Editor’s Note: As spring turned to summer this year, we outlined a series of six stories from the experiences of our founder-director, who, along with his wife and two daughters, was privileged to serve two decades as a missionary in Europe. With this final installment, we conclude our series by going back to the beginning of their story, their call, and move to France. What sets this story apart from the previous five is that it includes the input of all four members of the family as they share the most important lessons they learned from their lives as missionaries. We hope you have enjoyed Journey’s summer series, “Stories From the World of Missions.”

Decades ago, standing with my hand on a library door in Brussels, Belgium, God called me to serve Him as a missionary.

It wasn’t a career choice. It wasn’t a chance to see the world. It wasn’t an opportunity for a “missions experience.”

It was a call. A divine directive. A decree. A demand. A claim on my breath and blood. A redemption ticket handed in on my what I would do with my life, paid for by the One who died in my place on the Cross.

There was no weighing of the scales: the pros and cons, the advantages and disadvantages, the benefits and costs. There was only a choice: obedience or disobedience. Would I take up my cross and follow, however enjoyable or unenjoyable the experience?

That said, I must tell you that mine is not one of those “I resisted the call of God for years” stories. My call could never serve as the sequel to the book of Jonah. Quite frankly, I was thrilled. I couldn’t get over the fact that God would grant me the privilege of serving Him as a missionary, to cross over boundaries of language and culture to carry the Gospel to people who otherwise might never hear. What greater joy could there be? My wife readily agreed: her heart heard and responded to the same command,

The same wooing command.

When we shared our calling with friends and family, most supported us. Some even told us, “It’s about time you recognized this! We’ve known it for a long time.” Even people in the church we pastored told us our call had long been evident to them.

But some did not celebrate our call: “Think of the risks.” “Think of the harm it could do to your daughters.” “What about your life in America: Won’t you miss it?”

And there were those who told us that we didn’t have to go overseas to serve God. “There are a lot of churches in America that need good pastors.” Some told us that we were pastoring a wonderful church: “Why would you want to leave it?” they asked.

And, amazingly, despite the clear teaching of the Bible, others said there was no such thing as a call to missionary service, or pastoring, for that matter.

My wife and I had a choice: would we listen to people or God (Acts 4.19)?

There was never a doubt in our minds nor a deviation in our hearts: we had heard God’s call and were ready to answer.

So began the adventure. One that was everything we thought it would be, and, at the same time, not at all what we imagined.

Our family of four served as missionaries to the people of France and Belgium. Not just me. Not just my wife and me. Each of us had to say “yes” to the call of God in our own way, a “yes” that continues to affect each of our lives and shared life today as a family, though our daughters are grown with families of their own now.

Our journey began when we launched out from America and landed in Tours, France – hardcore dropped into French language and life. Immersion. There was no wading pool. Immersion meant immediate sink or swim in the deep end. No safety net. No English-speaking compound. All French, all the time – from Day One, without any real ability to read, write, speak, or understand French. We so poorly pronounced the few words we knew that people could only turn their heads, squint their eyes, and try to understand. Then it was our turn to try to understand French as we had never heard it spoken in America.

All while raising two daughters, ages seven and four.

I remember the first night we spent in our home in Tours. As I lay in bed that steamy night, it suddenly dawned on me that if the house caught fire or a thief or murderer broke in, I couldn’t call anyone for help: I spoke no French, and no one around us spoke English.

So, how did we get by in the early days? With building blocks and charades.

Before venturing out each day to tackle our never-ending to-do list, we wrote out poorly constructed phrases we built from our French-English dictionary (These were pre-internet days in France). And when we reached the end of our very short pier of French ability, it was time for charades. Really. Using these phrases and charades, we were able to complete our tasks at the bank, grocery store, doctor, dentist, pharmacy, utility companies, government offices, insurance bureaus, our daughters’ schools, and more.

Every day was an undertaking.

And early on, every day was an ordeal for our daughters.

Before leaving the USA, my wife and I had made the studied decision to enroll in a grammar-based language school rather than a conversation-based one. We understood – but not as we would later – that this would be a much more rigorous life, one requiring a deep commitment and hard work. We also made the studied decision to place our daughters in French public schools. Yes, even before they could understand or communicate in French. If we were going to make a life and minister to French-speaking people, all four of us needed to be France- and Belgian-level fluent in French.

