the unreached in the unknown

As a child I loved to hear stories of great adventures, Hardy Boys braving all to discover the truth or unseen worlds of child kings and talking lions. My real world was one of transatlantic airplanes and the beautiful African rainforest where I caught fish with a spear gun and went to boarding school in the Great Rift Valley, so it wasn’t a lot for my ADHD to color the pages of my life with the adventures I heard in those stories.

When God called me to be a witness of His love to the nations I can’t remember experiencing any reticence. My life was made for high adventures! Why should that stop when I left home?

Over the years my heart to carry the gospel to unreached peoples grew. I would read about distant cities filled with men, women and children where the good news was unknown and my heart would break; seeing pictures of lost people my hands would become stained with easily shed tears.

In college, I met an incredible young woman who spoke as passionately about the lost as I did. And after wedding bells and years of ministry the two became three with number four on the way. Finally, the door to distant lands was open. The far off deserts of Northeastern Africa were open and God’s call was saying go.

Although we never faltered in stepping forward, setting our life in step with God’s call to the unreached a veil I’d never seen before appeared on the horizon. Behind the veil were a growing host of unknowns that hinted at immeasurable risk.

Was I willing to be a martyr? Yes. Was I willing to take my family where my wife and children could face martyrdom?… Those answers didn’t come so quickly. The hyperactive mind that fed my sense of adventure in childhood became a dangerous playground of terrifying thoughts.

Looking back, our years in Northeastern Africa filled our family with the most impressive tapestry woven of great and painful memories. Today, we rejoice remembering as we celebrated Christ with new brothers and sisters and endured persecution in a deeper way than ever before. Without a doubt, we were meant to be there, to laugh with those who laughed and mourn with those who mourned. We were called to speak people’s names and tell them the wonders of our God. We were commissioned to step out from the reached in the known to live Christ among the unreached in the unknown.

Unknown risk is the first veil that keeps followers of Jesus from reaching the unreached. It is not persecution that keeps men and women from proclaiming the gospel, but the fear of rejection and images of suffering the mind conjures up as we stare into the unknown.

We say to ourselves, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding,” but when the time comes to step out like Peter onto the turning waves do the unseen sea creatures of the deep keep our feet planted in the local church (Proverbs 3.5, Matthew 14.29)?

We ask ourselves what are we willing to sacrifice, but the true question, the question that God places before us is, what are we willing to gain? To our eyes the nations are shrouded in darkness where stepping out means risking more than we could imagine. Then the voice of God calls us higher and as we set out eyes above the veil we hear the heavens declare, “the whole earth is full of His glory!” (Isaiah 6.3).

In that place we are undone. Our fears and courage, our unknowns and knowns weigh around us as we recognize we have been invited into the very presence of the Lord, to be known, loved, redeemed and transformed. And falling to our knees, with contrite hearts and cleansed lips we hear God say, “Whom shall we send? Who will go for us?”

How will you answer?

the people we meet and see

The more people I meet the more I realize that all people are searching. Searching for purpose, significance, love. Searching for answers, meaning, God. They may not use those words but they are trying to make sense of their days and nights, their actions and reactions, the whole of their existence and the fracture pieces of their lives.

On a recent trip, Elise and I found ourselves in city founded eleven hundred years ago. Surrounded literally by a moat we flowed into the city like so many men, women and children who’ve gone about their lives for millennia, toiling their days away, searching for love, forgiveness and design.

Theodoric was searching for significance. Born into aristocracy he had advantage and position. But he needed more than wealth and comfort. He needed forgiveness. Theodoric was uniquely aware of his sin, his failures and downfalls. Like so many peers of his time he set his sights on pilgrimage as a way to reconcile his walk with the call of Christ.

He returned from Jerusalem with a small gift from the king, a small piece of bloodstained cloth believed to have been wiped from the face of Christ on his way to the cross. Theodoric ordered the construction of small cathedral to place the relic before returning to Jerusalem to live out his days in a monastery.

