I feel more at home in the middle of East Asia than I do here in my “home.” More at ease surrounded by other languages, where English was a minority, and spoken more broken than fluent, with thick accent. More comfortable with those from other countries, hearing their hearts and feeling their souls and how their faith is formed in their culture. The way they say my name, long a, extended h. The strength and fire in their eyes when they talk about transforming lives in need of Jesus.
I was there to capture stories, but it was the stories that captured me. Miraculous healing that went from one man to entire villages deep in India. Two boys who started learning basketball from nothing just six years ago, now go home from university each week to teach young children the game in Ghana. Risking life day and night for the sake of the gospel in forbidden places.
I am not worthy to sit and listen, but it is my responsibility to share their work with the world. It is my privilege, my joy, my duty. I cannot let them down.
Now I have been captured by the nations and I want to go back, away from my homeland. Anywhere. Everywhere. Visit their homes and embed in their environment, understand how they live, the struggles they face, the victories God gives. I will not feel rested again until I do.
That scripture verse keeps ringing in my heart—how can they hear if no one goes?
How, then, can they call on the One they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can they preach unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!” -Romans 10:14
How can the world become aware of these people, these places, if I do not go to them and give them voice? Somehow, I am stamped with a desire to see them spotlighted in various ways and bring about support to help them carry on. In a way, wandering the world now feels like home to me.