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When Ministry Landscape Changes: My Story

By Janie Wead

It was a taxi ride to remember. We had come to Spain, 6 years previously as Assemblies of God missionaries. On that dark day, September 22, 1982, I was on my way to the Barcelona International airport. I was returning to my parents in the United States, a very broken, single mother of three small children: 2, 4, and 9 years old. The one who stood as the head our family had tragically lost his way. It was a blow of bewildering circumstances, far beyond my control; one that thrust my life, and those of my three children, into a most unexpected transition of tsunami proportion.

The heavy, emotional toll in this unexpected transition was exacted on several levels. I was first of all a woman betrayed. Facing the truth of infidelity was of itself beyond devastating. My shattered sense of well being came accompanied with the menacing clouds of severe depression that pressed in upon my wounded heart. It was as if a looped videocassette incessantly revisited the reruns of a thousand, troubled experiences. In the loop, I was continually reminded that I was now alone in facing life and its myriad of decisions. More profoundly impacting was the realization that I was wholly unable to change what was happening, which made it feel impossible to know where exactly I was, or where I could go to get a grip on our spiraling state of affairs. One thing was sure: life felt bad and unfair and filled my heart with unutterable "whys."

At another level of transition was the challenge of dealing with my young children who hardly knew what was happening, except that their home had shifted to living with grandparents, and life in Spain as they had known it, was suddenly gone. The upset was so very evident in the acting out of frustration; the tears of three flowed freely, especially at night, which was always a horribly difficult time of each day. Trying to be strong for them was a huge, daily task in my emotional state, but I determined, early on, that we were still a family, though weak and fragile. I was committed to weathering the storm with them. Fear, it was, palpating fear, of what might happen to my life's three greatest treasures, that loomed as an unscalable wall before me.

I also had to deal with the fact that I became enveloped, in what felt like ruinous circumstances, while serving as an appointed missionary. Missionary service was different for me in that my present ministry service flowed out of the sacred call of God that came during my childhood years. As the daughter of Assemblies of God pastors, our home was the spot for entertaining the endless parade of missionaries who came to speak in our church. While sitting around my mother's kitchen table, these faithful itinerants shared the fascinating stories of their missionary adventures over our fellowship, following the Sunday night service. They left an indelible impact on my tender life. In missionary service, I was following my life's motive, a divine passion, to which I had fully committed and joyfully served. How this could be happening to a woman serving in ministry? Dark, tormenting thoughts filled my mind; it was surely over for me as far as serving out the call of God. The feelings of finality and futility accentuated my deep disappointment. The sacrifice of my Isaac was on the altar and the knife of my shattered hope was thrust through. Life had happened to me. I was squarely postured in the uncharted, troubled waters of my life's greatest, unexpected transition.

Along with the depression of the first challenging months, I was unable to find a sense of the presence of God. It wasn't until later that I understood that in depression, everything feels shut down, even ones spiritual receptors. Despair pushed in on me at every turn. My life's knees trembled beneath me. What was I to do, and where was I to go with my family? At the end of my mind's never-ending questions, one prevailing reality, however, pierced that time period for me: the God I served was above all faithful and His grace was given in abundant proportion.

With the children tucked lovingly into bed, and the lights turned out, my mask of strength could safely be lowered. It was then I would have to face the long, seemingly endless nights, of the new realities and dynamics of our situation. It was a friend who cared that found me, and gave me a small bag with a personal cassette player, headphones, and a selection of worship tapes. She encouraged me to listen, especially during the long night hours. That new wave of worship choruses had come in while we were serving abroad. The old Maranatha, "Jesus People" music, flooded my being with the refrains that were set to the Psalms and other portions of Scripture. The sweet lyrics with healing power replaced, ever so surely, the cacophony of torment I battled. The words and chords fell upon my deadened soul with resurrection remembrances that He was greater, infinitely greater, than my circumstances.

Something was at work in deepest place of my being, drawing me to pour over the Psalms and the Book of Isaiah. I had long ago embraced the sovereign Word of God as that which will endure when all else in this old world gives way. It was a gradual, but very conscious realization that I would have to act on this unchangeable Word, personally, if I was to come out on the other side.

The Spirit gently led me to a decision point. I would have to get on with going forward with my life. I could not stay where I was. How definitively, yet kindly, were His dealings with me. The Book of Isaiah became my source of help for the overwhelming issues I had to face. The words lifted from the page that day I faced my dread of the future. Into my spirit resounded:

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand" (Isaiah 41:10, NIV).

I had to surrender the fear of the unknown future to the fact that He was with us and He would sustain us with His own powerful hand. I was finding footholds to scale this wall.

The challenge of my videocassette would finally cease its showing when the tender Spirit nudged my tendency of living life looking in the rear-view mirror:

"Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland" (Isaiah 43:18,19, NIV).

"You have to look forward," the voice of the Spirit continually reiterated in my spirit. It was in a forward lean when I first sensed God dealing with me concerning my future. I had been trained at college for teaching, but while considering a return to the public school classroom, the whisper was faint but present: "Why don't you go ahead and do what you love to do?" It was almost shocking to my system the first time I heard it. What, me, "return to what I love"? That has to be missionary service to Spanish-speaking people!

As I continued to seek, the directive felt clear, though almost ridiculous. I wrote a letter to the leadership of the Assemblies of God World Missions. I said something to the effect that we were still a united family and one that wanted to serve out our lives in ministry to the Spanish-speaking world, should there be any place we might serve. Had I been a betting person, even I wouldn't have bet even a thin dime on us being allowed to continue, much less to actually live out a life in missionary service from that shaky place of recovery, some 27 years ago.

Just a few days later the phone rang and the voice of Norm Correll, former executive director, J. Phillip Hogan's administrative assistant. He related that the board's decision to allow me the opportunity of continued service was unanimous. I am deeply grateful to the Assemblies of God World Missions for opening the door for me to serve as the first, single mother with full missionary appointment (since then, a number of women grappling with similar circumstances have gone on to serve with excellence). What a world God opened to me!

Looking from my present day vantage point, our tragedy allowed me the awesome journey of proving that "with God, all things are possible" (Matthew 19:26). Even when you find your transition place, impossible humanly speaking, God is ultimately able to bring forth an astonishing season of vibrant life and ministry. From these 27 years of mission's ministry as a single woman, serving both at home and abroad, my unexpected transition has literally taken me to the ends of the earth, and with every change has come an exhilarating adventure. The "whys" are safely guarded in the hands of the Sovereign Lord, so I can definitively proclaim, He truly "turned our wailing into dancing; He brought me up from the grave, sparing me from going down into the pit; It is fact that ... weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning (Psalm 30: 3,5,11, NIV).

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