Page Turners

As a writer and reader, imagining possibilities and making up endings has never been a problem for me. Just the opposite. Often the scenarios I dream up seem so wonderful or whimsical that they diminish the real thing. That is, until I run into the real thing, and He proves to me, yet again, that He really is the author of life.

Consider this recent example: A year and a half ago my husband and I, along with several other people, planted a church. Make no mistake about it: Church planting is hard work, and it takes a lot of hard-working laborers to get the job done. We have some of the most dedicated people I know working with us already, but our vision is big; we can use more. We prayed for laborers. In my own mind, I even picked out a few people I knew were looking for a church home. They never showed.

A few months ago, however, a friend from another time and place called us. He was looking for a job. He was looking, in fact, all over the country, including our area. We’ve been friends with this man and his wife for a long time. They attended the church my husband pastors in Tucson, Arizona. We lived in the same neighborhood. We’ve visited with them in several states through the years. But our friendship is not simply social; it’s much deeper than that. We’ve shared life—and death. We sat beside them and prayed as their baby died.

Almost simultaneously, a friend that we knew from a church my husband pastored in Montgomery, Alabama found us online. To our collective surprise, we discovered that her husband was being stationed at the Air Force base here in Dayton. We shared a lot of history with this woman, too. She used to give us complimentary tickets to the theatre where she worked, a generous and greatly treasured gift. But our friendship was not really social; it went deeper than that. My husband presided over her first husband’s funeral.

I never saw this plot twist coming: Both couples now live here. Both joined our church. They are helping us live out our story and mission assignment—and I’m hoping we do the same for them. While I hoped to cultivate people and introduce them to the work we are doing, God took a shortcut and moved to surround us with friends who already knew our ministry.

God likes to surprise me, and He’s good at it. Meanwhile, I am hooked on His plot twists and alternate endings. I bow to His superior plotting as I look forward to the next chapter.

And God Said, "Let Them Eat ... Pie?"

Normally I don’t get very excited about dessert, although I like it as much as the next person. But this week dessert fed my soul.

Our church scheduled a big event for this weekend, literally. We’re calling it Big God Weekend as we host evangelist Ken Freeman. Ken is a compelling speaker and personality with a phenomenal ability to connect to people who don't have a personal relationship with Christ. We anticipate great things (hence the title) from our weekend with Ken—but not just because of him. My pastor husband carefully reminded our church that we need to pray and (gulp!) go one step further and practice a much neglected spiritual discipline: fasting.

My husband is adept at fasting. He’s accomplished several 40-day fasts. He loves the time he spends with God in prayer. I, however, fast in much shorter time periods: two days ... one ... a meal at a time--and try not to feel virtuous about it.

We host a weekly Bible study in our home, and I normally serve food before we get started. But this week as I was contemplating a menu, Barry said, “Maybe we should all fast together that night.”

We knew that would encourage some to fast and introduce the discipline to others. We sent out a memo to our regular attenders: No food being served; they got it.

Fast day was busy, a round of meetings and deadlines, and the only food I scrounged was a package of peanut butter and crackers for lunch. By the time I picked up my daughter from school, I was hungry. The errant thought crossed my mind that I could grab a bite to eat now and still skip dinner later… couldn’t I? “God, do you want me to fast?” It sure seemed like He said yes.

My mind reviewed the next day, already thinking ahead to the meal I would eventually eat. Except … there would be no time for fixing or finding food that day either. I sighed. It was going to be another cracker day. I felt so deprived. “God, are you sure?” It sure seemed like He was.

Our group arrived, and one guy carried in a picture-perfect chocolate silk cream pie. Uh-oh. He didn’t get the memo. I figured his family would enjoy it just as much as the group.

So, despite the pie, we fasted that night, and we prayed. We prayed for the weekend and big results. We prayed that we would please God and be more like Him.

As I returned home later that evening from picking up our daughter from her life group, my eyes fell on a plate with two slices of pie. "For tomorrow," my husband said. "A gift."

And I had worried about eating crumbs for breakfast? Not with my God, who provides in the most creative ways, and graciously arranges ways for a hungry heart to get filled with Him--while you eat ... pie!

The Good Good-bye

When I started this blog a few months ago, our friend Harry responded with a note to my inbox. He wrote that he had missed reading my articles—we used to live in the same city, and he often saw my local pieces—and he said he had already put a shortcut on his computer to this page.

