1982
"But For the Glory of God"
(John 11:4)
The exhilaration of Edinburgh 1980 took some time to fade, in spite of the continuing financial crisis, the heavy work load and the unpleasant criticism which we suffered from time to time. Edinburgh had been a real milestone — but in more ways than one. Before then, our staff had consisted of a few older missionary couples, sent by their mission agencies to help us, and a far larger number of young people, half of whom were newly married. Several of the older couples had children in an alternative public high school nearby, and these became the nucleus of a Bible study group that won many of their classmates to the Lord.
Then in 1981, first one then another of our young couples announced that we would have some tiny, new additions to our community. From no babies at all, we soon had five or six. Every couple of months, it seemed, another newborn was proudly displayed in staff meetings, some just hours after birth.
With all the joy from these new arrivals, perhaps we were not sufficiently on the alert spiritually, because Satan chose just this time to strike our community with serious physical problems.
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In the spring of 1980, within a span of one week, three different people in the larger USCWM community had serious accidents that "totalled" their cars. One of these, a godly girl in her early twenties, suffered severe headaches for more than a year afterward, and assumed these were related somehow to her accident. Then, in the fall of 1981, she began to have other seemingly unrelated symptoms and decided to have a thorough checkup. The diagnosis: a tumor of the pituitary gland.
About the same time this was diagnosed, Mary Frances Redding, our dear, older, former-Christian-Education-director, became ill. In many respects, Mary Fran was our crucial link to local churches. It was she who started the Christian Leaders Institute of International Studies, a one-week version of the IIS program specially designed for pastors and church leaders.
Almost by herself, she organized the 1978 Athens (Missionary) Conference, which drew almost 100 people from 19 countries. For months she worked on travel and hotel arrangements as well as details relating to the conference speakers. Ralph was to be one of these, and since I had never been anywhere near the lands spoken of in the Bible, I wanted desperately to go with him, but lacked the money. Mary Fran knew this, and when a couple cancelled out at the last minute, making their tickets available to two others, she gave one to me.
Mary Fran was the spark behind our "Southern California Annual Missions Conference." She spent weeks preparing for this event, cajoling, persuading, doing whatever she could to find the help she needed to prepare the large auditorium on our campus for the thousand guests who came.
Central to the program on the opening night was "the passing of the torch" ceremony. Within thirty miles of our campus there are at least five major missionary retirement centers: Presbyterian, Congregational, Methodist, Nazarene,
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and Disciples of Christ. "Mary Fran, let's have a tea for these older missionaries," I suggested. "It would be great for our young staff and students to meet them and learn what it was like when they went to the field. I would guess that many of them were Student Volunteers in the early days of this century." So Mary Fran added that to her list of things to do.
One hundred of these retired missionaries came. Some were in their nineties and walked with canes. I was not the only one with tears in my eyes when, one by one, they marched or hobbled (as the case might be) down the aisle, accepted a burning candle from the large lighted torch, then crossed the platform and handed the candle to a young person preparing to leave for the field. A long line of young candidates stood waiting, unfortunately numbering more than those now retired. The older ones could hardly believe the enthusiasm of the young — so many so eager to go. And the young who didn't receive candles were extremely disappointed that there were not enough retired missionaries present, so that each one could receive a lighted candle.
In many respects, Mary Fran represented the heart of the Center. In her sixties, she was energetic, cheerful, always forward looking. It was a real blow, therefore, when on a short vacation in the fall of 1981 she suddenly became unconscious and was rushed to the hospital. Even after two surgeries, she never fully recovered from the aneurysm of the brain she had suffered, and finally died eight months later.
Meantime, the Lord was gradually healing the pituitary tumor of the young lady in her twenties. After a year of many tests, the tumor suddenly, (inexplicably, the doctors said) disappeared.
But Satan was not through with tormenting us. Some of the problems that beset us during those months were so severe and painful that even yet it is difficult to speak of them.
One situation in particular I prayed earnestly that God would protect us from. Our first grandchild, a beautiful little boy, had a serious reaction to his first DPT shot. He seemed
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to have no long-lasting after-effects although we were puzzled at the recurring rapid eye blinking which seemed to increase as the months went by.
