The phone call came at nearly 9:00 at night. When I answered, I was caught off guard by a voice full of concern. “Jon! Where were you tonight? Are you okay?” It was Monty. Suddenly, I felt like a kid caught skipping school.

Monty Sholund had been a classmate of Jim Elliot’s at Wheaton College in the late 1940s and had gone on to spend 35 years on the mission field in South Africa and Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of the Congo). When he “retired” and moved back to the United States, he founded Village Schools of the Bible in 1982 “to assist newly converted Christians and older Christians in their growth and maturity in Jesus Christ” and to “help [them] know and apply God’s Word to their lives.”

I was enrolled in one of his classes, a yearlong Bible survey that met one evening each week at our church. Monty required us to complete an assigned reading and a paper for each class, and he made it clear that if we didn’t complete an assignment, we shouldn’t come to class.

That particular week, I hadn’t completed the paper. I don’t remember why. But being a 23-year-old newlywed with no kids and a light responsibility load, the reason wasn’t a good one. And I knew it.

Dose of Firm Encouragement

I’m sure Monty knew it too, though he was kind enough to give me the benefit of the doubt. When my fumbling explanation confirmed that the benefit was unwarranted, he extended me another kindness: a good dose of firm encouragement. “Oh, well, yes,” he said. “If you didn’t complete the assignment, you were right not to come. But honestly, Jon, my impression of you is different. I expect more from you than that. I hope I haven’t been mistaken.”

Now, Monty’s words may not strike you as encouraging. I can tell you that when I hung up the phone, I didn’t feel encouraged. Monty had exposed my negligence and lack of self-control, so I felt exposed and deflated. And rightly so.

“Sometimes, the encouragement we need most is the firm kind.”

The encouragement set in only later, as I reflected on Monty’s words and on the simple fact that he spoke them. I was one of about thirty students in his class, yet he personally sought me out because he wanted me to grow and mature in Jesus Christ; he wanted to apply God’s word to my life. He cared enough about the outcome of my faith to exhort me not to continue falling short — not merely of my potential, but of the glory of God (Romans 3:23) — by squandering the precious time God gave me.

Monty’s call that night pushed me to do some needed self-examination and soul-searching. He was right: I wasn’t heeding the command to make the best use of my time (Ephesians 5:16). Seeing this more clearly encouraged me to exercise greater diligence, not only in my assignments, but in my responsibilities in general.

Taken by the Shoulders

We all need regular doses of encouragement because we all face regular battles with discouraging weaknesses and fears. Of course, we all prefer the more tender kinds of encouragement, like being affirmed when we do something well or receiving sympathetic consolation when we’re suffering.

But sometimes, the encouragement we need most is the firm kind — the kind that confronts a harmful blind spot of weakness or a sinful form of unbelief that has a controlling grip on us. In such cases, we don’t need to be affirmed or consoled. We need to be exhorted to “lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, [so we can] run with endurance the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1).

This is what makes an exhortation a form of encouragement, though it’s not so much a shoulder to cry on as being taken by the shoulders and given a firm appeal to exercise faith-filled courage. Some exhortations cause us to feel our courage rise right away. But others don’t, especially if they contain elements of reproof or rebuke (2 Timothy 4:2), like the one Monty gave me. But when given in love by someone who really cares about the outcome of our faith, an exhortation is a priceless gift.

Priceless Gift of Perseverance

That’s why we Christians are commanded to exhort one another, as the author of Hebrews makes clear:

Take care, brothers, lest there be in any of you an evil, unbelieving heart, leading you to fall away from the living God. But exhort one another every day, as long as it is called “today,” that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin. (Hebrews 3:12–13)

“When given in love by someone who really cares about the outcome of our faith, an exhortation is a priceless gift.”

The way this text is worded tells us that exhortations are not always pleasant. Being exhorted to avoid or stop indulging in heart-hardening sin might not feel immediately encouraging. But the reason exhortations are priceless gifts is because of the fruit they bear in our lives, if we’re humble enough to heed them. If received faithfully, they become means of grace that help us persevere in the faith — grace-gifts from God himself, delivered through our loving brothers or sisters. Which is why, later in his letter, the author of Hebrews reminds us of Proverbs 3:11–12:

My son, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord,     nor be weary when reproved by him.For the Lord disciplines the one he loves,     and chastises every son whom he receives. (Hebrews 12:5–6)

Every disciple requires discipline. And though “for the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, . . . later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it” (Hebrews 12:11).

Courage to Exhort

Giving the firm encouragement of an exhortation requires courage. And often, the more personal the exhortation, the more courage it requires. I’ve typically found it easier to issue a general exhortation to a group than to exhort a friend face-to-face (or voice-to-voice, as Monty did with me).

