We Had No Idea

In the summer of 1972, I had just graduated from seminary. Lynn had just finished her second year as a high school English teacher. To get away for a few days, we decided to travel up the coast of Maine to visit Acadia National Park.

We took along our bulky, heavy, canvas cottage tent we had bought used from a family during the first summer we were married. We found a campground on Somes Sound on Mt. Desert Island and pitched our tent on a platform overlooking the sound.

By day we toured Acadia National Park. In the mornings we watched the lobster boats, and I fished for mackerel. At night we tried to play gin rummy with what we found out later was a pinochle deck.

And, we dreamed and talked about the future--about children, about ministry, about faith, about each other.

This week, 42 years later, we returned to the same campground. We rented a site on the water, just down from where we stayed the last time we were here.

We pulled our chairs out of our van and went out on the dock.  The water was as smooth as glass. A seal swam nearby, occasionally dipping its head in the water in search of food. It was dusk. A bright, almost-full moon rose over the water. It was strikingly quiet.

As we sat on the dock together, we reflected and talked about the past--about children, about ministry, about faith, about each other.

We looked at each other and just shook our heads. Words failed to describe our gratitude and amazement for what God has done in our lives. "We had no idea," we said to each other.

No idea that God would give us two wonderful children who would marry such amazing spouses.

No idea that we would travel the world showing the love of Christ to people affected by disaster, conflict, and poverty.

No idea that Lynn would become an editor and work on hundreds of Christian books that would be read by millions of people.

No idea that we'd live in Wheaton and then in the Pacific Northwest.

No idea that God would be so generous to two people who had almost nothing.

No idea that, with God's grace and blessing, we would love each other more now than we did 42 years ago.

No idea that God would bring into our lives such wonderful friends.

Our lives have not been without challenge, frustration, or struggle.

And, some day soon we will turn our eyes again to the future.

But, on this quiet night on the shore of a beautiful island in Maine, when we think about God's grace during the past 42 years, all we can do is shake our heads and look at each other through eyes filled with tears and say:

"We had no idea."

Snapshots of Maine

Day 47-48--Snapshots as we traveled to Acadia National Park.

Flaming trees in the small villages:

"Lawbstah" in Rockland, the lobster capital of the Maine coast:

Penobscot Bay, Owl's Head Lighthouse and harbor:

"Scoonahs" in Camden "hahbah":

Boiling kettles for "lawbstahs" and "steamahs"

Care to pronounce this one?

This Is Why We Came to New England

Day 46--Words fail in response to the spectacular beauty of fall foliage in New England.

We'll let the images speak for themselves.

Really Good Friends

Days 44-45--Good friends serve you a delicious home-cooked meal when you come for a visit. Really good friends get so engaged in the conversation that they burn the potatoes...and serve them to you anyway.

Good friends listen to your stories. Really good friends tell you the truth.

Good friends serve you a fine wine for dinner. After dinner, really good friends open the old, rare port they've been saving for a special occasion.

Good friends order lobster rolls to serve their out-of-town guests. Really good friends add an abundance of fried clams, fried scallops, and fried onions to the order.

Good friends take you to see the sights when you visit. Really good friends take you on a tour of where they work.

Good friends ask you interesting questions. Really good friends ask you hard questions.

Good friends laugh with you. Really good friends pray with you.

Good friends care about you. Really good friends love you.

Dave and Nancy are our really good friends,

We've known each other for 40 years, since Dave and I (Bas) worked together for The Salvation Army in Boston. I ran programs. Dave wrote grants. In many ways, that distinction has defined our lives ever since. I am pragmatic, no-nonsense, blunt,  Dave is a charmer, engaging, funny.

Like us, Dave and Nancy have two children, a son and a daughter, who were both born at almost the same time as our kids. Dave and Nancy moved into Hyde Park shortly after we did so that Dave could direct the local YMCA. As stay-at-home moms, Lynn and Nancy grew very close. They were in Bible studies together, had endless cups of tea while our kids played together, shared recipes together, learned how to be moms together.

When we agreed to pastor the Blue Hill Community Church in Hyde Park, Dave and Nancy joined us. Each Sunday, Nancy would prepare and type up a wonderful liturgy with responsive readings and carefully chosen hymns. In the early days, adding their two kids to ours doubled the size of our Sunday school.

As with many young families, things change. Dave took a job as the director of a YMCA north of Boston. Lynn and I moved to Wheaton, where I took up my responsibilities with World Relief. They moved their family to Essex, where they already had many friends. 

