“Always go to the source. That’s my rule. Always go to the source.” He was a lawyer. We were talking, trying to sort out a “character assassination”. What he meant was that unless, and until, you go to the source you will have only opinion, rumor, misinformation, and confusion. “Go to the source.” And I never forgot his advice.
Makor is the Hebrew word for source, usually applied to a fountain, a spring, a well, a source of fresh, living water. This source has nothing to do with getting accurate information, though. Rather, it has everything to do with spiritual life. But the advice is the same, “Go to the source.”
I woke up from a dream with a single word, makor, the focal point. In the dream a group was reading and studying Revelation. Spontaneously, everyone got excited and started pointing at a verse, thumping their Bibles, and exclaiming, “Makor, Makor.” The context of the dream wasn’t important, but the word was, I knew for sure. So I began to study and research the word. It turned out to be a Hebrew word, and I have never studied Hebrew. After several weeks, and many pages of “bunny trail” notes, my wife Carol got up early one morning and interrupted my study and told me that she just had a dream.
She was driving along a highway and crossed over a beautiful, inviting stream. She stopped her car, got out, and went to the stream. Others were there, and they said that the stream was a natural spring-fed stream, and very refreshing. So she knelt down and scooped up several handfuls of water to drink. As she started back to the car, her curiosity drew her to want to go up to see the spring. But there was no road, only a trail. So she had to hike. Alone.
When she got there she found a large cave with a pure lake of water inside of it. The stream flowed from the cave. She walked into the large cave. Inside she noticed an old red and white pickup truck parked beside the lake. Behind the truck was an opening into a smaller cave, from which flowed water into the lake of the large cave. A man walked out from the smaller cave and began to talk with her. He said that it was his job to take care of the spring, to watch over it. He enjoyed having a visitor and had lots to say about the spring water. He enjoyed explaining and sharing his knowledge. He said that he wished others would come up to learn about the water, the source of the stream.
When she finished telling me her dream I was both amazed and relieved. Excited to have a word picture of “makor” In jest, I said to Carol, it’s not fair that I study for weeks to know what God is trying to get into my pea brain and you get a beautiful word-picture dream in ten minutes. The other thing I said was to ask her, how did that man get a truck up there in the cave if there was no road? Before she could respond I answered myself. “Well, I guess if you’re the Holy Spirit you don’t need a road, you can just plop down your pickup wherever you want to.”
Psalm 36:9 – “For with you is the fountain of life.”
Jeremiah 2:13 – “My people have committed two sins: they have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water.”
John 4:14 – “Whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
John 7:38 – “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him. By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive.”
Revelation 7:17 – “For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their Shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water.”
Revelation 22:1,17 – “Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb… Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes let him take the free gift of the water of life.”
Here are some questions to ponder:
The concept of “fountains of living water” is common throughout the Bible. Do we understand it as a word picture, an illustration of spiritual thirsting after the source of abundant life, namely, Jesus and the Holy Spirit? Or do we view it as a label on a bottle of tonic water, something to be ingested through the mouth? Did you notice, in Carol’s dream, that she never even took a drink from the source of water flowing from the small cave, but rather she fellowshipped with the mystical man of the red and white pickup truck? If I, Jesus, came to you personally, how would you drink of the living water I continually offer you? How did the woman at the well of Sychar (John 4) drink of the living water I offered her? Or did you miss that fact (John 4:39-42)?
Which seems more living? A drink from a spring-fed stream several miles from its source, after it has flowed through stagnant little eddies, and through pastures polluted by animal waste and other contaminants? Or a drink from the source of that stream? Is the hike up the little trail worth it, away from the highway and group watering hole? Or worse yet, how often do we seek to satisfy our spiritual thirst with cistern water, pots of water drawn from the stream but stored for quick and easy access? Is it even possible to store up the source of life in a putrid cistern?
How often do you ever get thirsty? With water instantly available at the turn of a faucet can we contemplate and appreciate how valuable the wells were that Isaac and Jacob dug in the land of promise? Can we even relate then to the word picture of spiritual thirsting for the source of living water? For what do you thirst in your inner being? How often do you drink of Jesus, joyfully and worshipfully reliant on Him and upon the Holy Spirit, whom Jesus poured out in us in power and love, a river of life?
