Author: Mission Enablers International

We all know John Wesley.

The great man of God who traveled over 250,000 miles across England and Ireland, preaching more than 40,000 sermons in his lifetime. A revivalist. A reformer. A man so on fire for God that stories are told of him praying away rainstorms so his open-air meetings could continue.

Yes, he was that kind of man. Unstoppable, unshakable, powerful. And today, millions around the world know his legacy through the Methodist Church.

But there’s someone you probably don’t know, yet she might be the reason we know John Wesley at all.

Her name was Susanna Wesley. John Wesley’s mother.

While history celebrates her son, few talk about the sacrifices of the mother who shaped him. Susanna was a woman of deep conviction. She deferred every economic advantage and poured her entire life into her home and children. She saw herself not just as a caregiver, but a steward of destinies.

Her most important task was educating her children. Not just academically, but spiritually. For six hours every single day, she taught her three sons and seven daughters both morals and scriptures. This wasn’t a side hobby. It was the focus of her life. A full-time calling. And out of that quiet faithfulness, the world got a John Wesley.

 

Why does this matter?

Sometimes, the most powerful impact doesn’t come from the stage or the pulpit. It comes from the kitchen table, from long hours of unseen labor and from people who choose to stand behind the ones God has called to the frontlines.

Because behind every great man or woman that God sends to the nations, there’s someone else. Someone less visible, who stands behind them.

That’s what Susanna did and that’s what many of us are called to do today.

This is the power of support. This is the power of partnership. And it’s exactly what many of our missionaries need today.

You see, not everyone will be called to go. But many of us are called to send.

And in God’s eyes, the one who sends and the one who goes share in the reward.

That’s why there’s nothing more powerful than standing behind someone God has called into ministry. Especially those serving in some of the hardest, most remote parts of the world, speaking of missionaries.

Some of us are called to be like Susanna. Called to stand behind, to equip, to pray, to give, and to make sure the one sent never stands alone.

What you do on your knees, in your giving, in your encouragement, is just as powerful as what the missionary does in the field.

And that’s where our Missionary Support Initiative comes in.

Through this initiative, you can adopt a missionary, stand behind them, not just with prayer, but with consistent, tangible support. You become part of the story. You help make the ministry possible.

Just imagine, your consistent support could be the reason a missionary stays in the field. It could be the reason a village hears the Gospel for the first time. It could be the reason someone writes a story like John Wesley’s someday.

Because you stood behind them.

Susanna never preached a sermon. She never traveled the world. But she discipled a boy who did, and heaven took notice.

So I ask you, who are you standing behind?

If you’re wondering how to make a lasting impact for God’s kingdom, start here(link to MSI). Support a missionary. Be someone’s Susanna.

By Emmanuel Orimogunje

The rain had poured heavily and reduced to drizzles before the service began, making the morning colder than usual. Melanie sat in her usual place at the back, close to the wall, wrapped in the warmth of her thick blue sweater. The preacher’s voice rose and fell, filling the room, but she let her head rest against the wall, listening more to the hush of the rain than the sermon itself.

His voice sounded vibrant on the microphone than usual but she still wasn’t interested. She initiated a transition. Though her eyes sat on the preacher’s face—you would have thought his words were hitting her heart—she had detached herself from the whole service.

Skilful at mind travel, she went from being in church to standing on a global stage in stiletto heels, speaking before a crowd who responded with resounding applause and a standing ovation. She moved from the stage to an airport, but as she was trying to ascend the plane, what happened last week intruded on her fantasy. She loathe to be reminded.

But it was not only last week. In the past five years, it had happened several times. Last week was only the latest. Her little fantasy was now pushed aside and replaced with scenes playing the dirty acts of her addiction.

The preacher stopped, and the congregation, each turning to his neighbour, muttered some words. She looked to her left and met her neighbor’s face smiling at her and mouthing the same. Before she could make sense of the chorus, it stopped and the preacher continued speaking. He was now sober unlike when he started.

As she attempted to return to her world of fantasy, the voice of condemnation resumed its presentation, flooding her mind with more pictures of the scenes she dreaded revisiting. She bowed her head in shame.

