Filled

And so we headed toward Cassine, the final destination in the south.

As we drove along the dock by the sea in Cassine, we proclaimed Jesus everywhere we went. At every village we passed, we stopped to hand out gospel booklets and shouted:

“JESUS AMAU!”

The destination itself no longer mattered.

At first, the plan had simply been to see the sunset there. But instead, we found ourselves seeing something even greater.

Stopping wherever the Lord seemed to lead.

Sharing the gospel with every person we encountered.

It was exactly what I had longed to do when I came there with the team the year before.

And suddenly, I remembered something I had dreamed about since childhood.

Traveling across the world preaching the gospel.

Filling a camper van with gospel booklets and sharing them with every person in every village we passed through.

Just imagining it filled me with excitement.

It felt as though an old dream I once carried had suddenly come alive again.

As we continued sharing the gospel and distributing the booklets, each of us slowly began carrying our own growing conviction inside.

That we deeply wanted this kind of life to continue.

That there was no greater joy than living a life spent sharing the gospel this way.

Our hearts became filled with that conviction.

We sat by the dock for a long time talking together.

Then, together with Mola and the small number of students there who believed in Jesus, we prayed over them and blessed them.

In the middle of that short schedule, we packed our bags once again.

Now it was time to head north.

This time too, Missionary Kwak was unable to come with us. It was not an easy journey to ask others to take, but we decided to go on our own anyway.

I contacted Mohammed.

“Make sure you come. Don’t be late.”

Before dawn, with the help of local villagers, we began the journey north.

But almost as soon as we departed, the vehicle broke down.

We were taken to a repair shop, and another long season of waiting began — without knowing how long it would last.

And there, another struggle quietly began inside us.

We had said that we loved this life of sharing the gospel.

But if this was also part of missionary life — the breakdowns, the uncertainty, the endless delays — then maybe this life was not nearly as easy as it seemed.

For me, though, the scene felt strangely familiar.

Anywhere a vehicle stopped became another village where the gospel could be shared.

So once again, I began walking toward people.

I handed out gospel booklets.

And when the team saw it, they began doing the same.

In the very place where frustration and complaints had started building, there came another moment of hearing the voice of God — another invitation to rise again.

After waiting for several hours, we finally started moving north once more.

Even after that, we stopped several more times along the way.

But this was normal life here.

Ten hours.

Maybe twelve.

Eventually, we arrived in the north.

It was my first time returning to Gabú in six years, since 2019.

I stood again in that place after so long.

The place where I first encountered the dream of God.

The place where God first asked me:

“Is this the place you’ve dreamed about since you were young?”

And the place where He said to me:

“There’s a dream I want to dream together with you.”

That dream was the reason I had spent years traveling back and forth to Guinea-Bissau.

I had brought people there.

I had brought Bibles.

I had brought gospel booklets.

And now, standing there again, I felt overwhelmed with anticipation — as though the Lord was about to give another dream once more.

Eventually, we arrived at the YWAM base.

After unloading and reloading our luggage countless times, after riding what barely qualified as a taxi, we finally stood before the walls of the base.

The first time I came there, there had been only one elderly missionary.

The place had felt almost abandoned.

But now—

it was filled with the sounds of people.