We all have our Stories

Kentucky Crew

Tonight I was talking with a dear saint from the church I attend. She was telling me the story of how her and her hubby got involved for a period of time in "tent-meeting" ministry. Her daughter was praying for her son who was moving to Seattle. The Lord gave the daughter specific coordinates of the address he was to move to. When they went to find the coordinates---it was the address of a church. They walked into the church and told the pastor that God sent them there, and eventually ended up in this tent meeting ministry.

I started to tell her, "I wish I had that kind of story." But I do . . .

When I was quite young I started dreaming of taking a missions trip as a youth. You had to be 13, so I was younger than that. About that time a TV show became popular. It was called "Love Sydney" and it starred Tony Randall. The opening and closing scene were of he and this little girl running thru Central Park.

God used this show to plant in me a desire to visit NY. When I was 17, I went on my short term mission trip. TO NYC. It was with one of the few charismatic teen mission groups around, Teen World Outreach. I fell hard in love with the city and vowed to return.

If I had my way I would have been back forever the next year. But as I waited for the timing of God, it was tough and I started doubting whether He had anything for me in the city.

The summer of my Junior year of Bible college, I felt led again to go on a missions trip. I researched all kinds of organizations and had settled on one and hoped to go to Italy. The morning I sent it off, I told the Lord, "If you want me to do something else, please let me know."

That afternoon I got a call from a pastor in Kentucky. He was leading a team to Mexico and I had filled out a card for his organization indicating that I spoke some Spanish. We got to talking and I felt led to go and spend the summer at his church in a discipleship program. At the end of the summer, my fellow students and I were slated to accompany him to Mexico. They did it every year.

Throughout the summer I joked with the director that we should forget Mexico and go to NY instead. Nobody took me seriously. Then one day we walked into our meeting place and there was another group there watching Dave Wilkersons "The Cross and the Swichblade." The Lord ignited something in the heart of the director and he asked us all to pray about going to NY instead.

I FELT very led this way. So did the director. NO ONE ELSE did, esp. not the pastor. We called up David Wilkerson's church and said, "We'd like to come to your church and help out." They said, "No, we can't use you. Don't come." The director continued, "When we come to your church, where should we stay?" They said, "Don't come."

We went anyway! It was the most horrible 10 days I think I've ever had. It was 105 almost every day. We went to NYC on a Mexico budget. Which meant our director felt led to have us fast for 3 days in 105 degree weather where we were ministering 10-hour days.

But it was glorious anyway. We helped a pastor plant a church in the South Bronx. We spent 10 days witnessing in the Patterson projects and I think in 10 days only one person refused to talk to us. The people were warm and welcoming and we had long divine appointments. God was faithful.

The point of my story is this:

God supernaturally changed the course of this church's history for ME. I needed to know that I was called to New York. Like Gideon, I needed a sign. God provided one.

I later moved to New York and gave my life for 10 years to the people and children of Gotham. My FIRST teaching job was in the South Bronx 2 blocks away from the place we ministered for 10 days. My SECOND teaching job was in the middle of the Patterson projects.

God supernaturally led me to the place of my destiny. He will supernaturally lead you too, if you cry out to him for your life.

We all have our stories. What's yours?

Jumping off my First Cliff

The South Bronx "hub" .

Everything I owned was packed into my Ford Escort hatchback.  Many signs and confirmations over the years had brought me to that August of '95.  My friend Jill, in a spirit of adventure, offered to drive across the country with me.  She insisted on buying a car jack, but I knew that we wouldn't get a flat.  Sometimes my faith is small in the little things of life, but I knew that I was way too stressed by the circumstances ahead of me for God to let a flat tire happen.

The trip itself was fun, if rushed.  We drove across the top of the US, and stayed with friends I had accumulated over my 28 years--a friend from PBC, a friend from my Teen World Outreach days, a friend from my summer in Kentucky.  We drove into NYC on a hot August day and spent our first night at the YMCA near Times Square.  

I was quickly reminded of the harshness of the city.  When I went downstairs to buy a sandwich from the cafe in the same building the teenager at the register insisted that I had to pay extra for tomatoes on my BLT.  "The menu says it right here," she said.  She was right.  The sandwich section the BLT was located in did state that there was a surcharge for tomatoes.  But it was a BLT!  I argued and won, the first of many times assertiveness was required for respect in Gotham.

