An egret stands alone in the Amazon wilderness, fitting in while remaining completely different.
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The Wilderness
The transition from a self-centered life to a God-centered life can feel like a wilderness.
Everything is strange. Everything is new. Nothing works quite the way we expected.
In the early 1980s, I lived in the far Northern Yukon, about twenty kilometers from the Arctic Circle. For three years, I worked on a remote highway crew in a land of enormous skies, endless mountains, bitter cold, and long stretches of silence.
There were only twelve of us in camp. In winter, darkness wrapped around us for nearly twenty hours a day. The nearest town was hundreds of miles away.
I was the only one who publicly identified as a Christian, though over time, others began praying too.
Jesus and the Kingdom of God became increasingly real to me there.
I carried a little Sony Walkman in the cab of my grader and listened endlessly to Bible cassette tapes and preaching tapes while plowing snow or preparing the road for winter. Again and again, I returned to the Beatitudes in Matthew 5.
“Blessed are the merciful.” “Love your enemies.” “Pray for those who mistreat you.”
The words sounded beautiful in theory.
Putting them into practice took discipline.
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When Faith Gets Tested
Our foreman, a man we all respected, had been away on holidays for several weeks.
While he was gone, a large French Canadian coworker was assigned the lead hand over the crew. He was tall, muscular, black-bearded, and intimidating enough that you noticed when he was unhappy.
One afternoon, we were all working especially hard to prepare the road before the boss returned. I was young, energetic, and eager to prove myself. Normally, three kilometers of road was a reasonable day’s work. That day, I pushed hard and completed nearly ten.
Most of it turned out beautifully.
But in a few small sections, the gravel beneath the blade shifted slightly and created a mild washboard effect — something every grader operator tries to avoid.
Suddenly, I saw the pickup truck racing toward me.
The acting foreman slammed on the brakes, jumped out, and exploded in rage.
He accused me of intentionally doing poor work to embarrass him in front of the returning boss. He swore loudly, angrily, and for quite a while.
No questions. No dialogue. Just accusations that felt unfair and deeply humiliating.
I was stunned.
Then furious.
I remember sitting there on the grader, feeling heat rise inside me. Part of me wanted to jump down onto the road and confront him immediately. I did not care that he was bigger than me. I was that angry.
But those words of Jesus had been echoing through my headphones for months.
Love your enemies. Bless those who mistreat you.
And suddenly I realized something uncomfortable:
I could not practice those teachings until someone actually wounded my pride.
We do not learn forgiveness in theory. We learn it in collision with real people.
Obedience Before Feelings
I chose to override my feelings, to forgive and not to retaliate.
I went back and repaired the rough patches in the road. Some of his criticisms contained a grain of truth, even though his interpretation of my motives was completely wrong.
And then something even harder began.
Every time I thought about him afterward, and in an isolated Arctic hotel, that was often, I intentionally prayed blessings over him.
Not because I felt loving.
I did not.
It took six months for my feelings to catch up with my beliefs.
And I learned something important:
Sometimes obedience comes first, and feelings follow later.
We March to a Different Drummer
Psalm 21 says:
“The king trusts in the Lord, and through the faithfulness of the Most High he shall not be shaken.”
David writes as someone who already sees God’s victory before circumstances fully reflect it. The psalm moves between present reality and future certainty.
God’s promises are already true — and yet still unfolding.
That kind of learned trust creates stability.
Not denial. Not passivity. Not pretending pain does not hurt.
But a deep confidence that evil does not get the final word.
The Hidden Wounds People Carry
During long Yukon winters, small groups of people tell stories.
Around meals, in trucks, during dark evenings, shooting pool or drinking coffee, pieces of people’s lives slowly emerge. Over time, I began to understand more about that angry coworker.
He had lived through painful things. He had made reckless choices. He carried wounds from childhood.
One story came up occasionally. During this one, his eyes would cloud over with painful memory. He remembered being sent away as a boy to a strict Catholic boarding school in Quebec.
The nuns were harsh. Sometimes cruel.
They humiliated children publicly. Hit their hands with a yardstick for minor misdemeanors. Used fear as a primary motivator.
Those authority figures represented God to him, and he was offended.
Although he had grown into a strong, capable man, those wounds followed him north into the Arctic.
His anger began to look different to me.
Not excusable. But more understandable.
The unfairness I experienced from him was small compared to some of the unfairness he himself had lived through.
And knowing what I know now, I am sure the nuns had their own stories too.
One of the deepest lessons of the Christian life is learning that wounded people often wound people.
Sin is contagious. Fear is contagious. Bitterness is contagious.
AND holiness is also contagious.
Which will be stronger?
Becoming Unshakable
Psalm 1 says the wicked will be like chaff blown by the wind.
For years, I read that as a future, far-off hope.
But now I realize:
Chaff is part of the process that forms wheat.
No farmer wants chaff forever. But for a season, the grain develops inside it.
In a similar way, God often uses resistance, difficulty, disappointment, and opposition to form something solid inside us.
