Jeff and Lisa - YWAM, Denver

It was the fall of 1989 and I just had a pretty bad car accident leaving me laying on a bed for ten days during which time God reminded me daily of my promise to serve Him through a phone call from a non-believing police officer who had been the first to the accident and thought it his duty to call every day and let me know that “I shouldn’t even be alive.” Now, I can be a bit stubborn sometimes, but stupid, never. So after my 10 days of “thinking” about my life, I packed up what few belongings I had in some boxes for storage and put the rest into two duffle bags in preparation for my move to YWAM, Denver. I hadn’t ever really done anything too “missions” in my life, but after 19 years of living for me, something had to change.

YWAM for me wasn’t so much about a desire to serve God, but a desperation to find Him. I grew up in church, so I guess you would say that I knew the truth. But knowing it and living it are two totally different things, and I for sure was not living it. So, off I went on my quest to find God. The first thing I remember about the base wasn’t the location, or the staff, but a young girl who worked of staff. It was my second day there and as I was walking around and checking things out, I ran into the most beautiful girl I had seen in my life only confirming my suspicion, God was there for this surely wasn’t hell. Obviously my feelings would have to be put on hold for a while, but my heart would never be the same.

I did manage to complete my DTS without being thrown out, which was an true act of God and the mercy of my leaders. I suppose it had to do something with the fact that I was constantly going outside for smoke breaks, not to mention my constant propensity for breaking the rules; I almost memorized Hebrews 10 during those five months. After my DTS, I went home in order to resolve some things, mainly a relationship with my stepfather that was needing to be restored. I then returned to Denver to work on the King’s Kids staff. This was my moment to actually get close to that girl who had stolen my heart the second day of DTS. Her name was Lisa Mort, at least for the time being. We worked with King’s Kids together, which only served to make me realize all the more that I had to marry this girl. Yet fear, let’s call it wisdom, prevented me from outright declaring my love for her. I think towards the end of the summer though she was starting to suspect that my feelings went beyond sharing a bowl of popcorn.

I then went on to do an SOE as Lisa had already done a DTS and SOE, so she continued on staff. It was during this time that my world changed forever as I finally found a way to tell her how I felt. It was one afternoon in front of the “Pink House” after I had walked her home and I looked at her and it just came out, “I want to marry you.” She responded with, “What?” “Um, I want you to be my wife.” “Oh, (pause) I never thought of you that way.” Great. Not exactly the response I was looking for. I was hoping for maybe a few tears and a big hug, something along that line. But then, I didn’t write the story, I’m only telling it. I, not being one to quit, continued on, “Well, don’t you think you could think about it?” “I guess I could pray about it.” Yes. That was all I needed. I had no doubt that God would tell her to marry me. Certainly He was on my side. I guess I never stopped to think about Lisa’s side. But then, I was a bit egotistical back then, maybe still am a little. I left a few days later for my outreach and when I returned, God had confirmed what I had already dreamed. Lisa told me she wanted to be my wife. Life was going to be good. We considered staying on staff after my SOE, but I still had a pretty big rebellious streak in me that had a hard time submitting to rules and leaders and I wanted to do things my way. So, we left and went back to my home state of Michigan; good for me, but a really long way from California where Lisa was raised.

We married June 22, 1991 and lived in Michigan until November of that same year when we returned to Colorado in order to once again be close to our common friends. We spent the next three years working and wondering when was God going to let us go somewhere as missionaries. The seed that was planted in us was not going to die; missions was in our blood. Late 1994 saw us get our first taste of the missionary life as we headed off to Kiev in the Ukraine to help a friend of ours plant a church. At this time Lisa was already pregnant with our first child. We came back in late March of 1995 in order for our daughter Taylor to be born in the United States. We breathed missions, but we weren’t so sure about a post-Cold War hospital in the former Soviet Union being suitable for the birth of our child. If we had only known what lay ahead we may have stayed in preparation for the future.

Taylor, our first daughter, was born on May 31. She was a great baby. We took her everywhere, which at the time included fishing and to Denver Nugget’s games. In 1996 we made our first trip to the Amazon basin in order to visit Scott and Aldine Blunier whom Lisa had made friends with as she was doing her DTS and they were on staff. We spent three months there with them in what was to the beginning of God calling us to full-time missions. We returned to Colorado in February of 1997 in order to sell everything and go back to Brazil which we did that same year. To our surprise, Lisa was once again pregnant which was the very confirmation we had asked God for. The process to get a missionary visa to Brazil can be very taxing and complicated and sometimes takes years yet we were convinced that this was our time. There existed, at the time, a loop hole in the Brazilian system that if your child was born in Brazil, you had the right to apply for a permanent family visa. Thus, “God, if you want us to go back now, help Lisa to get pregnant.” Little did we know, He had already done that. So, everything was set. Lisa left at the end of September, seven months pregnant, with a two year old in tow, and ten boxes; a full two months before me as I had to finish up with my job. My wife to this day remains one of my heroes as there are few women that I know who would willingly leave everything for the Amazon basin. And even fewer who would make the move without their husband. For those that knew my wife as the petite and quiet little girl in charge of reception, the feat is even greater.

