Late September, 1976
No Turning Back
It was past midnight when we left the restaurant. Ralph's hand gripped mine tightly as he said, "Well, Roberta, I guess we've crossed the Rubicon. There's no turning back now."
It had been a quietly determined, but tense, two hours. We had struggled for months with an issue we were asking the president of the seminary to understand in minutes. And we sensed that he was disappointed in us. His questions implied that he felt somewhat betrayed, abandoned in midstream. And we were the culprits.
It was the first week of the fall semester. All the professors and students were back on campus. The registration lines at last were dwindling, the orientation programs completed, and the student body picture taken. After their return, Ralph had talked several times with various members of the School of World Mission faculty about what God was saying to him. Nevertheless, when he came to his final decision, it was like jumping off a cliff.
Fortunately, that semester Ralph was on a sabbatical leave from teaching. To resign his professorship at this point, we felt, would create less disturbance than at any other time. His earliest scheduled class was three months away, and he offered to teach his main course at that time.
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"I must admit," he told the other professors, "that this project may very well fail. But I am overwhelmingly convinced that God wants someone to try it. No one else seems willing, so I guess I'll have to."
He didn't need to remind them of the hundreds of millions of people beyond the range of any existing church or mission. They knew the facts as well as he. As a faculty, they were proud that the church was growing around the world, its leaders often inspired by the classes they themselves taught. But those completely unreached — the cultures where no church had as yet been established — were rarely on the agenda of studies. The problems of occupied mission fields seemed big enough without asking for even greater ones further beyond.
It was extremely hard for Ralph to decide to leave his teaching job. He had enjoyed working with these men. Moreover, as a full professor in a prestigious seminary, he had professional standing and was often asked to serve in important ways around the world. He had contributed a great deal to mission thinking and was warned by one that if he left, all his talents would be buried in fund raising.
Also, the economic sacrifice would be significant. At the seminary he had the financial security we needed with two of our four daughters still in college and another about to finish high school. Our oldest daughter had just married, and I knew wedding expenses would follow in just a few years for the others. And shouldn't our daughters, who would certainly be affected by our decision, have some say so in this decision?
We'll never forget the day we called the three still with us into a family council and told them what we were thinking of doing. We discussed the pros and cons and how their own lives would be affected. And we waited a bit uneasily for their comments.
Not one of them demurred. They knew it wouldn't be easy. With Beth married, and Becky with only one year of
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college left to complete, we all realized that it was Linda and Tricia who would feel the pinch the most. Yet, without hesitation, Linda said, "If we have to eat cardboard, Daddy, let's do it." What a family God had given us!
Financial insecurity was only one of the crosses. Ever since Ralph had given one of the major addresses at the Congress on Evangelism at Lausanne, and perhaps because a thousand missionaries had passed through his classes at Fuller, he was fairly well known and respected in the world of missions. It was therefore painful to admit that this recognition was now in real jeopardy. Not only would our salary stop almost immediately, but if we fell flat on our faces, we would become the laughingstock of all who knew us. One person told us that if we failed, mud would be splashed all over Fuller's reputation. Did we want that? Another professor accused Ralph of egomania: "Who do you think you are," he asked, "to speak for the 2.5 billion unreached people?"
Although at the president's suggestion, Ralph took an unpaid leave of absence, we both knew we were burning our bridges; there would be no road back. No school wants a has-been on its faculty, especially one who has very publicly embarrassed the school by doing something stupid.
I worried about the finances. Could God take care of us? Yes, I knew He could. But would He? How could I be sure?
"How can we know for certain that it is God who is leading and not just our own foolish dreams?" I agonized. (Ralph had already settled it for himself.) "If I can only be sure God is guiding, then I can trust Him to take care of us."
One day in prayer, I felt God tell me, "I will take care of you as well as you have ever been cared for. You will not lack anything you need."
My heart at last was at rest. With the words "When God guides, He provides" on my lips, and with my hand in Ralph's, we stepped forth into the unknown.