That note gave me great encouragement, not just because it reassured me that I’m not writing just for myself, but because I have great affection for Harry and his wife Brenda. My husband and I met his family through the Upward basketball program at our church. Harry and his family became church members, and our families became friends—true friends. Instead of backing away when we had troubles, Harry and Brenda moved in closer.

Harry, a lawyer, once gave my husband a brilliant piece of advice, the kind I still marvel at for its simplicity as well as deep wisdom. His timely words and insight resolved a situation before it escalated into a problem. The solution had eluded us, but not Harry.

About 18 months ago, Harry’s experienced some severe health problems following a surgery. He came very close to dying then.

One day last month my husband told me about an email message he received from Harry. It moved both of us. Harry wrote in a 6 a.m. emal that he had awakened at 4 a.m. with my husband on his mind and used the time to pray for him.

Harry had a way with words. They made me smile as I read them: “Please tell Kima hello for me,” he wrote. “It never ceases to amaze me how badly she and Brenda got the short ends of the respective sticks and pretend not to notice."

He updated us on his family with loving pride. And he gave a powerful testimony of his faith in Christ a few concise sentences: “I'm still in and out of the hospital with the lung issues,” he noted, “but every day I'm on this side of the grass is a blessing. Besides, it's like I turned to the back of the book and checked the answers. I know the way the story turns out, and I come out way ahead in any of the scenarios.”

In less than a week, we received another email message. Although he wasn't much older than me, the lung issues had defeated Harry. The note that had moved us just five days prior now held even greater meaning. It was Harry’s good-bye. And it documented that Harry had used his remaining time on earth to love his family, to pray for people, to encourage them and to express deep, resolute faith in God.

Harry didn't just have a way with words, he had a way. He lived well, and he died well. We miss Harry. We’re sorry he’s not here, walking on the earth with us. But we look forward to seeing him again on the “other side of the grass.”

So then, those who suffer according to God's will should commit themselves to their faithful Creator and continue to do good~1 Peter 4:19 NIV

Rest Assured

I learned a long time ago that the secret to answered prayers is two-fold: 1. Ask God. 2. Believe that He answers. There’s a lot of faith bound up in prayer. It takes faith to ask, and it takes more faith to trust that He’s answered.

Once, when she was young, my daughter Jordan didn’t show up in the Sunday worship service on schedule. She was about 10 at the time, old enough to move from Bible study to worship without a parental escort but still young enough that I was concerned when she was late.

The service started, but my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t concentrate on anything being said or sung. Should I go look for her? “God,” I prayed, “would you let me know where Jordan is because otherwise this time with you will be a waste.”

Immediately I felt calm spread over me like a blanket. I remembered that I had told her that I might need to serve in the preschool. I knew she had gone there to check and stayed in that safe place once she was there—and that’s exactly what happened.

Recently on a Saturday night I got concerned about the whereabouts of my 20-year-old son. Although it wasn’t yet very late, it was bitterly cold, and the roads had turned icy. On such occasions I liked to remind him to drive carefully and watch for black ice. Except he wasn't answering his phone, even after I called him repeatedly. I could tell that his phone was on, not dead or turned off, but he wasn’t picking up. I started getting anxious. What if he was in a ditch somewhere?

I remembered my prayer for Jordan, years earlier, and asked God to provide that blanket of calm if Luke was safe. To my chagrin, it didn’t come. Instead, it occurred to me to go to his room and look around. Then was not a normal practice for me, but maybe I would find a clue to his plans for the evening.

I opened the door to his room ... and there lay my son, in bed, sound asleep, not answering his phone because he is such a heavy sleeper. He had not gone out that evening as I thought but come home from work and gone straight to bed.

Once again, God answered my prayer, not in the way I expected—no blanket of calm this evening—but better. He took me directly to my son’s side so that I could rest in peace.

I call on you, o God, for you will answer me~Psalm 17:5 NIV

The Hat I Wear

A symbol of my destiny arrived in the mail recently. It’s not the only one, just the latest.

The first is on a shelf in my closet, a corduroy hat. I like this hat. More than just fashionable, it’s perfect for cold winter nights when I walk the dog. By itself, that would not be remarkable—but when I bought it I didn’t live where there were cold winter nights, and I never walked the dog.

In fact, I bought the hat—actually I bought two—for no apparent reason. I walked into the clothing store where my college-age daughter was working and browsed while I waited for her. This wasn’t the kind of store where I normally shopped. Catering to a young market, the music blared loud and proud, and I was eager to get out of there. But, meanwhile, there were hats to try on. I bought not just one, but two. I took them home and modeled one for my husband.

