💔 I Don’t Need You, God

 ✈️ Commissioned for the Nations

I had just completed my coursework and orientation at the School of Missions at Central Bible College in Springfield, Missouri — a place where new missionaries are equipped with knowledge and a heart for God’s harvest. The program was intense, covering cross-cultural ministry, church planting, leadership, evangelism, and discipleship. Every lecture, field exercise, and prayer session prepared us to step into the mission field spiritually, mentally, and emotionally. At the end, we were commissioned to the country or territory God had called us to serve.

I had been assigned to Central America, specifically the beautiful but spiritually needy nation of Belize. The commissioning service was unforgettable — alive with joy, tears, worship, and prayers. About a hundred new missionaries stood before the Assemblies of God World Missions leadership, surrounded by veteran missionaries, pastors, and prayer partners. Hands were laid on us, blessings spoken, and every prayer felt like a divine seal sending us into the field. I could feel the Holy Spirit reminding me that this call was not mine, but His.

💬 "God’s work done in God’s way will never lack God’s supply."
— Hudson Taylor, missionary to China 

By this time, I had raised the necessary support. I traveled from church to church, sharing my vision for Belize, preaching with passion, and inviting believers to partner in ministry. God moved on countless hearts, opening doors, stirring generosity, and drawing people into prayer and support. With this foundation, Assemblies of God World Missions officially released me to go, entrusting me to the work God had called me to do.

Before boarding, I had two short-term assignments. One would take me to the Quechua-speaking Andean people of Peru, where language and culture would present new challenges. The other would take me to the Appalachian Mountains of West Virginia, a region with deep poverty and spiritual hunger, where God was already at work and I could minister to people in need. These assignments were not detours; they were preparation, shaping me for the heart and hands of a missionary in the field.

🌄 Mission in the Mountains

From Springfield, Missouri, I drove straight to Appalachia to join the team already on the ground. The leader was my close friend Kendra, a woman with a heart on fire for the poor and forgotten. She had orchestrated the delivery of several semi-truck loads of donated clothing, appliances, and furniture, all carefully stored in the school gymnasium. This outreach was in partnership with a local Assemblies of God church, whose pastor and congregation contributed with kind hearts and willing hands.

The plan was simple but powerful: meet real needs and share the greatest need of all — the gospel of Jesus Christ. The poverty in this part of Appalachia is among the deepest in America, hidden from the headlines yet vivid in every worn porch, patched roof, and tired pair of eyes. Families lived in conditions that most of the country can scarcely imagine, yet many carried a warmth, resilience, and humility that left a lasting impression on me.

I was assigned as one of the counselors, entrusted with the sacred task of offering the plan of salvation to anyone willing to listen. I was given a modest office and a volunteer assistant, and soon the people began to come — each one carrying a lifetime of burdens, scars, and unmet needs. Some stories were heart-wrenching, tales of broken homes, lost loved ones, or despair. Yet even in their pain, I sensed a spark of hope, a readiness in their hearts to receive the love and freedom that only Christ can bring.

As each person entered, I listened intently, prayed with them, and shared the gospel, seeing firsthand the transformative power of God’s Word. Tears, trembling voices, quiet gratitude, and whispered prayers filled that small office. I realized that this mission was not just about giving clothes or food — it was about meeting souls, touching hearts, and pointing them to the Savior who alone can heal, restore, and redeem. Every interaction left an imprint on my soul, reminding me why I had been sent and how profoundly God can work through ordinary people willing to say “yes” to Him.

🏞️ Hollers & Heartbeats: Gospel in the Mountains

While much of my work was centered in the school office, one day I gathered a few team members and together we ventured deep into the mountain hollers to reach families who couldn’t come to the outreach.  With supplies, prayer, and the gospel in hand, we navigated winding dirt paths and dense woods, trusting God to lead us to those in need.

I came across a small, weathered mobile home tucked among the trees. An elderly man stood in his yard, unkempt, his shoes worn from toe to heel, and a handgun strapped to his side.

I approached gently. “Do you need anything?” I asked.
“Nope! Don’t need a thing,” he replied.

I pointed to his shoes. “You need a pair of shoes, don’t you? Yours are worn right through.”
“Shoes?” he chuckled. “These are my work shoes. My good shoes are in the house.”

Noticing the gun, I asked, “And what’s the gun for?”
“Bears!” he said quickly. “Yep! That’s why I carry it—to protect myself.”

After some conversation, we persuaded him to come to the truck. He accepted a few supplies—and a new pair of shoes. Then I shared the gospel. Right there, in the hollers, among the trees, he bowed his head and accepted Jesus as his Savior. I could feel a tangible sense of peace settle over him, as if years of loneliness and struggle were being lifted in that quiet mountain clearing.

Before leaving, we gave him information about the local Assemblies of God church and told the pastor where to find him. That day, in the quiet of West Virginia’s mountains, I saw again how God meets people exactly where they are—sometimes in an office, sometimes in the woods of a holler.

This encounter reminds us: whether through a conversation at a desk or a walk into the hollers, God’s love pursues the heart relentlessly, setting the stage for those He is drawing to Himself.

