April 6, 2020

From a Missionary’s Window

It’s interesting being inside, at home, as spring begins to unfold outside the windows. Small buds are beginning to form on the ends of some branches, and a few trees have blossomed gorgeous pink and white flowers. I live in a small town just outside the major city of Wroclaw, Poland, about 10 kilometers (6 miles) from the city center. Out here there are fields and buildings, old homes and new apartment buildings and even a post office and a grocery store.

In the age of Coronavirus, the seasons still change while we are at home, only leaving to walk the dog or occasionally go to the grocery store. My husband and I just celebrated our 7th anniversary of serving with Josiah Venture in Poland. Throughout these years we have trained young leaders in evangelism and discipleship using summer camps. A few weeks ago, like a long line of dominoes toppling one after another, the events we use to train these leaders were cancelled, one at a time. Many of our short-term teams who come to serve at these camps have had to postpone their trips until next year. It’s disorienting to go from a normal rhythm and a full calendar to little certainty, and cancelled plans that were made years in advance.

Much of our time and energy is now being directed towards contingency plans. Plan A, B, C, and D are being created depending on variables such as the spread of the virus, when restrictions will be lifted on travel, and limitations on meeting in large groups. The logistics, structure of ministry, participants and volunteers are being evaluated in each of these scenarios.

With all of the sudden changes comes a sense of loss not only for our ministry, but also for our personal relationships. While we serve on a team in Poland and on the greater Josiah Venture team in Europe, most of our work happens remotely. It is mainly at our training events every few months or in-person team meetings three times per year, that we have quality time with our teammates. Those times together cultivate the friendships we have, which normally function long-distance as we are each based in various parts of the country. It is those connections which bolster us up to go back out to our own regions and towns, and the loss of them is disheartening.

However, as we process these losses, we are also forced to open our eyes to new ways of connecting, caring, and training. Just as the seasons change and new life springs up around this time every year, there’s a sense of newness in ministry as well. There are restrictions, yes, but also new opportunities.

El Dorado, JV Poland’s ministry for the youth by the youth, had to cancel their retreats, but is now daily producing devotionals for teens to read in their homes. Entitled, “Closer to Him,” the writings take advantage of this unique time by connecting students to Christ and the Bible while they are physically disconnected from their peers.

Our local church, The Bridge, has gone online for livestream church services, something up to this point has been uncommon in this region of the world. Many local churches, on average with less than 100 members, are bravely stepping out of their norms and comfort zone by learning to engage the church online. During this crisis, we are experiencing the leadership of our church in new ways as they step up online to preach peace and trust in God during uncertainty. Both of these displays of faith are both reassuring and inspiring.

One girl I disciple began memorizing chapters of scripture last summer. Recently I wrote to her to ask if she’d like to practice with me online. We both sat in front of our computers, me looking at the Bible in my lap and nodding encouragingly, and her speaking God’s word aloud. Spending those 30 minutes together was a practical way to be refreshed relationally, and also to continue to honor her efforts to commit scripture to memory.

Our ministry efforts may look different right now- they definitely do! However, the entering of spring outside reminds me that ultimately, it is God, the Creator and Savior, who will cause righteousness to rain down and salvation to sprout up. May it be Lord, in Central and Eastern Europe and all over the Earth!

“Shower, O heavens, from above, and let the clouds rain down righteousness; let the earth open, that salvation and righteousness may bear fruit; let the earth cause them both to sprout; I the LORD have created it.” Isaiah 45:8

