A Church Planter's Christmas
“Why do you always pick the hardest way possible?! You had to be the big, brave, great man of faith going where nobody else wants to go. Well, look what that got us!”
I really didn’t blame Jessica for saying those things in light of our circumstances, but in our 11 years of marriage she had never even come close to doing something which hurt me so bad. Her words cut deep into my heart and ripped away any hope that I had left. A wave of sadness so intense came over me that I couldn’t even make my mouth move to answer her. Perhaps the hardest thing of all is that her words made me come face-to-face with myself and wonder if what she said was true.
“Did God really call us here or was it my pride that did the calling?”
Come to think of it, I was the only one from my graduating class at our small Bible college who didn’t stay down South. You can’t get much farther north of the Mason-Dixon Line than Devil’s Lake, North Dakota. Man, the name of this God-forsaken town alone should have been enough to give me a clue. I still can’t say a single sentence to anybody here without them looking at me like I’m from another planet. Many times I’ve felt like screaming, “Yeah, I’m from Georgia, it’s in America, so get over it already!”
When we did our survey trip it seemed like a nice, friendly place. The whole family had so much fun. There was such excitement. We couldn’t wait to come back for good. Did the idea of being adventurous pioneers and allusions of grandeur blind me to reality?
It had been almost a year and a half since the church was planted. Christmas was four days away and we barely had enough money for food, much less to buy gifts for eight year-old Joseph and little Esther (we call her “Star”) who had turned five in November. The churches so excited and eager to help during our short deputation seemed to have forgotten us in this dark, cold, lonely outpost.
It’s not like our “church” could have done a whole lot for us. In 16 months, Bethel Baptist Church amounted to a grand total of seven people. In addition to the McCluskey family (that’s us), there was Doris Keys, a sweet elderly lady who God somehow enabled to live on Social Security, and Doug and Amy Betts, who were also senior saints whose kids are grown and gone.
Several of our supporting churches from down South hadn’t been real understanding about our church only amounting to a tiny senior citizens’ ministry after more than a year. I could try to explain about how it is here until I was blue in the face, but I understood why they didn’t get it. Before coming here, I couldn’t have understood myself.
So, here I was, the “big, brave, great man of faith” who came and planted Bethel (the “House of God”) Baptist Church in Devil’s Lake, North Dakota, sitting at the table looking and feeling like a fresh-weaned puppy on his first night away from mama. I don’t know which is worse, feeling a failure at growing a church for God or feeling a failure at providing for your family, but both seem equally depressing.
“I’m sorry, honey! It’s just that I’m so discouraged and afraid. Please forgive me!”
I tell you, I don’t know if Abraham felt more relief when the Lord stopped him from driving that knife into Isaac than I did at hearing those words from my wife. The hugs and tears that followed on both our parts were like a mutual release of the frustrations, discouragements, fears and bitterness that had collected in our hearts over the months. It felt as if the Lord Himself was in the midst of our hugs, letting us know that He would take care of everything if we’d just trust in Him.
After several minutes of hugging, crying, talking and ensuring one another’s forgiveness; we got down on our knees and prayed together. With hearts knit together in love for each other and for God we recommitted to what He had called us there to do. We also begged Him to provide Christmas presents for our children.
The next day, God did provide. No, it wasn’t something dramatic like a check out of the blue in the mailbox. I had two hunting rifles, neither worth a whole lot, but both with great sentimental value. One belonged to my grandpa and was passed on to me after he died, the other is my first gun, bought for me by my daddy. I took grandpa’s gun to the pawn shop. I hoped to be able to go buy it back in a few weeks, but that ended up being wishful thinking. Besides, I knew that grandpa would have approved.
Joseph and Star were thrilled to receive their gifts on Christmas morn. For the first time since we met, Jessica and I didn’t buy presents for one another. However, neither one of us cared a lick, that Christmas Season God had given us a gift far more wonderful than could be bought at a store. He had given us the love and faith to carry on as the Ray and Jessica McCluskey Family, missionaries to Devil’s Lake, North Dakota.
