Michael Oyer stood at the edge of the kitchen counter in the Anchorage unit house, watching as a young man fumbled with a length of rope. A unit member had arrived a few months earlier with a lack of confidence, and a belief that leadership wasn’t in his blood. Tonight, though, he was leading the household’s learning component — an activity rotated among the participants and their unit leader, Oyer.
“I’m going to teach the unit how to tie knots,” he had said earlier. Oyer smiled. Knots? he thought. But as the young man began, pulling out paracord he always had on hand, something shifted. His hands moved with quiet confidence, explaining each twist and loop with a clarity Oyer hadn’t expected. The other three participants leaned in.
By the time he’d demonstrated a dozen knots, Oyer realized this wasn’t just about rope. Years later, Oyer would still recall that night as a turning point, a moment when a young man discovered he had something to offer.
The call of (service) adventure
That is the magic of Service Adventure, the Mission Network program Oyer stumbled into years ago as a unit leader and now leads as director. It wasn’t a glamorous gig — long hours and a house full of 17- to 20-year-olds figuring out life far from home. But it was a calling he couldn’t shake.
Oyer’s journey with Service Adventure began in 2019, when he traded a teaching career for a chance to live with young adults in a ten-and-a-half-month program built on service, faith, and community. He’d landed in Anchorage first, a city of rugged beauty and raw edges, guiding handfuls of participants through their placements — soup kitchens, art studios, and Habitat for Humanity restorations.
Oyer said there are stories about participants that stick with him.
A bus and a bridge
One participant arrived from a small town in the lower 48 who felt uneasy in Anchorage, daughted by its size and having to commute by bus for the first time. Michael rode with her those first times, helping her to navigate the bus schedule. But by spring, something had changed. Towards the end of what was an emotional year of service, she told the group, “I’m going to miss my commute on the bus. I’m going to miss the people I met — the workers, the folks experiencing homelessness — the conversations we had and learning to ride public transportation were transformational.” The bus, of all things, had become the bridge to a wider world.
Recycling seeds
One night, Oyer led a learning component on recycling with a dry explanation of bins and sorting. One of the participants had never recycled before. A year later, reconnecting at a college coffee shop with her, Oyer learned she had turned that recycling learning component into the next step – reducing waste by making her own soap and shampoo. Michael laughed, humbled. God had planted a seed he hadn’t even seen.
“These are stories where it wasn’t me that influenced environmental awareness and it wasn’t the bus in Anchorage that expanded someone’s mind. It was God working through these different situations that participants experience.”
The soup incident
Not every moment shimmered, of course. There was the infamous “soup incident.” A participant, eager to prove herself after a questionable fruit pizza dinner (sugar cookie crust, frosting, and a few strawberries), decided to cook for the unit. Oyer heard her clattering upstairs, then saw her descend with eight cans of condensed tomato soup dangling from her fingers. “Dinner!” she announced proudly. Since condensed soup requires water, the unit ate soup for a week, laughing over the miscalculation.
“It was a safe thing to fail at. What it meant was we had soup to offer somebody else that maybe was visiting the house, or we had an extra meal we didn’t have to cook later in the week.”
Failure here wasn’t the end; it was a lesson.
Leading with purpose
In 2025, Oyer holds a new title as director of Service Adventure, a role he stepped into after years of guiding units and a role in the Mission Network Human Resources Department – which he now continues part-time. The program hums along with two units — Anchorage and Colorado Springs — each housing four or five participants. They come from Pennsylvania, Indiana, Kansas, even Germany, drawn by stories from aunts, pastors, or college friends who’d served before. Applications are climbing, a quiet rebound from leaner years, and Oyer feels a cautious hope.
His days now are a mix of logistics and travel. He visits units and host congregations who welcome these young adults with open arms. In Anchorage, Prince of Peace Mennonite, a small church of around 20 members, live streams worship services so that Service Adventure alumni across the U.S. and Germany can stay in touch, and hosts Fun Fridays at community events, bowling, and other activities. The mutual love between units and communities is palpable, tear-streaked farewells proving it every June.
Oyer’s favorite part?
The relationships. He pours himself into building trust and respect which he says opens doors to conversations about faith, interpersonal skills, emotional intelligence and other personal subjects.
People used to ask, “When are you getting a real job, Michael?” He’d think of knots, buses and tomato soup.
“This is real,” he says. “I’ve seen God move here — in a participant’s first leadership step, in a community’s open door. It’s not corporate, it’s purpose.”
