Lead Me On

Not all of my dreams in my journey with God have been fulfilled, not even when they were dedicated to Him.

For example, when my husband Barry first accepted the pastorate of Mountain View Baptist Church in Tucson, Arizona, the church was only seven years old—and popping. Our youth building was jammed, kids rooms overflowed, and our adult classrooms were full. Soon the church was conducting three Sunday morning worship services and two Sunday schools, all on a small parcel of five acres of land.

So we prayed, sought the Lord and dreamed of a new dwelling place. We sent faithful scouts to spy out the land, pooled our money and bought 19 acres for $525,000. In the desert, God was making a way—until something happened that brought things screeching to a halt.

Environmentalists made a case that the land that we’d staked out served as airspace for an endangered bird. This hot piece of desert land for which God had moved heaven and earth for us to purchase became a frozen tundra, a sacred airport for the thinning ranks of pygmy owls presumably circling overhead. We never saw a single one, but we had it on good authority—the EPA—that they were there, and they stopped our building plans in their tracks.

Churches are like people; they are dynamic beings.  In the ebb and flow of church life that followed, long after we’d moved on in our journey, the land that Mountain View Baptist Church dreamed of was finally released from EPA captivity—but by then the need and desire to move the church had migrated into something else.

Last year, 12 years after we left Tucson, Mountain View Baptist Church invited us to celebrate the church’s 25^th anniversary with them. We simultaneously learned that the land into which so many had poured their prayer, hopes and dreams had been sold, and the proceeds had been designated for much needed renovations to the existing property, kicking off a new building project.

Barry and I put on our game face and accepted this turn of events gracefully. But for those of us who remembered the day we bused people over to prayer-walk the property, wasn’t this, well, too little and much too late? "Our” piece of property now housed a charter school. It wasn’t at all what we had envisioned.

Until we discovered something else. Just as the Ohio church, a recent plant, that Barry now pastors rents meeting space at a local recreation center, the charter school  on that coveted piece of land also shares its space with a body of believers—a  new church plant. This church is led by young men who had been teenagers at Mountain View while we were there.

As we celebrated Mountain View’s 25^th anniversary over dinner, sitting to Barry’s left was Chase Delperdang, pastor of Legacy Community Church of Tucson, which meets on the land that Mountain View bought—and sold. Chase and Marcos Salazar, who serves as Legacy’s administrator, are carrying on a legacy in a way that only God could have foreseen … because the legacy is His, not ours.

Years ago we were sure that the desert land that we purchased was destined to have a church worshipping there. As it turns out, we were right. About almost everything else, we were wrong. For some, it is proof that the dream was merely a desert mirage. For us, it’s the glimpse we need to carry on.

All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth.~ Hebrews 11:13 NIV.

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