Seventeen years is indeed a long time to be in the mission field, and people often ask when we are planning to come home. To this question, I can only reply that I don’t know. It is true that four of our six children are in the States, and I would love to be closer to them. We even have a home in Tennessee, and it has been a joy to spend time there whenever possible. But our hearts are bound up with the Palawano people.

We have begun to realize that when God asks us to give all, He means all. As long as He calls us to continue our ministry among the Palawanos, my hope is that we will always be willing to stay.

It can be tempting to give a lot or most to God, but not all. After hearing God’s call in the night, what if young Samuel had replied, “God, how about I work 15 years for You here at the temple. Then I want to open a little dry goods store, make some money, build a cozy little house and serve on the temple advisory committee in my spare time. After all I want to lead a balanced life.” Samuel could have offered God most of his life, but instead he chose to give all, and that decision changed the course of history for the Hebrew people. Had he not made that commitment, a whole section of our Bible might very possibly be missing today.

I am not saying that everyone should be missionaries. But we all must dedicate ourselves 100 percent to obeying God’s leading in our lives; to take up our crosses and follow Him wherever He goes. I admit there are times when I desire to lay down my cross and leave Palawan. The spiritual battle becomes very intense at times, and it would certainly be easier to step back, play it safe and be less of a threat to the forces of evil. However, being in the forefront of the battle does some very important things for us, too.

When I was in my early 20s, I came to the realization that I had pretty much figured out the whole scheme of things—what religion was all about and what it meant to be a Christian. To anyone else who arrives at that point, I say, “Enjoy the moment, for it will not last.” Life has a way of teaching us many new lessons. Today, 40 years later, I know a lot more than I did back then. But at the same time, I have even more questions, and I am far less certain of myself. The hard knocks of life have made me keenly aware of how weak and human I am. More and more, I find myself saying, “Lord, I cannot do it, so I entrust it all to you.”

I am beginning to learn that true success is measured not so much in what we accomplish, but rather in prayer and obedience to that still, small voice.

We Americans like to see results. We watch numbers and chart the progress. There is most certainly a place for that, but sometimes in our rush to accomplish great things, we miss the whole purpose behind our efforts.

I remember attending an evangelistic series in Brookes Point. The subject was the 2,300 days and the 49-week prophecies. The room was crowded and hot, and moths fluttered around the bare light bulbs. The English-speaking pastor charged into his subject at breakneck speed. The poor translator could scarcely keep up, and when he stopped to take a breath, the pastor would rush on ahead without realizing that the previous thought had not been completed. The people attending did not have a great deal of education, and it was obvious to me that they understood little of what was being said. The pastor did his best to salvage a tough situation, and the translator gallantly floundered on as best he could.

Later, I spoke with the pastor and asked if, in the future, he might tailor his presentation to fit the needs of the people. His response was that he must present everything that was in his prepared lectures in the manner it was provided and in the amount of time allotted.

I was reminded of the words of Jesus when He said, “I have much more to tell you, but you are not yet ready for it.” We may have truth, but if it is not answering the questions people are asking, we cannot effectively lead them forward in their faith.

At the end of the series, a dozen or so people decided to be baptized. Statistically, the effort was a success. However, since then, I have asked about the new converts, and nobody seems to know what became of them.

Sunganan’s story didn’t end that way. Sunganan was an elderly man who came to our clinic recently. Unfortunately, he was experiencing heart failure, and there was little we could do to extend his life. Sunganan had never attended our church, he had never paid tithe, and he did not understand the 28 fundamental beliefs. He was not even an Adventist. But as I spoke with him at the clinic, I found him to be a humble man who had encouraged his children to go to our school. He was a man of sweetness and simplicity who was eager to hear the words of God, eager to have us pray for him, eager to be ready for Jesus to come. Sunganan was never baptized and never did attend church. He only lived a few more days. But, after his farewell to his dear children, his final request was for a Christian burial, that he be laid to rest with the assurance of a resurrection in Jesus. So we dug his grave and with our own hands and laid him to rest, awaiting that great day of Jesus’ return.

In terms of statistics, the story of Sunganan would rate a zero. No baptism, no tithe, no church offices. But in the eyes of heaven, I feel that his life ended in total and absolute victory.

I can hardly wait to meet Sunganan again in the earth made new. To see him in the prime of health. To see him with his children. He daughter Tuning, one of our first church members, who died at age seventeen. His daughter Hilin, a devoted Christian who is attending our academy. His son Nui, a church member and teacher at our elementary school.

Sometimes what we count as failures may actually be heaven’s greatest victories. Sometimes the things we are most proud of may be of little import in the courts of heaven. Our only hope is to put away our dependence on human methods and commit ourselves to being faithful and obedient servants, whatever the cost.

So, when am I coming home? I still don’t know, but I do know that when I see the Son of Man descending from the clouds of heaven, then I will know it is time to come home.

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