arrived on the cross-country bus, a little rained on, but none the worse for wear. Thank you!!

A Hand in Healing Hearts

   Under the cover of darkness in the valley of a mountainous region of the Tanzanian bush, a young boy (around 9 or 10 years of age) came forward after a Jesus Film showing to receive healing. He had just spent the last few hours watching Jesus heal every sick and diseased person that He came in contact with (in what was most likely the first movie that this boy had ever seen- all in his own language). One of the first among those bold enough to walk forward and be prayed for, he held his painfully swollen hand up for me to see in the moonlight. Many villagers crowded around until they completely encircled us, jostling for position in an effort to see what would happen next; they seemed to be taking special interest in whether this little boy would be healed. After telling me that his hand hurt very badly and that he had no idea what had happened to it, he allowed me to touch it. I could feel that it was very hot and see that it was swollen to twice the size of a normal hand. I asked him to show me how much he could move it, not just for my benefit but for the crowd around me to be able to visually experience the healing that I believed God was going to do right in front of us. He barely moved two fingers.

  I assured him that Jesus wanted to heal him and as I touched his hand and prayed, it would be no power of my own but Jesus doing the miracle, just like he had seen in the film- all we had to do was stand here together and receive it. After praying, he said to me that it felt a lot better, and the pain was almost completely gone. I told him that since Jesus had already started doing the miracle, we were going to pray one last time and thank Him, agreeing together that the miracle would be completed- all pain would be gone. When we had finished praying, he said that all the pain was gone, looking around shocked, wearing a huge smile. After encouraging him to try moving it, he did, little by little in total disbelief. It was like a scene out of a movie, the crowd around us erupted in gasps and chatter. From that moment on, it was a different night. One man pushed his way through the crowd to receive healing, some grabbed others to be prayed for, excited people rushed forward (we had to tell them to wait their turn). Praying for the sick continued until after midnight...

Jesus walked through that Tanzanian valley that night, all we did was happily invite Him in.

A little boy's hand was used to heal hearts that night. The God of the Universe came to a people living in the dirt, doctorless and hopeless and showed them the reality of His love. His pursuit of relationship with humanity cannot be contained in the boxes and limitations that we set up around Him with our limited interpretation of His love's extravagance... and when we give Him the opportunity to pour it out on His kids the way that He wants to, there is no telling what we will have the privilege of experiencing.

"Then the disciples went out and preached everywhere, and the Lord worked with them and confirmed His word by the signs that accompanied it." Mark 16:20

Smash The Mirror

    They say that time heals all wounds. And while Javen's accident last month was one of the most heart-wrenching moments for us, there truly are only physical wounds left to heal as a result of this situation. The Lord has kept us covered with that peace of His that really does transcend all understanding and comprehension. 

    There was so much to do the evening of the accident- cleaning out wounds, monitoring vital signs, keeping the injured from having to walk or do anything (we didn't want to risk them possibly damaging their spines any further), packing our camp up, satellite phone calls to America, keeping almost an entire village (literally) of concerned people from touching the men, and yet, His peace accompanied me through it all. As I helped my husband lay down in the tent that night to try and sleep, I prayed over him that he wouldn't wake up paralyzed or with any numbness in the morning. I couldn't believe that I was having to pray a prayer like that over him, but what he said to me at that moment gave me the grace that I needed to walk through it all. He said, "Did you see all of those people today? They got to see a miracle before their eyes. They saw us all live and walk away from the scene. Did you see them all praying for us? God is rocking this village. We have been asking that God would give us this WHOLE village with no one left out, and in one moment, He has done it. I would go through it all over again for them." All three men involved in the fall would say the same thing in the days that followed- they felt it was worth it for the village, and they would go through it all again for them. 

     As I heard Javen whisper those words in the tent that night, the scripture that rang out in my heart was from Philippians 1:29-

"For you have been given not only the privilege of trusting in Christ but also the privilege of suffering for Him."

I want to make it clear that I do not at all equate what we went through to the magnitude of the suffering the writer Paul had experienced or early-day Christians and even those currently being martyred around the world for His Name. But I rejoiced that night in the unexpected beauty of the promise in this scripture and it became MY promise from my God. There is privilege in the suffering. 

