The Visitation Part 15

When the line went dead I stood there, unable to move, unable to think. Why did I go to Minneapolis, so many years ago?

My mind dredged up the only answer I had: Because G.o.d called me.

Or had he?

9.

NOT LONG AFTER I turned eighteen, G.o.d a.s.signed me the holy work of discipling Amber Carr, the quiet girl from drama cla.s.s who turned out every Wednesday for the Kenyona Bannister meetings. She didn't smoke, and she seemed to maintain a quiet dignity while so many of the other kids were Spirit-filled Christians but still basically nuts. She came to me with her questions, I drew from the deep well of my experience for answers, and we hit it off. She came over to my house and we talked about the Lord. I went over to her house and we talked about the Lord. When we weren't talking about the Lord, we went to the movies or to an occasional concert. The rest of the time we just enjoyed how the Lord had brought us together.

It was a great time of year to help a pretty girl grow in the Lord. Spring was rolling around, the weather, though usually wet, was finally warming up, and there were plenty of days nice enough to get outside and walk on the beach. I found that the more time I spent with her, the greater the intensity of my calling, until it seemed G.o.d wanted me close to her, sharing my wisdom at every conceivable opportunity.

I remember the night I first kissed her. I did it in the name of Jesus and strictly for his glory. From that point, we continued to glorify the Lord in like manner whenever we got the chance, so often that my memory of it includes no specifics, only one murky continuum.

Oh, but the ecstasy of it, the lofty, dizzying heights of joy! The glory of the KenyonaBannister days had no glory like this glory. This was a calling from the throne of G.o.d strong enough to make me drive for miles when I had a car and walk for hours when I didn't, just to be with her. Nothing else was as important as getting to wherever she was to nurture her, protect her, instruct her, and partic.i.p.ate in G.o.d's unfolding plan-which now included, I was certain, both of us, together, following his call.

The Lord began to confirm this to us separately. Amber had a dream about us and then, that very morning, the old song by Herman's Hermits came on the radio. It told her that, even though the young man she loved didn't know much about anything, if she loved him anyway, G.o.d would use us to make a wonderful world. G.o.d spoke to me in signs and prophecies, which I recorded in a journal. One day, while walking and praying, I saw a car go by with a license number the same as Amber's birthday, and then I got a prophecy: This is my choice for you, the path I have chosen. Walk ye in it. By the time we graduated, we knew we would be married as soon as the Lord made a way.

There were, however, some logistical details to work out. Amber was planning to start cla.s.ses at the University of Was.h.i.+ngton in the fall, while I had virtually no plans except to minister the gospel, whatever that was supposed to mean. As the summer rolled by, she worked as a motel housekeeper to raise money for college. I spent most of my time playing my banjo. Her family threw their doubts right in her face. My family tried lovingly to express theirs. I prayed for them all. None of them-not even my dad, a man of G.o.d-realized what a powerful G.o.d we served, and how G.o.d could intervene miraculously for those who were totally sold out to him.

The clock kept ticking. Fall came around. In a few weeks, Amber would actually start cla.s.ses at the university and live with her grandmother in the north part of Seattle. I had no job, no car, no savings, no plans, and no miracle. Of course, it was not unlike G.o.d to test our faith, to make us wait until the last possible moment before he opened our Red Sea and saw us through safely.

The Red Sea didn't open. Amber started her cla.s.ses and started learning things I didn't know. After a summer of waiting on G.o.d and claiming the miraculous, she was going somewhere, while I wasn't. She even started to sound smarter than me.

Finally, bowing to pressure I was getting from all directions, I acknowledged that having a job while waiting on the Lord wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Thus began a darker time than I had ever known in my life.

COMPTON METAL FABRICATORS was a cavernous building on the s.h.i.+p ca.n.a.l in Seattle, a drafty, metal sh.e.l.l with gla.s.sless windows and gaping doors that let the cold wind through. Compton built crab boats, big metal hulls that filled the building, brown with rust, dirty all over, cold and dark inside. And the noise! Metal-bending machinery, air-powered grinders, rattling guns, hammers. The place smelled of sparks from grinders, arc welders, and cutting torches.

