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August 24, 2021

Beyond Hope

What do you do when you lose the thing you’ve been putting your hope in? For so many of us, the events of this past year and a half have forced us to answer that question. Normal activities were cancelled, school was moved online, people were separated from family, and friends, jobs, and businesses were lost; every day there were stories of more sickness and death. In the face of so much loss, it was easy to feel that things were beyond hope.

When Fusion stopped being able to meet, Emi suddenly found herself alone with a lot of time to think. She started developing anxiety that she was too broken and that her past history of toxic friendships, combined with the distance of quarantine, would be too much for her new friendships from Fusion to endure. As a result, she started withdrawing further into herself. She tried making art and music on her own, escaping into books or tv shows, or just sleeping the day away; unfortunately, her anxiety only grew worse. It got so bad that she could barely function, and she began to feel like she would never be able to fix herself. She felt like she was beyond hope.

The theme of summer camp this year was “Beyond.” Throughout the week, campers heard talks about how Jesus is beyond our fears, failures, doubts, and dreams. This theme (as well as restrictions, fewer leaders, limited time, etc.) inspired our Fusion team to think “beyond” what our normal end of the week concert could look like. We came up with the idea for a creative dance/pantomime drama set to music that would tell the story of some of the feelings teenagers faced during the pandemic—including how to move forward in a positive way.

We settled on the theme of Hope, who was also the main character in our drama. On her journey, Hope encountered other characters like Loneliness, Anger, and Depression—responses we can all have when we lose the thing we’ve been putting our hope in. At first, Hope was reluctant to help because she feared that if she shared her hope (symbolized by a white flower), she will have nothing left. But, when she finally did share her hope, she discovered that she still had hope within her. The hope she shared with one person soon spread throughout the entire stage until everyone was dancing together.

Emi was so excited when she heard the idea for our drama at camp! You see, Emi’s story didn’t end with hopelessness. In fact, she told me at camp that the theme of hope had been so important for her over the past few months.

Earlier this year, Emi realized she couldn’t overcome her anxiety on her own, so she reached out for help. In our weekly meetings, that started out as English/Polish language practice, she started opening up to me about her struggles and her fears. I encouraged her to invite God into those fears through prayer. She reached out to other people who were close to her. She started a regular practice of reading her Bible, praying, and talking about what she was learning. Slowly, she started seeing God clearly answering her prayers for deep, strong friendships. Her faith has been growing ever since. Though she still struggles with anxiety, she knows it doesn’t have control over her life, because she sees now that God is in control.

On her own, Emi felt hopeless. But, when others shared their hope with her—the hope we have in Jesus that is not dependent on circumstances or our own goodness or abilities—her life changed for the better. And now she’s able to share that hope with others.

What if “beyond hope” can have a double meaning? Instead of hopelessness, it’s a hope beyond how things appear. Our hope is in a God whose love and faithfulness is beyond measure and who will one day take all of the darkness and brokenness we see in this world and redeem it into something more beautiful than we can imagine. And it’s our task to share in God’s redemptive work—sharing that hope with a hurting world.

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Discipleship, Evangelism, Stories

