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A few times over the past week or so, Joy and I were able to park our RV at state parks for the night, rather than at one of the truck stops, stores, and restaurants that, though more reluctantly than before, still welcome RV travelers for a night. Happily, then, one evening recently found us stopping along the Blackwater River in Florida. Camping is free there; and so, you can imagine the crew that must sometimes gather to spend a night or two along the edge of the river. We saw a dozen or so campers the day that we passed through, a mix of drifters, aging hippies, and professional vacationers. We were there, too.

I mention this because that is where we met a man named Bret, and it has been a long time since I was so affected by an opportunity to speak to someone about the gospel. Bret told me that he is 70 years old. Really, he looks to be only some 60 years, his face full and tanned, but he is also alone. I noticed his car, a black, late-model Jeep, its rear window decorated with national park stickers and crowned on its roof with a single, large paddle board. A bicycle was mounted on the car’s rear hitch. The Jeep was frequently home, which I could tell by the way that it had been modified inside. I suppose that he could sleep there, but only if he reclined the seat and lay just-so.

Bret heard me talk of the gospel for many long minutes. They were comfortable minutes and he listened. He was, I am sure, surprised by the way that it struck him. I could see this on Bret’s face as I spoke, but he also told me so. Why the surprise? I suppose that he had already cordoned off such matters long ago, perhaps because he eventually found it possible to do so. He was a lapsed-Catholic, he said; but now, the uninvited thoughts were all intruding again and he seemed rather astonished by the experience, and Bret was genuinely surprised—but he also remained unbelieving; and that was the part that bothered me. Outside of our wickedness, unbelief doesn’t really make sense, much like when someone drinks half a glass of cold lemonade and leaves the last of if it in the bottom of the cup. Wickedness always refuses goodness, and Bret recognized God’s goodness in what I described to him. And that is why I was so affected as I walked away, sad but also grateful—and that is also a strange combination, because Bret heard the gospel and the Lord is not done dealing with him in the usual but unexpected ways that he deals with all men.

In the end, I left Bret with a few last words, asking him to read the Gospel of John and think about what the resurrection of Jesus Christ means to sinners for the promise of life when we believe. Joy and I drove away from Blackwater River just a few moments later, which I now think of as one of those places where people visit for a day or two because they really don’t fit anywhere else most of the time. Call them what you will—drifters and aging hippies; some of them, at least are no longer able or willing to set up a place in conventional society, but nor are they ready to enter the kingdom of God. If you think of it, please pray for Bret.

* * *

I returned to Nepal in early January. The government there continues to propose a variety of policies that make long-term visas increasingly difficult to obtain for many foreigners. As many of you know, we stay in Nepal on a business visa, but that was set to expire in late January. Normally, that would not be a problem for us, and I had planned to simply renew our visas as we re-entered the country this summer; but policy changes and upcoming elections caused me to reconsider my plans.

My ten days in the country were very hectic, and my interview at the government office punctuated by the secretary’s use of the internet to review our application, cross-referencing it with whatever internet search results he hoped would justify the suspicions that he apparently harbored about our lives in Nepal—which is the reason why we try to keep our names off the internet in connection with missionary work. I had to extend my stay in Nepal one day to finish everything, and even then, I picked my passport and the included visa on my way to the airport as I finally flew out of Kathmandu; but as it is, I have the visa that we need to return to Nepal in the summer, and for that we are thankful.

I will add that, while visiting a government office in Nepal, I met a man named Sabin, who I think will stay in touch with me long enough for us to sit together in the future and talk about the gospel. We got to know one another just a bit, and I was able to introduce spiritual things to him only very superficially, also leaving a tract with him. Still, if you have opportunity, you might pray for Sabin toward whatever future opportunities arise.

Finally, we continue to visit churches and have been encouraged by a variety of people that we meet. By the time many of you read this letter, Joy and I will be headed back into Alabama for another week of meetings there. We are grateful to all of you.

Yours in our Lord Jesus Christ,

Andy Hearn
Missionary in Nepal