It happened suddenly. Within 36 hours we were packed and starting the car, a thousand miles of desert road stretching ahead of us.

“We’ll try to be back next week,” we said to our neighbors in our Muslim village. At the same time, we wondered if we really would be able to return soon with so much uncertainty in the world.

For many of us, the coronavirus has revealed a hard reality: We were never in control.

Two days earlier, in light of growing fears over the spread of the pandemic, one of our teammates decided to leave the country on an evacuation flight. But first, she needed to get to the capital city, two days away from our remote village. Public transportation was already banned, so we had to drive her there ourselves.

With a shutdown and strict travel restrictions pending, our family didn’t want to risk being separated. So with little notice, we piled into the car with our children and our teammate and set out together, praying we’d make it back without trouble.

Praise God, the journey there and back went smoothly—apart from the road of course, which was anything but smooth.

But after returning home, we discovered something unexpected: Our neighbors were beyond surprised to see us.

One of my wife’s Muslim friends confided that everyone in the community had agreed we weren’t coming back.

“We all thought you were gone,” she said.

Another friend said it this way: “That’s what you people do. You come, you stay a little while, and then you leave.”

Our friends have believed that we will certainly leave when things get tough. It’s an assumption that hinders their ability to trust us. We wonder how many have been holding back in relationship with us, simply waiting for us to leave.

We were fortunate to be able to come back to our village. Circumstances could have prevented that.

In fact, most missionaries in the region have had to leave because of the pandemic. Some of them already had planned to be away. Others’ decisions were forced by medical concerns, organizational policies, or travel restrictions.

It’s the kindness of God that has enabled us to stay, and we consider it a privilege and a mercy. We feel isolated—especially now that all travel is banned, which means we are stuck here.

But we are hopeful that our ability to stay through this extraordinary season will deepen our relationships and build our credibility. As long as we’re able to be here, we’ll make each day count for the cause of Christ.

Through the working of God’s Spirit, may the layers of suspicion and skepticism slowly be peeled away to reveal hearts prepared for the Gospel.

• Ask God to bless Frontiers workers as they continue serving on the field through times of instability and uncertainty.
• Pray for workers who’ve had to leave the field under myriad circumstances, and ask God to give them hope, vision, and purpose.
• Pray for Muslims to be drawn to the Gospel as they observe faithful perseverance and steadfast hope in the lives of Christ’s followers.

**This account comes from a long-term worker. Names and places have been changed for security.**

Main photo by Sergey Pesterev

Original article: https://frontiersusa.org/blog/the-village-that-waited