Living the Call

Taken from Mel & Corliss Erickson's new book "Living the Call"

“Who could be here at this hour?” I asked Corliss groggily, sliding out of bed. A loud knocking at the front door of our trailer had awakened me from a deep sleep. Glancing at the clock, I saw it was nearly 2 in the morning. What could be going on?

“You never know around here,” Corliss mumbled, pulling the pillow over her head.

A police officer stood at the door, accompanied by seven young children. “I know it’s late, but these children have nowhere to go tonight. Their parents are drunk and were taken to jail this evening. They just need a place to stay for the next week.”

I nodded and pushed open the door. “Come on in. We’ll make room.”

The children shuffled in looking disillusioned and frightened. Their tattered clothes and matted hair hinted at poor living conditions at home. I hurried to the back bedroom and informed Corliss we had a few extra “guests” staying with us tonight. She helped me find blankets and pillows and set up makeshift beds for the children around the house. With just three bedrooms, things were getting a bit tight around our trailer; we had certainly never had this many children sleeping here at once. Still, we would make do. God had called us to the reservation, and it was our joy to love these children, feed them and give them a place to sleep, no matter the circumstance. We were thankful that Rocky, their 12-year-old brother, was with them to help care for the younger children.

This was the beginning of a new adventure for Corliss and me. We were approved in 1970 through the state for foster children and took them in as the need arose. As the years passed, we saw 30-some foster children come and go through our home. One teenage boy, Gary, came to our home after a car accident in the summer before his senior year of high school. He’d been a wonderful athlete; we encouraged him to return to his dreams when his leg healed. Another youngster, nicknamed Johnny “Meatball,” came to us after his foster mother passed away. He and his two brothers had spent time in Sunday school at our church. Johnny constantly kept us in stitches laughing at his antics and at other times wondering where he would take off to next. We hoped to be a positive influence in the life of this young boy who could so easily get himself into trouble.

Foster parenting hadn’t been in the “missionary handbook” when we’d signed up with God to serve the American Indians, but we were certain we were doing his will. It was yet another way to show his love tangibly to the Indian children. It was also a growing experience for our biological children, as they learned to be more giving with their time and possessions. However, as much as we enjoyed this part of ministry, one thing became very clear: We were outgrowing our little trailer. It was time to start seriously praying about building a new home.

In 1978, I began experiencing severe stomach pains and wound up in and out of the hospital in Grand Forks. I was no stranger to hospitals, but I preferred to stay away from them if I could. For a time, I was put in the cancer ward before they were able to properly diagnose me. The doctors finally pinpointed the problem: My gallbladder was severely infected and was creating crystals that were making me extremely miserable and causing this severe pain.

“Also, it looks as if you are allergic to milk,” one doctor informed me. “Let’s try cutting out the dairy, and see if that improves things a bit.” Before this time they had me drinking milk, thinking I had an ulcer!

I removed the milk from my diet, but the pain continued to haunt me. On December 21 of that year, just four days before Christmas, I was told I could go home for the holidays. I told them, “You sent me home for Thanksgiving, and I suffered the whole week. I have been in here for two weeks. This time, I’ve had enough! Let’s get this gallbladder out once and for all. I don’t want to go back home until it’s removed!”

The doctors removed my gallbladder that day, and soon I was back to my old self. I was in the hospital over Christmas. Corliss’ mother spent Christmas Eve with her, and they ate supper together in the hospital cafeteria. I was able to go home and spend New Year’s Eve and Day with the family. Though I was under doctor’s orders not to take secular employment since my stroke because of my health, I had hoped I could remain as healthy as possible going forward. We were busy; the church was growing, we were fostering children and our own children needed me as well. This left little time to be getting sick! I was thankful God had once again healed me. It was now time to focus on building a new home.

In early winter of 1979, we began preparing for this big adventure. The Assemblies of God of North Dakota generously gave us the land to build on, which was to the south of the church and our mobile home. We praised God once again for his provision. We planned to construct our new house at the south end of the block from where the trailer house now stood on our property. With that minor detail out of the way, we now had to figure out the rest.