I got there at seven in the morning for my first day, a pristine and G.o.dly young man among rough-hewn, crusty s.h.i.+pbuilders who seemed obsessed with the obscene and knew only one adjective they applied to everything. Bill, the supervisor, a burly, hard-hatted guy with a lisp you didn't dare make fun of, handed me an air-powered grinder and set me to work grinding off the metal beads left behind by the welders. The thing weighed about ten pounds when I started in the morning. By ten o'clock it weighed twenty, and by noon it weighed forty. I climbed all over that rusty hull, up and down ladders and catwalks, inside and out, lugging that machine and pulling the air hose after me. My mission was simple: see the bead, grind the bead.

At four o'clock, nine hours and seventy years later, the big horn sounded and the place finally got quiet. I walked out to the parking lot with all the other guys in their dirty blue coveralls, got in Mom and Dad's Oldsmobile Cutla.s.s and headed for home.

And the morning and the evening were the first day.

And the second day was like unto the first.

And the third day was like unto the first and second.

By the fourth day, I had become a man of prayer more than I had ever been before. Surely this was all a mistake. There must have been a clerical error in heaven. An angel had put G.o.d's plan for someone else in my file folder. I began crying out to G.o.d from below, above, and inside that boat, trying to bring the error to G.o.d's attention. I never heard back.

After about a week on the job, Bill asked me if I ever got claustrophobia. When I said no, he sent me down inside the double hull of the boat to rattle off the charred scabs of metal left by the welders and sweep out the watertight compartments. It was like working inside a metal coffin with just enough room to twist my body around and look for scabs with a work light.

Buried alive in the hull of that crab boat, I prayed. I needed to hear from G.o.d. I needed a sign, a prophecy, a word of knowledge, anything. G.o.d was in control and had a plan, I was sure of it. I wouldn't be there for long. G.o.d would get me out. I would marry Amber and we would go somewhere clean, quiet, and glorious, not dirty, noisy, and humiliating, and there we would serve the Lord happily ever after.

Every Sunday night, with Monday morning to look forward to, I prayed.

Every morning when the alarm clock rang, I prayed.

While perched on the high catwalks along the hull with my grinder, while crawling inside the hull with a work light and rattling gun, while sweeping out below deck while falling sparks from a torch burned holes in my s.h.i.+rt, I prayed.

I prayed for G.o.d to change things, to make a way for me to minister for him, to get me out of there. I was ready to hear him speak. I was ready for any thought, any impression, any hint of anything else anywhere else.

Finally, it happened. After two dirty, exhausting, deafening weeks at Compton, an answer began to dawn like a faint glimmer of light from heaven. I was at home with my folks, dead tired and about to go to bed when a Billy Graham crusade came on the television. Mom, Dad, my older brother Steve, and I all watched it, one wondrous and powerful hour of songs and gospel preaching. The bigness of it, the unique, unpretentious pageantry, and the crowds of people streaming forward at Reverend Graham's invitation struck a chord in my heart. I wanted to be a part of it. I didn't belong in a dirty s.h.i.+pyard among all those crusty, cussing s.h.i.+pbuilders. I belonged there, at that crusade, helping to spread the gospel.

I took the dream to bed with me and woke up with it in the morning. I thought about it all the way to work and sang "Just As I Am" as I picked up my grinder at the tool crib. I thought about preaching, teaching, prophesying, even playing my banjo for the Billy Graham Evangelistic a.s.sociation. I could act in a Billy Graham movie. I could sing a song at a Billy Graham crusade. I could write songs, books, and Bible lessons. I could counsel.

The more I thought about it, the more excited I got and the more I prayed. This had to be it. G.o.d's calling. Of course! This short time in the s.h.i.+pyard was to humble and prepare me, that was all. It wasn't meant to last. My deliverance, the next step in G.o.d's masterful plan, was on the way.

The very next weekend, I visited Amber and told her I was hearing from G.o.d and carrying a burden to join up with Billy Graham. I told her how there could even be a connection between my playing bluegra.s.s music and working for Billy Graham: both had the initials B.G. It had to be a sign.

