A Summer Homecoming to Togo
This summer, our family experienced a trip we had dreamed about for years—a return to my childhood home in Togo, West Africa.
My childhood looked very different from most. I grew up on a Bible school campus in Togo, where my parents served as missionaries. For me, that was normal life. I had the freedom to explore, run wild, and make friends with nearly everyone I encountered. I became an expert at climbing trees, riding my bike through deep sand, and navigating friendships with people from all across West and Central Africa. Many afternoons were spent in the guard shack, chatting with the guards and picking up their tribal language. I thought it was ordinary for people to speak at least three languages—almost everyone I knew did.
This summer, I had the joy of introducing my children to that world. My parents are still serving in Togo, and watching my kids take it all in was priceless. Sixteen years ago, I brought Adam to Togo for the first time, and he immediately fell in love with the people, the culture, and the vibrant life there. But until this summer, I hadn’t returned. Coming back now, I was overwhelmed with gratitude to see how much had changed for the good of the Togolese people and the church.
One of the highlights for me was meeting the professors at the Bible school. Many of them had been bachelor-level students when I was a child. Today, many of them have gone on to earn advanced degrees and are now training the next generation of pastors. I spoke with one professor who shared his journey: he had pastored, planted churches, taught at the Bible school, and even served as the General Superintendent of the Assemblies of God in his country. Yet, he said his greatest joy was training pastors. He stepped away from national leadership to return to teaching, pouring into others who will lead. What a powerful reminder that God continues His mission in West Africa through faithful brothers like him.
We also traveled outside Lomé, the capital, to Kpalimé. I wanted my kids to see “the real Africa,” away from city life. On the way there, we visited the Assemblies of God’s newest prayer center. Just weeks earlier, my dad had helped construct several tabernacles—open-air buildings with roofs but no walls—as well as a new well for clean drinking water. The day we visited, around 5,000 women had gathered for a prayer camp. As we walked through the grounds, children followed us, singing the “yovo” (white person) song I had heard countless times growing up. I couldn’t resist singing along, and their wide-eyed delight made me laugh. Some things never change. Yet standing there, I was also moved to tears, witnessing the growth of the church in Togo and the vibrancy of the believers.
Our family also drove up Mount Agou, the highest peak in Togo, standing 986 meters (3,235 feet) above sea level. The mist was so thick that day we couldn’t see the valleys below, but we had a blast turning it into a movie scene—snapping photos, spotting earthworms, salamanders, and what Sam dubbed “vanillapedes.” At the summit stands the Assemblies of God radio tower, which broadcasts the gospel across Togo and neighboring countries. When I lived in Togo as a child, the station was just beginning. Today, it is one of the most listened-to stations in the region, spreading hope, worship, and encouragement daily.
Now we are back in Spain, where God has called us to serve. Part of my heart will always remain in West Africa—with the friends, pastors, and co-laborers for the gospel—but Spain is where our children are growing up. Someday, they may return here with their own families, to show them their childhood home, just as I did this summer. My prayer is that when they do, they will see a Spanish church that has grown stronger, reaching its own people for Christ, just as the church in Togo is doing so powerfully today.
