Beware of Your Mother's Doilies

NOTE: This is a repost from my original post on November 22, 2019. I hope it challenges you again, as it did me.—Tim

Rachel and her husband are long-time Frontline team members in East Asia. The three of us are also Tolkien fans, so receiving an article in which she draws on a scene from The Hobbit was not surprising to me. But what gripped me as I read it was the depth of its wisdom and the breadth of its application. Rachel wrote this with young adults in mind, but radical obedience is for all of us who take up our cross and follow the One who said, “Whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 16:25).

 So whether you desire to take Good News to Gospel-destitute places or you are counseling someone who is considering going, whether you are parenting or grand-parenting with a passion for Christ and the nations, or if you are taking a prayerful look at “Gospel leveraging” of your time, energy, and resources, there’s something here to challenge you, as it has me.

“BEWARE OF YOUR MOTHER’S DOILIES”

After a tumultuous disruption of his quiet evening by a bunch of unruly dwarves, Bilbo Baggins is called upon to join them on a journey of great importance—to rescue their people and their home. However, he also discovers that there is a risk, deadly risk—a fire-breathing dragon, to be specific. Furthermore, this grand quest would require upsetting his pleasant, predictable, and respectable life. After considering the magnitude of the offer, he briefly loses consciousness, following which he is seen sitting in his large, overstuffed chair and discussing the situation with Gandalf:

Gandalf: You’ve been sitting quietly for far too long. When did doilies and your mother’s dishes become so important to you? . . . The world is not in your books and maps . . . it’s out there!

Bilbo: I can’t just go running off into the blue . . . I’m a Baggins of Bag-End.

Gandalf: And you’re also a Took . . . You’ll have a tale or two of your own to tell when you come back.

Bilbo: Can you promise that I will come back?

Gandalf: No, but if you do you’ll not be the same.

Bilbo: That’s what I thought.

This scene haunts me. The grand but highly life-disrupting commands of Jesus inspire us in our 20s, but somehow by our 30s and 40s the cost of those commands makes us want to sink into a comfortable armchair and conjure up other less-costly paths of obedience. How does a 22-year-old so passionate about reaching the nations morph into a 48-year-old who cannot imagine living abroad for the King? With so many well-attended conferences, frequently-read blogs, and well-written books, why isn’t a higher percentage of the young Christian population actually going? And for those of us who end up overseas, why do we so rapidly become disenchanted with the work and begin to long for greener pastures?

At age 20, the world seems open and exciting. We’re eager to launch out and try anything, and we long to bring words of Good News where it has never been heard. There’s fresh zeal and joy, a willingness to be inconvenienced, and little care of the potential losses because of the joy of the potential gain for eternity.

In our mid-20s, our good desires meet their first roadblocks, and we begin to feel the weight of all that is working against us. We get our first real job, our first real bills, and start to feel the weight of survival in a world of broken health, car accidents, soaring insurance costs, and the uncertainties of raising children. Along with the new stressors come new joys—having a nicer car, a modest little house that we’ve painted and decorated, a few pieces of new furniture. Before long, we develop some hobbies, get a comfortable circle of friends, and fall into a predictable routine.

By the time we hit our 30s, we have quit dreaming and are just hanging on as we change diapers, put food on the table, and peel the mac-n-cheese off the floorboards. Our biggest life dream is simply to get one night of uninterrupted sleep. To make matters worse, we realize that we aren’t the super Christians we thought we were in college; so we get discouraged. And we see that we can stay busy in effective ministry right where we are (which may be true); so why inconvenience ourselves when we can serve Jesus right here at home? Maybe we even start to rationalize about all the problems of imperialistic mission work in the past and conclude that missionary work is better left entirely to locals. And so, Jesus’ command to go is suffocated by our logic.

                The path out of the Shire is steep and treacherous.

As one who spent several years waiting to go and now has lived full-time overseas for a number of years, I’ve spent lots of time with folks preparing to go. This letter is a plea from my heart to those with desire to work overseas but who have a few more months or years ahead before that can become a reality. Below you will find some practical tips that I hope might guard you on this journey.

1.       Fight against the desire to put down roots. Don’t buy your dream car. Don’t buy the nicest set of dishes. Buying stuff isn’t wrong, but you have to consider the strong and subtle power that stuff can have over your heart.

2.       Anticipate that a day will come when what you feel so strongly and are utterly convinced of now may seem more like an overly-optimistic childhood dream. The real world is hard—bodies break down, financial stresses are great, and simply surviving in a real-world job can be all-consuming. People—good people—will try to talk you out of going. Or they’ll try to talk you into doing something else. You might feel guilty—there are people who need you here in the States. You might begin to question whether you really had a “call” in the first place.

3.       Don’t become so intellectual about the whole process that you talk yourself out of obedience. We live in a generation of witty bloggers, inspiring authors, great conferences, and encouraging podcasts. It’s easy to feel good about all the information we are accumulating, the writing we are doing, the ideas and authors we can talk about—but never get around to obeying the very commands that we have exegeted ever so cleverly. The world doesn’t need more writers making radical comments about Jesus from the local Starbucks; the world needs people who humbly love and obey when it hurts.

4.       Choose your church wisely. It is right, good, and necessary to prepare yourself by being under excellent, Gospel-centered preaching. However, there is a subtle, addictive power that comes with being part of a thriving, large, well-developed assembly. You start to expect things to be done for you and get used to readily available childcare—and feel that all of these good things are necessary requirements for you to grow and thrive. There is a real benefit to being part of a small, struggling group. You learn to live with and love people who are not at all like you, get used to having all your heroic acts of service taken for granted, and learn how to love people through conflict and confusion. If you miss this opportunity, you may get overseas and feel that something is terribly wrong with the people you are working with because there is conflict or you find you can’t make it without all the props.

5.       Prepare to go. Invest in it financially. Take a vision trip. If it’s going to be several years before you can go, take several vision trips. Tell people your plan—especially those who don’t agree with you. There’s nothing more helpful than verbalizing your desires and motivations to someone who thinks you are crazy.

6.       Don’t wait for a final emotional revelation of God’s will. If you had a lightning bolt experience, your future confidence would rest in that experience rather than in the ultimate revelation of the risen Christ in the Word. If you wait on your emotions to coordinate well, you will never go. Or if you get there, you’ll never stay. Emotions change frequently—commands don’t.