His second vaccination was due about the time when I had to go overseas to be with another daughter for the birth of her first child. The first little family had gone to Boston for Christmas, so the second shot was delayed a month. I felt sure that it should not be given at all, and hoped and prayed to that end.
Time was passing, and the baby for which we were waiting in North Africa delayed his coming for several weeks. Meanwhile his parents' visitors visas expired. Ordinarily, they would temporarily leave the country for a few days so they could be renewed. But with the impending delivery, they couldn't travel and yet they also could not stay in the country legally. After a great deal of thought and prayer, they decided that as soon as possible after the baby's birth, they would return to Pasadena for awhile.
So we began to repack all the baby clothes I had just brought plus everything else they had with which they had set up housekeeping.
As the weeks went by, my heart became increasingly more and more uneasy about the other almost-five-month old grandchild back in the States. It was cold in the unheated houses of North Africa in early January, and each night I shivered as I tried to get warm enough to fall asleep. It took me at least an hour every night, and I spent the time praying, "Lord, don't let the pediatrician back home give our other grandchild another shot."
I felt so helpless. Phones were very rare where I was. The only place I could call was from the public post office, and I waited in a long line trying to reach Ralph in Pasadena. I missed him terribly and wanted to talk with him. But he wasn't home. Just one word from me, and I knew he would warn the baby's parents again of the danger. And when I couldn't get through to him, I felt almost betrayed.
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Unfortunately, I also didn't know just when the baby's parents would return to California. And to go back to the end of the terribly long line to try another number in the States seemed like more than I could face. Should I call Ralph's office and leave a message? Would his secretary understand my concern? What, just what should I do?
As has always been my habit since a child, I turned to God. "He doesn't depend upon telephones," I reminded myself. "Even though I can't get in touch with my family, He can warn them. He can make the doctor decide not to take any chances."
But still I could not rest in confidence that all would be well. As I prayed, earnestly, I tried to figure out something — anything — that I might be able to do to influence what would be done 8,000 miles away. Prayer seemed the only thing!
To help my faith, I went through the promises of scripture. I claimed John 15:7, "If you abide in Me, and my words abide in you, you can ask what you will and it shall be done unto you." And (Matthew 21:21) "If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Be removed and cast into the sea,' and it shall be done!" The Bible is full of many such precious promises. So I prayed and claimed these verses, and prayed and claimed more verses. Every night I fell asleep with a cry on my lips that God would protect and take care.
Finally, almost a month late, the newest grandbaby arrived — and with him another flurry of activity. Have you ever tried to get a newborn to pose for a photo with his eyes open? That was what was required for his passport. Only fifty or so years ago, a new mother rested in bed for two weeks after giving birth. We were on a grueling international flight when this baby was only ten days old.
Since I was there to help Becky, Tim decided to fly with us to London, then we would go on by ourselves non-stop while he stopped en route to take care of several important things before joining us in Los Angeles.
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Becky was in good spirits, but by the time we arrived in Los Angeles, she was exhausted and the baby was crying from hunger because of her inadequate milk supply.
There to meet us at the airport was the whole family — Ralph, Linda and Darrell Dorr, Tricia (still unmarried) and Beth and Brad Gill and their five-month-old baby. And the story I had been dreading to hear spilled out.
In spite of my prayers and grasping for faith, a second shot had been given, resulting in pressure on the brain. Beth, ever alert, noticed the bulging fontannel the next morning and immediately called the doctor. Over the next few days (before we arrived home) the baby had been given two cat scans and two spinal taps to relieve the pressure which kept reoccurring. In the months to follow there were several more of each of these. All too painfully obvious was the fact that the doctors simply did not know what to do. For this baby, the vaccine was like a poison for which there was no antidote! There was no way — no way at all — to go back to where we were before that shot!
