Settling Here but Sent There - A Reflection Before Heading Back To Zimbabwe

After 18 months of transition both in ministry and in locations, I can finally say something I wasn’t sure I’d feel again for a long time: I feel at home.

Iowa has become more than just a new chapter—it’s become sacred ground. The cornfields that once felt like distant memories, now, once again, bring a strange comfort. The community that once felt distant has become deeply personal. The church family at Pathway has embraced us in ways I never could’ve imagined. Sunday mornings are no longer filled with unfamiliar faces—they’re filled with smiles that feel like they’ve known us for years. There’s a rhythm now. A sense of belonging. We’re not just passing through. We’re planted.

It’s taken time to settle. There have been some incredible highs—watching our kids make new friends, seeing our ministry find traction, and experiencing the overwhelming kindness of people who showed up for us before we even had a chance to ask. But there have also been some quiet lows—moments of uncertainty, fatigue, and the ache of starting over. Transition is never linear. Some days felt like a giant leap forward, while others felt like slow motion steps in the dark. But God, in His mercy, has met us in both.

And now, right as we’ve begun to feel the roots growing deep… I’m packing my bags to leave for fifteen days.

Tomorrow, I’ll board a plane and make the long journey back to Zimbabwe.

There’s a tension in that sentence I still haven’t fully made peace with. On one hand, I’m full of excitement and anticipation for what lies ahead. This isn’t just another trip—it’s a mission. We’ve been praying, planning, and preparing for this with full hearts. We believe God is going to move in ways that only He can. One of the highlights of our time there will be a multi-day revival at Village Church—a place where the Spirit of God is already stirring, and the hunger of the people is palpable. It’s going to be powerful. I can feel it in my bones.

But on the other hand, my heart is already aching for home.

Leaving my wife and our kids—especially at the ages they are now—is incredibly difficult. Oakley is in the full-on "2 going on 17" mode and every minute with her is precious. Evelyn is growing and changing by the second right now it seems. She is starting to interact with us and is so close to crawling. Looks like I'll miss that first. Fifteen days is a long time when your kids are little. It’s fifteen days of bedtime routines I won’t be there for. Fifteen mornings I won’t get to hear their sleepy voices calling out. Fifteen days of hugs and belly laughs I’ll have to catch up on through FaceTime and prayer.

Some might say, “It’s just two weeks,” but any parent knows that when your heart is tied to tiny hands, even a single night can feel like an eternity.

I keep going back to Jesus’ words in Luke 9:62—“No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.” It’s a hard verse. Not because it demands action, but because it demands focus. It reminds me that following Jesus means moving forward, even when the pull to stay behind feels strong. Even when it means missing things that matter deeply. Even when the cost is personal.

And yet—I believe the harvest is worth it.

Romans 10:15 says, “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!” It’s that truth I carry with me as I leave. The beauty isn’t in the travel, the plans, or the schedule—it’s in the obedience. It’s in saying “yes” when God calls, even when the timing is inconvenient. Even when it hurts. Even when the comforts of home whisper that staying would be easier.

Zimbabwe has a special place in my heart. It’s not just a place I go to serve—it’s a place that serves me as well. When my feet hit its soil, I’m reminded of God’s global heart. I’m reminded that revival isn’t something we import from America—it’s something God ignites in the hearts of His people wherever they are, in whatever language they speak, in whatever village they live. And I get to be a witness to that.

This trip will bring both joy and challenge. There will be the thrill of preaching and praying with believers who’ve been crying out for more of God. There will be the beauty of shared meals and worship under the African sky. But there will also be spiritual warfare. Physical exhaustion. The sting of homesickness. That’s the nature of the mission field—it’s beautiful and brutal all at once.

But I wouldn’t trade it.

I’m reminded of the words in Psalm 121:8—“The Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.” That verse is my anchor right now. It reminds me that while I’m thousands of miles away, God is watching over both ends of the story. He’s with my family in Iowa. He’s with me in Zimbabwe. He’s never spread thin, never absent, never unaware. His presence is constant—even when mine can’t be.

So, here’s my heart as I go: I go filled with gratitude. Grateful for a church family that sends. Grateful for a wife who supports and encourages, even when it costs her. Grateful for a God who is big enough to stir revival on one continent while keeping watch over sleeping children on another.

I go expectant. Believing that God is going to change lives in Zimbabwe. Believing that seeds will be planted, faith will be restored, and the Kingdom will advance.

I go aware. Aware of the cost. Aware of the ache. Aware that obedience is sometimes laced with tears.

And I go with peace. Because I know this trip is not a detour—it’s part of the journey. It’s part of what it means to follow Jesus with open hands and a willing heart.

Please pray for us. Pray for protection, power, and provision. Pray that hearts would be opened to the gospel. Pray that revival would break out at Village Church and beyond. And if you think of it, pray for my kids—that they’ll feel the love of their dad even while he’s halfway across the world.

Thank you for walking with us. For cheering us on. For being part of the bigger story God is writing—both here and there.

Now to go spend these last 36 hours with my girls!