I traveled to Pakistan in 2019 for an assignment in an area where the gospel had not been preached for centuries. I had spent six months planning for the trip, and our ministry put a six-figure investment into all the preparations. Then I and my team began to get hit. Conflict between Pakistan and India broke out, and flights were cancelled due to the threat of violence. Our venue looked like it was in the middle of a war zone. I also had ongoing health issues, and I kept hearing the enemy’s lies that I wasn’t going to make it—to Pakistan or even to survival. It is hard to describe all the warfare that went on, but I got very discouraged. I felt beaten up.

When all the flights were cancelled, I was told by airlines and travel agencies that there was no way to get to Pakistan. But I still felt I was supposed to go. I knew it was a divine assignment, and I knew that opposition is not a sign of God’s will. When God wants to redirect us, He doesn’t do it by beating us up, depressing us, or empowering our adversaries. I was sure this trip was His will.

I eventually found a creative (and very expensive) way to get there by flying into another country, where I would wait and try to purchase tickets for Pakistan from that airport. But in the days leading up to the trip, and even on the way to the airport, people would ask: “Are you sure you’re supposed to go?” I arrived in the nearby country and waited until a flight opened up, and I was very grateful when it did. I was at least going to get into Pakistan. But a storm followed me into the country. When I landed in Islamabad, I had slept very little in the past four days and was exhausted. As my hosts drove me to the cricket stadium we had rented, our vehicle broke down in the middle of nowhere as rain pounded down on us. We eventually got to the stadium and found that it was flooded. We never got to have that meeting. All of the planning seemed wasted. All of our investment was lost. I was devastated.

My mind was filled with questions. Were all those warnings from other people right? Did I misunderstand God’s direction? Did the enemy thwart a divine purpose, and if so, why was he allowed to do that? I had no explanation for what had happened. I went to my hotel room very discouraged, and the environment didn’t make me feel any better. The room felt like a dungeon—damp, dark, and cold. I was tired and sick. There was so much warfare in these circumstances, much of it swirling around in my mind, that I thought I might die alone in the middle of an unreached area.  

I had seen a mosque next to the hotel when I checked in, and as I lay in my room that night, I thought I saw an imam appear and then disappear. Was it a vision, or was my room being invaded? I thought I was losing my mind. But at some point I remembered the Lamb, and He filled that room with His presence. He reminded me of the time He entered a closed room and imparted peace to His disciples (John 20:19-23). He reassured them by demonstrating His presence, declaring peace, pointing out His provision through the wounds in His hands and side, presenting evidence that He was everything they would ever need, and giving them a purpose: to go out as the Father had sent Him. In other words, to go into the world as lambs among wolves. He promised His presence and power to help them, which filled them with renewed passion.

Presence, peace, provision, proof, power, purpose, and passion.

My encounter with the Lamb did not change the circumstances right away—I still felt tired and sick in a cold, damp room. That cricket stadium with 60,000 seats was still flooded, and my vision for that region seemed dead. But my perspective changed. I heard the Lamb saying, “Whatever you need, Leif, I am.” And I felt His peace. The next day I was invited to a wedding between two people prominent in Pakistan society. I had come out of a spiritual storm and was seeing with new eyes, so I was looking forward to the event. But the physical storm still followed us, and it threatened to blow the huge wedding tent down and ruin the day for this important family. As we arrived at the wedding site, our vehicle was surrounded by people saying “Allahu akbar” (God is great). “The ambassador of love has come, and the rain has stopped!”  

The ambassador of love has come? That was their nickname for me. I have a reputation in that country for being an ambassador of love. And apparently, the rain had stopped just as I arrived. The people were amazed at what had happened. They could still see the storm clouds surrounding the wedding site, but the clouds would not come closer. I knew I could not take credit for that; it was something only God could accomplish. But I realized that by having His peace in the midst of the storm, His presence in me had authority over the storm itself. That miraculous event gave me great favor among the people. When I was asked in an interview how I had even gotten into the country and why I had come, I told them that I had come because I love Pakistan. “If you are getting attacked,” I said with tears in my eyes, “then I need to be attacked too, because we are family.” 

Those words spread very quickly. I met with a governor of Punjab, which led to a meeting with the president. I was invited to speak at a mosque, where I met generals, imams, and other Muslim leaders and talked about love. That meeting was on the news, and about forty to fifty million people saw it. It opened up even greater favor for me in that country. I had been devastated over losing the event that we had spent months planning for, but instead I received a national platform. That crisis turned into an opportunity. My loss of an audience of sixty thousand gave me an audience of fifty million. My peace in the storm became authority over the storm. My brokenness became a breakthrough in the hands of the Lamb.

This blog is an excerpt from The Heart of Roaring Lambs book. Learn more about the book HERE.