Are you one who thinks that fellowshipping with the man in the cave by the red and white pickup is far too mystical? Do you view the Word of God as the only source of living water? Then you must ask yourself, in all honesty, is the Word living and powerful to you (Hebrews 4:12), or has it become lifeless, a mere icon? Have you allowed the incessant verbiage of books and teachers to shape your inner person rather than the living truth of the living Word of God? Is it possible that the Word of God can become an end in itself rather than a conduit to the Source (see John 5:39-40)?
You are not full until you are overflowing. First you must thirst, then you must be filled, then the fountain of living water will flow out of you (John 7:38).
July 10, 2010
June 23, 2010
A Tale of Two Farms
Jacob’s farm was the best. For miles and miles around it was the best. Choice piece of land – level, fertile, and accessible. Fenced and cross-fenced, with plenty of roads. Roads that were graveled, not muddy, well drained and maintained. Big beautiful barns – some for equipment, some for storage, some for processing. Immaculately manicured. Nice new tractors. Plenty of wells and water rights. And productive. Buyers, sellers, employees – a bustling, busy productive farm.
Ben was a farm hand for Jacob. It was a great place to work. Ben was happy, well-cared for, satisfied, almost pampered. He had no reason, no need, no ambition to look elsewhere or otherwise. Jacob was known for miles around, just like the farm. He was the best. He knew all the facts and procedures, kept a tight reign, and paid promptly. He really had his act together.
But one day that all changed. Not the farm, but for Ben. It’s amazing how one letter, a single mystery could change the whole course of one’s life. He had heard recent accounts of a few brave souls who had begun to settle in a wild valley over the mountains in the next great watershed. But he thought they were foolish to leave the comfort, the ease, the security of working for the great plantation farms such as Jacob’s. But what slipped out of the envelope that day was a deed. A deed for eighty acres, written out in his name. A half section of land was his, for free. The letter with the deed simply read, “Please accept my gift. You can do it. I know. I’ll be looking in on you. The land isn’t the only thing that will change. Take courage, my friend. Blessings!”
Ben wrestled and debated, deep in his heart, struggling to make a decision. He hadn’t a friend or confidant on the farm whom he could trust to give him counsel, for they would all consider it foolish to accept the deed and start from scratch. But out of struggle and turmoil arises courage and determination.. His life was set upon a new mission, a destiny hatched by a mysterious letter with a gracious deed.
When the day came to announce his decision and bid farewell, Jacob begged and bartered with Ben to stay. The offers were enticing. But Ben’s heart was unshakeable. So Jacob told him he was always welcome to return. “Come back anytime,” he said, fully expecting that he would see him again soon.
The task that Ben set upon was daunting. The work was hard. Trees to fall, stumps to remove, brush to clear, earth to prepare. It seemed that the process was so slow. Piece by piece, acre upon acre. But sometimes it felt as though he was making no progress at all. Others in the valley were doing the same, and they would help each other out constantly. The friendship that developed was so kindred that Ben wondered if he had ever really had a true friend back at Jacob’s farm. Each day Ben would pause to reflect upon what was transpiring, starting with the deed, resulting in an unquenchable sense of hope, of adventure, and purpose. Each morning he seemed to be renewed with power and guidance. What seemed impossible he found he could accomplish. What he had always been told to do by Jacob he now had to figure out for himself – the why, the when, the how. Crop selection, planting, tilling, herbicides and pesticides, thinning and trimming, hiring and training, harvesting, marketing.
There were times, you must know, when Ben made mistakes. Costly, blundering mistakes. And times when he sat on a stump and just let the tears pour out. There were even times when the memory of Jacob’s farm overwhelmed poor Ben. One time he even drove up to the hilltop to gaze down at all the beautiful farms, all laid out so nice and orderly, with various crops, farmers, foremen, and laborers all doing their part. He dreamt of going back, but only momentarily. Then he closed his eyes and thought back to the mystery that started him on this new venture. He was so thankful for the deed, for the donor, for the land, for the progress. But most of all for the mystery of the envelope that had long since morphed into a greater mystery, a heart that was totally reliant on a living source of strength, peace, hope, and purpose. Yes, even an intangible sense of love. An inwardly empowering love and an outgoing love that encouraged everyone that came into his circle – neighbors, employees, family, and clients. No, his farm was not easy, and it was far from perfect. But this wild valley farm was his joy, his life.
