It was to be the beginning of many an introduction, though
in this scenario our hosts had to have been especially curious. We'd never met,
never even talked on the phone. Our communication had been confined to e-mail
and internet photo stalking - Liz and I (well actually myself alone... It
sounds less weird if I include Liz as she's more mature) had scoured their website
and they may have looked at our Capital-on-the-Edge facebook albums, and
our blog. In any case, each was as unknown to the other. We were from different
lands, working in different communities, but united in purpose that all men
should know salvation through Jesus.
Wendy had offered for us to stay in her
lakefront Minnesotan, home. We were honoured by this gesture, and being
ex-YWAM, had no difficulties with the thought of lodging with complete
strangers for the night. We snapped up the offer.
Now whether people believe it or not, in my mind I'm the
funny guy. Things that race through my brain I just have to say aloud
(sometimes prior to thinking and other times not). However, there'd been much
self-talk and I'd decided to throw away my hilarious Mike Warnke, Pat Mesiti
and Jim Carey laugh-a-minute road show persona and employ the guise of a more
serious, all-knowing itinerant preacher type.
I glided spiritually towards the front door, not totally
submitting to the natural law of gravity. As my hostess walked before me I
stumbled over a step in the dark, tripping and then bounding into the house
just ahead of Liz (who must have been thinking how absurd I was to try and
race). I was still clutching my Bible when I landed, head nearly smashing into
the deluxe fridge-freezer combo-machine. As per usual, Lizzie tip-toed by,
proving just how easy it is to place one foot carefully in front of the other.
And there they were, sitting before me, in all their
lovely Americaness; wide
grins, warm eyes, welcoming hearts. I was chuffed to be amongst them. Every
chap sat next to his spouse and there wasn’t a seat to spare in this creatively
decorated country cottage.
We had arrived in Nica style an hour and a half late, not
really knowing where we were going (or coming from). Because of the time
pressures we hadn’t nourished ourselves with a sufficient lunch prior to our
departure from Dom’s wedding – hence we’d stopped on the freeway for a
tantalizing taste of cardboard flavoured food. Yum… However, despite the taste
and nutritional factors (for that matter), in terms of our desire for
additional food, we were now entirely satisfied.
These beaut folk had put on quite a spread. It was in fact a
potluck meal and so the diversity of food options were amazing. We each took a
plate and enjoyed fare from all over the World. I was now liking these people
all-the-more.
We chatted for a while and enjoyed learning all about our
new found family. Because truly, that is what the people of Zimmerman Community
Church are – they’re our heart and spirit – our home. They are ordinary people
who have come together and achieved extraordinary things, because they have
stayed the course and sought the face of God.
I learnt that evening of many horrific obstacles this Church
has faced. I also was blessed to find unity and devotion cemented into the very
foundations of them. The leaders of the Church were very different from one
another, in terms of their sexes (lady senior pastor), age (youth pastor in his
20s), occupations (white and blue collar unite), and so-forth. Yet, it was the
number one Christian ingredient that completely won me over, love.
We chatted and laughed, talked seriously, prayed,
worshipped, ate and sat in complete silence. The night air held anticipation
and the hours passed quickly by. Before we knew it we were hugging, kissing,
talking of tomorrow and saying our toodle-loohs.
Liz and I bade our farewells and walked pastorally into our
designated sleeping chambers. I brushed my speaker’s teeth, washed my
presenter’s face, and went to lay out my preacher’s clothing. My preacher’s
clothing… MY PREACHER’S CLOTHING? Holy SUIT!!! I had left my suit in my other
flip-floppin’ Minnesotan lake front cabin (with Jacuzzi and room for a pony)!
What would I do? What would I say? It was at this point I considered trading my
profession as a humble missionary from Nicaragua for the role of Holy Ghost
Miracles Man.
There were no options available. I had to confront the
moment head-on. I slunk sheepishly back into the lounge room and tapped my
pastoral friend, Wendy, who was now reading her Bible (darn, I thought to
myself – I should have brought my Bible!), on the shoulder and explained my
predicament. Wendy, in complete grace, let out whimsical laughter.
“Jed!” she said, “you’re looking at a woman who just a few
years ago wouldn’t let her daughters go to Church in jeans. I now preach in
jeans! The freedom we have in Jesus, Jed, it’s a mighty thing.” Wow, I thought,
humbled. I’m not the focus, I’m merely the signpost, pointing people towards
Jesus.
We slept comfortably, though fitfully, on the eve of our
first speaking engagement in the USA.
It’s funny to me. I love my father, though have never really
liked so many things about him. I didn’t like the “home school classroom”
concept, and now I run a school in exactly the same way. I didn’t ever like
what he looked like or spoke like, and I’m now I´m a carbon copy. I didn’t like
that he was poor and wrote prayer letters – look at me today, speaking to
people I´ve never before met and living in Latin America´s second poorest
country! I didn’t like that he was a preacher or a missionary, and blow-me down
if I’m not dancing around in his shoes, AND singing the same song (though I
pray, more in tune).
