danger – A Life Overseas |

Is This the End? (When the Mission Becomes Dangerous)

Written by an anonymous worker

“The rebels burned a plane.”

I looked up at my husband, a sense of dread growing in my chest. “Who was it?”

Over the next few hours, we learned the devastating details. American pilot Nick Gosselin had been ambushed by rebels shortly after landing on a village airstrip. He was executed, and his plane set on fire. My Instagram feed filled with images of the burned aircraft and blurred photographs of his body.

“That could have been you,” I whispered to my husband.

This is not the first time a civilian aircraft piloted by an expatriate has been targeted by rebels here in Papua. In 2023, New Zealander Philip Mehrtens was kidnapped and held captive by a rebel faction for nineteen months before being released through lengthy negotiations involving Indonesia, local leaders, and the New Zealand government.

Then, in 2024, New Zealand helicopter pilot Glen Conning was shot and killed shortly after landing. Following Conning’s death, the Associated Press reported, “No one has claimed responsibility for that attack, and the rebels and Indonesian authorities have blamed each other.”

Still, Nick’s death feels different.

As a pilot for the Catholic aviation mission AMA, Nick flew humanitarian flights to isolated communities. Rebels have attempted to justify the attack by accusing mission aircraft of supporting military and police operations — an accusation that is categorically false. Rebel spokesman Sebby Sambom later released a video calling for the murder of all foreign civilian pilots, the burning of their aircraft, and the murder and expulsion of missionaries from Papua, dismissing them as “useless.”

Pilots are not the primary targets either. In recent years, schools have been burned, teachers killed, medical personnel murdered, and construction workers attacked. But none of this is really new, is it?

Around the world, missionaries and humanitarian workers knowingly place themselves in harm’s way to serve others. While there is no comprehensive annual count of missionaries killed worldwide, the Aid Worker Security Database recorded a staggering 383 humanitarian worker deaths in global hotspots during 2024 — the highest number on record. Most of those killed were local aid workers.

Before leaving for the field, we understood that serving in Papua would involve risk. As a missionary pilot, my husband would fly through some of the world’s most challenging mountain terrain, navigating rapidly changing weather and difficult landing spots. We would face diseases like tuberculosis, HIV, dengue fever, malaria, and typhoid. We knew robbery or assault was possible. We came to Papua knowing that choosing to serve here meant walking hand in hand with heartache.

Over the years, we’ve had our share of challenges. The flying environment has given us a few scares. Our family has battled serious illnesses. We’ve lived through riots, evacuations, and tribal conflict. And yet, despite it all, we would say our lives have been made immeasurably richer because of this place. Papua has become home. Our children — from our teenager down to our toddler — love life here.

Now, it all feels like borrowed time. I find myself praying, Lord, what are You doing? Is this the end?

I carry a tremendous sadness — not only for our own family and the life we’ve built in these mountains, but especially for the people living in isolated villages who depend on mission aviation.

What will the mother suffering complications in childbirth do when reaching the nearest medical facility is several days of hiking away? Who will respond when a village is devastated by a landslide? What happens to communities cut off by mountains and jungle when no aircraft are willing or able to come? And if we are forced to leave, how will our family grieve losing our home?

I don’t know what comes next. Can we stay? Must we go? Nick’s death has forced us to revisit questions every missionary must ask themselves. What risks are ours to accept? Which are not? And what abilities do we have to wisely mitigate the dangers where we can?

I think of the apostle Paul. When the Jews in Damascus plotted to kill him, fellow believers lowered him through an opening in the city wall under the cover of darkness so he could escape (Acts 9). Later, on his journey to Jerusalem, the prophet Agabus warned Paul that he would be captured and handed over to the Gentiles. His friends pleaded with him not to go, yet Paul remained convinced that obedience required him to continue (Acts 21).

At first glance, those two stories seem to point in opposite directions. In one, Paul escapes because God provides a way out. In the other, he walks knowingly toward suffering because he is convinced that obedience requires it. Yet neither story is ultimately about avoiding or embracing danger. Both are stories of faithful discernment.

That is where we find ourselves today. We are praying. We are listening. We are engaging with community. We are weighing our responsibility to our family, the people we serve, and the calling God has entrusted to us. We are grateful to serve with an organization that views security planning and thoughtful risk management not as a lack of faith but as faithful stewardship.

I don’t know whether we will remain in Papua or whether this chapter of our lives is drawing to a close. I don’t know whether the risks will increase or diminish in the days ahead. But I do know this: God holds tomorrow, and we can trust Him.