Ben was a farm hand for Jacob. It was a great place to work. Ben was happy, well-cared for, satisfied, almost pampered. He had no reason, no need, no ambition to look elsewhere or otherwise. Jacob was known for miles around, just like the farm. He was the best. He knew all the facts and procedures, kept a tight reign, and paid promptly. He really had his act together.
But one day that all changed. Not the farm, but for Ben. It’s amazing how one letter, a single mystery could change the whole course of one’s life. He had heard recent accounts of a few brave souls who had begun to settle in a wild valley over the mountains in the next great watershed. But he thought they were foolish to leave the comfort, the ease, the security of working for the great plantation farms such as Jacob’s. But what slipped out of the envelope that day was a deed. A deed for eighty acres, written out in his name. A half section of land was his, for free. The letter with the deed simply read, “Please accept my gift. You can do it. I know. I’ll be looking in on you. The land isn’t the only thing that will change. Take courage, my friend. Blessings!”
Ben wrestled and debated, deep in his heart, struggling to make a decision. He hadn’t a friend or confidant on the farm whom he could trust to give him counsel, for they would all consider it foolish to accept the deed and start from scratch. But out of struggle and turmoil arises courage and determination.. His life was set upon a new mission, a destiny hatched by a mysterious letter with a gracious deed.
When the day came to announce his decision and bid farewell, Jacob begged and bartered with Ben to stay. The offers were enticing. But Ben’s heart was unshakeable. So Jacob told him he was always welcome to return. “Come back anytime,” he said, fully expecting that he would see him again soon.
The task that Ben set upon was daunting. The work was hard. Trees to fall, stumps to remove, brush to clear, earth to prepare. It seemed that the process was so slow. Piece by piece, acre upon acre. But sometimes it felt as though he was making no progress at all. Others in the valley were doing the same, and they would help each other out constantly. The friendship that developed was so kindred that Ben wondered if he had ever really had a true friend back at Jacob’s farm. Each day Ben would pause to reflect upon what was transpiring, starting with the deed, resulting in an unquenchable sense of hope, of adventure, and purpose. Each morning he seemed to be renewed with power and guidance. What seemed impossible he found he could accomplish. What he had always been told to do by Jacob he now had to figure out for himself – the why, the when, the how. Crop selection, planting, tilling, herbicides and pesticides, thinning and trimming, hiring and training, harvesting, marketing.
There were times, you must know, when Ben made mistakes. Costly, blundering mistakes. And times when he sat on a stump and just let the tears pour out. There were even times when the memory of Jacob’s farm overwhelmed poor Ben. One time he even drove up to the hilltop to gaze down at all the beautiful farms, all laid out so nice and orderly, with various crops, farmers, foremen, and laborers all doing their part. He dreamt of going back, but only momentarily. Then he closed his eyes and thought back to the mystery that started him on this new venture. He was so thankful for the deed, for the donor, for the land, for the progress. But most of all for the mystery of the envelope that had long since morphed into a greater mystery, a heart that was totally reliant on a living source of strength, peace, hope, and purpose. Yes, even an intangible sense of love. An inwardly empowering love and an outgoing love that encouraged everyone that came into his circle – neighbors, employees, family, and clients. No, his farm was not easy, and it was far from perfect. But this wild valley farm was his joy, his life.
June 9, 2010
And The Winner Is
There’s a saying, “He who dies with the most toys, wins.” And another, “The difference between a man and a boy is merely the size of his toys.”
I watched in amazement, over the course of several years, as my grandparents grew older and eventually passed on to be with the Lord. My grandfather was a rugged logger in Washington, back in the day when they cut down old growth trees that were six to eight feet in diameter. He homesteaded a property near Elma, clearing the land, with primitive tools and horses. And he built a barn and home by his own two hands. No chainsaws, no electric power tools, no nail guns. Maybe some dynamite. But no excavator. Eventually he moved to the big city to work for Lockheed, building airplanes.
When I really got to know him was when he retired to Kingman, Arizona. He wasn’t there long because he moved back up to his “home”, near Elma, and bought a modest little house with a big shop and several acres to plant trees. At eighty years of age he still felt compelled to plant fir trees, knowing that someone else would someday be the benefactor of harvesting the lumber.
