Another Step of Faith
7. Another Step of Faith
“Take the first step in faith. You don’t have to see the whole staircase,
just take the first step.”[54]
“Anybody who has been seriously engaged is scientific work of any kind realizes that over the entrance to the gates of the temple of science are written the words: ‘Ye must have faith.’ It is a quality which the scientist cannot dispense with.”[55]
After my resignation from the parachurch ministry I had invitations to preach up and down the Atlantic seaboard. As I was preparing to leave for one of those weekends Vicki and I brought our bills to the kitchen table. We laid every invoice out like a dealt deck of cards and then the Qualls Family joined hands around the table. We had to pay $996 in bills before the end of June! I had no regular income. We were counting on the “love offerings” that I would receive from the churches I would visit.
That particular weekend the plan was for me to take some the cash we had on hand – $25 – and use it for gas and food for the two days I was away. My one night housing was going to be covered by the first church I visited. Vicki would to stay home with the boys, holding down the fort and conserving money. At that time we had about $5 in our checking account, and she had a $20 bill in her wallet. Do the math. All we had to our names was $50.
As I traveled north to Winchester, Virginia that Saturday afternoon I was so thankful for Vicki. What a great wife! Her attitude had so dramatically changed, from constant fear to consistent faith. I was still really worried about the weekend. Would the two churches give me gifts that would cover our immediate needs? Asking God to come up with $1,000 seemed to be asking too much.
Sunday morning I preached my heart out, and at the end of the service the people attending this little church in the Shenandoah Valley responded by coming forward for prayer. After the service many of them stuck around to tell me how much they appreciated the sermon, and I thought, “Thank God … but I sure hope you put something in the ‘love’ offering!”
Following the afternoon meal the pastor reached into his pocket and handed me an envelope. If the size of the envelope was any indication of the size of the offering then I was going to be in GOOD shape ‘cause it was big! When I was driving away from restaurant I couldn’t contain my curiosity. I didn’t even pull over and stop the car. I ripped open the envelope to find … $25 … a twenty and five one dollar bills.
I pulled into a gas station and drifted over to where the no one could see me. I cried, and I didn’t want any witnesses. Half the day was gone, and I was a little past even for the weekend. (I had put about $17 in the gas tank and eaten at Burger King on the way up for about $3. I had a little over $5 in my wallet but I knew I wasn’t ahead. I was brokenhearted and disappointed.
I remembered the faces of the people who had come up after the service to congratulate me for a job well done and I got angry, with them … and with God! I reminded Him that I had three people at home that were counting on me, and Him, to provide not only for those bills, but to put food on the table! I told Him that I thought He had set me up for disappointment. I complained about “those tight church people” and the fact that they belonged to Him! That made Him ultimately responsible for the paltry amount in the envelope.
I drove from the gas station to a small park on the outskirts of Winchester, reclined the driver seat back as far as it could go, and tried to take a nap. I didn’t sleep. Now I was groggy and still frustrated.
I began to think of excuses I could give the pastor of the church I was to minister at that evening, why I couldn’t speak. My throat was sore? No, it wasn’t. I was sick and needed to get home? Nope. That wasn’t true. I was angry with God, and frustrated with “The Church” for not taking care of me and mine? Well, that was the truth, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that. I was trapped. I had to keep the appointment and I wasn’t happy about it.
When I arrived a little before 5:30 for the 6:30 service, I just sat in my car in the parking lot for about 15 minutes, trying to collect my emotions. I remember my stomach was so tight the knots had knots! I walked inside, was greeted by the pastor and his staff, and we prayed. We committed “… to serve the church as best we could, and to please God with all our hearts.” While they prayed I had a hard time restraining the tears, I as so broken … and broke.
I don’t remember much of the service. I don’t remember hearing any music, though we must have worshipped. I must have spoken, but I can’t remember what I spoke about. The entire service I was on autopilot. I went through the motions and then hoped for an early exit and a quick trip home.
