He had fasted. He had prayed. He had walked miles under the burning sun, slept under leaking roofs, shared the Gospel with tears in his eyes—and still, no one responded.
Three years!
Three long years of labour among an unreached tribe. He had buried two converts: one from a snakebite, the other from malaria. His health was failing, support had dwindled, and he hadn’t seen his family in months. Now, even God seemed silent.
One night, alone in his hut, with only the sound of distant drums and the hum of mosquitoes, he scribbled a note.
“Lord, I’ve nothing left to give. If you’re still with me, speak up. If not… I’ll end it all by morning.”
He wept until he had no tears remaining. Does this reflect your missionary experience? Allow me to tell you about Johnson, the missionary.
He sat alone, gazing at the cracked wall of his small mud cottage. His clothes, once vivid with the zeal of calling, were now faded like the dream he once held. It had been four years. Four dry, painful, silent years.
He had preached. He had cried. He had poured himself out like water on barren land.
No one repented. No one stayed. Not even the local partner he trained.
He began to believe the whispers:
“Maybe I missed it.”
“Others are seeing revival, what’s wrong with me?”
“I’m just a failure with a passport.”
Depression crept in like fog. He ceased writing newsletters—what would he write?
He ceased calling home—what could he say?
And then one night, after another fruitless day of outreach, he wrote a goodbye note. A suicide note.
But before he acted, he decided to open his Bible one last time. It fell to a verse he had never noticed before:
“The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong… but time and chance happen to them all.” — Ecclesiastes 9:11
He read it again. And again. And then… he broke.
He had been measuring his worth by results.
But God measures by faithfulness.
And that Scripture—those words—hit his soul like lightning:
Time and chance happen to them all.
Those missionaries he envied… they weren’t better. They weren’t more anointed. They were simply in their time and their chance.
Suddenly, hope rose again. Maybe—just maybe—his time and chance were not denied… just delayed.
He wept. He repented. He slept.
Three days later, the chief of a neighbouring village summoned him. A young boy in the village had dreamt of a man in dusty shoes bringing them “words from the sky.” That man… was him.
That village was transformed into a hub of revival. Dozens of people dedicated their lives to Christ, and doors swung open. The same man who had nearly caused it all to end… was now witnessing God bring everything back to life.
So, dear missionary, don’t be misled by what you see online. Those with open doors, large crowds, and visible impact aren’t always a result of doing it better.
It’s because it’s their time. It’s their chance. And yours is coming.
Keep showing up. Keep preaching. Keep praying. Keep loving.
Heaven keeps a record.
You are not forgotten. You are not failing. You are simply in waiting.
God is not unjust to forget your labour of love. But He is also never in a hurry. Time and chance happen to them all.
Including you.
So stay. Not because it’s easy.
Stay because your time is nearer than you realise.