But Lord, Do You Really Want Us To Change Our Plans? – Our Story continued, #33
One night this week, I lay awake for an hour reminiscing about the next chapter in our lives together. It was five am when I finally got up and booted the computer. I stared at the blank screen, brushed back the tears, and began to type another episode in the surprises God’s grace brought into our lives.
It was back in the early 1980’s. We thought furlough was just another episode in our missionary lives. The plan was to use Toronto as a base, keeping the family together, while I continued to write TEE materials. I would return to Pakistan yearly to superintend their printing and implementation and then proceed to one of the Persian Gulf Emirates. Many Pakistanis, Filipinos, and others were employed in Abu Dubai, Qatar, and other Emirates as migrant workers. Among them were Christians who could be helped by an extension program. It sounded like a visionary plan.
So, we returned to the house left us by my mom—my childhood home. It needed a lot of tender loving care after having been rented out for several years. The locked attic, containing family heirlooms, had been broken into and some items stolen. The oak banister and fireplace surround had been painted obscuring the beautiful wood finish.
The whole family was soon busy restoring oak trim, refinishing old tables and cabinets, and tidying the garden. Re-shingling the roof and repainting the outside trim could wait.
When we were not away visiting other supporting churches, we began attending Long Branch Baptist Church, my home church ever since my conversion. [Long Branch is in West Toronto near Lake Ontario.] Long Branch had often helped me during my studies at Columbia and had supported the family throughout our time in Pakistan.
They were without a pastor at the time, so it seemed natural for me to teach a series of studies in prayer meeting and preach on occasion. I enjoyed teaching on the Lord’s Prayer and selected Psalms. This carried on for over a year.
Meanwhile, Debbie and John enrolled in High School. Stephen decided to enrol in our alma mater, Columbia Bible College. I continued to work on completing part two of my Old Testament Survey series. What could go wrong? Well, some churches began to drop our support, assuming we had returned to Toronto for an extended period. What was happening to my plan?
God had other plans. Long Branch asked me to become their senior pastor! What? Pastor, I thought, no way. I was a teacher, not the shepherd of a flock. True, I loved preaching even though each time I got up to preach, I was anxious that my preaching would fall short of communicating the marvelous truths of the Gospel. Of course, I reasoned, even great preachers like Spurgeon had been anxious before speaking. And it was true, I had had lots of experience in administration while in the mission. Perhaps I had some administrative gifting, after all. But I had a rather retiring personality—not a good pastoral quality. I also warned them that I could not carry a tune, let alone lead music. On the positive side, Mary Helen had an amazing ability to befriend and love people. Thus, after considerable prayer and discussion within the family, I accepted.
Pastor of a church! That meant three messages a week, funerals and weddings, deacons’ meetings and visitation. Fortunately, there were a number of key families in the church that gave it stability and who had an enthusiasm for the Lord. The congregation had known me since I was a new Christian. People were very supportive, loving, and forgiving as I took up my new responsibilities. But the most fortunate thing going for us was Mary Helen. She was our secret weapon. I wondered sometimes if they asked me to become pastor more for Mary Helen’s gifts than mine.
In the years that followed I was often plunged into deep water where I struggled to keep my head above water. I first had to inform all our missionary supporters of the change in ministry. I had to get a marriage license, develop a pre-marital counseling plan, take funerals, and visit. We soon set out to visit every member. During the period in which I had been taking prayer meeting, I had sensed certain needs in the congregation. I seem to have a natural propensity to sense problems and try to fix them. Over the years that followed, we had many long, long deacon’s meetings as we brainstormed different ideas. I tend to come up with too many ideas. In spite of some resistance to my constant emphasis on what I considered creative change, these deacons and their families became some of our dearest friends—friendships that continued to the present day.
We instituted a number of innovations. We started encouragement groups to gather believers into small house groups to dive into the Word and pray together. A monthly soup and sandwich Sunday was suggested by one of the deacons as a way to deepen fellowship. The church provided the soup. People brought the sandwiches. The mission’s program continued to develop. The church took on interns, young men just out of seminary or Bible College. Teams were sent to help in disaster areas or to assist new churches to put up a building. Instead of a traditional evening service every Sunday, I suggested we have occasional open forums where we could discuss current issues with input from the congregation. A clothing outlet was begun.
In spite of considerable nervousness before I got up to speak, I reveled in researching my sermons, searching for illustrations, settling on applications and then delivering the messages. Early on, worried that bitterness and unforgiveness—universal problems—might lurk somewhere in the congregation, I preached a series on forgiveness which I later developed into a book. Also concerned that believers depended too much on professional pastors, I taught a series underlining the fact that every single believer has one or more spiritual gifts. Later, that too became a book on how to discover and develop one’s spiritual gifts.
Meanwhile, Deborah graduated from High School and enrolled at Ontario Bible College, later called Tyndale. And the attraction Stephen and Catherine Entwhistle had found for each other in Murree Christian School grew into a full-blown love affair. Catherine, a kiwi, had come to New York and be closer to Stephen. They got engaged and I married them in September of 1985. The church lovingly catered the luncheon.
The years rolled on with Stephen and Catherine moving to New Zealand while Debbie kept fending off suitors until she fell in love with Brian Marling. I married them in July of 1987. Our family was growing through marriage!
Brian MarlingThe maintenance of our home in Islington began to wear on the family, even though some men from the church helped us put on a new roof. With the challenge of the pastorate, we felt the need of a more maintenance-free house. We sold Burnhamthorpe and bought a split level in Rexdale.
By 1988 Mary Helen and I both felt exhausted. We needed a break from constant pastoral demands. With several manuscripts on the go I was becoming itchy to focus more on writing. The book on spiritual gifts was beginning to take shape but I needed concentrated time to work on the manuscript. The publisher that had printed, Tell the World, was interested. We broached the subject of resigning with the deacons. They were not receptive and urged us to stay.
Mary Helen and I pondered different solutions. What did God want? Surely, he didn’t want us to burn out. And while I loved preaching and teaching, I still found some aspects of the pastorate onerous. We needed a period of renewal and refreshment. We had seen others take a sabbatical in Pakistan and recently read an article about how much a pastor had been helped by one. Such a practice, although common among Roman Catholics, was unknown in Baptist circles. The time was ripe with the family in a good place. Stephen and Debbie, both married, had fulfilling lives ahead. John was in his third year of studies at Waterloo University and fairly independent.
We proposed a six-month sabbatical to be financed by setting aside a portion of my salary every month for the rest of the year. The deacon’s board reluctantly agreed. Mary Helen’s sister, Colie with her contacts in the U.S. South suggested two places. In November, following her suggestion, we reserved a place on St. Simons Island, Georgia. We planned to divide our time between St. Simons and the Smokie Mountains of North Carolina. Our excitement was palpable but the obstacles—especially financial—seemed insurmountable. Debbie challenged us to trust God as we had during our time in Pakistan.