I concluded my message feeling lightheaded and weak. I turned to the host pastor, asked him to make an appeal for people to respond to the message, and he did. Over 200 people surged forward at His invitation I was told later. As for me, I was face down on the floor, crying out to God for the strength to drive the 3 hours home with $30 in my pocket.
The auditorium lights dimmed, signally the people remaining that it was time to say goodnight. A little after 9:00 PM I walked to my car. It was raining. I had left the pastor and his staff in the foyer after receiving their thanks for coming. No one had handed me an envelope. Sarcastically I thought, “The perfect ending for the perfect day.” I opened the car door, hopped in and froze. I didn’t start the engine. I just sat there. There were no tears. All the anger was even gone. I was just drained; I didn’t have anything left.
I was startled out of my trance by a loud thumping on the driver side window. I looked up I saw the host pastor standing there under an umbrella. I rolled down the window and was immediately soaked to the skin on my left side. “I’m so glad you didn’t take off!!” he said. “I just got your check from our treasurer. I thought he had already given it to you.”
I took the envelope, folded it, and tucked it into the inside pocket of my jacket … the dry right side … and weakly thanked him for his thoughtfulness.
I drove off in a daze. I traveled about an hour or so to Warrenton, a historic town tucked into the middle of Virginia horse country. It was time to look in the envelope. I really dreaded another disappointment.
Four … forty … no … FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS! Oh, my God! That was the biggest check I had seen in several years. I put the peddle to the metal and raced home to Richmond, and Vicki. I had a story to tell.
For two hours I dealt with my shameful attitudes – the ones that had surfaced throughout the day. I was thankful for the money, but now it was “burning a hole,” not in my pocket, but into my heart.
Rewind the time to the day before. Not long after I had driven away from Richmond, Vicki had received a phone call from John Hershman. He told her, “You should come over to the church today if possible. (He emphasized today.) There’s a check here with your names on it. It was given anonymously, and it’s significant.”
“Hersh” was one of my best friends. (It was John who managed The New Wine Coffee House in Springfield, Missouri – the place I took Vicki on our first date eleven years before. John was now serving as an associate pastor and elder at West End Assembly of God, and our friendship was being renewed weekly.)
NO ONE except God knew what our financial needs were. We had not told our families about our financial dilemma because we had decided, years before, that God would have to be “our Ultimate Source.” Vicki and I shared this understanding: we didn’t want to live off the generosity of our parents or our friends, even though they all would have wanted to help us. We had decided as a young couple, not long after we married, that if we were going to “work for God,” He was going to have to be our Provider. We were that idealistic that single-minded. We reasoned, “If God doesn’t provide for us, that is a sign we’re in the wrong business and we’ll do something else.”
When I got home that night I was shocked to see Vicki up. That was unusual. Vicki was an “early to bed, early to rise” person, and here it was, just after midnight, and she had almost every light on in the apartment. And she was not only awake but animated, too! Hmm? Something was up. No matter. I couldn’t wait to show her “MY CHECK.” As it turned out, she couldn’t wait to show me “HER CHECK.”
I can still see the twinkle in her eye. I put the check and the cash into her hand, and she stared at it for a while. All she said, over and over again, was, “God, You are in control. You are in control.” And then she handed me her check. I literally stumbled backward when I saw the amount. One thousand dollars!
We stayed up another hour or so, telling and retelling our stories, laughing and crying a little. Then, around 1:30 AM we knelt at our kitchen table and prayed another “surrender prayer” before heading to the bedroom. We had money to pay all our bills and money for groceries. We were “ahead.”
Now get this. Just a week or so before we had received God’s provision of $1,425.00, Vicki had written (continued, from June 4, 1983):
If we can keep the fear from creeping up on us, this is such an exciting time of waiting upon the Lord. Honestly, there has been very little fear throughout this time, and I know it’s because I have stayed immersed in God’s Word. When I begin to feel fearful and anxious I realize that I skipped a day or two of reading the Bible.
I’ve started something very exciting this month. I intend to Psalms, Proverbs, and the New Testament through this month, and hopefully each month following. I’m also reading several other books and loving it!
