Surviving Devil’s Den and RV Life—for the Gospel!

Greetings, Church Family and Friends!

We’re halfway from Texas to Minnesota, en route to speak at the upcoming conference on deeper Christian community, hosted by the Groves. What began months ago as a small invitation to share with a handful of families has grown into something much larger—around 200 people are expected to gather with us this weekend.

We ask for your prayers—for God’s grace on the teaching, for meaningful connections and friendships, and, most of all, that hope would go forth to the Body of Christ. May hearts be stirred with fresh possibilities, new beginnings, healing, and direction—for individuals, families, and whole congregations. The anthem that has inspired us for the past few years is especially our prayer now: “Build Your Church!”

Brother Zach and the Wisconsin fellowship have also invited us to visit and spend time in ministry and fellowship, which we plan to do immediately after our time in Minnesota. It’s a gift to have my mother with us on this journey as we travel together as a family. She hasn’t yet had the opportunity to visit the Wisconsin fellowship, and I’ve assured her she’ll be deeply blessed, encouraged, and inspired by the fruit I’ve seen firsthand—their living witness of Jesus’ order, love, and life.

Now, for a bit of a confession: I’ve never been one for RV travel—too many complications and too much risk. But this time, we’re venturing into the unknown with a borrowed bumper-pull trailer that “sleeps”nine of us. 😳 Brother Howard warned me, half-seriously, that it’ll be a miracle if I make it through this trip without calamity. I don’t take that as an insult—or a prophecy—just a kindly reminder to lower my expectations and treat every roadside breakdown as perfectly normal. So far, so good. We survived our first night at Devil’s Den State Park in northern Arkansas without incident. And, hey—if we can make it through the Devil’s Den, what can stop us now?

Our first stop was at Whataburger—for one last Texas cheeseburger before they’re out of reach. We were in and out in under thirty minutes, but the manager came to our table and asked if we were involved in ministry. He told us his parents had been missionaries. He could sense something—what we pray all God’s people would carry and make visible: the fruit of love, grace, and the presence of Jesus shaping our lives, even through our flaws. He shared that he was a youth pastor himself, and we exchanged blessings. A small moment—but a meaningful one. A quiet signal from heaven: “My people are out there. They see. They recognize.”

These little breaks in the clouds—through a letter, a smile, an impromptu conversation at an RV park or Whataburger—are like stitches pulling together the hearts of the Father’s children, reminding us of His grace and goodness.

It’s been a whirlwind season, but even in the storm, the sunshine of God’s word, His love, and the radiant kindness of His people keeps breaking through. Sunday’s service was a perfect example—a strong note to leave on. The unity we experienced through the singing and worship, the spontaneous words of faith from across the congregation, and the tangible nearness of God’s love and joy . . . . That’s what it’s all about. That will always be what it’s about.

Right now, I’m walking through the towering pines of this Arkansas RV park, talking into my phone like a lunatic as I dictate this letter. Then again, these days, talking to a metal box in your hand is just about the most normal thing a human can do. Either way, this is just a touchpoint—a way to reach out, ask for your prayers, and remind you of our love and support as we step into a new season. It will include new opportunities to spread the gospel, the truth, and the hope we all live for.

I just discovered the source of the plaintive violin strains drifting through the air as I write—12-year-old Tina, standing at the riverbank behind our trailer, practicing her violin in the most picturesque spot imaginable. Her mother would be panicked . . . . but I’m not telling. 🙂

Just ten paces away, Aviva is picking out a melody on her accordion—completely unfazed that she and Tina are playing two entirely different tunes.

Meanwhile, Grandmama is pointing in the opposite direction, where I spot eight-year-old Aaron—barefoot and carefree—doing cartwheels down the pavement in front of the trailer. Clearly, their priorities couldn’t be more different.

I’m pausing now to snap a photo of a skunk—yes, an actual skunk—happily eating crumbs under our picnic table.

No one got sprayed . . . .

Later, I found myself out by the hood of my truck, standing in the only square foot of this Arkansas park with cell service, when an armadillo nearly walked straight into me—startling us both. Classic. Thank God Dylan’s not here, or I’d be scrambling for a polite way to back out of an impromptu barbecue with all this wildlife. Snapped a photo—because, otherwise, who’d believe me?

Let me leave you with one hilarious tidbit from a recent family devotional. After the Bible reading, the Scripture memorization, and the usual reminders for the little ones to sit still, our family began to pray—laying requests before the Lord: for ourselves, our loved ones, and our congregation, especially in a time of increased expressions of hatred from some sources. But God, in what I think may be His sense of humor, began answering before we could even finish the petition. Noticing an unusual intensity in three-year-old Ella’s prayer, her mom and older sister Aviva leaned in to catch her words. She was waging war on the devil—rocking back and forth, eyes squinted shut, hands thrust forward with each emphatic point, like a tiny preacher. Ella was praying:

“GOD, KILL THE DEVIL.
KILL THE DEVIL WITH LIONS.
WE NEED TO PUT DIRT IN HIS MOUTH . . . . AND MAKE HIM SWALLOW IT.”

Needless to say, it was hard to keep a straight face—or maintain any solemn focus. But we wrote it down—as a parable and a promise.

So may God multiply His blessings toward you and yours. May His grace prove sufficient, His strength be made perfect in your weakness. And may every mouthpiece of hatred, fear, threat, duress, and stress be silenced—whether by dirt or by grace. I’ll let God decide.

Warmly,

Asi