Despite the separation caused by our moves, we stayed in touch--following the development of our kids, our careers, and our lives. Dave bought a dry-cleaning business that he has run for more than 25 years. Nancy has had a long, distinguished carer in admissions at Gordon College. She now is deeply engaged with several ministries, including a group that cares for survivors of trafficking as well as a foundation that she and Dave began with several other couples to support a school and its community in Kenya.

Their kids have grown up. Both are now married with families of their own. Dave and Nancy have 8 beautiful grandchildren, whom they love. We occasionally visit their children and grandchildren in California. Next week we will be with their daughter and her family in Maine.

We have seen Dave and Nancy infrequently over the years. Our contacts have been limited because we have lived far apart and our lives have been busy.

But, on those rare, special occasions when we do see each other, we realize again that they not just our good friends.

Dave and Nancy are our really good friends.

Old Friends. New Memories.

Days 42-43--I (Bas) first met Karen while I was on staff at The Salvation Army Harbor Light Center in the South End of Boston.

Karen was a nurse, working in a community-health program serving elderly and homeless people in Boston. She was an amazing force of nature with a huge smile that lit up the room and with a love for people that endeared her to everyone.

Karen loved to laugh. She had immeasurable patience for those she served. She did anything and everything for her patients. For the elderly who had nutrition problems, she taught cooking classes and then everyone ate the things they cooked. For the homeless, she examined feet, washed hair to kill lice, and bandaged wounds. She was a forceful advocate for those she served and for the principles that motivated her. She was unfailingly gracious but people crossed her at their peril.

When Lynn learned that I had invited Karen, and her husband, Wayne, to dinner, she somehow expected to meet a strong, opinionated, effervescent African-American woman. Imagine her surprise when a smiling, dark-haired Armenian-American showed up, with her up-state New York husband, Wayne, in tow.

From our very first night together, the four of us hit it off. Karen and Wayne both loved to laugh. They loved to play cards. They loved their children. They were committed to living lives that made a difference. And, they owned a house about 10 minutes away from ours.

Wayne was a high school social studies teacher who enjoyed teaching and who loved his students. But he ached for a more integrated life in the country, where he could grow something and live deeply with his family and neighbors.

So it was no surprise to us when Wayne announced one day that he had decided to become a cranberry farmer. After buying a small bog and trying things out on a part-time basis for a few years, Wayne decided to go into full-time cranberry farming. And, he took his urban, streetwise, community-health nurse wife and two young children with him.

We remember visiting Wayne and Karen after they had moved to the bog. Wayne was in his glory, fighting false-army cutworms, dodder, and anything else that dared to threaten his precious cranberries. On the side, Karen and Wayne nurtures a pick-your-own blueberry field. Their kids fit right in. In fact, we remember visiting one time and changing Erik's diapers--which were totally blue from all of the blueberries he had sampled that day.

Karen helped farmers to reduce health issues from the chemicals they used in their work. She helped local charities to raise money for important causes. She cared for members of her large, rollicking Armenian family.

Lynn and I ultimately moved away to Wheaton and then to the Pacific Northwest. Our contacts with Wayne and Karen understandably diminished. The occasional phone call, the annual Christmas letter, an infrequent visit.

But, every time we met each other, the laughter was still there. The memories were joyful and rich. It was as if we had never left.

Over the years, the physical demands of farming ultimately led Wayne to sell his beloved cranberry bogs. After touring the country, they decided to purchase a house in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where they live about eight months of the year. They also own a home in Newport, Rhode Island, living in one of the many mansions that dot the area.

Well, actually, Wayne and Karen are one of 11 condo members who each own 700-square-foot condos in this home. Theirs is the top floor.

Karen is always urging us to make new memories, not just talk about the old ones. So, the morning after we arrived, we headed out on a tour of the Newport area in the back seat of Wayne and Karen’s convertible--certainly a new experience for us.

At night, they taught us how to play Canasta (pronounced "Canaster" here in New England.) And, they took us to some of their favorite eating spots. 

It was great to spend time with these dear friends and to learn about what their lives are like now. It was also great to hear about their children. 

Erik is working as a family and youth counselor in Santa Cruz. Julie lives in Boston, where she trains HIV/AIDS and community-health workers in helping skills. She’s now leading these workshops at various places throughout the country and next January, she will serve as a chaplain and trainer at workshops in Uganda.

We had a chance to connect with Julie at our mobile tea shop (the back of our van) at the end of the Orange Line in Boston. 

Julie was coming from a  training session in Boston and we were on our way to see leaves in New Hampshire so we just had a few hours together.

We remember Julie as a fiercely-opinionated, very independent, fun-loving toddler when she stayed at our house for the weekends away that we exchanged with Wayne and Karen when our kids were young..