Now, more than ever, I need the Word IN me. Lowell and I both feel that God is going to use this time of complete dependence on Him as an intensive training period. We can determine how we respond – either positively or negatively. We can take what God is teaching us and make it part of our lives or we can rebel against it, only to prolong [the learning process.]
God intends for us to grow through this time – to build a ministry into our lives. The sooner we learn the lessons and absorb them into our very beings, the sooner He can take us on to the next step. We feel almost an awesome awareness that God is preparing us for something very special in His Kingdom. It may not look grand or special in the world’s eyes, but it will be in God’s. We want to be completely open to do whatever He wants us to do … whether it includes a large salary or small, whether it’s near family or far away. We know wherever God leads, it will be the best for us as well as for Him. I trust God enough to know t6hat He would not send us anywhere that would hurt us. I’m so excited to see where our final destination will be!
Vicki then wrote this Helen Keller quotation at the conclusion of this entry. It seems to encapsulate what she was feeling at that moment.
“I long to accomplish a great and noble task. But my duty is to accomplish a humble task as though it were great and noble.”
Just a month later, on July 8, we left for the Dominican Republic. We had been invited to help build a church in the village of Cevicos – all expenses paid! Vicki had never been out of the country, and I had only done so once before – in May of 1979, when I traveled with my Mom to Israel, Jordan and Switzerland.
Vic was so excited because she had her first passport. This was her first mission trip, her first building trip, and our first overseas trip together – all rolled into one! It turned out that she and I would not only go to the Dominican Republic, but Belize as well – to the tiny village of Red Bank.
The day before we left for the DR she quoted from a devotional book and wrote (July 7, 1983),
“ … And where I am, My servant also will be …” (John 12:26b) and “If a man shuts his ears to the cry of the poor, he too will cry out and not be answered.” (Proverbs 21:13)
Whenever I face a particularly difficult or unpleasant task, and my motivation level is hovering near empty, I try to remind myself of a little story that I heard years ago.
An American tourist was walking down a street in India when she came upon a young missionary nurse who was washing the legs and feet of an old man who had leprosy. The tourist was repelled by the sight.
“I wouldn’t do that for a million dollars!” she exclaimed.
“The young nurse looked up at her and smiled. “Neither would I,” she said. “But I would do it for Christ.”[56]
Oh, Jesus! Help me become a servant … just for You. Help me always remember: For Christ. That is the only motivation for any task we ever face. Somehow, when we perform our earthly chores in His name, they are not chores [any more], but acts of love.
In the hot Dominican Republic sun (she wrote, “Hot, hot, hot!” in her journal) observed that the children of Cevicos went through our garbage, picking out anything that looked “American.” She was seeing and feeling things she had never seen or felt before and it was so overwhelming. She wrote,
“Monday – Oh, what a day! I never thought I’d make it till noon. I’ve never been so tired and so hot in my life. After mixing and carrying mortar, sifting sand, and striking blocks all morning I came back to the house too sick to eat lunch. Judy [Wilton] let me take her place and cook the evening meal. Today I almost wished I hadn’t come. Thirteen days to go and it isn’t going to get any easier.”
But while she was carrying heavy cinder blocks and mixing mortar, I gradually saw something happen. Vicki not only overcame her misgivings about traveling to a third world country, leaving her sons in the care of her parents, not being able to speak the language, and wondering if she could do the work – I saw her take to missions work like a duck to water. Mission work was to become of her DNA.
In her last entry in the Dominican Republic she recorded how much happened in just a few days:
John, Lowell and I left at noon today for Santa Domingo with missionary Eugene (and Carolyn) Hunt. We’re now on our way to Belize, for the second half of our mission … but it was so hard to leave the rest of the group behind, knowing that we wouldn’t get to see the church finished or share in the communion service on the last night. Lowell and John prayed with Pastor Christian (the village pastor) before we left, and they all had tears in their eyes.
