Author: Ekko Church

“I wouldn’t say I was bullied, but people would say mean things about me or spread rumors,” she begins as she twists her gold, beaded ring around her index finger. “I just always had that feeling of being excluded or being on the outside.”

In high school, Eunice would operate with her guard up. “I had to protect myself because no one else would,” she explains.

“I would even try to make friends at church, but it just wouldn’t work out,” her eyes deepen, “So I just gave up. It hurt too much. It was a really dark time in my life.” She looks up.

“I didn’t go to church for about five years, because I was so afraid of getting hurt again.”

Her cheeks soften as she folds a tissue within her hands.

About a year and a half ago, Eunice decided to join her sister, Jane, and visit Ekko for the first time. But as her sister pulled into the parking spot the first day, Eunice’s breathing became strained and difficult. She started to exhibit signs of an anxiety attack. “Eunice! Calm down, they’re not going to eat you!” her sister said in efforts to placate her. “They might!” Eunice cried.

For many years, church had been a source of deep pain and rejection, a place where her fears were often played out. “I was so scared,” she says thinking back on her early days at Ekko. “I’d often cry myself to sleep. I didn’t want to do it all over again.”

But every week after the first, she made the attempt to go with her sister. “It was hard, and if I’m being honest, I’m still nervous at times,” she nods, “But I was meeting new people. And everyone was so welcoming.”

“It was a fresh start.”

Eunice is soft-spoken and timid and every so often beams a smile that takes over her face. When you encounter her, it’s hard to imagine her with a painful past; she is unanxious and gentle, generous and empathetic. And when she begins to talk about the grandmas and grandpas at the elderly home she regularly visits, her voice becomes spirited and enthusiastic.

“They make me laugh so much. They make me cry,” she giggles. “I’m just so thankful for them.”

At around the same time she started to come to Ekko and belong to her new community, Eunice was discovering her heart for the elderly. What began as an internship while she was studying rehabilitation services, started to blossom into a passion.

When Eunice walks into the room where the elderly residents spend hours in between meals, it’s like watching the sunlight paint the walls yellow. Knowing each resident by name, she goes around touching each withered hand and kneeling down to each resident to say hello. She sees each and every one of them — even the grumpy, difficult and weepy ones who stay in the corners.

She reminds them that they are not written off or forgotten — not left to fade away in these last years of life.

That they are worth spending time with.

That they are cherished.

And that they are known.

Even in the days leading up to her visits, Eunice spends hours preparing and purchasing supplies for crafts that will help facilitate movement, creativity and mental stimulation. Though many of the residents have a difficult time holding paintbrushes or even understanding what’s going on, she patiently sits with each individual, carefully guiding each brushstroke and celebrating each little victory.

Whether she is providing birdhouses to paint for the residents, setting up a game of bowling or singing songs and encouraging others to dance, she invites everyone to participate. And if it’s difficult for a particular individual, she’ll improvise to ensure they can be a part of the group activity. Here, sheltered between beige walls amid wheelchairs and strollers, no one is left out.

Everyone belongs.

“I know that they are in the last stages of their life.” Eunice says, “I want to make them as happy as possible, even if they don’t remember me. I’m okay with being a new person every day to them. I just want to do whatever it takes to put a smile on their face.”

Because of Eunice’s joy and love for the elderly, her Ekklesia—her regional home group—began to join her on her visits as their local missional outlet every week.

“Eunice came alive whenever she talked about her interactions with the elderly at the home, and it was honestly quite contagious. Her passion burned and lit everyone else on fire. We didn’t really expect it, but week after week, our Ekklesia members kept coming out to support her.”

— Kevin and Janet Duh, Chino Hills Ekklesia Leaders

When her Ekklesia began to follow her to the elderly home, Eunice felt tremendous gratitude and belonging. And as she and her Ekklesia developed a rhythm of loving and serving the elderly, people at the church began to take notice and affirm her. “I was so shocked. I didn’t even know they saw me. I didn’t even know they knew my name,” she says, shaking her head. 

