A Tornado, Seriously?

The ringing phone interrupted our family activity. 

Part Four in a four part series

Part One: The Night Mr. Vice President Came to Visit

Part Two: Feeling Like a Failure

Part Three: Mommy Does Not Talk Through the Bathroom Door

The ringing phone interrupted our family activity. Larry jumped up to grab the black antiquated receiver out in the hall, while the children and I continued watching the movie. This was not just any movie.

On this Easter Monday in Eastern Europe, we gathered to watch, as was our family Easter tradition, The JESUS Film. Though the film was contraband, we nevertheless proceeded. Our living room in Warsaw, Poland, housed a video cassette player and the film focused our hearts and minds on the significance of the holiday.

I overheard Larry on the phone, and immediately sensed this was not a cheerful holiday greeting; something was wrong. Instructing the children to continue watching without us, I slipped through the frosted pane doors to join him and sit nearby on the bottom step beside the radiator.

With a grim face, my husband held the receiver of the phone, which rested on the concrete windowsill. The tone of his voice further confirmed this to be a dreaded phone call.

Missionaries always live with the possibility of receiving bad news from those they love. And yet, one is never prepared. Distance accentuates the pain. A tense voice over a cold, plastic, impersonal piece of equipment is a cruel way to receive an unwanted message. This was our turn.

At 4:03 pm on the afternoon of April 21st, a tornado ripped through the agricultural farmland of the Mississippi Delta and totaled my parents’ home. With only seconds to respond, they jumped in the nearest vehicle to race to safety, but not before my mother grabbed her purse from their bedroom at the end of the hall.

A continent away, Larry and I held the receiver between us and listened to the blow-by-blow report, which replayed every detail of the harrowing experience. 

Interruption from the living room: Mommy, the film is nearly over, and at the end, they will tell people how to receive Jesus. Our little girl had seen this film previously, and she knew the upcoming conclusion.

My response: Please go back into the living room and keep watching. Daddy and I are on the phone with a very important conversation.

She obeyed.

The international phone conversation: When my parents saw the funnel cloud approaching from the southwest horizon, they sped for cover under the safety of the nearest concrete bridge. Holding on for dear life to structural pilings underneath, they fought the suction, and listened to the deafening roar as the destructive monster barreled past.

Interruption from the living room: Mommy, the movie is nearly over, and when they tell people how to receive Jesus, David (her younger brother) should pray. He has not invited Jesus into his heart, and he can do this today at the end.

My response: Please go back. We can talk about this later. Daddy and I cannot leave the phone right now.

She obeyed.

The international phone conversation: When they emerged, they at first thought their home had been spared. But they were sadly mistaken. The destruction was devastating, but they were overwhelmed with God’s mercy and power in preserving their lives. Larry and I hung up the phone and looked at each other. The sickening feeling of distance—a feeling missionaries are well acquainted with—descended. Separated by an ocean, we felt helpless. There was nothing we could physically do to contribute toward the massive cleanup they faced.

Interruption from the living room: Mommy, Daddy, David just became a Christian. At the end of the movie, He invited Jesus into his heart. Now he will go to heaven!

Indeed,

She obeyed. She obeyed the nudging of the Holy Spirit. 

The events in this tumultuous week resulted in one more soul being ushered into the Kingdom.

A visit by Mr. Vice President, a fisher of men

A crisis in the kitchen involving the shrimp  

A crisis upstairs involving the goldfish

An untimely conversation, Mommy did not want to talk through the bathroom door

An evangelistic film

A transatlantic phone call with an unwanted interruption

A devastating tornado

The spiritual leadership of one older sister

The spiritual hunger of one little brother; he invited Jesus into his heart.

Fast forward to the year 2000 and the days leading up to the wedding this older sister, when her younger brother said, “I will always remember that you were the one who led me to Jesus.”

And I will always remember the work of God—in spite of crisis, feeling of failure, inconvenience, and tornado—to orchestrate His miracles in the life of one small missionary family.

Pulling back the Iron Curtain to view real life behind that Iron Curtain...

Living with Eternal Intentionality™

Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, nor has entered the heart of man, all that God has planned for those that love Him (1 Corinthians 2:9).

Mommy Does Not Talk Through the Bathroom Door

Pulling back the Iron Curtain to view real life behind that Iron Curtain...

The pounding on the door seemed urgent. (But wait; let us back up in the series.)

Part One: The Night Mr. Vice President Came to Visit

Part Two: Feeling Like a Failure

Now, Part Three in one family's story of life behind the Iron Curtain:

Mommy Does Not Talk Through the Bathroom Door

The pounding on the door seemed urgent. Early in my journey of motherhood, I established a simple rule: Mommy does not talk through the bathroom door. This day, in spite of the knocking, I held fast to my decree.