But there was a speed bump in our path. When our language school sessions began, public school classes did not start for another month. This meant that we had to enroll our daughters in the city day camp program. The camp was excellent and well run, but it was not staffed for non-French speakers. Ten-hour days during one of the hottest summers in recorded French history made for an extremely challenging summer for our girls. No friends. Not understanding anything happening around them. In every way, they felt themselves to be the outsiders they were. Days began and ended with tears and quiet pleas to stay home. These were tears and pleas we had to respond to with “no-yesses”: “No, dear hearts, we can’t stay home:” “Yes, dear hearts, God will be with us and He will help us.”

Again, early on, every day was an ordeal for our daughters.

With students from around the world, my wife and I attended classes all day, Monday through Friday. The institute had a well-deserved reputation for delivering a demanding training program. In French, that would be “exigeant” or “exigeante,” depending on “le genre du nom.” Classes in grammar, conversation, and culture were 100% French, 100% of the time, followed by hours of homework every evening. My Larousse dictionary was my best friend, such a great friend that, though tattered and taped, it sets in a place of honor here on the table by my desk.

While we were in class, our daughters endured eight-hour days in classrooms where they learned French the hard way: figuring it out for themselves as their teachers taught math, history, etc. Yes, even for our younger daughter in kindergarten (The French and Belgians are serious about education.) They attended classes on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and had hours of homework every evening. Our family was immersed in the French world, and swimming for all we had, every day of the week.

And, like any family, there were errands to run, bills to pay, and a residence to maintain. We squeezed these duties into our daily routines as best we could.

For weeks and weeks, extending into the school year, our daughters’ days began and ended with tears. My wife and I ached for them. How we ached for them. We struggled with their wellbeing. We wept over them. We held them close. Even as I type these words, it all rushes back through me, and tears are welling up in my eyes. We did all we could to help them feel love, security, and even joy. And we prayed, trusting that God would do in their hearts what He alone could do.

The early months were bone-crunching tough.

So much so that there were times I was ready to give up. In fact, there came a day when I told my wife I was done. It was just that hard. I had been a content and effective pastor in the States, but now I spent my days struggling to learn this language and culture. My days and nights were crowded with schoolwork and always one more meeting in a government office, bank, or business. Further, I had to watch my wife carry her incredible load as a wife, mother, and student. Most of all, watching our little girls pay a heavy price every day. I was ready to walk away from it all and told my wife so. Under the influence of the Holy Spirit, and drawing on her own character of strong commitment and faithfulness, she asked me if I could give God “just one more day” to give us the victory we needed. In her gentle and supportive way, she asked me every day until she didn’t have to ask anymore.

As to our daughters and their wellbeing, one of our language school professors told us that about six months into the school year, things would “kick in” for them, and we would see them begin to flourish. She knew what she was talking about. About Christmas, like a clock, the bell struck, and our oldest daughter turned the corner into the French world. A month or so later, the younger followed. The challenging emotional work now behind our daughters, life took a turn for the better for all of us. The weekly schedule was still relentless, and the amount of schoolwork for all of us was still overwhelming, but there was light at the end of the tunnel.

By the end of the school year, nine-and-one-half months in, our daughters were flying high in every way. Their French abilities surprised their teachers and stunned the parents of their classmates. Each of them had a close-knit circle of friends, and church was now a joy.

My wife and I had accepted that our girls were going to outshine us in French, but that was a blessing beyond words. We, too, had our circle of friends in our neighborhood and church. Ministry opportunities opened up in the church and among friends. The memories of the hard days were now more facts in our heads than feelings in our hearts. We had worked hard. We had prayed hard. We had paid a price. We had done it together.

And what’s more, we began to see the hand of God in our challenges. We began to feel the heart of God for us and the people we had been sent to serve the Gospel. That hand and heart were ever evident in our family life and ministry over the next twenty years of our life as missionaries.

