The Dance at Shoprite in Blantyre


This past Friday was like any other day this year even though it was our anniversary. Yes, it was a special day but life went on as usual. We had just come from an amazing week away visiting and ministering in our church in Lusaka, Zambia. Just getting to Lusaka from our home in Blantyre, Malawi takes two days so you can imagine how travel-weary we were by the time we got home.

Two days earlier, on our return trip, we picked up a dear friend who is visiting with us for a couple of weeks. She is a special family friend, more like a family member, who we haven’t seen for some years and meeting up with her was wonderful. We chatted all the way home, revisiting old memories and making new ones.

Pulling into the driveway at the end of our journey my mind filled with all the things that needed to be done: the laundry needing washing, the kitchen needed stocking, dinner needed cooking, and life needed to carry on. Then, just two days after getting home, we marked our 33rd wedding anniversary with a smile and a kiss. My husband Jamie looked at me saying, “We need to go out.” I knew he meant well and loved him more for it but because he preaches every weekend I said, “It’s Friday, you always prepare for the weekend on Friday.” Maybe we will find another day to celebrate, I mused.

The day was going to be busy as the next day (Saturday) I was to lead our first ladies’ meeting at the church. Our church is young and the first of any kind of meeting is special. As I went over the plans for the meeting I realized we still needed a few supplies from the store – yes, I have a penchant for forgetting. When I write lists, I forget where I place those as well so I’m in a never-ending cycle of trying to remember what exactly I forgot.

We decided since we would be out for prayer at church, we would stop at the store to pick up the few items needed for Saturday’s meeting. In the back of my mind I was remembering our own special day; no one else thought Friday was special but it was to me. Only once can a couple celebrate 33 years of marriage so I tried to find a card at small stationary shop while my husband was at the bank. I hurried looking through the dismal selection of cards and glanced out the store’s window, hoping he wouldn’t catch me only to see his smiling face in full view. I couldn’t even get a card to surprise him with and chastised myself for waiting too long to find one, for in Malawi finding an appropriate card of any kind is no easy task.

Feeling a bit sheepish, I exited the shop and hugged him saying, “Sorry, there wasn’t a card.” Then, some love song began to play on the loudspeaker. I really don’t remember what song it was but I put my arms around Jamie’s broad shoulders and said, “Dance with me.” This was particularly out of character for me since I don’t know anything about dancing – but he smiled and complied. For a few brief moments the world was ours and my favorite anniversary memory was created. Jamie smiling, arms entwined as we swayed to some silly song. I guess a few people wondered what we were doing but I really didn’t care. Lifelong love deserves some moments of its own and for me one of those moments happened in front of the Shoprite at the Chichiri shopping center in Blantyre.

Life is a special dance of moments that God has graced us with to enjoy. While our anniversary passed without great observation as far as a night out is concerned, the moments we danced together were a gift whose value was far greater than any dinner we might have had in the best restaurant in the world.

The music is playing, life is happening, it may seem ordinary, but God is waiting. Take His hand and dance.



How Incredibly Reckless


I don’t know where to begin with this thought. I’ve been staring at an empty screen for some time, typing, deleting, and typing again only to erase my thoughts and start over. I don’t want to write something that is simply entertaining or interesting – I want to achieve something with this entry that comes from a part of my heart that I rarely share.

Most of my life has been spent working in missions and there are times when it has felt as if I’ve been trying to empty an ocean of need with a teaspoon. I’ve been shoveling and shoveling for many years and it would seem that the water level hasn’t moved a bit.

We began our work 30 years ago on the continent of Africa and what we are doing today was the farthest thing from my mind when I first stepped on the airplane with my husband and 18-month-old son. I thought we were going to serve under our senior missionaries Ralph and Shirley Hagemeier for the foreseeable future; church planting wasn’t even a thought that I had allowed to cross my mind! My husband Jamie wasn’t intending on pastoring, he had grown up in a pastor’s home and knew the stresses that went along with the job all too well. Yes, I was happy to settle in and be a teacher and a preacher’s wife. We had the luxury of a reliable schedule during the week and on the weekends; my husband was invited almost every Sunday to preach in churches in the surrounding area. Looking back, it was an amazing time where we were allowed to land “softly” into missions. We had seasoned senior missionaries watching over us and we worked in an established Bible school. What more could we possibly want?

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?