7.       Don’t wait until you’ve figured out the answer to all of your questions and what-ifs. I’ve had multiple people say to me, “I can’t imagine raising kids in a place like this.” You don’t have to imagine it. You have to follow Jesus. The stunning provisions He will make will not be in your plans or imaginations. You’ll only see them when you risk and move out in faith. There are facets of His glory that can only be viewed when you press into impossible situations. There is joy that you get to experience only when you jump into the messy places, not knowing what will come of it but knowing He’s there.

8.       Get the education you need—but don’t let it become your confidence. Having marketable skills or theological training is often critical to establishing a sustainable platform. However, there is a subtle over-confidence that degrees can breed: “Now God can really use me because I’m so well prepared.” Humility is far more valuable on the field than a PhD. Furthermore, for many of us from the ME generation, there is an assumption that we should be able to be highly fulfilled in our jobs and have opportunities to use all of our skills—and we carry those assumptions with us overseas. When folks like us arrive on foreign soil, we feel a compulsion to use those skills that we worked so hard to develop for Him. It can be maddening to find that all of your supposed qualifications are not valued in that place or culture. And it really tests why you came in the first place. Is it to look impressive as you use your skills or to further His Kingdom, however and whenever He wants it done? The truth is we want Him to increase, but the reality is we want to increase, too.

9.       Everything is going to fight against your going. It’s really hard to move a person overseas—and even harder to move a family. We are wired to stay in our hometowns with familiar places and people and language. So if you don’t have intentionality, you won’t go. And if you assume that obstacles and challenges mean His will for you has changed, you will not go.

10.   It’s OK to lose your burden. Just keep obeying Jesus. He still has a burden. Jesus didn’t tell His disciples to wait for a burden—He told them to wait for the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit propelled Peter and the others out into Jerusalem and then to the uttermost parts of the earth—they didn’t have a missions conference or inspiring book or an engaging speaker. So why do you so often hear folks determining whether or not to go based on a burden? Where does the Bible talk about having a burden? Jesus has a burden for you. Obey Him. Go where there’s little light. Go where you see Him giving you preparation. Go to where there’s an open door. But GO!

My Bilbo Baggins allusion breaks down here. After that fateful fireside conversation, Bilbo’s mind and heart are captivated by this grand, exciting, deeply meaningful quest to rescue people. He is compelled by the glory of the work to get out of bed and join the journey. Don’t do what he did. Don’t attempt to sustain your soul on the cheese puff diet of the excitement and apparent glory of mission work. It won’t sustain you in the tough places. Look at Isaiah. As much as we dramatize his Isaiah 6 “missionary call” to go, that call is immediately followed by a description of apparent ministry failure. “Go . . . to people who will reject you and make their hearts harder and blinder.” “How long, Lord?” “Until everything is destroyed and devastated.” Inspiring, isn’t it? (There is a dearth of missionary songs about this portion of Scripture, by the way.)

God is clearly not attempting to recruit Isaiah based on the “wow” factor of the work. He compels him based on the “wow” factor of His holiness. He alone is truly holy, separate, unique, one-of-a-kind, utterly distinct in his beauty and perfections. The weight of His glory overflows and floods the earth with meaning. Yes, He offers Isaiah a life of shame and rejection; yet, He secures Isaiah in His love and lasting honor. Yes, God sets forth work that feels like waste and worthlessness; and yet, He brings Isaiah into His worthiness. Beneath and between every exhausting day ahead, there will be the exhilaration of the King’s unending grace and embrace.

Perhaps the most shocking thing about this whole passage is that Isaiah goes for it. We don’t know what he left behind, but the “dishes and doilies” Isaiah once held onto fell from view at the sight of his Savior. His vision of the Messiah and His world-wide work is still stunning. “Behold, you shall call a nation that you do not know, and a nation that did not know you shall run to you, because of the Lord your God, and of the Holy One of Israel, for he has glorified you” (Isaiah 55:5).

Blessings to you as you dream and prepare and follow Him!

Rachel

Postcards from the Front: Mount Ararat

Postcards from the Front is an occasional feature I plan to post here of awesome places and unforgettable moments I captured along the way.

Khor Virap, Armenia, on the plains of Ararat

July 22, 2017

Set out early this morning before the sun and heat rose higher. Temperatures most days this week in Yerevan have been in the hundreds or more. So we raced the sun westward to Khor Virap. Our road cut through a rich land. Huddled along the wayside were produce stands stuffed with corn and watermelons, tomatoes, apples, and apricots, which were just coming in. I saw many orchards specked with these dull orange delights. Well-manicured vineyards stretched out in neat rows to a western horizon dominated by Mount Ararat, towering over all and still sporting its winter cap in late July. This mountain is a magnificent, timeless witness to the unfolding story of redemption.

Reached Khor Virap, an ancient church that crowns a little stone prominence rising above the plains but dwarfed by nearby Ararat. At the foot of Khor Virap is the Armenian-Turkish border, sharply defined with razor wire and accented with guard towers. All the land in view, including Noah’s mighty mountain, was for centuries the homeland of the Armenian people. Caught between its powerful, ravenous neighbors—Turkey, Persia, and Russia—their lands were absorbed, culminating in the twentieth century’s first genocide. Sadly, it would be only the first of many in a century-long chronicle of evil filled with the gas chambers of Auschwitz, the chilling images of tortured children at Tuol Sleng, and all the shallow graves that stain the faces of Bosnia, Kosovo, Rwanda, Syria, and Iraq.

Several olive trees cling to the stony slopes of Khor Virap. I plucked some of their leaves, recalling the passage in Genesis where Noah “sent forth the dove out of the ark. And the dove came back to him in the evening, and behold, in her mouth, was a freshly plucked olive leaf. So Noah knew that the waters had subsided from the earth” (Gen. 8:10-11).

While these olive leaves were a beautiful symbol of peace for Noah, these lands have never known peace since then. The razor-wire lined border that is just a stone’s throw from where I sit is one more witness to that fact. Christ is the only one who can take the children of Cain and cleanse their hearts and hands and give them peace with God and peace with each other.  

[Excerpt from A Company of Heroes by Tim Keesee, published by Crossway 2019]

"It's A Wonderful Life"

One of our Christmas traditions as a family is to watch It’s A Wonderful Life. Even though I have almost all the lines memorized, I still love to watch it. The movie opens a window to one man’s life—a rather ordinary one, a life that often fell short of what George Bailey dreamed of doing. Decisions and disappointments set the course of George’s life, and in a time of great despair, he attempted to end his life.

