In Rev. 2:10, a reward is promised for those who are faithful unto death. Philippians 2:8 testifies that Jesus was obedient (faithful) unto death. The call to be faithful unto death is thus a call to be like Jesus. The context of the Rev. 2 letter makes this obvious too. Jesus introduces Himself to this church as the One who was dead and is alive; i.e. the one who conquered death. Thus when He exhorts them to be faithful unto death, He really is calling them to be just like Him, to walk the path that He walked. And the reminder of who Jesus is (He who was dead and is alive) is given to encourage them in their stance of faithfulness unto death. Jesus is, therefore they must be faithful unto death. If you know that He is the One who was dead and is alive, you cannot be afraid of the things you shall suffer.

In speaking about this principle, Paul writes in Heb 2:15 that Jesus died to “deliver them who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage.” This deliverance is possible because through death, Jesus destroyed him who had the power of death, that is the devil (v. 14). The word for destroy is the Greek katargeō. It means to deprive of force, influence and power. Notice too that the fear of death is really the fear of the Devil who has the power of death. Through His death, Jesus destroys the devil, essentially rendering him powerless. How then can one be afraid of someone who has been rendered powerless?

Deeper yet, the word translated bondagein Heb. 2:15  is the Greek word douleia which is obviously related to doulos, meaning slave or bondman. As such it describes slavery. When you are in bondage or slavery to something, you are under its complete control. To be enslaved by fear of death, to be in bondage through fear of death means to let that fear control and move you. Practically, being in bondage because of the fear of death means being willing to do anything to preserve your life. By reason of that fear, because of it, you are subject to bondage; afraid that if you break that bondage, you will die. That is bondage to the fear of death and, by implication, the Devil because he is the one who holds the power of death.

Notice the tense of the verse: “to deliver them who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage.” They were in bondage, but now they are no longer in bondage. The implication here is that if we are in Christ, we should no longer be in bondage through fear of death. Prov. 14:27 beautifully states that the fear of the Lord is a fountain of life, not a fountain of death. It is to depart from the snares of death. You either fear death or you fear God. If you are in Christ and He has overcome death, why should death overcome you? To die is gain; there is no need to fear.

I believe Paul had understood that. He believed in a Christ who died to conquer the one who had power over death, so death was the last thing he was afraid of. No wonder he wrote 1 Corinthians 15:55-57. God gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. At the glorious second coming, death will be defeated and we also will put on incorruption (v. 54). Death shall be swallowed up in victory. There is, again, no need to fear. And to die is gain because if you die today, you will sleep, and the next thing you hear will be the trumpet sound as Jesus comes to take you home. To die is gain, it is an advantage.

A clear understanding of that truth creates a Christian unafraid of death, one who can say, kill me if you will but not even death will deter me from the path of duty. Matter of fact, if I die it is gain to me because I’ll sleep and awake to meet my Lord. I’ve worked with young adult missionaries who’ve told me countless times, “If I die, I want it to be on the mission field.” This past November, one of those pioneering missionaries lost his life in a tragic car accident. Till the day of his death he was serving his Lord, and he fell at the post of duty. In one quick day, he was gone, leaving an entire generation of Zambian youth mourning.

The news of his death angered and infuriated me. I had to remember, though, that God is never too late or too early. In the words of David Livingstone, “I am immortal, till the work God has given me on earth is done.” Not that we’re immortal in the sense God is; He alone has life immortal. But God will sustain life until our work on earth is done.

Thus we ought not to fear death. And if we cannot fear death, what else is left to fear? Where are the young people who will echo the prayer of David Breinard: “Here Am I, send me; send me to the ends of the earth; send me to the rough, the savage pagans; send me from all that is called comfort on earth; send me even to death itself, if it be but in thy service, and to promote thy kingdom.”

Death is a conquered enemy. To die is gain…

He had witnessed the death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus. He was present in the upper room as the disciples confessed their sins one to another and prayed for unity of mind. He partook of the Pentecost outpouring of the Holy Spirit. He lived to share Christ.

One by one the rest of the apostles died, yet he lived on. The authority of his testimony deepened as his experience with the risen Christ grew. Under the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, he wrote about the Word who “was in the beginning with God,” so that those who read would believe that Jesus was the Christ, the son of God, and that believing, they would have life through His name [John 1:2, 20:31].

In majestic, heavenly language, he lifted up the Lamb of God, who had graciously pardoned and taken away his own sins. He pointed sinners to Him whose grace was always sufficient, encouraged the growing churches, and did not shy away from calling sin by its right name, regardless of whether it was committed by a ruler or the common peasant.

And then they sought to silence him. They cast him into a caldron of boiling oil, expecting to kill him. “But the Lord preserved the life of His faithful servant,” [Acts of the Apostles p.570].

He walked out of that boiling oil with neither scratch nor burn. His fervor was not diminished, nor was his courage daunted. He would get right back into the work appointed him by Christ. No threat or torture could silence him. In 81 AD, it was all his desperate persecutors could do to banish him to Patmos, a “barren, rocky and gloomy” island in the Aegean Sea [Ibid]. 

He was banished for the “word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ,” [Revelation 1:9].

There, on the island of Patmos, he was all alone. There was no one to turn to, no one to talk to, no one to comfort and no one to share the gospel with. It was here that his persecutors hoped he would be silenced forever, here that they were sure his testimony would be brought to naught while he died of “hardship and distress.”