To this day, in the heart of town, built into the walls of the city hall sits Theodoric’s small basilica. We climbed the stairs to the second floor chapel and listened to the hymns, we sat in the room colored with life where thousands have come for centuries to find meaning, answers, Christ.

We watched as a little old woman, her head covered in lace, lit a candle and climbed her way to set her eyes and hope on the small encased relic. She poured out her prayer, kissing the glass repeatedly, trying to minimize the distance between her and her God. My heart wept as I watched her make every effort to draw near to God, to place her concerns and anxieties on a piece of bloodstained cloth.

Could she not see Jesus standing next to her, calling her gaze up higher? Could she not feel His Holy Spirit speaking life and love and peace into her eternity? I walked from that place in deep reverence for the privilege I have to know that my existence is not bound to intermediaries or tied to relics. My life is rooted in Christ, purchased in His blood and known by His sacrifice.

Your life has meaning. It has purpose and significance. It was created, woven together by the master of all, designer of the stars and creator of time. You have been placed with exacting purpose to make an eternal impact on those around you. There are no relics to be found, no pieces of the true cross or shrouds coated in blood, that will draw people to Christ like your life lived as a witness to His love.

In a market square a Senegalese street merchant went walking past hawking his souvenirs. As he passed me peddling his trinkets I answered him in Wolof. His eyes widened as he spun his body around to match the face with the voice. We spoke of Dakar and our neighborhood. We talked about his life and our ministry. And in the ordained randomness of this Christ-life we talked about Jesus in response to His questions.

It’s not the nameless, the blurry unknown that we are called to reach with the gospel; it’s the people we meet and see everyday. It is a life of true pilgrimage where we strike our purpose against that of others, like iron against iron. Our coworkers, classmates, lost family and friends. It is the distant woman kissing at relics drawn near into our family. It is a foreigner street vendor whose name is learned and loved.

Thank you for letting us be a personal link from the local church to unreached who are loved and known by God.

fluidity like water

I never get over how green America is! Up and down the highways, in and out of country lanes, tall forests and short shrubs a million shades of green are everywhere! This past month we made the trip from Richmond, Virginia were we’ve set up home (with beautiful trees that rise up to greet us out our third floor apartment window) to Springfield, Missouri for a gathering of world missionaries.

Getting up early one morning, still wiping sleep from my eyes, I saw countless sparkling diamonds resting on the leaves of a bush. Millions of water molecules rode in on the mists of dawn. One by one they rested on each leaf, slowly rolling toward one another, drawing to one another, forming gravity-defying drops of water, condensing into these visible early morning marvels.

Have you ever felt like a water molecule?

I know that’s a strange thing to say, but looking at those sparkling drops of water as they held to one another, I felt like one. Elise and I had rolled into that green Midwestern town and found ourselves drawing together with other men, women and children seeking God’s kingdom come to the nations, praying with one another, forming close bonds, encouraged by the presence of God in our midst.

Serving on the other side of the world among lost and unreached peoples can be challenging. There are days when seeing the literal millions of lost people across the metropolis of Dakar is overwhelming! How can one missionary, one molecule of water, transform the desert into a forest?

The words I shared with our friends at Mountaintop Church come to mind. Little is much when God is in it. The Lord that brought us across the world on the dawn will draw all men to Himself (John 12.32). One by one men, women and children will come to Christ, like Miriam, Naaman and Orpah*. One by one churches will form, as they have begun in Parcelles Assainies and Wakané-Nimzath. Drop by drop, defying the pressures of this world and the gravities of sin, they will pool together into a flowing river. One by one the seeds of God’s kingdom will break through the dusty ground into everlasting green trees  with Christ’s healing in their leaves and His beauty in the branches (Ezekiel 47.12).

Looking at those drops of water I saw the prophetic future for West Africa. In each one I saw a glimpse of God’s kingdom transforming global cities like Dakar, as He brings the cloud of His manifest presence over the horizon and rains His missionary people down into the lives of the lost and unreached. Like sparkling drops of dew reflecting the morning Sun, like sons of lights, like daughters of radiances, proclaiming the wonders of our God.

