Bits & Pieces

Stitched Together Stories by Ann O'Dell

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Praying for Janet

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Janet and I became friends.  I had heard that she resisted anyone who had tried to minister to her, so I was cautious about sharing anything of a spiritual nature with her. In fact, I wondered if her daughter’s outburst in Sunday School was something she had heard her mother say.  Mostly I tried to just be a friend.  Eventually Janet didn’t object when I would offer to end our visits by praying for her.  Today someone in the condition that she was in would probably opt to be on hospice, but that was not an option or at least a common occurrence then.  So, I tried to do things that would ease her pain or help her feel more comfortable.

I looked for opportunities to share Christ with my friend too, but I was careful not to push her.  At one point in our friendship, a gospel singer, Merrill Womach, came to the church for a concert.  He had survived an accident that left him badly burned and disfigured, but he had a tremendous voice.  He had written his story of how God helped him through that experience, and I purchased the book and a tape to share with Janet.

Her local specialist told her that she was terminal, but for some reason there came a point when the doctor sent her to the University of Michigan hospital in Ann Arbor.  I sensed that she didn’t have long for this world, yet I had not been able to share with her God’s plan of salvation. 

I went to visit her at the hospital sure that the Lord would open a way for me to talk to her about accepting Jesus as her Savior.  She had been in the hospital for several days and had not had any visitors, so she was really happy to see me.  I had barely arrived though when a trail of doctors and family members came and went, and we had no opportunity to talk privately.  I left that day so disappointed.  I’d been so certain that was why the Lord wanted me to make the two-hour trip there to see her.

On the drive home I questioned God.  “Why did You send me all the way up there if I wasn’t going to be able to talk to Janet?  How am I ever going to help her come to know Jesus as her Savior?” 

Like many of us, Janet had an independent spirit.  She tried to handle all that life had dealt her in her own strength.  She was only 19 when she was first diagnosed with cancer.  After initial treatment, she experienced a time of remission.  She had married and divorced, remarried and had two children during that time.  But when the cancer returned it came back with a vengeance. 

As I questioned God, I felt He told me to pray that Janet would come to the end of her own resources.  And so, on that drive home and in the coming days, that is how I began to pray.

Lesson learned:  The Holy Spirit can show us how to pray specifically for someone’s salvation.  Jesus said in John 6:44 that it is the Spirit who draws us to Christ, so that informed the way I began to pray, “Lord, may Janet come to the end of her own strength and may Your Holy Spirit draw her to Yourself.”

JANET

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I dreaded going to meet her.  Yet I knew that the Holy Spirit was prompting me to call on her.  Her 7-year-old daughter had burst out in Sunday School class, “I hate Jesus!”  This had upset her teacher who brought her to me.  When I talked with the child, she told me that her mommy was very sick and might die.  I knew that her mother had terminal cancer, and that the child came to Sunday school with her grandmother. 

That day as I parked across the street from the address I had, I saw a tiny woman with a broom sweeping the walk to the side door.  She wasn’t much bigger than a 10-year-old child.  With fear and trembling, I got out of the car and made my way across the street.

“Hello,” I said.  “I’m Ann O’Dell from the Wesleyan Church.  Your daughter is in our children’s Sunday School where I serve.  I just wanted to come and get acquainted with you.”  I really didn’t know what to expect, but she invited me to come into the house.  We visited for several minutes.    Before I left, I asked if I could visit again and she agreed.

I think it was on my second visit that as we sat at her kitchen table, I noticed her covering the side of her face with her hand.  She must have made some comment about looking ugly.  Indeed, she had no jawbone on that side and her face drooped because of that.  I could relate to how she felt.  All my life, I had been self-conscious of scars on my neck and especially my right arm which were badly burned when I was 10 months old.  “I know how you feel, Janet,” I said.  Then trying to put her at ease I showed her my scars and said, “I have always been self-conscious of my scars.  See…I was badly burned when I was just a baby.  Your face doesn’t bother me at all,” I assured her.  It seemed like after that visit, we really connected.

Lesson learned:  God can use even our scars to bring about good.  Isn’t that what 2 Corinthians 1:3 and 4 is talking about?  “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.” The thing I loathed was the thing that drew Janet and me into a developing relationship, eventually opening the door for me to lead her to a personal relationship with Jesus.

An Innocent Taste

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I met the mother of one of the sponsored children in our program as she came walking out of the jungle with a honeycomb in her hand.  She held it out to my host and me offering us a taste.

“Have you ever eaten raw honey?” asked my host.

“Sure,” I replied.  “Many times, at home in the States.” 

“Would you like to taste it?” she asked.