Kelly Lillpop

Related Posts

Read Story

Events, Stories

You’re Not Alone in the Battle

When you’re used to leading, serving, and pouring into others, what happens when you suddenly can’t? What happens when the person who normally encourages everyone else wakes up and realizes she has nothing left to give? That’s where I found myself last year. I’m naturally a driven person. I love to see progress—to watch people grow, ministries flourish, and God’s work move forward. But last year, right before a major conference I had been preparing for—a mental health summit for nearly 700 youth leaders and church leaders—everything stopped. I got sick, and my normal pace of life vanished overnight. Suddenly, I couldn’t do what I thought I had to do. At first, I tried to stay positive, to find purpose in the pause. I told myself God was teaching me patience, humility, or to delegate better. But underneath those thoughts, a more dangerous narrative started to form: “God is disappointed in you.” “You’re not strong enough.” “You’re failing as a leader.” “Maybe God is holding back because you don’t deserve his help.” Those are the kinds of lies that can take root quietly—and quickly. It’s the same old whisper the enemy used in the Garden: “Did God really say…?” (Genesis 3:1). The serpent’s goal was never just to tempt Eve; it was to make her question God’s heart. And he still uses that same strategy today. He wants us to believe that God is distant, that we’re alone, unseen, and unloved. I’ve seen this pattern not only in my life, but in the lives of so many young people and leaders I’ve walked with. The moment things get hard—disappointment, exhaustion, relational conflict, failure—the enemy twists the truth. He tells us we’re forgotten, that our prayers don’t matter, and that no one really understands. And slowly, we start to isolate ourselves. But isolation is one of his most effective weapons. Once we withdraw, our vision blurs. We stop hearing the truth clearly. We start interpreting everything through the lens of fear, shame, and self-pity. Even Scripture is full of people who felt this same ache. David cried, “Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted” (Psalm 25:16). Elijah, after a great victory, ran into the wilderness and said, “I have had enough, Lord” (1 Kings 19:4). Job sat surrounded by friends who misunderstood him. And even Jesus—our Savior—experienced complete abandonment in Gethsemane and on the cross. Loneliness and lies are not new, but neither is God’s response to them. In my own season of weakness, when I couldn’t find the strength to pray, others prayed for me. When I felt unseen, people showed up with meals, with text messages, and with quiet presence. Even my unbelieving neighbors said, “We think someone up there cares about you.” That was God reminding me: You are not forgotten. You are not alone. The truth is, the Body of Christ was never meant to function in isolation. Strength in God’s kingdom doesn’t mean independence—it means connection. It means letting others carry you when you can’t walk and trusting that God is at work even when you can’t see progress. This experience also helped me recognize a pattern: the enemy always attacks identity and connection first. He wants to disconnect us from God’s truth and from God’s people. But the way we stand firm is by returning to both. When I start to spiral now—when I believe I have to prove my worth or carry everything alone—I stop and remind myself of what’s true. I reach out to trusted friends and ask for prayer. I ground myself in simple spiritual and physical practices that bring me back to reality: breathing deeply, reading a psalm, or stepping outside to notice beauty. These small moments become declarations of faith. Romans 11:33-36 says, “Oh, how great are God’s riches and wisdom and knowledge! How impossible it is for us to understand his decisions and his ways!” That verse anchors me. I don’t have to understand everything; I just have to trust the one who does. Maybe you’re in a similar place right now. Or maybe you’re walking with young people who feel lost, invisible, or stuck in lies about who they are. The battle is real, but so is our victory in Christ. So, here’s my invitation to you: Would you take a moment to pray—for yourself, for your friends, and for the next generation—that we would recognize the lies of isolation, stand firm in truth, and live connected as the Body of Christ? You’re not alone in the battle. And neither are they.