So we pray — for Nick Gosselin’s family as they grieve, for the people of Papua who continue to bear the greatest burden of this conflict, and for the missionaries, pilots, teachers, healthcare workers, and local believers who continue serving in places of extraordinary need. We also pray for the wisdom to surrender our plans continually to God, holding neither our comfort nor our calling more tightly than our obedience to Christ.

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Editor’s Note: If you are in currently in a season of risk, danger, or fear, here are some additional resources for discernment and support on our site. ~Elizabeth Trotter

Risk and the Cross-cultural Worker (an interview with Anna Hampton about her first book, Facing Danger)

Can Faith and Fear Exist at the Same Time? (an interview with Anna Hampton about her second book, Facing Fear)

Confronting Risk and Managing Fear in the Uncertainty of War (resources from Anna Hampton)

Confronting Risk and Managing Fear in the Uncertainty of War

by Anna Hampton

The uncertainty and danger of war, along with the threat of conflict, often trigger deep fear. Armed clashes, devastating strikes, and expanding regional involvement have made fear a daily reality for millions. Seeing weapons in the sky, cities battered by disruptions, and chaos spreading through economies and families stirs strong emotions. Images of smoke, evacuation orders, and increasing volatility activate our natural instinct to protect what we hold dear, reminding us how little we truly control.

Fear, though natural, need not freeze us. History shows that Christ followers in war have found ways to face risks without succumbing to dread. How do we recognize today’s dangers—strategic escalations, humanitarian suffering, financial shocks—while building resilience to handle them? The difference between failure and endurance often depends on how we respond to fear, assess threats, and develop a mindset that allows Christ followers to act wisely during chaos.

Threat Regulation and Neurobiology of Hope

In war, our brains activate alarms. The amygdala floods us with stress and worry, urging us to avoid danger. This survival system works in real emergencies, but when threats feel endless, it can leave us overwhelmed.[1]

While feeling fear is part of being human, it doesn’t have to define us. Hope travels through different brain pathways, especially the prefrontal cortex, which manages planning, motivation, and thinking about the future. Hope encourages us to set goals, find solutions, and believe we can take meaningful steps even during difficult times.

Research shows that people with stronger hope have brain patterns that support action and motivation, including changes in areas linked to turning intentions into concrete steps and focusing on positive possibilities. The prefrontal cortex also helps calm the fear response, making it easier to think and act wisely.[2]

Here’s the encouraging truth: hope is not the opposite of fear — it is its powerful partner. While fear yells, “Danger!” hope quietly says, “You still have a future.” By focusing on small, manageable actions — like daily routines, helping others, or taking one step toward daily responsibilities — we actively train our brains to shift from panic to purpose.[3]

Fear is a natural part of threats, so it’s normal to engage in both fear management and threat analysis. While fear may come easily, hope is something we choose to pursue, especially when chaos and suffering feel overwhelming. Hope requires practice. Often, it’s a moment-by-moment effort to hold onto hope. Choosing to focus our minds on hope in Christ instead of our fear is an act of righteousness. Even amid conflict, Christ followers, with God’s help, can choose courage and take action. Moving forward involves choosing hope—one thought, one prayer, one step at a time.

How to Manage Fear in Uncertainty

A helpful tool for managing fear during war and uncertain times is the NAME acrostic.[4] First, clearly identify and write down your fears, ranking them from least to most intense. Then, ask yourself: if this fear came true, what would be the worst part, and how would it affect you emotionally and physically? Next, reflect on Meaning and Imagination: visualize where God would be in the situation, how He might bring purpose from the pain, and imagine Jesus interceding for you with compassion (Romans 8:34, Hebrews 7:25). Finally, entrust your fears to God through prayer, asking for His help and the courage to take one small, obedient step forward. (Editor’s note: see the Resources section for guided articles, videos, and worksheets of the NAME acrostic tool.)

This process of focused attention does several things at once: it strengthens the hope neuro pathway, weakens the anxiety (fear) neuro pathway, nurtures a secure attachment to God, and builds courage by shifting focus from threat to trust. By practicing this process for 10-12 seconds at a time, neuron by neuron, we can change our brain. In difficult times, naming and trusting fear prevents it from paralyzing us, enabling clearer thinking and hopeful action.

Moral Decision-Making During Uncertainty and the Threat of Death

When war brings deep uncertainty and the shadow of death, ethical choices can feel paralyzing. How do we make wise decisions when information is limited and fear is high? There are two key skills that help with this: first, threat assessment; and second, ethical decision-making that incorporates three decision-making aspects. These skills should not be used solely by the security specialist on the team. All team members will benefit from becoming better equipped in this area.