Thank you for letting us be your personal link from the local church to the unreached!

on a journey of faith

Our lives over the past few months have been defined by tape, cardboard boxes and heavy plastic. A thousand well-loved books are packed neatly away along with tables, chairs, and whatever clothes were big enough to keep. Today they’re all tightly packed like suitcase sardines, stored for our return at the end of next summer.

In between wrapping bins and breaking down furniture we were still in full time ministry;  preaching farewell messages to the many students we’ve served at the Bible school and the loving congregations of men, women and children at the churches we’ve planted. A day before we left Senegal Elise and I rejoiced as we led another young woman in committing her life to Christ.

These are all part of the journey, regular steps in the life of a missionary.

It’s hard to believe that four years ago we were packing our suitcases moving to Senegal. The speeding passage of time marked by family milestones along the way. Henry and Fiona, who waddled into Senegal, walked out as kindergarten graduates. Ava, who arrived in Dakar as a precocious four year old, left ready to start third grade.

These are all part of the journey, regular steps in the life of a child.

Daphne, who came to Africa as a two year old toddler, who now stands tall at my shoulder, a few months ago felt the Spirit of God more profoundly in her life than ever before. Kneeling at the altar, weeping in the nearness of Christ, her life verse resonated with new life and truth: “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore,” (Proverbs 16.11). In those moments her confession of faith found greater clarity, her declaration of Christ’s Lordship given greater depth.

Last Sunday, days after arriving back in the States, Daphne waded into the baptismal water before family and friends. Together we listened to the words of her testimony read as she stepped down into the water; her testimony of experiencing the presence of God among the nations. In her youth, in these faded hours of her childhood, she committed to live her life for Christ, knowing Him and making Him known.

These are all part of the journey, regular steps in the life of a Christian.

This month as a family we will begin crisscrossing cities and states across America, sharing our vision to be a personal link from the local church to the unreached. We will aim to bless and challenge the Church in America with our mission to create space to grow a church planting movement in Dakar. We will live out of suitcases celebrating the hours we spend with men, women and children in countless churches.

Thank you for letting us celebrate what God is doing in your life and your local church. Thank you for letting us share the calling God has placed on our life as we serve as your personal link from the local church to the unreached!

the Bridegroom of Kedougou

If there is possibly one thing greater than the amazing cities in Africa it is their names. Africa boasts of places like Ouagadougou and Addis Ababa. Every city, every village across the great continent is dyed with vibrant sounds and meaning. These cities carry in their names rich and meaningful histories where people are drawn together. Senegal is no exception with unique and beautiful names like Tambacounda and Kedougou.

This month our family left the cool plateau of Dakar, the westernmost point of the African continent, through Fatick, Kaffrine and Bantaco, up into the eastern hill country of Kedougou. For the first time Elise and I got to see the birthplace of the Assemblies of God in Senegal. The same red soil that stained the feet of early missionaries like Talmage Butler, Peggy Lasley and Wilma Hoenes now paints ours. Like our forebears, we traveled wide distances (even sacrificing a tire on the road to Tambacounda) for relationship.

In all my journeys around the world I’ve learned that no matter how massive the language and cultural gaps may be there are core relationships between people that span the distance: brothers and sisters, fathers and sons, husbands and wives. These relationships transcend even the widest tribal lines, whether you live in Kinshasa or Kansas City. Relationships unite people.

For the past two years, Benoit Boubane and I have worked hard to establish a church-planting church in Parcelles Assanies. We’ve seen ups and downs, victories and setbacks mingled in our blood, sweat and tears. We’ve baptized new believers in the ocean and witnessed to city chiefs. We’ve watched the church grow and seen the Family Church expelled from our building, and even in the midst of that we’ve begun planting a second church in another neighborhood.

Elise and I filled our car with family and friends to celebrate with Benoit and his awaiting  bride in Kedougou. Over the past few months I learned a little Oniyan to officiate part of the marriage vows in their heart language. The multicultural choir from the Family Church had the people jumping as they sang a song they wrote. The place was packed! Mixed into the crowd full of Bassari people in their homeland were Americans, Senegalese, Nigerians, Beninoise and Togolese celebrating with them.

