It wasn’t my choice to be an MK — a missionary kid. It really wasn’t my parents’ choice either. All they did was sincerely ask the Lord what He wanted them to do after my dad finished his degree and then obediently followed the path He led them down. Missions in general, and Italy in particular, weren’t even on their radar until God put them there. To be honest, I was actually rather indifferent about the whole thing: I didn’t have many friends, and none I considered close, so moving to a different country was pretty much a zero-sum proposition for me. My parents were going to Italy as missionaries, and I was simply going along for the ride.
When I got there, however, the Lord started working on me. Through a series of events and interactions (which are stories for another time), He shook me out of my apathy and showed me that I was not an accidental stowaway on my parents’ journey or collateral debris caught in their wake. He had not just chosen them, but He had chosen me, too, and had intentionally placed me there because He had tasks for me to perform then which would also prepare me for tasks that He wanted me to do in the future. I realize that’s probably not a typical spiritual experience for a 13-year-old boy, but, if you know me at all, I’m sure the last adjective you would use to describe me is typical.
I became so keenly aware of this calling that I stopped using the term MK, choosing instead to identify myself as a KM, a kid missionary. It was a role I took seriously — so seriously, in fact, that I became convinced around the age of 15 that God had called me to not be just a KM, but a life-long, vocational missionary to Italy. In fact, I was certain He had especially and purposefully equipped me for that specific role.
There was just one problem: I was wrong. In hindsight, I can clearly see that God tried to warn and redirect me multiple times, but in my youthful zeal I stubbornly refused to be dissuaded. So, He had to break me, and break me He did (more stories for another time). I resisted so strongly that He had to strip me of everything — relationships, income, dignity, and even my health — until I was willing to accept that He was in charge and that He wanted me to do other things than be a missionary. Part of that process included making raising support an impossible task, showing me how unprepared, unequipped, and unwilling I was to trust Him to provide for my needs through others. In the end all He allowed to remain in me was a righteous jealousy of those to whom He did grant the privilege of vocational ministry, especially those in missions. It was a bitter pill for me to swallow, and He made sure that taste stayed in my mouth until my sense of entitlement was completely eradicated.
From that point on, supporting missionaries, those who had been granted the privilege that had been denied me, took on a special meaning, rising to the level of a mandate, which perhaps now you can appreciate. Therefore, when I lost my job over 2 years ago, I told the Lord that I would only stop giving if He made it physically impossible for me to do so. If that meant me going hungry, sobeit — it was that important.
Last month, when I took the last money from our savings account, I spoke to each of the missionaries we support, reaffirming not only our commitment but also my firm belief that, even though God doesn’t need me to provide for them, He wasn’t going to let either of us down and force me to write that email saying I had no way to continue my support. One of them heard me out, thanked me, and then said, “You know, Sam, every time I sit down and look at my list of supporters and what they’ve committed to give, it always adds up to 25% less than what I need; but when I do the final tally of what I’ve actually received at the end of each year, I always have more than what I needed. I never know exactly how God’s going to provide, but He always does. I’m so happy that you are getting the opportunity to experience how wonderful it is to live like that.”
His words struck a deeper chord than he could have ever realized. He unknowingly pointed out to me that, after all of these years of being jealous of those who quite literally depend exclusively on the faithfulness of God for their daily bread, I’ve been granted the special privilege to join their ranks. I, whose inability to raise money was used by God to prevent me from becoming a missionary, was now, some 35 years later, being given the chance to live the way I had hoped I would live my entire life.
Make no mistake: I still don’t know how to raise money. But yesterday I learned that God, through the gracious obedience of His children, has already supplied more than we need for the month of July before we were halfway through the month of June — much earlier than I expected Him to. I’m moved to tears today, not because I’m humbled and grateful for the generosity of you who have prayed and given (which I am), or because I’m amazed at the power of God to do more than I ask or think (which I also am), but because of the special blessing He’s given me to experience something I yearned for as a young man but believed that, because of my disobedience, had been prohibited to me forever.
If you’re tempted to feel sorry for my circumstances, don’t. If you fear for the well-being of my heart and soul, don’t. If you think it’s a shame that God, the devil, life, or whatever has dealt me such a bad hand that others have to come to my aid, don’t. I don’t know how long this is going to last. I don’t know what will happen in August, but I really don’t care. It is enough that right now I’m living the dream — a dream I stopped dreaming a long time ago. I know it sounds foolish and weird to wish that you could be where I am: no income, no reserves, and a wife dying from cancer, forced to depend on God because there is no other option, and knowing that He has intentionally and purposefully put me in that situation. But, man, if you could only see what I see, know what I know, and feel what I feel right now as I experience God’s faithfulness in a real, raw, hour-by-hour fashion, you’d understand why I wouldn’t trade it for anything, and why I want the same thing for you.