In Leadership and Ethical Responsibility: The Three Aspects of Every Decision, Thomas Schirrmacher demonstrates that the Bible never pits the three aspects of ethical decisions against each other. Mature Christian ethics consistently integrate them: the normative (God’s clear commandments), the situational (practical wisdom), and the existential (heart and conscience).

The normative aspect grounds us in unchanging biblical values—love for God and neighbor, the sanctity of life, and truth and justice. Even during a crisis, we ask, “What does Scripture require?” The situational aspect calls for wisdom: evaluating the real context, limited options, consequences, and seeking counsel—without needing perfect foresight or abandoning God’s standards. The existential aspect touches the heart—internalizing decisions before God with a clear conscience, genuine trust, and love.

Facing death requires genuine surrender: a willingness to entrust our lives to God, refusing to act solely out of panic or self-preservation. Ignoring any part of ethics results in unbalanced decisions. Combining all three aspects brings clarity, courage, and confidence. In times of uncertainty, this balance allows us to act with integrity, compassion, and hope—trusting the outcome to the One who holds our lives.

Who Is My Enemy? Nationalism, Syncretism, and Christian Hospitality

In wartime, uncertainty often heightens the question: “Who is my enemy?” Governments, media, and national loyalties quickly provide the answer—yet as followers of Christ, we must evaluate every answer against Scripture rather than simply accept the state’s definition.

Normatively, the Bible clearly states: “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44). The command to love God and neighbor (Matthew 22:37-39) extends beyond national borders. Treating another nation as an enemy simply because our government labels them as such is not biblical ethics; it is syncretism—merging Christianity with nationalism until the flag and the cross become indistinguishable. This distorts the gospel, which proclaims in Christ “there is neither Jew nor Gentile, slave nor free, male nor female” (Galatians 3:28).

Situationally, wisdom evaluates threats without exaggeration or demonization. Evil exists, and governments bear the sword (Romans 13:4). But wisdom recognizes when fear inflates “the enemy” to justify hatred. History shows Christians have baptized wars as holy, only to later repent for endorsing hate.

Existentially, the heart and conscience must be shaped by the cross. Jesus welcomed the Samaritan, the Roman centurion, and Judas. Hospitality—welcoming strangers, feeding the hungry, sheltering the displaced—is not optional in hostile times (Hebrews 13:2; Matthew 25:35-40). It is obedience. When fear whispers that the “other side” is irredeemable, we respond with Christ’s mindset: our true enemy is not flesh and blood, but the powers of darkness (Ephesians 6:12). Every person remains an image-bearer loved by the same Savior. In the fog of war, this truth frees us from hatred and calls us to courageous hospitality. Fear labels enemies; Christ names neighbors. We choose His voice.

War and Trauma

Trauma reveals knowledge we were not meant to carry, but how we handle war trauma shapes not only our healing but also what we pass on to future generations.[5] The challenge is to see trauma as the opposite of God’s beauty and choose how we process it instead of being overwhelmed by it.

Modern ethics and mental health often reverse the order of the transcendentals (Truth, Goodness, Beauty). Western thought emphasizes truth (facts, rationality) first, then goodness (rules), while downplaying beauty. This reversal disadvantages trauma victims.

Appeals to “the war is over” (truth) or “you should act this way now” (goodness) rarely reach the traumatized. Author Timothy Patitsas considers trauma to be more than just psychological damage—it is a profound anti-theophany, an overwhelming confrontation with ugliness that resembles a false revelation.[6]

It reveals a “truth” that the world is malevolent or indifferent, that God is unloving, and that fellow humans are enemies. This shatters communion (with self, others, and God), unravels character, and embeds a heretical lie deep in the heart that cannot simply be reasoned or moralized away. Victims often remain in a kind of communion with this false knowledge.

Trauma disrupts the integrating, life-giving power of liturgy and genuine beauty. Healing through a “beauty-first” approach requires restoring a focus on beauty, grounded in orthodox spirituality. True Beauty—ultimately Christ and His incarnate, cruciform love—serves as a true reflection of the divine. It reorients the soul by presenting a powerful new view of reality that challenges the ugly “revelation” of trauma. Trauma victims need to fall in love with Beauty before they can be guided back toward righteous moral direction. Beauty unites the fractured self, restores communion, and makes truth and goodness livable again.

Trauma recovery is connected to overall soul-healing. Only by recognizing and emulating true Beauty (which leads to Goodness and Truth) can the soul’s deepest scars from ugliness be healed, and the lies of a godless, hostile world be unraveled.