“Nice hat,” he said. “Where are you going to wear it?” At the time, we lived in Alabama, and prior to that we had lived in Arizona and Florida. I had no reason to collect winter clothes, especially cold-weather hats. Even during brisk weather, I didn’t take long walks with the dog. Our house had a big back yard with a fence, and our dog got plenty of exercise without me.

“I have a feeling,” I said as I tucked the hat into the closet, “that we’ll live in cold weather one of these days.” I had a feeling because I had a calling.

As a freelance writer and pastor’s wife, I had received several assignments to write about the need for new churches in northern states. The Bible belt got its name for a reason; I had not only become convinced of that but was getting the feeling when the next call came from a church, it would be further north.


It came from an established church outside of Dayton, Ohio. We moved north, and I started wearing my hat, a lot, mostly while walking the dog on cold winter nights because we ended up at a house without a fenced-in yard.

Meanwhile, as we ministered in this established church, I continued accepting assignments about church planting. Previous to our move I had written several magazine articles featuring new churches; now the assignments were getting bigger and more in-depth: I interviewed several church planters and contributed to books published by the North American Mission Board. One book, entitled Ready? Preparing for the Pressures of Church Planting, arrived in the mail just the other day, confirmation of my own destiny.

For when the opportunity came along for my husband to help start New Day Church in Dayton, Ohio, I realized God had been preparing and training me. If I had doubts—and I didn’t—I also had the hat, the articles, the books—and the faith—to dispel them.

For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God planned in advance for us to do.~Ephesians 2:10 NIV

Grace Not Shortchanged

Lunch on the day I served as a juror turned out to be almost as challenging as the criminal trial. During a recess from court, where we were hearing a case about sexual contact with a four-year-old, a handful of jurors and I made our way to a nearby restaurant within walking distance of the courthouse.

We couldn’t talk about the case, so we chatted about inconsequential things. All was well until our server handed us a single tab.

I looked in my wallet. I had a couple of $20 bills. No one else had change. “Let’s go to the counter and get her to split the ticket,” I suggested. Because each of us ate from the buffet, the only price difference would be for those who drank tea with their meal versus those who drank Diet Coke.

Nevertheless, the resulting math equation turned out to be confusing for the cashier. My fellow Diet Coke drinker paved the way. “One buffet and one Diet Coke,” she said. It took some calculation, but the cashier finally rendered the verdict: “$7.07.”

I handed over my $20 bill next. “Mine is $7.07, too,” I announced. “I had the same thing as her.” The cashier took my money and handed back some bills and coins. I grabbed them and walked back to the table to leave a tip. When I returned to the cash register, the others in my party were still trying to sort out their bills.

“No, that’s not the right amount of change,” my fellow juror pronounced as she carefully counted the money.

I looked at the bills I still clutched and counted them, too. “Oh, this isn’t the correct change either. I gave you a $20.” The cashier dealt with the other woman, looked at the money in my hand and handed me more bills.

“Is that correct?” my fellow juror asked.

“Not exactly,” I said slowly. “I took some out for a tip, but it’s still not right.” We had 20 minutes before we were due back in court. It didn’t seem worth the hassle, and the cashier looked flustered. “I’m not going to worry about it. Let’s go.”

We returned to the courthouse and spent the rest of the day listening to a case we never got the opportunity to deliberate. After the prosecution rested, the judge took over and decided the case. He determined the prosecution had not proven its case and set the defendant free.

It made me wonder. Had the prosecution been too eager to find guilt? Would we, the jury, have shortchanged the defendant if the judge had not intervened? Did the defendant receive mercy he did not deserve?

It was still snowing, still cold, and I was still hungry as I pulled out of the parking lot late that afternoon. I turned into a fast food restaurant drive-thru, handing the cashier another $20 bill. This time I looked at my change as she handed it back; it was not correct. In fact, with the extra bill she gave me, I could more than make up for being shortchanged at lunch.

I dismissed the thought; it just wouldn’t be right. “I think you gave me too much change,” I told the sheepish young woman as I handed back a five.

Mercy and justice are glorious gifts from God. To experience either has the power to change us into our best selves. To dispense either requires that we be our best selves. Mercifully, some of the responsibility for this had just been taken out of my hands. But otherwise, at least on this day, I was satisfied that what I served was both just and full of grace.

But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-ending stream!~Amos 5:24