Fifteen Years

Fifteen years ago I said, “I do.”  I said it with full faith that God had brought us together and that He would give me the grace to fulfill the vows I made that day.  I did not expect it to be easy.  In fact, I expected it to be hard.  We had both been single a long time.  Joining two independent lives and making them one would be a challenge.  And, although we had known each other for more than a year, our long-distance relationship meant that we had not spent a lot of time together.

The first couple years I found myself often praying, “Lord, help me to be the wife you want me to be.  Make me a servant.  Make me submissive.”  My independent spirit often rebelled.  I got upset over small things and cried silent tears over my failures.  I struggled to be the wife I knew I should be and cried out for God’s mercy and power to make me that woman.

At the same time, I was amazed at how blessed I felt by having this man by my side.  God had given me a huge gift.  He given me a friend and companion for the rest of my life, and He had answered my prayer for a ministry partner.

There were a few blessings that surprised me.  My emotional ups and downs leveled out.  He stabilized me.  When the dark clouds of winter’s SAD came over me, I simply talked to him about it and we figured out a way to ease its hold.  Perhaps the biggest blessing to our new marriage was that I found was that he had already learned to resolve conflict in a biblical manner, and he taught me to do the same.

So today I want to give thanks to God for this man I call “My wonderful husband.”  I wanted to write him a poem, but the words and thoughts have failed, so instead I’ll just make a list.
Charlie, I still love . . .

• looking at your sleepy face across the breakfast table. 
• cooking together.
• hearing you pray for me.
• learning from you when you preach and teach.
• dreaming and working with you on the things God still has for us to do.
• the way you try to please me with little things and big:  little things like making the bed or doing the dishes and big things like taking me out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate our anniversary.
• your faith in our amazing God.
• your steadying influence in my life.
• your steadfastness to stay on the path God has shown us even when the end of deputation seems like an unattainable goal.
• sitting in the library or the café together working separately on our computers.
• sharing our faith together at the evangelism booth at the fair.
• singing duets with you.
• walking down the street hand in hand.
• and so much more.  I think I could keep going until everyone got tired of reading, but that’s enough for now.

Suffice it to say, I’m so glad I married you.

To the Finish Line

I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.  Philippians 3:14

Last week we were involved in Vacation Bible School.  The students learned about the apostle Paul and his desire to keep pressing toward the finish line.

Yesterday Charlie and I participated in a 10K race.  I signed us up months ago because I need something to help keep me motivated to get out and exercise.  There are just too many days when the excuses easily defeat me.  Knowing a race is coming up helps me.

We arrived in downtown Freeport at about 7:00 a.m.  Hundreds of people were already milling around the starting area.  Some were stretching.  Others were running in place, but most simply stood around talking.  They talked about the weather, other races they’d run, and their hopes for a personal best.  Those who had never run the course asked questions about what it was like.  For everyone, though, they had only one thing on their minds – finishing the 6.2 miles that loomed ahead.

This was our third time running this race.  I hoped I would beat my last time.  I doubted it would be the best of the three because it was certainly the most uncomfortable weather we had encountered for this event.  Minutes before the start, Charlie moved ahead in the lineup to a more appropriate place for him, and soon we were off.

The course takes a gentle downhill for the first three miles.  At one point it bumps up with a fairly steep hill and then continues downward.  I started out slowly, remembering that the last time I ran this I started too fast and was lightheaded by the end.  I felt like the slowest runner in the crowd of about 1500 runners.  It seemed everyone passed me.

Slowly the pack thinned out and I found myself running alongside two other women, both of whom were running this race for the first time.  I answered their questions about the course and we talked about the hot weather.  When the first steep hill began, I had to walk, and they surged ahead.  In my mind I kept reciting the verse, “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.”  I asked myself, Am I doing the best I can?  Do I really need to walk right now?  When the answer was “yes” I had to content myself with the knowledge that I would get to the end, but I would not beat either of my previous race times.