God’s Spirit Over Chaos

The chaos of Genesis 1 still threatens Earth. But God’s Spirit remains, like a mother hovering over her young. Christ is here. Our Father is not caught off guard by your circumstances as you read this. My heart reaches out to you, whatever you’re facing, as your sister in Christ, to encourage you to stay alert, stand firm, and trust that His hand is on your shoulder, and He will faithfully provide all you need in the real and present danger you or your loved ones face. —Anna

Additional Resources

Fear Management for Adults from Anna Hampton:
Fear Management for Adults Article
Fear Management Video
N.A.M.E. Tool for Adults

Fear Management for Teens from Anna Hampton:
Fear Management for Teens Article
Dealing with Fear Video
Fear worksheet (used in video)

Fear Management for Children from Anna Hampton:
Fear Management Children 5-12 Article
Fear Management for Kids 5-12 Facilitator Guide
Facing Fears Worksheet for Children

Risk Tolerance Inventory from Anna Hampton (available in multiple languages)

Articles from Scott Brawner:
The Watchman’s Brief
Thresholds for Departure and Benchmarks for Return
Individual Stay-Go Assessment

Notes
[1] Marek et al., 2013, https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC3678031/.
[2] Delgado et al., 2008, https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC3061554/.
[3] Sharot et al., 2012, https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC3424419/.
[4] Hampton, Anna. Facing Fear. 2023. William Carey Publishing.
[5] Levinson, Leila. Gated Grief. 2011. Cable Publishing.
[6] Patitsas, Timothy. Ethics of Beauty. 2019. St. Nicholas Press.

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Anna Hampton is a global risk consultant and specialist in a theology of risk. She has over thirty years of ministry experience, raised her family in Afghanistan and Turkey, and serves with Barnabas International, providing pastoral support to Christ followers working in dangerous areas. This article is based on her books, Facing Danger: A Guide Through Risk, 2nd ed. (William Carey Publications, 2024) and Facing Fear: The Journey to Mature Courage in Risk and Persecution (William Carey Publications, 2023). She is currently writing Facing Persecution: The Spirituality and Ethics of Loving Your Enemy. Hampton holds a doctorate in religious studies from Trinity Theological Seminary (Newburgh). She can be contacted at TheologyofRisk.com, on Instagram as @Theology.of.Risk, and via email at anna.hampton@barnabas.org.

Present Tense Grace

Editor’s Note: This article discusses a violent attack encountered on the field.

By Breanna Rudolph

I wasn’t ready for it, that beautiful spring evening in 2016 in the mountains of Haiti, when three men burst out of the ditch with a gun and a sword. I also wasn’t ready for what came after: the years of relentless what-ifs and the way fear doesn’t always end when the danger passes.

Michael and I had only been married a year and a half, and I was five months pregnant with our first child. We had met in Haiti, married, and made our home there in a remote mountain village. We were passionate about the gospel and committed to helping people with medical needs for which there was no local care.

Our lives were full of work and travel. That spring evening, after preparing for a visiting team of surgeons, we stopped in town to grab supper plates before heading up the trail for home in our UTV. We drove to the first mountain crest and stopped to eat where it was cooler. The view was spectacular, overlooking the vast blue ocean and the noisy city below. We remarked that this almost felt like a date, the first we’d really had in months.

We ate quickly; dusk was falling, and we still had an hour left. The trail home stretches about twelve miles over rugged mountain terrain. We continued our journey, and as we rounded a corner, a motorcycle driver stopped and watched us pass. That wasn’t unusual, but I gasped at the evil in his eyes. I almost said something to my husband, but the UTV was loud, and I was too tired to shout.

We forded rivers and climbed ridges and eventually reached the most secluded section of the trail. Recent rains had turned it to deep mud, and our pace slowed to a crawl. As we slogged through the mud, three men shot out of the deep ditch on our left.

Immediately a gun was pressed to my husband’s head. The gunman shouted, slamming the weapon against him. Michael blocked the blows with his hands, trying to reason with the men in Creole.

On my side, two of the men approached. One held a long, dull sword. He prodded me with the blade, then began using his hands. He’s either looking for money, or I’m about to be assaulted, I thought. I shoved him away. His face twisted with rage, and he raised the sword, beating me again and again. Adrenaline is a strange thing; you don’t feel pain until you do. I bent over to shield my belly, letting the blows fall across my shoulder instead. Michael’s back was turned as he fought off his own onslaught of shouting and pistol whipping.

