When He shall come...

The man I married wasn't wired to acknowledge anything unpleasant.  Ted Stone could have lived in an igloo within a snowball's toss of the North Pole and not even noticed that the weather outside was frightful.  We have travelled and ministered in many places in the world. Ted slept like a baby in every climate, every country, on any old bed, or lack thereof.  In Germany I couldn't sleep because of his snoring. I finally gave up on sleep and got out of bed when I heard the milkmaids clanging their buckets in the barn outside our window.  I chatted 'em up as they politely smiled, nodded and kept milking.  I always found local people to talk to in every country while Ted was doing what Ted always did:  teaching  and counseling when that was his assignment.  He loved to explore ruins and museums, reading every little detail written about each item.  Me? ...not so much. When we were in Jerusalem Ted  flew down to Elat to see Solomon's mines and his horse stables.  I stayed in the city with Lily, a Holocaust survivor whom we had met in a hotel lobby. I will tell you about this amazing lady in a future Blog. I will never forget the fun of sitting in the market square on the island of Patmos, questioning and listening to the elderly Greeks who made their fortunes in other countries before returning to their beloved island to die. Ted was walking every inch of the island, re-living John's experiences and revelations.  I took a picture of him in his Bermuda shorts posing beside a Greek orthodox priest in black flowing priestly robes and head covering. That priest would never have believed that Ted was a pastor.

Our first church after seminary with Ray Stedman set us up for life to be disciplers, committed  to working ourselves out of a job.  Ray didn't tell us how foreign such a passion would be to many church leaders who think "volume.".  We were pretty much surprised when we arrived in Palo Alto and discovered that new Christians were teaching Bible studies in their homes and back yards not long after receiving Christ.  Ted had just graduated from a seminary that is known for thoroughly teaching Greek and Hebrew. The people we were meeting in Ray's fellowship didn't know diddly about Greek and Hebrew but people were coming to know Christ by the dozens!  Was Ray's church a mess of sinful people who exploited grace?  No.  I had never met such relaxed,  peaceful, enjoyable and fruitful Christians. ..except for the Young Life leaders we had ministered alongside during our seminary days.

Our next ministry in Bakersfield began with a handful of faithful people. After some minor skirmishes about ways to build a healthy church our ministry of discipleship was accepted and in time, celebrated. After fifteen years, we knew the church was ready to move on without us. Many of the believers were making disciples in the city and around the world.

We were so naïve that we assumed every evangelical church understands that the ministry isn't to grow because of the amazing pastor's charm or gift of teaching, but because the believers are encouraged to move into their realms of influence,  love people, lead them to Christ and disciple them themselves.  We would hit a brick wall in about three years. Had I known that I would have left skid marks all the way from Bakersfield, California.. When we were promoted (Ted's word)  the Lord took us into radio ministry on two stations, into the  lives of pastors, astronauts, attorneys, homemakers, business owners and employees,  college students, single career people, drug addicts who were both dirt poor and filthy rich and I can't even remember who else. The next seven years were wild and fruitful. Ministries were launched and are still bearing fruit. Those people are my dear, dear friends. Many have scattered to other cities; some remain in that city, and are going and making disciples.  We would still be there if I had not been so terribly sick will allergies to mold and pine. Ultimately I sank into a deep depression.

Son Jeff was on the Board of a Retreat owned and operated by loving retired missionaries who mostly ministered to people in full time ministry. Jeff sent me to them to see if I felt better in the country,  but I was still very ill.  In that wonderful haven I met ordinarily sane, but hurt people who took bats and beat the livin'  daylights out of mattresses that were hung on the walls for just that purpose. It's called "Primal Therapy".  All had stored up anger from years of stuffing their feelings.  I think Paul may have possibly paused a bit when the Lord told him to write: "Be angry and sin not.". That's a tough scripture to welcome when one's belly is packed with pain from unexpressed hurt. I couldn't get into swinging a bat, but I did gain enough strength from the understanding and love of that weathered missionary couple to return to the city and make it another year until we could sell our home and move to a dry climate.  I have not suffered from blinding headaches for thirty years.  Not surprisingly I now have arthritis. I'm old and mortal and have beaten my body into submission.  It is getting its revenge. Of course Paul had  body agony from all the physical and emotional stoning's  he endured. ...and he had no medication.  I do.  It may be eating my liver but I sure do feel better.

Our next pastorate here in Bear Valley, in three years was going to free us to "go and make disciples".  The leaders were into volume.  We were in the right location for my physical health and for my soon-to-arrive family, but we were in the wrong ministry. By then I knew the drill, so pretty much rested in Jesus' words from the cross: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."  I cannot count the faithful but shredded full time ministry people who come through the doors of the very house in which I continue to live and minister.  I love the church, but I love Jesus more.  I attend several assemblies, remain on one mission board and am friends with them all.

Paul's swan song to Timothy included II Timothy 2:2. ...and then his head was cut off. We will see him with all those who have given their lives for the Gospel. ....clothed in white.

                                         Precious old hymn: When He Shall Come

When He shall come, resplendent in His glory
To take His own from out this veil of night
Oh, may I know the joy of His appearing
Only at morn to walk with Him in white.

When He shall call, from earth's remotest corners
All who have stood triumphing in His might
Oh, to be worthy then to stand beside them
And in that morn to walk with Him in white.

Love, Jo