Heading into the jungles of West Africa was something that I would just have to experience. Pure irony since I had in my rather recent past told God that I absolutely would not be caught dead in Africa. Well, I was alive and I was in Africa. As we took off into the bright West African sky, I pondered the goodness of God and how His amazing grace had brought me to that place.
Flashback of a Jonah Kind of Run
Missionaries are fallen, depraved humans saved by the amazing grace of Jesus Christ—just like a Christian architect, a Christian banker, or a Christian childcare worker. We all must bow in awe and gratitude to the exclusive salvation provided on the cross of Christ through God the Father as a penalty for our sin. Look all you want. Look where ever you want. The Truth has been, is, and always will be in Jesus Christ alone. That being said, perhaps this book would be more meaningful if I elaborated on my own journey in becoming a career missionary.
Saved at the age of seven, I grew up in the rural town of Delco, located near Wilmington, North Carolina. Livingston Baptist Church, the church where my family attended was small but friendly, and I always felt well nourished there in spiritual and physical love. Unfortunately, as I went into my teen years, rebellion permeated my heart and I turned to the whims of my own flesh. Despite that, when I was home in Delco, I was expected to attend church. And so I did. Between my freshman and sophomore year of college, I attended a missions conference at my home church and was intrigued by the desires and emotions that welled up in me when I heard a missionary speak of God’s work in other countries. Overwhelmed by God’s wooing, on July 3, 1977, I walked the aisle of the country church and told the pastor that I felt God tugging at my heart about becoming a missionary.
Later that night, the flesh almost immediately washed over me, prompting regret that I had made such a public commitment. A few days later, I was faced with one of the greatest spiritual dilemmas that I had ever experienced in my young life. Previously, at the end of my freshman year in college, I had been chosen to be the next editor of my college’s newspaper, and since Journalism was my major and my passion, I was struggling about giving that up and having to enroll in a Bible College to begin my training for missionary service.
As I had so often done, I succumbed to the flesh and its cry for immediate gratification. I determined to return and gain the experience of being a college newspaper editor, and later consider what I needed to do for a possible missionary career. Satan is, in some cases, subtle, knowing our desires and with what to tempt us. In my case, it was a royal flush! During that next year, I continued dating a young man who I knew was instrumental in leading me astray as a young Christian woman. In essence, he was not good for me. He was not right for me. Despite that, I felt that I loved him and in my own stubborn way, continued to incorporate him into my plans. I was selfishly using him, stringing him on. Giving him false hopes.
One year after the call on my life to be a missionary, I found myself farther from God than ever before. Having graduated from junior college, I looked at my future with confusion. Always tugging at my heart was the reality that I was to be somewhere else. Haunting me constantly was the deep-seated knowledge that I was missing something, that I was to become a woman whom God would use for His glory. My thoughts pursued me: To Africa, if I say yes to You, God; you will send me to Africa alone—living in the jungle where it is dark, remote, and certainly dangerous. I can’t do it. So, I ran. Just as Jonah ran. Only there was no large whale to swallow my miserable self up. But my bitter, fearful flesh was swallowed up with the ugliness of what my life had become.
Ironically enough, I moved to Charlotte, to the hometown of my future husband, though I knew none of that at the time. Jeff had surrendered to be a missionary just twenty days after my own calling to missions. Just in a different city and church. Thankfully, he had chosen to obey God and was already at Piedmont Baptist College preparing for that call. Me? Deciding that I would go into Broadcast Journalism, I enrolled in Carolina School of Broadcasting, and lived in an apartment alone during my training.
Those were dark days and I do not choose, nor is it necessary to summon back the things that so easily ensnared me. I lived in a false light with forced happiness as my companion. During that time, my longtime boyfriend proposed to me and I snatched at the opportunity to bring something exciting and happy into my life. It seemed that surely it was the right thing for us to be married. So I accepted his ring and we set our date for April 8, 1979.
During Christmas, my mother attempted to talk about wedding plans but I diverted her questions. Something was not right, but I could not speak of it. I know that deep in her mother’s heart, she understood there was a battle going on. Some days I barely ate or slept. I felt irritable, hemmed in, threatened by the powerful way God was stirring my heart. Though my spirit was malnourished, it was not dead. It is impossible for a Christian’s spirit to die within him. Quenched, oppressed, overwhelmed with sin—yes, but never dead.
After graduating from broadcasting school, I snagged a job at a local television station in Charlotte. I met some very interesting people. During one assignment, I traveled with a crew (I was a camera grip for a few months before coming a script editor) to Raleigh where Madalyn Murray O’Hair was speaking at a forum. Being only the lowly grip, I was not given entrance to the conference room, so had to settle with waiting in the foyer outside.
Soon, Ms. O’Hair’s son, William, came out to take a smoke break. He usually traveled with her, he told me, as we introduced ourselves to each other. Though not a strong Christian, I did relate to William how I had felt back in fourth grade when we were told that we could no longer pray. Again, speaking more out of my limited knowledge of the Bible than where I was spiritually at that time, we discussed Christianity for more than thirty minutes, and he seemed drawn to the conversation. When it was time for him to return to the room, he allowed me to enter with him.
Though I was never able to talk with William again, before leaving the conference room at the end of the program, our eyes met and he gave me a slight salute. Within a year, the news came out that William Murray, son of Madalyn Murray O’Hair–renowned atheist—had become a believer of Jesus Christ and not surprising, his mother hastened to denounce him as a shame and disgrace to her family. I have always wondered if anything I said that day had prompted him to turn towards the Truth. God does not need us to do His work, but He certainly delights in using us.
It had felt good to share my faith—what little bit there was of it. “But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty.” (I Corinthians 1:27) As the cold of winter blew through the city of Charlotte, my spirit was chilled by the reality of my life. I became disgruntled with all of it, dreading even to see my fiance. My starkly decorated apartment became a prison, and of course, it became difficult to sleep at night. The only deterrent was music. LOUD music. Music that appealed to my flesh, keeping it fed and strong.
One night I was getting ready for a soiree with some friends and was shaving my legs. I had cranked up the music and was working on my “party” attitude. While holding the razor in my right hand, I sensed that the music had stopped. Later, I was to realize that there was nothing wrong with the radio. It was God calling me out to listen to Him. One more time. It was the still small voice of God–not audible except in my spirit–but a distinct and definite conversation between my spirit and His. “Kim, I have strived with you for a long time. I have called you out. You know that and you continue to run. You are defaming my name instead of proclaiming it. This is your last chance, child. I have such great plans for your life. Trust me.”
With the reality of what I heard, the razor cut deeply into my leg. My heart pounding, I jumped out of the bathtub, ran to my bedroom, and dove into my bed pulling the covers over my head. I had been found wanting and there was no excuse. For three days,