Soon I started to hurt. I grabbed the man’s sword and pulled. He pulled harder. I let go, and he stumbled backward. Now he was even angrier, and he unleashed his weapon on me again. Fearing Michael would rush to save me and be shot, I forced my voice to stay low and calm. “Michael, they’re hurting me.”

Michael managed to get his wallet from his pocket and called them over with an urgent voice, explaining we had only supplies in the back. I suppose they felt their intimidation had done its job. They went over the cab area, took whatever they could find: money, bags, and passports, and vanished.

In the weeks after, the weight of what happened pressed down on us. Each day brought new questions: Will it happen again? Will they come to our home? We learned that these men were part of a small gang camping out in the mountains and that the motorcycle driver I had seen likely tipped them off.

Perhaps the worst part of it all was my mind constantly playing out darker versions of what could have been. My husband could have been shot. I could have been stabbed, and my baby might not have made it. Were these fears close to reality? Maybe. I felt there was no way I could handle even one of those scenarios.

Over the next few years, the stress moved from the trail to our doorstep. While we were away, a thief broke into our home and went through everything. While home alone with our two young kids, a thief came again, once entering successfully, another time attempting it. Camera footage showed a masked man, later found watching our house with a machete hidden in his pants.

While driving to visit friends, unruly kids threw a rock at us from the embankment above the road. It struck the roll bar on the UTV with such force that it shattered — inches from our son’s head. Events like these fed my growing fears, sending my mind spinning through what could have been. I was hyper-vigilant and always on edge, checking and rechecking my surroundings.

The breaking point came in 2021 during what was supposed to be a five-week furlough in the States. Our missionary friend was killed in a plane crash. He’d been flying over the southern mountains we all crossed to avoid the gang-controlled roads. I watched his widow handle this unimaginable loss with such grace and fell apart.

This could happen to us too, and I was certain I didn’t have her level of strength to endure it. Days after that, the Haitian president was assassinated, and Haiti descended into anarchy. What was meant to be a brief furlough became an indefinite return for our family.

In the safety of the States, the tension in my mind finally began to ease. I started to recognize just how deeply fear had settled into my body and thoughts. What I would later understand was post-traumatic stress had mushroomed into anxiety and insomnia.

In missionary circles, the language of sacrifice is well known; wholeness of mind, body, and spirit is not. People asked about our work, but rarely about how we were really, truly doing. I felt pressure to remain the “heroic” version of ourselves, a projection of the unshakable missionaries portrayed in the biographies they admired.

It’s easier for most people to sanitize a story from a distance than to sit in the dusty disappointments of its reality. I remember some of the most confident “faith over fear” advice from individuals whose homes were wrapped in security systems, where an alarm would bring the police in minutes. Though they had the best intentions, and by no fault of their own, this exposed a seemingly vast disconnect.

In those moments, theology offered without empathy felt cold, and I instinctively pulled away. I had no words for what I was facing, and even less understanding of how to bring it before God without feeling like an ashamed imposter who was failing at faith.

Only gradually did I come to understand that I had never brought my pain and worry into the light of God’s truth. I had been trying to build a life in the gap between them, keeping my suffering and faith separate. In doing so, I had overlooked something so simple: God does not give imaginary grace for imaginary things.

I realized I was putting myself through ‘simulated suffering,’ trying to summon the strength to survive a murder, a plane crash, or a loss that hadn’t happened. I felt weak because I was trying to carry a burden God had neither placed on my shoulders nor given me strength to bear.

I think this is more common than we admit — many of us do this with finances, health, politics, and relationships. We rehearse disasters that haven’t even happened to steel ourselves against losses we haven’t actually faced. As a thinker and organized planner, some of my greatest giftings and strengths became weaknesses when driven by fear and worry.

Trusting God’s sovereignty over what does not happen takes a different kind of discipline. It requires believing that, despite our vivid imaginations, He remains the gatekeeper of our lives. The Lord governs over all that comes to pass and shields us from the countless tragedies that do not. I had somewhat viewed God’s sovereignty as passive, as if He simply stepped back and let Haiti’s chaos engulf us and our friends. But even the boundaries around our suffering are as much under His control as the circumstances He allowed, just as God set limits that Satan could not cross in Job’s life.

As we pray about whether God will lead us back to Haiti, I still struggle. Part of working through that has been writing this. I am reminded of “bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ” (2 Cor. 10:5). This isn’t a passive “letting go”; it is an aggressive arrest of the mind. Obedience often leads straight through our deepest wounds and fears.