Shortly after the land donation, I was reading the newspaper and came across a unique legal announcement. “Listen to this, Corliss,” I said eagerly. “The students at Lake Region Junior College have built a brand-new house as one of their school projects. They will be auctioning it off next month at the college in Devil’s Lake. I’ve heard about them doing this in years past. Maybe we should put in a bid!”

“Now that’s not a bad idea,” Corliss agreed.

We went to the FHA to see about a loan and were told we had to get started before they could do anything. I went to the bank and asked for a $20,000 construction loan. They approved our loan.

We sent a letter with our sealed bid of $10,000. At the end of the month, we attended the bid letting; several other people were there as well. I had prayed and felt at peace about everything. If God wanted us to have that house, he would work it all out.

We did not have the top bid; another man had bid $12,500. They asked if anyone wanted to raise his bid. I raised our bid to $14,000, and the other man said that he came ready to offer only his original amount. There was a time of complete silence. They announced that we were the winners of the house, but they could not let it go for less than the price with materials of $16,800. We agreed to that amount, and the house became ours.

I could hardly believe it. The house was ours! It was 1,296 square feet, with three nice-sized bedrooms; the house would be far roomier than our little trailer house. It was fully sheet-rocked and came complete with beautiful countertops and cupboards that had to be set in place; it needed a basement to sit on as well. Still, we felt very fortunate. God had once again provided and in a unique way that we could never have dreamed up.

With the finances taken care of and the purchasing of the actual house completed, we now just needed time to figure out how to get this giant thing over to our property. This would be an interesting challenge.

The first major project entailed digging a basement for the home. We hired a backhoe operator to do the job. After the cement blocks had been laid and the basement floor poured, we had to haul in fill to put around the basement walls. It took 150 truckloads of clay and black dirt to complete the job. It was now the second week in July, and the temperatures were rising. With sweat beading on our foreheads, we worked from morning till night until the basement interior walls were complete, all 1,296 square feet, ready to support the house when it was moved in. It was hard to believe that in a few days, an actual completed house would come and rest right on the surface!

We worked out the logistics for moving the house, and around 8 a.m. the following Tuesday, Huwes the House Movers from Minot came to Devil’s Lake and started loading the house to move it out to our property. At 11:30 a.m., they went for lunch, and I headed home to be ready for the house. About 12:45 p.m., we saw them coming down the road with our new house! I had never seen such a sight in my life.

The 28x48 structure was on two long timbers. Jacks were placed on both sides of huge 60-foot-long timbers atop a giant truck; the timbers stuck through the space on the house where the windows would go. To move the house down the road, workers had had to lift telephone wires along the highway, as the house was too tall to go under them. I imagined this drew quite a crowd as the truck made its way out of town.

“Corliss, it’s coming!” I called out to my wife as the truck arrived at our property. There were large beautiful trees on both sides of the scheduled location of the house.

“Just as long as we don’t have to cut down those two trees, I’m fine,” Corliss had said, smiling. Since she was from Minnesota, Corliss loved trees and was insistent that we keep the two tall trees on the corners of the property. If all went as planned, the house would go right in between those trees with only a foot or so to spare on each side. Huwes did it without touching them and only had to cut off a few of the lower branches!

We watched in awe as the movers brought the house between the trees next to the basement. They lowered the house onto the basement using timber in the window openings and four very large jacks. By 6 p.m., the house was settled onto the basement as though it had been sitting there all along. I was amazed at the movers’ precision and speed. Just like that, we had a new house!

“Wow! That was fast!” A crowd from the community gathered to admire our home. We had told them about how God had provided a new house for us, and they were happy to share in this important day. It wasn’t often a house was dropped into our little town on the reservation just like that!

That evening, I went into Devil’s Lake to play in a softball game. It must have been the adrenaline pumping through my veins from the day’s experience, because I pitched a perfect game, and we won two games that night. It was an unforgettable day.

After the house was in place, Harley & Vi blessed us with all the materials, shingles included, to build a 26x28-foot garage adjacent to the house. My dad and a group of men from my home church at Kulm drove over to help us build it. In a few days we had a new two-car garage up on our property. I was so grateful for my home church and its loyalty to our ministry. They had given to us generously time and time again. A couple weeks later, several men from our area helped pour the garage floor. What a blessing it was to have a place for our vehicles.

