May 14, 2004.

Unemployed 8 months, off unemployment insurance 2 months, having my brother pay my house payment 5 months--lately I've been thinking about coming to the end of myself, what I read in a new translation of My Utmost for His Highest (Oswald Chambers) as a "White Funeral"--the burial of the old life. At the same time I recall telling a small group of adult Sunday School students that much of our faith is about remembering--remembering what Jesus did for us, remembering who we were without Him, even when things look bleak. So this is me remembering something God did through me.

Terry and Judith, 1997

I first met Terry Hill and Judith Akins out behind our church at 31st Avenue and Camelback on Halloween night, 1997. Every year we have a block party for the neighborhood on Halloween. That year my Sunday School class had a soccer kick booth, and class members took turns greeting people, while others shagged balls that went over the goal net. Terry walked up with Judy and five kids--Baby Terry, nicknamed Big--was still in the oven for a few more weeks. Something about this large young family stirred me.

I'm not sure if it was the next Sunday, but it was soon after--Terry and Judith walked into my Sunday School classroom, brought by Sam Imoe. It was here that God spoke to me. Does God ever speak to you? How do you know? For me, I know if it's God speaking if something I hear is not from my own thinking--in a good way, a loving, but not so easy way. He put this couple back in my life for a reason. I got their address--it was just across the street from the church--and went visiting the following Tuesday. It was awkward at first; I wrote all the kids' names down in the reporter's notebook that I carried. Seeing 7 people living in a 2 bedroom apartment made me think.

At the time, you see, I felt like the poorest person in my Sunday School class. I got this idea going to parties and dinners at my classmates' houses in the northwest valley. People seemed 'way beyond me--maybe they were better than me--with big homes, new cars, giant screen TVs. Looking at what Terry and Judith had--or didn't have--changed my thinking.

I learned everyone in the family's name, and became a regular visitor; I would report regularly to my class about Terry and Judy's needs. My relationship to the family was my ministry--pretty soon I was inspiring my classmates to open their hearts to Terry and his family. One couple brought Thanksgiving dinner; others bought Christmas gifts.

That Christmas my big brother in Chicago sent my family a gift of money--I think it was $300--for us to buy ourselves gifts. We took about $110 and bought gifts for Terry and Judith's kids. I had been talking to one our church's pastors, Dale Keith, about my witness to the family. Dale gave me a copy of The Soul Winner's New Testament. It had a step-by-step plan to show someone how to know Jesus.

Daughter Ruth and I had arranged beforehand that we would stop by the apartment on Christmas eve afternoon. We loaded our gifts into the car. I ran back into our house and looked around--at last I found the Soul Winner's New Testament. I stuffed it into my back pocket. We drove about a mile down Camelback Road and Terry, Judith and the kids greeted us excitedly. Ruth helped me hand out presents and the kids--Alonzo, Randy, Bernard, Terry, Tjayda, and Baby Terry--opened them and began playing. I was moving around the small living room, wondering how I would tell Terry and Judith what Christmas is really about.

Now, may God forgive me for bringing this up, but I have a small rear end. Carrying an inch-thick book in my back pocket means that half of my butt is quite a bit bigger. Here I am worrying--how do you witness to someone? Do you just start talking? Do you wait? Do you just interrupt your conversation and say Right now I'm going to tell you about Jesus? So I'm playing with the kids and their new toys and wondering, wondering.

And Terry, sitting on the couch, looks at my skinny, lopsided butt and says "Gary, what's that book in your pocket?"

Well, that was God speaking to me through someone else. I said let's sit down at the kitchen table, and I went through the Bible and read six verses out loud. Judith couldn't read, but Terry could. After each verse, I asked a question, and then we prayed. It was Christmas eve, and the Holy Spirit was entering our world, finding two new hearts to ignite and draw closer to God.

On Christmas Eve, 1997, Terry and Judith asked Jesus into their hearts. Daughter Ruthie and I went across the street to the church grounds--it was a balmy Christmas eve afternoon--and Ruth rollerbladed while I sat on a bench. I was exhausted--did that just happen, I marvelled--I felt like nothing more than a conduit, a big empty pipe that funneled God's grace to Terry and Judith.

Ruth had enough skating; we headed home. I called then-pastor David Johnson to tell him the good news, and at the service that evening Pastor told "my" story, which was, of course, God's story, alive another Christmas. I had never been a sermon example before, at least not a good one, I don't think. After the service there was something happening in the fellowship hall; as the crowd headed over, my Sunday School class teacher Larry Olson caught up to me, put an arm around my shoulders, and beamed at me.

At that moment I was "in;" Terry and Judith were, too. Heaven to come wasn't all white, all rich, all college-educated. Everything was--is--possible with God.

--Gary Ricker