I wanted to share with you all the letter I sent recently to a man who, before this encounter, was a perfect stranger.  Believe it can happen to  you!

Dear Mr. Pellizze,

This story is so long and so powerful, I don’t even know where to begin.  I’ve wanted to write to you for weeks now and have never found the time to give this composition its rightful attention.  My very brief encounter with you at the burial of my aunt Beth was, bar none, the single most powerful experience of my Christian life – and I came to know the Lord when I was seven, so that says a lot!  So where should I start?  “Once upon a time” sounds like the appropriate credentials for such a story.

Once upon a time…the Lord spoke.

I was in the mall parking lot feeling overwhelmed with the possibility of it all.  For more than eight years the Lord had been burdening me with the heart to see missionaries empowered, financially, to fulfill their ministry uninhibited.  The countless stories of dedicated servants leaving their posts to come home because their support dropped off, was beginning to breed a righteous anger.  I have studied and believe wholeheartedly that God designed the system of The Church supporting those they send abroad, but something has gone terribly wrong.   Not only are missionaries living below the poverty level of our own country’s standards, they were forced to postpone their duties in order to, once again, come home and pound the pavement.  Equally as disturbing, donors across the board are becoming “tapped” with the thousands of requests for funds, and, understandably, losing faith in the system; it just seems like there is never enough.

“There HAS to be a better way, Lord”, I prayed for years.  But it wasn’t until this particular night out front of Macy’s that the directive landed on me like the leading edge of a sharpened sword.  I had thrown the idea of an investment concept around to several respected mentors and all had responded with skepticism.  The idea is good, but the practicality of it would include one little ‘ol me raising something in the neighborhood of $2 million.  It might as well have been $50 BILLION – where would I locate that kind of money when I have a short resume in fundraising, a small social circle, oh, and let’s not forget, I’m don’t exactly possess the most velvet personality.  And even if I did raise the money, I don’t have the slightest idea how to invest it to make enough interest to support a missionary completely (namely, us, as it turns out – the plot thickens). 

I’ll never forget the feel and aroma of the summer air as I stepped out the glass doors of that department store.  It was wet and heavy and suddenly smelled as though I was standing in that same trash heap I waded through in India 8 years prior.  It stopped me short and my mind swirled with memories of all the missionaries I had come to know and love through my life and the frustration of their faithful senders.  I wanted to cry out but my tongue had been slashed with silence: and then He spoke in what seemed an audible hush:  “I’ll Get You There”.  Oh if only that had been the end of His commission how sweet the story would be.  But He wasn’t finished.

I wept all the way home with the insurmountable task weighing on me as if someone had harnessed me to a glacier.  Through the weekend, and especially through worship that Sunday morning, He pressed, and would not take “I can’t” for an answer.  Finally, in exhaustion at the end of our church service, I submitted to His call and agreed to obey.  It was at that crucial moment He lowered the boom: “You will be lonely”. 

He wasn’t kidding – never in my life have I felt such solitude as those around me cast glances of pity on the “crazy kid”.  Each time I shared the story it always ended the same; religious clichés and fundamental warnings.  Furthermore, the timing couldn’t have been worse.  By this time we were well on our way to launching our own ministry plans to serve in Nairobi, Kenya, a desire we’d prayed through for over 10 years.  Months later I continued to hear the Lord at each turn – “I’ll get you there” became the theme of every song, scripture verse, and prayer.  There was no way I could abandoned this call now that I had become so certain.  So I began to work, trusting every day for just enough grace for the next 24 hours.

Fast forward to December.  My sword is rusty, my shield transparent with bullet holes, and the loss of blood sapping my will.  Still, I am trusting God to come through on His promise.  But, oh, what I wouldn’t give for a word –

The night before Beth’s funeral I lay sleepless.  “Oh God, please confirm for me that this is what you want.  The goal seems more impossible than ever now and the loneliness is debilitating.  Please Father, speak to your servant with favor.”  The next day I had so little left to feel and so much noise in my mind I just wanted to curl up in a pool and wallow.  But as I listened to the stories of my Aunt’s faith and those she had touched, I knew the call on her was like mine; dirty and full of holes, but uniquely anointed.

Then, the burial.  Mr. Pellizze, when you got out of your car and approached me I barely even saw you.  I was caught up in my compassions and not prepared to be called before the Lord.  I remember you asking me if I had a call on my life.  At first I assumed you were preparing to offer me a job or something and so I quickly retorted to the human I saw before me.  But then you said, “No really, have you heard from the Lord about it?”  All at once I no longer saw or heard you, but instead felt the Holy Spirit require my full attention.  As if standing before the Father Himself I stuttered, “Yes sir I have, actually”.  And then, He spoke.  “Good, because I’m supposed to tell you – IT WILL BE DONE”.

Mr. Pellizze, even now as I write I am weeping and shaking uncontrollably with the same humility I felt that day as I stood before The Almighty, speaking to me through you.  But even more, the grace He extended to me by answering my plea for confirmation brings me prostrate in worship.  I am still terribly lonely and often feel confused about what action to take on a daily basis.  How will God take the token faith of a broken vessel and accomplish such a mighty task?  How will He do all this in the midst of preparing us for our call to Africa?  I don’t know.  But I say these words to myself almost hourly:

“I’ll get you there” and “It will be done”! 

Mr. Pellizze, I am all too aware that you could have chosen to depreciate the importance of that stirring of the Spirit and I would have missed the most important glimpse of The Father I may ever have (God forbid it).  So I wanted to just say thank you:

Thank you for being sensitive to the Spirit

Thank you for being obedient

Thank you for your compassion on me

Thank you for speaking into my life

I would be honored if you would allow me to share this story with others.  Obviously I would never do that without your permission, of course, but I just believe so many would experience God through it and I want them to see Him as I do – the God who speaks.

Humble gratitude,

Jami Staples