Once, having observed one of my oldest and dearest friends taking steps that I believed would lead him deeper into a sinful pattern, I knew I had to say something. So, I arranged to meet him for dinner. But as I faced him across the restaurant table, I remembered the strong internal resistance. If I said what I wanted to say, it might mark the end of our friendship. But I loved him. So, taking a deep breath, I spoke words that were hard for me to say and hard for him to hear. At first, he was indignant and defensive. But thankfully, as we talked, he heard my words in the context of my love and took them to heart. Later, he told me how grateful he was for that pivotal conversation, because it encouraged him to change course.

It takes courage to offer the kind of firm encouragement that exposes another’s weakness to sin. But “better is open rebuke than hidden love,” for “faithful are the wounds of a friend” (Proverbs 27:5–6). And in the case of my friend, the proverb proved true: “Whoever rebukes a man will afterward find more favor than he who flatters with his tongue” (Proverbs 28:23).

Model of Encouragement

Monty Sholund passed away in the spring of 2007, “an old man and full of years” (Genesis 25:8), having spent his life faithfully in service to Christ. His eulogy stated that he “was always a great encourager.” As one whose friendship with him extended long past that Bible-survey class, I find that statement to be very accurate. He was one of the most lavish encouragers I’ve ever met. And his encouragement was always sincere, never flattery.

But Monty was a model of full-orbed encouragement in the biblical sense. His encouragement always aimed at helping saints grow and mature in Jesus Christ. So, he was lovingly generous with affirming and consoling encouragement, and he was lovingly courageous with firm and exhorting encouragement — the latter proving the credibility of the former.

So, as I remember this loving leader and “consider the outcome of [his] way of life,” it makes me want to “imitate [his] faith” (Hebrews 13:7). I want to be more like him. And I bless his memory.

I haven’t yet been through midlife, but now I seem to be at it. Or at least approaching it, depending on how you define midlife. Some get as specific, and early, as age 41.5; others define midlife as a broad range beginning around 45, and even dragging on as late as 65.

Standing here at age 41, and looking around, I can imagine — without even considering what physiological and neurological components might be involved — why this juncture in a man’s life can be difficult.

Swirl of Complex Factors

John Piper has written about the tumults he faced at midlife, a “season [that] lasted several years,” and was most acutely confusing and difficult in his forty-first year. Writing more than thirty years later, he says, “That was a very hard season of life, and the record of it in my journals is to this day painful to read.” (For those who would like to chase that trail, Piper published some excerpts in the article “Walk with Me Through a Midlife Crisis.”)

His journal entries include self-descriptions like irritable and unlikable, and phrases like “felt like lead,” “could hardly converse,” “wanted to cry again and again,” “my emotions were dead,” “on adrenaline all day Sunday,” “incredibly cranky and so discouraged,” “so blank,” “so blind to the future,” and again “so discouraged.” He says at one point that “it seems that yesterday’s near collapse is the outcry of my body for some relief.” And perhaps most striking of all to me as a pastor is this: “I must preach on Sunday, and I can scarcely lift my head.”

In sum, Piper captures midlife as “a critical stage in life when physical changes, marital stresses, children’s challenges, vocational aspirations, and the burdens of success (or failure) create the conditions for meltdown. This perilous confluence of forces leads to a shuttering reassessment of life and the desire to be somewhere else.”

Facing Finitude and Failures

One definition of “midlife crisis” centers on a man’s growing awareness of his finitude and his failures: “a psychological crisis brought about by events that highlight a person’s growing age, inevitable mortality, and possibly lack of accomplishments in life.” One dear friend of mine, who has made it far past 41.5, and is now closing in on 60, said to me recently about his journey through midlife,

The reality of your limitations (on most fronts) become clearer. We are often forced to face who we really are instead of who we imagine we’ll be someday. Midlife is a phase where one’s psychology (in terms of self-understanding) has an opportunity to grow into one’s theology. For it’s a phase when one’s functional theology is tested by the reality of mortality.

With the ring of wisdom, that presents midlife not only as a trial to be endured, but an opportunity for Christian maturity — “to grow into one’s theology.” With that in mind, I came across Proverbs 16:1–9 recently and found that this unit of ancient wisdom speaks to an aspect of the phenomenon that I’m hoping to steady myself for. Consider at least five layers it might offer to men approaching, or in, midlife trials.

