Outreach

Today we had a wonderful meeting with the owners of the house we’re staying in. Adam and Paulina are a young Christian couple — young compared to us, at least — full of creativity and a desire to use their gifts in service to God. As we sat around their dining table in what has become our temporary home, I couldn’t help noticing how much of their story mirrors our own. Like us, they’ve had God say “stop.” For us, it was Idaho. For them, Italy. Different places, same lesson: God sometimes closes a door not to halt the mission, but to redirect the missionary. Now they’re seeking Him for clarity and guidance on their

Half the team is now somewhere over the Atlantic, heading back to the US. Aidan is in Prague. Annika is safely in Germany. And I’m sitting once again in my quiet little office in the House Under the Bell here in Český Těšín — the same place where so many of these reflections begin and end. With camp behind us, this would normally be the moment for rest, quiet, and recovery. And we’ll get a little of that. But only a little. The pace of ministry doesn’t really slow; it simply shifts. For the next week, we’ll be meeting with friends and partners here in Český Těšín for mutual encouragement and fellowship — the kind

Today’s theme emerged the moment we stepped into the Prague Metro: connections. The city’s underground lines weave together like a living map — green, yellow, red — carrying thousands of people from one place to another. As we moved through the tunnels and platforms, I kept thinking about how many different kinds of connections God has woven into this trip. Our morning began with our final official meeting with Josiah Venture — a short but meaningful debrief. It gave us space to reflect on what we learned, what we experienced, and how to reintegrate well when we return home. That conversation reminded me of our connections with Josiah Venture: partners who have welcomed us into

Today I’m writing to you from a quiet hotel room in Prague. The city lights are glowing outside my window, and the soft hum of the cars below is a reminder that this beautiful city never really sleeps. I joined the soon‑returning team members on the four‑hour train ride from Český Těšín — a ride filled with tired smiles, shared stories, and the gentle sadness that comes at the end of a week of deep ministry. Tomorrow morning we’ll gather for our debrief meeting, and afterward we’ll spend a the day exploring Prague together. But today was full of emotion. There were many tearful farewells — the kind that only happen when people have truly

Today was a quieter day — the kind of day that gives you space to breathe after the intensity of camp. We slept in, let our bodies catch up, and then spent the afternoon across the border in Poland playing spikeball, volleyball, and basketball. It felt good to move, to laugh, to be together without a schedule pressing in. Later we walked to the youth building — Studentská, tucked beneath the church offices and parsonage — for dinner and our final evening program. In many ways it felt like an echo of camp: shared food, shared stories, shared joy. But tonight carried a different weight. Farewells always do. There was a touch of sadness in

Today we left the mountain sanctuary of Malenovice and headed back to Český Těšín. As always, the road down the hill was lined with farewells — some quick, some lingering, some with students we’ll see again at follow‑up events, and others we may not see until next year. The closeness of the friendships formed this week was obvious in the length of the goodbyes. No one seemed eager to let go. Once we arrived in town, the team split into different destinations. Smaller groups headed to various homestays, giving everyone a chance to know the families we serve alongside in a deeper, more personal way. The Sandy family returned to “Home Under the Bell” after

As quickly as camp began, we now find ourselves at the ending. It always surprises me — how fast the week moves, how quickly routines form, and how suddenly they dissolve. One moment we’re welcoming students into the valley, and the next we’re packing up memories to add to the long history of this place: laughter echoing across the fields, tears shared in quiet corners, joyful reunions, and the kind of farewells that linger.  The green valley may look untouched, but our hearts have been forever changed again. Today we wrapped up English and sports, shared our final workshops, and closed the evening with a thoughtful program on faith and mental health. Jacob gave a

Tonight’s evening program looked familiar — dancing, music, the skit — but the atmosphere shifted. You could feel it in the room. The energy softened, the students leaned in, and suddenly the night wasn’t just entertainment anymore. Viet, our camp director, shared his story of forgiveness and connected it to the prodigal son — not the runaway younger brother, but the older one who stayed home, did everything right, and still missed the Father’s heart. His honesty opened a door, and through it he walked the students into the four spiritual laws: God loves you and created you for relationship with Him. Our sin separates us from God. Jesus is God’s solution — offering forgiveness

After nearly two years of praying, planning, waiting, and learning, I’m grateful to share a major update: Chris and I are now officially in contract on the apartment in Český Těšín. It’s an 83‑square‑meter flat — about 900 square feet — tucked inside a classic brutalist, concrete, communist‑era building. Not beautiful on the outside by any stretch, but solid, central, and exactly what we need. Inside, it has a kitchen, a combined living/dining room, three bedrooms, a toilet, and a bathroom. Not large by American standards, but more than enough to serve as a ministry home base for up to nine people. This process has taken us about two years from first conception to contract.

People often ask me what it feels like to serve in a different country. After several years of coming to Czechia, I’ve realized the answer is both simple and layered. Serving here feels strangely familiar and wonderfully foreign at the same time. There are moments that feel just like home — the laughter of students during workshops, the quiet hum of conversations over breakfast, the way young people lean in when someone shares a devotion. Those things don’t change with geography. Ministry has a universal heartbeat, and you can feel it whether you’re in Arizona or in a small valley surrounded by birch trees and mountains. But then there are the moments that remind you