     Earlier that night as my injured husband had laid under the star-filled, African night sky, on a little wooden table (a table that had been covered in chicken poop earlier that day but was the flattest surface we could find out in the bush), I had watched the village- witches and witch doctors, children and adults alike- all cry out to a Savior. The One they had been hearing so much about for the last 4 years. The One who we claimed to be good- no matter what- even in the midst of suffering. The One who we declared to be filled with love. The One who we said cared about them and their every need. He was the One who they chose to cry out to that night in prayer. They didn't call on any ancestral spirits. They called on the Savior as they surrounded my husband. And hours later, as I lay next to Javen in the tent, listening to the sounds of the village discussing the day's events around their campfires, I did indeed feel privileged. He had trusted us to go through this situation, knowing we would still love Him in each terrifying moment. He allowed us to walk through "the valley of the shadow" before their eyes... and they had gotten to see faith in action. 

     Earlier that day, right after falling, the men who could just barely walk stood up in front of the worried crowd of villagers gathered at the accident scene, and asked if they could all pray together. Javen felt the stirring of the Holy Spirit to make the most of the moment, knowing it wouldn't last forever. While assembled in the circle praying, Javen remembered the story of Paul being stoned and dragged out of the city (Acts 14), probably feeling defeated, as well as feeling physical pain, yet still traveled the next day to Derbe to preach. He recounted to me his feelings, as the crowd was gathered together, he said, "As much as I was in pain and wanted nothing more than to go home, I knew that we would never have this moment again. The crowd had just seen a miracle before their eyes. It was obvious that anyone of us could have died moments ago. As I was falling, the thought had crossed my mind that I might die; yet, I had no fear of death because of what I have. None of us know when we will die, and I wanted to give them the opportunity to be ready."  Javen shared the scripture with the crowd from James 4:14- "Yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes." He shared that he and the two other men were a living testimony standing before them of God's grace, knowing that none of us are guaranteed tomorrow. Each person gathered at that job site was given the opportunity to place their "mist", their quickly vanishing life, in the hands of the Savior.

     Recently, I was sharing with my Dad over Skype of the struggles of living in a culture so quick to betray and stab one another in the back- seemingly much faster than we do overall in our culture. "Friend" is a much looser term here than I am used to. I expressed that the temptation to allow it to get the best of you is real. It pressures you to close your heart to friendship, not allowing anyone to get too "close", thereby protecting your emotions. This, of course, is the opposite of what we are here to do-- be love, unreservedly, with no holds barred.

      ...And then, he said something profound, holding significant truth for us, especially in this past month of our lives. He said that we are not meant to be mirrors, merely a reflection of God's love upon the world, but we are created to be conduits of His love flowing directly to the people around us. It's a lot easier to simply hold up a mirror, than to allow ourselves to be an unobstructed channel for Him to flow through. Being a mirror holder requires no surrender; therefore, there is no suffering. That's why there is "privilege in the suffering", because in your darkest personal moment, you have allowed the Savior to flow through you, completely unhindered, to those around you. 

     This realization makes me want to smash every "mirror" in my life... every area of my heart where I have abdicated my place as a conduit of His love simply because it was "easier" to live like that. The seasons in life where it would be painless to say that I'm called, rather than act out my calling. The moments where it would be less demanding to just talk about stepping out in faith rather than jumping off the spiritual cliff into the mystery of trusting the Savior's arms to catch me.

There is worth in the suffering.
There is joy in being His conduit.

We are privileged to smash our mirrors.

"He who believes in Me [cleaves to and trusts in and relies on Me] as the Scripture has said, from his innermost being shall flow [continuously] springs and rivers of living water." John 7:38

"For you have been given not only the privilege of trusting in Christ but also the privilege of suffering for Him." Philipians 1:29

Javen's Accident Update

   

  One month ago, Javen, his dad and another missionary were in an accident in the bush. Some of the men fell from 13 feet high and others from 19 feet, as they were nailing trusses onto the church they were building. After hitting the ground, the truss that took 10 men to carry (because it was so heavy), fell on top of them, burying the men from their chests down. Javen, unfortunately, landed on his feet with all of his weight on his left heel (he is still having difficulty putting weight on it), before falling onto his tailbone. His head landed 6 inches from a huge rock. His leg was then impaled by a nail as the pieces of the truss rained down on them, and the other missionary working alongside of them also fell on top of him. Steve (Javen's dad) fell on his back, slamming the back of his head onto the ground. They suffered scrapes and bruises, but miraculously, all involved were able to walk away from the scene.