1. Our actual life is ‘from the Lord.’

The plans of the heart belong to man, but the answer of the tongue is from the Lord. (Proverbs 16:1)

I suspect one conscious reason midlife can be tough is the stubborn, immovable realities of life. As young men, two decades ago, so many doors seemed open; the possibilities seemed endless. It was easy to dream, and even expect we might live out some, if not all, of those dreams.

“Rarely, if ever, do our actual lives live up to the grandeur of the great hopes we’re prone to generate in our youth.”

But midlife brings a bracing reality check. Far fewer doors are now open. Many of our secret and spoken dreams and aspirations now seem unrealistic, or impossible. What might be has crashed on the rocks of what is. Somehow it got real in the last two decades, and perhaps it took us a while to realize it. Then it dawned on us almost all at once.

Rarely, if ever, do our actual lives live up to the grandeur of the great hopes we’re prone to generate in our youth. Our youthful plans are one thing. Then, in time, comes the “answer of the tongue.” That is, what really emerges and is manifest in our lives in the years that follow, to midlife and beyond, is “from the Lord.”

2. His plans include our ‘days of trouble.’

The Lord has made everything for its purpose, even the wicked for the day of trouble. (Proverbs 16:4)

The midlife disappointments we may feel, with ourselves and others and our circumstances, are no sign that God is distant and has lost control. In fact, just the opposite. He has his purposes for his sons in precisely those failures and letdowns and pains. Our “days of trouble,” however external or internal the obstacles, and however past or present — and the ones sure to come in the future — are lovingly sifted through his fingers for the deeper joy and final good of his sons. He has planned all our days. Even the worst ones. Especially the worst ones. And the days beyond them.

3. God matures us through humbling.

Everyone who is arrogant in heart is an abomination to the Lord; be assured, he will not go unpunished. (Proverbs 16:5)

One purpose God accomplishes, among others, in our midlife disappointments is our humbling. He is, and has been, purging our hearts from the arrogance of youth and unholy ambition. How much of our youthful sky’s-the-limit wishes were not simply natural but proud? How much, in arrogance, did we presume health, wealth, and prosperity, on our terms? One of God’s great works in moving men from naive youth to mature manhood is the great humblings leading up to, and in, midlife. He moves, with severe mercy, against the arrogance of our youth.

We’ve had our dreams, and made our plans, as we should, but God’s plan is definitive, and humbling. “One can strategize about the future, to be sure,” comments Tremper Longman on Proverbs 16, “but this wise observation would lead one to acknowledge that the future can only be determined by God. Such recognition would engender a proper humility and open one up to changes” (Proverbs, 327). How often does the hard, painful midlife crash against the rocks of reality serve to “open us up to changes” of God’s leading that we’ve been long, subconsciously resisting?

4. Christ has atoned for sin.

By steadfast love and faithfulness iniquity is atoned for, and by the fear of the Lord one turns away from evil. (Proverbs 16:6)

Midlife brings awareness not only of compounding frustrations, or how we’ve been hurt or deterred by other’s sins, but also of our own iniquity. We are sinners. Midlife “crisis,” however profound it might feel, has not yet plumbed the depths if there is no awareness of our own sin — sin that does not just disappear or go away with avoidance but needs to be addressed and forgiven.

Perhaps midlife brings new awareness of bad choices and wasted time. This “crisis” is an opportunity to acknowledge that and own it, in the full confidence that God, in Christ, has made full provision for our sin. And by his Spirit, change is possible. We can pivot. Even if none of the presenting complexities seems to involve our own sin, how liberating to know that in Christ our “iniquity is atoned for,” and can fearlessly be mined for, found, and confessed, leading to our turning away from evil.

5. Our ‘lesser’ can be his ‘better.’

Better is a little with righteousness than great revenues with injustice. The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps. (Proverbs 16:8–9)

To the degree we’re mourning something, or many things, that seem to be lesser in our life than we dreamed in our youth, it might be good to consider how lesser, in God’s economy, often amounts to better.

“Midlife confronts us with the limits, and errors, of our own all-too-human ways of reckoning.”

Midlife confronts us with the limits, and errors, of our own all-too-human ways of reckoning. What we have, at our seeming halfway point, may seem like so little compared to the “great revenues” we hoped. But what soul-destroying revenues might we have been spared? And how upside down might our instinctive evaluations be, without learning something of God’s vantage? And what might we, and others, discover to be true when our Father issues the last word?

Proverbs 16:9 not only echoes Proverbs 16:1, but also sums up Proverbs 16:1–8 under the banner that Derek Kidner captures as “God has not merely the last word but the soundest” (Proverbs, 119). Yes, look to him now, by faith and in patience, for his last word, and soundest word, that is coming as you endure.

