The Daily Grind with Matt Clarke

Mon amie Mona

Written by Matt Clarke | June 5, 2026

She was a stranger in every sense of the word. Different country. Different language. Different culture. An ocean away from everything familiar, an exchange student placed with a family that wasn't exactly rolling out the welcome mat. Mona had every reason to pack it up early and head home — and she was about to do exactly that. Then Baylie and Austin showed up.

 

They didn't have to. There was no obligation, no program requirement, no box to check. They just saw a person who needed someone in her corner and decided to be that someone. They opened their lives, their home, their friendships — and eventually even took her on a mission trip to Honduras.

 

That's where I met her. A little unsure and quiet at first, then — somewhere on the back roads of Central America, surrounded by a team of people working and sweating and praying together — Mona found her footing. She made friends. She served, she laughed and she left her mark on every single person who got to spend time with her.

 

And today, she's flying home to Belgium. Full of memories, carrying friendships that didn't exist six months ago — and leaving behind a group of people who learned a little French and a lot about what it means to take a risk on another human being.

"Keep on loving each other as brothers and sisters. Don't forget to show hospitality to strangers, for some who have done this have entertained angels without realizing it! Remember those in prison, as if you were there yourself." (Hebrews 13:1-3) 

The writer of Hebrews isn't speaking metaphorically here. He's speaking from a culture that understood the weight of hospitality — where welcoming a stranger wasn't a nice gesture, it was a sacred act. You didn't know who you were letting in. You just knew that how you treated the vulnerable said everything about who you really were.

 

Baylie and Austin didn't get an angel in a theological sense. They got something just as real — a young woman from across the world who needed to see that people could be trusted. That kindness wasn't a transaction. That she mattered. And in return, they got Mona. And she left them better for it.

 

Here's the uncomfortable truth about taking risks on people: it costs something. It costs time, margin, attention, and a willingness to be inconvenienced. Most of us are already running lean on all four. But the return on that investment is something you can't manufacture or schedule. It shows up in a truck on the way to a work site in Honduras. It shows up in a high school classroom and seeing someone in need of being seen. It shows up in a laugh you didn't expect, a friendship you didn't plan for, a moment that quietly rewires something in you.

 

We talk a lot in the grind about leaving people better for the encounter. But that only happens if you're willing to have the encounter in the first place. It requires seeing a stranger and deciding, before you know anything about them, that they are worth the risk. Mona was worth the risk. And so is the next person standing a little off to the side, unsure if they belong.

 

Who is the stranger in your orbit right now? Not a project. Not a cause. A person — someone on the edges who hasn't been welcomed in yet. Someone who might be one invitation, one conversation, one plane ride to Honduras away from something that puts the truth and love of Christ squarely in their sites.

 

You may never know what you're stepping into when you take that risk. That's kind of the point. Take it anyway.

 

Travel safe mon amie! Until next time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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