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Sajmir just wanted to belong. As the youngest son in a Muslim family of eight children, he was expected to serve everyone. Sajmir’s family was oppressed in Albania because they were dark skinned Gypsies. On top of that, during the difficult time after the revolution, his father began drinking and beating his mother. “My father never beat me,” Sajmir said, “but he never showed me love. He never hugged me or kissed me. I never saw a father figure. I was afraid of him. Also, outside in the city, people were not very close to me. I spent most of my time alone, playing soccer alone, or basketball alone.” There was only one soccer field in his village, and when Sajmir tried to join a game, the other kids would kick him out. One day, a group came toward the field and Sajmir began to back away, sure they would ask him to leave. “Will you play with us?” they asked. “You want to play with me?” Sajmir replied. For the first time in his life, someone invited him in. After the game, they invited him to church. “What is a church?” he said. Running home, he asked his parents if he could go. “Don’t go to church,” they answered sternly, “you will shame us.” But the next day was Sunday, and he snuck out when no one was looking. “When I stepped into the church, at the door, someone gave me a hug for the first time in my life,” Sajmir said. “They put me in the first row. I felt like a celebrity. Then I heard the story that someone loves you just as you are, that is, Jesus—as I was, dark skinned, rejected. But still, there is someone who died for me.” “I ran and told my family, but their response was: ’If you go one more time, we will tell your brother to beat you up.’ I went again. My brother beat me up. For three months, I was beaten every week. I was loved and accepted in church, while suffering and being beaten in my family. Then my mom said, ‘Let him go.’” Filled with joy, Sajmir fell on his knees and said, “God, I will serve you wherever you want me to.” That was 25 years ago, and today Sajmir and his family are part of our Josiah Venture team in Albania. Through youth ministry, he recently planted a church called “Mosaic,” which has grown to over 100 people. Every day, young people come after school and in the evening for tutoring, children’s meetings, youth meetings, small groups, discipleship groups, and a very lively Fusion choir. The church is open every day, from 9:00 am to 7:00 pm, and there is always something happening. “Our building is a daily home for everyone; it’s a family,” says Sajmir. “I always remember what God did for me in my youth. My heart is burning to see more young people come to Christ and find that they are loved and belong.” During this Advent season, we remember how Jesus left his home to make a home for us. He was sent to find us, where we play our games alone, and to invite us into his family. He found Sajmir, and you, and me. Thanks for helping us share this good news with young people who are still without a home. Dave Patty President, Josiah Venture
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Stories

A Thanksgiving Challenge and Promise

Philippians 4:4-7 states, “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Two things stand out to me from this verse: a challenge and a promise. The Challenge: Christians are commanded to not be anxious about anything. Instead, we are to be thankful. Paul wrote this letter as he was in prison, preparing for his martyrdom. He acknowledged that his entire ministry was in the Lord’s power and he had nothing to be anxious about. Furthermore, his friends were not supposed to be anxious either. Rather, they were to thank the Lord for his provision and truth. In this situation, Paul was not instructing his friends to deny that there was hardship. He admitted that there would be pain in the future. However, with that, the Church was to devote all troubles to the Lord. How would this play out in a modern Thanksgiving Day context? Jenny Llamas was born in the Czech Republic, so she did not grow up with Thanksgiving. Landen, her American husband, did and has had so much fun introducing the holiday to her. From American football to turkey trots to sweet potato casserole with marshmallows, Landen and Jenny love getting to spend Thanksgiving either with their family or at Josiah Venture’s conference center in Malenovice, Czech with Josiah Venture missionaries. One challenge for Jenny, though, has been when people are asked to share what they are thankful for. It’s not the mental search for thankfulness that’s difficult for Jenny. Instead, it’s all the other thoughts that come to her mind too. It’s “the hard things in my life that sometimes even seem louder than the things I’m thankful for,” Jenny said. During these times, she wants to find ways to process and acknowledge times of hardship while also remaining thankful. So, how does Jenny do that when she is reminded of hard times during Thanksgiving? How does she process both pain and thankfulness? Jenny’s favorite part of Thanksgiving is the meal preparation. She has her own quiet time in the kitchen. As she experiments with all sorts of traditional American recipes, she reflects on how God has worked in her life over the past year. She recalls the exciting times of blossoming relationships with friends and the painful memories of things uncertain and hurtful. It’s in these moments that Jenny brings everything to God, both the good and the bad. That’s where the promise of Philippians comes into play. The Promise: In response to giving thanks, the Lord will surround us with his peace. When we submit to the Lord in thanksgiving, he places a spiritual shield around our hearts and minds. He takes us out of a state of fear and provides us with the ability to give thanks in all circumstances. When the meal preparation is complete and Jenny steps out to celebrate with friends, she reminds herself that God wants her to have peace. God has given her a spiritual family with whom she can process heartache and pain. He also provides her with the time to journal, writing down her thoughts as a way of acknowledging hardship and giving it to the Lord. Then, he gives her rest. “I say a quick prayer to the God who sees me,” she said. “I give myself permission to rejoice in what God has done and … take a break from the hard things knowing that God sees them and he holds them.” This Thanksgiving, I invite you to recognize the trials in your life and give them over completely to God. Replace the state of anxiety with the action of thankfulness, preparing your heart for worship as we enter into this holiday season. “The Lord is at hand.” (Phil. 4:5b)
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Events, Stories