Why?

Because we are united by more than a city name or province. We are united by more than a nationality or color. We celebrated with Benoit and Sophie because the name of Christ transcends language and culture. It surpasses tribal scars and family traditions. We celebrated because marriage is one of the greatest symbols of God’s love for the people made in His image. It carries us from the beginning of time where God joined together Adam and Eve to the great and glorious day when Christ returns for His bride united in His name (Revelation 19.7).

Above all the great names in the world there is a name above all names exalted in the highest place, one great name: Jesus Christ (Philippians 2.9). Jesus is the bridegroom who calls from His heavenly throne to His bride made of men and women from every tribe, people and tongue (Revelation 7.9). We, who are Christians, called by His rich and meaningful name, are His bride and He embraces us in Kingston, Kiev and Kedougou.

Thank you for letting our family be a personal link from the local church to the unreached.

unfrozen in time

It looked like she was frozen in time.

Last month, flying to teach a class in Equatorial Guinea, I found myself early one morning sitting in the new Senegal national airport. Long shadows shortened as the sun came over the horizon and hints of life began to stir. The terminal, besides a few other travelers headed to unknown locations, was empty. I looked at the planes sitting in wait, the trucks and people moving near the runway. Then all of a sudden the most remarkable thing happened.

A bird swooped into view and, as it’s body came parallel with the window in front of my face, it froze. Wings extended. Eyes steeled ahead. It’s brown top feathers and soft speckled off-white belly unmoved. It was like watching a movie and at the height of the action someone pushed the pause button.

This beautiful Montagu’s Harrier was frozen in time before my eyes.

The headwind was like a brick wall. The bird hung there suspended in the air, her previous momentum keeping her from falling backward. After a few seconds of what appeared to be miraculous, the harrier began to beat her stationary wings, a fury of feathers, raising her body at least five feet. I thought to myself, what a beautiful illustration this bird had given me of overcoming!

That was until it froze again!

Despite raising its body straight up, she was still caught in the same wind tunnel, spreading her wings against the wind, her frame frozen against the opposing force. My beautiful illustration of overcoming was shattered. The bird was in the same situation just higher.

If you don’t know anything about the Montagu’s Harrier it’s an incredible bird. It is not native to Senegal. This particular bird flies long distances, has conquered the Sahara, flying from Southern Europe and Eurasia. It is a migrating bird capable of flying through all kinds of harsh conditions and climates.

And despite all this, a minuscule airport wind tunnel had conquered her. My sermon illustration was wrecked! Then the wings began to beat again, harder, faster, stronger. Her body raised another five feet and this time instead of being frozen in space her svelte shape went shooting out of sight like a bullet fired from a gun!

As followers of Jesus we have a choice when we face opposition, but too often we oversimplify the Christian life. When we face trials and tribulations, regardless of the momentum that has brought us to where we are, we freeze. We know that we “are more than conquerors” but when faced with something that must be conquered we shrink from the battle (Romans 8.37).

This past month the Family Church, the first church we planted here in Dakar, was evicted from her building. For months, the pastor and elders worked back and forth with the landlord to come to a new agreement. Yet, after all the ups and downs, after all the beating of wings, in a matter of hours the pulpit, chairs and keyboard were on the street. Moments like these can crush a people’s spirit. Just think of the desert-wandering  former slaves of Egypt who instead of looking toward the unknown and unseen Promised Land were ready to go back to their former lives of known suffering.

Like the Montagu’s Harrier you were made for more, more than an airport wind tunnel, more than a single point in history. You were made to conquer the unknown and the unseen, to ascend higher and higher still. But don’t be deceived by these simple words, there is nothing simple about them. “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” Jesus told us this so that in the face of trials and tribulations, we can have peace (John 16.33).

Like the Family Church in Parcelles Assainies, if you are going through difficulties don’t be surprised, hear the voice of Jesus calling you to take heart, lift you eyes, raise your arms, refuse to be defeated or cling to the known meager past. There is a future and a hope only found in Jesus, and Jesus is calling you higher, unfrozen in time.
 