When my mind begins to unravel, I now ask: Has God given me grace for this yet? The answer is always no, of course not, because it hasn’t happened. And that “no” is a gift. It turns my heart from worry toward deep thankfulness.

Perhaps God will one day lead our family through what I fear the most. I may wonder if I have the faith for that journey, but I now understand that burden is not mine to bear — it belongs to God. The unknown ahead isn’t a dark void, it is territory already claimed by the light of His presence.

While I don’t yet have the grace for tomorrow, I do have exactly enough for this breath, this prayer, this step. And maybe, if you are walking through fear or uncertainty too, this can serve as the reminder we both need: His grace is enough for the road we are actually on.

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Breanna Rudolph is the wife of Michael and a mother of three. After serving in Haiti for over seven years, their family now lives in Tennessee, seeking to be faithful where God has them while waiting on His next steps. Her writing can be found at thinkingwithtruth.com.

Can God Save Your Life?

By Liz Campbell

“We run the place ya know” said the gunman, casually revealing his semi-automatic weapon with extended magazine. The midnight air, pregnant with tension and the smell of weed, wrapped darkness around both him and my husband on the deserted road leading down into Majesty Gardens.^[1]

David drew a breathe, “Actually, God runs the place,” he said calmly, his eyes carefully reading every flicker on the gunman’s face. As he spoke, two more men emerged from the shadows, one close, one farther off.

“So can God save your life?” the gunman glared menacingly, drawing closer.

“Yes” David said, meeting his gaze, “He can.”

Did he believe those words in that moment? He said he did, but did I, soon after when he arrived home to tell me what had happened?

As the words left his mouth, another car turned into the alleyway further ahead, its headlights draping light over the darkness. The bright light seemed to confuse the gunman. He didn’t know where to look, and he and his friends grew visibly agitated.

“Squeeze it now man, squeeze it,” urged one of his friends. But the gunman, confused by the lights like an animal in a headlight glare, had already moved his pistol from my husband to the oncoming car.

Seeing his opportunity, my husband calmly put the engine into gear and drove off past the oncoming car. It was only after he was around the corner and on the open stretch that he began to shake all over. When he returned home to our one room flat in Trenchtown and told me his news, calm had almost returned to his body.

But in me the storms were just beginning.

I had left my family half a planet away and come here to work alongside my new husband in Trenchtown, Jamaica. What if Jesus didn’t have our backs? That night led me on a long journey with God, trying to find reassurance against a backdrop of violence, crime and fear.

Ten years later we are still here, and I am still on this journey.

Violence has a long history and a short fuse here in Jamaica, especially in the inner city communities where we work. Despite a population of just 2.9 million people, Jamaica has one of the highest (per capita) homicide rates in the world. In 2015 alone there were 1,205 murders (that’s more than three each day), 1069 shootings, 589 aggravated assaults, 577 rapes, 1,904 robberies and 1,777 break-ins^[2]. In 2013 there were ten thousand cases of reported child abuse^[3].

My husband David has been caught in crossfire twice (once with an armoured vehicle), held up at gunpoint twice, witnessed a beheading, carried victims of abduction and rape to counsellors, lost friends to violence, spoken at the funerals of the youth he was working with, and counselled gunmen against retaliation in heated situations. “Can God save your life?” is a very real question for us as a family and one that I have faced again and again over the last ten years.

I recently asked my husband this question again, and without hesitation his emphatic answer was “Yes!” He can say this so confidently because his experience so far has proven God’s faithfulness in this area. God can save his life because He already has. We work alongside missionaries who have reported bullets “pinging” away from them as they were caught in gun fire, as though an invisible shield was protecting them. After my husband was caught in cross fire between an armoured police vehicle and gunmen one evening, a friend overheard some young men in the community saying “Bwoy, ‘dat white man must really a’serve God, because so many bullets a’fly and not even one catch ‘im!”

So, if we work for God does that mean we are invincible to human violence?

I wish I could tell you that I could confidently say that God will always protect us from everything we fear, from all pain and violence. But I can’t. It is true that He has. I and my husband and many other missionaries we know can retell many stories of Gods protection: bullets missing their target, gunmen avoided, lives saved. But it doesn’t always end this way.

In April of this year two American missionaries, Randy Wentzel and Harold Nichols, were violently murdered here in Jamaica. Despite the fact that Jamaica is in the top five nations for homicide rates in the world, their deaths shocked Jamaicans. Last year in Haiti another missionary, Roberta Edwards was shot and killed as she sat behind the wheel of her car. July this year, trainee missionaries Jamison and Kathryn Pals and their three very young children were killed in a car accident on their way to language school in preparation for the mission field.

