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Even as the daughter of a pastor and Christian author, I must admit I never felt “called” to the mission field. That said, having grown up around parents and grandparents who were generous with both their time and resources, I did learn how to develop a heart of love.

In his “Exploring” Commentaries, Dr. John Phillips often mentioned the importance of giving “A cup of water in My name,” Matthew 10:42 as he encouraged us to set our vision and energy on others more than ourselves.

For years, I have volunteered with homes for abused and neglected children, nursing homes and homeless shelters, assuring myself God had called me to be a volunteer, not a missionary.

But then all that changed.

I was experiencing a difficult time in my personal life; a counselor might have diagnosed it as “free floating anxiety.” I was a little anxious about several things. But knowing full well that signaled my lack of trust in Jehovah-Jireh, I pushed on with the daily help of Psalms 27 and 118:5-6 and Isaiah 41 and 45.

Still, at one point, my anxiety turned into mild depression, but I told no one, no one that is except my Father.

One morning during a sobbing session while listening to the song “God I need you now, how I need you now;” He spoke.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yse43TUrces&list=RDyse43TUrces&start_radio=1

“Look around you My child, the world is full of sorrow, loneliness and great need. (I) have abundantly blessed you, and now (I) will help change your mind about the mission field. Your intense introspection is the problem; pray for unselfishness, you have a special mission.”

Oh no, I thought, here I go to Africa after all! But that wasn’t what He meant.

A week later I met Laurel. I hadn’t noticed her at church before, but one Sunday, she helped me in the nursery as I tried to reign in her wild 3- and 4-year-old brothers. Though she was only 10, her calm demeanor and sweet smile was amazingly effective in taming the two.

Laurel explained how she had been adopted by a couple from my church a year ago, but before that she had been in numerous foster homes. She said her biological mother was “on the lam,” because of drugs, and that an aunt had moved away and left her behind the year before that. She’d hidden in the trunk of a car when the social worker came to get her, but they found her and took her to yet another home, this time an aunt who was also keeping one of her 12-year-old siblings.

Then it happened, the COVID-19 pandemic hit the country hard, but it was harder on these children than most of us could ever imagine.

One day after church, I brought Laurel home with me for lunch. We were sitting on my patio eating when I noticed this small girl was eating like a lumberjack—stuffing in mouthful after mouthful and immediately asking for more. So, I gave her all she wanted. As I laughed at her voracious appetite, she casually said, “Ever since I had to eat dog food, I can’t seem to get enough food—sometimes I hide it.”

Understanding the attention children seek by trying to shock adults, I said, “What was your favorite brand?”

For a minute she looked away from me at the yard saying nothing, and then I saw her tears. They lived in a trailer, her aunt worked all day, they were not in school, and fear of infection kept everyone in the trailer park inside. No one knew there was no food in the house, nothing that was except dog food, and the least expensive the aunt could purchase.

As Laurel continued in obvious embarrassment, she said, “Sometimes we had cat food, it was better, and sometimes my aunt brought home left-over food from the restaurant; we fought over every crumb.”

Then I understood her frantic food fascination. I confirmed with her adoptive parents; these children really did eat dog and cat food for a year.

Like being hit by a lightning bolt, I suddenly realized I’d never gone hungry once in my life, and that this horror had happened less than 10 minutes from my own home!

Three years have gone by, and now every time I see Laurel, she’s grown calmer and more confident. I believe this increased sense of security has come from learning about both the deep love of God and of her new family, especially since her parents framed her adoption certificate and put it above her bed! Without showing love, we are no more than a sounding brass and clinking cymbal. 1 Corinthians 13:1

Next came Donnie. I was visiting a woman from my church at a nearby nursing home when I passed a room and heard a man crying. I stopped and stood unseen by the door as he moved his head from side to side, sobbing. I thought he was too young to be in a nursing home, guessing he was around 40. I waited until he was quiet, then slowly took a few steps inside and introduced myself. I put out my hand, but he didn’t shake it, he just looked shocked. I told him I was there to see a friend and asked if I could visit him again. He simply nodded yes.

As it turns out, Donnie didn’t shake my hand because he has a rare neurological genetic disease called Fredricks Ataxia. He began experiencing leg paralysis at age 13, and it slowly, so agonizingly slowly, moved up his body until his family could no longer care for him at home. Now, at 45, he has no feeling below the mid-chest and can do almost nothing for himself.

That was a year ago. During that year, I learned many things about Donnie, like his favorite foods, and that the nursing home fed him mostly pureed food (he said) for convenience because he couldn’t feed himself. One day when I asked if there was anything I could do to make him feel better, he said, “I love food.”

So, once a week, I take him his favorites, carrot cake, pasta, and today, his birthday, pizza. At first, he was embarrassed that I had to feed him, but now he can’t wait, neither can I. We laugh, he often gives me advice about my car, and then before I go, he always asks me to comb his hair.

That’s when he cries, but I know it’s from the joy of being touched, stimulated by another human hand that cares, and Donnie knows that I love him.

Not long ago a friend began visiting Donnie with me. Donnie and I had often discussed God, his faith, or lack of, and why God would allow this to happen to him. I was honest, never minimizing his pain and frustration, but simply saying, “When we get to heaven, you will have blue wings (his favorite color), and mine will be violet; we’ll fly from planet to planet together; that’s my plan.” And it is. He smiled in anticipation.

One late evening when my friend Larry and I decided to surprise Donnie with pizza, he woke up a little startled, but obviously happy to see us. I’d done my best to present the plan of salvation to Donnie many times, but he seemed too angry to listen.

But on that night, he suddenly turned to Larry and said, “I want to go to heaven.” Larry immediately and carefully explained the simplicity of salvation, and at 8 PM on a Friday night, Donnie became a child of God.

Now when I see him, he’s less depressed and more animated. He has a future and a hope, and when he’s released from his paralyzed body, he will fly–straight into the arms of Jesus!

My current home mission field is no more than 15 miles from where I live. But I’ve just touched the surface, there’s more, much more.

Finally, I did end up in Africa after all, as well as China, both professionally and as an emissary of Christ. Philippians 2:13

Next Home Missions Report: I’ll tell you about two-year-old Birdie and four-year-old Fiona who rescued my heart and Nancy, the Chaplin, wheelchair warrior for Jesus, and my godly counselor and friend.

Dianna Lightfoot

John Phillips Ministries International Board Member