And well could John have been discouraged. Had he stopped to consider his surroundings, had he stopped to feel the weight of the chains binding him, had he stopped to absorb the cheerless atmosphere, he would have worked himself into despondency. But there was none of that. Still faithfully trusting his Lord, he was “in the spirit on the Lord’s day.”

Suddenly, he heard a voice behind him, as of a trumpet saying, “I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the last: and what thou seest, write in a book, and send it unto the seven churches…” [Revelation 1:10-11].

Perhaps John did not initially recognize the voice that spoke to him. Yet, as he heard the words “Alpha and Omega,” as he turned around to see one like the Son of man walking in the midst of the seven golden candlesticks, he knew he was in the presence of Jesus [Revelation 1:13].

Thus, though abandoned by man on Patmos, John was not alone. His beloved Savior was with Him.

Furthermore, John here received the revelation of Jesus Christ, “which God gave unto him, to shew unto his servants things which must shortly come to pass…” [Revelation 1:1]. It was a message of hope, a taking away of the veil, a revelation of the Savior. And it was received by an aged apostle while he was painfully exiled on Patmos.

No doubt, Patmos was exactly where God needed him to be:

• “In the providence of God, John was placed where Christ could give him a wonderful revelation of Himself and of divine truth for the enlightenment of the churches.” [Acts of the Apostles p. 581]. 

• “God suffered John, the beloved disciple, to be exiled on Patmos, where he was separated from the world’s bustle and strife, shut away from every outside influence, and even from the work that he loved. Then the Lord could commune with him, opening before him the closing scenes of this world’s history.” [Gospel Workers p. 77]

John had to go to Patmos to receive the revelation of Jesus Christ. It was there, in the midst of tribulation, that he saw the clearest, best, and brightest portraits of Jesus he had ever seen in his life.

At some point or other, we’ve all been tried by excruciating circumstances. And we’ve been tempted to get discouraged, we’ve been tempted to give up. Yet John’s experience testifies to the fact that God does not leave us alone in those circumstances. Deeper yet, He brings us to Patmos only to give us clearer, truer, better revelations of Jesus, the Lamb of God.

Trials are windows through which we see Jesus.

A swimmer does not truly know what a lifeguard can do until he is yanked out of  a near death experience in the water. Sadly, we too often do not truly know how precious of a Savior, Healer, Comforter and Friend Jesus is until we’re removed from everything familiar, and we stand in desperate, wretched need of salvation, healing, comfort and friendship. We may not fully know Him, may not be able to reveal Him to others, until we’ve been to Patmos.

So the next time you’re tried, tempted and discouraged, the next time your heart is crushed to pieces, the next time the load get so heavy it seems unbearable, kneel in prayer and say, “Open my eyes, Lord, I want to see Jesus…”

Because trials are windows through which we see Jesus.

I’m near sighted. When I was growing up, my friends would sometimes take my glasses away from me, hold up their hands and ask, “How many fingers do you see?” I always got it wrong and quickly realized that I simply could not trust my sight. So I learned not to answer.

In Mark 8:22-26, the gospel writer records the story of a blind man whose vision could not be trusted. There was only one cure for his predicament: he had to let Jesus touch him again and restore his sight. Spiritual blindness is no different: it responds only to the touch of Jesus.

Mark does mention the man’s name. All we know is that he was brought to Jesus by his friends, who begged Jesus to touch him. Without saying a word, Jesus took the man by the hand and led him out of the town. Here the man was being led by the hand by a man he barely knew. Not to mention that he had no idea where Jesus was taking him. Yet, asking no questions, he followed Jesus’ leading.

This man’s example is a standing rebuke to Christians everywhere. There are many things that a Christian is “blind” about. He may not know where he will be in two years, may not know if his next paycheck will come, may not know if he’ll pull through that surgery. There is, however, one thing he does know: the Savior who takes him by the hand through these paths. He may not know the reason for the journey, but the knowledge of the Redeemer who holds His hand ought to be enough to calm his fears and to give him peace. If Jesus leads, all will be well.

Having led the man out of the city, Jesus spat on his eyes, touched him and asked, “What do you see?” The man’s response was startling: “I see men as trees, walking.” Read in more modern translations, the meaning of the man’s words is deeply disturbing: he saw men looking like trees. The fact that the man knew the difference between men and trees indicates that perhaps he used to see, then lost his vision. Now he was at a place where he saw men “looking like trees.”

The dangers of such vision are painfully obvious. If he walked around seeing men as trees, he would probably find himself talking to trees, or perhaps even trying to pick apples from people’s heads thinking that they were apple trees. The world around him would consider him crazy. Worse yet, he wouldn’t be able to make sense of his world; all would be confusion and total chaos. In simple terms, if you don’t see right, you can’t live right. When what you see does not conform to reality, you’re in a dangerous place.

As the realization hit him, he turned to Jesus and told him the condition of his vision. “I see men, but they look like trees.” Jesus, being omniscient, already knew what the man was seeing. Yet He asked the question to help the man realize his own condition. The man didn’t have to give an honest response. He could have turned to Jesus and said, “Oh, I see very well! Thanks!” He could have done that, but he didn’t. When Jesus asked him what he saw, his answer was simply honest; he didn’t evade it or try to hide anything. Thus Jesus touched him again, and he was restored, and saw every man clearly.