A couple weeks later, Corliss and I decided to take the kids on a family vacation. I was playing in another softball tournament, something I’d been looking forward to. We packed up and headed out of town for a few days. Corliss was exhausted from all the packing; we were both in need of a few days of relaxation.

When we returned home, we were shocked to see that someone had broken into our brand-new home and had vandalized it! Graffiti was written on the walls, and the garage door had been smashed in as well. My heart sank as I walked from room to room, inspecting the damage. Who could have done this? The people of the community had seemed so happy for us! Had someone damaged it in jealousy?

“Well, looks like we have more work cut out for us than we bargained for,” I told Corliss sadly, kicking at a piece of broken glass. I was discouraged and upset but was not about to let the incident dampen our spirits. Though we’d already painted and textured the walls, we’d just have to paint over them and move on. At least the house was still standing on its foundation.

It was quite a task to paint the entire inside of the house again. We spent the next several days going over the graffiti until it was no longer visible. Though we had experienced our share of adversity, it was always disappointing when something like this happened. Setbacks were part of ministry, I reminded myself. We would move on.

“It looks good as new!” Corliss declared when at last our work was finished. We had put in a new garage door as well, and things were nearly back to normal.

I had to admit, the house looked pretty good. It was far more luxurious than anything we’d ever lived in. My friend Darrell, an electrician, helped install the electric heat and wiring at no charge to us. We were on off-peak electricity, so we had to install a furnace and air conditioning. We were thrilled to have cool air circulating in the hottest months of the year; for the past eight years we’d had to make do with fanning ourselves and using a small window air conditioner when the temperature rose.

Three bedrooms on the main floor were included on the 1,296 square foot first level. The basement, also 1,296 square feet, had two more bedrooms, a family room, bathroom and a laundry room, with plenty of storage space. At last, each child would have his or her own room. Kallod’s Carpet, the same company that had installed the new carpet in the church, installed our carpet and linoleum as well. We had purchased all new appliances, including a brand-new dishwasher. This was the ultimate luxury; with several children underfoot, it would make dinner cleanup so much easier. The kitchen also boasted an array of new cupboards, which thrilled Corliss. There would be no more stuffing dishes into tiny spaces as we’d done in the trailer. We felt like kings!

We also purchased a new bedroom set for our room, as well as a new living room set. These were a treat, as we’d never had new furniture since our marriage. Only God could get the glory for his wonderful provision. He had provided above and beyond our hearts’ desires. We prayed that our new home would be a place of rest and comfort for all who walked through the doors.

We spent the next few weeks moving our belongings from the trailer home to our new house. Corliss and the children helped me pile our things into wheelbarrows and wagons to move across the lawn to the other end of the property. We were thankful we didn’t have to move far!

When Lynelle was 5 years old, we took in two foster kids, Brenda and Ted. Their mother had died when they were quite young, and their father had recently passed away in a car accident. Ted was 9 years old; Brenda was 7. They were both Chippewa Indians from Belcourt. Corliss and I had taken in many foster children over the years and opened our hearts to the orphaned. When the social worker approached us that day, Corliss did not hesitate to oblige.

“I don’t know where else to take them. They have nowhere to go,” the caseworker told us sadly.

“We will take them. They will be in good hands here,” Corliss assured her.

That day I came home from a long day and was met by Ted and Brenda as they both rounded the corner of the house. “Hi, Dad!” they called out cheerfully.

I wondered what had taken place while I was gone when I heard those words! I went looking for Corliss for an explanation. Despite their difficult upbringing, Ted and Brenda found hope at our house and considered us their parents. I was glad we could give them a good foundation for their lives, as trying as it was sometimes.

Brenda and Ted had been victims of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. They suffered from learning disabilities and emotional problems, which made their transition to our home rather difficult at first. Ted struggled with Attention Deficit Disorder and anger issues. He often lashed out and did inappropriate things. We learned that from the time they were young, Brenda had been the favored one in the family, while Ted had been scorned by their relatives. It was obvious Ted needed a good dose of Jesus’ love, and we were prepared to shower it on him.

