My Story: Surrender–and the Dreams We Give Up

By Denise Rhoades

I had turned 40 in the spring of that year–and was still single. As in, never married. I had miraculously become a follower of Christ five years earlier (less than 10% of people do at that age. So yes, it’s a miracle!). I had briefly lived as a global worker in West Africa and was about to finish a Master’s in Missions. I felt only one gaping, jagged hole in this jigsaw puzzle of my life: a dream I’d held for nearly as long as I’d been alive. I wondered where I’d lost pieces along the way: for a husband. A family.

Path to a White Flag

On Labor Day weekend that year, my church was hosting a singles retreat in Branson. I had decided to not go; a friend cancelled on me last minute. But then there was my pastor’s wife. It’ll be fun!

My Story: Culture Shock, Mayonnaise, and the Last Straw

BY CARL BUSER, RADIUS INTERNATIONAL ALUMNUS

That was the last straw. I’m done with this country. I’m ready to punch this guy in the face, I said to myself silently.

One more time, I spoke slowly–patiently, even–into the phone. “Sir, please, just make the sandwich like you always do. Except this time, just don’t put mayo on it, like I asked. It’s the same sandwich! It’s just that in the process, mayo won’t be added!”

“I am sorry sir, but we do not do custom orders. We do not accept returns or refunds either.” read more

My Story: Prayer like Oxygen

I hadn’t been following Jesus that long when I wheeled my bags onto a West Africa-bound jetliner. For seven months, I lived with an unreached people group. Together with other global workers, we were teaming up to create an oral Bible.

Suddenly, I tumbled into a world where prayer no longer seemed like a “good” thing to do. It felt a little more like…oxygen.

My Story: The Little Temple around the Corner

Today we’re geared up to welcome Lucy Tol, a summer intern with Global Frontier Mission. Check out the amazing stuff God’s doing at GFM on their Go. Serve. Love page!

Today, for the first time in my life, I stepped inside a Hindu temple.

The first thing I noticed was the air. Thick and heavy, like a weight on your chest. I don’t know for sure whether it was spiritual oppression, the power of suggestion, or simply the smell of incense that made it difficult to breathe. The temple sprawled out like a museum display, with little deities grinning out of marble boxes like painted dolls. Waxen candles glittered from dark corners of the room. Fervent worshippers, their eyes closed in prayer, muttered and moaned in unfamiliar tongues. Somewhere behind me, a bell clanged. I jumped and turned, tearing my gaze away from the smiles of statues in glittering gold.

My Story: Memos from a Wreck–and Our Longing for True Safety

I’d taken my mom out for her birthday: falafel and jasmine rice at this great new Mediterranean place with only a handful of tables. We headed out, Barnes & Noble-bound to spend a birthday gift card for her, chatting and laughing. At a stoplight I glanced at the clock on the bank across the street, marveling at how fast time passed when she and I were together. Green light: my trusty minivan gathered its strength for the uphill left turn.