But through the intervention of an unlikely angel, George Bailey gets to see what his world would be like if he had never been born. It would be a darker, angrier, more hostile place. Friends are strangers. An overgrown cemetery covers the place where George had once built homes and helped families. In the end, he sees that life is worth living. He has made a difference despite life’s disappointments. He has a wonderful life!

It’s A Wonderful Life isn’t a Christmas story as such, but the idea behind it is instructive to consider this Christmas season: Imagine if Christ had not been born. Imagine the unbroken night, despair, and lostness.

In Ephesians 2, Paul describes that hopeless, Christ-less condition in no uncertain terms: “You were dead in the trespasses and sins . . . following the prince of the power of the air . . . sons of disobedience . . . children of wrath” (vv.1-3). Yet, praise God, Christ did come and accomplished all His saving purposes. That is how after this catalog of misery there is a hinge of grace that opens to a cascade of mercy:

But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved. (vv.4-5)

What would the world be like if Christ had not come? Just go to the lands yet to be reached with the Gospel, and you will see it in the faces of the people. Closer to home, we can see it in the lives of families, neighbors, and strangers who do not yet know Christ, the One who is true and only “comfort in life and death” (Heidelberg Catechism I).

Here is where God has given us work to do—in speaking to others of our wonderful Savior. Charles Spurgeon spoke forcefully on this point to comfortably indifferent Christians:

You that are letting hell fill beneath you and yet are too idle to stretch out your hands to pluck brands from the eternal burning; . . . Strong faith must be an exercised faith.

And so, with fresh gratitude over the costly grace we’ve been shown and with boundless joy over the mercy of Jesus that “has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son” (Colossians 1:13), let us then “speak to the people all of the words of this life” (Acts 5:20).

[Note: Article was first published in Tabletalk, December 2020.]

The 1620 Project

On November 21, 1620—400 years ago—the Mayflower made landfall off Cape Cod, ending the Pilgrims’ 10-week ordeal of crossing the Atlantic during storm season in a modest little cargo vessel that until then had been used mainly for transporting textiles and wine between England and France. The Mayflower, like its passengers, was making its maiden voyage across an ocean, too.

For the next five weeks, scouting parties ventured ashore to find a suitable place to settle. Eventually they determined that the fine harbor at Plymouth with its high ground and fields was the best option. With the New England winter pressing upon them, they came ashore the day after Christmas 1620. William Bradford (their chronicler and later governor) recorded,

“Being thus arrived in a good harbor, and brought safe to land, they fell upon their knees and blessed the God of heaven who had brought them over a vast and furious ocean . . . to set their feet on the firm and stable earth.” Bradford remarked later that “before them was a wilderness and behind them the ocean. The only direction they could look to was upward. . . . What could now sustain them but the Spirit of God and His grace?”

Coming to the New World sounds grand and heroic. But at the time, there was no Welcome Wagon waiting—only the winter wilderness before them and the windswept ocean behind them. They numbered about 100 souls, but half of them would be dead before spring. Fearful to reveal their vulnerability to threatening Indian tribes in the area, they buried their dead at night in unmarked graves, smoothing the earth over their loved ones to conceal their losses. William Bradford’s eyewitness account, Of Plimoth Plantation, records many stories of prayer and God’s provision—some quite remarkable, even miraculous. But these punctuate days of misery, isolation, starvation, and untimely graves.

Why would they risk and suffer so much? Today the little Plymouth colony is mostly remembered for making Thanksgiving feasting famous; but in their day, they weren’t known for turkey and dressing. They were known as persecuted Christians. Because of the imprisonment of their pastors and incessant pressures on the church, these Christians fled England for Holland—and then Holland for the Massachusetts wilderness. That’s why they crossed an ocean, and that’s why we call them “pilgrims.”

The arrival of the Pilgrims laid a cornerstone of religious freedom and self-government that would shape the character and constitution of the future nation. Those blessings have been felt by Americans of many religions—and of no religion—for four centuries now. But as a Christian, I see so much more in the Pilgrims’ story than Thanksgiving holidays and First Amendment rights because they were committed to the Gospel, to a God-shaped life, and to a costly obedience to God’s command to gather in a Word-centered community of worshippers. Though centuries and continents separate them from those long-ago Pilgrims, I have seen their likeness in the faces of Christians gathered in little house churches meeting in the shadows of mosques or congregations who worship in places where police raids are frightfully common. The Family resemblance is unmistakable.

Perhaps centennials are not what they used to be, but 400 years is a big deal! And yet, besides a beautiful commemorative stamp, relatively little has been made of this Mayflower milestone. In contrast, over the past year the 1619 Project has made lots of news. It’s a freshly-minted, race-based rewriting of American history that frames all the great moments and motivations of the American story as one continuous narrative of racial oppression. It’s propaganda written in past tense that Peggy Noonan calls “historical vandalism.” If you aren’t familiar with the 1619 Project, don’t worry—it will doubtless be coming to a school district near you.

But 1620 marks an important moment both for Americans and for Christians. This struggling band of believers would become the unlikely vanguard of a great host who came to these shores and shaped a nation—not perfectly, but their imprint would be stamped upon America’s laws, schools, reforms, culture, and freedoms. The Pilgrims’ descendants (spiritually and literally) would also make their own pilgrimages to take the Gospel to the ends of the earth; so perhaps this rich legacy should be called the 1620 Project!

Every November I like to reread these Pilgrim stories. As a pilgrim, too, their perspective gives me fresh perspective. We’re not facing a wintry wilderness with our backs to an icy ocean, but as Christians we all face our own tests of faith, our own dark patches in the path, as we follow our Cross-bearer. The upward look to our King—rather than the downward focus on our circumstances—holds us as we remember His steadfast love. Such love is so strong that “neither death nor life”—nor oceans or wildernesses or unanswerable questions or untimely graves—“nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38-39).

Zoe's Story

Zoe and her family’s story is a Hebrews 11 one—filled with sorrow, crossroads, question marks, endurance, and the all-surpassing joy of knowing Christ and following Him. The following is an excerpt from the chapter “The Broken Sword” in the book A Company of Heroes, published by Crossway.

Jon Wesley and his wife Sarah have taught me so much about courage in cross-bearing, as they have followed Christ and made him known in gospel-destitute regions of Indonesia. The path to get there and stay there has been filled with pain and unanswered questions that persist to this day. Yet, they have snatched the broken sword of opportunity and embraced the suffering and joy set before them.