Brenda celebrated her 8^th birthday shortly after the two siblings came to live with us. Corliss went to the store and purchased a cake mix to bake a birthday cake for her. As she walked out of the store, Corliss swallowed big tears and began to cry as she realized she was the only mother Brenda had. Brenda’s eyes lit up when she saw her beautiful birthday cake on the table. “For me?!” she squealed.

Corliss reached over to give the little girl a hug. “You may not have been born in my tummy, but you were born in my heart, Brenda,” she told her kindly.

“Oh, please, please adopt us!” Brenda begged. “Please!”

“Yes, please!” Ted chimed in.

Two years later, we officially adopted Brenda and Ted. We knew there would be many challenges along the way with their disabilities, but we were prepared to face them with God’s help. We now had six children, as we had officially adopted Michael as well. And we felt our “quiver” was full!

“We must look quite the sight,” Corliss chuckled as we all walked down the street in Devil’s Lake one day as a family. “We’re just like the people in the song, ‘Jesus Loves the Little Children.’ If we just had a little Chinese boy, we’d cover all the bases: red and yellow, black and white!”

Of course, with more space came more responsibilities for the children. We had a chore calendar and enforced the jobs firmly. Each child had to carry his own dinner plate to the dishwasher and put it inside, no exceptions. Beds were to be made each morning and rooms tidied before the children went off to school. Taking out the garbage, feeding the dog and vacuuming were also on the list. The children were in charge of helping Corliss with the never-ending laundry as well. Thanks to our new laundry room, they had much more space to sort out the many pairs of blue jeans that piled up in the basket. Everyone had to take turns pitching in.

The children weren’t the only ones lending a helping hand. When Labor Day weekend arrived, a large group from our church showed up at our house for a picnic. They brought steaks and hamburgers with them, as well as lumber. They declared they were going to help build us a deck on the back of our house.

“We should have it done by day’s end,” one of our friends said, holding up a hammer. He had helped on our church building and had come to the Lord during that time. He and his family had become a part of our congregation. What a blessing!

They set to work with their hammers and nails, building a brand-new deck before my eyes. A few of the men worked in the construction field and were especially handy. As they promised, by day’s end, a new, beautiful wood deck stood next to our house providing steps out from the sliding doors. I was so impressed. To me, this was about more than just a deck. We had truly become a body of believers working together; they desired to give back to us as well as receiving from us. With their time and resources, they had performed a labor of love. I hoped this would be the first of many picnics we’d have outside our new house together.

We learned who had scrawled the graffiti on our new home while we were away. Several children from our Sunday school confessed to the crime. They claimed they had sprayed it because they were jealous of our new house. I was saddened that the children who sat in church each Sunday and listened to a message of God’s love had acted so irresponsibly, but I also knew it was the perfect opportunity to offer them sincere forgiveness.

“What you did was wrong,” I told them. “But I want you to know I forgive you. We hope you will keep coming to church and learn about the God who loves you.” This wasn’t the first opportunity I’d had to forgive people, and it certainly would not be the last. It wasn’t always easy to forgive and show love, but I knew I could not get up and preach each Sunday on God’s love and not demonstrate it in my own life.

In the fall, we drove out to Wenatchee, Washington. My brother Warren was dedicating their church. While there, we were excited to discover the fresh fruit of the orchards. Good fresh fruit was a rare commodity in North Dakota; what little we purchased was usually expensive and not always tasty. To find tree after tree loaded with peaches, pears, plums and cherries was like walking into the Garden of Eden.

We purchased and loaded up half the van full of fresh fruit and filled up a small trailer as well. As soon as we returned home, we informed the people of our community that we had fresh fruit for sale. We made some contacts, and the news spread fast. I hadn’t seen this much excitement in a long time. To my amazement, the fruit was sold by the end of the week!

“I think we’re onto something here,” I said to Corliss as we went to inspect the last of the fruit. “I’ll see if I can go back to Washington as soon as possible and bring back some more. I’m sure I could sell some to the folks all around this area as well.”

