On Thanksgiving Day I loaded Taylor in our old suburban, and, with food given by faithful friends, headed to the Hospital to share a Thanksgiving meal with Taylor and my wife. We spent the afternoon with Belinda confined to her bed, and I watched as Taylor climbed into the bed with her Mom - wanting desperately to be near her, wishing I could too. As I gazed at them I finally had to turn my head and hold back bitter tears. Belinda and I had already lost 3 babies, and the odds of the same not happening again – at least in my mind at that moment - were not favorable.
After our meal, I brought up to the room a small Christmas tree I’d loaded earlier into the Suburban. Taylor and I decorated it as Mom watched and gave us instruction. We placed it on the window ledge, plugged in the lights, then sat for a while and looked upon it, trying our best to make the most of the day. Then, when time came to go, Taylor and I sadly said our good-byes to make our way outside. Driving my truck onto Walnut Hill Lane that night we came quickly to the railroad tracks in front of the Hospital, where I stopped so that Taylor and I could look up at Mom’s window one more time to see our lights and the tree. As we did neither of us said a word – driving the rest of the way home in silence – strange for us both.
When back home in Carrollton, I went straight to the task of putting Taylor to bed. Our usual routine was my giving her a choice, whether to read a story to her or tell one. Like most children her age, Taylor had her favorites - and I secretly hoped for a short one so that I could get back to the work of studying for Sunday and for class. She replied, “Tell me the church story tonight, Daddy.” I looked at her quizzically for that wasn’t a name for any I could recall. Thinking she just could not remember, I asked, “What Church story, baby?” – fully expecting her to simply describe one I had told before. But, to my surprise, Taylor said – “you know, Daddy, the Church Story.” “The one you tell us at church all the time.” “How one day we will have a building of our own, and how people will come from all around and fill our new church, just as God promised.” I was taken aback. Taylor, like so many others in our small mission, had been listening. And now, via a gentle nudge from above, this discouraged preacher was being spoken to by God through a means only He could plan – the preacher’s child. Holding back my own tears I repeated the familiar words. “One day,” I said, “God will accomplish the vision He has given. We will have a church building of our own. We will no longer meet in the school, and we will be able to come into our building any day we want. The church will be filled with people from our community. And we will have baptisms and worship services and a parking lot that is filled.” As I finished the story and looked down at Taylor, tears were rolling down my cheeks. I wiped them away, tucked her covers in close, then leaned down to kiss her goodnight. “And Mommy will come, and Baby Trey, too.” Won’t that be fun, Dad? “ “Yes, baby, it will!”
When I got up from beside her bed, I walked into my room and fell to my knees beside my own bed. “Oh God”, I cried. “Please forgive me for my own lack of faith.” “Help me to trust you more. To believe in your words to me. And in my times of unbelief, O God, help me even then." “Take away my bitterness and fill me with hope. " “I thank you God for all you are doing - even now." "And I thank you for the 'Church Story', most of all.”
That is now a long time ago but I can remember it as yesterday. It was a turning point for me. From a hard worker, who trusted in God only as far as I could go, to a servant of the KING - ready to trust God for as far as He could go. Trey was eventually born on December 20, 1992. He was 27 weeks as at his birth - and weighed less than 3 lbs. but, in March of 1993, thanks to the wonderful and amazing care of the NICU unit of Presbyterian Hospital of Dallas, he came home to be with us and today stands 6 feet tall.
In February of 1994, our church, The ParkwayHills Baptist Church of Plano, completed construction of its first building and - on a cold but glorious Sunday - held our first service there. On the morning of that very day, I took Taylor with me early – to stand on the parking lot with me so she might see the cars driving up and all the people walking in. As we stood there together, I turned to her to say – “it’s the Church Story, Baby.’ And she added, “just like you said.”
The same God who sent us His Son so that we might have our sins forgiven and know Him, is also the God who gives us hope for both eternity and for our now. He gives dreams and visions, most often concerning the things He will accomplish through us, His church, as we are faithful to walk where He leads. And often, yes… quite, quite often, in our hours of testing, distress, and discouragement, He sends us a Word in the smallest yet largest of ways least expected - to encourage us and help us to carry on. For He is our great God - and there is no other - capable of more than we can ever think, dream or imagine.
Indeed,
Pastor Sam
Eph. 3: 20-21