You’re Not Alone in the Battle

When you’re used to leading, serving, and pouring into others, what happens when you suddenly can’t? What happens when the person who normally encourages everyone else wakes up and realizes she has nothing left to give? That’s where I found myself last year. I’m naturally a driven person. I love to see progress—to watch people grow, ministries flourish, and God’s work move forward. But last year, right before a major conference I had been preparing for—a mental health summit for nearly 700 youth leaders and church leaders—everything stopped. I got sick, and my normal pace of life vanished overnight. Suddenly, I couldn’t do what I thought I had to do. At first, I tried to stay positive, to find purpose in the pause. I told myself God was teaching me patience, humility, or to delegate better. But underneath those thoughts, a more dangerous narrative started to form: “God is disappointed in you.” “You’re not strong enough.” “You’re failing as a leader.” “Maybe God is holding back because you don’t deserve his help.” Those are the kinds of lies that can take root quietly—and quickly. It’s the same old whisper the enemy used in the Garden: “Did God really say…?” (Genesis 3:1). The serpent’s goal was never just to tempt Eve; it was to make her question God’s heart. And he still uses that same strategy today. He wants us to believe that God is distant, that we’re alone, unseen, and unloved. I’ve seen this pattern not only in my life, but in the lives of so many young people and leaders I’ve walked with. The moment things get hard—disappointment, exhaustion, relational conflict, failure—the enemy twists the truth. He tells us we’re forgotten, that our prayers don’t matter, and that no one really understands. And slowly, we start to isolate ourselves. But isolation is one of his most effective weapons. Once we withdraw, our vision blurs. We stop hearing the truth clearly. We start interpreting everything through the lens of fear, shame, and self-pity. Even Scripture is full of people who felt this same ache. David cried, “Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted” (Psalm 25:16). Elijah, after a great victory, ran into the wilderness and said, “I have had enough, Lord” (1 Kings 19:4). Job sat surrounded by friends who misunderstood him. And even Jesus—our Savior—experienced complete abandonment in Gethsemane and on the cross. Loneliness and lies are not new, but neither is God’s response to them. In my own season of weakness, when I couldn’t find the strength to pray, others prayed for me. When I felt unseen, people showed up with meals, with text messages, and with quiet presence. Even my unbelieving neighbors said, “We think someone up there cares about you.” That was God reminding me: You are not forgotten. You are not alone. The truth is, the Body of Christ was never meant to function in isolation. Strength in God’s kingdom doesn’t mean independence—it means connection. It means letting others carry you when you can’t walk and trusting that God is at work even when you can’t see progress. This experience also helped me recognize a pattern: the enemy always attacks identity and connection first. He wants to disconnect us from God’s truth and from God’s people. But the way we stand firm is by returning to both. When I start to spiral now—when I believe I have to prove my worth or carry everything alone—I stop and remind myself of what’s true. I reach out to trusted friends and ask for prayer. I ground myself in simple spiritual and physical practices that bring me back to reality: breathing deeply, reading a psalm, or stepping outside to notice beauty. These small moments become declarations of faith. Romans 11:33-36 says, “Oh, how great are God’s riches and wisdom and knowledge! How impossible it is for us to understand his decisions and his ways!” That verse anchors me. I don’t have to understand everything; I just have to trust the one who does. Maybe you’re in a similar place right now. Or maybe you’re walking with young people who feel lost, invisible, or stuck in lies about who they are. The battle is real, but so is our victory in Christ. So, here’s my invitation to you: Would you take a moment to pray—for yourself, for your friends, and for the next generation—that we would recognize the lies of isolation, stand firm in truth, and live connected as the Body of Christ? You’re not alone in the battle. And neither are they.