I was devastated. Why had God allowed this to happen in spite of my prayers? Why, at least, could I not have been able to get through to them on the telephone? Should I have stayed in the post office all afternoon, repeatedly going to the end of the line to again try some other number? Had I given up trying too quickly? Should I have fasted as well as prayed?
And yet, under the circumstances, could I physically have done more than I did? I had to somehow believe that the God I trusted had allowed this to happen. And, oh, the agony!
Even more devastating was the thought that maybe I couldn't anymore trust the Bible to mean what it said.
The night after arriving home, I really struggled in prayer with God. The once-so-bright-looking baby seemed pale and withdrawn, almost limp. No longer did he turn over and babble. He was constantly sick with a cold or a fever. And I felt
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a deep dread in my innermost being as I faced the fact that this baby might never walk, might never talk, might be permanently and irrevocably injured. Unnecessarily so!
In my distress, I was drawn like a magnet to the story of Mary, Martha and Lazarus in John 11. From my early teens I had loved Mary who, according to Jesus Himself, "had chosen the better part" when she sat at His feet, listening. For years I consciously tried to pattern my life after hers. And it was only with sorrowful resignation that years later, as a young, overburdened young mother, I reluctantly came to realize that I was probably more like harassed Martha — "busy and troubled about many things."
I didn't particularly like Martha. She was irritable, jealous, anxious — the one Jesus had to rebuke. But He obviously loved Lazarus ("The one You love is ill," his sisters said in their note to Jesus.) And who wouldn't love sweet gentle Mary?
But Martha?
That night as I again, in agony, read John 11, I noticed for the first time that "Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus" (John 11:5 NIV). The Bible didn't say "Jesus loved Lazarus and Mary and their sister!" Or even "Jesus loved Mary and Lazarus and (yes, of course) Martha." No! Overburdened, anxious Martha's name came first! He loved her! How comforting?
But it was the next few words to which my eyes became glued: He loved them, "so when he heard that Lazarus was sick, He stayed two more days in the place where He was" (John 11:5-6).
Startled at the implications of what I had read, I thought, "If I had been Martha or Mary and knew that He deliberately stayed away when I needed Him most, I would have found it hard indeed to believe that He really loved me."
No doubt, they didn't know that His absence was deliberate. They must have wondered, however. They evidently knew where to send the messenger, and it wasn't too far
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away. He could have come two days sooner. He just might have arrived before Lazarus died. Or He could have healed him from a distance, like He did the servant of the Roman centurion.
When Jesus finally came, the sisters' greetings showed they felt betrayed. Each one, separately, fell at His feet and in tears said, "If You had been her, my brother would not have died!" Underneath was the agonizing question, "Why didn't You come? We sent for You in time."
Yet, they knew that He loved them. They knew He was the Messiah (see verse 27). Not even the disciples, who were with Him every single day for three years, were sure of that!
What Martha and Mary did not know — could not know — was that in spite of all appearances, Jesus had another, far more important agenda in this agonizing situation than simply healing Lazarus.
As I read John chapter 11 through my tears, I was riveted to His earlier comment to the disciples: "The purpose of his (Lazarus's) illness is not death, but for the glory of God. I, the Son of God, will receive glory from this situation" (John 11:4).
When Martha first says He could still bring Lazarus to life, then qualifies it by adding "on Resurrection Day," the response of Jesus was gentle, loving, but very firm: "I am the one who raises the dead . . . (I don't have to wait for Resurrection Day.) Do you believe this, Martha?" (verses 25-26).
Through my own anguish, I saw things in this passage I had never seen before. Jesus did love them, a great deal! He loved them so very much that He knowingly took a tremendous risk — that they could turn against Him when they found out He had deliberately not come promptly. It was a risk He couldn't have taken with many people.
He took this risk because He knew that it was absolutely essential that one more time before His crucifixion the leaders of Israel be confronted, unequivocally, with the fact that He was the Messiah, the Son of the God they claimed to
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serve. He had to do something so spectacular, so impossible, and so public that only by the most stubborn refusal to believe could they continue to deny who He was. Their sin of rejecting the Messiah had to be without question.