“Of course,” I answered. 

I was always anxious to try things and I felt that the mom who held the honeycomb would be pleased to share with me.  We were staying among a remote people group called the Agay in the northern part of Luzon, Philippines.  I learned that finding this honey was a rare treat.  I took her picture along with two of her children.  There were no utensils with which to taste the treat and certainly no bread to smear with the honey.  So, as she held out the honeycomb to me, I simply dipped the tip of my finger in the honey and put it on my tongue.  I don’t remember that it tasted any different than honey I had eaten before.  However, it was only a matter of minutes and I began to feel my tongue swell. 

Oh no, I thought.  What had I done!  I must be having an allergic reaction to that honey!  I carried Benadryl with me, so without making any kind of scene, I quickly swallowed a tablet.  I waited a few minutes, but It felt like my throat was continuing to swell so I downed more Benadryl.  I knew that if this didn’t stop the reaction, I would be in trouble.  What should I do?  We were at least a 14-hour drive from Manilla and medical intervention.  I finally privately explained to my host what was happening. 

“Please don’t blame yourself if I should stop breathing.  I know there is nothing you can do so far from medical care,” I said.  “I’m going to lay down for a few minutes and give the medicine time to work.  Hopefully I’ll be ok.”   And I was.

As I laid on the bamboo cot, I thought of how each trip I took held its own adventures and challenges.  I recalled how in preparation for this trip, Psalm 62:1, 2 spoke to me:  My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.

Remembering Art

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Although I cherish the memories of the last few months that Art and I spent together, as the one-year anniversary of his death approaches, I choose to remember the husband, father, pastor, teacher, encourager I knew through our 56 plus years together.

I remember…

            …how hard he worked our first year of marriage, 40 hours a week at a hardware, carrying 20 credit hours in college so he could graduate with his class, and preaching on weekends or caring for his father who was dying.

            …how excited he was when our children were born. I remember him standing at the nursery window watching our newborn, so anxious to hold her.  Even the nursing staff got a charge out of his excitement.

            …he often entertained our two on road trips in the car with stories of his childhood. They would hang over the center of the front seat so as to not miss a word of his adventures.

            …life wasn’t always easy and sometimes I’d look at our finances and think there was no way we could pay the bills, but Art always managed to find a way and to give God credit for His provision.

            …a father who always had time to cheer his son in a swim meet or who proudly displayed and encouraged his daughter’s art or music.

            …a husband who coaxed and sometimes even forced me into situations that were way out of my comfort zone yet helped me to develop the abilities he saw in me.

            …I also experienced a husband who was willing to release me to ministries God opened to me and was also willing to pitch in and help me, too.

            …when he would come home excited about leading someone to the Lord…many of them young people who are serving the Lord today.   

            …he loved people and cared deeply for those in his care as pastor.  He was always ready to respond to their needs…like the time he killed a bat that had terrified one of our parishioners or the time he rescued a frightened single woman who thought burglars had broken into her home when he discovered that the plaster ceiling had fallen in her entryway. 

            …thinking that he was truly a modern-day Barnabas encouraging, mentoring and helping others to realize their potential and dreams.

            …nights when he would come home exhausted from counseling sessions he’d had throughout the day, yet he’d be encouraged because someone had experienced a breakthrough in the issue they faced.

            …his perseverance in getting his Doctor of Ministry degree working late at night on his classes after a full day pastoring.

            …his joy in teaching students, especially in retirement years through online classes for Indiana Wesleyan University.

            …his skill in teaching pastors and young leaders in places like Pakistan and Bangladesh.    

            …his work encouraging and supporting missionaries throughout his ministry, but also as their pastor during his time with Global Partners, the Wesleyan Church’s mission’s department.

            …he enjoyed our little cottage, Heart’s Desire, in northern Michigan. Through the years it offered a place of refreshment and refueling for ministry, not only for our family but for many others he loaned it to through the years.

            …a skilled woodworker who shocked me by building a house (how did he know how to do that?) who in retirement years enjoyed time creating in his workshop. This doesn’t begin to mention church building projects that he spearheaded.

            …how he enjoyed spending time with the grandchildren, often involving them in one of the many building projects at the cottage, or taking them fishing, deer spotting, or other adventures.

            …he was a tease and loved to laugh. He claimed I often spoiled it when he’d tease the grandkids. They would often look to me to see if Art was really serious and I’d reassure them that he was only teasing.

            …he enjoyed relaxing by playing games with friends and family.

Today I cannot hear the word “joy” without remembering his determination to maintain his joy when he knew he faced an unknown future battling cancer.  And his submission to whatever God allowed.  