Does this mean that somehow God let them down? Did Jesus not have their backs just as my deepest fears suspect?

The truth is actually much larger than either of these answers tell us.

God doesn’t promise to save our life. He can save our life. But the Bible does not promise safety, comfort or stressless living. What it does promise is God’s presence with us.

Daniel walked through the lions den, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego went through the furnace. God was with them, walking closely alongside them, strengthening them and encouraging them. In these cases God did save their lives; yet the prophet Isaiah was cut in two, and James was killed while Peter miraculously walked out of Jail. There were many cases of lives miraculously spared among the early Christians, but all but one of the disciples would eventually suffer a violent death. In the first 200 years of Christianity four million Christians were killed under the Roman empire.

Had God saved just a few, only to neglect four million others?

No. In all these cases God kept his promise, the promise of His presence with us. Jesus knows what pain and suffering feels like, intimately from inside the frail shell of human existence. He has done it and when each one of us walks through white waters of any kind, he is walking with us, walking in us, walking us through, out into either every day life or eternal life.

Randy Wentzel, Harold Nichols, Roberta Edwards and the Pals family were not alone when they were taken violently from this world. Jesus was with them, there, in their last moments, walking closely alongside them, strengthening them and encouraging them just as he had been throughout every other day of their entire life and ministry. They were never alone.

The gunman’s question ‘Can God Save Your life?’ holds within it an assumption. His question assumes that life is all we have to lose and that he and his gun ultimately have power over this. This gunman and his friends lived in the reality of the darkness of this world, a choice which ultimately led to their demise less than a year after their interaction with my husband. But we live in another reality.

In that moment, when the gunman asked that question, gun in hand, David had to choose which reality he would live in. He had to choose where his eyes fell and what his heart believed. Which was more real in that moment, the barrel of a gun or the face of Jesus?

Where does real power lie? We often live, as the gunman’s words imply, feeling that our lives are the most important thing we have to lose. We feel that suffering is wrong, like Jesus somehow should prevent us ever experiencing pain or loss. Fear has a power that can easily drown out God’s voice. It is our enemy’s greatest weapon against us.

This year we have seen as never before that we are in a world rocked by violence, a world torn apart by war, pain and fear. An estimated 115-250 people a day have lost their lives in the Syrian conflict, 80 died in France under the wheels of a terrorists truck, 49 shot dead in Orlando. Teenage gunmen, terrorist rampages, racial violence, police shootings: our world is bracing for the next suicide bomber to blow themselves up for religious extremism, for someone to mow down victims in the name of prejudice and hate.

Theologian Tom Wright writes,

“The Christian Vocation is to be in prayer, in the Spirit, at the place where the world is in pain, and as we embrace that vocation, we discover it to be the way of following Christ, shaped according to his messianic vocation to the cross, with arms outstretched, holding on simultaneously to the pain of the world and the love of God.”

Jesus is no stranger to suffering. What can we say to a suffering world if we flee from suffering ourselves? Like Jesus, we are called to give our lives for love. Not in comfortable Christendom, reading books about faith, but in the gritty, messy, sometimes violent battleground of human life, living in the reality where God is King, no matter what the outcome of the battle in front of us may be. The war is already won.

Can God save your life? He has. Jesus is with us; The Son of God who laid the foundation of the universe. A gunman with a pistol looks pretty small from that perspective. No bullet will take you without God already having prepared that moment from the beginning of time to be your home-coming to Him, with Him, and in Him. Jesus is with us. He can save our life, and He can walk alongside us as we live and as we die (as He did) for love.

If we are brave, we are not brave because we presume we are invincible. We are brave because we live in a reality where God is King and Jesus is walking with us all the way.

For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline. So do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord or of me his prisoner. Rather, join with me in suffering for the gospel, by the power of God.

2 Timothy 1:7-8 New International Version – UK

^[1] An Inner City Community of Kingston Jamaica

^[2] Jamaica crime and safety report by the U.S. Overseas Security Advisory Council.