The two of them served Christ in China when they were first married. The happy news that they were expecting was soon shadowed by tests that revealed their baby girl would have significant physical difficulties; so they came off the field for the birth. I had returned from my first trip to Afghanistan, and Jon Wesley was at a church where I shared about the hard, life-and-death circumstances that the Christians there were joyfully pushing through for the sake of the gospel. After the service, I saw Jon Wesley, and he was literally sobbing. Without a word, I knew why. What I described of pioneer missions was what he believed God had made him and Sarah for. The compass of their lives pointed to lands and peoples who had never once heard the good news. But was that opportunity now closed to them? The prospects were bleak, considering the needs their daughter would have. He was torn by love and caught in a crossroad of question marks.

With hope in the God who gave her to them, they named their baby Zoe, meaning “life.” Zoe was born with half a heart and would almost immediately require open heart surgery to survive. In February 2009, I wrote in my journal:

This afternoon Jon Wesley called. He and Sarah have been forced to make a difficult detour on their return to serving in China. Their little four-month-old daughter underwent open-heart surgery last week. Baby Zoe is a two-foot-long fighter who came through the surgery by God’s grace, and Jon Wesley called to say that Zoe was home! This is a miracle! I laughed with joy and disbelief at the sudden news. Jon Wesley and Sarah have held their little girl through the shadow of death, and in that valley they have known the fellowship of Christ’s sufferings, leaving their unanswered questions at his scarred feet. Their battles between faith and doubt, joy and sorrow, life and death, perfectly speak to the truth in 2 Corinthians 4: “We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. . . . For it is all for your sake, so that as grace extends to more and more people it may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of God.  So we do not lose heart.”

Not long afterwards, an opportunity opened for Jon Wesley and Sarah to go to Indonesia. They talked over the situation at length with Zoe’s doctor. He admitted that no family in this kind of situation had ever asked him if it was OK to move to Indonesia! He reminded them that Zoe would need a second open-heart surgery around the age of three. But until then her condition could be monitored in nearby Singapore; so from a medical standpoint, he couldn’t tell them not to go. And so they went. While on this short-term assignment, they learned of the gospel needs of the Riau, a people group that live on an archipelago of islands that stretch from Sumatra to the Sulu Sea. So they determined to return to Indonesia long term.

In 2012, when Zoe was three, she had her second heart surgery. Her recovery was longer than the first time, but things looked good—and the doctor again gave them a green light to go back to Indonesia. They had every reason to stay in America, but they trusted God—and therefore had every reason to go to live in Indonesia long term.

When I visited them in 2015, Zoe was six years old—and had two little brothers, Zyon and Jon Wesley Jr. And I saw that not only were Jon Wesley and Sarah making disciples on their island, but they were making forays to other islands, learning the local dialect, and “fishing for men.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Went to the docks at Lengkang early this morning with Jon Wesley. Boats of all sorts bobbed about the ragged wharves where passengers waited for one of the sea taxis to their island. Jon Wesley bargained in Bahasa for our passage (thirteen dollars) to Karimun, and soon we were in open waters, sputtering past lumbering freighters plying the straits toward Singapore. Karimun is just one of a thousand inhabited islands in the archipelago, where the Riau people live. The Riau are sometimes called “sea gypsies” because their entire lives are centered on the sea.

Along the way to Karimun, Jon Wesley struck up a conversation with one of the passengers on our boat. Pak Rahmat volunteered to show us around his island, which consisted of a jigsaw of shanties on stilts, pieced together by narrow boardwalks. These places were part of the island only in a technical sense—it was like a Legoland that extended into the sea on pylons and stilts. Beneath us the water slopped with a thick coat of garbage, sewage, and whatever animal was unlucky enough to fall into the mix.

Pak Rahmat took us to the island’s main attraction—the fish market, which was piled with slithering sea creatures. Jon Wesley used this as an occasion to expand his vocabulary, for a man who wants to reach fishermen better know his fish! He pointed to different ones asking, “Apa itu?” (What is it?) He learned that sea bass are called lebam and eels are sembilang.  The women behind the table giggled at his questions but were obviously pleased that he would talk to them. One old fisherman caught on and pulled from a tub his prize catch from that morning. He held up a stingray the size of a turkey platter. The ancient mariner had a cigarette barely hanging on his lip, which bobbed with every syllable, “Apa itu?” Jon Wesley asked. “Ikan pari,” the man replied with a sprinkling of ashes. Jon Wesley went on to talk with him about fishing because he is actually fishing for this man and his people!

Afterwards we took rickshaws around the island to scout it out. Jon Wesley talked with our rickshaw driver, and though he’s not yet adept in the local dialect, he could converse with this Muslim man in Bahasa. Inevitably (or I should say, intentionally), the conversation moved from pleasantries to common interests to deeper things: “What do you believe about the forgiveness of sins?”

The old man shrugged. “I do the best I can and hope Allah is kind.”

“May I tell you what I believe about forgiveness?” (The Bahasa word for forgiveness is ampun.) And Jon Wesley told him about the ampun he experienced firsthand through Jesus Christ, and that through Jesus, God was both kind in forgiving sin and just in dealing with it. The Bahasa word for grace, kasih karunia, literally means “gift of bountiful love.” God has thus shown amazing kindness to sinners like Jon Wesley and the old rickshaw driver through the most bountiful of all gifts—His Son.

Afterwards, Jon Wesley and I returned to the docks to find a boat bound for home before nightfall. As we passed the stilted shanties and market stalls crowded with people and rotting fruit, I wondered why a man would move his family halfway around the world, learn another language, take risky trips across open seas, serve in squalor and obscurity among people who are occasionally friendly, often indifferent, and sometimes quite hostile. And so I asked him why. He answered with a grin that you could see went all the way to his heart, and then he said he and Sarah “have this unshakeable feeling that God has brought us here to see what he is going to do, and we get to take part in it!” I think it encourages him to know that Jesus spent lots of time in boats, too, and knew everything there is to know about fishing—even where to catch them! Jon Wesley is simply pursuing the One who said to him, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”

The sun had just sunk into the western waters when we reached Jon Wesley’s place. Sarah prepared a good supper tonight, and we talked about the hundreds of islands that have yet to be reached and of the geographic, cultural, and spiritual barriers around them, which are daunting. Despite all of that, they spoke confidently of the truth that the Word of God is not bound! They are already seeing gospel light dawn in more and more hearts both in their neighborhood and on nearby islands. Even sweet little Zoe is part of this gospel force. The courage her mom and dad have been given has become hers, too. Zoe has fully embraced the life and the people here. She has a wonderful way of confidently but kindly gathering her little Muslim friends in the neighborhood and telling them about Jesus. Not long ago she took her Jesus Storybook Bible outside and gathered several of her friends together in a circle and was telling them Bibles stories. A couple of minutes into her “sermon,” one little boy raised his hand and said, “I am a Muslim. I’m not sure I should listen to this.” Zoe politely answered, “OK, you may go” and went right on telling the kids about Jesus.