There are two practical applications I’d like to draw out here.

First, we need to see the condition of our own hearts. The sad truth is that we’re quick to talk to Jesus about everything but what’s really going on in our hearts. We’ll pray and ask God to bless our studies, jobs or families. Yet we wont talk to Him about the pride that’s in our hearts, the envy and jealousy, the lustful thoughts or whatever other sins “so easily beset us.”

At a deeper level, perhaps we don’t see ourselves for what we really are. Perhaps we don’t see the ugliness of our hearts and the filthiness of our rags. As a result, we don’t feel our need for Jesus as deeply as we should feel it. When the publican stood in the temple, overwhelmed by a deep sense of his sinfulness contrasted with Christ’s righteousness, all he could utter was, “God be merciful to me, a sinner” (Luke 18:13). Such is the response of a heart that sees itself for what it really is: it holds on to Jesus for very life.

Second, we need to see the world around us and understand it in real terms. That means, we need to understand it from God’s perspective. Often times in the Christian walk, our vision and our sense of perception is deeply warped. Consequentially, things that should come easily and natural to us baffle us. When we struggle to surrender our hearts to Jesus because we don’t want to lose control, we’re seeing “men walking as trees.” When we struggle to get up for morning devotions or make time for God, we’re seeing men “walking as trees.” When we cling to unbelief in spite of the immutable promises of the living God, we’re seeing men “walking as trees.”

Perhaps we sometimes think that God is the One who has the faulty vision. What if a blind man came up to you and told you that you could not see? You would think he was out of his mind. Yet many of us come to places where we think that God is the one who needs to get His eyesight adjusted, because he cannot see the splendor of the things He asks us to give up, or the horror of the things He asks us to do.

It’s nonsensical, isn’t it?

Our blurry vision needs to be cleared so that reality can be perceived as it is. Then we will understand that total surrender is sweet, that Jesus is more important than sleep, that the promises of God can be trusted; we will live our lives in view of the tangible spiritual reality. We need 20/20 spiritual vision. Anything less than that, walking around seeing men “looking like trees,” is a recipe for disaster.

So when Jesus asks you what you see, tell Him. Be real, be honest, be vulnerable. Allow Jesus to touch you and restore your sight. If you need a second touch, go back to the foot of the cross.

Your worldview may be shattered.

Your priorities may shift.

Your life may change, drastically.

But if that is what it takes to receive healing, so be it. You don’t want to walk around seeing men as trees. Partial sight is dangerous; it would almost be better not to see than to have that kind of sight. The stakes are too high.

Lord, touch me again, so that I might see…

I wasn’t sure how to respond. Less than a month earlier, Karen had returned from what she described as the most life-changing ministry experience of her life. She had preached her first sermons, trained missionaries, counseled young people, and witnessed many baptisms. Now she was back home in North America, where people were not as receptive to the gospel and where ministry was not as fruitful as it had been overseas. She was sinking into the spiritual drudgery she had gone on mission to escape. “It’s not there anymore!” was her frustrated plea for help.

Karen does not stand alone. Such spiritual highs and lows are a marked part of our experience as “radical” young people. We have moments of deep inspiration, when the courage to impact the world for Christ moves us in daring ways. Then there are other moments in which life bites with its cold, cruel teeth and we are knocked back into “reality.” We then limp through the year, too proud to admit our brokenness to our “radical friends.” We find ourselves looking forward to the next GYC or mission trip as an opportunity to recharge spiritually, only to lose the momentum again in a few short weeks. Is this to be the signature experience of the “radical” Adventist young person?

No, it cannot be. In his first epistle to the Corinthians, Paul gives a potent exhortation: “Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord…” (1 Corinthians 15:58, KJV). The Greek word translated “unmoveable” in this verse, ametakinētos, connotes the idea of being firmly persistent. Persistence is courageous stubbornness, urging an advance even in the face of extreme difficulty or opposition. The exhortation to be unmoveable is thus a clarion call to continually and persistently carry on the work of the Lord, no matter the cost, a call to refuse to give up though severely tempted and tried.

What is the secret to such spiritual backbone? The life of the apostle Paul holds an answer to that question in his last letter, an epistle to Timothy. At the time of writing it, Paul was in prison in Rome (2 Timothy 1:8, 16), and was being punished like an evil-doer (2:9) even though he had done nothing to merit bonds. Furthermore, his death was imminent (4:6-8). Paul had, throughout his ministry, traveled extensively, raised many churches, witnessed to both Jews and Greeks, and shed tears as he exhorted them to turn to Christ. He had spent his life for the cause of Christ. Now he was reduced to lonely imprisonment. Only Luke, the beloved physician, was with him (4:11). Old, dying, and essentially abandoned—Paul had a recipe for depression. He was at what we would call a spiritual low point.