When he got to the point that he couldn’t keep up with the little farm they sold it and moved into an apartment in Olympia. They had a huge estate sale to get rid of so, so much of their tools, furniture, housewares, and belongings. In just a few short years my Grandmother passed on. So Grandpa got rid of more stuff and moved into an assisted care center. He wasn’t there long before he went back to Arizona to live with his daughter, my mother and father.
The memory that made such an impression on my mind was when he boarded the plane to leave his home state of Washington to live his last few months or years in Arizona. He had with him one suitcase. All his worldly possessions were whittled down, step by step, to just one suitcase.
And when we leave this earth, bound for eternity, we won’t be taking even a single suitcase.
In America, land of the free and the brave, the wealthiest nation ever to live on planet Earth, we view possessions and ownership far different than most other people. I was only twenty-five years old when a church sent a man to Oregon to move me down to Arizona to begin ministry there. We nearly filled up an entire U-haul truck. His comment to me has stuck with me ever since. “I’m impressed with how much stuff you have – tools, collections, furniture. That tells me you must be quite a guy.” Rather than flattering me it humbled me. It caused me to change my heart, and begin to try to buck the culture. I would rather God be impressed than men – impressed by how much I give away and by how much I share, not by how much I possess.
“So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” (Matthew 6:31-33)
“I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” (Philippians 4:12)
I watched in amazement, over the course of several years, as my grandparents grew older and eventually passed on to be with the Lord. My grandfather was a rugged logger in Washington, back in the day when they cut down old growth trees that were six to eight feet in diameter. He homesteaded a property near Elma, clearing the land, with primitive tools and horses. And he built a barn and home by his own two hands. No chainsaws, no electric power tools, no nail guns. Maybe some dynamite. But no excavator. Eventually he moved to the big city to work for Lockheed, building airplanes.
When I really got to know him was when he retired to Kingman, Arizona. He wasn’t there long because he moved back up to his “home”, near Elma, and bought a modest little house with a big shop and several acres to plant trees. At eighty years of age he still felt compelled to plant fir trees, knowing that someone else would someday be the benefactor of harvesting the lumber.
When he got to the point that he couldn’t keep up with the little farm they sold it and moved into an apartment in Olympia. They had a huge estate sale to get rid of so, so much of their tools, furniture, housewares, and belongings. In just a few short years my Grandmother passed on. So Grandpa got rid of more stuff and moved into an assisted care center. He wasn’t there long before he went back to Arizona to live with his daughter, my mother and father.
The memory that made such an impression on my mind was when he boarded the plane to leave his home state of Washington to live his last few months or years in Arizona. He had with him one suitcase. All his worldly possessions were whittled down, step by step, to just one suitcase.
And when we leave this earth, bound for eternity, we won’t be taking even a single suitcase.
In America, land of the free and the brave, the wealthiest nation ever to live on planet Earth, we view possessions and ownership far different than most other people. I was only twenty-five years old when a church sent a man to Oregon to move me down to Arizona to begin ministry there. We nearly filled up an entire U-haul truck. His comment to me has stuck with me ever since. “I’m impressed with how much stuff you have – tools, collections, furniture. That tells me you must be quite a guy.” Rather than flattering me it humbled me. It caused me to change my heart, and begin to try to buck the culture. I would rather God be impressed than men – impressed by how much I give away and by how much I share, not by how much I possess.
“So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” (Matthew 6:31-33)
“I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” (Philippians 4:12)
May 7, 2010
My Gift of Love, A New Vacuum
I don’t know what I was thinking. Mother’s Day was coming up and I wanted to get something really special for Carol, my wonderful bride of only a few years. And now a Mom, with our first little girl. Housework was a big part of her life, her lot in life, you might say. And she often mentioned how poorly the vacuum cleaner was working. So I decided that it was the perfect opportunity. An opportunity to show her the magnitude of my love. Not just something ordinary and mundane. Not something that would wilt and be thrown out onto the compost pile in a week or two. Not some chocolates that would soon be eaten up and have nothing left to remind her of my nice, loving gift. Instead, a new vacuum cleaner. Besides, I could kill two birds with one stone, turning a necessary purchase into a “gift”.