A few weeks later, I hooked up the trailer to our van and made the 18-hour trek back to Washington. I left after church Sunday afternoon; I figured I could make it by Monday evening, load up the trailer Tuesday morning and still be back for Wednesday night church service that week.

As predicted, the next batch of fruit sold just as well. I took it into Devil’s Lake and sold a good amount to the staff at the hospital and nursing home where Corliss had worked. They were equally excited about the fruit. I was thankful that God had not only provided yet another way to connect with the people of the area, but it had taken care of us financially as well. School clothes and supplies for the children had gotten quite expensive. Since my stroke, I was no longer working a full-time secular job, and we were seeing God provide in many creative ways. I never would have guessed selling fruit would be one of them, but then, God was always full of surprises.

The next year, I returned to Washington, this time taking two men from church with me. It would be nice to have some company for the long ride and also have a couple extra pairs of hands to help load up the fruit. We drove the van slowly through the winding roads, the little trailer swaying behind us.

Just as we entered the state of Montana, I heard a loud “pop” and felt the van begin to veer back and forth. “I think we blew a tire!” I hollered to my traveling companions.

I pulled over, hopped out and discovered that, sure enough, a tire had blown out. The edges were completely shredded, and only the rim remained. “Wow, blew that one out good!” I called out, laughing. “We need a picture of this to prove just how dangerous this could have been.”

My friends laughed along with me; one pulled out a camera and snapped a picture of me holding the frayed tire. As we were deciding what to do next, a police officer pulled up beside us and stepped out of his car.

“What’s going on, fellas?” he asked, walking toward us on the road.

“Blew out a tire,” I replied, still laughing. For some reason, the incident had struck us as particularly funny. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, I reasoned.

“How is it that you’re so happy and laughing about blowing out a tire?” the police officer inquired, scratching his head. “Shouldn’t you be upset about this slowing you down?”

“Nah. What’s there to be upset about? We’ve got the Lord with us. He’s our Savior, and with him, we’ve found true joy and happiness in life.” I went on to explain to this officer how he, too, could experience true joy in his life by asking Christ into his heart.

“Wow, now that’s what I want!” the police officer replied heartily.

Right then and there, alongside the road, my friends and I had the opportunity to lead this man to the Lord. As he prayed the sinner’s prayer, my heart overflowed with thankfulness. I had been on a journey to pick up some fresh fruit, but instead I’d been detoured by a divine appointment. Who could have known a tire blowout could have resulted in another soul in heaven?

The fresh fruit continued to be a hit among the people of our area. We kept some of it for ourselves, and Corliss set to work canning peaches and pears along with pickles and tomatoes from the garden. I had built several shelves downstairs in the basement for her to store the glass jars filled with the canned food stuff. One by one, she piled the goods onto the shelves. When winter came, we’d have more than enough to eat and share.

One hot summer day, one of the children scampered down the stairs to the garage, slamming the kitchen door extra hard behind them. The shelves below in the basement popped off the wall and came crashing to the floor. Glass jars slid off the shelves and shattered on the cement below, creating a huge, sticky mess.

“Oh, no!” Corliss moaned, flying downstairs to inspect the damage. Shards of glass were mixed in with oozing peaches, pickle juice and runny red tomatoes. “All that hard work gone,” she cried, stooping to sweep up the pieces. She cut her finger on a piece of glass, and it began to bleed. Tears pricked her eyes. Blood, sweat and tears mingled together as she continued to clean up. Several of the glass jars were still intact, but more than a third had been lost.

I came to her side and put an arm around her shoulders. I felt sick to my stomach. “I’m sorry,” I sighed as I began helping her clean up the mess. “You worked so hard on that.” I paused and then added with a sad, sheepish smile, “I have learned a lesson. Next time, I will build the shelves so they don’t fall down.”

“And I vow I will never put away that much food stuff again,” Corliss said.

