Making a Difference in the Congo...

We were nineteen hours into the heart of the Democratic Republic of the Congo – making a difference where a difference is hard to make...  

DR Congo, May of 2025—we had a talented, strong, and skilled team of six, comprised of two women and four men: Ingrid, Klara, Jerry, Justin, Noah, and I. Our ages ranged from 19–75 years old.

Our greatest pre-trip challenge was FEAR. The U.S. State Department’s Travel Advisory was at Level 4, meaning: do not travel there. The Embassy in Kinshasa has been closed since January due to increased security concerns. Our decision to go was a decision made by discernment through prayer. It is sometimes difficult distinguishing God’s voice from the many voices. In the end, He spoke clearly: “GO.”

We had multiple objectives: to see many come to Christ, to train pastors, multiply leaders, increase agricultural opportunity, improve the orphanage facilities, love the children well, encounter meaningful worship, experience spiritual and professional growth, and prepare for future engagement.

The trip was rigorous in travel and in daily challenges. The team responded with faith and courage, making a difference where a difference is hard to make.

We stepped onto Congolese soil carrying more than just tote cases full of supplies, medical kits, and six wheelchairs—we also carried a mission: to serve where others seldom go, and to shine a light where shadows of spiritual darkness have lingered far too long. From the capital, Kinshasa, we crammed into a weathered Land Cruiser, its roof piled high with bags, supplies, and boxes of hope tied down with rope and faith. The Cruiser strained as we left pavement behind and followed a red dirt ribbon of deep rutted road that wound its way toward our destination in the heart of the Congo.

Our journey, after the 27–hour flight, was another 19 hours long (on paper). In reality, time seemed to warp with every bump and jolt. We passed through mist–covered jungles and villages with names that have never appeared on maps, as far as I know. Chickens, dogs, and goats scattered as we continued through these rural villages. Children waved. Elders watched with wary curiosity.

The road grew narrower, pavement ended, and the deep ruts swallowed the tires. At one point, we climbed out into knee–deep dirt and mud, our hands gripping shovels as we dug and pushed the vehicle free. 

By nightfall, we were still hours from our destination—bone sore, and bodies tired. But as we crested one final ridge, flickers of light appeared in the darkness. The village was waiting.

Then, we heard it—drums. Voices. Laughter and singing. Children danced barefoot alongside the vehicle, singing in chorus. Women waved palm branches and men clapped. We were in the middle of a midnight celebration, a spontaneous, sacred parade! The village welcomed us not as strangers, but as family. We wept—no, sobbed. Yes, grown men sobbed.

In the days that followed, we poured our energies into our mission. We taught pastors who gathered around with worn Bibles and open hearts. These were leaders who had built churches out of clay and hope from the Word of God, and cared deeply for their church family who are in constant need. We taught Bible and leadership—but we were humbled by their Biblical insight, and we saw firsthand what true endurance looks like.

At the Haller Orphanage, children ran to us with wide eyes and open arms. They held our hands and sang our songs. The younger children played with toys made from sticks in the dirt, and the older youth raced with fire in their eyes, their bare and calloused feet kicking a worn soccer ball down the rough field, clouding the late afternoon sun with dust.

They listened to stories that brought hope. Their lives told stories no child should have to tell, yet, we still saw hope flickering behind every scar. They were not sad, and they did not cry as victims! They found joy in the simplest of things—one older child caring for a younger child, playing even into the night before getting their bowl of rice in the dimly–lit dining room of the orphanage. They are not victims—they are survivors. 

The medical clinic was small—just a couple of rooms, lit by sun rays through a small window. Our team brought medical supplies, bandages, and medicines. But what we really brought was presence. We stood beside a voluntary Congolese doctor who was visiting and weary nurses whose hearts are challenged as much as their skills in caring the best they can for the children. We prayed over the sick, and reminded the suffering they were not forgotten.

Our Congolese partner, Gary Haller, has accomplished so much in providing food for the children by gardening and raising a few livestock animals. We brought thousands of seeds for planting food and reforestation. Justin and I met with pastors who were requesting help for their churches and various projects for food and livestock. At the end of our discussion, I asked what had been gained that is more valuable than money. They gave good answers such as trust, partnership, fellowship, and creative thinking. They were so right!

A wonderful highlight of our trip was that we had the privilege of attending the wedding of Gary Haller and Martine!

On a rainy Sunday morning, under an open walled, tin roof church, we joined believers in an ecumenical time of worship. No bands, no screens, no sound systems. Just a drum, and joyous voices rising in several languages— Kikongo, French, and English—blending into one sound: GLORY. 

After our shared worship experience, when it came time to leave, the villagers and the children gathered. Tears flowed. We loaded into the back of an ambulance Land Cruiser, shoulder to shoulder again, legs entangled, with heavy but joyous hearts. Nineteen more hours of jolting roads, 13 border patrol crossings staffed by soldiers armed with AK–47’s hanging from their shoulders, followed by a 27–hour flight back home, to where it all began. But nothing would be quite the same. We are not the same. We had stepped into one of the hardest places to make a difference—and by God’s grace and the prayer and support of so many of you, we did. Nineteen hours into the heart of Congo—there we experienced purpose, unity, and the sacred beauty of lives touched by LOVE.

Re–entry to America is a jarring, emotional kind of experience. Our abundance seems so excessive, even surreal at times. We find ourselves caught between two worlds—one of plenty and convenience, and one where every drop of clean water, every bandage, every tool needed is hard to come by, and every opportunity for a better life is often met by jaded hope.

The attempt to explain what we saw, what we felt, what changed us is a struggle. A simple question like, “How was your trip?” seems impossible to answer adequately. There is a quiet grief that follows us—not grief for us, but for the people we left behind in their circumstances for survival. In the silence of this hidden grief, we begin to ask a few different kinds of questions: “How do I live differently now that I’ve seen what most never will?” How does this experience affect my choices, my relationships, my church experience, my view of the “good life?” I ponder the question of how America might change if we all were exposed to a similar experience. I think I know.  

We went to make a difference where a difference is hard to make. We returned realizing that now, by God’s grace, WE are different, and now we are to coming to grips with what that means.

Two days after our return, we met with our Board of Directors who serve our mission partners and our supporters so well. God met us in a special way. One of our board members when praying said, “Help us be obedient, no matter the cost.” That has turned into a personal question for me, “Am I willing to be obedient no matter the cost?” Maybe a good question for us all. 

I want to say THANK YOU to each of you who prayed for us. As I have said, “In these circumstances prayer is not a nicety or a spiritual cliche—it’s a weapon in spiritual warfare necessary for safety and success.” And to those of you who support us financially, please know that each dollar is deeply appreciated, and that 97% of every dollar goes to the mission field for our 17 partners in 11 countries around the globe. This is how a dollar is turned into an act of love and an eternal investment, and this is how together, we can continue to make a difference where a difference is hard to make!

Thank you so very much. We can’t do this without you.

Pastor Gary Crawford

Executive Director

Global Missions 365