While we had no idea which city we would start in, we knew we had to learn another language: French. We had already learned Swahili but in the Central African region, we knew that learning French would only be an asset to us in the region. For nearly a year we studied in France and prayed about where we would plant the church. We knew we wanted the church to be planted in a capital city and in time we felt in our hearts that we would go to Bujumbura, Burundi.

On a warm October afternoon in 1991 we landed at the airport in Bujumbura. There wasn’t a person around to receive us; this was my first indication that we weren’t “in Kansas anymore.” When we were asked why we were in the country, all we could say was, “We’re here to plant a church.”

That evening, we somehow found our way to the home of a family that was gracious enough to let our little tribe settle with them for a few days until we found a home of our own. Within a week we had rented a house and began the task of applying to register the church.

Months passed; we faced sickness, civil unrest, and our own nagging fears. Nevertheless, God was with us and the church finally was approved and we were able to begin. I thought, naively so, that things would get a bit easier with time but that was not the case at all. Civil unrest turned into war when the president was assassinated and we wondered if the church would even survive. No one ever taught us how to lead a church during war – so we did all that we could do. We prayed.

Survive it did and it thrived during the years of war and 9 years after the church was planted, we handed it over to our national leaders and moved on to plant another church. Time and again this scenario has repeated itself: we move to a previously unknown city in an unknown country, we arrive with no one to meet us and begin at ground zero. Each country has challenged us, each church we have planted has touched us, and each pastor we’ve been allowed to mentor has changed us.

Looking back over the years of seeing churches born and leaders raised up to lead those churches, I find a smile forming on my mouth as I think of how incredibly reckless this kind of life might seem to those who are looking from the outside in. How did we dare raise our children when life was, seemingly, so uncertain? There were times we wondered whether or not we could continue, there were times we rejoiced over great miracles; that our children grew up in such an atmosphere of faith and trust in God and His plan is nothing less than a great honor for us as parents. While we may not leave them a great financial inheritance when we step over into eternity, our children have a heavenly inheritance of faith that will see them and their families through their own personal journeys.

Back to that teaspoon emptying an ocean of need; all these teaspoons later and here I am still scooping away. Somewhere along the way I have found it’s not what we perceive on the surface, like the level of the ocean’s water, that matters. Tsunamis form on the ocean floor, far from the surface. When they form out in the deep places, it isn’t immediately apparent the size of the wave since the ocean’s surface covers a vast area. However, as the wave moves toward land, it gains momentum – it’s size and power is only evident once it reaches the shore.

God has seen fit to place us where He has placed us for reasons only known to Him. On the surface it may seem to be little, and indeed it is, but the power of the wave that has been created will be seen, perhaps years from now, when the wave reaches its intended shore.

Be encouraged as you take your journey. You may feel as if your part in the great puzzle of life is so small that you don’t matter – nothing could be farther from the truth. Keep on being faithful to what you have been called to do, for you are part of a great wave that will, in God’s time, surprise the world.

Colossians 3:23 NLT “Work willingly at whatever you do, as though you were working for the Lord rather than for people.”

Mud or Dust? Take Your Pick


Mud or dust? Take your pick.

We often joke about our church floors; they’ve all been either rock, dirt, and, on occasion, cement. They’ve never been pretty; they are always of the “needs improvement” variety. I used to be bothered by the floors, especially those of rock, as they would ruin my shoes. It didn’t matter what kind of shoes I had, the rocks would eat them up. Together with the rocky floors, we also have a permanent dust issue. It’s mostly dusty in our church “facility” (a tent) and if it’s not dusty, it’s muddy. I much prefer dusty to muddy, as the dust is much easier to clean up than the mud is.

I’ve long forgotten what it is like to wear nice shoes to church; I have to think of what is sensible, easy to clean, and what to wear that I won’t miss in the event they get ruined in the mud. The ladies and I of our churches have concluded that we can identify who goes to our church by looking at their shoes.

How do you clean a dirt floor? Isn’t it impossible? By definition, a dirt floor cannot be clean – but that doesn’t mean we don’t try to clean it. The floors are swept before every meeting; admittedly the sweeping makes them appear neater but they are no cleaner. The chairs get set out on the neat-looking floor and service begins. Once we have finished, the chairs get put away and the dirty floor remains ever the same: dirty. Dirty as it may be, the floors tell a tale that can be seen in the footsteps, and sometimes knee prints, of those who made it to service.

