Same destination, different road

We are not in Nepal.

No matter how much we want to be there, no matter how hard we pray otherwise …

We are here.

And yet, our calling remains.

We are missionaries at heart. We love to see the unreached know Christ. We want to sow the seeds and set the captives free.

But, we are here.

So, God … what’s next?

After returning stateside, we had no margin for asking the “What’s next?” question. Pressure was immediate to find housing, transportation, and stop-gap employment to shore up the financial support we knew we’d lose. God met us there, and made quick work of what seemed like an insurmountable task, mobilizing an army of believers, friends, and family to the rescue of His people. Settled, quiet … we waited and healed. We licked our wounds, we took stock of our faith, and we finally found the strength to tackle the elephant in the room.

“What’s next?”

After a while, the answer was whispered in our ears as plainly as the first calling that led us to sell everything and leave for Kathmandu. Our calling? Our vision? It has not changed. We are still who we are. And as such, we will still do what we do. But it will look a little different than we expected.

So with more than a little nervousness in our hearts, we turned to our closest advisors and asked what felt like a truly revolutionary question: “What if we kept doing the same work … from here?” In other words, what if those four or five trainings per year still happened, but instead of doing the planning from a (admittedly more convenient) base of operations in Kathmandu, the ground work was laid from here? What if we could even expand on our reach, traveling into countries and partnering with others? What if our coming back wasn’t the end, but the beginning of something altogether new?

We found out that we weren’t alone in asking and praying what God would have us do, or in reimagining what a life in missions might look like. Close friends agreed that, given where God had led us, this was a logical next step. As if in confirmation, we even began to meet people locally who claim the mantle “home-based missionaries.”

With an offer for a steady job in his field on the table, we took the plunge. Abandoning the pursuit of re-entering the American dream was freeing and terrifying all at once. No job means no insurance. No 401-K. No retirement. No reliable paycheck. Yes, we had already stepped away from all of that in order to go to Nepal. But … this isn’t Nepal. This is America. And yet …

It’s working.

So far, all but a small handful of our previous supporters have rallied and affirmed that yes, they will still partner with us in this work, no matter what country we call home. We have been blessed and excited to see that people light up when we tell them our plans. When we speak of Christopher making month-long trips, we are encouraged to hear a chorus of, “That’s awesome! We’ll be praying!” instead of, “Get a job. Move on.” Words cannot express how affirming, how encouraging, this kind of reaction is.

Right now, his first planned trip will be to India this September. He’ll be traveling and training along with a friend who has been using this model for years. And while all of this feels familiar, it also feels brand new. Maybe it’s just the knowledge that, in addition to having a husband on the other side of the world, I’ll also have a daughter in the Northwest in addition to the one permanently in Asia, as well as a five month old baby in my arms. Maybe it’s just the fact that what was once our normal routine of “Daddy’s gone” will look different here, in this place. But in reality, I think it feels new because it is such a different way of life than we’ve ever had before: the trips are the work, not the sideline.

I’m nervous. I’m excited. I’m relieved to finally feel a firm sense of purpose again. And I’m grateful. There’s a strong undercurrent of friends who believe in this work, and they are making sure it does not die. What a powerful thing to be a part of!