Yet, he begins this moving epistle by telling Timothy that, without ceasing, he has remembrance of him in his prayers night and day (2 Timothy 1:3). Here Paul was, imprisoned, praying for someone else. Remarkable! More than that, this final letter to Timothy is not a letter of complaint or murmuring. Rather, Paul exhorts Timothy to hold fast the faith (1:13), to be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus (2:1), to endure hardship as a good soldier of Jesus Christ (2:3), and to faithfully preach the word (4:2). How did this aged man find the courage to encourage Timothy as he himself stood at the brink of death? How did he find the words to exhort Timothy to endure affliction for the gospel? How did he still have fire in his bones to declare, “The word of God is not bound?” (2:9)

There had to be a fire deep within that consumed every aspect of Paul’s life and moved his very being. That fire was love for Christ. In his letter to the Corinthian church, he declares: “the love of Christ constraineth us” (2 Corinthians 5:14). Here Paul identifies the love of Christ as his greatest inspiration, the one passion that was the wellspring of all his actions. No wonder then that he could declare, “For to me to live is Christ” (Philippians 1:29). Jesus was his life; love for Christ compelled him. His address to the Ephesian elders in Acts 20:17-32 aptly captures the practical outworking of that love: it could not allow him to sit still while the souls for whom Christ died were perishing; it could not allow the discouragement of trial to hinder the ministry; it could not be content with anything less than total, radical and continual commitment.

Sitting alone in a Roman dungeon, that flame of love still burned in his heart. He was still doing the work of an apostle in exhorting Timothy; he was still running the race and fighting the good fight. He was faithful even unto death.

Love is the foundation for lasting commitment; the secret to remaining unmoveable. This holds true in any human relationship. No man always feels like being loving toward his wife. Yet he makes a conscious choice to love her, and that choice to love sustains the commitment. Our spiritual commitment wavers because we do not love God as much as we profess to love Him.

I don’t doubt the sincerity of those who would hear protest, “But I do love God!” Many of us want to love God. The testimony of our lives, however, reveals a painful bankruptcy: we love sin too much to turn away from it completely, toying with the very thing that hurts God the most; we want to constantly be reminded to do the gospel work; we want conferences to inspire and encourage us; we want mountaintop experiences to keep our lights burning. There is nothing wrong with any of those things, but where is the love for God that “endures all things, hopes all things, believes all things” and never fails?

At its very core, radical commitment is not about the cliche proclamations of “Let’s finish the work!” That is a part of it, but that kind of inspiration dies sooner rather than later. Movement, enduring commitment, is about love: love so deep and so true that it becomes the fountain and wellspring of every thought and action; love that recognizes the sacrifice of Calvary as demanding a sacrifice of all we are and have to God; love willing to go to any length for His sake.

But we cannot make ourselves love God. The “love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost” (Romans 5:5). Our greatest need is thus for the spirit of God. Thankfully, God is willing to give the spirit to us, more willing than any of us are to give good gifts to our children.

So, ask, and you will receive. Then go forth and take up your part in the work of proclaiming the gospel to the whole world so that the end can come. By the grace of God, the mission is possible. When “it’s not there anymore,” love will still remain.

However, the Lord quickly revealed that He had other plans. With barely two weeks to go, my speaking engagement at the girl’s high school was canceled. Furthermore, Sebastien, originally scheduled to speak for the evangelistic Bible lecture series at Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology (KNUST), could not make it. Providence had cleared my schedule, and fear gripped me as I realized that I would be the one to step in at KNUST.

That realization filled me with dread because it was uncharted territory for me. I had preached to Adventist young people, I had trained missionaries, I had organized and led difficult missions to unentered areas. But I had never preached an evangelistic Bible lecture series. Now the Lord was asking me not only to preach evangelistically, but also to walk in shoes that were too big for me by stepping in for Sebastien. I shuddered at the thought. I cringed. I thought of missing my flight and just not going to Ghana altogether.

Yet when I landed in Accra on Thursday, February 17, 2011, reality dawned. I literally could not get back on the plane and run away from the task ahead of me. No. Not now. Not ever. Yes, I would be stationed all by myself at KNUST. Yes, I would have to preach twice a day at 5am and 6.30pm. Yes, I would have to spend countless hours preparing power point slides for the evening evangelistic messages. Yes, I had no idea how all of it would get done.

…Not by might, nor by power, but by the spirit of the Lord.

As that promise burned in my heart, my prayers shifted from the desperate “Get me out of this, Lord!” to an impassioned, “Lord, help me, I pray!” I woke up the next morning ready to be used, and humbled by the power of God’s grace. I had been assigned a work to do. I had put my hand to the plough, and I had to trust that Providence would see me through. There could be no turning back, no regrets, no more misgivings, no self trust, no pretense. From now on, it would be Jesus only. He would have to evaluate my sermons for me, teach me what to say, and take me through every minute of every day.

And what an experience it was! I remember mornings when I woke up and did not know how I would find the strength to present the morning devotional message. I remember being so nervous sometimes that my stomach convulsed. I remember days when I stepped down from the pulpit after the evening evangelistic message conscious of mistakes I had made and overwhelmed by my nothingness. I remember moments when I had to counsel students and found myself at a loss, not knowing how to speak to their difficult and trying situations. I remember standing in greater need of grace than I ever have in recent times.

Yet in and through it all, God’s strength was made perfect in my weakness. I woke up at or around 3am every morning, did my personal devotions, prayed and reviewed notes for my 5am morning devotional message to the KNUST students. I finished preaching at or around 6am, hung out with the students for a little bit, and was back in my hotel room around 7am. I spent time in reflection and prayer, ate breakfast, and went for a walk to clear my mind. I then spent hours poring over notes and presentation slides for the evening message, sometimes interrupted by conversations or counseling sessions with students. I’d be back on campus by 6pm for the evening message. It felt like adrenaline.