True to her name, Zoe is a wonder of life and also of grace, for Jesus has carried her in his arms for more than six years now—and he always will.

NOTE: You can read the complete chapter (and other stories) in A Company of Heroes, which can be ordered from Frontline’s store, Crossway, or Amazon.

A Prayer for All Seasons

It seems that something big, something tectonic, happened in this long summer of 2020 that has shaken our nation to its foundation. As this summer rolls into the fall with its own uncertainty, I want to share with you my pastor’s prayer from the Sunday following the tragic death of George Floyd. Trent Hunter’s prayer has been a model for me throughout these summer months in praying for the needs of so many families and communities caught up in the fear and stress and loss of these days. It seems at times that the future belongs to the angry, but we glory in the reality that God holds all our days and He “is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” It is the meek who will inherit the earth, and His peacemakers called by His name will reflect His character before the world. This prayer helped me see these truths in a fresh light.

Tim

“A Tragic Death and a Prayer for Peace” by Trent Hunter

Dear Father,

A man died on the street in Minneapolis under the knee of a police officer and we saw it with our eyes. Our nation is in turmoil and our cities are on fire. Oh Lord, there are many emotions we should feel right now: sadness, anger, and grief. There are many things we should pray for this morning—for your justice, your peace, and your healing. There are also many people we should pray for.

Several come to mind.

We pray with heavy hearts for the family of George Floyd, a man made in God’s image, that you would give hope to his beloved family because of the gospel. It appears that George may have been a Christian. If his faith was in the cross the Lord Jesus, then his face is bright with his resurrected glory. Today he breathes just fine.

We pray for the officers involved in Mr. Floyd’s death and for their families. As they face the haunting prospect of a human judgment, we ask that you arrest them with the prospect of your perfect divine judgment so that they might find the full forgiveness of sins in the one who bore our judgment in himself on the cross. We do not know the motives of these men. Motives are easy for us to assign; they are far harder for us to actually discern. But you know every thought and deed. We tremble but we also take comfort in knowing that no motive will go unpunished by you.

We pray for our governing authorities, that your Word concerning human government would be honored by our nation’s president and governors, our mayors and our police chiefs. May each of them do their jobs, as hard as that may be. May they do their jobs well, as impossible as that may seem. May wise decisions win out and the best policing practices prevail.

We pray for law enforcement officers in our major cities, in particular. Protect them from harm, from disillusionment, from closing in on themselves, and from giving up on us. We thank you for the safety that we are so predictably afforded through the honorable work of these public servants. Yet they are sinners, and every instance of police-misconduct betrays our trust and undermines our peace. For this reason, we pray for the removal of problem cops from the profession, for the courage and for the policies to make that easier to do. In the face of these riots and risks to their own lives, Lord, use them to protect peaceful protestors and the vulnerable populations that need them most. Grant restraint where that is right. Protect their lives this coming night.

We pray for those whose communities are on fire. We think especially of the poor, whose pharmacies and grocery stores have been looted, who may have no means of transit. We pray for pregnant women, for single mothers, for the elderly, and for children. We think also of business-owners whose lives and livelihoods are on fire today. Make yourself known to all of these people through the tangible and timely love of churches down the street and neighbors down the hall.

We pray for those citizens entrusted with the responsibility of carrying out our process of justice, for attorneys and judges and for juries. We ask that your Word would be honored in the process of human justice that unfolds in the weeks and months ahead. Keep us mindful that while injustice happens in moments, the best of our human justice takes time. Because of our limitations as humans, and our sinful tendency to multiply injustices, help us see patience and due process as a means to the justice we rightly demand. May the truth concerning Mr. Floyd’s death be plain, and may justice be served.

We pray for minority communities who for any number of reasons—including tragic encounters with the police, past and present—know a troubled relationship with law enforcement. Lord we ask that vulnerable populations would have good reason to trust that their law enforcement serves their best interests. Restore trust wherever it has been broken in our community and abroad.

We pray for peaceful protestors, that they would be understood and heard, and that their goals would be noble and clear. We thank you, Lord, for our constitutional freedom of peaceful protest. While we may disagree on the cause of one protest or another, we pray that the importance of this freedom would not be among our disagreements.

We pray against those with nefarious purposes—those who kill, steal, and destroy. We have been confused and frustrated at the number and complexity of bad actors this past week. Some are organized and cruel, others are selfish and opportunistic. While so much is so unclear, we know who stands behind every menacing design.

We pray for our country and for peace between neighbors. The killing of Mr. Floyd has opened old wounds and enflamed old hatreds. May the truth that we are all made in your image prevail over every sinister idea that undermines our shared dignity as humans. May the truth the we are sinners humble us all to acknowledge our shared propensity to boasting, selfish ambition, envy, partiality, unlistening ears, and lying lips. When sin tears neighbors apart, remind us of the only one who can truly bring any of us together: Jesus.

We pray for the local church in the city of Minneapolis, and for the saints at Bethlehem Baptist Church in particular. Strengthen Jason Meyer who will preach this morning, and Andy Naselli, a friend of this church, along with the rest of their elders. Unite Bethlehem’s members in faith, hope, and in love as they organize themselves to care for their neighbors in tangible ways even this afternoon.

We pray for our church here in Greenville. We need your gentleness, your self-control, and your reconciliation. We need your joy, your forgiveness, and your faithfulness. We need your long-suffering, your patience, and your goodness. We need faith, hope, and love. Grow us in all of these things by your Spirit.

We long to see your justice, to know your peace, and to experience your healing. Even more, we long to see Jesus’ face. May it shine on us today, and may he shine forth from us until the day he comes.

It’s in his name we pray,

Amen

The Returning Soldier

Seventy-five years ago today, the guns fell silent across Europe with the defeat of Nazi Germany. I have a print of “The Returning Soldier” by the incomparable N.C. Wyeth, which is a fitting tribute to mark the anniversary of Victory in Europe—VE Day—May 8, 1945. This wonderful painting captures in a single frame the emotions of an unforgettable homecoming. The soldier’s mom is in a lingering embrace, and she appears almost to be dreaming. Perhaps she, in fact, wonders if this is too good to be true. The dad waits—he’s probably not the hugging type anyway—but his affection is just as deep. The pride in his son and the relief of having him back from the war brims in his eyes. Little sister and kid brother are rushing to the gate, and the family’s collie completes the welcome. A blue-star banner hangs in the window. Now it can remain a blue star and not become a gold one (the sign that a family’s loved one wouldn’t be coming back).

