Allow me to tell you the story I told my church.
Once, there was a kingdom in which the king would give gifts to his citizens, and in this kingdom, there was a boy. He was given a gift when he was born, and had left it unopened on the shelf for his whole life. He would pass it, sometimes even be grateful for it in a vague way, but mostly he would forget about it. One day, it came about that the boy had grown into a young man, and was called away to serve his king in a far off land, but could not go without a sword. When he asked his parents about it, they told him that the King always equipped those he sent. Finally, he thought of the gift, and opened it to reveal the weapon that would stay by his side.
I grew up in the church. Specifically, one church in a small town in Arkansas. I lived in this town, going to this church nearly my whole life. I always took such a thing for granted, and it was only later that I realized that many people moved frequently, or changed churches at the slightest provocation. And so, when the time came for me to raise funds for my mission, I found not only financial support, but a network of friends I didn’t realize I had access to.