I was sure she would be elated. Her work would be made easier. Her wonderful husband splurging to get her this fine piece of machinery. I could hardly wait until Sunday to give it to her.
Surprise! Oh, not hers, but my own surprise. Dismay. She wasn’t nearly as overjoyed as I had anticipated. In fact, there was not even a smile, not even a smirky little fake smile. No big hearted gratitude. Merely a curt, obligatory thank you. I still didn’t get it. Not until a few days later when she had the courage to explain to me how she felt. A vacuum cleaner, as a gift, meant to her that my love was conditioned upon her worth as a housekeeper. There was no love or romance expressed in receiving a vacuum cleaner.
I really don’t know what I was thinking. I got her some belated flowers, or candy, or something. But it wasn’t the same. The damage was done.
Carol is not even my mom. But she is the mother of my children. An incredible mother, I might add. So now I try to give her a gift expressive of my true love. Flowers, for one. My son Jon always gives her flowers, too. He didn’t learn it from me. He’s smarter than his Dad. Not just flowers or chocolates, though, but also a card. Always a card that says, “Love always!”
In the children’s book, Sidney and Norman, by Phil Vischer, two pigs are invited to Elm Street for a meeting with God. The one pig, who is neat, fastidious, and highly disciplined is told by God, “I love you. But you must stop being so critical of everyone else who can’t perform like you do.” The other pig is ashamed to meet God, but musters up courage and overcomes his fear. And this is what God had to say to him. “First of all, I want to tell you that I love you. Secondly, I want to tell you again, I love you. And thirdly," after a long pause, "I love you.”
There is power in love. And vacuum cleaners, I now know, have nothing to do with love!
By love alone God changes our hearts. He told me that one time, and I believe it.
I was sure she would be elated. Her work would be made easier. Her wonderful husband splurging to get her this fine piece of machinery. I could hardly wait until Sunday to give it to her.
Surprise! Oh, not hers, but my own surprise. Dismay. She wasn’t nearly as overjoyed as I had anticipated. In fact, there was not even a smile, not even a smirky little fake smile. No big hearted gratitude. Merely a curt, obligatory thank you. I still didn’t get it. Not until a few days later when she had the courage to explain to me how she felt. A vacuum cleaner, as a gift, meant to her that my love was conditioned upon her worth as a housekeeper. There was no love or romance expressed in receiving a vacuum cleaner.
I really don’t know what I was thinking. I got her some belated flowers, or candy, or something. But it wasn’t the same. The damage was done.
Carol is not even my mom. But she is the mother of my children. An incredible mother, I might add. So now I try to give her a gift expressive of my true love. Flowers, for one. My son Jon always gives her flowers, too. He didn’t learn it from me. He’s smarter than his Dad. Not just flowers or chocolates, though, but also a card. Always a card that says, “Love always!”
In the children’s book, Sidney and Norman, by Phil Vischer, two pigs are invited to Elm Street for a meeting with God. The one pig, who is neat, fastidious, and highly disciplined is told by God, “I love you. But you must stop being so critical of everyone else who can’t perform like you do.” The other pig is ashamed to meet God, but musters up courage and overcomes his fear. And this is what God had to say to him. “First of all, I want to tell you that I love you. Secondly, I want to tell you again, I love you. And thirdly," after a long pause, "I love you.”
There is power in love. And vacuum cleaners, I now know, have nothing to do with love!
By love alone God changes our hearts. He told me that one time, and I believe it.
May 1, 2010
Grand Canyon
There’s nothing like it. The grandeur, the majesty, the panorama, the colors of the Grand Canyon. Unless, that is, you decide to hike down to the bottom instead of just stand on the rim and take it all in. And that’s exactly what we decided to do.
“Could you please be quiet!” The other campers down in the bottom of the Grand Canyon were very upset at us for making our dinner. We got into Phantom Ranch about 6:00 in the evening and did not understand their reaction. Climbing down the Kaibab trail took only three hours so we left from Phoenix in time to hit the trail by 2:00. The next day we would climb out of the canyon on the Bright Angel trail. We planned it such so we could enjoy different scenery. And being a much longer trail it was therefore less steep.