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Header Picture by Radovan Václav Used through Creative Commons

a legacy of creating space

What is your legacy? Each of us will leave a legacy, the accumulated wealth of our lives, to those who follow after us.

Early American missionaries came to West Africa steaming across the Atlantic on ships. These men, women and their families willingly lived a candlelight existence in a modern world. They carried the gospel by firelight into the bush to find the lost villages, met with chiefs and established tabernacles among them.

Missionaries like Harold and Marge Jones who took their young family deep into the heart of Upper Volta (now Burkina Faso). They left modern medicine behind to reach unreached peoples. When their three year old daughter Peggy lay dying with blackwater fever they could only put their trust in the Lord to save her life. The Jones left a legacy in West Africa of creating space to grow a church planting movement.

Miraculously, Peggy recovered, and grew up dedicating her life to reaching the nations. She and her husband Bill Lasley arrived in Senegal in 1959 pioneering the work in Tambacounda. After working many long and hard days, waiting for any sign of a harvest, they cried out to God. Why had they come to Senegal only to find opposition and resistance. It was then that the Lord told them, “You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you,” (John 15.16). They stayed in Senegal and the Lasleys were the first missionaries with the Assemblies of God to lead Senegalese to Christ. They were the first to baptize those new believers. They were the first to perform weddings. They were the first to create space among the Serer people group and countless others.

Speaking with Peggy on the phone this month and hearing her story firsthand encouraged my heart. We are working in the space they made for us, the legacy they left for us. A common phrase we hear often is that we stand on the shoulders of giants and that is true, but it is only possible if those giants allow us to.

As we approach a new era in missions, as the world around us goes through a global culture shift, we must ask ourselves, like Bill and Peggy before us, like Harold and Marge before them, how are we changing to see the lost nations transfigured by the glory of Jesus?

I am reminded of the conquering king David resting in his palace (2 Samuel 7). Surveying the great favor God had given him over his enemies and the grand home he had been able to build. His heart became unsettled as he thought of the ark of God camping out in a tent. At the height of his success he called the prophet Nathan and told him his plans to build a temple for the Lord. Nathan was thrilled with the idea and encouraged David, but that night, as he listened to the voice of God, Nathan had to go back and deliver a different message to the king. Nathan had to go back and tell David that he would not build a house for God, instead it was God who would build a house for David, a royal dynasty, an everlasting legacy. David was a good king, but his legacy extended beyond himself and what he could accomplish by himself. The greater things were in the days to come!

David could have responded several different ways. He could have discounted Nathan’s words. He could have built a temple for God anyway. He could have dedicated himself to building up his own kingdom apart from God. David could have easily derailed his life and the legacy God had for him if he’d held on to his limited vision of the future.

Instead, David received the word of God from Nathan. He humbled himself and found a legacy sweeter and more profound than any he could have every asked or imagined. He dreamed of a Temple and the act of worship in its construction; but building the Temple wasn’t his worship to bring, but his legacy to leave for his son.

As Brandon Baldwin says, “We tend to overestimate what we can do in a year or two, and underestimate what God can do in ten or twenty.” We overestimate what we can accomplish alone and underestimate what God can accomplish through us together. The Lasleys baptized the first Senegalese believers in our fellowship, but they generously passed that legacy on to us. Bill and Peggy created space to grow a church planting movement and we share in their work. United in Christ we rejoice together!

Each of us will leave a legacy. What is yours?

essential circles

“How do you plant churches?”

Driving the long road from N'djamena to Moundou was like stepping back in time. Back to a time, like the island time of my childhood, of intermittent electricity and the warm African sun. With my camera cautiously in hand, slowly drifting down the pothole riddled road, I watched for people moving through their day; men on horse-carts, boys herding cattle, women hauling water. Dodging another cavernous rut we passed two little girls and their mother carrying straw.

“How do you plant churches?”

In the desert scrub of Chad these little girls and their mother collected those thin strands of straw, picking each piece by hand. Then binding them together with a length of rope they carried them home.

