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Have you heard the expression “Boots on the Ground?” Well our Live Dead Missionaries are the boots on the Silk Road. Here we’d like to take a moment and allow one of them to share a snapshot of their life with you. Some names and details have been changed, but this is a true story from this colorful, vibrant, and sometimes surprising region.

As I make my way through this unpredictable life of mine, I find myself learning more and more about the character of God.

This character that is above the definition of flawless perfection.

This character that gives endlessly to a creation that may choose to not give back.

This character that purposely overlooks and forgives time and time again.

This character that never fails to surprise me with an infinite amount to learn about him every day.

I find the best lessons are the ones that thrust themselves out in the middle of my life and loudly proclaim, “Here I am! Marvel once again!”

The ones that lack all subtlety. Those, I love.

I was on my way to meeting with a friend of mine here one gorgeous afternoon. This friend of mine (let’s call him J) and I had been meeting together over the past two months, just to play music together and talk about life. We would often speak about his past struggles with religion and God and how music has always been his anchor through the harder times of his life. I was always very open about my faith, and would even make an effort to pray before each one of our meetings.

Bearing Bad News

Every time we spent together was one of fun and laughter, but this time I walked in knowing that I had to deliver aching news to my friend. I was planning on traveling the entire summer and would be in and out of the city for three months. J greeted me enthusiastically as usual, and I delighted in the burst of laughter we quickly shared. I tried desperately to keep the air of lightness in tact, as I gave my somewhat overly rehearsed speech, of how it broke my heart that we’d have to put our music on hold. But it was in vain. I could feel the air in the room drop a few degrees in warmth and joy.

A mental process of the news was playing out on J’s face and I watched it as if I was the one-woman audience of a one-man movie. I felt deeply as I witnessed disappointment and frustration well up inside of him. It pained me to see the good man inside of him desperately attempt to overthrow the frustration with forgiveness and grace. I watched helplessly as the only distant member of the audience.

A few jokes about the news were exchanged and it was all politely put in the corner, but it continued to hang over us like an unwanted cloud of smoke. The night continued on like a bad taste left in our mouths. At one point I considered excusing myself earlier than usual, already in the process of creating a flaky excuse in order to be free of the awkward stiffness that surrounded us.

Then… a moment. A break. A miracle.

J startlingly turned to me and said, “I caught you! You made a mistake! I caught you!” Bombarded with confusion, I turned to our music and wondered if I had played a wrong chord or sang false lyrics. But J continued to exclaim:

 “You forgot to pray!”

I was amazed. This friend of mine – who had repeatedly confessed of his frustration with religion and God, who respected my relationship with Jesus but never dared claim this belief as his own, who politely allowed me my prayer but never participated in it – he wanted me to pray. He went on to teasingly blame my lack of usual prayer at the beginning, as the reason for the lack of peace and joy that usually saturates our time together. His completely genuine cries, veiled with humor and a joking tone, rang in my ears:

“This is why this time is no good, Jesus isn’t here! You didn’t invite him! You didn’t pray!”

I found myself beaming as I joined his laughter and joyously agreed to finally pray.

I found myself beaming as I prayed to Jesus, inviting him to grace us with his presence and to forgive me for forgetting to pray.

I found myself beaming as I ended with amen and could feel the unwelcome atmosphere of discomfort and disappointment leave the room.

I found myself beaming as J continued to tease me that he had caught me, and flaunt the fact that he was right – things already felt better!

I found myself beaming as I completely agreed with him.

The change was night and day. The rest of the practice was filled with genuine laughter and joy, a divine sense of peace and patience with one another. I went home that night and meditated on another incredible component of God’s flawless character.

God’s presence graciously lacks all subtlety.

God’s peace is beautifully blatant.

He knows that we are flawed creatures, often blinded by the distractions and chaos of this world. He knows our imperfections often leave us with doubts and questions as to what we experience with Him. He knows humanity is quick to miss the obvious and ignore the necessary. He knows this, and in His perfect grace, He provides us not only with what we need, but how we need it.

We need His presence. And He freely, blatantly, without subtlety, gives it to us.

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