…But it was not by might, nor by power, but by the spirit of the Lord.

This experience with Jesus permeated my messages, and the realness of my humanity was often laid bare before the audience. God allowed me to speak to them student to student, as one who understood and shared in their experiences. I wasn’t on the pulpit because I was qualified. Nor was I there because I am an experienced evangelist. I was there simply because God had called. Nothing brought me more joy than getting to my last Sabbath in Kumasi and marveling at the miracle of God as students made decisions for baptism. I was in awe.

“Really, Lord? You would bless me in such a way?” His answer was a resounding yes! As I watched each student step into the baptismal pool and publicly declare his/her commitment to Jesus, my heart was touched beyond measure. “Thando, this is the fruit of your labor,” a friend whispered to me. I shook my head, “No. These baptisms are not the fruit of my labor; they are a testimony to the power of grace. Jesus is real; the gospel is real; the word really does change hearts and lives.”

I’m back in Boston now, deeply awed at how God has chosen to use me. More than that, I’m persuaded that the cause of God does not so much need young people who are experienced or capable, as it does those who are willing to be used; those who are willing to be broken so that Jesus only can be seen. We recite the quotation, “with such an army of workers as our youth, rightly trained, might furnish, how soon the message of a crucified, risen, and soon coming Savior might be carried to all the world in this generation.” And it is true. But that army of youth begins with me; it begins with you. Whether or not you have the requisite experience, if you’re willing to go, God can and will use you.

And lest I forget, at the tail end of my mission in Ghana, I turned 25. There was no party, no celebration, no big fuss. But I couldn’t think of a better way to spend that day than in the land I love so much, doing the work God has called me to do. Just about a year ago I was wrestling with the calling to preach and to teach the word of God. In this past year of my life, God has provided opportunities to preach, taught me the nothingness of my human frame, and continually made His strength perfect in my weakness. 25? Yes! It’s been an exciting year, and the best is yet to come. Yes, Lord!

I contemplated saying no. Matter of fact, I almost turned down the invitation. As I wrestled with it, however, I was impressed to re-read the call of Moses in Exodus 3-4 and the associated commentary in Patriarchs and Prophets. The following quotation arrested my attention:

“The divine command given to Moses found him distrustful, slow of speech and timid. He was overwhelmed with a sense of his incapacity to be a mouthpiece for God to Israel. But having once accepted the work, he entered upon it with his whole heart, putting all his trust in the Lord. The greatness of his mission called into exercise the best powers of his mind. God blessed his ready obedience, and he became eloquent, self-possessed, and well fitted for the greatest work ever given to man…” Patriarchs and Prophets p. 255

Reflecting on that passage brought me to tears. It was as if God was asking me, “Thando, do you believe I can do for you what I did for Moses? Do you trust me?” I was seized by the heavy conviction that my feelings of inadequacy were not sufficient reason to disregard God’s call and the answer was wrung from my convicted heart: “Yes, Lord.” In retrospect, the entire experience was a lesson in faith. Deeper yet, I now understand that God also called me to this give me my own No Turning Back experience. Permit me to explain.

It was a little over a year ago that the weight of my calling in youth ministry first began to sink in. It burned in my heart when I traveled to speak at the launch of ALIVE-Ghana in December 2009; it came to me again when I preached at the ANEW campus ministries conference in April 2010; and it hit me with full force as I traveled to different parts of Africa to lead missions and conduct youth evangelism training intensives last summer.

By His word, His providence and the burden placed upon my heart, God made the call abundantly clear. Yet I spent much of 2010 battling with that call, feeling my inadequacy and telling God that I could not do it. As I approached GYC 2010, I had the heavy sense that it would mark a point of no return in the path God had bidden me walk. And it did.

Much at it was a confirmation of my calling, however, it was also a learning curve, by which God reminded me that I had much to learn. A few lessons stand out:

#1: Prayer. I re-learned the value of prayer. I could hardly sleep on the night before my first morning devotional message. After reading an encouraging message from a dear mentor, I got down on my knees and pleaded with God for divine intervention. It was one of the few times I have cried in prayer, overwhelmed by my sense of need. I rose from that prayer encouraged. By the time I was preaching each morning, the nerves were gone. Prayer sustained me, prayer encouraged me, prayer emboldened me, prayer calmed me, prayer kept me humble. I understand anew why Jesus prayed so much, and I yearn to pray as He prayed.

#2: Dependence. I think I understood for the first time the weight of the words recorded in 2 Corinthians 12:9, “My grace is sufficient for thee; for my strength is made perfect in weakness…” I learned to glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ could rest on me. I have never felt so weak and so strong at the same time; weak because I was keenly aware of weaknesses I have that could hinger the message being clearly preached; yet strong because God was able to work in spite of me.

#3: Mentorship. I spent some time on Friday morning talking and praying with an older woman in ministry. Another mentor pulled me aside a couple of times to pray with me and counsel me against the pride of prosperity. I had similar conversations with other seasoned preachers throughout GYC, and it really impacted me. I felt like a Timothy in need of a Paul, and I am grateful that the Lord brought so many Paul’s into my life during GYC. I’m humbled that they condescended to listen to the preaching of an inexperienced 24 year old; I’m encouraged that they took time to pray for, affirm and reprove me.

