For whoever gives you a cup of water to drink in
My name, because you belong to Christ, assuredly, I say to you, he will by
no means lose his reward.
Mark
9:41 (NKJ)
“The
church people are here, the church people are here!”
The children shout as they run following our van as we drive in to
the Arena Inn and Suites in their own form of a welcoming parade: it’s Friday night. It
has been one year since we have began ministering to the people at the
Arena. They are excited and
we are excited—to see what God will do.
There
are times when it is just us two: my
husband and I, and we wonder if we should continue to come.
There are times when the transmission goes down, we have some other
crisis, and we realize that we are being tested and tried to see if we can
persevere. Most
of the time, our team has about seven or more of us and we spend hours
debriefing, sharing, laughing, and testifying of the great things God had
orchestrated as we drink lattes and eat chow mien at a nearby food court.
One
of the things we do at the Arena is a Bible study for the children.
You have to understand that the children sit in chairs around
tables in two parking spaces of the lot nearest to the motel rooms.
Doors are opened upstairs and down as their parents listen and
watch their children color and answer questions, their faces gleaming as
they amass their candy rewards. One particular time about three
weeks ago, we were speaking of Jesus cleansing the temple. God
intended it to be a House of Prayer and they had made it a den of thieves.
As we were studying this lesson, a lady from the second floor is motioning
to us. There is so much going on at this motel that I figure she
must be calling to someone behind me. No, she was talking to us, and
Alex one of our twelve-year-olds, went over near her. She had
dropped a piece of paper and told him to give it to me.
I
stopped teaching. Wondering what the note said, perplexed that this
lady had sought to interrupt the study with the kids, which is already
made difficult by the nature of our location, I read the note and was
blown away: “Pray for my husband. He is really sick.”
I read the note aloud and yelled up to her, “What is your husband’s
name?” Then we gathered around and all prayed for Michael her
husband. We are not sure about the end of the story as of yet, but
the beginning was enough to blow my mind. God had sent the prayer
request to us while we were speaking of prayer. One of those timely
moments that you could never plan during a lesson: direct
application. And it wasn’t just the children who had learned:
it was me, it was the lady on the balcony, it was those I had a chance to
testify to over chow mien. Maybe it’s even you.
Those
are the moments that keep you in ministry, that entice you and encourage
you to press on toward the call, to run the race with endurance, to keep
on keeping on, to fight the good fight—especially during the hard times.
The times where nothing spectacular happens: just the slow changing
of the hearts. This is what ministered to me last night.
Last
night the two of us drove to Anaheim after having our transmission looked
upon and received the prognosis: it needs to be replaced.
Tired, weary, and discouraged we realized that, like Nehemiah, we need
continue building the wall. Tonight something really special is
going to happen since we are being attacked by the wearing out tactics of
the enemy.
The
Bible study was especially small and the attendees were especially young
this time so the format naturally changed to a more conversational
teaching style. During the study I passed out cookies and grape
juice and was going around the table pouring out seconds when I felt a
small tap tap tap on my back. I turned around to see Geraldo, a
four-year-old flashlight-carrying boy full of spunk mixed with politeness
that will melt any heart. With his large brown eyes, he lifts up his
cup and says, “Church, can I have some more?”
I
said, “Oh my name’s not Church, but you can call me Bridget.”
He
just looked up at me and said, “Church, can I have some more.”