That people would come to church still amazes me all these years into our service in Africa. All over the world people are busy; everyone has laundry to do, children to care for, jobs and businesses to tend to and yet, our people make time to come to church. They don’t make time to come to a church that meets in a nice building; they are making time to come to church that meets in a tent with a dirt floor.


One might be tempted to think that here in Africa people don’t care about their surroundings – I must disagree with that perception. As much as anyone else in the world, Africans love beauty but their understanding of beauty supersedes what the rest of the world perceives as beautiful. Here on the continent, we have understood that beautifully built buildings don’t make the church. Church meets wherever God’s people come together and this has allowed for massive church growth all over the continent. Our floors are dirt and sometimes our roofs are little more than the shade offered to us by the trees, but we have church. And that is what we find to be beautiful.

I’ve been to services where musical instruments were fashioned from discarded car parts and soda tops – never has there been a sweeter sound. I’ve sat on stones in the sand and heard beautiful choirs sing amazing melodies and watched as tears rolled down the faces of the singers – a truly beautiful moment. I’ve gone to funerals and watched parents lay their children to rest and lift their hands to the Lord in surrender – a sacred moment if ever there was one.

Beauty, I have come to find, is much more than what I used to think it was: beautifully manicured lawns and stained glass windows. Beauty is found in the footsteps on the dirt floor of this life; those steps mark lives of love and loss. My eyes, every time I set foot into the tent, go to the floor, to look at the footprints there. I wonder who is behind the prints I’m studying and what brought them to our tent – and I pray, Lord, may we value the lives behind those prints, for they are beautiful.

I look forward one day to having a building with proper chairs and a proper floor; it will be a real treat to wear a nice pair of shoes to church one day. But in the meantime, I’m busy praying over those footprints on the floor, they are the most beautiful things I have ever seen.





Shipwrecks and Quitting

“I quit!”

Why is it so easy to even give thought to those words? I’ve threatened to quit many, many times over in my mind, but thankfully, I have rarely given voice to those thoughts. 

After some life experience, I’ve learned it’s better to be able to say, “I’ve finished the job,” or “I’ve done all that I can do,” rather than say “I quit.” The thought of giving up on an assignment before it’s completion has kept me going, perhaps even longer at times, than I should have. There are few things that stunt ones growth more than giving up or quitting before a season or assignment is done. Quitting a process before it’s completion has a way of affecting all areas of our lives. Once we give ourselves permission to give up before it’s time, it becomes easy to give ourselves permission to give up on other areas when we feel discouraged.

There’s a stark difference between quitting and finishing an assignment. What appears complete to you may not appear complete to others as they only see what’s on the surface. This is why it’s important not to judge others by what appears to be true for we don’t know the work that God is doing beneath the surface of someone’s life. 

There are some things that we pursue in life that aren’t worth our time or energy because they weren’t God’s idea in the first place. These types of activities will deplete us of our energy and ability to give attention to our God-given destinies. Those are the things we must quit if we want to “live the dream” that God has dreamt for us.

Paul, in the book of Acts, is seen pursuing God’s assignment on his life after his life changed on the road to Damascus. He quit his life’s ambition of being a Pharisee and took up his call to bring the Gospel to the nations. He had invested years of study to be a Pharisee and after meeting Jesus, he was never the same. He is never seen looking back to “what might have been” had he lived his own dream.

As a Pharisee, Paul would have had a higher profile among his own people the Jews. He would have had respect, honor, enough food and clothing, and a home. I’m quite certain he would have had a more physically comfortable life as a Pharisee considering that as a Christian he was stoned, beaten, shipwrecked, snake bitten, imprisoned, misunderstood, rejected, and certainly sleep deprived among other things. 

In his lifetime, Paul had one goal: to spread the Gospel among the nations. There were times it appears that he quit, such as leaving Lystra in Acts 14 after he was stoned and left for dead. There are other times when Paul is seen staying in the heat of persecution and others when he left. What is certain is that he never left fearfully or out of desperation, sometimes he left when he was released by God and other times the Spirit prevented from going to places he had planned to go to. 

Acts 16:6-10 NKJ “Now when they had gone through Phrygia and the region of Galatia, they were forbidden by the Holy Spirit to preach the word in Asia. After they had come to Mysia, they tried to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit did not permit them. So passing by Mysia, they came down to Troas. And a vision appeared to Paul in the night. A man of Macedonia stood and pleaded with him, saying, ‘Come over to Macedonia and help us.’ Now after he had seen the vision, immediately we sought to go to Macedonia, concluding that the Lord had called us to preach the gospel to them.”