So, the toughest and most life-transforming ministry experience of my life yet is behind me. Did I make mistakes? Yes. Do I have a lot of growth to do as a speaker? Absolutely. But God used GYC 2010 to broaden and deepen my understanding of who He is, to heal my brokenness, to increase my love for Him, and to once-again affirm my life’s work. It was a point of no return, both in my personal walk with Christ and in the ministry He has given me. My hand is on the plough. No turning back.

Now to all who attended GYC 2010, I have one word of caution: let this not be another regular year. After all the sermons, all the appeals, all the commitments and all the victories, we cannot and dare not retreat. By the grace and for the glory of God, onward. Victory is guaranteed and we’re almost home.

No more of the ordinary life. We must refuse to go back to the way things used to be before we had this deeper experience with Christ. We must give ourselves wholeheartedly to the work of proclaiming the everlasting gospel to the entire world in this generation, by life and by word, for Christ’s sake alone.

And if you ever feel inadequate for the work God calls you to do, you’re right: you are inadequate. But God isn’t. He can save you from yourself and can use you in ways you never dreamed possible. He just needs you to say YES to Him everyday without reservation; He takes care of the rest. I am living proof.

But this time around, it had a different effect on me. I could not stop thinking about William Wilberforce. God gave him two great objects: the abolition of the slave trade and the reformation of society. It was for those two great causes that he lived. History testifies to the power of his dedication, as chronicled in Amazing Grace. Inspiring, to say the least.

So I went back home thinking, “What is the one great object of my life?”

As I pondered that question, I thought back to my mission in Ghana this past summer where I worked with and trained some of the most dedicated missionaries I have ever met. All 80 of them were graduates and young professionals; they braved the intense heat, the mosquitos, the heavy rains and other harsh conditions to bring the gospel to a community in dire need of hope. 165 souls were baptized after the three week mission.

I thought of our ALIVE Liberia youth conference. I remembered the Bible lectures we taught in the mornings, as well as the afternoons when we took young people into the heart of Gbarnga for outreach. I remembered watching young people make the radical decisions to follow Christ all the way. Some committed to full-time ministry, others dedicated their meager earnings to the work of the gospel.

I thought of Zambia and my favorite people in the world: the IMPACT missionaries. I don’t love them just because they are Zambian (*smile*), but I love them because they embody a level of sacrifice and commitment I have not seen anywhere else. Some of them have literally risked their lives for the gospel and have remained unflinching in the face of trial and adversity. They have an “anything for Jesus” mindset. Over 2000 souls have been won to Christ this year alone through their ministry.

I thought of Rwanda where I spent a weekend ministering to and planning with young people at the Kigali English Church. We came up with several ideas for meaningful and effective involvement in evangelism, everything from evangelistic missions to unentered areas within Rwanda, campus ministry and door-to-door outreach around Kigali. I love each and every one of those young people. As I write, they are are conducting their first mission intensive in Kabarole.

I thought of Kenya where, having seen the Cross afresh, having understood the magnitude of the love of God for them, many of the young people who attended our ALIVE-Kenya youth conference simply could not contain the “good news.” They had to share, and they did it so willingly. I remembered the last Sabbath of the conference where we made an appeal for those who wanted to dedicate their time, energy and resources to the work of proclaiming the “everlasting gospel” throughout Kenya. That begins this month with ten missions to unentered areas within Kenya.

I thought of Ethiopia. I thought of Swaziland. I thought of South Africa. I thought of every single young person I had met during my missions in Africa. And I realized that my heart is buried in Africa. It is a realization that first dawned on me when I was on mission in Liberia.

What is the one great object of my life? Campus ministry, yes. But I now know my specific purpose in ways I did not know it before summer 2010.

Africa.

So here I am. God called. I answered. And by His grace, I’m ready to be used.

I’m not moving to Africa. At least not yet. God has me in Boston for reasons I understand more and more everyday.

But I am at peace because I *have* found my reason for living.

Yes.

For the rest of your life?

I honestly don’t know, I’ll be here until the Lord leads me otherwise.

So, um, what about your chem. degree? Your research? Your dreams? Your career?

Those are the kinds of questions I get every time people ask me what I’m doing with my life. The closer I get to graduation, the more pressing the questions become. I’ve always answered with a deep sense of conviction: there was never any doubt in my mind that God had called me to this. Nor had I ever looked back with regret at what I was “giving up” for ministry.

Until one day last week… Sitting at my desk poring over research articles and organizing data, I was suddenly overcome by a deep sense of loss. I really enjoyed this research. Furthermore, it was going so well, and we were on track for publishing another paper. Is now the time to leave? Do I really have to quit this too?

My natural instinct was to brush these thoughts aside and focus on the task at hand. Yet, try as I did, I couldn’t focus. I let my supervisor know that I needed to step out and I walked home in a daze, fighting back tears. I couldn’t believe the thoughts that were running through my head. What was wrong with me? Why I was so filled with regret? Had I really been called into ministry? What is it I was so afraid to give up?

I’m still wrestling with those questions. It’s now, as I prepare for graduation and say goodbye to Harvard, that I feel it most deeply. I’m afraid because I don’t feel ready to walk away. The pressure from family, friends and teachers to do the “normal” thing has not helped.

I’m also painfully aware of the fact that I dealt with a similar “crisis” two years ago when I took a year off from school to be trained in campus ministry. I didn’t expect myself to struggle with this AGAIN. Yet now, just like I did two years ago, I’m learning to find peace at the foot of the cross.

