Dear Missionary Friends,
As we prepare to leave this week to head back to the States for an indefinite amount of time, I have been in reflection-mode and you’ve crossed my mind so many times. There are so many of you whom we will not have the opportunity to say goodbye to in person, and maybe that’s because you’re still on the field in South Sudan, in your passport country on furlough, or have moved on to other places around the world. Whatever the reason, I wanted to take the time to write to you.
Some of you we only met once in person. Maybe you work in a completely different part of South Sudan and that one small window of time when we all came to Kampala following the start of the conflict allowed us to meet, fellowship, and bond over a common mission field and common experiences. Maybe we just happened to be on R&Rs at the same time and finally got to meet after months of correspondence. However it is that we met you, know that you are forever on our hearts.
What I have loved most about the time we spent together, however short, is that there was an instant bond. There was rarely a need for small talk; we just jumped right into discussing heart-level things. We discussed with complete honesty and understanding the shared cultures we lived within, the struggles of ministry in a place like South Sudan, and our routines and systems that might make each others’ lives just a bit easier. We talked candidly about our sin issues and ways we’d come face-to-face with our own brokenness. That kind of transparency was powerful to us.
The time we spent together was so significant to me. You gave me courage to keep persevering through real challenges. You gave voice to some things I had wrestled with, but didn’t know how to talk about. You made me laugh with your stories of life on the field, because we had often had such similar experiences. You made me feel a real sense of community, even if we only met that one time in person, because when I was feeling isolated and alone in Tonj, I could remember my beautiful fellow missionaries in other parts of South Sudan, I could praise the Lord for you and your work, and I could keep going knowing that I wasn’t really alone.
Some of you I spent a significant amount of time with. I saw you every week for months at our Wednesday morning bible study or often for coffee, or maybe both. You came alongside Blaise and I during one of the toughest experiences of our lives: you fed us, you prayed for us, you loved us so well that I will forever be changed.
You brought me into your circle and you gave me a community of women when I needed one the most. You will never know how much of an impact you had on me those mornings when you cheered me on through those early, difficult days of breastfeeding, when you held Clark so I could actually participate in the videos and discussions, when you warred in prayer for us. When my own mother, aunts, cousins, and grandmas were so far away, you were my people and for that I will be forever grateful.
You also give me courage. I heard your stories of the different countries in which you’ve lived. The decades of faithful service to the Lord. The challenges you faced and commitment and dedication you display for taking His name to all people, tribes, tongues, and nations. I spend just a small time around you and I am challenged, encouraged, and filled with hope. I will never forget that.
Growing up, I had this view of missionaries as spiritual giants. As we were in the process of becoming missionaries ourselves, I constantly felt like a fraud, like there must have been some mistake. My time with you has been so powerful because it’s been a reminder that we are missionaries simply because we were faithful to God’s call. Yet to me, you really are spiritual giants. And I am truly, deeply, profoundly blessed for having the privilege of spending these past almost two years in community with you.
With much love and thankfulness,
Cass