Was it a good idea for Paul and his colleagues to try to go to Asia? Apparently they thought it was a good idea as they were obviously intending to go until the Holy Spirit forbade them from going. 

I have a vivid memory of a lesson on following the Holy Spirit that has never left me and I’m conscious of it until this day. I was driving in Dar Es Salaam one day looking for a lodge to house some guests who were coming to visit us. I was on a dual carriage road and heard in my heart, “Turn right, get off this road.” But I wanted to find this lodge and thought, “Just a bit farther, and then I’ll turn around.” When I finally couldn’t find the lodge, I pulled into the turning lane and waited to turn. Within seconds of my stopping in the turning lane, I heard a screeching of tires behind me and I looked in the rear view mirror in just enough time to see a large Toyota Land Cruiser headed right towards me on the drivers side. There was nothing I could do but say, “Jesus!” My little Daihatsu Rugger was not more than a tin can compared to the Land Cruiser, and the impact tossed me and my car into to the other side of the road. Thankfully I was unhurt (nor was my passenger) and the Land Cruiser was untouched – but my car suffered greatly. The door on the driver’s side was crushed but I could drive slowly home after the necessary accident forms were filled out. A long process, and an expensive one, ensued. Lesson learned? Listening and obeying will save lots of heartache!

Finishing a difficult task isn’t always easy, it’s equally difficult to detach from something we’re emotionally invested in. Emotions, like people, are fickle and not to be relied on – the only sure Guide is the One Whose thoughts are for our good. God’s ideas and plans for us are more than good, they are perfect. In the meanwhile, hang on, there’s more to the race than shipwrecks and quitting – were chasing the checkered flag. We’re in this to win!

What Was That All About?

Together with my husband and daughter Andreya in Arusha, Tanzania.

In early 2000, we moved to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania from Bujumbura, Burundi where we had planted our first church. We had handed our church in Bujumbura over to a son in the faith and were excited to see a new church born. The process of planting a church from scratch is daunting enough but we had seen God’s favor in Burundi and were sure that we would see another wildly successful church born. We had seen it before! God was on our side! What could possibly go wrong?


In Burundi we struggled to get government permission to open the church and, after 9 months of waiting and struggle, we received news that our file had been approved. A few short months later, we held our first service. The church stood strong through times of serious civil unrest and war. Today, our first church has planted 4 additional churches since our departure. All of the difficulty we faced fades into nothing knowing the work has moved forward.

However, we had a totally different experience in Tanzania. From the moment we arrived, it seemed the odds were definitely not in our favor. We had applied for approval to start the work and despite having all indications we were approved, we spun in circles from day to day for a year and a half trying to get our certificate of registration. It became very expensive as we had to purchase visas for our 5 member family monthly at a cost of $400 per passport. In the end, after spending nearly all we had, we moved on to Lusaka, Zambia and registered the work there in a matter of weeks.

Yet, the “Tanzania effect” followed me for quite some time. 

Everyone has moments in life when hopes and dreams not only don’t come true, but it seems they are shattered into millions of pieces so small that there’s no way to put them back together. For me, Tanzania was my first experience with such a disappointment. 

I had supposed that I knew how things worked since I had seen it happen before; in Tanzania I faced the harsh reality that each step we take has its own set of rules attached to it. My mind battled with the questions of, “How could we have been so wrong?” and “How could we have made such a mistake?”

For years afterwards, I avoided the subject of Tanzania. The work continued and other difficult moments ensued, but none that hurt as deeply as Tanzania. With the years passing, my attitude changed from “How could we have been so wrong?” to “What was that all about?”

Periodically, as it goes here in Africa, we would get news of those we had ministered to during our short stay in Tanzania. One brother’s news in particular helped me see things differently. This man had told us years ago that he wanted to reach his tribe, the Maasai, who are notoriously difficult to reach. “Out of the blue” as it were we received news he had actually gone back to his people and was a pastor of a church.

A smile crosses my face, now nearly 17 years later, as I realize what never was meant to be for us, happened in the life of another. What we sowed into him has carried on and that is amazing. When we say, “One soul is all that matters.” God will test us on our word, not because He needs to find out for he knows our hearts, but to show us what is in the depths of our hearts.

It took years, but I was finally able to come to a place of peace and left the unknown and unanswered questions about that time to God. I have had more “Tanzania effect” moments in the years since we left, and they have hurt me as well, but none effected me as deeply as my season in Tanzania. 