A single piece of straw will never make a roof. By itself it is too small, too weak. What potential does a single strand of dry straw really hold? Yet that seemingly insignificant stalk, bound together in a bundle, woven together with other bundles, joined together in ever widening circles, can make a roof. Together drawing strength from one another each weak straw stands high over a home protecting everyone beneath it.

“How do you plant churches?”

essential circles

We plant churches like we build thatch roofs: in essential circles.

We plant churches like we build thatch roofs: in essential circles. Every aspect of our lives is influenced by others and is influencing others around us. Our personal relationship with Jesus is an essential circle as we are bound to Christ. Our marriage is an essential circle as we weave our relationship together with God (Ecclesiastes 4.12). Our family is an essential circle as we influence our children and teach them how to be sensitive to the voice of the Spirit (Prov. 6.21).

We plant churches in essential circles by creating relationships that create relationships.

We plant churches in essential circles by creating relationships that create relationships. If the point and purpose of our relationships are about us, about what we gain from them, then our influence will only hold as many people as our arms can wrap around. At most we might be able to make a hat. But if we are intentionally building relationships that influence others to serve and be served by one another, we are creating a culture of transformational servant leadership. As weak and humble people we have the potential as we are drawn together by Christ to weave our lives together to form a covering for the nations where they can see the Lordship of Christ lifted up.

Each church we plant in Senegal is another bundle of straw being joined together to cover the peoples of this nation. With every Serer believer we have the increased influence to reach the Jola. And with the every Jola believer we have the capacity to extend the gospel to the Pulaar. Together, as a multicultural creation, created in Christ Jesus for good works we will see the Wolof come to Christ and be woven into the kingdom of God (Ephesians 2.10). We will see an increasingly redeemed and transformed Africa as we effectively join our hearts and lives with the men, women and children of these national churches. In the power of the Holy Spirit across tribal and national barriers we will tower, like an eschatological beacon, a “ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation,” (Revelation 5.9-10).

Today, there are 16 African countries, like Chad, without a worker from our fellowship. No one is out in the open fields collecting the straw, no one is binding them together, no one is creating the covering for the nations. Would you be a transformational servant leader, like a little Chadian girl, collecting and carrying the straw and weaving them together?

“How do you plant churches?”

the cost of discipleship

For the past three years our family has lived in a little middle-class neighborhood nestled in the urban sprawl of Guediawaye. This community is distinct because the land developer built hundreds of cookie cutter two-story houses. They all look the same, from their shape to the beige and orange paint.

Once people buy the home they can chose to modify it. All around our little concrete block home, now stand five-story apartment buildings with ornate metal work and tile. Our homes look different but underneath they all have the same narrow two-story foundation. In twenty years most of the buildings around us will collapse because they didn’t build with the future in mind.

They didn’t count the cost to dig out the inadequate foundations and start over. They built their towering frames of concrete and live for today.

So, it came as a surprise to me in another part of the city when I came across a one-story house with a three-story stairwell! This little unassuming house can barely be seen over its fence except for a towering concrete staircase set toward the sky. This little rancher sits on a massive and deep foundation.

They couldn’t afford to build the whole building at once, but they had the money for the foundation, the first floor, and their hope for the future.

Surrounded by the crowd Jesus said, “For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it?” (Luke 14.28).

Elise and I desire to build a tower, a church planting movement, a fellowship of Jesus followers that stands as a beacon to the unreached. We count the cost of investing our lives into African brothers and sisters who will build His church and serve as watchmen on its walls.

We dream of an increasingly redeemed and transformed Africa.

But dreams are easy. Dreams can float in and out of the transom of our minds. It is only when we begin to count the cost of our dreams, begin to form a vision to see those dreams become a reality that we discover where the difficulties are.

In counting the cost we recognize that all our blood, sweat and tears are inadequate; all our resources, talents and skills can only build a temporary foundation at best. If we build a church planting movement on our personalities and strengths the moment we move our hand away we will watch as the tower falls. To paraphrase Ken Blanchard, the test of our architectural skill is not what happens when we are there, but what happens when we are not.