Though the pain of her own rejection and exclusion cut deep and threatened to derail her life for many years, God has met her here and traded her pain for a wealth of compassion and empathy. Through the redemption of her pain, Eunice is uniquely attuned to the hurts of those around her and embodies a welcoming and gracious presence. And as she sits with the elderly— those often forgotten in our communities—she sits with them. She laughs with them. She cries with them.  

Through her story, God has started to grow in her a vision for the invisible, the voiceless, those left behind or left out.

“I am still healing. And after going to Ekko and the elderly home, I opened up a lot. He has softened my heart,” she says with a bright smile. “I am learning that God hears our cries and doesn’t leave us oppressed.”

To read more about Ekko’s journey with elder care, you can read Pastor Bryan’s blog post here.

When Jessica saw Brian’s name on her caller ID, she knew something was wrong; he would only call during this time of day if there was an emergency.

She answered and carefully sifted through Brian’s words. “You have to pick me up,” his voice was nervous and slow. “I’ve been released,” he explained, “I have to return to the station.” Jessica sat in the quiet processing the weight of the situation, feeling her heart being pulled down into her stomach.

“We had mentally and financially prepared for months in advance of the police academy, but we weren’t prepared for this. We didn’t expect his sponsorship to be pulled.”

After nine years of serving at a local police department as a police service officer, Brian was finally accepted into the police academy as one of their recruits. With the good news, their family pivoted; Jessica, who was a school counselor at the time, had not gotten her contract renewed and decided it was an organic time to pause her career to stay home with the kids. Things fell into alignment for Brian to enter into the rigorous six-month program: the sponsorship covered his salary, his academy fees, and provided the required equipment.

But just shy of his fifth week at the academy, Brian was released by his sponsors without an explanation, other than the implication that the department he had spent nearly a decade serving didn’t think he was worth investing in anymore. Just like that, they no longer had a source of income and they had to return all of his equipment and uniforms. Crushed and dejected, Brian and Jessica faced a difficult decision: Does he keep going and self-sponsor—meaning, handle all the costs that go into the academy, pay out of pocket for all the other expenses, and go without a salary for half a year? Or should they wait and hope he gets picked up by another agency, which wasn’t guaranteed and would require all the background checks, paperwork, and hiring process that would push back their plans back another six to twelve months without pay.

“I wanted him to come to the decision on his own. I knew what I wanted in this situation, but I held my tongue and waited.”

Over the course of a day, Brian’s mentality shifted. His prayers went from: “God, why did You put me into this, if You were just going to take it away?” to: “Even if I don’t make it, God, I have to try.”

That night, Brian decided he would return as a self-sponsor.

Jessica, untethered by work, helped Brian jump through all the hurdles of paperwork, purchased all of his required uniforms, and gathered all the necessary equipment and forms. Her unemployment was a blessing in disguise, as she was able to utilize every minute of her day interceding and supporting her husband, taking care of their two young children, and cleaning and ironing his uniform to the required standard for each day.

When Brian returned to the academy after being let go by his sponsors, something shifted in the atmosphere. Officers and staff were shocked to see him return. Though the change in attitude didn’t make it any easier, most of his fellow recruits—and even the tactical staff—were awestruck by his heart and faithfulness to return despite the circumstances.

Others thought it was nonsensical. Not only was he not going to be paid, but they knew Jessica wasn’t working at the time either.

The police academy tested the recruits’ physical, mental, and emotional ability, while the tactical staff’s main objective was to get individuals to quit. “They try to weed out almost half the recruits,” Brian explains. While Brian was being pressed beyond his limits in physical demands, stringent structure, and mental games, he would hear, “Why are you here? You’re not good enough. You’re a waste of time!” shouted into his ears on a daily basis.

Still, when faced with rejection and uncertainty, Brian knew that God had called him here, and no matter what doors closed or pathway obliterated, he needed to be faithful to the call.

“I needed to give it my all, even if I wasn’t sure I was going to make it,” Brian says. His voice is resolute and calm, his eyes soft, yet determined.  

Looking at Olivia and Evan across the table, he goes on, “I wanted my kids to know that dad tried his best. That dad never gave up.” Jessica wipes a tear from rolling down her cheek. Olivia and Evan, aged six and five respectively, keep their eyes fixed on the workbooks before them, seemingly unaware of the hardships their dad and mom has endured for them.

