DURATION V. DONATION

Sometimes, the hanging of a fresh year's calendar is cause for reflection. What will happen this coming year? Did my life this past year make a difference for someone? What could I change? Despite medical advances, for every one of us (unless Christ returns beforehand, of course), there will be two dates after our names: one for birth, one for death. For some, the hyphen between those dates will be long. For others: very, very short.

The “short” hyphen marked the dates for missionary pioneer Winfield Macomber: 1865-1896. Yes, he died at 31, in Portugal, en route home to Maine from mission work in the Congo. But during his brief life, after missionary training at a Christian college, he plunged into ministry in the Congo. In four years he learned enough of the tribal language to compile a grammar and dictionary for future missionaries, plus teach the Congolese language at his college alma mater (now known as Nyack College).

Linguistic work occupied most of his time, but he left behind a hymn known as “Safe is my refuge, sweet in my rest.” Its refrain goes like this:

Oh! what wonderful, wonderful rest!

Trusting completely in Jesus I'm blest;

Sweetly He comforts and shields from alarms,

Holding me safe in His mighty arms.*

Sometimes I'm saddened how the historical faith and sacrifices of mission work go unheralded. They may lack the glitz and media appeal of contemporary Christian “stars” of the pulpit and music stages. But God sees every heart and act of ministry “down here.” And He's aware of those who have settled for mediocrity or blandness in their faith walks.

In writing that last sentence, I think of a God-arranged encounter I had during graduate school. I was hurting deeply as a single thirty-something; the previous year, my parents had died six months apart. After moving home for a year to handle paperwork and empty their home, I'd returned to a Christian college where I'd started a graduate degree that I hoped would open doors in my vocation.

One day, I wandered into the college coffee shop. Its booths were full except for one, whose sole occupant waved me over. After introductions, I shared my grief as an age-32 adult orphan, and my hopes for the future. A week or so later, I returned there and saw the same person. As I sat down across from her, she handed over a paper and said, “God showed me this verse for you.” This was the verse—Hebrews 6:10:

“For God is not unjust so as to forget your work and the love which you have shown toward His name, in having ministered and in still ministering to the saints.”

She added, “You've been faithful to the Lord. He will be faithful to you.”

She had no idea how our chance encounter in the college coffee shop would become the extra-boost of hope I needed. As God stretched my faith over the next couple years, I learned (as did Winfield Macomber) that our merciful, loving God does hold us “safe in His mighty arms,” tenderly watching as we move forward in faith.

The piano score for this lesser-known but encouraging hymn is here:

Held in His Mighty Arms | Hymnary.org

This site features a soloist: Bing Videos

MESSENGER AT 'THE STUPE'

Some might have called her an angel in disguise. I can't even remember her name. I just remember her kind, welcoming smile when I walked into the college coffee shop looking for a place to study between classes. As I looked around for an empty spot in the busy room, I noticed her alone in a booth. Graciously, she waved to me to join her.

I was then a graduate student at Wheaton College, near Chicago, Illinois. I'd started there the previous year on funds I'd saved from working, but both my parents had died months apart. As their still-single daughter, it fell to me to move back to Washington state to empty their home and handle probate. The task would have been impossible for my married sister with her young family and job, living on the other side of the state. Nine months later, the house “empty” but still unsold, caring people urged me to quit waiting around....to resume my studies and to trust God for its sale in a depressed economy. So here I was, pursuing an educational and vocational dream, early thirties, single and very much alone, taking temporary jobs like babysitting and filing to help cover expenses beyond my depleting personal savings.

The coffee shop was known as "The Stupe”--yes, strange, but an acrostic carryover from its former location close to the physical education department: STudent Union Physical Education. The high-backed wooden benches had a classic aura that reminded me of alumni legends like missionary martyr Jim Elliott and famed evangelist Billy Graham. As I slid into her booth, we exchanged names and told about our fields of study. I shared how I'd returned to graduate school after my parents died, hoping to land a job with nearby Christian publishers. She said, “I'll pray for you.”

A week or so later, I returned to “The Stupe” for a study break. There she was again, beckoning to me. As I sat down, she said, “I have a verse for you. It's Hebrews 6:10: 'God is not unjust so as to forget your work and the love you have shown toward His name, in having ministered and in still ministering to the saints'” (NASB).

I can't recall if she just gave me the reference, or a card with that verse written out. But it was as if someone had summoned a wind to fill my drooping sails. She was God's messenger to remind me that despite the negative circumstances that had dragged me down, God was still on the throne. He remembered what I had done and what I hoped to do to honor Him.

Our “encounter” came in wintertime. I don't recall seeing much of her the rest of the school year. But that verse she shared kept coming to mind as I struggled through reading lists and piles of assignments, wrote my graduate thesis, and sent out resumes that brought disappointing “thanks, but no thanks.” And finally, just three days before I had to vacate college housing with nowhere to go, I got a phone call from a prominent editor offering a job I'd thought impossible to land--along with the editor's plan for my temporary housing.

God had not forgotten me. Hebrews 6:10, come true. Shared in a booth at a campus coffee shop by His unexpected messenger.