This was only one of the things we’d put behind us in our journey: That’s life, and when it happens, you keep going. God had been so good to us. I never could have imagined we’d be standing in a spacious ranch house on an Indian reservation, doing God’s work. He had provided every step of the way, from the house itself to the lumber to the carpet to the new furniture. The fruit had been an unexpected financial blessing. As the author of the Book of Job wrote, God gives and takes away. We had certainly experienced both ends during our ministry the last few years!

Though we tried to keep the inside of our home private for our family except for company, our yard was never off limits to the Indians. The Indian children and teenagers found their way to our yard day and night to grab carrots from the garden, play on the swing set, climb in our large willow trees and shoot hoops on our basketball court. Our yard, in essence, had become the town park. Our children blended right in with their native friends. It did not cross their minds that their skin was a different color, their hair was blond not black and they were of a different nationality.

Shortly after we moved into our new home, a tornado ripped through the reservation. As the winds shrieked and the tree branches lashed out in angry fury, Corliss and I hastily gathered the children and headed for the safety of the basement. We had encountered several bouts of extreme weather during the last few years, but this tornado seemed especially threatening. We decided we’d wait it out in the basement.

A while after we’d gathered below, I took a head count and realized that Michael was missing. “He’s still upstairs!” I cried to Corliss. “We have to go back up and get him!”

Racing back upstairs, I was relieved to find Michael sleeping peacefully in his bed. I gathered him up and raced downstairs again where we finished waiting out the storm. We heard loud slamming and banging on the roof above; I could only imagine the kind of damage we’d find in the morning.

As the sun crept over the horizon the next morning, we headed outside, bracing ourselves for the worst. As we’d expected, the tornado had left the area looking like, well, a tornado had ripped through. Large tree branches were piled on top of each other and scattered about our property in every direction. Miraculously our house was spared, but we had to reroof the whole roof with new shingles. Reporters from a television station from Devil’s Lake showed up to gather some footage. They were amazed that no further damage had been done.

As we walked around the house, we saw a huge tree branch lying on the roof directly above the bedroom where Michael had been sleeping. I sucked in my breath at the reality of what could have happened. This huge heavy branch from the big tree beside our house could easily have gone through the roof or the window, seriously injuring a peacefully sleeping little boy. We thanked God for his protective hand. Once again, he’d been watching over us.

One time when the children were small, we took a trip down to South Dakota to another Indian reservation. As we drove, our children chattered excitedly in the backseat of the van. “We’re going to go see Indians!” they squealed, not thinking that they played with them every day.

Corliss and I laughed. We were so thankful that they adapted so well to their life.

During the school year after the children got out of school for the day, the bus would drop off our kids and a dozen other kids at the church for Royal Rangers and Missionettes. These programs provided a good Bible message, games, songs and afterschool snacks.

In summer, VBS was a highlight for the children. They loved to sing “Onward Christian Soldiers” and other Bible songs at the top of their lungs as they marched into the church. Picnics out on the lawn at noon were a special time. Corliss was very involved with the children’s programs; she was able to work her way into the hearts of the children and their parents alike. God was so good to keep on providing opportunities to build relationships in and outside of church.

One of these opportunities came in the spring of 1979. We held several special meetings at the church, and an evangelist came to speak. We were in the middle of one of these meetings one Wednesday night when the phone rang in my church office. My daughter, Shawna, ran back to answer it. “Dad, they want to talk to you,” she whispered when she returned to the sanctuary.

I retreated to the office and took the call. “Mel? This is the nurse at the hospital in Devil’s Lake. We have a man named Ray here who is dying of liver sclerosis. Would you go and get his sister and mother and have the foster parents bring his children to the hospital? I am afraid he doesn’t have long to live, and he would like to see them one last time.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I agreed. As I stepped outside, I was dismayed to see another late spring snowstorm had set in. I jumped in the van and headed out to get Ray’s family members. The nurse’s voice had sounded urgent; I had to fulfill his wish and bring his family to him before it was too late!

After I picked up Ray’s family, we headed to the hospital in Devil’s Lake. The roads were icy, and poor visibility made it difficult to drive fast; the normal 20-minute drive took me 45 minutes this time. We arrived at the Intensive Care Unit at last. Ray’s mother and sister stopped by the nurse’s station to ask a few questions about Ray’s condition, while I stepped into his room to speak to him.