She had never heard of Billy Graham so I had to explain it to her, telling her all about the crusades and the Evangelistic a.s.sociation in Minneapolis and all the things I thought I could do there. After she heard it all, she smiled and told me about a vision she'd received from the Lord, a railroad boxcar with a big letter "I" on it. At the time she had no idea what it meant, but now we could interpret that vision in a better light: Perhaps this suggested my mode of travel to Minneapolis. We decided to write down anything the Lord might give us. Things were cooking and we had to keep a record of it. Someday it would make a great book.

Monday morning, seven o'clock, the big horn sounded. Armed with a broom and rattling gun, I headed for the hull. Bill sent me down into the double hull compartments again, this time to sweep, and to mark any cavities in the metal with white crayon so the welders could come through later and fill them in. Another helper had been there before me and had decided to favor future generations with some lurid artwork. I rubbed it out, and as I stood there, crayon in hand, G.o.d began to speak some new ideas to me.

This was a time of preparation. I wrote a P on the wall to represent that.

But soon there would come the call. I wrote a C on the wall.

I would go first, leading the way, blazing the trail. I wrote an L. And then, having begun a wonderful ministry with Billy Graham, I would return-I wrote an R-and bring Amber with me. I wrote an A.

So there it was on the dark, rusty wall of a crab boat under construction: PCLRA. Where once a dirty picture had been, I had written an encoded prophecy in the same awesome vein as Daniel's Mene Mene Tekel Upharsin. The handwriting on the wall. It was G.o.d's plan for my life.

I called Amber that night and told her all about it. She was thrilled because she'd received another vision from G.o.d that day, this time of a huge banjo bridging Seattle and Minneapolis. The meaning was obvious and we were giddy with joy.

Now it was only a question of timing. Right now I was being prepared, but when would the call come? Perhaps we should set out a fleece as Gideon did in the Book of Judges, a way for G.o.d to indicate his will in a tangible way.

Well, the drumhead on my banjo needed replacing, but the size was nonstandard and the guy at the music store said he'd have to special order one. There it was, our fleece. Amber's vision of the huge banjo verified that. "Lord," I prayed, "when you want me to go to Minneapolis, have that drumhead come in."

I waited, and prayed, and worked at the s.h.i.+pyard another week.

And then the music store called. The banjo head I'd ordered had arrived.

The sign from G.o.d!

The next day, I went to Bill the supervisor and said, "I have to quit. G.o.d has called me to go to Minneapolis and work for Billy Graham."

He didn't seem very impressed. He just got me my paycheck and went back to work. I figured he'd never heard of Billy Graham either. I got out of that big, drafty building and walked into the suns.h.i.+ne. Even the weather was saying Yes! This is G.o.d's will for you!

The time had come to break the wondrous news to my folks. They were G.o.dly, Spirit-filled people. I knew they would be thrilled. As we sat at dinner that night, I made the announcement. "G.o.d has called me to work for Billy Graham. I'm going to Minneapolis."

They just sat there, looking back at me, chewing, not saying a thing.

Finally Mom asked, "What about your job?"

"I quit."

Dad asked, "Do they know you're coming? Have you written to them or called them?"

"No. I'm trusting G.o.d. It's all in his hands."

I told them how my last paycheck from the s.h.i.+pyard should be enough for a train ticket over there.

"Where will you stay?" Dad asked.

"Oh, G.o.d has that all figured out. I'm just supposed to obey and go."

I told them about the visions, and Mom got tears in her eyes. Apparently she was deeply moved by the miraculous touch of G.o.d upon my life.

"I'm ready to step out in faith," I said. "I'm ready to believe G.o.d and go to Minneapolis."

"Okay," Dad said. "Just be sure to buy a round-trip ticket."

I left Seattle on a Sunday afternoon. Before the train was to leave, I took the bus up to the north end of Seattle to say good-bye to Amber. It was a tearful good-bye, but a moment filled with holy expectation. We knelt together on the floor of her grandmother's living room, our hands clasped in prayer, and praised the Lord for this moment, this launching of a great mission. I paraphrased the Lord's words as I told her, "I go to prepare a place for you, and I will come again to receive you, that where I am, there you may be also."