Two weeks before I left, I saw what was going to be my last snow for years. It literally snowed so much that it shut the city down and put into question my trip; not a good thing when you have seen you wife or daughter for months. But, as God would have it, I was able to leave and finally be united with my family. What awaited me in Brazil was 110 degree rainforest heat and an energy crisis. At the time Brazil was going through a crisis and having to ration energy, which meant that we only had electricity and a fan for six hours a day. So there we were, living our dream, Lisa very pregnant, me just fat, and the three of us sweating constantly.

Tianna, our second daughter, was born on November 17, 1997. The next year and a half consisted of not a whole lot more than trying to figure out this very different country that we were living in and trying to learn Portuguese. After a year and a half, I started seminary and we planted our first church. No, my Portuguese was not “that good”, they just needed a pastor and somehow I fit that role. The church was located in a river community 40 km outside of our city. They were the simplest and kindest people we had ever met. Communication was a bit of a problem as we were literally learning the language with them. I had always been a bit upset with my mom for not letting me play football for fear that I would get hurt and being forced to play soccer instead, but only when we moved here did I realize just how God ordained that was. I learned a lot of Portuguese on the soccer field playing with the guys, some things good and some things that shouldn’t be repeated as I found out only by repeating the unreapeatables. One that is now a legend there was based on a message about not being wimpy Christians. I heard one of the guys calling another a “filho da mãe”, literally “son of a mother”, which I understood to be a “momma’s boy”, a wimp. Thus, the memorable sermon, “Don’t be a ‘filho da mãe’ Christian”. Only after a night full of cockeyed looks and jaws dropping did I realize that something was wrong. On Monday I knew for sure when another missionary asked me about the service the night before and as I told him about it, mentioning the name of the sermon. He gave me the exact look that the congregation had the night before along with reprimanding me for saying such a thing, a bit of an exaggeration I thought, but I kept it to myself. He then asked me if I knew what that meant and I told him that I did and told him what I thought it was. Wrong! It didn’t mean “momma’s boy”, it meant what would be the equivalent to our “Son of @#$%*” Well, you get the idea. Needless to say, that explained the strange looks I was getting and I also had some explaining to do.

We pastored there for three years, during which time our son Jordan was born on January 10 of 2000. During the last year that we were there, God began to birth a burden in our hearts for the youth of Brazil, one that would literally take us around the nation. We passed on the church, which had grown to be 120 members in a community of 2,000 to a couple that we had been discipling and became the youth pastors of a church in the city. Shortly after starting as youth pastors, we published our first book dealing with the generation and that very quickly turned into invites to minister at youth camps and conferences. After a year of trying to juggle the two roles and six years of living in the Amazon basin, God told us to move to the state of Rio de Janeiro to help a friend plant a church and more importantly, to be able to better reach the generation. Living in the basin was awesome, but getting out of it was a bit complicated. If you wanted to travel anywhere, it was a minimum two day trip because of the limited flights. So we moved south.

It was certainly not an easy move, as we had to leave a great missions organization and lots of friends behind once again. The following four years I served as associate pastor but mostly travelled, leaving Lisa home alone with three little kids (see the earlier “hero” statement). I was doing up to 45 conferences a year which meant ministering to a lot of kid, but it also meant little kids in my own home not knowing their daddy. Things had to change, Lisa was struggling with depression, my children were living in a one parent home, and I had become a sought after youth speaker. Solution: Dump the agenda. Ten years on the mission field found us broken and beaten down. But God in His mercy stopped me just in time for Him to be able to restore us. It has not been an easy road, but it has been every bit worth it. I still wake up every morning next to my best friend and now get to watch my children grow and dream of one day too being missionaries. Eleven years later finds us only wanting more of God and what He has for us. Lisa homeschools our kids and I am currently pastoring an alternative church that we planted a year ago and working on a new translation of the Bible, which we hope to finish in about two years.

It’s amazing for me to look back on those first few days in YWAM where I hadn’t the faintest clue as to what I was asking God, nor did I have any idea as to what was awaiting me. But I have never repented of my time in YWAM, the lessons I learned there, and the wife that I left with.

Let me finish with a quote from David Livingstone.

“People talk of the sacrifice I have made in spending so much of my life in Africa. Can that be called sacrifice which is simply paid back as a small part of the great debt owing to our God, which we can never repay? Is that a sacrifice which brings its own reward in healthful activity, the consciousness of doing good, peace of mind, and a bright hope of a glorious destiny hereafter? Away with such a word, such a view, and such a thought! It is emphatically no sacrifice. Say rather it is a privilege. Anxiety, sickness, suffering or danger . . . may make us pause and cause the spirit to waver and sink; but let this only be for a moment. All these are nothing when compared with the glory which shall hereafter be revealed in and for us. I never made a sacrifice. Of this we ought not to talk when we remember the great sacrifice which He made who left His Father’s throne on high to give Himself for us.”