💔 The Man Who Ran

After that encounter in the hollers, I made my way back to the school office. The line had grown even longer. Families filled the hallway, some with restless children in tow, others standing quietly, their eyes reflecting years of hardship. The air felt heavy—not with noise, but with the unspoken weight of stories, fears, and hopes waiting to be shared. Soft prayers could be heard from one corner, while in another, volunteers gently encouraged those waiting.

The next person to step into my office was a woman who listened intently as I shared the gospel. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she prayed to receive Christ as her Savior. In the quiet moments afterward, she revealed that she was trapped in an abusive marriage—her husband often came home drunk and beat her. I knew in my heart I could not, in good conscience, send her back into that danger. Not knowing the area well, I called for the lead pastor, who quickly came and helped her find a safe place to stay. Watching her walk out the door with hope and safety was a reminder that the gospel’s work is not only eternal but also deeply practical.

Not long after, a middle-aged man entered and sat across from me. He told me about growing up in a big family—ten brothers and sisters in all. Every night, he said, his mom and dad would gather the children, pray for each one to be saved, and then send them to bed. Over the years, every sibling had come to faith in Christ—except him.

He quietly called himself the “black sheep” of the family. I leaned forward, my voice gentle. “In God’s Kingdom, there are no black sheep—only sons and daughters who are deeply loved and actively pursued.” His lips trembled, and he began weeping uncontrollably. The tangible presence of the Holy Spirit pressed in on both of us.

I asked him if he wanted to invite Jesus into his heart. For a moment, it seemed he would say yes, but he suddenly sprang to his feet and bolted from my office, running down the hallway as fast as he could. It was clear—he had been running from God for a long time, just like the prophet Jonah (Jonah 1:1–3). Yet I knew the same God who pursued Jonah was pursuing him still. As I returned to my chair, the long line outside was a powerful reminder of more souls waiting to be reached.

✝️ One Step from Surrender 

Kendra’s team had been serving faithfully for about two weeks, and I had joined them for a little over one. But my time was quickly running out. Today was my last day to counsel before I had to return home and prepare for my trip to Peru. I remember the heaviness in my heart as I walked toward my car that evening, ready to leave. Just then, some of the team members called my name urgently and rushed toward me with a young man named Jeremy. They explained that he needed to talk, so I stopped and listened.

Jeremy’s eyes brimmed with tears as we began to talk about the Lord. Like the man I had seen earlier who ran from the school office, Jeremy seemed torn between longing and resistance. His struggle was visible—every word I spoke seemed to pierce his heart, yet something inside of him wrestled back. I pleaded with him to surrender to Christ, but though I could sense he wanted to, something unseen held him back.

Finally, I spoke plainly. “Jeremy, if you don’t need God, then tell Him so. Look up to heaven right now and boldly say, ‘I don’t need You, God.’” His face went pale. Fear flickered across his eyes, and he quickly shook his head. “I’m not going to do that,” he whispered.

I pressed further: “Then say it stronger: ‘I don’t need You, God now, and I’ll never need You.’” Jeremy recoiled, refusing again. “No. I’m not going to say that.”

I leaned closer and said gently, “Don’t you see? That is what you’ve been saying all along. Every time you reject Him, you are telling Him you don’t need Him. But right here, right now, you have a choice: accept His love and crown Him King of Kings, or reject Him and crucify Him all over again.”

Jeremy stood silent, torn. I reminded him, “It is sin that has you bound, but only Jesus can set you free.” The moment was heavy with eternity.

🙌 The God Who Pursues

I told Jeremy that the team would still be there the next day, but my time had ended. “Jeremy, I may never see you again. I have to leave for Peru, but God has appointed us to meet here tonight. This is a divine appointment.” His eyes filled again, but he shook his head.

I asked if I could pray for him. He warned me quickly, “I don’t want to get saved.” “I know,” I said softly, placing my hand on his shoulder. I began to pray a hard prayer—asking God to allow whatever pain, hardship, or calamity necessary to break through Jeremy’s pride and bring him to repentance. I could feel the weight of eternity pressing in on that moment, as if heaven itself leaned closer to listen. The spiritual battle was fierce, but I knew God’s love was stronger than Jeremy’s resistance. Then I prayed that when the day of surrender came, heaven would open its floodgates and pour blessings upon him beyond measure (Malachi 3:10).

As I finished, I told him, “You’ll never see my face again on this side of heaven. Read your Bible. Pray. God is waiting for you.” With that, I turned and walked toward my car, back to the church where we were sleeping and serving.

The next morning, while I was loading up to leave, another counselor came rushing to me. “Do you remember that man you were talking to last night?” he asked. I nodded. “Well, he was waiting at the school this morning, asking to talk to you again.” I shook my head sadly. “I already told him he wouldn’t see me again. But Jeremy’s ready. Tell him I love him and invite him to give his life to Christ.”

Later, I received an email from that counselor. God’s timing was perfect—Jeremy didn’t need me, he needed Jesus. Jeremy had bowed his head and prayed to invite Jesus into his heart. My eyes filled with tears. Praise the Lord—Jeremy finally stopped running. He discovered what we all must face: we need God after all.