Even the chaff can help form something good in us,
Because God is powerful enough to use even opposition as part of our formation.
This is one reason Scripture repeatedly calls us to trust Him.
Trusting in ourselves or placing ultimate trust in others, even political or charismatic leaders, eventually leads to disappointment. Jeremiah warns us about leaning our whole weight on human strength. Psalm 21 reminds us that the king who trusts in the Lord “will not be shaken.”
One antidote to stress and fear is to spend time in the Word, get to know God, and then expect real-life situations where we can practice what we are learning and grow into our new nature.
And when we fail?
God is generous with do-overs.
Future-Self Wisdom
Forty years later, I can see that God was training me, not simply testing me. I did not escalate the moment, and that mattered. But I also did not yet know how to pursue honest reconciliation with courage and love. I honored him to his face, but sometimes explained myself behind his back in ways that protected my image.
That is not the fullness of forgiveness. Jesus does not call us into cheap peacekeeping, where we smile outwardly while anxiety leaks sideways. He teaches us to forgive, to bless, and when possible, to speak truth directly in love.
God was patient with me. He still had decades of training ahead — Bible school, mission life, cross-cultural teams, church leadership, family systems, and many more opportunities to practice forgiveness without pretending, honesty without aggression, and love without anxiety.
The Patient Ferment
When we first moved to Marabá, our neighborhood was known as a marginalized neighborhood with a dangerous reputation. Some taxi drivers would not bring friends here from the bus depot after dark.
But a healthy church becomes a safe place where people can slowly transform.
Not instantly. Not magically. Not without setbacks.
But patiently.
Alan Kreider called the growth of the early church “patient ferment.” The first Christians did not change the Roman Empire by grabbing power. They changed the world through patient, Spirit-formed lives that made the Gospel visible.
That is still how much of the Kingdom grows.
Slowly. Quietly. From the margins. Through people the world often overlooks.
The powerless and vulnerable often become the change agents. The impatient power players often stumble over the very Kingdom they claim to serve.
We see this in Marabá too.
People come from complicated families, dangerous communities, painful histories, and deeply rooted habits. Then, little by little, they encounter Jesus, find a spiritual family, confess sin, receive prayer, learn new patterns, and begin again.
Sometimes they move forward. Sometimes they slip back.
But often, over time, they go more forward than back.
That is the Kingdom of God advancing.
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Marabá
Mother’s Day is always a well-attended Sunday in our church.
This year, the mothers themselves performed a skit about how some moms irritate their daughters, and how, at the end of the day, love covers a multitude of faults.
It was funny, honest, and familiar.
The kind of moment where people laugh because they recognize their own family.
And underneath the laughter, something deeper is happening.
Families are being healed. Generations are being discipled. People are learning a new way to live.
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Other Churches
Other churches also use the mission property for Encounter Weekends.
Groups come from Friday night through Sunday to confess sin, reflect on the past, pray for healing, and dedicate their future to God.
It is a time of repentance and celebration.
Then Monday comes.
Some people slip back into old habits. Some old patterns reappear. Some victories need to be fought for again.
But that does not mean nothing happened.
Formation is rarely a straight line.
The hope is that, over time, people move more forward than backward.
More trust. More humility. More courage. More love.
The Kingdom advances like yeast in dough.
Patiently.
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An Invitation
This week, when someone:
disappoints you,
irritates you,
wounds your pride,
or treats you unfairly,
Plan to pause before reacting.
Set it up ahead of time by asking the Holy Spirit first thing in the morning to help you stay present to what is really happening all day.
Thank Him for everything that will happen before the day starts.
Turn everything into an adventure with God.
No wasted pain.
Ask yourself:
“What kind of person might God be forming in me right now?”
The answer to that question may shape far more than the situation itself.
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Family Update & Prayer
We are living through another “already and not yet” season ourselves right now.
Deanna has received 16 of her 17 Herceptin treatments. This cutting-edge drug is administered in the chemo ward every three weeks, and her 13-month treatment plan is almost complete. We are deeply grateful to God for carrying us through this long journey.
I (Rick) am in Marabá, looking forward to the end of this month.
Near the end of May, Deanna will return to Brazil. After we attend the South American Vineyard Church Planting Conference in São Paulo, we will return to Marabá together.
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Prayer Requests
Deanna’s continued health and strength
Safe travels for Deanna to Brazil, and for us within Brazil
The South American Vineyard Church Planting Conference in early June
Increased fervor for church planting and church growth throughout our churches
Wisdom for the September Portugal outreach planning phase
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Benediction
We live between the times.
The Kingdom of God is already here, And it is still coming.
May the Lord make us steady when we are misunderstood, Merciful when we are wounded, Patient when change is slow, And courageous when trust is tested.
We remember the words of Psalm 21:
“Though they intended evil against You And devised a plot, They will not succeed…
…Be exalted, LORD, in Your strength; We will sing and praise Your power.”