The unseen and unheard sacrifices, the desperate prayers, silent tears, and poured sweat.   

As Brian was broken physically, mentally, emotionally, God showed up through their Ekklesia, Ekko’s regional home groups. Ekko members banded around and covered them each day, providing daily prayers and messages of encouragement. They helped carry Brian and Jessica’s burdened spirits from each moment to the next.

“From the minute I got up, to the minute my head hit the pillow at night, God’s grace was just enough for that day. In the moments I thought I was going to collapse, when I couldn’t go on any longer, I would get a notification on my phone with a verse or a prayer that was exactly what I needed.”

In the crosshairs of hardship and daily mistreatment from the tactical staff, teetering on the edge of not passing the necessary and grueling physical tests, Brian still found himself steeped in gratitude, praying, “God, thank you for this week.” And as Jessica watched her husband pore over books late into the night after coming through the door with his body sore and broken, how he remained gentle and patient toward her and their children, her respect deepened for him. “There is a reason,” she prayed over and over when the days were long. With no steady income and two young children, each day lurched with uncertainty, and as a self-sponsor, the time and financial investment chipped away at their comfort and security.

God was refining their faith and redefining community on His terms.

“Before this season, I always knew that God was faithful and that He would provide. It’s so easy to have faith in your head, “ Jessica says, “But this time it was tested. It wasn’t just head knowledge anymore. It was becoming real.” Tears begin to gather in her eyes. Even still, on the harder days, she would cry out and minister to herself, “Why do you still doubt God?”

As they endured through the season, worship reverberated from a well of gratitude.

“Each word in the Bible, each song during worship came alive in my spirit. We were completely living in faith.”

“I don’t recognize him,” Jessica smiles as she studies Brian’s face. Though they’ve been together for more than 22 years, this season has refined his character and revealed his true heart. The ways in which Brian and Jessica clung to God, how they endured, how they were obedient to God’s call, were so apparent, they inspired others in his class. At the academy graduation ceremony, loved ones came up to them and gave them hugs.

“They wanted to acknowledge his heart that never gave up,” Jessica says proudly. “They had heard so much about him and our family.” 

As they look back on the experience, when asked whether there’s still anxiety after making it through the academy, Jessica responds, “We don’t know what department he’ll end up in. And if anything, the academy was just the beginning. Soon he’ll be on the streets patrolling, and I’ll be praying each day that God brings him back home to us safely.”

“There’s still so much uncertainty. We still need God every moment of the day,” Brian continues. “But now, we’ve experienced what it means when God says He is faithful. That He is good.”

It’s been almost three months since we sat down with Brian and Jessica, and Brian has officially signed the paperwork to join the police department at a local university.

If you’d like to learn more or sign up for our Ekklesia home groups, our regional gatherings, you can click here.

Esther wears a genuine smile and carries a rootedness that appears to co-exist in contrast to the experiences she tells me of: the daily rejection and years of failure. With her backpack perched on her small frame, she looks like she could be a student herself, but from across the table, with her hands cupped around her drink, she exudes a steadfastness that is timeless.

When she was growing up, Esther didn’t envision herself as an on-campus missionary, chasing after distracted college students and ministering to them. During her own college years, she had been on track to be a medical professional. “More specifically, I wanted to be a healer,” she says. “But my heart for college students began to grow as I experienced Jesus as a healer for myself.” Esther found a passion germinating for the students she encountered at the clinics she volunteered at. As she learned about their lives—their struggles, their dreams—she found herself trying to figure out how to journey with and minister to them.

As a dedicated UCLA InterVarsity member, Esther began to pray about positions in campus ministry as she prepared for graduation. God answered her by closing doors to urban student ministries all around Los Angeles. “When the option came to intern at the InterVarsity Irvine chapter, I went kicking and screaming,” she grins. God was asking her to trade her service in the gritty streets of LA for the pristine, manicured grasses of a luxurious Orange County suburb. “Sometimes following Jesus doesn’t always look a certain way,” she says.

And so she went.

In her first several years as a team leader for Irvine’s InterVarsity chapter, Esther’s ministry was in stasis. Only three students joined in two years. The students she felt called to serve dragged their feet in reaching out to others.