     It took us two days to travel home out of the bush (on very bumpy, dirt roads) to get them checked out. They had x-rays on their backs, necks and Javen's foot. Steve also flew to Dar Es Salaam to get an MRI (yes, you literally have to get on a plane to get to a place with an MRI scanner), due to the concern that he had a possible fracture in his neck after seeing the x-rays. There was not a single broken bone, but they did find bulging discs. Doctors urged Steve to go home to the States to receive therapy for his neck and ordered Javen to completely rest with no work, no travelling on bumpy roads, just absolute rest until his back gets better. Unfortunately, I don't think that he could do any of those things right now, even if he wanted to. He is taking a muscle relaxer/pain reliever that helps but still has to lay down a lot. He is not the type of person to baby himself when he is sick, still staying up half the night to work on his truck, even if he has a fever. Rarely a day goes by that I don't seem him planning out, piecing together or improving his latest project or helping someone else work on theirs. I know that he must be in a lot of pain for me to have not seen him working on anything for a month now. I so look forward to the day when our property is again filled with the noises of hammering and sawing and flashing with the glow of the welding machine. Yet, despite all of this, we are so grateful for every bit of healing that he has already experienced, and so thankful for everyone's prayers that have carried us through.

Praise Report: The villagers told us that this moment is going to go down in their history and in the history of the entire area. They said that every time they look at that building, it will serve as a reminder that God saved the lives of the men who fell- all of them miraculously walking away from the scene.

To hear further testimony read our post: "Smash The Mirror"

The Unseen Guest

"I WANT TO BE FREE! I WANT TO REPENT! PRAY WITH ME!"

After hiking up 3 mountains, while carrying 87lbs (almost 40 kilos) on our backs (between the 2 of us), sleeping on the ground that night and then hiking through a mountain village to do ministry hut to hut all day, we were finally just a 2 min walk away from our campsite, when those words pierced through the evening air...

"I WANT TO BE FREE! I WANT TO REPENT! PRAY WITH ME!"

At a hut, where over 20 people sat gathered together, a lone man stood up in the midst of them yelling to us. Not caring about the crowd observing his desperate display, he hurried to the edge of the property, screaming the same words over and over again. As we welcomed him to come over to us and talk, it was impossible to miss the condition of his soul, expressed through eyes so heavy that they themselves told us a story without needing words.

He shared that he couldn't live a life ruled by his addiction to alcohol anymore, and he needed us to pray to God that he would be set free. We shared with him that only Jesus could change his life- it has nothing to do with our power or his own. We told him, that with his own words, he could invite Jesus into His life to guide Him and give him the strength to make the daily decision to never be the person he once was. Falling to his knees, he cried out to God and after a few minutes, stood up as a man with new purpose. We told him that we will not always be around, but now, he had accepted the ONLY ONE into his life who will never leave him and will be able to give him the strength to stand in the midst of life's pain.

Walking away from that man, my heart was so overwhelmed.
He chased us down.
Not us, but the One living inside of us... and his destiny was restored to him- the life he was truly meant to live.

We had only been in his village for one day, and yet, Jesus was walking through the village, drawing hearts like the one belonging to this broken man. We read multiple times in scripture that, as Jesus walked, there were divine appointments waiting for Him along the way. People pursued Him, grabbed the hem of His cloak and met Him where they had only heard that He might be going. This desperate man was no different.

We have the Unseen Guest, who walked the dusty roads 2,000 years ago, healing as He went and restoring true life to the dying, walking alongside of us through each village and past every hut. Back then, His feet were in sandals; ours are in hiking boots. He walked the dusty roads of the Middle East; we tread on red-dirt paths of Tanzania. The sick flocked to Him everywhere He went; not a expedition goes by without a sick mother, son, daughter or neighbor being brought to us for help. The Gospel has remained the same these 2,000 years. Our venues may have changed, but His love never has.

May we never forget that we live in a world where the lost are still chasing Him down- whether they realize it or not. Every desperate attempt at self-preservation and self-inspired happiness is yet another lost child chasing after their Daddy. May we not miss our appointments along the dusty roads, red-dirt paths and sidewalks of our cities. He is the Unseen Guest accompanying us, and He is still in the business of changing lives.