The only one in the painting whose expression is hidden is the soldier. Perhaps in this Wyeth lets him share the feelings of one American GI who wrote on VE Day, “I should be completely joyous on this occasion. As it is, it comes more as an anticlimax. I remember the many who marched with me, and who also loved life but lost it, and cannot celebrate with us today.”

Peace was hard won and would be hard kept. In the Pacific there were yet more bloody months ahead before the surrender of Japan, but May 8 was a day to celebrate. For us, seventy-five years later, it is still a hard-won day to remember—not simply because of the profound ways that day shaped our world and freedoms, but also because of the living links to the “Greatest Generation” that still remain. Of the 16 million Americans who served in World War II, only 400,000 are still alive today—a number rapidly dwindling by the month.

If you know a veteran from those years, find ways to connect with them and hear their stories. Of all the WWII veterans I have personally known, only one is still living—my neighbor, who will be 95 this summer. Not long ago, he told me of his coming home from the war. VE Day was more of a respite from two years of combat in Europe, for he was immediately sent to the States to prepare to join the war in the Pacific. In August 1945, however, the atomic bombs and the Japanese surrender allowed him to go home at last. He hitchhiked from Oklahoma to South Carolina and had no way to make a call or send a telegram to his parents. So, when he reached Greer, South Carolina, he just walked down his old street and up to his house and knocked on the door. His mother opened it, and (like the mom in Wyeth’s painting) fell into his arms—only she wept with a sudden joy akin to shock. Between her tears she said, “I knew you were coming. I just didn’t know when.” Her soldier, her son, was home!

You Cannot Keep Your Life

Courage is rightly esteemed the first of human qualities because . . . it is the quality which guarantees all others. —Winston Churchill

A few weeks after the terrorist attack on September 11, 2001, I was in Washington for meetings at the Capitol. At the end of the day, I stepped out onto one of its ornate porticos to watch the sunset. The western sky was ablaze. It lit the Washington Monument like a candle and filled the Mall with golden light. Above me, the Capitol rotunda — this towering symbol of our republic — was grand and strong. It had been the intended target of the fourth plane.

I’ll never forget that as I gazed up at the rotunda in wonder and pride and relief, without warning the words of Jesus echoed in my ears. They were words that caught his disciples off guard as they pointed out the wonders of the temple to their Master. He said, “Do you see these great buildings? There will not be left here one stone upon another that will not be thrown down” (Mark 13:2).

Suddenly all the strength of that great crown of Capitol Hill seemed to drain away. Something about the pale marble suddenly seemed vulnerable and strikingly fragile. The Capitol came so close to being a scene of blackened, tangled death and destruction, just like the one rescue workers were still picking through at Ground Zero in New York City. The difference between our majestic Capitol and a bomb crater was only about twenty minutes and the courage of the passengers and crew of Flight 93.

Our Current Crisis

While there are many differences between the crisis in 2001 and ours today, the same swiftness of change and the long-range impact on daily life will be felt for years to come.

Unlike the 9/11 attack, the coronavirus pandemic is truly global, and the fear and sense of vulnerability far more pervasive, open-ended, and oppressive. The virus of fear has spread further and faster than the Wuhan version. Though fear is amorphous, it has hard-edged consequences that everyone reading this has felt in some way — closed borders, businesses, and schools, canceled flights, quarantines, and a daily downpour of bad news from jobs lost to lives lost.

We grapple with a whole range of emotions in this current crisis: fear, anger, frustration, and a creeping sense that something has suddenly slipped from our hands that we may never have again. This is the first truly global pandemic that has come with a smartphone and its built-in engine for instant global communications — some of it helpful, some of it quite harmful, especially when media becomes a feed trough for fear.

Courage Is Contagious

Fear is contagious. But thankfully, so is courage. Both are cultivated in the company we keep and the truths that dominate our thinking. For the Christian, the guardrails for our fear in any situation are God’s presence and his promises, which will never fail his people. Because of that, we are stronger than we think we are because Jesus, who is in us, with us, and for us, is stronger even than death.

How do we fight the fear? How do we act with courage in this present crisis? In a thousand little ways — none of which will likely win a medal or make headlines, but which can and will make a difference in people’s lives and in their view of our God. So let’s answer Cowper’s call to arms — “Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take” — by remembering truths that defy the darkness, showing love to others, and giving glory to God. [Read the full article “You Cannot Keep Your Life” at desiringgod.org.]

The Silver Thread

Can it be seven years since the sky was so blue it hurt to look at it, since your grandson's carried your casket, since the soldiers broke the silence of our grief with a gun salute, and since the gravediggers’ work left a wound in the red Virginia clay?

Spurgeon said, “The silver thread of resurrection runs through all the believer’s blessings, from his regeneration onwards to his eternal glory, and binds them together.” I’ve held on to this silver thread through all these years since my father’s last words to me. The thread has bound up the wounds of my heart and given me great hope—because of Jesus, who led the way and has “beaten death at death’s own game.”

Here are some journal entries from those days seven years ago.

February 28, 2013, Antalya, Turkey

Before leaving Azerbaijan for Turkey yesterday, I received word that hospice care had been called in for Daddy.  I was finally able to get a call out to him late tonight and found a long, lonely stretch of Mediterranean beach where we talked for a few minutes. He could hear the crashing of the waves and asked where I was and when I was coming home. I described the sea and the stars for him, but he was too weak to talk much, drifting in and out. And then the call was over. I tried so desperately to recall everything he said, until the memory of his voice and the sound of the sea seemed almost indistinguishable. I’m afraid I will forget the sound of his voice. I don’t know how long I stood there. It was cold, and the tide crept up to my feet. The stars of Orion fell westward as the moon rose and followed them. As I stood beneath it all, I tried to remember what was said and what wasn’t said, until the cold wind and the sickness of sorrow drove me back from the sea.

March 9, 2013, Danville, Virginia

The house is emptying. Memories are still here; in fact, they press upon me. But, like the room where Daddy died last Sunday, life is seeping out of this place. His books, the odd assortment of pocket knives on his dresser, clothes in his closet, the pictures on the wall—for now, nothing has moved, but something is missing.