TROPHIES

Our early experiences in Tours didn’t just give us the ability to live and minister in the French-speaking world, but to treasure ever more deeply our call. And the One who called us. Through our experiences, God gave us at least five “trophies” that we carry in our hearts to this day:

A discipleship we could not have experienced otherwise: God had to be God in our lives. Alone in a strange land and language, we had no one but Him.

A support group of French friends (none of them followers of Christ) who knew why we were there, but still went out of their way to help us.

A community of French brothers and sisters in Christ in our local church who made us a part of the family in every way and opened the doors of ministry to us.

A determination to do the work of the ministry in our new surroundings. Europe is the true spiritually dark continent of the world. The Church in Europe has few friends. Because of the testing they live in, Christians there have a deep resolve and commitment to serve the Savior. Our experiences helped us understand that and take our place among them.

A family bond between us that only comes through meeting hardship together – a missionary family bond that continues to this day, even though our daughters now have families of their own.

LESSONS LEARNED

Looking back to the beginning of our life as missionaries in Tours, France, I asked my wife and daughters to reflect and share the most life-giving lessons our service as missionaries gave us, lessons we could only learn by going through what we went through as a missionary family.

Here’s our short list. We hope it will help you as you seek to serve the Savior, wherever He leads you.

Serving as a missionary is a divine calling.

It’s a calling, not a career. We do not go into missionary service for self-focused reasons or “missions experiences.” It’s not about you and me. We serve as missionaries to please the One who has called us. The initial act of going and the ongoing action of being and doing while staying have one purpose: to please the One who has called us.

Missionaries serve first not for love of the lost, but for love of God.

We go because He came. We go because when He came, He told us to go make disciples of all nations. We go make disciples of all nations because we love Him. Because we love Him, we obey Him.

Matthew 28.18-20 is true: God is always with us as we go.

Jesus made a promise to us, and He will keep that promise to us as we go making disciples of all nations in obedience to His command. God is in our challenges, whether we see him or not. In fact, in missions, the wilderness challenges are necessary for our faith and discipleship.

The fuel of missionary service is discipleship in the Gospel.

Missionaries are first disciples. As we grow in discipleship, ministry to others becomes possible: our ministry is the outward flow of the work of the Spirit in us. The Holy Spirit works in us that He might work through us to make disciples. Serving as missionaries was a discipleship school our family could not have experienced otherwise. Self is denied. Dependence on God is next breath, heartbeat close.

The ministry of the missionary is the Cross, not merely compassion.

Compassion is in the Cross. Therefore, all Christian missions is infused with compassion. But not as an end; as a means. We feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the prisoner, and care for the sick that they and others might see our good works and glorify our Father in heaven (Matthew 5.16). May the good works missionaries do always point to the Cross and the salvation it offers. May the missionaries who do those good works point to the Savior who carried that Cross.

Missionary service comes at a cost to the missionary.

In Acts 20.19, Paul says, “I served the Lord… with tears, severely tested by the plots of the Jews.” In II Corinthians 11.23-29, Paul tells us more about those tests. No missionary today would compare themself to Paul, but they understand that what Paul shares is the way of life in missions. Life as a pastor in the USA cost my wife and me, but nothing like what missions cost us – and nothing like what our salvation cost the Savior. Cost comes with the package.

The nuclear reactor of missionary service is prayer and the Word.

Missionary service is all about connectedness to God. Missionaries give themselves to prayer and the study of the Word to live fully in that connection. Full stop. A no-prayer, no-Word missionary is a no-power missionary. A no-power missionary in a country seized by principalities and powers is of no use. But a praying and “Wording” missionary is a conduit of God’s, the power that can turn a nation upside down. Missionaries live on the front lines of spiritual warfare. They do so connected to God in the nuclear reactor of prayer and the Word of God.

Missionary service is all about connectedness – relationships.

We love to see the pictures of 1,000 hands raised in a missions event. But after it’s over, what happens to the hearts that raised those hands? A missionary heart is not about hands; it’s about hearts. Souls. That means ongoing relationships and discipleship. This is how Jesus ministered on the earth. To reach millions, He walked with twelve, building relationships with each one and helping them build relationships with each other. Missionary service is all about connectedness with people.

Strong family bonds are uniquely essential in missionary service.

