Dare Ya'

You have to know a bit about Elijah’s background to understand the story I’m gonna tell you. His ma ran off when he was about five and his dad got ugly when he was drinking, which was most the time. The kids poked ridicule at him for not having a ma and for having a drunk for a dad. How he made it through those early years I can't rightly say. I suppose Mrs. Wilkins next door watched out for him and of course the ladies from the church. But he didn’t have no- what’s that word—nurturen’--for most of those years and that can make a person grow up mean. 

He could cuss like nobody’s business and when he’d double up his fists you backed off right quick. What he lacked in height he more than made up for it by the way he carried himself. 

Yet, for all his toughness, there was something about him that sure got the girls excited. By the time he was in high school most every girl thought she’d be the one who was gonna save him from himself. And Elijah for the most part seemed to roll with it. They’d be helping him with his homework, fussing over him, and inviting him home for supper till their mamas and daddies would draw the line and forbid their innocent little Emily or Suzie from seeing him anymore. 

So we were all surprised when he started hanging 'round with Becca. For starters she didn't seek him out which was how the relationships usually started. Secondly, she didn’t act like she was all that taken with him. And thirdly, her daddy was the new preacher over at Crowded at the Cross Bible Church. We figured that whatever Elijah had going with Becca, it wasn’t gonna last long once her parents got to know him. 

But being new to the area and not knowing much of Elijah’s background, and I suppose, being preachers an all, they felt it was their Christian duty to welcome him into their home. But we’d seen many a church folk try to get Elijah to come to church before and not a one of ‘em had ever succeeded.

Now, the way I heard it, Becca didn’t come right out and ask Elijah to come to church with her ever. Nah, I think she musta been pretty wily to figure out that the best way to get to Elijah was to let him think it was all his own idea. And it worked, cause next thing we knew, Elijah not only came to church one Sunday morning but came back that Sunday night for more. And you coulda knocked me over with a feather when I heard that at the end of the service, Elijah knelt with tears streaming down his face and asked Jesus to come into his heart. 

The news of this spread quickly 'round our school and we waited with baited breath the next day to see how this was gonna play out in real life. Now I should mention that Elijah had one sworn enemy for life, a classmate named Pete Nichols. Pete was ring leader of the kids who’d picked on Elijah in grade school and the only kid who had ever not backed down when Elijah was looking for a fight. They pretty much stayed cleared of each other these days. But still, it came as no surprise that Pete would be the one to call Elijah on his new found faith. Challenged him right in the hallway first thing. 

“Hey punk! I heard the funniest thing today. I heard you found religion." Pete sneered.

Elijah didn’t even hesitate. He swung around, looked Pete straight in the eye and told him yes, he had found religion, but more importantly he’d found truth. He’d found Jesus. And went on to say he hoped Pete would find him too. 

Pete was struck dumb for a minute and then let out a big whoop and said "Well Elijah, I dare ya to tell that to everybody!” 

Well, ya' gotta know somebody like Elijah wasn’t gonna back away from a dare, Christian or not. 

Last I heard Elijah was living in Haiti, with his wife Becca and their three kids, working with New Tribes Missions doing exactly what Pete dared him to do… speaking the truth to everybody.

God's Plan

“The bank called today. They'll start foreclosure proceedings this week.”

Despite the knowledge this day had been coming, my stomach twisted. I stared at my husband, wordlessly.

Unemployment—weeks that had stretched into months had slowly taken away even some of our most basic needs. We'd gotten by with help from family and friends, limping along, just barely. Gift baskets of food had kept us fed; a twenty dollar bill stuffed into my hand had allowed us gas in the car for another week. We counted ourselves blessed despite the poverty that consumed us, because we knew God was in control.

Then—a break though! My husband landed a good job and was bringing home regular paychecks. But the months of unpaid bills would continue to plague us, for some things couldn't be paid back fast enough to satisfy our creditors. Already slapped with a judgment from a collection agency, we now faced the loss of our home.  

Clasping hands, my husband and I cried out our frustrations and fears in tenacious prayers. We claimed the promise of Jeremiah 29.11 for the thousandth time. “For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” 

With faith that only comes from trials, we resolutely surrendered all those fears. “ Lord, whatever happens, we trust you. If losing our house is part of your greater plan for our lives, we will accept this. It hurts, but we'll accept it.”

We were both filled with a sense of peace even as we cried together. It’s as if God was saying, “ I've got this. Don't worry. Let it go.”

The day the foreclosure proceedings were to be filed, I crept through it, committed to trusting our Jehovah Jirah. At a quarter to 3 my husband called. He'd been in contact with our pastor through all of this, and now had a miracle to share. Our church family had banded together to raise the funds needed to satisfy the bank! We'd be able to wire the money by the end of the day.

Overwhelming shock, relief, and gratitude rendered us both at a loss for words. Yet, is this not our God at work? Did we not surrender it all at His feet and trust Him to take care of it? God had a plan for our lives. He has one for you too. 

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The Little Orange Typewriter

“It’s a typewriter!”

I had dug through the newspaper-filled box and this was what I found in the mystery gift that my grandmother had sent me. It was not my birthday, nowhere near close to Christmas and besides that, my grandma was a stern no nonsense Dutch woman; parting with hard earned money did not match her personality.

The compact bright orange typewriter with lid/travel case sat on our kitchen table as we all studied and marveled over it. I was just thirteen; it was not the age of word processors or computers—typewriters were God’s gift to aspiring writers… or in this case, Grandma’s gift!

The occasion for this magnificent present had to do with a story I had written for a Christian youth publication called “Young Ambassadors.” Every year they featured a young writers contest. If chosen, your story would be published in their January/February issues. I had written a short story, submitted it months before, and promptly forgot about it.

Then a couple of weeks ago the letter had arrived, congratulating me on placing and telling me that they were sending me a prize under separate cover (a long playing record album of award winning Christian music). I was ecstatic! My family was proud. And my grandmother? Obviously, she believed in me and my ability to live out the dream I often stated: I want to be a writer when I grow up.

The first thing I did was purchase typing paper and set out to master the art of typing. I am proud to say I quickly became, and still am today, very proficient in the art of the ‘hunt & peck” method of typing. 

The little orange typewriter (it was so cute!) occupied a spot on my desk in my bedroom for many years. I found I preferred to write in long hand however; my ideas seemed to flow so much better with a pen then with pounding the keys. Still it was comforting to look over at the typewriter, a symbol of someone’s faith in me that I would some day do mighty things with words!

The years went by; marriage, children; and the typewriter, though seldom used, went with me. The painful decision to leave the marriage came abruptly and with that came a hurried attempt to gather what few belongings I could.  The little orange typewriter was among them. My grandmother had long since passed away and my typing skills had not improved, but it was still one of my prized possessions. So it is painful to remember the day, when desperate for cash, I pawned some of my nonessential belongings… the little orange typewriter being one of them.

How profoundly grateful I am that I am not one of God’s expendables. For even on my darkest days, when I feel of little or no value, He speaks to me of my worth: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. (Isaiah 43:1 NLT)

Those words remind me of the ultimate price that was paid to release me from my captivity and bondage.

 "In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace." (Ephesians 1:7 NKJV).  Or as it says in The Message: Because of the sacrifice of the Messiah, his blood poured out on the altar of the Cross, we're a free people--free of penalties and punishments chalked up by all our misdeeds. And not just barely free, either. [Abundantly] free!

I may not have been able to ransom my little orange typewriter from the pawnshop, but daily, with grace abounding, God redeems me. Abundantly!