We were novices at hiking the canyon, we found out. Carol and I had only been married six months. My younger brother, Don, went along, too. He is quite the venturous soul, having rafted the Canyon several times since. But this was our very first venture to the bottom of the Canyon. I have never been into serious climbs, like Mount Hood, or hiking the Pacific Crest trail. So I was unaware of the difficulty of the hike that was to be our fate the next day.
When we woke up at sunrise the next morning we looked around the campsite. For sure, we didn’t want to make any noise and bother anybody again. But we were the only people left. Everyone was gone. Long gone. On their way up the canyon. Well before sunrise. Then it made sense why they were so upset at us the night before, making noise getting our dinner ready while they were desperately trying to get to sleep.
Climbing out of the Grand Canyon is about a mile vertical climb. That’s a greater climb than Mt Hood, from Timberline to the summit. No ice to contend with, though, just dry hot sun, sweat and dirt. The trail was nearly twelve miles of switchbacks -- switchback after switchback. So much for the scenery. By the middle of the afternoon we were worried whether we would make it out before dark.
We enjoyed a nice dinner that evening, in an air-conditioned restaurant with a wonderful view of the canyon, lit up by moonlight. It was amazing how our two day adventure made that view far more meaningful than ever before. We marveled at what we had accomplished. Despite our ignorance and lack of planning, it was a conquest, never to be forgotten.
“I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me…. Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:12-14)
“Could you please be quiet!” The other campers down in the bottom of the Grand Canyon were very upset at us for making our dinner. We got into Phantom Ranch about 6:00 in the evening and did not understand their reaction. Climbing down the Kaibab trail took only three hours so we left from Phoenix in time to hit the trail by 2:00. The next day we would climb out of the canyon on the Bright Angel trail. We planned it such so we could enjoy different scenery. And being a much longer trail it was therefore less steep.
We were novices at hiking the canyon, we found out. Carol and I had only been married six months. My younger brother, Don, went along, too. He is quite the venturous soul, having rafted the Canyon several times since. But this was our very first venture to the bottom of the Canyon. I have never been into serious climbs, like Mount Hood, or hiking the Pacific Crest trail. So I was unaware of the difficulty of the hike that was to be our fate the next day.
When we woke up at sunrise the next morning we looked around the campsite. For sure, we didn’t want to make any noise and bother anybody again. But we were the only people left. Everyone was gone. Long gone. On their way up the canyon. Well before sunrise. Then it made sense why they were so upset at us the night before, making noise getting our dinner ready while they were desperately trying to get to sleep.
Climbing out of the Grand Canyon is about a mile vertical climb. That’s a greater climb than Mt Hood, from Timberline to the summit. No ice to contend with, though, just dry hot sun, sweat and dirt. The trail was nearly twelve miles of switchbacks -- switchback after switchback. So much for the scenery. By the middle of the afternoon we were worried whether we would make it out before dark.
We enjoyed a nice dinner that evening, in an air-conditioned restaurant with a wonderful view of the canyon, lit up by moonlight. It was amazing how our two day adventure made that view far more meaningful than ever before. We marveled at what we had accomplished. Despite our ignorance and lack of planning, it was a conquest, never to be forgotten.
“I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me…. Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:12-14)
April 20, 2010
Pipe Wrench
It was the highlight of my week in Hermosillo. We were sitting in a little restaurant on Saturday evening listening to Terry Lingel, the host missionary, as he told us a few stories of God’s leading him to Mexico. Terry is very unassuming, and it took quite some effort to settle the chatter of the group and draw him out. But the stories were priceless. Jewels of faith.
We were there in Hermosillo to help Terry get a bunch of work done on a house he had purchased, by God’s provision, to start up yet another orphanage. Casa de Gozo, the House of Joy. In just a few months he had twelve children, already, and a wonderful Mexican couple to direct the orphanage. We were there to install all the toilets, sinks, showers, fans, electrical, and lighting in the new dormitory part of the building. We put in “miles” of conduit and wiring, a new panel, and tied in the old part of the house with the new. The day we left, with room to grow, they received five additional children. Terry and Pedro were afraid they wouldn’t be able to cap their number at thirty, because the need was so great.
Terry grew up in Idaho. Hardly ever ventured very far. But shortly after marrying Lorie they took a vacation to California. Since they were so close they ventured on down to Mexico. That was the beginning of God’s stirring their heart. Back in Idaho he encouraged the youth pastor to consider a mission trip to Mexico with some students the next summer.