It was such a joy to connect with Julie as an adult. The fierceness is still there in her frustration and resistance to injustice. She is now an adventuresome eater, unlike the early days when she firmly but politely announced to us at almost every meal – “I don’t eat that.”

Most important, we enjoyed hearing from Julie about her spiritual pilgrimage. Like her parents and her brother, she is doing so much good in the community. She truly wants her life to make a difference for those who are suffering.

At the end of our time, we prayed together—asking God to bless Julie and to place His arms around her as she walked her own spiritual journey.

It’s great to pray with your friends.  It’s even better to pray with their children.

Faith and Blessing in Hyde Park

We hadn’t planned to attend two church services last Sunday. But, that’s the way it turned out.

After attending Beca’s church (see our previous post,) we drove into Hyde Park, a section of SE Boston, where we had started our lives as a family 40 years ago.

While we lived in Hyde Park, I (Bas) was called by a small church in the area to be its pastor. I had left my full-time job as executive director of The Salvation Army Harbor Light Center and was working at several part-time jobs as well as pursuing my MBA in healthcare management at Boston University.

The name of the church was Blue Hill Community Church. It was the only Protestant church in the Readville area of Hyde Park. It dated its origin back to 1888.

The church building was very old and not in good shape.  Average attendance on a Sunday was about 15-20 people. We sang hymns with the accompaniment of an old pump organ that must have been installed when the church was built. While we were there, they installed a tie rod just below the roof along the front of the church to keep the walls from bowing out. The church had a fellowship room, a kitchen and two very old toilets in the basement.

Lynn and I served at the church for four years. At the beginning, Matt and Alisa were the only children who came. With time, other families joined the church and brought their children. We had Sunday school for the children in the kitchen and in the basement outside the toilets. Attendance grew slowly to about 25-30 people at each service.

After four years, I completed my studies at Boston University and we moved to Wheaton, where I joined the staff of World Relief. We kept in touch with various people who had attended the church but gradually lost contact with anyone we had known there.

Last Sunday, when we drove past the church, we didn’t know what to expect. We even wondered if the church building would still be there.

Imagine our surprise to find cars parked on the church yard as well as along the street next to the church. The sign outside the church advertised a service that started at 11:00 am. We were there at about 12:15 pm and said to each other, “Let’s wait until the service is over and go inside to see what the church looks like now.”

After a few minutes, Lynn peeked inside the front door of the church. The pastor was still preaching. Some people came out and invited us inside. Reluctantly, we agreed because we didn’t want to disturb the congregation.

As we entered the church, it was clear that very little had changed. The familiar pews were still there. The pump organ still occupied its place, although an electronic keyboard and drum set sat in front of it.

What had changed was the congregation. The pews were full of worshippers. That was certainly new and unexpected. But what was really surprising was that almost the entire congregation, including the pastor, had immigrated to the U.S. from India.

The pastor was preaching from the first chapter of the book of Revelation. As he spoke, people echoed his comments with “Alleluias.” Women sat on one side of the congregation, wearing scarves over their heads. Men sat on the other side of the congregation.

The service ended about 30 minutes after we arrived. At that point, we met the pastor and his wife. He was so excited to see us that he called his congregation back together and introduced us to them. We had an opportunity to share a few words of encouragement and to pray for the church.

Lynn and I were so struck to see such an active congregation meeting at a church that we thought might have closed. Not only were there many people, there were many children. Truly, the church was active and alive—a testimony to God’s grace and blessing.

But, that’s not the whole story.

As we talked with the pastor, we learned that he had first come to the church about 12 years ago. He was completing his PhD studies in pastoral counseling at Boston University and was asked to preach at the church. When he came to preach, the congregation was only three women. We knew each of these women from our time at the church.

After the service, the women told the pastor that they were going to close the church but would keep it open if he agreed to serve as its pastor. Despite many reservations, the pastor felt God’s leading to accept this call, and so he began to serve the church.

Some time later, the church faced a crisis. There was no more money in the budget to pay for church expenses. The pastor met with the board after a worship service to discuss the situation. As they were praying about what to do, two women came into the church.

They were from another Hyde Park church that had recently sold its building. The group had decided to divide the proceeds from the sale of the church and give it to the other churches in Hyde Park. They had some money left over and didn't know what to do with it, when someone reminded them of the Blue Hill Community Church. So the two women had come to the Blue Hill Church to talk with the leaders.

The pastor and the leaders of the Blue Hill Church told the women that the church was still meeting but that it had serious financial needs. The women then gave the group an envelope. Inside was a check—for $50,000.