The congregation hummed another loud chorus the second time. This time she heard it clearly. “It’s not too late to come back home,” she raised her head but pretended not to see the smiling face at her side turning towards her, “there’s room at the cross for you”, with a finger pointing at her—she saw from the corner of her eye. The words seemed shot directly at her. It sounded deliberate. Has this man been preaching about me?

“Tell your neighbour one more time”, the preacher said. She couldn’t muster the words, let alone preach them to someone else. Tears welled up in her eyes. The chorus had stopped but the echo rang in her heart. “There’s room at the Cross for you.” She felt seen, spotlighted, and exposed. Still in her seat, she buried her head in her palms to collect her tears.

The next she heard was the rattle of chairs and the rustling of feet. It was time to pray. With her eyes shut, she fell to her knees and, amidst tears, prayed in a manner she hadn’t done in a long time.

“If you have been wondering where to go or what to do with the life that wearies you or the issue that has long plagued you, there’s room at the Cross for you. Come to the cross where life is given, where burdens are lifted, and where freedom is experienced”, the preacher ended. Those were the his words before leaving the pulpit.

I lay on the mattress, helpless and weak to my bones. I was so hungry that I could barely lift my body. No friends around, nobody to run to. Who would come to my rescue?

This was me two years ago. I was in my room somewhere in a community located in eastern Nigeria where I was posted to serve my country.

A whole day had passed, and my mouth hadn’t tasted anything except water. I was without money and food. The hunger was growing worse by the hour, and I was getting weaker.

Another day had begun, and there was no sign of hope. Thoughts of who to reach out to for help began to run through my mind. Then suddenly, I remembered that I have a biological father. I am not an orphan! How could I not remember all this while?

But it’s been a while since we spoke. It is not curtsey to call and ask for money from someone whom you have not communicated with in a long time. It’s not bad but for me, guilt won’t let me.

This thought made me reluctant to place a call to my dad. But I had the confidence that I could not call on my father and return empty-handed. I knew for sure he would find a way to send his starving daughter some money, even if he had to empty his account or borrow. It was not strange that my father would make such sacrifices to make sure my needs were met.

With that consolation, I dialed him on the phone and unashamedly confessed my starving state. I told him I needed money, no matter how little. I was desperate.

A few minutes later, my phone beeped with a credit alert of more than what I expected.

A father will always see to the welfare of his daughter even at the expense of his convenience.

Such sacrificial love!

That seemingly insignificant scene registered a message in my heart: the love of a Father.

If my earthly father loves me this much, how much more my heavenly Father?

Love is Sacrificial
My father had told me earlier on the call the amount of money left in his account but the credit I received in my account was more than it. It wasn’t convenient for him but he still gave me.

God, my Father, and your Father, gave His only Son to die for our sins. It wasn’t convenient for Jesus to die but he still died. It took sacrifice. What love!

Love is in Action.
It took my Father more than saying “I love you” to salvage me from starving. He proved it by sending me some money. God also proved His love by giving His only Son. Loving God is beyond mere words. It is proven by the way I live my life in obedience to God and His Word.

The Love of The Father is Irreplaceable.
I thought to myself, “Who could have gone this length to help me in such a short time?” Only my father could have done that. Friends could have said, “Oh, sorry, I wish I could help, but I can’t at the moment.” Of course, I can’t blame them. It’s rare for a friend to borrow money for a friend. But a father can.

The Love of God is irreplaceable. Nobody—no matter how intimate—can go the length of loving you the way God does.

Matthew 7:11— “Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will you give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him?

God is our Father, and He is always ready to provide for your needs—monetary and non-monetary needs. But can you ask Him? He is ready to give good gifts to us when we ASK Him.

The Father is always Ready to Receive You.
God is one call away. It might have been a long time since you spoke with him, yet, when you call on Him, He will respond immediately. He is always ready to receive you.

The answer you seek is only in God. And guess what? When God gives, He gives in abundance! He is touched by your infirmity.

By Peace Olaleye