Upon the morrow I bounded out of bed like a Labrador ready
to play fetch. Breakfast? Ho no, not a chance – I knew I’d be the most nervous
guest speaker they’d ever had, and didn’t want to add the reproduction of my
breakfast to an already freakishly overloaded repertoire of speaking, song,
video and audience participatory events.
The drive to Church was a speedy one. Wendy does NOT muck
about when stepping behind the wheel. We arrived with plenty of time to set up,
pray and completely lose it on account of nerves!
Wendy gave us the tour of their brand new building and we
encountered lots of enthusiastic introductions and getting-to-know you
conversations. All-in-all, we managed to relax and really felt the heartbeat of
the Church (every Church, I have learnt, has it’s own particular flavour).
Our Irish friend led us in a time of heart-felt praise and
worship. I really love the profound simplicity of today’s American praise and
worship sessions. By-and-large the Mariah Carey BIG voices of our congregations
have been confined to sing back-up and the new era of young worship leader and
voice of the Church has emerged. The songs are sing-able, less entertaining,
and provide an atmosphere for communion with God.
Deep in thought I approached the platform. Liz and I had
decided to open with a song, I Will Exalt You, which we sing in
Spanish. It’s a Hillsong worship song written by Brooke Fraser, and so many
people know it.
The idea of singing a song first was to have people focus on
God and to help us relax. Blunder number 1! We must have incorrectly explained
the order of our program to the friendly sound fellow. The song we were now
singing, At the Cross, which is vocally impossible first thing, and
which in our presentation also contained a video file meant to induce weeping
in the aisles, pulling out of hair, and the begging of us for them to send
prayers, financing and teams, now played…
Liz and I looked at each other and rolled with it. If
there’s anything we’ve learnt in being a missionary to Nicaragua, it’s that we
must, must, MUST be flexible. I was cool, I was calm, I was winding the
microphone cord over my fingers, hand and forearm. Oh gracious, I was
transitioning to cocoon mode. In a matter of minutes nothing of me would be visible,
just the drone of my worship, “my hiiiiiiiiiding place, my saaaaaaaaaafe
refuuuuuuuge…”
This isn’t the first time I’ve done this. As a child on
King’s Kids, performing at YWAM in Canberra, for the very first time (snore),
I’d entered into this exact same zone.
I was 10 years old and my leader, Sandra Winslade,
gesticulated at me to the point of having a seizure, that I needed to let go of
the microphone cord. I wanted to stop, but I just couldn’t. I knew I should
stop, but my paws just wouldn’t. I had learned from other kids the art of
telling my testimony, and had gotten so into it that I couldn´t work out how to
stop.
Sharing testimonies, I had learnt, was all about publicly
discussing the horrors of your youth. My fellow Kings Kids team members (all
older) went into the greatest detail about their sex crimes, gang activities,
satanic involvement, drug abuse and more. As I said, I was just 10 years old,
the son of a preacher-missionary. I had plenty of dirt to dig, but just
couldn’t decide what to settle on.
And so we sang with all our might! We shared from the heart
and I can honestly say God was with us that day. There were no nerves. The
people listened. The Holy Spirit spoke.
Upon conclusion (which actually was our first song. I know
how Spiritual are we? The first shall be last!!! Ha ha), Pastor Wendy, a
beautiful, tall, regal, fifty-something lass and our gorgeous friend, sister
and co-worker for the cause, took to the stage and addressed her congregation.
“We need to support these people,” she said with authority.
Pastor Wendy went on to explain how we’d met, the time we’d
already spent together and the God-connection that clearly existed between
Capital on the Edge and Zimmerman Community Church.
In agreement with Pastor Wendy, was another chap from the
congregation. With tears he explained to the Church body just how important
providing hope for the children of our World is. He conveyed to the folks that
the Lord had blessed him with bountiful provision in his lifetime, and that he
would now sow back into the Kingdom, above and beyond his 10% tithe.
Our first speaking engagement saw us retrieve 20% of the
finances we’d needed for the repayment of our flights to the USA for our
fundraising campaign. Zimmerman Community Church also committed to contributing
a substantial amount, on a monthly basis, to support the work of Capital on the
Edge.
The monthly donation, behind our Australian home and sending
Church, is the most any Church has committed to-date. And so it was confirmed
in the physical, what we already knew in the spiritual, that Zimmerman
Community Church is to be a significant part of Capital on the Edge as the
years go by.
Our day with Zimmerman Community Church was emotional. We
left in love. We found that although vast differences are evident between the
cultures of Australia, the US and Nicaragua, that Jesus is the same and we see
him in the Church – everywhere…
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