The pastor was afraid of such a venture, so Terry took him on an exploratory trip. They wanted to meet up with a pastor and makes plans for the upcoming summer. When they arrived at the church on the appointed day, at the appointed hour, there was no one there to greet them. After waiting an hour they eventually met someone from the church. They were told that the pastor would be there soon, just to wait. After another hour they asked again when the pastor might arrive. They were told that he had gone down south for a funeral and would be back in about two weeks. Just wait.
So they headed for Kino Bay, and found another church. They asked around for the pastor, and once again they were told, “just wait”. Soon, though, the pastor did arrive. They began to make plans to come down and help him with his building and his ministry that summer. In the process they had to come up with a place for the students to “live” for the time they were there. They came up with a rustic setting. But one thing missing, which they must have, was working plumbing. They asked a man of the church, an expatriate American, if he could get the restrooms up and ready by the summer. The man said that he could, if only he had a pipe wrench. There was only one pipe wrench in the entire community, and it was in big demand, and cost much to rent.
Terry had taken all his tools out of his van before leaving Idaho. He brought with him only a few emergency tools for the road. Four blocks from home, though, he stopped and turned around. He went back home and picked up one more tool to take with him on the trip. A pipe wrench. He gave it to the man. With tears in his eyes, the pastor said that the pipe wrench would be an incredible blessing for their church families, and for the community. He promised to have their little “camp” ready by summer.
Kino Bay soon became the Lingel’s new home -- site of their first church, a camp for orphans, and a base from where they helped start several orphanages, a rehab center, and several other churches.
“Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, This is the way; walk in it.” (Isaiah 30:21)
We were there in Hermosillo to help Terry get a bunch of work done on a house he had purchased, by God’s provision, to start up yet another orphanage. Casa de Gozo, the House of Joy. In just a few months he had twelve children, already, and a wonderful Mexican couple to direct the orphanage. We were there to install all the toilets, sinks, showers, fans, electrical, and lighting in the new dormitory part of the building. We put in “miles” of conduit and wiring, a new panel, and tied in the old part of the house with the new. The day we left, with room to grow, they received five additional children. Terry and Pedro were afraid they wouldn’t be able to cap their number at thirty, because the need was so great.
Terry grew up in Idaho. Hardly ever ventured very far. But shortly after marrying Lorie they took a vacation to California. Since they were so close they ventured on down to Mexico. That was the beginning of God’s stirring their heart. Back in Idaho he encouraged the youth pastor to consider a mission trip to Mexico with some students the next summer.
The pastor was afraid of such a venture, so Terry took him on an exploratory trip. They wanted to meet up with a pastor and makes plans for the upcoming summer. When they arrived at the church on the appointed day, at the appointed hour, there was no one there to greet them. After waiting an hour they eventually met someone from the church. They were told that the pastor would be there soon, just to wait. After another hour they asked again when the pastor might arrive. They were told that he had gone down south for a funeral and would be back in about two weeks. Just wait.
So they headed for Kino Bay, and found another church. They asked around for the pastor, and once again they were told, “just wait”. Soon, though, the pastor did arrive. They began to make plans to come down and help him with his building and his ministry that summer. In the process they had to come up with a place for the students to “live” for the time they were there. They came up with a rustic setting. But one thing missing, which they must have, was working plumbing. They asked a man of the church, an expatriate American, if he could get the restrooms up and ready by the summer. The man said that he could, if only he had a pipe wrench. There was only one pipe wrench in the entire community, and it was in big demand, and cost much to rent.
Terry had taken all his tools out of his van before leaving Idaho. He brought with him only a few emergency tools for the road. Four blocks from home, though, he stopped and turned around. He went back home and picked up one more tool to take with him on the trip. A pipe wrench. He gave it to the man. With tears in his eyes, the pastor said that the pipe wrench would be an incredible blessing for their church families, and for the community. He promised to have their little “camp” ready by summer.
Kino Bay soon became the Lingel’s new home -- site of their first church, a camp for orphans, and a base from where they helped start several orphanages, a rehab center, and several other churches.
“Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, This is the way; walk in it.” (Isaiah 30:21)
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