"I'll wait for you," she replied, but her voice trembled a little. Was it hesitation? Doubt? No, it couldn't be. Just emotion, that was all. Antic.i.p.ation of the great things G.o.d was about to do. Then we kissed in the name of Jesus. Her kiss was less fervent than usual, but I pushed the nagging thought out of my mind. This was G.o.d's will. I would go and find my place, I would send for her, and we would live together forever in service to the Lord.

With pack on my back, s.h.i.+pyard clothes on my body, and banjo and briefcase in my hands, I caught the bus heading south to the King Street Station. By four o'clock I was on a train bound for Minneapolis.

By now it was October. When the train arrived in Minneapolis on Monday, the leaves of Minnesota were in their fall brilliance and the wind was cold. As the train pulled into the station I looked across the railroad yard and there it was, just as I had expected: a big railroad boxcar with the letter "I" on it. G.o.d had spoken! He was with me! I was moving in the realm of the miraculous!

The city was big, busy, and totally alien to me. I had the address of the Billy Graham Evangelistic a.s.sociation written on a piece of paper, so with directions from a porter at the train station, I set out walking, the very picture of a homeless vagabond.

I never got lost, not with the Lord guiding my every step, my every turn. Sometimes a cloud overhead would take on a shape to point the way. Once, a construction crane pointed left like a huge finger and I followed. I walked for hours and saw a lot of the city. Then I came upon Hennepin Avenue and knew I was closing in on Canaan. G.o.d was faithful. Following the street numbers in descending order, I walked and walked, block by block, until I came to the front door of the Billy Graham Evangelistic a.s.sociation.

This was the moment, and suddenly I felt nervous. How was my faith? Did I still believe? I felt a little doubt, but refused to acknowledge it. A doubt just like this one may have kept Andy Smith from being healed, I reminded myself. There was no room for doubt in the service of the Lord, only belief.

Drawing upon the Lord for courage, I opened the door, and went inside.

The receptionist, a nice lady in a white silk blouse and navy skirt, looked up from her desk. I smiled at her the way Jesus must have smiled to those who were hurting. Perhaps the Lord was going to give me a word to share with her, a touch of healing, a message of hope.

"Would you like to talk to one of our counselors?" she asked.

Well, she must have been doing all right and didn't need a special touch from G.o.d today. I said, "Sure," and she placed a call.

A nice man dressed in a suit and tie came into the lobby, shook my hand, and directed me into a conference room. He had black, curly hair and a moustache and I'd never seen him on television. When he introduced himself, I didn't recognize his name. When I introduced myself, he didn't seem to recognize my name either, and he didn't seem to be expecting me. Somehow we got on the subject of happiness, and from there he began to ask me what my idea of happiness was. By the time he asked me how I thought I could obtain happiness, I figured he was getting ready to share the gospel with me.

"Oh, I'm already saved," I told him, and then figured it was time to enlighten him and get this meeting on the right track. I recounted the previous months of seeking and hearing from G.o.d-the signs and visions, the prophecies, the fleece. I knew he would be impressed.

Well . . . he didn't break down crying or anything. But he did invite me to pray with him as he asked the Lord to bless and guide me. Then he led me to the receptionist's desk and told her I would need an application.

The receptionist disappeared behind a set of double doors and came back with an application form several pages long. I took it and sat on the couch again.

And then I stared at it. An application? I had not seen this in any of my visions, nor heard about it in any of my prophecies. I began to try to fill it out, and it started badgering me about my education and experience. There were no blanks to fill in anywhere regarding my prophetic gifts, my preaching and teaching ability, or even my banjo playing.

At last I finished, saying all I could say about myself, which wasn't very much, then went back to the receptionist and handed the application to her. She thanked me for my interest, told me there were no openings at the present time, and pressed a buzzer to let me out.

That was it? My big calling from G.o.d? It was over?

Faith, I reminded myself. You've got to have faith. There had to be another door of opportunity somewhere. G.o.d wouldn't send me clear across the country just to fill out an application and be turned away.

I recalled seeing the offices of World Wide Pictures on the other side of the building, around the block. That had to be it. I wasn't supposed to work in Billy Graham's office anyway. I was an actor, an artist, a musician. I could serve G.o.d in the movies. I started walking.