Mile after mile slowly crept by.  Mile four seemed unending.  More runners passed.  One woman who cruised by looked like she was about six months pregnant.  A man came up behind me saying, “Clap, Virginia.”  I turned to look.  He was pushing his infant daughter in a stroller.  I clapped for them instead.  Another father, obviously a veteran to races by the “Beach to Beacon” race shirt he wore, held back his desire to compete to encouraged his teenage daughter on her first 10K.  She was beginning to feel that this race would never end.

The sun was more intense and the shady spots fewer.  I once again slowed to a walk.  By now other people around me were walking.  A spectator shouted from the sidelines, “Love the shoes!”  That was enough to get me running again and I passed as many of the walkers as I could. 

Eventually the finish line crept into view and I began to mentally sing a song of praise with a faster beat.  “O let your soul now be filled with gladness.  Your heart redeemed, rejoice indeed!”  I took off running – not full speed but faster than before.  Charlie, who had already finished, was watching for me and joined my running for a bit.  About 400 feet from the line a woman started to pass me, so I stepped it up and raced her for the finish.  She beat me, but not by much.

The race was over.  It was the slowest time I’d had.  A volunteer worker handed me a bottle of water.  After a couple gulps, we left the crowds and headed for the car. 

I didn’t do well today, I thought.  But there will be other races if I want to try again.

Through all of this I kept thinking.  There’s another finish line I have my eye on.  The difference there is that I only get one shot at that one.  There will be no doing it over if I’m not satisfied with the results.  It’s the one we talked about last week in VBS: “the high calling of God in Christ Jesus”.  It’s the race of life.

I want to get to heaven and hear the Father say, “Welcome home, child.  Well done.”  I want to know on that day that I have run the race of life to the best of my ability.  I don’t want to hear him tell me of all the times I let excuses keep me from doing the right thing.  I want to know that I kept going even when times were tough.  I want to keep pressing on until I reach that finish line.

Vacation Bible School

Vacation Bible School is often a highlight for children.  Our church in Maine held theirs recently.  Here is a summary of what happened.

• Every night between 45 – 50 children and teens came to VBS at West Hampden.



Craft time for one group

• Every night there were songs, crafts, games, Bible time, and a missionary challenge. The children heard a continuing missionary story from Joan and the teens were challenged by Charlie to consider God’s calling for their lives.  Charlie also taught the Junior High class during their Bible time.
• Every night the two teams (the Fords and the Chevys) raced each other to reach the finish line first. Points accumulated pushed each team closer and closer to the goal. Every night the Fords were a little ahead until the last night when the Chevys surged ahead and won.
• Every night parents brought their children and some of them stayed until it was over.

So, was it successful? It depends on how you count success. Only God knows the whole story, but here is what we know.

• The workers were faithful to do the job they were called to do. They also did it with enthusiasm and joy.
• The children kept coming back.



Telling the missionary story.

• Many Scripture verses were committed to memory.
• One child made a profession of saving faith. Another name was written in the Lamb’s Book of Life.
• Over $400 was raised for us to buy children’s materials for our ministries and missionaries abroad.

Overall it was a good week, and we are thankful that we were able to be a part of it. 

Excitement: Real or Fake?

WITH NOTES TO SELF

Shortly after I graduated from college, I went back home for a while to work off the small debt I had accrued during my last year in college.  I quickly found a job waiting tables and cars at a small drive-in restaurant.

One day I arrived to hear two of my co-workers talking about someone I didn’t know.  Evidently, someone had died in a car accident and they were very concerned for the family members of the deceased.  I had read the paper this morning.  I didn’t see any mention of a car accident.  The way they were talking, I thought it would be front page news.  Finally, I interrupted and asked how they knew this person.  Sheepishly, the cook admitted that they were talking about a soap opera.

That was my first experience with real emotions expended over a false reality.  While I had personally experienced it to a degree in the reading of novels or watching a television show, I don’t think I had ever gotten so caught up in it that I was still talking about it several days later, trying to come to grips with the dynamics of fictional events.

Yet there are times when the excitement we see when we are out and about reminds me of that experience.  A lot of energy and emotion can be expended over things that pale in comparison to others.  I fall so easily into the trap myself.  Sometimes I think that a little entertainment is worth the time I put into it when there are many things that matter so much more that are waiting to be done.  So let me ask you.  Which do you think is better?  