Here I was in my new city, with no job and only $500 to my name.  I had known on some level, since age 13 that I was destined for this place, but even so it was tough to sit in on "mandatory" new teacher training not knowing where or if I'd have a job.  One speaker had everyone in the place who did NOT have a job raise their hand.  2/3 of the 1,000-or-so-member audience raised their hand.  It was daunting.

But then a union rep got up and announced a raffle for some off-Broadway tickets of "Scrooge."  Something inside me jumped, and I knew that I knew that I knew that I would win.  The play was in November, and if I won I knew it would be God's way of telling me that He would provide the job that would keep me there that long.  My name was called among the 1,000 or so I sat beside, and His assurance swept over me.

The actual finding of a job was simpler than I thought.  I was told by the Central Board to call the districts I was interested in working for and set up appointments to go see them.  I had eyes only for the South Bronx.  District 7 gave me a list of schools and principals.  "Call down the list until you find a principal in.  Let us know when you find someone YOU think you can work with."  The second principal on the list answered, and asked me to come into an interview that day.  After an hour conversation, the job was mine.

It's the small things in life which challenge my faith.  Moving to New York City jobless, friendless, poor was easy.  It was so big, such a leap of faith that God had to catch me--there was no other option.  I think we all need to jump off cliffs once in awhile.  To build our faith, and to keep life fresh.  Just be sure God told you to jump before you leap.  And if God told you to jump, don't let fear (or lack of a job) hold you back.

Mott Haven by Dusk

By Jim.henderson (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

It was my second year of teaching. Fatima's brothers were late. They should have been at school 15 minutes ago, to pick up their little 7-year old sister.

I didn't mind waiting with her, but it was getting dark, and certain janitors kicked us out at 5:00, so that they didn't have to be responsible for teachers in the building.

No one answered when I called the house. I figured the boys must be on their way, and so Fatima and I set out for the projects she called home.

We crossed St. Ann’s Avenue and cut across St. Mary's Park. I shivered. And not from the cold. St. Mary's Park was this massive park across the street from the school, which in another neighborhood would have been a school's treasure. But this was Mott Haven, Fort Apache, the precinct known for the highest homicidal rate in the country . The teachers knew St. Mary’s Park only as a place where rape, murders and drug deals happened regularly.

But Fatima was leading, and I was not so young as to not know whom was protecting whom. Fatima’s face was known in this neighborhood. Mine was not. I followed her.

The older boys outside of the projects scowled at me when they called out to Fatima. Fatima hollered back at them, and we took the elevator up, while I wondered if they would have something to say to me when I returned alone.

Fatima’s brothers were at home, caught up in some activity I’ve long forgotten. They didn’t seem surprised to see her, nor did they offer any explanation or word of thanks.

I hugged my 2nd grade student, and exited the building, starting the trek to the subway, chiding myself for breaking so many rules. A white teacher with a black student. A teacher alone with a student. Leaving the dark school with a kid whom I only hoped would have someone to look after her when I got her home. Thinking myself invincible in a barrio where most white New Yorkers will never venture.

I wonder how Fatima experienced that night. Was she worried about why her brothers were late? Did she realize that she was the one providing safe passage that night, or did she generalize that adults are always the safekeepers? Was she excited for her teacher to see where she lived, or was she embarrassed that no one came for her? Was the park a place with fond memories of the BIG ROCK, or did she know the rumors?

Does she remember our walk at all?

“In the South Bronx, where does the trail lead? From the house, around the apartments, past a metal gate, under a dry cleaning line, with a sunrise walking beside. To a store on the way to school. Where does the trail lead? Through St. Mary’s Park, past the gigantic colorful rock, beside big dogs, bulldogs. To PS 27, the school that is 100 years old. In the South Bronx, the trail leads out of PS 27x, past the ice cream truck with it’s “Ding-a-ling-ling,” past the smell of garlic on pizza, to a house over the hill. In the South Bronx, the trail leads home.” –Class 2-304