In the late 1970s, I played a flute-like instrument known as a recorder, and was in a music group known as
“Bread of Life.” The group began in a Catholic church, but grew as they invited members to join from several other denominations. We played concerts in various churches, Christian coffee houses, and venues.
The gigs brought with them a lot of social interaction.
I was still single in those days, and it was before I met Brenda. As a result, I was feeling a little depressed and lonely. I prayed for a solution, and mentioned my condition to Cindy, my downstairs neighbor. Cindy was a Christian, married, and a singer in our music group. She suggested that I begin by giving my messy apartment a makeover, putting up curtains, and decorating.
I accepted the challenge, and immediately devoted myself to doing everything she mentioned. In fact, I even used my newfound determination to make a variety of artwork by decoupaging inspirational magazine pictures on pieces of scrap wood, and hanging them on the walls. Then, with the addition of a few scented candles I found that the apartment did indeed become a more soothing and relaxing place, and my depression lifted.
I then allowed the piano player in our band to move in. Joe was also single, and one night when Joe was away at a church function I was feeling particularly lonely. So I prayed for a solution. God spoke to me through a scripture which said simply, “Let them marry whom they think best.”
To me, this simple line of scripture from chapter 33 in the book of Numbers suggested that I should find a girl of my choosing and marry her. The advice was so simple and obvious that I found it to be stunning.
Soon my roommate arrived home and told me that he had met a girl that he was falling in love with. He wanted a 51
sign from God to know if he should ask her to marry him. I shared with him the verse that I had just found, and he claimed it as the sign he was looking for. A few months later I attended their wedding. Meanwhile, my own search had been activated. At the Overflowing Cup Christian Coffeehouse in Beloit, Wisconsin, I paid closer attention to the girls than I had in the past. And then, there she was. I thought I found the girl that seemed to be the perfect one for me. Instead of being pretentious like so many others, she seemed so down to earth that it took my breath away. Her name was Brenda. It took me two weeks to get up the courage, but finally I asked her out.
After she accepted, I stood on the front steps of the coffeehouse and thought I would make a note of this in my journal. It was then that I realized the date was 8/8/78, a date that we still celebrate as an anniversary. It was a date with three eights in it, and I had always associated the number eight with new beginnings. This date did indeed become a new beginning for both of us. It took us longer than my roommate, and it seemed like forever to me, but eventually we were married. Sometimes I refer to Brenda as my first wife or my last wife. Of course, both are true for we are still married! :)
Soon after I met Brenda, the winter of '78 and '79 was brutal. During one terrible blizzard, I dropped Brenda off at her parents' house in the country. Conditions worsened rapidly as I headed for home. After going about a mile, I tried to make it past a tall drift and was blinded by blowing snow. The car veered into the drift and now I was stuck.
The only available option was to walk about a mile back to Brenda’s house wearing only a light jacket. Soon I became cold and dizzy and wondered if I would make it. I struggled with great effort to manage the last fifty yards or so.
Once inside, my future father-in-law sprang into action. We hopped into his flatbed truck and took off.
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By the time we arrived at the car the snow drift had completely covered it to the point that even its shape was hidden. Only one corner of the rear bumper was visible.
Even the heavy truck was not able to pull the car out from under all that snow. It was only by jerking repeatedly on the chain that we managed to yank it out an inch at a time. In retrospect, I see evidence of God's protection in another dangerous situation. If I had driven farther I might not have made it back to the house. If we had delayed any longer, we would not have been able to find the car beneath all the snow. And if it had stayed in that drift, the car would most likely have been badly damaged when the plows finally made it through. As it was, I was stranded for three days at the home of a girl I had fallen for, and I also missed work. In other words, the situation was not that bad!
This typical scene from the winter of ‘78 and ‘79 shows a road similar to the ones near Brenda’s house at the time.
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Music group
Brenda and I continued to date, and around this time a Bible study group that we were part of decided to begin singing in nursing homes. In an attempt to start it right I drafted several pages of rules that I thought would help.
Then, as I left the house to go to practice, in an amazing coincidence a guest on the christian radio station was discussing how to start a music ministry group! He argued that when starting a music group to minister one should not worry about being too professional, and specifically argued against long lists of rules. When he finished, I threw out the pages and proceeded to go to practice to relate the story.
We went on to sing in a number of nursing homes over the next year, all without the benefit of a list of rules. I still have a tape of one of our practice sessions, and we actually sounded pretty good!
Bible School
During these years, I was attending First Assembly in Rockford, Illinois. First Assembly's pastor was Eugene Whitcomb. He died, along with several members of our church, on September 11, 1974. They had flown in his small plane on a mission trip to an Indian reservation in South Dakota. On the return trip his small plane lost engine power and crashed in a wooded area.
Besides being an enthusiastic pastor with a great preaching style, it was Pastor Whitcomb who had invited Brian Ruud and Roxanne Brant to speak – both of whom had an impact on my faith. I felt devastated by his death.
Pastor Whitcomb also seriously connected with youth in our city who had been alienated by religion in general.
These were the years when the Jesus Revolution was winding down, and in those days the front of our large sanctuary was lined with hippie-styled long-haired youth.
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Many were in worn-out blue jeans, and some were even barefoot or wearing sandals or halter tops. He welcomed them all with equal enthusiasm.
When Pastor Whitcomb died in the plane crash, Ernie Moen, his former college roommate, came from Arizona for the funeral. He quickly won the hearts of the members with his sincere and simple style, along with amazing wisdom.
He was soon asked to be the next pastor at First Assembly.
Pastor Moen connected with Rockford in uniquely different ways than Pastor Whitcomb. Now, instead of radical youth lining the front, he would play a movie or host a special speaker and fill the church with visitors. Then he would give altar calls where often as many as 200 people in one service would line the altar for salvation. I had never seen such services before, and yet it happened on several occasions.
Even Pastor Moen said tearfully that he had never seen God move like that before. Today, we often cross paths with people who dedicated their lives to Christ during those services.
One Sunday, while I was dating Brenda, we were attending an evening service. Pastor Moen was preaching.
During this service, I distinctly believed God was telling me I should prepare for some type of ministry. I recall it had nothing to do with his message, but it caused me to begin to earnestly seek answers from God by reading the Word and praying hard. I recall asking him if he wanted me to be a pastor, and I felt I heard a clear answer, “Not exactly.” With that redirection, I began praying about the possibility of going to school with the goal of entering full time ministry.
It seemed God was beating around the bush, and by the time I had prayed through, I heard him essentially say, “You are going to be a late bloomer.” I remember thinking, “What does this mean? Will I be really old, like 40, before I find a ministry?” This caused me some anxiety, and I wanted to know more, so I began to pray even more earnestly during the course of the next week.
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The following Saturday we played mini-putt golf with friends. During the game I felt very distracted by a feeling that my future was hanging in the balance. I don't say this as an excuse, for I have no memory of how I scored. All I know is I wanted God to somehow give me a clue about what the next step in my future should be, and that is all I could think about.
The next day was Sunday. As God would arrange it, Pastor Moen talked extensively about Christian Life School of the Bible. It was the Bible college that the church was operating, and I thought I might sign up. Then he gave a type of altar call that I have never seen done elsewhere. He asked for anyone feeling that God might be calling them into full-time ministry to come to the altar and receive prayer. To me, this was the sign I was seeking, so I jumped up and practically sprinted to the front.
As a result, I attended Bible school classes for the next three years and earned about one year's worth of credits.
They would eventually be recognized, but this was just another small step in an educational journey that would span decades. •
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