• The excitement (and exhaustion) that comes from raising a family or the excitement of watching the Duggars raise theirs? 
• The excitement of watching a cooking competition on TV or the real joy of taking a meal to an exhausted mother or shut-in?  I’m not opposed to quality entertainment.  I just don’t want to be a watcher on the stage of life when I could be an actor.  Note to self:  The next time you’re watching something on TV, make sure your hands are busy with something more permanent.
• The excitement of a shopping trip to find Christmas presents for people whose closets are already full or the excitement of sending a gift to someone who is trying to survive on $3.00 a month?  Note to self:  Find more joy in giving to the needy than in giving to those who already have.  Remember, “He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the LORD; and that which he hath given will he pay him again.”
• The excitement of winning a war on your video game or the excitement of actually getting out there and engaging in spiritual combat against the forces of evil?  Note to self:  Make sure you are daily engaged in battle for the souls of others.  As Paul put it so well, “Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked.” 
• The excitement of climbing a mountain with a group of friends or the excitement of personally (or corporately) reaching new spiritual heights?  Note to self:  Encourage yourself and your friends to be more concerned with spiritual discipline than with physical achievements.  As Paul wrote to Timothy, “ For bodily exercise profiteth little: but godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come.”

The list could go on, but you get the picture.

This morning I was reading in Acts where Philip had gone to teach and preach.  The end of the story reads, “And there was great joy in that city.”  Great joy.  That’s what I like to see.  So what had been going on?  The people there listened and obeyed Philip’s teaching and they saw many miracles taking place – miracles such as people being healed and set free from demons. 

In the past two years of deputation, we have had the privilege of being in churches where excitement abounds.  The excitement is not being generated by the music, social events, children's activities, or even the next thing on the calendar.  The excitement we see seems to be about the obvious work of God in their midst.  People are being saved from the clutches of their sin.  Lives are being changed.  People are telling others about the greatest thing that has ever happened to them.  They are encouraging people to come to their church because they are excited about what they see God doing in their their own lives and in the lives of their friends.  They want their friends and colleagues to experience what they have. 

I like excitement.  But more and more I want it to be the kind of excitement that causes heaven to rejoice. 

From Erudite to Folksy

 

After a couple days of a feverish cold, I felt tired and lightheaded.  My sister offered to settle me down on the couch with a radio broadcast of her church, but since her church was literally across the street, I decided to go.  We sat on the front row of the balcony where my coughing (hopefully) would not contaminate those in front of me. 

From the first triumphant chords of the pipe organ to the final prayer of the pastor, I was reminded that I was in a church that was comfortable with big words, classical music, and cultured tastes.  My compromised voice did not permit me to join in the congregational singing, but my heart worshipped as I heard the hundreds of voices energetically praising God.  The sermon was well crafted and well presented.  It suited the congregation who had come to listen and learn.  They were not there to please themselves.  They wanted to obey the Savior of their Souls. 

After church and lunch, I took a much-needed afternoon nap.  Awaking refreshed, I was ready to head out once again for an evening service. 

If the morning were classified as erudite, the evening has to be classified as folksy.  The pianist’s fingers flew across the keyboard while the congregation sang old-fashioned favorites.  The pastor grew up in Cajun-country and spoke in a folksy southern style.  He was blunt when he needed to be, yet funny.  The sermon was frequently punctuated by ”Amens!” from the congregation.  When it grew quiet, he knew he hit a sensitive spot. 

When I left that evening, I was greatly encouraged by the diversity of the Body of Christ.  Most of the people from that morning’s service would not have wanted to attend the church of the evening and vice versa.  Yet in both places, their love for Christ their Savior shone through everything they did. 

When you attend the same church for ten, thirty or sixty years, it’s easy to assume that other churches are like yours.  Deputation has been good to show us how diverse Christ’s body actually is.  Whether it could be classified as high church or low, what really matters is whether people are there to fellowship with God’s people and to learn and grow together.  Today was just one more example of how different local churches can be from one to the next.