This is the final posting in a series on how I became a full-time missionary to Western Europe. Click for “Part 1: My Backstory”, “Part 2: Ashes in My Mouth”, “Part 3: Learning the Ropes”, and “Part 4: You’re Nuts”.
Originally we understood entry as missionaries into our part of Western Europe as a matter-of-fact situation. Check in, show documents, everything’s okay. But when our immigration officer expressed suspicion about our motives and revealed changes in immigration rules, it seemed as if everything about our ministry was about to collapse. Had we been wrong all along?
At one of our last interactions, my mother had asked if we had a “Plan B” for, you know, when it doesn’t work out—her words. I thought she meant different ways of entering the country under various situations (student, employee, etc.). She meant something more specific: move back to our hometown, get “normal” jobs, and never leave the country again. “Come on, it’s very likely you won’t like it ,and you need to have a plan when it doesn’t.”
“We don’t have a ‘Plan B’” was our response. Missions was the plan, but if it had to evolve and change from our first attempts, so be it. God was directing us, so there was no need for a “Plan B” as she defined it. Realise that I do believe God encourages levels of planning and preparation for future issues, but hers was an encouragement to stop following God’s direction. We just weren’t going to do it.
In the end, we just had to be patient with our officer, who has become much more trusting after seeing us over the years. But that doesn’t mean that Satan didn’t stop throwing what he could at us to discourage our trust in God. Substantial funds fell away, and the dollar lost a huge amount of strength. Our reputation was unfairly damaged by a jealous Christian. Meanwhile, fellow missionaries dropped like flies around us, and cracks began to show in our marriage. » Read the rest of this entry «