And so we count the cost. We dig out the old collapsing foundations. We invest our hope for the future.

We realize that no amount of outside money can pay African pastors long enough to create a self-supporting church. We recognize that we are only channels, humble witnesses seeing the Spirit establish a self-propagating church. We recall the servant-leaders who made room for us, so we create space for a new generation of men and women to pastor the new churches He plants.

We count the cost and build the foundation, the first floor, and the hope for the future.

Because a strong foundation was laid yesterday, the Family Church in Parcelles Assainies is growing as a self-supporting, self-propagating and self-governing church. Today, the Église Suñu Gaal in Wakané-Nimzatt is passing through the birth pains as this new fellowship is born. And we have a firm hope that tomorrow and the days to follow we will see more churches planted throughout Dakar, across Senegal and the world.

A church planting movement among the unreached and resistant peoples of Senegal only looks impossible as long as it remains unfilled. And it will only become reality with absolute faith and commitment to count the cost.

Thank you for counting the cost with us!

jars d'argile

Have you ever woken up and said to yourself, “I think today I’m going to intentionally choose to speak like a child today? I am going to sound like a three year old muttering his best through clunky phrases and mixed pronouns.”

No? You say that’s not something you would ever even consider?

Me either. But somehow that’s exactly what happens every day. It happened today as I was getting in my car. It happened yesterday at the grocery store. And it will happen tomorrow.

I’ve read the greatest works of English literature. I’ve written persuasive essays. I’ve even penned a poem or two. But none of that means a thing the moment you switch the language.

I open my mouth and, as great as I hope it sounds, my French is befuddled with an accent. My Wolof is grammatically lacking. For a year I mispronounced my associate pastor’s name, Benoit. With a skillful misuse of the first vowel I called him bathtub. Bathtub. For a year. He only smiled. For. A. Year.

My mouth of clay chips crumbles as I try to make the French “r” sound. My soul stretches and strains as it expresses the Gospel, the most valuable treasure of all, in these foreign languages. And somehow the message slips through, bad accent and all.

Why do people leave their home culture and their heart languages and go to the nations?! Couldn’t national believers do what foreign missionaries do some much better?

Working in Senegal, among people who don’t look like me, who don’t share my culture, who literally don’t even speak the same language, I am constantly reminded that I am a clay jar. I am a muddy mix of soil pulled out of the ground, shaped and formed and chosen.

Chosen. I’m chosen. I was chosen for this.

We can get lost in the numbers and the logic. At the end of the day people go because they are called. We send missionaries from their homes and home cultures into the far-flung places of this world because a God-calling was sent out to the peoples He created to plant His church among the unreached.

I’m not a golden vase. I’m not a crystal carafe. I’m a simple jar of clay (a “vases faits d’argile”). My French words are not masterful. My Wolof is not eloquent. My words are simple, direct, honest. No one could possibly be blinded by the poetry of my phrases. I am a jar made of common clay carrying the most valuable treasure: Jesus Christ.

God is calling Senegalese men, women and children to Himself. He is calling a new generation of new born believers, a new wave of church planters to take up the commission and become personal links from the local churches we plant today to go to other unreached peoples tomorrow. And He is doing this through us!

What a humbling thought!

Sitting here by our Christmas tree, greeting our night-guard, I’m reminded of a little boy toddling around his mother’s knees, watching his father hammer and nail, sitting in dirt beneath the starry skies. His words were simple. His speech only then beginning to form. And yet, kings came to him bearing gifts. Into, what I imagine was, a mud brick home came kings from afar carrying gifts of great worth to worship the King of Kings. How could he receive them? How could he thank them for their recognition?

Jesus came into this world as a baby, with halting words and the constraints of humanity to express the absolute image of truth and love.

Thank you for sending us, for helping us pursue the calling of God on our lives, to proclaim Christ’s love to the nations! Thank you for all your support as we have learned two languages this term so that we might more effectively share the Truth of the Gospel to the nations. Thank you for letting us be your personal link from the local church to the unreached.