The presence on the other side of the door attempted to dismantle my principle, but I refused to waver. Mommy does not talk through the bathroom door.

When the little fist refused to stop, I finally relented, and spoke. “What is it you need? You know Mommy does not talk through the bathroom door.”

The response startled me. “Mommy, I want to talk about what that man said.” The gentle voice of my little boy let me know this would not be an ordinary conversation. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“You know, the man that came here and talked about scuba diving?” 

The man he referred to was Mr. Vice President. The evening he mentioned was the infamous crisis -riddled night. “He talked about how to go to heaven. What did he mean?” 

Emerging from the bathroom, I met the sincere eyes of a small, inquisitive child. “That man who talked about scuba diving, talked about heaven. What did he mean?” His genuine questions held eternal significance.

Shifting gears and putting aside an overloaded to-do list, my son and I sat quietly and conversed. I embraced the divine appointment to share further of the glorious message of Jesus, how He died on the cross to pay for our sins. 

Our earlier dinner guest—committed to being a fisher of men—indeed, spoke in our family devotional about scuba diving. But he also spoke clearly about God’s love and Jesus' death on the cross, and the invitation to know Him and go to heaven.

So apparently, while I managed a crisis downstairs involving shrimp in the kitchen and managed a crisis upstairs involving goldfish in an aquarium, God was at work watering the seeds sown in the heart of this young boy. My, my, imagine that.

Now, on this quiet 1984 April afternoon in communist Warsaw, Poland, the anointed words Mr. Vice President invested were coming to fruition. A young boy whose parents were undercover missionaries living behind the Iron Curtain persistently sought the Savior. 

A few more days would pass before—in the midst of yet another crisis—the little fellow would indeed bow his head and ask Jesus into his heart. 

[That will be Part Four.]

Living with Eternal Intentionality™

Often, the opportunity to share the gospel comes at an inconvenient moment. When have you experienced this to be the case? 

Listening to the Voice of Our Clock

Tick-tock, tick-tock…

A soothing sound with a dependable cadence creates a stabilizing backdrop to the vibrant life pulsating throughout our home. Our 45th wedding anniversary approaches, and I give fresh thought to this anniversary gift Larry and I gave each other when we lived in Germany’s Black Forest. With a certificate of authenticity attached to its back, our clock is destined to be an heirloom.

The wooden timepiece first christened a wall when all three children still resided at home. From its place of prominence, the clock reminded us it was time to attend graduation of our firstborn, time to leave for the airport for her to attend university, and then, time for her to come home for that first visit at Christmas.

Later, the clock played its role in letting us know it was time for our family to move from Germany and relocate into the geography of Eastern Europe. The time had come for us to pack up and pull away from an idyllic rural setting with Wanderweg’s, apple orchards, and pastoral hillsides to follow the will of God and the call of God on our lives.

Mounted on the wall of our living room in Budapest, our clock marked the hour for our family’s Sunday Afternoon Tea, the sacrosanct time in our week to stop, savor our relationships, enjoy conversation with each other, and read aloud from a classic. The ticking in the background gave us the sense of “all is well.”  

True to its calling, our clock marked the time for more graduation ceremonies, more trips to the airport, and more good-byes as our next two left for university placing an ocean between us. The clock waited for Larry and me to return and to strike the hour beginning our empty nest. 

Sometimes the gentle rhythm of our faithful friend offered the only sound in this home which once bustled with boisterous laughter, and with voices calling out on the stairway, asking what to wear, what’s for dinner, or who’s joining us for dinner? At acute times of loneliness, Larry and I were grateful for the clock’s comforting balm; it supplied a quiet melody in what would have otherwise been a painfully silent set of empty walls.

Then, still marking the seasons of our family’s journey, this clock struck the hour for our young adults to return home with a special ‘someone’ for us to meet. The time was nigh for them to begin their own homes, to hang their own clocks, and to start their own families.

Today, this faithful friend graces yet another home, and furnishes intrigue for this next generation. With grandchildren snuggled in our arms, we wind its gears, we gaze upon its pendulum, we smile and listen to its chimes. 

I treasure this possession. Standing like a sentinel in one address after another, our clock has announced celebrations, relocations, transitions, holidays, lonliness, and growth. In an odd sort of way, this clock has functioned as a heartbeat, going with us in our multiple moves and making home happen wherever we lived. More than a just keeper of minutes and hours, it has been a steady voice reminding us:

Time never stands still. 

Life moves on.

Relationships remain our greatest joy.

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart... 

(Ecclesiastes 3:11).

Teach us to number our days carefully, so that we may develop wisdom in our hearts.

(Psalm 90: 1 HCSB).

Tick-tock, tick-tock…

Living With Eternal Intentionality™

What is one lesson time has taught you?

How are you redeeming the time as you move forward in life?