At the fringe of my earliest memories, my grandfather stands as a mythologically large figure. He passed away when I was a young teenager, yet the moments I spent with him have lingered with me for decades. He owned a vast stretch of land near his home, and our greatest adventures together always involved exploring it. “I want to show you something amazing,” he said to me on one unforgettable day. That was all I needed to hear from Daddy Carl—as we grandkids called him. Off we went, trekking through his land, embarking on a grand adventure. Like a hobbit and Gandalf—or maybe Grandalf.
We had never ventured so far before as we did this day. Past the pond where we often fished; past the old shack where a family rented from him; beyond the last hints of an overgrown dirt road. Across a massive open field, where we’d found dozens of Indian arrowheads, before finally diving into an angry, shadowy part of the woods I’d never stepped foot into. He surveyed the terrain as we walked, like Indiana Jones calculating where to dig. After endless steps over blankets of fallen leaves and a few strides around a huge outcropping of rocks, we found the treasure we sought. I never knew what I was going to see that day, but the image of what we discovered has stayed with me ever since.
Just a few weeks ago, I returned from our church’s third trip to the Navajo Nation region of New Mexico and Arizona. It was my seventh time serving there, and—as always—the trip was wildly fruitful and beautiful. For our family, it has become more than just a trip I lead; it is a joyful calling that we embrace together with great anticipation every year.
One of my favorite aspects of the trip is the opportunity for families with children to experience mission work together in this unique part of our country. It’s a complicated place—spiritually, politically, and culturally. I could write 10,000 words about the complexities I’ve encountered, and yet I still don’t understand it all. There’s so much need and sadness within the tragic stories of this place. A missionary there once told me, “This must be one of the few places where you can serve in third-world conditions during the day but sleep in a Hampton Inn at night.”
Even so, God is at work among these soft-spoken, beautiful people in this stunning land.
One of the greatest blessings of our continued efforts there is the growing relationships. This year, more than ever, we wanted to open our team’s home to anyone who could join us for a meal. As a result, dinner became the highlight of every day. The house roared with laughter and conversation each night, often with guests we hadn’t expected. I’d sometimes introduce new friends into the dining room like Jimmy Fallon bringing out a celebrity guest—they would come around the corner greeted by cheers and applause. It was pure joy to see one another at day’s end.
Dinner would eventually give way to story telling. New and old friends shared stories of suffering. Stories of survival. Stories of spiritual warfare. Stories that defied natural reason. And best of all, stories of finding Jesus. I cried every time. Their stories sounded like miracles…because they were.
I recall once discussing the ways God is at work among indigenous people groups there with my dear friend Chuck, director of the Across Nations ministry we partner with. He told me, “My great hope is that believers here will start to go on mission themselves, because I believe that’s a final key part of their growth and healing. Not just to be poured into over and over again—but to be used by God to pour into others. They need to GO.”
That statement hit me like a lightning bolt such that I felt like I almost flipped backward in my chair. “Chuck,” I replied, “that’s true for far more people than just the Navajo.”
I’ve never left the Navajo Nation area without feeling like God used me to serve alongside what He is doing there—a true blessing. But even more, I’ve never left without seeing some new aspect of God: how He is at work in a part of the world very different from my own. Sometimes it challenges what I thought I knew of Him; and other times it completely blows through walls of what I thought I knew.
What God reveals about Himself when we go is worth going for, again and again. Across the continent or across the street, there is something that God wants to show us of Himself that we won’t get in an auditorium or a living room. There’s growth, healing, worship, and wonder in the unexpected. That’s a big part of why I love returning year after year—not knowing what God will allow us to see in His people and of Himself.
Decades ago, my grandfather and I stepped around some rocks and discovered something ancient and mysterious. And related to this blog- it just so happens it was crafted by Native Americans hundreds of years before. What was it? I’ll leave that for a moment to evoke a bit of wonder. If you catch me in the hall at church, I’m happy to tell you all about it. But trust me, like so many things along the way in a life of faith- nothing compares to seeing it in person.