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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