"A Bible study," I told myself. "That’s what I’ll do. Yes, a ladies only Bible study!"
Starting a Bible study just seemed like a logical next step toward sharing the gospel with the people of Spring Lake, my divinely arranged mission field. And inviting only women made me feel a little less frightened.
But first, I needed to find out who was in charge of the camp and make sure that my plan was okay. I didn’t really figure that the Baptists who owned the camp would object to another Baptist sharing the gospel, but in my very heart of hearts, I still had an unuttered hope that perhaps I would be told that my help really wasn’t necessary after all. Then the divine dare would surely be off. Also, I had some rather vague fears concerning radical liberals descending upon the camp and taking away FEMA money, or something even worse, suing, because the name of Jesus was used in the vicinity of government funding. I wanted to be sure that I didn’t mess up the mythical balance of church and state in the extremely unlikely event that someone from the ACLU happened to be volunteering at the camp!
So I set out in search of the camp’s top dog.
There were official looking people everywhere. There was a man with a bullhorn shouting out the departure times of vans going to the Red Cross and to Wal-mart. There was a lady under a canopy handing out name badges and a gentleman directing the steady stream of cars that were arriving stuffed full of donated items. A man wearing scrubs was taking medical information. I couldn’t see them, but I could hear the noise of a whole crew of men and women cooking in the kitchen. It seemed that there were almost as many volunteers as there were evacuees. And if it hadn’t been for the general guide of skin color - black, evacuee - white, volunteer – it would not have been possible to tell the two apart. Pretty much everyone looked totally bewildered.
But who was actually in charge of all the mayhem? I asked the bullhorn guy. He shrugged and said, "A big guy in overalls," as he motioned me away from a departing van. I asked the name tag lady. "Brother Jerry," was her matter-of-fact answer, before she quickly turned her attention elsewhere. Okay, that helped a little. I wanted to ask the man wearing the scrubs, but before I could tell him what I wanted, he pushed me to the back of the line and told me that I had to wait my turn to see the doctor like everyone else. Someone muttered, "No breaking in line."
So I stood in the middle of the courtyard and just looked.
Beside the road, near where the vans were loading, I saw a group of people clustered around what appeared to be a rather large man. He stood, gray head, above most of the waiting crowd, but I could not make out his facial features because he constantly stooped, ear turned down, as if trying to hear the voices coming from below. Even though I couldn’t make out individual words, occasionally, I could hear a voice come booming out of the ring of people around him. He seemed to be giving orders.
Just as I moved closer for a look, the crowd parted for just an instant to allow a young man to leave the inner circle. As he ran toward an awaiting van he called back over his shoulder, "I’ll take care of it, Brother Jerry!" And before the crowd could fill the gap in the circle, I looked into its middle where I could see that the large man was wearing a pair of blue overalls. I had found the top dog.
Joining the outer edge of the group, I waited for my turn to meet Brother Jerry. He was fielding all sorts of questions, most of which I didn’t understand and don’t remember. I wasn’t paying too much attention to his answers because I was too busy planning what I was going to say when, and if, I ever found my way into the inner circle. After about five minutes or so, as if by magic, he dismissed the crowd with a wave of his hand and turned to go.
Undaunted, I chased after him.
"Brother Jerry, please, may I ask you a question?" I begged.
He turned around, and without looking at me, pointed his ear in my direction.
"Make it quick! You’ve got one minute," he boomed. "Elaine’s waiting for me."
It dawned on me that he might be a bit hard of hearing, so I spoke up nice and clear.
"I was wondering if … I mean since there are lots of other people here taking care of the physical needs," I stuttered, "I, … uh…I was wondering if it would be alright if I concentrated on spiritual needs instead?"
There. It was out. It sounded pretty silly, not at all what I had meant to say. It sounded like I was saying that I didn’t want to do any more physical work. It had a "Holier Than Thou" ring to it too.
What I said must have got his attention, because Brother Jerry, for the first time, looked me full in the face as if studying me. Instantly, I recognized him. We had met once before. I thought back to the very first day that I came to Spring Lake. It was the day that I brought styrofoam cups and plates. Carrying a heaping armful of them, I had gone into the cafeteria that day, looking for someone to tell me where to put down my load. There had been a large man behind the serving counter filling up a drink dispenser with orange juice. When he saw me, he began to shake all over. His eyes squeezed closed and his lips moved silently. I thought the man was having a seizure, and was honestly contemplating sounding an alarm, when he suddenly snapped out of his fit and pointed to a cabinet, mumbling what appeared to be a "Thank You!" in my general direction.
And now, here I was face to face with the same man. I began to mentally compose answers to the questions that I imagined would surely be asked. Who was I? What church did I attend? What were my qualifications? My doctrinal views?
Unbelievably, as he looked steadily into my eyes, he began to shake again, like a leaf in a storm. His eyes squeezed closed and his lips uttered silent words. It was that seizure thing again. Was he shaking with emotion? What kind of emotion? I wasn’t exactly sure. Were tears glistening behind those wrinkled eyelids?
Just as quickly as the storm came, it departed. Brother Jerry smiled. His big hand thumped me on the back just a little harder than I preferred to be thumped.
"You are an answer to prayer, girl!" he boomed. Then with his own sort of Great Commission he ordered, "Go, go. Go and do it."
He turned, and was gone before I could ask any more questions.
I stood in the dusty courtyard, now unaware of the mayhem around me, wondering what had just happened.
Comments
Apr. 13, 2006 - God be with you
Posted by akabain
God puts everyone where He needs them when He needs them. Being the answer to prayer (as Bro. Jerry said) must quicken the Spirit within. Prayers are off all our beloved countrymen still trying to find solid ground. Thanks be to God for our Rock and Redeemer.
Aug. 11, 2006 - What happened?!
Posted by netherfieldmom
This is great! I got here through Random Blog and now I want to know what happened?? Please write more--it's great. :)
Jul. 12, 2007 - When you get the time ... we'd love to hear the rest!
Posted by ErinCarey
What a joyful privilege to share the mercy of Christ with others!!