I used to think I had a pretty clear idea of what "home" meant. Years ago, back in Ohio, I lived in a beautiful five-bedroom house that felt like something out of a magazine. Even though I frequently used my home as a blessing to people, I always kept the carpets freshly vacuumed with straight lines; the kitchen was clean, and no single spider dared to trespass. I was pleased with how I maintained my home—it was peaceful and quiet, and the environment was very welcoming to guests who came for dinners or Bible studies. If anything creaked or crawled, I was on it with a broom or a bottle of cleaner. Everything had its place, and I liked it that way. Life felt predictable, and there was comfort in that predictability.
But now, when I look around my current home—a modest space in a hot, foreign land—I still catch myself reacting like I did back in Ohio when something creepy crawls across the floor. I don't like insects. I never have. Now I have bigger bugs, and when a tarantula comes strutting through my doorway like it owns the place, I'm not standing there clapping—I'm yelling and waving with a broom. And the daily mosquito battle? Let's say I've developed an involuntary reflex of swatting at thin air. I still do my best to keep my home as clean and orderly as possible, even in a place where bugs are freeloaders.
But something has shifted. These days, when I spot a gecko on the wall or a daddy long leg wobbling across the floor, I greet them like little helpers on patrol. I'll say, "Keep it up, fellas. You've got work to do." Because they're not just creepy roommates anymore—they're allies. They eat the other bugs for me. And while I'm still not throwing a welcome party for the insect population, I've found myself oddly grateful for the few that make my life easier. It's funny how even the tiniest creatures can remind us we're not doing life alone—even when we're swatting mosquitoes and dodging spiders.
This isn't the kind of story that turns into a movie or makes headlines. But it's real. This is why I wanted to share it with you. Sometimes, we think that we must cross oceans or radically change our circumstances to make a difference or live a life of purpose. But here's the truth I'm reminded of daily—even in the most minor, oddest details of life, God is doing something meaningful, even through flying insects and leggy spiders.
The foreign mission field has changed me significantly. Not just how I live, but how I see. I no longer measure my days by productivity or comfort but by small victories. Did I show someone love today? Did I choose joy instead of frustration? Did I thank God for the little things—like a gecko on bug patrol—when the big stuff felt overwhelming?
And that brings me to you, friend. You might be reading this from your home in the States, where the daily routine feels a bit dull, or you're facing your share of unexpected nuisances—things that crawl into your peace and unsettle you. They may not be insects, but they could be things like stress, disappointment, unanswered prayers, or just the weight of doing life day after day. I want to tell you what I'm learning: don't despise the little things. Don't overlook the various ways God shows up.
Because sometimes the things you wish weren't there end up serving a purpose you couldn't see before. Sometimes, what used to rattle you becomes something God uses to remind you that you're not alone—and that He's still at work in the mess, the monotony, the mildly annoying parts of life.
You don't need to be on a foreign mission field to see God's hand in the ordinary. Just take a closer look at your surroundings. Pay attention to the things you used to swat away or avoid. They might just be part of His plan to protect you, humble you, or make you smile when you least expect it.
My home now is full of unexpected company. And you know what? I wouldn't trade it. Not because it's perfect, but because every day here whispers a little reminder: God is in the interruptions. He's in the quirks. He's in the creatures on the walls. And yes, God is even in Ohio.
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But now, when I look around my current home—a modest space in a hot, foreign land—I still catch myself reacting like I did back in Ohio when something creepy crawls across the floor. I don't like insects. I never have. Now I have bigger bugs, and when a tarantula comes strutting through my doorway like it owns the place, I'm not standing there clapping—I'm yelling and waving with a broom. And the daily mosquito battle? Let's say I've developed an involuntary reflex of swatting at thin air. I still do my best to keep my home as clean and orderly as possible, even in a place where bugs are freeloaders.
But something has shifted. These days, when I spot a gecko on the wall or a daddy long leg wobbling across the floor, I greet them like little helpers on patrol. I'll say, "Keep it up, fellas. You've got work to do." Because they're not just creepy roommates anymore—they're allies. They eat the other bugs for me. And while I'm still not throwing a welcome party for the insect population, I've found myself oddly grateful for the few that make my life easier. It's funny how even the tiniest creatures can remind us we're not doing life alone—even when we're swatting mosquitoes and dodging spiders.
This isn't the kind of story that turns into a movie or makes headlines. But it's real. This is why I wanted to share it with you. Sometimes, we think that we must cross oceans or radically change our circumstances to make a difference or live a life of purpose. But here's the truth I'm reminded of daily—even in the most minor, oddest details of life, God is doing something meaningful, even through flying insects and leggy spiders.
The foreign mission field has changed me significantly. Not just how I live, but how I see. I no longer measure my days by productivity or comfort but by small victories. Did I show someone love today? Did I choose joy instead of frustration? Did I thank God for the little things—like a gecko on bug patrol—when the big stuff felt overwhelming?
And that brings me to you, friend. You might be reading this from your home in the States, where the daily routine feels a bit dull, or you're facing your share of unexpected nuisances—things that crawl into your peace and unsettle you. They may not be insects, but they could be things like stress, disappointment, unanswered prayers, or just the weight of doing life day after day. I want to tell you what I'm learning: don't despise the little things. Don't overlook the various ways God shows up.
Because sometimes the things you wish weren't there end up serving a purpose you couldn't see before. Sometimes, what used to rattle you becomes something God uses to remind you that you're not alone—and that He's still at work in the mess, the monotony, the mildly annoying parts of life.
You don't need to be on a foreign mission field to see God's hand in the ordinary. Just take a closer look at your surroundings. Pay attention to the things you used to swat away or avoid. They might just be part of His plan to protect you, humble you, or make you smile when you least expect it.
My home now is full of unexpected company. And you know what? I wouldn't trade it. Not because it's perfect, but because every day here whispers a little reminder: God is in the interruptions. He's in the quirks. He's in the creatures on the walls. And yes, God is even in Ohio.
RETURN TO ALL BLOGS
