The things we allow ourselves to make time for are what become precious to us.
I have four children, each one is precious to me. My firstborn was the first: the first child born to our family, the first one we taught to walk, the first one we walked to school, and the first one to leave home. He was the "trial run" that paved the way for his siblings.…
This time of year, we take part in a fast. It's always a very meaningful time where we push back and set our minds on our relationship with the Lord and what He has planned for us in the coming year. It's kind of a reset button that helps us keep our ears and hearts…
Then came the call to plant churches. This disturbed my idyllic life on the mission field. I can’t say that the call came in the form of a great vision or prophecy. It came more like something we knew we had to do. At first, it was exciting – the very idea of starting a church from nothing was intriguing. Where would we go? How would we start? Who would come?
In this world of great pain and need, what can be done to bring meaningful change? On the African continent alone, there are hundreds of millions of stories like these; it feels like an impossible situation. I am daily assaulted with feelings of despair when I see hungry children, abused women, and hopelessness in the eyes of the vulnerable. Are we exempt from doing anything because whatever we do won’t be enough to touch vast swaths of the population?
It may sound a bit romantic, planting a church where there was none before. It may also sound a bit foolish, what guarantees would there be of a successful church plant? What would we do if no one wanted to join our intrepid band of church planters, i.e., our family?
“I knew I’d be hungry so I brought a sandwich.”