Ray was lying quietly in his bed; his skin was pale, and several IV tubes protruded from his arms. He broke into a slight smile when he saw me standing at the foot of his bed. “Mel Erickson?” he whispered.

“Ray.” I smiled back and stooped to take the sickly man’s hands. “Ray, I am here to tell you something important. God loves you and cares about you. He does not want you to die in your sin. You can go to live with him in heaven forever if you accept him into your heart.”

Ray nodded, keeping quiet but interested. I led him in the sinner’s prayer and then prayed, asking the Lord to fill him with his presence. “I have to get back to the church now, Ray, but remember what I said. God loves you, and as long as you still have breath, it’s never too late to accept him as your Savior.”

I prayed for Ray all the way back to church, hoping he had made a sincere decision to trust in Jesus before he passed away. I arrived back at the church just as the evangelist finished speaking and began giving an altar call. The phone in my office rang again. I ran back to answer it. It was the nurse from ICU. “Mel, I have to talk to you,” she said breathlessly. “Ray visited with his mother and sister and even had the opportunity to visit with his children for 10 minutes. As he was talking to them, he began looking up beyond the ceiling, turned to me and said, ‘I’m going home.’ Then he took the IVs out of his arms. I told him to relax and that he could go home. But he lay back in the bed and died moments later.”

“That’s wonderful!” I cried, rejoicing with the nurse that Ray had truly accepted Christ on his deathbed. Though he’d only known his Maker on earth for a few minutes, truly he had “gone home.” He would spend eternity in heaven with the Lord!

I had the privilege of doing Ray’s wake and funeral. Typically, a wake was held the night before the funeral for friends and relatives to come and sing hymns and share stories of the deceased person’s life. Sometimes these mourners stayed into the early hours of the morning. At this time, the Indians would have a giveaway, passing out star quilts and peace pipes. The next morning, the actual funeral was held. Many who came knew the deceased person well and genuinely mourned, though several “professional” mourners often showed up, also, hoping to receive things in the giveaway. Regardless of their motives, I found funerals to be one of the best opportunities to share a gospel message.

“Life is like coming up to a stoplight,” I told the mourners. “Many of you have reached the yellow light. This is your warning. If your life was to go from green to red right now, would you know where you were going? Don’t wait until it is too late to find out. If you aren’t sure, you can make a decision to ask Jesus into your heart right now.”

Several people usually came forward to accept Christ into their hearts. I was especially thankful that, on the morning of Ray’s funeral, I could rejoice in knowing where he was. God had been merciful to spare his life, and he could now spend eternity with him!

John and Sherri Bennett came to serve as associate pastors at our church the following fall. John had worked with us when he was a student at Trinity Bible College, and it was great to have him come back. They moved into our trailer home for the year. I was so thankful the trailer home was able to be put to good use. It had served us well during our early years on the reservation, and now it was time for someone else to make it his or her home.

God had blessed us greatly these past couple of years. We’d seen the blessing of the Holy Spirit on people at church as they began to embrace a heavenly language while worshiping the Lord. Our new home provided much more room to sleep, eat and play. We’d also begun establishing relationships with other people near Tokio. God had begun stirring our hearts, encouraging us to step out and reach not just the Indian people, but the other 30 percent of the area population as well. Each week we saw church attendance slowly rise. The children were thriving, God was providing financially and all seemed well.

Then, just after Christmas of 1979, I went to the FHA to discuss the loan for the house. Nothing could have prepared me for the news.

“I’m afraid you’ve gone too far,” the FHA loan officer informed me grimly. “We cannot give you a loan. You have to go somewhere else.”

My mind was reeling. January 15 was my birthday; it was just two weeks away! How on earth could I possibly repay a construction loan of $20,000 and another $10,000 to pay for the rest of the expenses of building in two weeks? I felt like David facing the giant with only a meager slingshot. Only God would be able to make sense of this predicament.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I told the man dejectedly. My heart was heavy as I drove home, knowing I’d have to break the news to Corliss. Thirty thousand dollars, I repeated to myself over and over as I drove down the road, praying and asking the Lord to intervene in my very serious situation.