Read Story

Missionary Kids, Stories

Heroes of Faith

Dear Friends, Faith has an unexpected ripple effect. In October of 1955, a 27-year-old woman named Margaret Olsen boarded a Norwegian freighter bound for the Philippines. While a grad student at Bible college, she heard a young missionary named Dick speak about his ministry to the military. Over the next couple of years, she saw him again at a few conferences and was later invited to visit him, along with her mom, for a week as his ship was delayed. He was moving to Subic Bay, Philippines, to establish a ministry to U.S. sailors stationed there after the war. After this brief time together, they continued to communicate through letters, and then a tape came in the mail with a marriage proposal. After prayer and counsel, Margaret accepted, and now she was on her way to marry him. It was a huge step of faith. Her future husband was far away, and so much was unknown. Before leaving, she had managed to gather just $150 in monthly support and donations of supplies for the new servicemen’s center Dick had opened. Standing with her dad and nephew beside the ship, she clutched a portable Singer sewing machine that provided her passage. It was an unusual ticket, but the captain of the ship had agreed to take on one more passenger if she would work her way across the ocean, mending uniforms, bedding, and flags, washing dishes, and scrubbing floors. Before this bold change of direction, she worked a steady job as a registered nurse. But when she gave her life to Christ at the age of 12, Margaret decided that following Jesus wherever he led was worth more than safety, stability, or a career. Now she headed into challenge and uncertainty, anchored only by the promises of God. Two weeks after they were married, she was learning to cook as she fed 60 hungry Sailors who gathered in their home for food and Bible study. It was more difficult than she imagined, yet her steady faith enabled her to view the challenges of long hours of work, heat, and an unfamiliar culture through the lens of God’s sovereignty and loving care. Six years later, I was born in the Philippines, the second child of Dick and Margaret Patty. Throughout my early years as a child, I was surrounded by fruitful ministry to the military. Then, our family moved to Denver as my dad became the director of the mission. In each of these places, daily examples of a life of faith filled our home. Courage, trust, thankfulness, sacrifice, and investment in the lives of others were consistently demonstrated through small acts of kindness and large steps of obedience. A year ago this month, my mom graduated to Glory at the age of 96, preceded just three years earlier by my dad. As I reflect on her passing, I think of the 27-year-old holding a sewing machine as she boarded a ship, confident in the future because she trusted in Jesus. And I realize that Josiah Venture would not exist today if it were not for that young woman’s example of faith. Many of you are also quiet heroes. What unexpected impact is rippling out of your steps of faith? Grateful for each of you, Dave Patty President, Josiah Venture

Read Story

Internship, Stories

“Yes” to God’s Calling

This summer, 40 of us—including myself—became summer missionaries in Central and Eastern Europe. Pretty amazing, right? Each of us said “yes” to God’s call to serve. I am from Ukraine, and for the past three years, I’ve been living, working, and serving in the Czech Republic, in the city of Ústí nad Labem. This year, I’m serving as a Josiah Venture intern. Before the internship began, I was really nervous. I kept wondering how I would communicate with Americans and people from other European countries—it’s a whole mix of different cultures. About a week before departure, I kept telling myself, “Nika, why are you doing this? Wouldn’t it be better to just keep working at your coffee shop and enjoy the summer in your hometown?” I was afraid that maybe this internship wasn’t what God wanted from me, but I was so wrong. As soon as intern training started and I met so many young people with the same heart as mine —to serve youth and follow the same God—I didn’t feel invisible or alone anymore. It was a priceless feeling to worship God together, study His Word, listen to powerful testimonies, and be inspired by how beautiful our Lord truly is. For a long time, I struggled with the thought: “Why did God choose me for this mission?” I was overwhelmed by doubts. I wondered if I was wise enough, interesting enough, outgoing enough, spiritual enough, etc. My thoughts were full of me, me, me. But during intern training, I received a word from God: “Nika, this isn’t about you. It’s about what I want to do through you and how I want to show my power through your life.” God doesn’t look at how “cool” we are or how many Bible verses we can recite. He looks at hearts that are ready to serve him. Among the interns at training, there was one more Ukrainian —Emily. This summer, she is serving with the Fusion International team. It was such a comforting feeling to know I wasn’t the only one from my home country. One of the most powerful moments for me was when the intern teams gathered to pray for and bless one another for the summer ahead. Sadly, due to the war in Ukraine, the Ukrainian intern team couldn’t join us in person. So when it came time to pray for Ukraine, Emily and I stepped into the center of the circle. Everyone began to pray for us, for Ukraine, for the ongoing war. At that moment, I was overwhelmed with emotion. I cried tears of gratitude to God for the unity of his people, for the deep sense that we are not alone in this war. It was a family moment. It was a moment that reminded me again that Christians are not just people who believe in the same God, but are a true family. They’re a family that walks through both joy and pain together—a family that supports and prays for one another. Would you join me in praying for a generation that cries together, rejoices together, and says “yes” to God’s call to serve youth, right where we are?