Able and Faithful

Humbling ourselves, at midlife, under God’s mighty hand brings no promise of immediate relief. From beginning to end, the Scriptures promise real rescue — and exaltation — to the one who genuinely humbles himself. But when? Peter says “at the proper time” — that is, on God’s perfect timetable, not ours.

Some may see only a few discouraging days; others may struggle under debilitating weights for months, or longer. Yet all are invited, one day at a time, to roll those burdens onto the broad, omnipotent shoulders of our God, “casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7).

However long, however discouraging, however debilitating the season, in Christ our heavenly Father cares, and until the sun rises again, and the air is fresh again, and our burdens are light again, and beyond, he is able to keep us. Perhaps midlife will be the time when the power of Jude’s doxology really begins to hit home:

Now to him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you blameless before the presence of his glory with great joy . . . (Jude 24)

God is faithful — faithful to his Son, and to his sons. He will not let us be burdened beyond what we can bear but will help us endure (1 Corinthians 10:13). He is able to “make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times,” even in this season, you may not only endure, but “abound in every good work” (2 Corinthians 9:8).

I waited in the cavernous student center at King Saud University in Riyad, Saudi Arabia. I pondered my surroundings as the bright Middle Eastern sun streamed from high skylights in the massive hall. Apart from some South Asian workers cleaning tables and floors, the hall stood empty and quiet; the only sounds came from the distant echoes of metal tables and chairs on polished white marble floors. The workers did their job well; I could have eaten off that floor.

Weirdly, I sat between Kentucky Fried Chicken and Pizza Hut counters in the food court. Then the afternoon Dhuhr prayers finished, and hundreds of students and faculty streamed into the hall, all dressed alike in flowing white dishdashas and red checkered head coverings called ghutras. I stood out in my suit like a crow among a flock of swans. I felt alone, out of place, and useless. But then a student glided his way to my table and politely asked if he could sit down. He held a tray with a slice of pizza on it.

“Sure!” I said. We exchanged greetings for a few minutes, and then I asked him why his English was so good.

He leaned forward and said, with a conspiratorial whisper, “I watch all the American movies.” He smiled.

Ah, I thought to myself, a rebel. I smiled back.

“There was one movie I watched that I would like to ask you about,” he said.

“Of course — which one?”

“It was called The Passion of the Christ. What was that about?”

And there it was — my opportunity for the gospel. God had gone before me.

God Before Us

I am reminded of a saying an older missionary told me about his time on the field. Never, in all his years of service, had he gone to a place and discovered that he got there before the Holy Spirit.

Not to belabor the obvious, but he spoke of God’s omnipresence tongue-in-cheek. Perhaps he sensed that I had forgotten this simple but wonderful truth, a truth many workers on the field can forget: God is with us and goes before us, even before we get there.

You don’t have to go to the mission field to understand this truth. We all know the experience. The sermon is preached as if precisely for you. Or suddenly, just when you screw up your courage to speak to a neighbor about the gospel, he tells you he’s been thinking about spiritual things lately.

We all need to count on God’s presence with us, especially in places particularly resistant to the gospel, the “gospel deserts” of the world. But we can easily forget God’s presence on the mission field. That’s why Jesus tells us in his Great Commission not just to go, not just to make disciples, and not just to teach them everything he taught, but also that he will be with us always, “to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:19–20).

‘I Will Be with You’

Perhaps we tend to take God’s promise of presence for granted. But such a promise is precious and rare compared to other faiths.

In the Bible’s first book, God promises his presence when he tells Isaac, “Sojourn in this land, and I will be with you” (Genesis 26:3). Later, Moses gave solid and pragmatic objections to God’s absurd idea that he was to return to Egypt and confront Pharaoh. Yet God’s great promise made all the difference: “I will be with you” (Exodus 3:12). Not long after, Moses and the people would consider it a “disastrous word” when God threatened to remove his presence (Exodus 33:3–4).

King David asks the rhetorical question in Psalm 139:7, “Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence?” David knew that God is everywhere in time and space. And then we remember the great promises of Isaiah 8, quoted in Matthew 1:23: “‘Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel’ (which means, God with us).”

So, what are some take-home lessons from God’s promised omnipresence for those on the field? Consider three qualities this truth cultivates in us: humility, patience with perseverance, and boldness.

1. Humility

First, the offer of God’s presence is a call for humility that slays self-sufficiency. Self-sufficiency is a Holy Spirit quencher. Our efforts, skills, or methods in missions do not ultimately bring the gospel to people. Of course, God uses effort, skills, and methods, but when we chase after those means as if they were ends, they easily become idolatrous replacements for a humble dependence on God.

