The Ministry of "Being": Serving for the Scars, Not the Applause

The Holy Ground of Shared Sorrow

During our 24-7 prayer gathering this past weekend, I was sitting in the quiet presence of the Lord. After about an hour and a half, a woman came down the stairs. She looked at me and asked if we could pray together. She explained that she was working through a study on forgiveness and bitterness and had reached a section that required her to walk through several prayers with someone else.

Of course, I said yes.

As I sat with her, she read scriptures on anger and unforgiveness, and then began to pray for her daughter, who is struggling deeply with mental illness. The tears flowed as she cried out to God, begging Him to help her forgive and heal the bitterness in her heart.

In that moment, my heart broke for her. Because of my own journey with my dad, I know intimately what it feels like to watch a family member not be in their right mind. I didn’t share my dad's story with her—his story doesn't necessarily have a happy ending—but my own sorrow gave me the ears to truly hear her. I knew exactly what it felt like to walk through that grief, to ask for forgiveness daily, and to desperately need God to meet me in the mess. It was an absolute honor to sit on that holy ground with her as she surrendered to Jesus. I don't say this casually, because I know Jesus is always with us, but in that prayer room, His presence was tangible. He was right there in the room.

Shedding the "Missionary Mold"

For a long time, I have struggled to understand what it means to just be—and what I want my life to look like as a missionary. It is easy to carry the heavy weight of expectations, trying to fit into a specific mold, personality type, or gifting. There are days I walk into spaces feeling like who I am will never be enough—not for the local believers, and not for the lost. I don’t think I will ever look like the picture-perfect depiction of "missionary life" that people standardly imagine.

But recently, I heard a quote from an author interview that said:

"I do not do it for the applause of man, but for the Man with the nail-scarred hands."

There was no applause after I prayed with that woman in the prayer room. There has been no applause at the community center, at La Tour du Pin, finishing out Remix, or working in the kids' ministry at Refuge. There are no standing ovations after the countless hours spent at CUEF, hosting the Wednesday goûter or Café Franglais, or leading our Refuge Bible study. None of those things inherently deserve applause, but every single one of them has brought the exact sanctification I needed to become who I am today.

A Heart of Gratitude

Lately, I’ve been looking back at old newsletters, Facebook posts, and pictures from the day I first arrived here. I am just in disbelief at how far I have come. For the first time in my life, I can honestly say I am really proud of myself.

I want to take a moment to say a massive thank you to those of you who have walked alongside me since the very beginning. Thank you for believing in me, praying for me, and refusing to give up on me. I wouldn't be who I am today—and I certainly wouldn't be this far along in my own grief journey—if it wasn't for you.

So many of us have poured our hearts out here. We have spent hours doing hard, heavy kingdom work and I know many of you have done so much that goes completely unseen by the world. But, and I know we all know this but Jesus sees it all. He sees you when you are sitting in the quiet corners of ministry, and just being with the broken. He is smiling, He is cheering us on, and He is applauds our every single hidden step of obedience. We do it for the applause of the man with nailed scared hands.