Thus Jesus chose to involve this little family whom He loved so dearly. He knew ahead of time that His agenda would involve them in agony before it would bring them joy. But He also knew He could trust them to not lose faith in Him, no matter the trial. He wept over the pain they felt, but He was glad that they would be the ones who would participate in the glory of what He was about to do. Especially this dear family!
Because of the serious medical problems faced by these members of our staff, those months in early '82 were full of anguish for those of us to whom they were most dear. Later, when God's purposes became more plain, I asked myself with some surprise, "Why were we so surprised when the devil attacked our community so viciously? We know that when we fight for outreach to the Unreached Peoples, we're encroaching on territory Satan has long claimed. We know we're on the front lines in a major battle for the Kingdom. Aren't there always casualties on the front lines?"
Some years later George Verwer of Operation Mobilization spoke to our staff. Without knowing all we had gone through, but knowing a bit about our ministry, he reminded us "Satan is not trying to give you bumps and scratches. He is out to destroy you! Especially you!"
I love to think of Christ as my Shepherd — which He is, caring for the flock. But He is also the Commander of the armies of the Lord. He is very much a soldier, determined to win this battle, no matter the cost. Read the list in Hebrews 11. His soldiers across the centuries have not always come through unscathed. As verses 39 and 40 tell us, sometimes the "promise," the glory, is still ahead; they must wait for it.
Yet, comfortingly, Jesus, as Commander of the Lord's armies, is very aware of every little scratch that we feel. And He cares.
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He catches our tears and stores them in a bottle.
It is also true that He is the heavenly Bridegroom, preparing His bride to rule with Him. Can One who came to the throne through suffering have as His bride one who doesn't even know what pain is! Is it not absolutely necessary for us also to have gone through pain if we would rule with Him?1
To bring Him glory through our tears — what a costly and thus precious gift! That our tears may someday produce a glorious harvest in another people group, won to the Lord, is my prayer.
Mary Frances went to be with her Lord, a coronation for her. Within the year, Nancy was healed, and has had no trouble since.
And our grandson? It took years of waiting and prayer — much, much prayer. Satan wanted to have that boy. But he belonged to God from before his birth. The scars left from that injury are minor in comparison to what they could have been. The healing is not complete yet. There are still some speech problems, but, as several have said, they have never seen a child so desperately injured who has come through so well.2
But what brings the greatest joy to me as his grandmother are his simple words, "Grandma, I want to follow the Lord with all my heart." He is doing that, at age 13. Continue to pray for the "glory" to Himself that Jesus promised to reveal through this one boy's life.
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1. I am indebted to Paul Billheimer in his Destined for the Throne for this concept. His book, Don't Waste Your Sorrows, is also a tremendous blessing to those who are suffering. The first is published by Tyndale House (Wheaton, IL) and the second by Christian Literature Crusade in Fort Washington, PA.
2. Although most children are not injured by the DPT (diphtheria,
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pertussis or whooping cough and tetanus vaccine), a number have been very seriously injured, reverting back to earliest infancy in their ability to respond. A number have died. There are several contra-indications for receiving the shot, listed with every vial of vaccine but not often conveyed to the parents. These are as follows: The child should not be given a shot if a) a member of the family has a neurological problem such as epilepsy; b) if the child reacted to a previous shot by having to be awakened to eat in the next 24 hours; d) if the child screamed for an hour or more with a distinctive high-pitched scream after receiving the shot; e) if the child became unconscious with the previous shot, even if only for a few minutes.
The governments of England, Singapore, Germany and Sweden among others have recognized the danger of the whooping cough vaccine and no longer require these shots. But the U.S. government has so feared an epidemic of whooping cough, which can be deadly, that it continues to require the DPT for every child entering kindergarten unless excused by a doctor. It has paid out millions of dollars to compensate parents for children who died or who were seriously injured. Our grandson could have been one of these, but his parents felt that at every step of the way the Lord showed them just what to do for him. They feared that government requirements of what should be done might not be as helpful as what they are pursuing. He is a very intelligent child and is doing well, praise the Lord! Please pray for his struggles with behavior.
