The Mystery Box

Charlie has the ability to think on his feet.  He has so much information in his brain that he can expound on almost any topic.  I’ve heard him discussing the differences in airplanes with pilots and various types of vessels with skippers.  He can hold his own in a political, economic, or religious discussion.  He can participate in topics ranging from wildlife to international affairs.  Unlike me, he doesn’t usually need the professionals to speak in lay terminology.

One day I told him about a “Mystery Bag” I had seen a former pastor use.  Each week a family took the Bag home, inserted a household object, and brought it to church and put it on the platform.  The pastor then opened the Bag and brought out the object.  Without knowing ahead of time what the object was, he used the item to teach a spiritual lesson.  Charlie decided he would try it, and a Sunday evening tradition was born.

At first, it was a big game to see who could stump the pastor.  Sometimes he had to ask for additional information about the object.  Occasionally he stalled, making comments about the object he held in his hands while his mind furiously sought for a spiritual lesson he could teach with it.  Through the years, we’ve seen many stuffed animals, toys, kitchen gadgets, and office supplies. 

On our last Sunday at West Hampden, two mystery items appeared.  One was brought in by a child who didn’t realize that someone else had already brought something.  Because it was our last Sunday, Charlie decided to take them both.  The first was a child’s storybook, and he used the story line to teach a message.  The second one he opened had two travel mugs inside, with a picture of children in our church and inscribed with these words, “We will be praying for you.”  He choked up and didn’t even try to come up with an object lesson for that one.  Instead, he thanked the children for their willingness to pray for us.

It is a mystery to me why God answers prayer.  It is an even bigger mystery to me that the great, big, wonderful God who made the universe would make a way for me to know Him and have a relationship with Him.  How thankful I am that my God doesn’t fit in any of my boxes.  I accept that much about Him is a mystery, but He's way too big for any box, even a theoretical one.

Eleven Years

For the past eleven years, this has been our church home.  Our memories extend back to that first Sunday in 2000 when Charlie filled the pulpit.  Snow covered the ground.  The black cross on the front of the building beckoned us up the long driveway.  We entered the building and found a group of friendly people.  We rejoiced in the beautiful music we heard that morning and left certain that they would want someone better qualified to be their pastor.  Instead, they called us and became our personal friends.  More than that.  They became family.

Eleven years is longer than I have ever held a single job and longer than I’ve ever lived in the same house.  Those who were teens when we arrived have graduated from college and are living on their own.  Between the time we came in January and March when Charlie started as pastor, a little girl named Polly was born.  Her bright eyes and pixie smile are a continual reminder of how long we've been here.  One night, about eleven years ago, we were awakened by a phone call that one of our members had been rushed to the hospital with respiratory heart failure.  When Charlie got off the phone, he realized he hadn’t asked which hospital; and we were new enough that we didn’t realize that there were only two hospitals in town.  That woman is still worshipping with us and has been such a blessing through these years.

During these eleven years, the church has stood by us.  We have moved multiple times since we arrived – into a temporary residence, then a three-bedroom white ranch, then a four-bedroom contemporary ranch to care for  Charlie’s father, and then our stuff into storage and ourselves into a series of temporary residences.  On every occasion, there were people from the church ready to help.  They stood by us and prayed for us when we tried to adopt children.  They were there for us when Charlie’s dad died and my parents moved in and then out of Maine.  They have encouraged us, helped us, and made our ministry here a joy.

With grateful hearts for the past eleven years and high expectations of what God will do for West Hampden Baptist Church in the future, we say farewell.  We rest in the certainty that “he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.”

We love you, West Hampden and look forward to hearing of the great things that God is doing in your lives.