Then, earlier this year, we received an email from some connections in Arusha, Tanzania, inviting my husband to speak at a conference. Two days ago I stepped onto a plane and made the long journey to Arusha from our home in Blantyre, Malawi, with my husband and daughter. I’ve not been back to Tanzania since 2001, and I wondered what “effect” this journey would have on me.

The conference begins this morning and as I look out my window and wonder what this week holds, I know one thing: God is faithful. He loves us so much that He puts us exactly where we need to be at any given moment. Had our journey in Tanzania taken more or less time, everything we have seen in its wake could have turned out differently. Would the churches have been born that we’ve seen born? Would our adopted daughter in Malawi have come into our lives? I can’t bear to think of that! I thank Tanzania for pushing me forward, so much has come to pass in the years since.

Romans 8:28 NLT “And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them.”

Take a breath, the pain will pass, and one day you’ll find yourself on the other side of that experience. The reasons you endured what you’ve endured may not be understood in this lifetime, but that really doesn’t matter. They will work to get you to where you need to go.

Supposing Could Cost You


“Watch out and be careful!”

It’s the mantra of mothers everywhere – be careful. I always thought that I wouldn’t be as cautious with my children as they grew and I gained more experience. However, I’ve found the opposite to be true; the more experience I have, the more I am aware of what can go wrong. It’s amazing my daughter, who is now 9, is as patient with me as she is as I catch myself (all too often) lecturing her on safety and what “could” happen if every precaution is not taken.

Cue the rolling of the eyes: Mom is taking her lecture position!

This holds true not only with my children but life in general. With the passing of each year, I struggle to hold on to the courage I had in years past. Like everyone else, experience has taught me that life can be harsh and it’s only logical to learn from past experience and “play it safe.”

Playing life safely is good when it comes to rules of safety in the kitchen and driving but when it comes to matters of faith – the only way to play it safe is to be willing to risk it all and that risk can cost us everything. The sad fact is that for the most part, there are few believers today with the courage to swim against the current of what is “safe.”

In the past weeks I’ve been reading about Moses’ life story – his was a life lived, from the beginning, by taking risks. His mother first took a risk by hiding him (Exodus 2:2) when Pharaoh of Egypt ordered that baby boys be killed (Exodus 1:15-22). As the baby grew, his mother took another risk by putting him in a kind of basket in a river where Pharaoh’s daughter found him and rescued him (Exodus 2:3-10). What gave that mother the courage to do what she did goes beyond natural courage – and that heritage followed Moses for the rest of his life, but not without challenge.

Moses was raised in the lap of luxury; yet it would appear that he knew he was not a real Egyptian for it says of him in Exodus 2:11 NKJ Now it came to pass in those days, when Moses was grown, that he went out to his brethren and looked at their burdens…” At that moment, Moses took his first risk:

Exodus 2:11b-14a NKJ “And he saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, one of his brethren. So he looked this way and that way, and when he saw no one, he killed the Egyptian and hid him in the sand. And when he went out the second day, behold, two Hebrew men were fighting, and he said to the one who did the wrong, ‘Why are you striking your companion?’ Then he said, ‘Who made you a prince and a judge over us? Do you intend to kill me as you killed the Egyptian?’”

Moses took a risk, and supposed his brethren would understand he was one of them but that, unfortunately, wasn’t the case.

Acts 7:23-25 NKJ “Now when he was forty years old, it came into his heart to visit his brethren, the children of Israel. And seeing one of them suffer wrong, he defended and avenged him who was oppressed, and struck down the Egyptian. For he supposed that his brethren would have understood that God would deliver them by his hand, but they did not understand.”

After this incident, Moses fled and was gone from Egypt for 40 years. He lived his lifetime knowing that he was called to deliver Israel from Egypt, but after the incident with the Egyptian, he chose a safer path. His own brothers didn’t recognize the call on his life; supposing cost Moses a lot of his time.

I wonder if he thought he needed their approval to deliver them?

I wonder, what would history’s account have been had Moses stayed in Egypt, rather than fleeing, at that time? Would the Exodus of Israel from Egypt have happened sooner? Would there even have been 10 plagues in Egypt? Would there have been more? Less?

In spite of everything, God brought Moses full circle and used him, as he had supposed all those years earlier, to deliver Israel out of Pharaoh’s bondage.

