The Bumpy Road Home

Last spring our host city was transformed into a battlefield. Rival militant factions fought for control of the government and cared little for the citizens living through it.  Some of the fiercest fighting occurred just a mile from our apartment—a place my family had called home for years.

Despite the jarring sounds of nearby gunfire and artillery, my wife and I didn’t want to leave. We hoped the conflict would be short-lived, and in the meantime, we longed to provide physical and spiritual help to our Muslim neighbors.

As the war raged on, we lost water and electricity. Food spoiled in the oppressive heat, and many of our friends began evacuating the area.

The moment we escaped was bittersweet.

The danger around us continued to escalate until we realized we were in no position to offer assistance. It was time to go.

Leaving proved even more difficult than we’d expected. The fighting had spread throughout the city. Roads were closed and gas scarce. Transportation options were extremely limited.

Eventually, we were able to board a bus out of the immediate area, then a ferry took us out of the country. The moment we escaped was bittersweet—knowing we were safe but uncertain if we’d ever see our home and the people we had been sharing Christ with again.

Our community no longer existed.

We spent the next several weeks visiting family in the U.S. while grieving and praying for our friends back home.

Staying in touch was painful. As we heard about the fighting and looting, we realized the entire landscape of our adopted homeland had changed. Our community no longer existed. Many of our friends, along with millions of others, had fled across the border and become refugees.

We didn’t know how to help the people God had placed on our hearts so many years before. We couldn’t continue our previous ministry, yet God’s calling never faded.

Our hearts remained burdened for our people—the ones we had been called to—so we trusted that God would reveal a new way for us to serve.

Our mission remains the same—to share the Good News of Jesus with a people desperately and futilely trying to save themselves.

Five months later, we were on the move, settling across the border from the country we had so happily called home.

The terrain is different. The culture is different. Our apartment is different. But our mission remains the same—to share the Good News of Jesus with a people desperately and futilely trying to save themselves.

Despite what the Lord has taken away, He has given us much more than we could have ever imagined.

God has established a home for us here among our people.

He brought us to a nation we had visited many years before where we can partner with other Frontiers workers. He directed us to a new home in an area brimming with refugees from the same city we had to leave. He even surrounded us with needs that have become opportunities to serve and share the Gospel.

In some ways, our family now has greater access to the people who’ve resided in our hearts for years. The shared experience of displacement has forged even deeper connections.

We wouldn’t have chosen the bumpy road to get here, but we are grateful for how the Lord works for us and through us.

We still hope to return to our first host country, but for now its future is unknown. What we do know is that God has established a home for us among our people, because He has a plan to make them His people too.

Orar:

• Ask the Lord to give field workers opportunities to share the hope of Jesus with those affected by conflict and displacement.
• Praise God for the faithfulness of field workers willing to serve wherever He calls them.
• Pray that the hearts of Muslim men and women in crisis will be open to the Gospel so that they will seek and find Jesus.