When a missionary family moves into a new country or city, they have no one but God and each other. Strong family life not only helps us survive the changes and challenges, but those changes and challenges help us to grow closer as a family, and so, more secure and confident as we take on the challenges of a new language and culture. Bottom line: Missionary service bonds a family or breaks it. In Christ, each person focused on serving the others, a family bond develops that only comes as you go through adversity together outside your culture, language, and comfort zone over time.

Missionary service focuses on at least two generations.

We focus one eye on reaching this generation and one on the generations to follow. This is how Jesus ministered on earth as He walked with the Twelve. In missions, this is best seen in the Bible Schools that train leaders around the world. The work they do is generational, and so, exponential. The US church seems to have forgotten this lesson. But the world we reached through world missions has not – they know a powerful ministry when they see one!

Assimilation is a feature of missionary service, not a bug.

As missionaries, we are outsiders in a culture. But we can do much to be accepted. It begins with a firm foundation in Christ and the Truth – Truth does not morph according to culture. Doors of acceptance then start to open as we take a serious approach to learning the language and culture of the land where we serve. This opens doors of opportunity and depths of relationship not available to those who don’t do this hard work. Bonus: Raising children in that language and culture opens even more doors and depths. Because of our daughters’ excellence in French, people were 100% certain they were French or Belgian. Seeing this and our serious approach to French gave us credibility, respect, and the right to speak.

Approach can be defining in missions.

How missionaries approach people determines how they are accepted. Humility rather than brazenness, and flexibility rather than rigidity will win the day. You can’t cast yourself as a “stone” and expect to be accepted, much less effective. Pro tip: Many Americans find the French and Belgians to be arrogant. The four of us strongly disagree. We found that the French are simply the world’s best reflectors: they are a great mirror on what is given to them. We can tell countless stories of this fact from our lives, as we have hosted Americans or seen our countrymen in action in France and Belgium.

Missionaries must learn to hold things loosely and firmly at the same time.

Loosely, because your life can change (and change in missions is a constant!). Firmly, because it’s your life and you can’t just wait for it to change. Much like holding on to your children as they grow.

There is no need to pray and ask God if we are called to go.

Instead, we need to ask God if we are called to stay.

“Go, therefore, and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to follow all that I commanded you; and behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Matthew 28.19-20

FINAL WORD

So yes, I am a recovering missionary. But not for the reason you might be thinking.

I am a recovering missionary, not for the pain of serving overseas, but for the joy of it:

the churches and fellow pastors, the preaching and teaching, the neighbors and friends;

living in a country where the floor was pulled out from under my feet, giving me endless opportunities for growth as a minister of the Gospel and disciple;

the privilege of being forced out of myself, my language, my culture, my convenience, and my comfort to venture into the great unknown where it was nothing but God, my family, and me – knowing and trusting God as I never had to do in my own world in the US;

watching my precious little girls, who struggled so much early on, come alive and thrive in every way – spiritual life, languages (plural), academics, friendships, music, hobbies, independence, and discipleship;

miracles along the way;

the pleasure of our Lord.

Bottom line: I will never recover from the privilege and joy, and yes, the incredible challenges and bone-crunching difficulties, of being a missionary.

In a life and land where, through language and cross-cultural adaptation, I was forced to continually die to self

so that Christ might be formed in me,

so that I might take the Gospel to others, and make disciples of the our Savior and Lord, Jesus Christ,

so that I might take the Gospel to others, and make disciples of the our Savior and Lord, Jesus Christ.  

And I never want to.

__________

NOTE: Journey Pastoral Coaching exists to provide pastoral coaching to Millennial ministers.

Saddled with large student debt, just beginning to set up homes and start families, and serving in low paying first and second positions, Millennials are those who most desire but can least afford to pay for pastoral coaching.

We are able to do so thanks to the faithful and generous support of individuals and churches like yours who want to see young leaders not only enter the ministry, but remain in the ministry. 

Now, more than ever, we need your help. 

If you or your church would like to help Millennial ministers across the US and overseas build strong for a lifetime in ministry, please click here to support Journey monthly or with your one-time gift. Thank you.

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“Of all vocations, surely the gospel ministry is the one whose paradigm is most radically formed by the dynamics of godly mentorship.” 

Stephen Baldwin