The hymn writer puts it thus:

“When I survey the woundrous cross, on which the prince of glory died; my richest gain I count but loss, and pour contempt on all my pride. Forbid it Lord that I should boast, save in the death of Christ my God; all the vain things that charm me most I sacrifice them to his blood.Were the whole realm of nature mine, that were a tribute far too small. Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my ALL.”

There’s something about beholding the cross that puts life into perspective. Yet its not so much about the cross, it is about who hang on that cross. He wasn’t a criminal, nor was he a mere man. He was Jesus, our Immanuel, God with us. He was God incarnate, the eternal, pre-existing, divine Word, John 1:1. He was the “brightness” of the Father’s glory and the “express image of His person,” Hebrews 1:3. He was the one in whom “dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily,” Colossians 2:9. He was the one in whom “all things consist,” Colossians 1:17. That is the being who hang on the cross.

And He did it for us while we “were yet sinners,” Romans 5:8. It’s one thing to pay such a price for holy men; but to do it for unworthy sinners is to make an unspeakable sacrifice. In the words of one of my favorite authors:

“Christ, the heavenly merchant man seeking goodly pearls, saw in lost humanity the pearl of great price. In man, defiled and ruined by sin, He saw the possibilities of redemption. Hearts that have been the battleground of the conflict with Satan, and that have been rescued by the power of love, are more precious to the Redeemer than are those who have never fallen. God looked upon humanity, not as vile and worthless; He looked upon it in Christ, saw it as it might become through redeeming love. He collected ALL the riches of the universe, and laid them down in order to buy the pearl.” Christ’s Object Lessons 118.

He collected ALL the riches of the universe and laid them down for us. There was no higher sacrifice that could have been made, nothing more that could have been given, no higher price that could have been paid.

On the premise of such an example, Jesus has every right to say, “Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not ALL that he hath, he cannot be my disciple,” Luke 14:33. The use of the word “cannot” here implies an impossibility.We may look, talk, dress and walk like disciples. But if we have not come to the point where we’re willing to “give up” anything and everything at Christ’s command, we are not His disciples. He gave us His ALL, He asks for our ALL. He set the example, and He only bids us walk in His footsteps.

Yet the reality is that we can never out-love Him, nor can we ever give Him more than He has given us. Any sacrifice we make pales in comparison to Calvary. Calvary defines sacrifice. No wonder then the words of the hymn writer: were the whole realm of nature mine, that were a tribute far too small; love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my ALL.

On Thursday May 27, I’ll receive my degree and move on to do the work God has called me to, until His providence bids me otherwise. By His grace and for His glory, there’ll be no regrets. The world is behind me, the cross before me… Calvary defines sacrifice.

I can’’t describe what it felt like to kneel on that grass with her and to see her seeking comfort from a God she had never known before. It was the first time that she, a non- believer, had ever had someone pray with her. I was silenced as she tearfully thanked me for the prayer.

That was February 2007, in the spring of my second year at Harvard. In the weeks that followed, her interest in spiritual things grew deeper. As I continued to pray and discuss the Bible with her, I was convinced that God had made us classmates just so that He could use me to bring her to Christ.

That realization was a paradigm shift. I recalled a conversation I’’d had months earlier with a friend of mine. She had said to me, ““Thando, let’’s go to CAMPUS.”” I had protested, ““Go to CAMPUS? Take an entire year off from Harvard to be a campus missionary? Are you crazy? Nobody does that!””

Yet, as I thought about it now, I couldn’’t shake the conviction. The more I prayed and studied His word, the more I knew that God was calling me to do this. My classmates, professors and friends were souls that needed to be saved. There was work to be done on my campus and I wanted to do that work, but I didn’’t know how. I needed the training that CAMPUS could provide me. Yet the questions plagued me: But how in the world am I going to do this? Take a whole year off? What about my visa? Will my parents even hear of this?

It took three months of prayer and godly counsel but, by the end of my second year in May 2007, my decision was finally made. I began the missionary training program in August, after three months spent canvassing. I loved every bit of my missionary year! The morning classes taught me how to share and defend biblical truths. The afternoon ministry opportunities on campus, everything from massage to student visitations, taught me the beauty of selfless service. Yet God did not only teach me; He radically transformed me.

When missionary year came to an end in April 2008, I faced one of the toughest crises of my life yet. Back in August, at the beginning of the program, I had filed a petition to change my visa status from F1 (student) to R1 (religious worker) so that I could be in the missionary training program. After an entire year, there had been no definite response from the immigration authorities. I could legally stay in the US as long as I was waiting for this response. The problem was, however, that I would need my F1 student visa to go back to school in September. But I couldn’’t re-apply for my F1 visa if my R1 had not been approved. Thus after much prayer and counsel, it was decided that I should go home to Zambia and re-apply for my F1 student visa from there.

I’’ll never forget how I felt when I left for home in June 2008: I left having no idea if I would be back. What I did not know, however, is that God had sent me home on a missionary journey. He used my time in Swaziland and Zambia to mobilize a group of young people with the vision to finish God’’s work. For example, in Zambia, I got to witness the birth of an exciting youth evangelistic initiative that aims to recruit, train and deploy Seventh-day Adventist young people as missionaries to secular university campuses and un-entered areas within Zambia. I spent most of July in plenary meetings with the the young leaders of this movement. I also spent a lot of time speaking to, praying for and counseling with young people. It was as exciting as it was humbling!

