The vision began long ago in a village in Liberia...
Liberia is a warm, deeply spiritual, and resilient nation, but it stands at a crossroads after a brutal civil war that lasted for many years. We want to remind a new generation that, even as schools, hospitals, churches, and other buildings were destroyed, the sacrifices of generations of missionaries live on through the thousands of people they educated, sheltered, and cared for. By preserving these stories, we hope to create a lasting memorial to their legacy and honor the impact they made on Liberia.
Putting the vision in action
Storytelling & Preservation
Documenting important but underrepresented histories. We imagine a future telling stories in a variety of fomats including video, animation to preserve native dialects, and a podcast.
Mentorship & Education
Connecting individuals across cultures for growth and impact. We pair youth with mentors who find purpose and fulfillment in helping others transform their lives.
Community Building
Creating meaningful relationships that foster leadership and legacy. This is to help strenghen people of faith and future generations.
A mission and the gift of bell to unite a village
Our founder’s father’s encounter with the Christian faith was shaped by missionaries who had answered God’s call before he did. He eventually became a Lutheran pastor himself, serving God’s people in Liberia until his death during the civil war. During his years of service, he was gifted a bell to call the village to worship...
Meet Dr. Igdaliah Jackson
As a former Liberian refugee who lived in the Ivory Coast, I understand displacement and survival. My life changed when I was sponsored to study in the U.S. by my American missionary parents, who in the 1960s sacrificed everything to live, serve, and love among the villages of Liberia as Lutheran missionaries...
Their service was part of a generational chain of faithfulness sparked in 1860 by one man, Rev. Morris Officer. In 2025, I was given a sacred gift: more than 100 photographs from their years in Liberia. Looking into the eyes of the villagers and missionaries captured in those frames, I was overwhelmed by the raw beauty of human sacrifice and resilience.
I want to preserve and share these untold stories, revealing the generations of sacrifice that connect our shared histories.
dedicated to rev. morris officer
He did not go with a soldier’s frame,
But with a body bent by the weight of the word
While others saw the fever mist and turned,
He saw Hope through the unnavigable dense rainforest
Born into the dirt and toil of rural Ohio,
A boy who became a man before his time,
At fifteen, the family’s anchor when the father’s strength broke,
He learned that love is heavy, holy work.
He didn’t just carry wood; he carried a lineage
Preparation for a weightier cross yet to come.
Every breath in Liberia was a negotiation,
A prayer whispered through the rattling of ague,
Proving that the greatest work is often carved
From the weakest wood by the steadiest Hand.
Think of the Forty- the “recaptives” ones,
Wrenched from the Hold of the slaver, The Briggs Storm King.
To the World, they were statistics of a dying trade.
To Morris, they were the cornerstone of the Kingdom.
He didn’t just build a mission of stone and thatch.
He built a home of safety and grammar,
Turning the scar of the middle passage
Into the strength of a new generation’s song.
In the humid soil of the St Paul River,
He didn’t just plant Bibles, he planted the beans.
While others saw a mission of simple prayers,
Morris saw a counting – house for the free.
He cleared the brush for the coffee trees,
Each seedling a strike against the master’s whip.
A harvest destined to prove to the world
That freedom has a flavor all its own.
When his legs failed and he returned to the plow,
A farmer in Ohio watching the sun dip low,
He might have felt the silence of an unfinished task.
But prospective is a long-lens game.
The mission lived because he was willing to break.
The school stood because he refused to fall.
He is not remembered for how he withered,
But for the forest that grew from the seeds he threw in the fire.
Retiring not from God, but into the earth,
He provided for Susan and the children with calloused hands.
He died in the quiet of Topeka, buried at Ferncliff Cemetery, spring field, Ohio
A farmer once more,
But the forest he planted in Liberia
Still breaths with the air of a thousand rescued lives.
His life is the story of the “Holy supply chain”
He understood that to free a man, you must give him a trade.
He had fed the spirit,
He had fed the body, the cause of a nation.
we welcome your support
From charitable support and passionate volunteers to strategic partnerships and founding donors, every contribution matters. Your support helps turn our vision into reality.