One litmus test of self-reliance is prayerlessness. Check yourself on this. Those who have not been on the field full-time may struggle to imagine that a missionary would struggle with prayer — but believe me, faced with the tsunami of difficulties that come with cross-cultural living, prayer can easily fall to the wayside.

Do not neglect your prayer life. “Pray without ceasing,” as Paul says in 1 Thessalonians 5:17. Live constantly aware of the presence of Jesus, which brings true reliance on him that kills self-sufficiency.

2. Patient Perseverance

Second, when you don’t see progress or fruit, have patience and persevere. Patience is part of the fruit of the Spirit and vital for our hope when we can’t see traction in the work (Galatians 5:22–23).

Missionaries, by nature, are doers; just going to the field requires some chutzpah, which is a good thing. Yet such an impulse can easily become a desire to manufacture results. If the litmus test for pride is prayerlessness, the litmus test for an impatient heart is drivenness that manufactures human results instead of waiting on God’s timing. Manufactured human results are a scourge on modern missions. The desire for quick results and impact (and, frankly, a desire to justify our work) can trump the patient hand-to-the-plow work Jesus calls for (Luke 9:62). Our best method is methodical, faithful, long-term work. We need to live in the GMT time zone: God’s Methodical Time.

Our team labored in the Arabian Peninsula for seven years without seeing much fruit. But the next seven years were some of the most fruitful I’ve had in ministry. Sometimes, it just takes time. (I need to add, however, that patience is not the same as coasting. The call to patient perseverance is not a call to inactivity.)

We didn’t go to the Arabian Peninsula for church planting or church reform, but as we labored hard to establish student fellowships, we saw the need for healthy churches and decided to focus on church revitalization. The result was an outpouring of church plants and church reform. Now, in hindsight, we see that the resulting student work needed those churches to receive the young people who later came to faith. That was God’s timing for us.

3. Boldness

Finally, remain expectant with ready boldness. The promise of God’s presence gives us confidence and courage in our steps for him.

We read in Acts 18:9–11,

The Lord said to Paul one night in a vision, “Do not be afraid, but go on speaking and do not be silent, for I am with you, and no one will attack you to harm you, for I have many in this city who are my people.” And he stayed a year and six months, teaching the word of God among them.

After being badly treated in Corinth, Paul had good reasons to bail, but God promised his presence and called Paul to be unafraid. We too must be ready to speak the truth of the gospel, trusting that God has many more who are his people.

If the litmus test of self-sufficiency is prayerlessness, and the litmus test of impatience is fleshly drivenness, the litmus test for fear is silence in the face of opportunity. Biblical boldness does not mean shouting or being obnoxious. Boldness means putting our fears aside and speaking up.

Ready to Speak

I sat in my Maasai friend’s house in the small town of Ngong, Kenya. My friend’s name was Kishoyian. One evening, when he went to run some errands and left me alone, someone knocked on the door. “Hodi? Kishoyian?” the person on the other side said. “Karibu,” I answered (“Welcome”), and I opened the door. A friend of Kishoyian’s traveling through town needed a place for the night. Surprised that a white guy had opened the door, he looked at the house next door, thinking he was in the wrong place.

“Kishoyian’s not here, but he will return soon,” I said.

I had been in Africa long enough to know this was common. And I knew the drill. Later, a mattress would be produced and rolled out on the concrete floor. After breakfast the next morning, the friend would be gone.

We sat together on a couch. After serving him some chai, I faced a decision. We could just chat, or we could watch Kenyan news on Kishoyian’s small TV, or I could ask questions to find out if he was a believer.

Eventually, I asked, “Are you a follower of Jesus?”

“No,” he told me, but then he added that, lately, he felt he should become a follower of Jesus.

“Really? I would love to help you with that,” I said, thrilled with this divine encounter.

I walked him through the gospel; I made sure he understood. It seemed that he genuinely believed. We prayed together. Then Kishoyian arrived home and found us talking on the couch. This friend told Kishoyian that he was now a Christian. Kishoyian took his hands, looked at him with shining eyes, and said, “Oh, my friend, I have longed for this day for so many years.”

The next day, Kishoyian told me, to my amazement, that the man lived hard-hearted to the gospel for years despite Kishoyian’s best efforts. Kishoyian despaired that this man would ever come to faith.

Of course, it was a privilege to see this man believe in Jesus, but I was also amazed at how God had gone before me, preparing the way and placing me in exactly the right spot with the right words. The moment had nothing to do with me. God had gone before me, and all I needed to do was be ready to speak the truth of Jesus.