I don't want to, nor do I need to travel anymore. I like my own bed, my own food, my own home on this mountain, and my own schedule, or the lack thereof. Born in the breadbasket state of Kansas, Ted and I lived while in college in Minneapolis, in Dallas during seminary, in California for eighteen years of ministry. ...back to Texas for ten, then thirty-two years on this California mountain. We skied and camped in the High Sierras, motorcycled and camped in the Rockies, camped in the Olympia National Forest, attended a World's Fair in Oregon, visited the beautiful Burchart Gardens, ministered to Young Life teenagers on the island of Malibu, a hundred miles up the Princess Louisa Inlet from Seattle . We listened to jazz on a muggy night in New Orleans; witnessed the launch of the Space Ship Columbia in Orlando, rushed back to Mission Control in Houston where we heard our friend, Commander Jack Lousma in outer space and Steve Nagel within a few feet of us at the controls as these two Christian astronauts shared their morning devotions from Proverbs 3:5 and 6 over the loudspeaker to a listening audience of scientists and NASA personnel. We fished from a wealthy friend's yacht in the Gulf of Mexico. (The crew even baited our hooks.) We spent a Sunday on a houseboat on the Ouachita River with students from Louisiana Tech in Monroe (Yep. ...the same town where the Duck Dynasty family lives.)
We were sent by our son Doug to attend Oberammergau, The Passion Play performed every ten years in Germany; we rendezvoused with dear friends from Texas in Atlanta and hit the Civil War Trail. ...all the way north to Gettysburg. On another rendezvous with these best of friends we somehow managed to be in White Plains, New York, about thirty miles from the City when the towers went down. After several days Ted and I ventured back in to what had become a ghost town. One show on Broadway, "The Music Man" was playing to half an audience who stood to our feet at the end and sang "God Bless America" with the "Seventy-six Trombones" band as our flag was lowered to cover the entire wall at the back of the stage. We cried.
At the outset of a ministry trip to East and Southeast Asia in Hong Kong we dined in the home of a man in the government of China whose sons had become Christians while students in the University of Houston. A year or so later we hosted the family in our home. In Manila we dined in a large touristy restaurant where we found ourselves seated one table away from missionary friends from Bangkok, Thailand. The four of us had been fellow students years before at Northwestern Bible College in Minneapolis. We ministered to missionaries and their beloved people in Taiwan, Singapore, Indonesia, the Philippines and Viet Nam. Our last week was spent with the Su Tong tribe in Dalat, Viet Nam right at the time the country fell. We fled, barely ahead of the boat people. Each of us was handed a half-American, half Vietnamese baby, rescued from orphanages by Catholic nuns for adoption in America. By this time Ted and I were exhausted. We had missed our twenty-fifth anniversary so deplaned in Hawaii where we snorkeled in the blue waters off Maui, ...and slept.
At some point along the way (and I can't remember when this trip was wedged in) we were gifted by a very sensitive couple with a much-needed vacation that took us to Switzerland, Austria, Italy, Greece, Turkey, the Mediterranean, Egypt, Cypress, and Israel. On the island of Patmos we sat in the marketplace and listened with delight to the stories of retired Greek islanders who had lived in many countries. We spent time in Corinth and Rome. We cruised the Mediterranean on an Onassis ship.We were seated at the Captain's table with the ambassador from Italy to Greece. His wife got drunk so Ted and I could talk with the ambassador about Jesus. We stopped off in Ephesus in Turkey. We visited King Tut's tomb in Cairo before flying to Cypress, and then Israel. I want to tell you about a night in Jerusalem. We were invited into the private home (flat) of the Chief of Staff of Hadassah Hospital where we dined with sixteen holocaust survivors. We shared the Way of Salvation with these wonderful Jewish people from eight different countries. Upon their release from the death camps, they had fled to Israel where they entered school, met and became doctors. None had ever met Christians until that night that did not come to an end until 4 A.M. in the morning.
Years later, Ted taught in our spiritual son's (Phil Walker) seminary in Kitali, Kenya while I spent time with delightful Tanzanians, Ugandans and Kenyans. Oh, dear Phil and Deb...how you have sacrificed to train thousands of Africans for ministry. Your rewards will be many. We couldn't leave Kenya without going on a safari. We watched two million wildebeests, and many zebras migrate across the Mara (river) from Kenya to the Serengeti in Tanzania. (We also watched some disappear down the throats of twenty- foot long crocodiles.) In the land rovers around us were photographers with "National Geographic" who once a year fly to the Mara to film this largest-in-the-world migration. We were entertained in the safari dining hall at night by the Masai tribal jumpers. We met a Kenyan staff employee who, upon learning that Ted had been teaching in a seminary in his country asked if he would teach a Bible study for the employees, some of whom were Masai tribal men. This dear man had become a Christian at his own mother's funeral three years before. About twenty-five workers showed up. We sang; Ted taught; we had a wonderful time of fellowship! At night we slept in a tent across the Mara from sixty hippos that, in the daytime stretched out to snooze in the sun. At five P.M. they backed their huge bodies into the river and marched single file up the river to their feeding grounds. Right on the dot at 5 A.M their trumpeting awoke us as they marched back down the river and hoisted their enormous bodies up on the river bank to sleep in the sun. About every hour, they slid backwards into the water, completely submerged themselves, leaving not a ripple, then after ten or so minutes, on some cue their noses appeared, then their whole bodies which they hoisted back up the bank to sun some more. We were warned not to step one toe in that mara; these giants are territorial and vicious, as are the crocodiles.
Now, to today. What is the "upside" of being an 87-year-old woman living alone on the side of a California mountain? I can pick up the phone any time and connect with my scattered Holy Family. I can Email or text any one of dozens of people that may live in the U.S. or on another continent.. I can eat if and when I feel like it. I am still the wife of a pastor, even though that pastor has been in Heaven for six years. I belong to the Church-at-large and am free to go wherever I am asked or choose to go. I continue to host guests that want to come just
because, or they
need to come. As the possibility of more snowstorms fades I will plan some out-of-door singalongs for toe-tappin' music lovers. My dining table is always set. I can continue to write this blog which seems to be thought-provoking for some, and maybe just "provoking" for others (You don't hafta read it, you know.) ...and what is the overriding reason for the title of this blog? ...It won't be long until I am with my Father and all of my loved ones that have preceded me to Heaven.
...so what is the "down-side" of being 87 and living alone on the side of this mountain? O.K. wrenching loneliness that sometimes sweeps over me when I least expect it. ...a tsunami of tears that come out of the deepest places in my soul. My Heavenly Father comforts me and reminds me that "It won't be long..."
This world is not my home; I'm just a passin' through
My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue.
The angels beckon me from Heaven's open door
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore.
Love, Jo