And today I am comforted knowing that he is experiencing “fullness of joy” in the presence of Jesus that is promised to us in Psalm 16:11.

Beyond Words

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I am sure that Mrs. Colling, my third grade teacher had little idea of how an isolated incident in her class might teach me something that would prove helpful as an adult.

One day the principal brought a mother and her 8 year old son to our classroom door.  After Mrs. Colling shared a brief conversation with them, she turned back to the classroom and summoned me to come.  At the time I didn’t question why she chose me, but thinking back on it years later, I wondered why me from a classroom of over 30 students?

I joined her at the door.  A large imposing woman in a long black coat held the hand of the boy who stood silently beside her with downcast eyes. 

“This is Peter,” said Mrs. Colling.  “He is from Poland and he doesn’t speak English.  He is going to be in our class.  Would you invite him to come into our room and join the rest of the class?  We’ll put a chair beside your desk and you can be his friend today and help him.”

Without asking any questions, I smiled and reached out and took Peter’s hand.  He might have hesitated momentarily but he came with me to sit next to my desk. He must have been scared and wondered how he would survive without his mom, but he came.  I don’t remember much about him after that.  I’m sure it wasn’t long until he joined the boys in their rough and tumble games at recess.

Years later as I found myself the stranger with no verbal skills in the country I was visiting, I always felt a “connection” with the people as I smiled and tried to greet them in their customary way—a kiss on both cheeks, a bow with hands together as though in prayer, a handshake, or whatever the culture called for.  There are ways of communicating warmth and acceptance that transcend words!  Something I learned in third grade the day I met Peter.

A child in Nepal and I greet each other.

God’s Whisper

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I never in my wildest dreams imagined that I would ever visit China. Yet here I was on a tour with several other individuals from the United States. We had all attended the Youth for Christ convocation in Taiwan and left at the conclusion of those meetings for Hong Kong and then on to mainland China.

This particular day in August 1996, we were in Beijing and our schedule called for us to visit Tiananmen Square. I was a bit familiar with its history. One of my residents at Oakton Manor back home in Wisconsin was in the United States under political asylum for his participation in the protests held by college students in 1989 at this very place.

As the group left the tour bus, we scattered over the several acres of land. Ahead the length of several football fields was the Gate of Heavenly Peace, a national symbol of China much like our Statue of Liberty. But we knew that the grounds had been stained with the blood of many who had come to protest for freedoms that we often take for granted in our country.

A huge digital clock caught my attention. It was counting down the hours and minutes until Hong Kong would revert to China’s control. Art and I were walking together toward the gate when we were stopped by two or three Chinese families. The men started talking to Art in broken English and gestures. They wanted his permission to take my photo with their children. When Art gave his consent, the children clustered around me and the men and Art took several photos of us.

While I was standing there thrilled to connect with these children, it seemed the Lord whispered to me, “I’m going to restore a ministry to children to you.” In minutes the whole thing was over, but I pondered those words for the next several weeks. Why of all the team did these families approach Art and me? What did those whispered words mean?

One of the most difficult transitions I’d faced was leaving “my children” at First Wesleyan in Battle Creek, Michigan where I served as Christian education director. But the Lord had clearly called me to the position I was currently in as administrator of an assisted care facility for low income elderly, many of whom suffered from chronic mental illness. I loved my residents, but I had always enjoyed working with children. Early in adulthood I had prayed that God would never let me get over my joy of working with children. Back home as I would think about the incident in Beijing, I couldn’t imagine how God could restore a ministry to children to me.

The weeks went by and nothing happened. Then on January 2, 1997 I got a telephone call from an old friend, Dr. Jo Anne Lyon. She had started a non-profit ministry called World Hope, International. One of her initial investors in the ministry was on the China trip with us. He had kept me excited with the stories he told about how God was using this ministry to assist people in developing countries of the world. Jo Anne was calling to see if there was a possibility that I would be interested in joining her as the director of a child sponsorship program called Hope for Children. One of her selling points was that we could live anywhere, and I could do this ministry.

A couple weeks later I made a trip to the World Hope office to interview with JoAnne. But from the start of our conversation it was evident that she had already made up her mind to hire me if I was interested. I returned home excited but a bit overwhelmed by the responsibilities connected with the position. Art was quick to remind me that we had been praying for a way to make a move to Denver where he was transitioning to a new ministry opportunity. “Surely,” he told me, “this was God’s answer to our prayer!” And so began a new chapter of my life…something I had never imagined, but truly the fulfillment of the words I remembered so clearly from that day in Tiananmen Square, “I’m going to restore a ministry to children to you.”