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43. A Diaper In The Basement
In February of 1976, Linda had an opportunity to give a devotional message at a ladies' meeting at the First Baptist Church of LaSalle, just across the Illinois River from us. There she met an elderly lady who inquired about our children, or the lack of them. Linda explained, without going into details, that we could not have children but that we were on an adoption list. The lady said, "I am going to pray that God gives you children."
Okay. So why should this lady's prayers be more effective than ours? We had prayed for nearly eight years that God would give us children. How was this lady going to change God's mind? I mean, come on!
We continued with our lives and our ministries at Oglesby. We started a Joy Club for children. Linda and some of the ladies from the church held meetings every Tuesday afternoon after school at the church. I continued preaching, teaching, counseling, cajoling, praying, interfering and doing all the other things pastors do.
We also started something we called "First Night," which meant that the first Sunday night of each month we had a time of fellowship after the evening service. It was an effort on my part to get greater participation in the evening service which often lagged significantly behind the morning service attendance. It was not real successful at raising attendance on Sunday night, but those who did attend enjoyed it and were brought closer together by the fellowship.
We traveled to nearby Ottawa, Illinois in that cold month of February to hear the Chorale from Wheaton College in Wheaton, Illinois. We went to Grand Rapids for the school's annual Bible
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Conference. And in March we had Dr. John Balyo from Grand Rapids Baptist College and Seminary preach at our Sunday services. I had to drive to O'Hare Airport, two hours away from us, to pick up Dr. Balyo, and to return him to the airport the day after he preached. He stayed in the parsonage as our guest. Dr. Balyo was a bigtime preacher in the General Association of Regular Baptist Churches. He had pastored large churches, he had served as a leader in the GARBC, and now he was teaching in the college and seminary of one of the leading educational institutions approved by the GARBC. But there he was emerging from my bathroom in a rumpled old bathrobe, hair disheveled, just like the rest of us. Later that month, March of 1976, I accepted an invitation to pray the invocation at the Washington School in Oglesby, for a Recreation Banquet. The public schools in Oglesby (there were two), often called on the Roman Catholic priest in town, the pastor of the Union Church, and me to pray at various gatherings. They tried to spread it around so that all of us would have equal opportunities. I viewed these opportunities primarily as a way of letting our church and our Lord be represented in the predominately Roman Catholic town. It was a Thursday evening, March 25. Linda and I were going to get a free meal, another benefit of these opportunities. But Linda was sick. Throwing up sick. All day throwing up sick. So I went to the dinner by myself. After all, who wants to attend a banquet with a wife who is throwing up every few minutes? When she went to the doctor, he took one look at her and said, "I think you're pregnant." He did a pregnancy test, which in those days involved the death of a rabbit. The rabbit's death was not in vain. Linda was pregnant. Shortly after receiving the news, the adoption agency called. "Are you still interested in adoption," the lady said, "you are nearing the top of the list." "Thank you," I said, "but we are having a baby this fall. We just found out a couple of weeks ago." "Congratulations," said the lady from the agency. "Do you want us to remove you from the list, then?" "Please do," I answered. Maybe there really was a diaper somewhere in the basement rafters. Maybe the lady from LaSalle had an inside line to the Lord. Maybe her prayers were more effective than ours. I don't know. But Linda was pregnant.
The photo of Linda and me was taken July 5, 1975, in front of the Martha-Mary Chapel in Henry Ford's Greenfield Village in Dearborn, Michigan. The occasion was the wedding of my sister, Lynne, to her husband, Phil. I officiated at the wedding which took place in the historic chapel.