I walked through Daddy’s machine shop in the back yard. He was a skilled machinist and had a reputation for being able to fix anything—and he lived up to it. He repaired engines of all kinds—planes, trains, tractors, every sort of vehicle whether it had two wheels or four or eighteen. Once he even repaired a blimp that got stranded at the city airport. And because we live in a broken world, Daddy kept busy. But today the shop is quiet. The air smells of steel and grease. It’s a good smell—smells like his hands.

A wrench lay on the workbench, where he left it. Over the past year, with his heart wearing out and vision and memory clouding, he slowly lost his grip on these tools, until he had to let them go altogether. But while  Daddy’s once-strong hands were losing their hold on things, Christ’s hold on him never did. His last day on this side, while slipping in and out of consciousness, he began to sing to himself some songs my brother and sisters could not recognize. The one that was clear was “Amazing Grace”!

When word reached me that he had died, I was on the other side of the world; but he was already well beyond all of us by then. I made it back for his funeral yesterday. The sun was brilliant against a sky so blue it hurt to look upon it. His grandsons, including my son, carried the flag-draped casket to its place—an open grave in the Virginia clay, like a fresh wound in the earth. On a hillside nearby, an honor guard fired three volleys above us, and the trumpet sounded Taps—it was clear, sweet, and sad. The next time a trumpet sounds over this grave, it will not be for a soldier, but for a saint. “For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of an archangel, and with the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first.”

March 10, 2013, Danville, Virginia

This morning, I went back out to Daddy’s grave. There were no long black cars, no funeral tent, no gun salutes or Taps. The flag is now folded and treasured. Blue birds flitted about the cemetery, and between the grave markers, violets and dandelions were pushing through the late winter ground. The wreath on his grave was still fresh. I sat there and wondered why I could not have made it back to see him once more and to finish the conversation we started by the sea, but I thought of a character in one of Daddy’s favorite books. In The Pilgrim's Progress, the courageous, prayerful Mr. Standfast is journeying on and encouraging other pilgrims along the way, when suddenly a courier arrives from the Celestial City. He delivers a message to Mr. Standfast that explains “that he must prepare for a change of life, for his Master was not willing that he should be so far from him any longer.” Then I remembered a little note left in Daddy’s papers in the room where he died. It was simply a scripture reference: John 15:16. After calling His disciples “friends,” Jesus said, “You did not choose me, but I chose you.” And above it, Daddy had written one strong, certain, gracious word. He wrote, “Chosen.” And so, the Risen Christ has called up his chosen one to be with Him. No wonder Daddy sang of such amazing grace as he crossed the river—beyond this red clay portal, strewn with flowers.

Beware of Your Mother's Doilies

NOTE: Rachel and her husband are long-time Frontline team members in East Asia. The three of us are also Tolkien fans, so receiving an article in which she draws on a scene from The Hobbit was not surprising to me. But what gripped me as I read it was the depth of its wisdom and the breadth of its application. Rachel wrote this with young adults in mind, but radical obedience is for all of us who take up our cross and follow the One who said, “Whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 16:25).

 So whether you desire to take Good News to Gospel-destitute places or you are counseling someone who is considering going, whether you are parenting or grand-parenting with a passion for Christ and the nations, or if you are taking a prayerful look at “Gospel leveraging” of your time, energy, and resources, there’s something here to challenge you, as it has me.

Tim Keesee

[This article was divided into two parts and published in the Fall 2019 and Christmas 2019 Frontline Missions International newsletter. If you would like to sign up to get future newsletters, you can do so HERE.]

“Beware of Your Mother’s Doilies”

After a tumultuous disruption of his quiet evening by a bunch of unruly dwarves, Bilbo Baggins is called upon to join them on a journey of great importance—to rescue their people and their home. However, he also discovers that there is a risk, deadly risk—a fire-breathing dragon, to be specific. Furthermore, this grand quest would require upsetting his pleasant, predictable, and respectable life. After considering the magnitude of the offer, he briefly loses consciousness, following which he is seen sitting in his large, overstuffed chair and discussing the situation with Gandalf:

Gandalf: You’ve been sitting quietly for far too long. When did doilies and your mother’s dishes become so important to you? . . . The world is not in your books and maps . . . it’s out there!

Bilbo: I can’t just go running off into the blue . . . I’m a Baggins of Bag-End.

Gandalf: And you’re also a Took . . . You’ll have a tale or two of your own to tell when you come back.

Bilbo: Can you promise that I will come back?

Gandalf: No, but if you do you’ll not be the same.

Bilbo: That’s what I thought.

This scene haunts me. The grand but highly life-disrupting commands of Jesus inspire us in our 20s, but somehow by our 30s and 40s the cost of those commands makes us want to sink into a comfortable armchair and conjure up other less-costly paths of obedience. How does a 22-year-old so passionate about reaching the nations morph into a 48-year-old who cannot imagine living abroad for the King? With so many well-attended conferences, frequently-read blogs, and well-written books, why isn’t a higher percentage of the young Christian population actually going? And for those of us who end up overseas, why do we so rapidly become disenchanted with the work and begin to long for greener pastures?

At age 20, the world seems open and exciting. We’re eager to launch out and try anything, and we long to bring words of Good News where it has never been heard. There’s fresh zeal and joy, a willingness to be inconvenienced, and little care of the potential losses because of the joy of the potential gain for eternity.

In our mid-20s, our good desires meet their first roadblocks, and we begin to feel the weight of all that is working against us. We get our first real job, our first real bills, and start to feel the weight of survival in a world of broken health, car accidents, soaring insurance costs, and the uncertainties of raising children. Along with the new stressors come new joys—having a nicer car, a modest little house that we’ve painted and decorated, a few pieces of new furniture. Before long, we develop some hobbies, get a comfortable circle of friends, and fall into a predictable routine.

By the time we hit our 30s, we have quit dreaming and are just hanging on as we change diapers, put food on the table, and peel the mac-n-cheese off the floorboards. Our biggest life dream is simply to get one night of uninterrupted sleep. To make matters worse, we realize that we aren’t the super Christians we thought we were in college; so we get discouraged. And we see that we can stay busy in effective ministry right where we are (which may be true); so why inconvenience ourselves when we can serve Jesus right here at home? Maybe we even start to rationalize about all the problems of imperialistic mission work in the past and conclude that missionary work is better left entirely to locals. And so, Jesus’ command to go is suffocated by our logic.

                The path out of the Shire is steep and treacherous.

