June 15, 2023
"Nobody seems more mistake-prone than the average missionary (with the possible exception of presidents, congressmen, mothers and fathers of teenagers, umpires, and tax assessors)," Ward Patterson, tongue firmly in cheek, wrote in 1963. "That the missionary should so excel in error-ability is a phenomenon worthy of the interest of all of us . . ."
February 22, 2022
"I lived in Ukraine for five years," Laura McKillip Wood writes. "I made some of the best friends of my life there, both American and Ukrainian. I met and married my husband, Andrew, another missionary there. . . . Needless to say, I have watched the events unfolding in Ukraine with anxious interest."
August 22, 2019
By Laura McKillip Wood “We knew your father,” the old man said, “and we have heard about you for many years. We’ve been waiting for you.” Jesse’s lifelong dream had been to return to his father’s remote village, where he too had lived as a child. He had thought about his father’s people, the Jerwang, many times through the years, wondering when he would get a chance to return. But the Jerwang live in a very remote area where China, Myanmar, and Tibet share an ill-defined border area, and visiting them is difficult. To reach the villages, Jesse traveled from
February 10, 2018
By Wendie Gabbard “The blessing God gave to both of us was that we grew up country kids.” Those country kids, Greta from Pennsylvania and Wayne from Kentucky, met as sophomores in college. Rules prohibited them from dating without another couple or chaperone present and the understood boundary was “six inches apart.” Even so, they quickly fell in love and married in Greta’s hometown the summer before their junior year. Pennsylvania law allowed marriage at age 21. As both were 20, their parents had to sign for them. Wayne and Greta Meece then returned to Kentucky Christian College, where she
October 25, 2017
By Marsha Relyea Miles If you were to worship with tribal Jesus followers in the jungle of Papua New Guinea, you might find yourself sitting on a rough-hewn log rather than a comfortable pew or chair. The typical church building has a thatched roof, woven bamboo walls, a dirt floor, and “windows” that are open to the jungle (no glass or screen); the church is graced with calls of tropical birds and shaded by giant palms and lush foliage.  Imagine this setting . . . the sultry, equatorial breeze wafts in, carrying with it the sweetness of exquisite rainforest flowers.
October 15, 2016
By Amy Medina “I”m moving to Canada.” Personally, Canada would be way too cold for me, but I understand the sentiment some have expressed. However, instead of fleeing for the hills””or tundra””maybe it”s time for American Christians to start living like missionaries in their own country. Before you get offended, let me assure you I am in no way belittling the millions of American Christians who are already living out gospel-centered lives in their communities. As you learned in Sunday school when you were 5, we all are missionaries. But I”m not talking about living as a proclaimer of the
November 8, 2015
By Marion Duckworth My husband, Jack, our two young sons, and I drove 3,000 miles from New York to the state of Washington to begin our first assignment as rural missionaries. Since the community had no church or parsonage, we”d be living in a tiny cabin in the woods with an outhouse “down the path.” Upon arrival, we discovered the cabin was dominated by two voracious, wood-chomping stoves, one in the kitchen and the other in the tiny living room. The steps leading to the second floor were Bunyan-sized. But it was the sight of the metal bunk beds where
April 30, 2014
By Jessica D. Vana We were finishing our technical evaluation with Mission Aviation Fellowship. We had stayed two weeks with a wonderful host family and then were invited to move into the home of Gene and Lynn Jordan. (Gene serves as vice president of personnel with MAF.) Gene was practically born into MAF, as he grew up with Steve Saint (son of early MAF pilot Nate Saint) in Ecuador. Shortly after we met Gene, he showed us a black and white picture of himself as a small boy in Ecuador with the strong arm of Nate Saint wrapped around him.
September 27, 2009
by Greg Pruett I could hear my neighbor wailing, I just didn”t know why. My wife and I had just started our missionary career in a West African village, moving into a dusty tin-roofed shack that could have doubled as a solar oven. We found someone who could explain to us in French that our neighbor”s son was dying. When we saw the child, he was lying on the beaten earth floor of a grass-roofed hut, his breathing labored, pupils fixed and dilated. Despair crept into us as we realized he might not live long. I remember standing over
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Rick Cherok