The World Wide Pictures office turned out to be smaller than Billy Graham's office, and I quickly realized that they didn't make the movies there. But I pressed on, introduced myself to another lady receptionist, and got myself another meeting with another well-qualified and experienced man in a suit and tie. I repeated my story -the months of seeking and hearing from G.o.d, the visions and prophecies Amber and I had received, the vision of the banjo stretching across the country, the prophecy I scribbled on the wall just like G.o.d did in the Book of Daniel. All of it.

He told me he was happy about all the wonderful things G.o.d had done in my life, but he just didn't have any positions available.

I was in and out of there in less than fifteen minutes.

I spent the night at the Y, and when morning came, I was still a man of faith, trusting G.o.d to complete his purpose, but not having the slightest clue why I should remain in Minneapolis. I walked back across town to the train station and used the other half of my round-trip ticket. As the train rolled westward, the long, seemingly pointless journey began to make sense. G.o.d was testing me just as he tested Abraham, to see if I would obey. Of course. Sometimes G.o.d asks us to do things that don't make a lot of sense just to see how devoted and obedient we are. Well, I was sure I pa.s.sed the test, and that meant G.o.d could trust me with the next step. I couldn't wait to get home and tell Amber.

In Seattle, I went straight from the train station and caught a bus to the north end of the city, where Amber lived with her grandmother. I didn't know if she would be home or in cla.s.ses at the university, but I got right out there anyway, knowing it was all in G.o.d's hands.

Amber was home. My heart soared. I hugged her and kissed her and praised the Lord.

Her embrace was not so enthusiastic, and she quickly let it fall away as she asked, "Well? Tell me what happened."

I told her about my two brief visits in the offices on Hennepin Avenue and how they turned out. Then I added how G.o.d had set this whole thing up as a test of my faith. "I pa.s.sed the test," I said, "and that can only mean that wonderful things are in store."

She nodded as if she knew all along what G.o.d would do. Then she scribbled a little note and handed it to me.

She was resigning.

Although I'd been through some very abrupt changes in the plan over the past few days, I still wasn't used to it. I had to ask her what she meant, and she had to tell me in several different ways. She didn't want to be my helpmate anymore. She no longer saw things my way. It would be foolish for us to get married. She wanted to pursue her education. There was no way our relations.h.i.+p would work out. We were through.

Standing in her grandmother's living room with that note in my hand was like standing in that lobby in Minneapolis. No position available. No reason to stay. Dead end. I did the same thing here as there. I responded in faith, seeing the miraculous hand of G.o.d even in this. I smiled, put the note in my s.h.i.+rt pocket, and spoke prophetically, "You'll come back, and I'll wait for you."

I HAD IT ALL PLANNED. I would give Amber some time to listen to the Lord and sort it all out, then go to see her on Christmas Eve, the ideal day for a heartwarming, tear-jerky reunion. I bought her a beautiful Bible. I found just the right spot in a nearby park where we could walk, talk, and embrace. I could see in my mind how she would run into my arms and kiss me, big fluffy snowflakes falling all around us.

On Christmas Eve, I fasted and prayed all day. Nothing had worked out from high school graduation up to this point, but now the time of testing was over, now would be the big turnaround. Now all my faith would be rewarded and the world would know that there was a G.o.d!

When I knocked on the door, her gift in my hand, she wasn't even there. Her grandmother told me she was over at her boyfriend's house and would be spending Christmas with him and his family. I left the Bible with the grandmother and walked back to the bus stop, taking a short side trip through the park where the tear-jerky reunion scene would never happen.

We didn't even get fluffy snow that day. It was raining.

In mid-January, I had my very last conversation with her by telephone. She thanked me for the Bible and said she planned to use it in her Bible as Literature cla.s.s at the university. Apart from that, she had no other use for it. Christianity was fine for me, but not right for her. She and her boyfriend were now attending a Unitarian church and she felt far more comfortable with that.

How can I say it? Finally, my foot came off the throttle. The wind went out of my sails. My boiler blew a rivet.

It was a moment, that's all, a precise point in time when, at long last, a different kind of belief broke through to me. For the first time, I actually believed her.