This unexpected gift convinced the pastor and the church leaders that God still had a plan and purpose for the church. And, so they continued to meet.

The pastor told us that the church is not without its challenges today. It was clear that those involved in the church were continuing to do so at great personal sacrifice that required great faith. 

But, Lynn and I were overwhelmed with what God had done at the Blue Hill Community Church since we had left 30 years ago. God has truly honored and blessed the efforts of faithful people committed to Him and to this small church in unexpected and wonderful ways over the years. 

Transformed by God's Love and Power

Day 40--When I (Lynn) first met Marti 39 years ago, she was sitting on the floor of a dark living room with her nine-month-old daughter on her lap, her waist-length hair cascading down her back. It was my first time attending a women's Bible study group from a small church in Hyde Park, the Boston neighborhood where we lived. 

A year earlier, I had left my teaching position at Lexington Christian Academy to be a stay-at-home mom to our son, Matthew. I was very lonely in Hyde Park and was desperate to meet other women, especially other moms. 

Most of the women in this Bible study were decades older than Marti and I were, so I naturally gravitated toward her. When we had tea together one morning, I learned that she had only recently married Ed, the father of her nine-month-old daughter, Sarah. Marti had dropped out of high school several years earlier when she had given birth to another daughter. She was a fairly new Christian, with a fierce passion to learn more about the Bible and Jesus.

In the months and years that followed, God knit us together into an unusual friendship. We both stayed with the Bible study group, she as one of the guitarists who led the worship time, me as one of the teaching leaders. 

Marti was often distressed because of the wild life her husband was leading. He spent many nights drinking with friends, and he grew marijuana in their backyard. He was even arrested for growing and using drugs. He had no interest or sympathy for Marti's newfound Christian faith. In fact, he was often hostile and obstructive.

When Marti and Ed gave birth to another daughter, Rebecca Lynn, Marti asked me if I would be Beca's godmother. Not having been raised in a church tradition that included godparents, I was a little hesitant at first. Marti explained that because Ed was not a Christian, she wanted to have someone who would help her raise Beca to love Jesus. 

Marti and I spent hours together, talking and praying about what it meant to love our husbands and nurture our children. She took seriously the instructions in 1 Peter 3:  

"Wives must accept the authority of your husbands. Then, even if some refuse to obey the Good News, your godly lives will speak to them without any words. They will be won over by observing your pure and reverent lives. . . . Clothe yourselves . . . with the beauty that comes from within, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God." 

She prayed that she would be that pure, reverent, gentle-spirited woman who would reflect the Lord to whom she had given her life. 

And God honored her desire and her prayers.

This past weekend Bas and I spent time with Marti, Ed, and their two adult daughters. It had been nearly 30 years since we had seen them. In that time, Marti finished high school and earned advanced nursing degrees. For many years she worked as an emergency-room nurse at a large hospital in the Boston area. Ed not only became a Christian, but he now serves as an elder in their church. Several years ago the entire family traveled to Haiti to serve with a mission organization for a number of months.

Ed and Marti bought land in Vermont and have built a self-sustaining farm, where they care for horses and raise many animals. They collect honey from their hives and press apples into cider every fall.

A few years ago Marti was diagnosed with lupus and has had to slow down her life because of the debilitation. She has found new strength in the quiet times she has with the Lord, and her experience has equipped her to encourage others who are struggling with debilitating situations.

Sarah (left) is now a mother of two adopted sons, and she currently is providing foster care for two little girls. I was struck by what a level-headed and godly woman she is. She lives near Ed and Marti and is a real blessing in their lives.

It was so good to spend "real time" with Rebecca (right). She was around six years old when our family moved from Boston to Wheaton, Illinois, so I have not spent much time with her as an adult. She is energetic, creative, a lover of people, and a lover of Jesus. 

She is the mother of three sons and serves as the executive director of a theatre company in her town. She also channels her creativity into her catering business.

Bas and I were deeply moved by how God has touched this family and transformed it in so many ways.

On Sunday, we joined Beca at her church and witnessed another powerful transformation. In 1974, when Bas and I moved to Hyde Park, it was a racially tense place. It was the year that Judge Arthur Garrity had ordered the desegregation of the Boston public schools, and the community was not happy. We lived next door to an elementary school, and for the first six weeks of school, National Guard troops lined our street to ensure the safety of the students.

But last Sunday, in this church, just a few miles away from where the troops stood with their guns forty years earlier, African-Americans, whites, and Latinos joyfully worshiped together. At the end of the service, groups of people gathered in the front of the sanctuary. This scene of two women of different races embracing as they prayed for each other moved me to tears as I thought about the transforming power of God's love and grace.