They come for many reasons.
Some feel called, others feel led.
They come for many reasons.
She and her daughter had traveled from New Jersey. The pamphlet told of the Trail and something spoke to them to go. They showed up
on a chilly Friday evening, just mother and daughter. They guided themselves, taking care at each exhibit, each step of the way, savoring every morsel of the ancient history.
We stood at the oven preparing for the next day’s guided tours as they came closer, working their way through centuries of persecution, centuries of Waldensians dying for their faith.
I carefully placed the log upon the splitting block and looked for the weakest section, one that had a hairline crack; something the maul’s edge could use to begin the split. The tiniest of line running from the center out along the years of growth showed me the spot where I had to aim. Lifting the maul, I arched my back and swung in the movement learned from years of manually splitting firewood, arching the back as I rose to my toes, then with the force of momentum on my side, began the downward arc of the ax.
The solid crack of the log confirmed my aim had been true; the fissure had begun.
Something about splitting firewood for the oven made be think how this activity and the church had something in common.
In today’s society, many churches are like the log to be split. Satan seeks the tiniest of crevice wherein he can find an avenue to slip in. Once the opening begins, he brings the force of the depths of hell upon the smallest of hairline splits until evil has blown open a fracture in the church so deep and wide it can destroy the very institution that once could have easily withstood the demonic onslaught. The tiniest opening was all that was needed.
The guests were now rounding the corner of the Refour house and walked up to the oven where we worked. We introduced ourselves and began to share with them what we were doing and the story behind the community oven. Something we said about sharing the bread of Christ and modern day miracles triggered an emotion with them that began to bring out the mother’s testimony; something I knew I would have to save if only to remember for another day, another time.
She began with how there was a movie that she badly wanted to see back home, back in New Jersey. Yet, every time she tried to go see it, the movie was sold out. When she arrived in Charlotte, where her daughter lives, she tried once more and was finally able to get in; the miracle began. She continued on about her home church and how it had burnt down. She felt called by the Lord to start a building drive to raise money to rebuild. She asked God, “Are you sure, this is me you are talking to. I can’t do something like that.” She told how she tried to reason with God but every time she spoke against it, God told her he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Finally, she conceded and accepted that she had no choice. She was one month into her ministry, having already visited neighboring churches to try to ask for their help when her doctor called.
Emotions began to well up in her eyes as she sat down on the knee wall and continued.
She shared how the doctor told her that her cervical cancer had returned and that she would require more surgery.
“Why, God,” she cried out, “why would you do this to me after I finally accepted your call?”
The thought came to mind when I hear of bad things happening to good people. “You must be doing something right with regard to God when Satan steps in and tries to bring you down.”
So she had to tell the churches she had already visited that she would be back after her cancer surgery if it were the Lord’s will.
Three months passed and once she recovered she returned to the ministry. Their visit to the Trail was part of that recovery. Not only did she have to find her strength physically, but spiritually as well. She found power in the story of perseverance and standing strong through the countless centuries of persecution. “Yes,” she said, “We were more than a blessing to her, we were confirmation.” She then went on to tell us about the rest of the miracle. That very morning before they came to the Trail with her daughter, she received a text message. There had finally been a significant donation, one that would allow them to begin construction on the church; a single private donation of over one-hundred thousand dollars. The tears rolled down her cheeks as the breeze drifted tiny flower petals down about us. The Holy Spirit was moving down my spine as she spoke.
“Thanks be to God,” I replied as I felt the lump in my throat grow. “We serve an awesome God.”
Satan had tried to stop her, there was a crack in her armor, but the will of the Lord prevailed. The abyss of darkness wasn’t able to consume her light as she continues on.
They left shortly afterward knowing that we had received their testimony. Their visit, while only brief, will remain with me as a reminder.
Part of me wondered as they drove away if the knew the Lord. To say it was obvious wasn’t satisfying the question that arose. “Whey didn’t I ask,” I thought to myself?
Sometimes the crack that opens up isn’t for us to fill, isn’t for us to use. No, sometimes that crevice that appears is just merely for us to see a glimpse into the world of someone else’s walk with God if only we will listen and pay attention.
That evening as I put the ax away, I realized there was another precious memory for us to savor. Something to pull out on one of those days when nothing seems to go right; something that we can sit back and embrace when our time on earth nears its end and we seek to walk the journey one last time.
Yes, another day and another box of sweetness the Lord has provided.
Thanks be to God.