It’s been wonderful getting so close to all the team members. I love them all, and will miss each one as we go to Red Bank: Bob and Judy Wilton, John Hershman, Russell Joyner, Rick Good, John Wright, Bob Beaver, Buzzy Yarborough, Robin Martin, Debbie, Thelma and Lisa, Danny, Nate, and finally … Van Ott. I love ‘em all!
While the construction project was wonderful, and she made life-long friends on that portion of the mission, Vicki told everyone after the trip that she enjoyed her experiences in Red Bank Village the most. Red Bank was a Mayan Indian village 33 miles southwest of Dangriga – the voodoo capital of Central America. Not long before our visit the people of Red Bank had voted to become an Assembly of God village! That was unheard of … precedent setting. To my knowledge nothing like that has happened since – an entire village deciding they wanted to become a church.
About 200 men, women and children lived at Red Bank. Vicki worked with Maureen “Mo” Joyner, teaching the Mayan wives about biblical marriage in a cross-cultural way, being very cautious when talking about marital relationships because Mayan husband/wife relationships lacked tenderness, love and communication. Mayan women are very quiet, unemotional, and even-tempered, so Vic and Mo were going to ask them a lot of questions to make sure they were getting the message through. Once Vic and Mo began teaching, however, they soon realized that these women were mature Christians; they loved God and were devoted to Him.
Vicki became especially close to Sarafeena, the village pastor Geronimo Sho’s wife. She was a beautiful and wise twenty-five year old mother of five. She also befriended Renalda and Patricia, the sister and wife of Bernaldo, one of the village elders. Vic bought embroidery from Maruella, Ramona, and Marcaleena, and fell in love with twelve-year-old Antinasio, a boy who spoke fluent English and sometimes served as her interpreter.
The women of the village soon adopted Vicki and Mo as two of their own. Together for about five days, the American and Mayan women washed clothes in the creek that gave Red Bank its name, sang worship songs for the men, and talked, talked, talked about raising children, Christian family principles, spiritual unity in the church, and honoring their mates.
It seems fitting that Vicki most often talked about “giving up rights,” and “dying to self.” Even though the language issues were challenging, and the lifestyles were different, Vicki’s message got their attention. (The people of Red Bank speak a Mayan dialect called Quichean, although the language taught in school is English.) She confessed that she was still learning about self-sacrifice herself, and her transparency encouraged these normally quiet women to open up – to her, Mo, and each other. That was a first. None of the women were given to sharing their thoughts, dreams or desires with anyone. They were only used to gossiping about their husbands while they washed their clothing and their kids in the creek.
On the trip home Vicki wrote,
The trip is over. What can I say about Red Bank? The people are so gentle and so good … it’s the most peaceful place I’ve ever been. There was no electricity or running water, but somehow it didn’t matter. It was like going back in time, to a simpler life. We taught each day – morning, afternoon and evening – but we learned so much from them: How to be content with little; how to love one another without jealousy and strife; that all the facades we put on are just a waste of energy. We need to be real, and risk being open and honest. We need to love one another, and lay down our loves for each other.
I actually miss living with John, Peyton and Clover (Harris), and Julie (Rhoden).
The rest of 1983 we experienced the sometimes supernatural and always loving provision of God. Every bill was paid on time, and in full. We moved into a more spacious apartment in a complex that had more children Brandon and Chris’ age. Vicki started singing in the West End Assembly of God choir, and that led to a sweet friendship with Karen Laughlin, the wife of the Youth, Music and Fine Arts pastor, Bob Laughlin. It wasn’t long before Bob and I became friends. Our friendship with John and Helen Hershman began to take on more intimacy and lunacy. Unfortunately for our wives, John, Bob and I shared a similar sense of humor.
It wasn’t long before Dr. Bob Rhoden, the lead pastor of WEAG, and his wife, Joan included us in their hectic lives.
About two weeks before Christmas, Bob and Joan invited us go with them to a party for Assembly of God pastors down in Farmville, Virginia. It was an hour ride going and coming – more than enough time to begin a conversation about the future. Our future. Together.