I tried to get another loan from other banks but had no luck. Time was running out. January 15 loomed just around the corner; there wouldn’t be much celebrating on this birthday if we didn’t figure something out soon.

With just a few days left to report to the bank, I continued to pray fervently, asking the Lord to intervene on our behalf. One morning at 4:30 a.m., I bolted from my bed with an idea. I rarely got up that early; it was as if angels had chased me right out of my bed. I put my feet into my shoes and headed out of the house in the dark. Within minutes, I was headed down the road on an important mission.

My friend Marvin was a local farmer who owned hundreds of acres of land. I had led him to the Lord several years before when he attended our summer tent meetings. Marvin had claimed he was a religious person but soon came to see his need for a true relationship with God. I had spent a great deal of time with Marvin and knew him to be a trusted man. Still single and living several miles down the road, he kept in touch with me on a regular basis. I knew I might be presumptuous showing up at his doorstep at the wee hours of the morning, but it was worth a try.

As I drove the 15-plus miles down the gravel road toward Marvin’s place, all of a sudden I realized I was following a haystack down the road. It was a stack mover with a tractor in front pulling it. It was Marvin out to get hay for his cattle, and I followed him right into his farmyard. “Lord, your will be done,” I prayed, a peace overwhelming my heart as I neared his house.

“Mel! What a surprise to see you here so early!” Marvin beamed when I arrived in his yard and followed him to his home. “You must be on some special mission this morning. Come on in, won’t you?”

“Thanks, Marvin.” I stepped inside his comfortable home and took a deep breath. “I’m sure you’re wondering what I’m doing here at this hour. I can explain …”

“Please. Sit down. I was just going to make some coffee and have some sweet rolls.” Marvin pulled out a kitchen chair for me and beckoned me to sit down.

As we nibbled at our rolls, I explained to Marvin how I’d originally applied for a loan from the FHA for $30,000 to cover the expenses of the new house but had recently been informed that I had gone too far in the building process. I had a construction loan at the bank, and I needed to pay it back by tomorrow. “As you can see, this puts me in quite a situation,” I concluded, smiling.

Marvin nodded. “Mel, you are a good, faithful friend. I trust you completely. I will make you a loan for the money.”

“The entire amount?” I said. “I can’t thank you enough for your generosity in helping me out of this situation.”

“Yes. I’ll take care of it right away.”

I was speechless. I hadn’t known exactly what to expect when I’d jumped out of bed that morning, but I certainly hadn’t expected Marvin to make me a loan in full on the spot! At last, I found my words. “Marvin, this is very generous of you. I assure you I’ll pay you back accordingly.”

“I know you will. You’re a good man of God, and what you’re doing on the reservation is a wonderful thing.” Marvin went back to retrieve his checkbook while I sat there, still taking in the good news.

“I can’t thank you enough,” I said gratefully, shaking Marvin’s hand as I stood to leave. “You are truly an answer to our prayers.”

I went straight home to tell Corliss and could hardly wait for the bank to open that morning. I paid off the loan in full and was able to pay the other outstanding bills on the home. I drove home from the bank, praising the Lord for what he’d just done. I had never doubted he’d come through for us, but $30,000 was a lot of money for an Indian missionary to raise in two weeks’ time! However, no amount of money was too great for God to raise.

“Good news!” I told Corliss when I arrived home. “Well, more than good news. The debt has been paid.”

Corliss’ jaw dropped as she listened to the story I shared with her. She could hardly believe her ears. “God is so good!” she cried.

The sun was now shining, a beautiful golden ball in the distance. I looked out the window of our new home and wondered if God wasn’t smiling out there, saying, “I told you I’d come through for you!”

There had been many “speed bumps” along the road, and there would be many more, I was sure. Still, each trial was a chance to catch a better glimpse of God’s glory. Time and time again, we’d seen him show up. He had healed me and protected my life in the dire hours. He had provided for our family in more ways than we could have imagined. And now, through God’s faithful servant Marvin, he had performed the ultimate miracle! His faithfulness continued to amaze me. I would never forget this morning as long as I lived.