^[3] Karyl Walker, Jamaica Observer, June 17th 2014

Liz Campbell is an Australian, married to a Brit, and living in Jamaica. Together Liz and her husband David have been working with vulnerable inner-city Jamaican children, families, and communities for the past ten years (through the mission organisation ‘Fusion’) while also homeschooling their two beautiful children. Liz’s passion is for human beings, particularly restoring hope and wholeness to broken lives and broken communities. She writes monthly about life as a human being at: seeingbreathingliving.com . Further stories, photos and information about David and Liz’s work is available at: fusionjamaica.org

Missions in a Conflict Zone

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A year and a half ago our family lived through another war. For over a month there were missile attacks launched against most of the country, with violence and terrorism in the city where we live. Practically speaking, this meant trips to the bomb shelter with our kids, avoiding certain parts of the city, and one scary time on the highway with my family when a rocket exploded in the air overhead.

We lived in an elevated state of anxiety, with sharp spikes of fear and adrenaline that flared up during each new serious incident. Many times we could not immediately process these events because we had to keep it together emotionally for the sake of our children.

When people realize where we live, inevitably the comment will come up: “I don’t know how you did it.” Others ask, “How did you live through the war?” Now, looking back, we see that several things helped us through this time even though we didn’t plan them beforehand or consciously think about them at the time.

I share them with you today because even if you are not going through a physical war, we are all still fighting in a battle that is not against flesh and blood.

Continue with “normal” life and ministry as much as possible. We recognize that there may come a time in any location that you must leave. If that is what your family and agency decide, then that is okay and nothing to be ashamed of. Each country and every conflict brings its own set of challenges and circumstances. For our family, we decided that if we were going to stay, we should continue to minister. That meant traveling to our congregation from a city with a couple of rocket attacks a week to a city with several per day. It helped to continue in our ministries as much as possible, and we were continually reminded of the bigger picture and why God had called us to this place. We also grew very close to our national friends and partners during this time.
Set boundaries for yourself. For my mental health, I had to set boundaries. It was too distressing to go on websites and read the news, so I relied on my husband to tell me things that were pertinent. I chose to focus on things that were in my sphere of influence like my house, children, spouse, and different ministry opportunities.
Take a Sabbath and give yourself some extra margin. Not long before the war began, my husband and I decided to start taking a Sabbath day off. During the conflict, we took more down time than normal. We guarded our one day off per week and took extra time to play with the kids, get wet in the kiddie pool on our terrace, watch more movies, and be silly. We were very intentional that summer about our margin time and gave each other permission to take some extra time to do fun things.
With point #3 in mind: Do a project as a family. We planted a garden. It was really a family undertaking from buying the seeds in the store to digging up the soil to plant. It gave us such joy to teach our kids about gardening and how things grow. Every day we would water and watch things begin to sprout. It was a small thing, but it went a long way. It was fun for the kids to compare the sizes of the watermelons every day.
Also with point #3 in mind: Teach yourself a new skill. My husband is an avid outdoorsman and has always wanted to learn to fly fish. He ordered a fly rod, watched videos online, and went to the neighborhood park to practice his casting. I am a musician and have always wanted to learn guitar. We took advantage of a ceasefire to travel to a mall, where I bought a cheap instrument so I could teach myself how to play.
Recognize that even though you are healthy and political situations can improve, there are still effects on your mental, emotional, and spiritual state. Although my family and I are physically in good shape, we are not completely unscathed from all we have been through. When there is a siren drill, I hate that my small children run and hide under a desk. Our adrenaline still surges for a split second when a motorcycle revs its engine, because it sounds just like a siren starting. I don’t like that by age four my son knew what missiles were and that terrorists were launching them to try to kill people. I have to watch my own cynicism towards certain people groups that I have never struggled with before. It is important to recognize these effects in ourselves and in our children and to counter negative attitudes with appropriate Scriptural responses. I continually take a personal audit of where I am, spiritually and mentally. What this looks like for me is a weekly meeting with just myself. I look over my calendar for the coming week, plan out what is required of me, ask myself questions, schedule intentional down time, and then give myself and my family lots of grace.
Most importantly, trust God for the peace that passes understanding and rely on Him. There were times of crisis when the only thing I could do was recite scripture. When sirens went off and we had to make decisions, I always had a sense of peace that could only have come from God. We leaned on God and truly came to understand that Jesus is our daily bread. He is enough. We serve an amazing God, and sometimes life is really hard. But when life is hard, he is still good. Always.

Our city and country are once again going through some very turbulent times, and I am constantly reminded of the goodness of God. I take it one day at a time, sometimes one hour at a time, and rely on His grace and sustainment for me and my family. Despite the hardships, we acknowledge that there is One who is bigger than all of this. And His faithfulness is great indeed.

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Angela lives in the Middle East with her husband and two children. They have served overseas in ministry for three and a half years. Angela teaches music at two different schools and leads worship at their congregation. She enjoys reading, writing, making music, and spending time with friends.