More often than not, those closest to us will not recognize the call on our lives, especially if that call has a radical faith attached to it. If you read the entire account of Moses’ life, those he was called to deliver regularly rejected him; yet he persevered. Was his 40 years in Midian before his return to deliver Israel a period of time he regretted? Was he avoiding another 40 years of regret? Of possibly wondering what could have been?

Safety comes first in the kitchen, with driving, and sports – however playing it safe when we live for God is never the best option. We may, in the moment, have more friends, bigger homes, and even more money but destiny is still calling while we are playing it safe. History’s books are being written every day; what will its account be of us when our days are done?


Graduations,Universities, Weddings, and Altars


I’ve cried out in prayer, like many of you have, “God, I’ll do anything, go anywhere, and give up whatever You ask, for Your will! Everything I have is Yours!” Only to find that everything encompasses everything and that offering of everything I have is much more complicated than praying that prayer sounded at first.

My promise rang out in my mind when God took me up on my offer. I realized when my offering was being accepted that I might not have really meant what I said. Shame filled my heart as I realized my promises to sacrifice everything to my Lord perhaps weren’t as sincere as I thought; I labeled myself the supreme hypocrite until I understood that an offering isn’t meant to be easy. Sacrifices are meant to hurt, just ask the animals offered on the altars in the Old Testament. I don’t think that once the sheep meant for the sacrifice approached the place of slaughter that they happily ran to have their throats slit. In fact, I can almost picture them pulling and crying out for help. No, sacrifices are not easily given; lives are not offered on the altar without a struggle.

Some of the most difficult sacrifices we make in life are those that pull us away from loved ones. That sacrifice not only touches the lives of those going, but also touches the lives of those who stay behind. The journey of those staying behind has a pain all its own and can only be soothed in the same way it is soothed in the lives of those going: by laying our lives, our wills, on the altar of sacrifice. Jesus said, “Pray the Lord of the harvest to send laborers” into the harvest (see Luke 10:2). In praying those prayers, it rarely crosses our minds that God might actually take one of our own into His field. Then, when our loved ones answer the call, we resist their leaving us, forgetting that we had prayed (unknowingly perhaps) for them to go.

God the Father understands that pain, you see He never asks something of His children that He Himself hasn’t done before us. God’s Son answered the call of Who will go?” when He came to the earth. God, until that point, had never been separated from His Son, but let Him go fulfill His destiny. In sowing His Son, God reaped a multitude of lost children in us. Now we carry on with that destiny, our own life experiences mirroring His, taking us to every corner of the world with this Good News.

As our families grow and our children graduate, move on to university, get married, move to other states, and even other nations, the altar of sacrifice comes center stage once again and that lamb doesn’t want to stay put. The familiar sting of sacrifice will automatically cause us to pull back; as if out of reflex, to avoid the inevitable hurt that we will feel. I know that pain all too well but have found resisting God’s will to bring more pain than accepting it.


Resisting the changes God brings to our lives, whether loved ones leaving for the foreign mission field or when our children graduate high school and move away, only results in bitterness thinking over what “could have been.” 

What could have been if we don’t obey God? What would those consequences be? The loss of destiny, the loss of what could have been had we obeyed God or not resisted the obedience of our loved ones to God’s call? Why do we resist so much when the call doesn’t flow with what we thought was “normal” for families? Allowing, instead of resisting, those changes to take place means you’ve graduated in more ways than one.

Here’s a secret, answering God’s call won’t be easy, it will definitely be the road less traveled. However, traveling that road will certainly make all the difference.”

Recently, our family has been reading biographies on missionaries of times past. Just this morning we finished reading about George Müller who was a missionary to the orphans of England in the 1800s and founded the Ashley Down orphanage in Bristol, England. He was a father to over 10,000 orphans over the course of his lifetime and was known for his reliance on prayer and faith in God to meet his and the orphans’ needs. The road he traveled wasn’t what his family, especially his father, expected – his sacrifice cost him greatly and often tasted bitter. It seemed he had nothing, but in the end, as it goes with “All Things God” his life was richer than anyone could ever have imagined.

We won’t see the difference unless we are willing to drink that cup, whether it be sweet or bitter, that has made its way into our hands. That’s the pattern Jesus set for us and I’ve decided not to fight the call. I’m putting my sword down and drinking the cup, it’s what’s best for me.

John 18:11 TLB “But Jesus said to Peter, ‘Put your sword away. Shall I not drink from the cup the Father has given me?’”