By 2:10 p.m all my paperwork was ready, and I was dressed in a black pleated skirt, a black top with gold embroidery on it, a teal crepe scarf with a long strand of pearls twisted around it to form a large ring, and with the black velvet shoes - the whole outfit (except the scarf and pearls) a gift before Christmas from my dear friend, who had no idea that I would be standing before crowds this year.
I sat back in the easy chair in my room, put my feet up on the padded deacon's bench, polished my nails, then settled down with the program to pray through and about every item, and for every person involved. I felt so relaxed yet alert and full of anticipation of a great evening.
Suddenly, about 4 p.m. I heard gushing water.
Leaping up in my stocking feet I went to see what was up with the water heater in the next room. Nothing. The bathroom! As soon as my head was in the doorway I saw water spurting away from the thin pipe down between the sink and the toilet!
Quickly I leaned a knee on the toilet seat and reached down to insert the popped tube back into the stainless steel pipe.
Whoa!! My face and front and hair was sprayed with a cold violent force, and with my glasses covered, I became too blind to see the spot where they should join. In seconds my careful hairdo and fine black outfit was sopping wet!
I tilted my head back and yelled, "Dad--! COME!"
I heard him upstairs, saying, "What's up? What's up?"
Finally I stepped back out of the bathroom and just stood yelling, pathetically, "Just Come! COME!" I was in too much shock to try to explain it all in shouts.
Finally he came down, and in a minute or so, he'd turned off a value just inches above the burst that I had not seen.
We noticed the flood creeping fast around the furnace, into my bedroom, off under the stairs to the utility area, Sputtering with shock, I began to reach for rags to mop up, and soon snatched up two quilt slipcovers to stop the flood.
After a few minutes I stopped to change out of my fine outfit and throw it into the dryer.
We mopped in earnest for the next hour. The knot in my neck became a rock. I took the Extra strength Tylenol with codeine left over when I had pneumonia two years ago. I'd saved the last one for a high emergency. This was it!
My outfit dried, (my teal crepe scarf with the pearls entwined around it, not quite), we had a quick supper- snack, and we managed to get away only a little later than when I had meant to go set up at the church.
But I felt discombobulated. Like a rug had been yanked out from under me. My spiritual frame of mind was not what it had been, and I knew this had been a direct spiritual attack. "Lord," I prayed, if Satan thinks this is going to prevent me from completing my work he has another think coming!"
Let's face it, I had already done a lot of work to get ready for this event. From the idea stage a year ago, to sending out mailings to 80 churches, then phoning around to various churches, youth leaders and other contacts - until gradually, a program took shape.
Our non-profit, faith ministry, Western Tract Mission, has reached a stage where we need a younger generation to catch the vision. The ones that caught it at the beginning 62 years ago are now in their 70s and 80s. Some have died or are in wheelchairs. It seemed to us at the Board that we needed a younger generation to get involved. Since a lot of the churches in this area are attracted to drama, we'd invite them to produce skits on missions or personal witnessing at one large church. They'd get to perform, plus see a bunch of others dramas, and we'd use the opportunity to share about the ministry opportunities with us.
The puppeteer had to cancel the night before because of flu, but I had seven skits and dramas lined up, most of them by youth groups. I was aware that more than half of those were new, original scripts written just for this event - on the themes I gave them. There are so few scripts on this topic; but that had been part of the exciting challenge. So I had looked forward to a great evening, and a packed out church.
Surely these teens would invite their parents and siblings and grandparents to come see the program. It would be a family crowd. Perfect for the sales pitch I, as MC or hostess, would slip in between the skits.
The staff that had already arrived greeted me with assurances of their prayers.
The banquet tables I'd meant to use in the foyer for displays were up on the second floor, so I switched to a different oval kind. The sound man just decided to use his own CD for the prelude music instead of the tape of praise music I'd selected. I'd counted on that music to soothe my soul and attract young kids forward. The church did not fill up! It was less than half full. Even some of our staff and Board members had not come.
When I sat down a the front, and picked up my camera I discovered the batteries to be dead. No photos for my reports or press releases!
Let it be. Wordlessly, I sighed to the Lord for help, and plunged into the program.
The skits weren't all perfect, but surprisingly good. The one monologue was super. It brought tears to my eyes as Linda took on the role of a Bible woman who had leprosy for five years and had not been touched in all that time, until she met the Master. I recognized that lots of people long to be touched physically and most importantly, spiritually.
The Board members and staff who were there were all so supportive and cooperative. I was touched. The actors, instead of getting into place on stage while I did my promo pieces waited until I was done, and it didn't lengthen the program too much after all.
Gord Neudorf, from our church, gifted at coming up with good skit and drama ideas, had a great one about a missionary leaving for Papua New Guinea. His Granny didn't want to let him go. He met an anthropologist on the plane who told him off roundly for interfering in other cultures, and then his first encounter with the tribe he was to reach scared him so much he ran back. But in the end, 33 years later, when he died there was a touching tribute from the tribesmen who gathered around his body and laid flowers on his chest, while a narrator reported that this missionary had started six churches, and accomplished many things in those years. Faithfulness is worth it!
Best of all, Gord had lined up half a dozen young boys, aged 12-14 to play the half dressed natives complete with face paint and spears. They had great fun, and enjoyed the rest of the program too. They told me so afterwards.
There were compliments after, and I was grateful when my friend Laura volunteered for data processing. About five people signed up for our monthly Praise & Prayer Report by email. Barb reported one who said she would sign up for the Cyclathon we're having in July. More results will trickle in later as we see what decisions those 40-50 teens will make as they grow up. Plus the other 50 or so in the audience.
I spent Saturday and Sunday lying low and nursing my neck knot and sinus-pressure headache. I tried hard not to think too negatively about all that happened, and to forgive those who had personally promised to come but had not showed up.
Come to think of it, I did say in the office as we had collated the program handouts, that "I like to work as hard as I can, doing the best I know how, and then I accept whatever results God gives." Time to do part two. I'll let God work out the results.
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