The ministry had become narrow-minded.

Fellowship became uninviting and stale.

There was a scarcity of leaders.

Even after many years of preparation, prayer, and affirmation, the very thing that God seemed to have prepared for her was withering in her hands.

“It was like trying to ignite damp logs,” she says, recollecting those years.

Fear began to fester. “You are failing,” it whispered as she approached students on campus. “Nothing will ignite here,” it breathed over her as she ministered to the students on UC Irvine’s campus. Disappointment and rejection met her at each corner, classroom, and cafe.

“Finally, at a meeting I encouraged the students to go to a different on-campus ministry, and everyone left. Only five stayed.”

At the same time her ministry was fading, Esther began to attend Ekko at the recommendation of a friend. Esther had just started at UC Irvine and had no other roots in Orange County. Ekko became a place of solace, a place where she was encouraged—and oftentimes forced—to take off her ministry hat. From the beginning, Pastor Bryan told her, “Come here to rest.”

When people at church asked her how she was doing, her reaction was to respond with a more palatable report on how her ministry was doing or how many people she had helped lead to Christ that week. Her instinct was to reassure them that she was still relevant through the work that she was doing on campus. “It was hard. It felt like ministry identified me.” But when leaders and editing friends pressed deeper, asking her again, “How are you doing?” over and over, the body encouraged her to peel off the armor she carried on her shoulders. The church affirmed to her she was loved for who she was and not for what she could or could not produce.

“It wasn’t about what I did or accomplished,” Esther continues. “I was seen for me.”

Photos by: Michelle J. Kim

“When people think about ministry, they have a certain definition of success,” Esther explains. The temptation is to measure success through the number of people you bring to Christ or how many ministries or groups you’ve led. But Ekko helped Esther change her perspective.

“What if it isn’t the conversion that marks success? What if we could love someone so well that they could see Jesus through us?”

The church taught Esther how to defy the principles that tell us otherwise; this life, this mission, it’s not just for us—it’s for everyone.

Some things can only be learned in the wilderness, only in the face of our greatest fears. Esther learned of God’s unconditional love and acceptance through community by being in a position where she could not boast in her own calling or success. Through the experience of a dissipating ministry, of failing at what God had given her, of struggling in what she felt created to do, Esther learned that she is loved for who she is and not what she constructs or contributes. And in the process, she became a burning ember that could not be snuffed out.

While Ekko expanded, so did her chapter at UC Irvine. Ekko’s rhythms shaped her, and in turn, her ministry grew—as separate entities but in parallel. The five students who stayed the night she encouraged her students to leave would graduate and become leaders at Ekko. Over the course of eight years, her ministry began to thrive and grow to cover UC Irvine and Orange Coast College (OCC). She would walk countless students to Jesus’ feet, leading many to a relationship with Him.

Despite the failures and heartache that came with frequent denials and campus apathy, Esther partnered in God’s dream for her and the body to love the students in her sphere. Over the years, her heart learned to break for the students He loves so dearly: The students who seem to have it all figured out, those who grew up in safe neighborhoods and with food on their lips.

“People who appear perfectly put together need God.”

With every “no” she pivoted, and she tested new ways to connect with people and students. She walked with people to class, she listened carefully, she played games… she even summoned the courage to learn slang.

“There is a unique opportunity on campus. The field is your mission. The harvest is plentiful—Jesus is right. We need to ask God to open our eyes…” she adds. “We don’t know if people are hurting. But think of when God met us. Just as we have a perception we try to upkeep, others are too.”

Photos by: Michelle J. Kim

It’s been eight years now since she has started this journey. In Esther’s story, the truth in James 1 is made evident: that the testing of faith produces perseverance. While she has led numerous students to Christ, she laughs as she says, “I failed a lot. I made a lot of mistakes. I’m still making mistakes even now. But with enough failure and experience, you can take that anywhere you go. You know how to love Jesus and love others… you know that Jesus is with you wherever you go. You learn to trust God in the moment.”

“Ekko reminds me that God has made me well, that I’m His daughter, and He’s with me.”

If you’d like to partner with Esther as she ministers to students in Orange County, you can support her here.