In the midst of all of this, God completely solved my visa problem! I had my student visa interview at the US embassy one Tuesday afternoon. The next day, I picked up my passport with visa. Just like that! I would be returning to school after all! As I remembered the times during my missionary year when I had doubted God’’s leading in my visa situation, I found myself ashamed. As I thought back to the times when I had feared that I would be forced to give up a Harvard education should the visa problem go unresolved, I cowered in embarrassment. Had I been afraid of surrendering all for the cause of God?

How nonsensical! Think about it. When I get to heaven, it will not matter that I went to Harvard. God is no respecter of Harvard degrees. The only reason why Harvard will matter is if, when I get to heaven, I can say to God, ““Father, because I went to Harvard, here are the souls that came into the kingdom!”” That is the only way in which my Harvard education will make a difference for eternity. That is what it means to live in view of eternity. It means that as a young professional, I’’m not at my job just to make money or to carve out a career; I’m there primarily as a missionary. It means that as a student, I’’m not in school just to be in school; I’m there as a student missionary.

It means that everything I do is done evangelistically. It’’s about excellence in every sphere of my life. It’’s about allowing Jesus to change me so He can use me to change others. It’’s about recognizing that there is a greater cause. The friend that I prayed with that day wanted to study with me simply because I was doing well in our classes. Studying together led to personal conversation, which led to a spiritual interest. That’’s how simple it is to be a missionary.

The beauty of it is that when you live like that, when you surrender all, when you allow God to use you for His purpose, He takes care of your every need. Good grades, money, job security and whatever else you actually need will come. But first get the paradigm right, set the priorities straight. God means what He says in Mathew 6:33. Live in view of eternity. Live academic and spiritual excellence. Take God at His word. It’’s the only way of life that makes sense. I know. I’’ve been there.

Sarah’s case is a classic example. Recall God’s promise to Abraham: “One from your own bowels will be your heir” (Genesis 15:4, KJV). The promise was clear and unequivocal. Yet to this aged and childless couple, it must have seemed impossible. To be sure, they certainly believed God’s word.

But they also doubted. Perhaps God had been mistaken. Perhaps God had forgotten one important detail, that Sarah was barren. Humanly speaking, it was unimaginable that she would bear a child.

To Abraham and Sarah, there was, however, one glimmer of “hope.” Sarah had a maid by the name of Hagar.  “It may be that the Lord will give me children by her” was Sarah’s brilliant idea. Culturally acceptable, this seemed like the logical thing to do. The child born through Hagar would be Abraham’s son and legal heir. It was the perfect solution.

Or so they thought! Yet, no sooner had Ishmael been born than the household was thrown into total chaos. Hagar was now the mother of Abraham’s “heir.” The honor that should have belonged to Sarah, since she was Abraham’s lawful wife, now belonged to Hagar. I’m sure Sarah felt the effects—jealousy, shame, and regret—of her “brilliant idea.”

From this point on there was no turning back. The child had been born. The “damage” had been done. The only way to restore peace to the family was to banish Hagar and Ishmael. Talk about painful consequences!

The fundamental cause of this pain is very simple. Sarah wanted a child. No doubt she prayed about it, agonized over it, and was tormented by God’s apparent silence. Yes, the child had been promised. But when would God fulfill His promise? When would she bear a son? More distressing still, how would she bear a son in her old age? Much like her modern counterparts, Sarah became restless and impatient.

In proposing the Hagar solution, Sarah revealed her deepest motivation: she compromised her relationship with God for want of a child. She wanted a child so badly that it eclipsed her sense of duty to God; she was willing to act outside of God’s revealed will just to have this child. She longed for a child more than she longed to trust and please God.

About thirteen years after the Hagar mess, God fulfilled His promise and gave Sarah “strength to conceive seed” (Hebrews 11:11a). Imagine how painful those silent years of waiting were for Sarah. Plagued by guilt and regret, she could now do nothing but wait on God. In those thirteen years she learned to judge Him “faithful who had promised.” (Hebrews 11:11b). She finally learned to trust Him.

Too often, we find ourselves repeating Sarah’s mistake: our yearnings consume us so much so that the path of duty and integrity becomes obscure. Now let me be understood. Godly womanhood is about embracing the God-given desires for marriage and motherhood.  But it is, more importantly, about making them subordinate to the desire for God.

At the end of the day, a godly woman’s heart has a void that neither marriage nor motherhood can fill. “As the deer pants for the water, so [her] soul pants after God…There is none on earth that [she] desires beside [God]” (Psalm 42:1, 73:25). More than anything, a godly woman’s heart yearns for God.

In Him, she is completely content. There is no impatient fretting, no romantic castle-building, no lovesick sentimentalism, no philosophizing about who likes who, no hidden motives, no manipulative agendas, no misplaced desires, no compromises, no venturing out of God’s revealed will. Instead, there is purity of deed and of thought. There is a hungering after righteousness. There is complete trust in and peaceful waiting on God.

Make God your number one desire. Be content in Him and in what He has given you now. Trust Him with the “not yet given.” It is the only way of life that makes sense. Sarah eventually learned this lesson. But how much heartache could she have spared herself if she had learned it sooner?

One desire. I’m learning Lord, I’m learning.