As one who spent several years waiting to go and now has lived full-time overseas for a number of years, I’ve spent lots of time with folks preparing to go. This letter is a plea from my heart to those with desire to work overseas but who have a few more months or years ahead before that can become a reality. Below you will find some practical tips that I hope might guard you on this journey.

1.       Fight against the desire to put down roots. Don’t buy your dream car. Don’t buy the nicest set of dishes. Buying stuff isn’t wrong, but you have to consider the strong and subtle power that stuff can have over your heart.

2.       Anticipate that a day will come when what you feel so strongly and are utterly convinced of now may seem more like an overly-optimistic childhood dream. The real world is hard—bodies break down, financial stresses are great, and simply surviving in a real-world job can be all-consuming. People—good people—will try to talk you out of going. Or they’ll try to talk you into doing something else. You might feel guilty—there are people who need you here in the States. You might begin to question whether you really had a “call” in the first place.

3.       Don’t become so intellectual about the whole process that you talk yourself out of obedience. We live in a generation of witty bloggers, inspiring authors, great conferences, and encouraging podcasts. It’s easy to feel good about all the information we are accumulating, the writing we are doing, the ideas and authors we can talk about—but never get around to obeying the very commands that we have exegeted ever so cleverly. The world doesn’t need more writers making radical comments about Jesus from the local Starbucks; the world needs people who humbly love and obey when it hurts.

4.       Choose your church wisely. It is right, good, and necessary to prepare yourself by being under excellent, Gospel-centered preaching. However, there is a subtle, addictive power that comes with being part of a thriving, large, well-developed assembly. You start to expect things to be done for you and get used to readily available childcare—and feel that all of these good things are necessary requirements for you to grow and thrive. There is a real benefit to being part of a small, struggling group. You learn to live with and love people who are not at all like you, get used to having all your heroic acts of service taken for granted, and learn how to love people through conflict and confusion. If you miss this opportunity, you may get overseas and feel that something is terribly wrong with the people you are working with because there is conflict or you find you can’t make it without all the props.

5.       Prepare to go. Invest in it financially. Take a vision trip. If it’s going to be several years before you can go, take several vision trips. Tell people your plan—especially those who don’t agree with you. There’s nothing more helpful than verbalizing your desires and motivations to someone who thinks you are crazy.

6.       Don’t wait for a final emotional revelation of God’s will. If you had a lightning bolt experience, your future confidence would rest in that experience rather than in the ultimate revelation of the risen Christ in the Word. If you wait on your emotions to coordinate well, you will never go. Or if you get there, you’ll never stay. Emotions change frequently—commands don’t.

7.       Don’t wait until you’ve figured out the answer to all of your questions and what-ifs. I’ve had multiple people say to me, “I can’t imagine raising kids in a place like this.” You don’t have to imagine it. You have to follow Jesus. The stunning provisions He will make will not be in your plans or imaginations. You’ll only see them when you risk and move out in faith. There are facets of His glory that can only be viewed when you press into impossible situations. There is joy that you get to experience only when you jump into the messy places, not knowing what will come of it but knowing He’s there.

8.       Get the education you need—but don’t let it become your confidence. Having marketable skills or theological training is often critical to establishing a sustainable platform. However, there is a subtle over-confidence that degrees can breed: “Now God can really use me because I’m so well prepared.” Humility is far more valuable on the field than a PhD. Furthermore, for many of us from the ME generation, there is an assumption that we should be able to be highly fulfilled in our jobs and have opportunities to use all of our skills—and we carry those assumptions with us overseas. When folks like us arrive on foreign soil, we feel a compulsion to use those skills that we worked so hard to develop for Him. It can be maddening to find that all of your supposed qualifications are not valued in that place or culture. And it really tests why you came in the first place. Is it to look impressive as you use your skills or to further His Kingdom, however and whenever He wants it done? The truth is we want Him to increase, but the reality is we want to increase, too.

9.       Everything is going to fight against your going. It’s really hard to move a person overseas—and even harder to move a family. We are wired to stay in our hometowns with familiar places and people and language. So if you don’t have intentionality, you won’t go. And if you assume that obstacles and challenges mean His will for you has changed, you will not go.

10.   It’s OK to lose your burden. Just keep obeying Jesus. He still has a burden. Jesus didn’t tell His disciples to wait for a burden—He told them to wait for the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit propelled Peter and the others out into Jerusalem and then to the uttermost parts of the earth—they didn’t have a missions conference or inspiring book or an engaging speaker. So why do you so often hear folks determining whether or not to go based on a burden? Where does the Bible talk about having a burden? Jesus has a burden for you. Obey Him. Go where there’s little light. Go where you see Him giving you preparation. Go to where there’s an open door. But GO!

My Bilbo Baggins allusion breaks down here. After that fateful fireside conversation, Bilbo’s mind and heart are captivated by this grand, exciting, deeply meaningful quest to rescue people. He is compelled by the glory of the work to get out of bed and join the journey. Don’t do what he did. Don’t attempt to sustain your soul on the cheese puff diet of the excitement and apparent glory of mission work. It won’t sustain you in the tough places. Look at Isaiah. As much as we dramatize his Isaiah 6 “missionary call” to go, that call is immediately followed by a description of apparent ministry failure. “Go . . . to people who will reject you and make their hearts harder and blinder.” “How long, Lord?” “Until everything is destroyed and devastated.” Inspiring, isn’t it? (There is a dearth of missionary songs about this portion of Scripture, by the way.)

God is clearly not attempting to recruit Isaiah based on the “wow” factor of the work. He compels him based on the “wow” factor of His holiness. He alone is truly holy, separate, unique, one-of-a-kind, utterly distinct in his beauty and perfections. The weight of His glory overflows and floods the earth with meaning. Yes, He offers Isaiah a life of shame and rejection; yet, He secures Isaiah in His love and lasting honor. Yes, God sets forth work that feels like waste and worthlessness; and yet, He brings Isaiah into His worthiness. Beneath and between every exhausting day ahead, there will be the exhilaration of the King’s unending grace and embrace.

Perhaps the most shocking thing about this whole passage is that Isaiah goes for it. We don’t know what he left behind, but the “dishes and doilies” Isaiah once held onto fell from view at the sight of his Savior. His vision of the Messiah and His world-wide work is still stunning. “Behold, you shall call a nation that you do not know, and a nation that did not know you shall run to you, because of the Lord your God, and of the Holy One of Israel, for he has glorified you” (Isaiah 55:5).

Blessings to you as you dream and prepare and follow Him!

Rachel