****I know this is a longer entry but it’s something I needed to write. Thank you to those who take the time to read it.
"As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. ‘Come, follow me,’ Jesus said, ‘and I will make you fishers of men.’ At once they left their nets and followed him." (Matthew 4:18-20) I’ve heard the story of how God spoke with these fishermen and asked them to just drop what they were doing, leave their families behind and follow him. I thought to myself, "I could never do that." However, that is just what my parents have done on many occassions.
My parents were both born in a small, farming community in Ontario. They met each other in their teenage years and began dating. In 1983, they were married in a small ceremony with friends and loved ones. In 1986, I was added to the family as their first child. I do not recall all the moves prior to my brother’s birth, but I know there were a few. He is the only one in our family not born in the same town. My little brother, Matthew, came into the world in 1989. At this point we were living in London, Ontario. My father had not attended college earlier, but he felt led to get an education. With two kids at home, he went through Bible college. The school was just down from the apartment building we lived in. We have a video of the celebration we had when he graduated. I was quite young and Matthew was so small. The room was full of my grandparents and family sharing in this special milestone in my father’s life.
Unfortunately, the cards my father was dealt after this triumph did not amount to a winning hand. It seemed that teaching positions were scarce in the area. What was worse, the degree he received did not appear to be recognized by many schools. Thus, my father felt dejected. He settled for his job at Arby’s, until a glimmer of hope appeared in the form of a school in Sudbury. I don’t recall the move, but I know it was a big one. Sudbury is about seven hours north of London. It was short notice, so for the first bit we stayed with a Jamaican family who was affiliated with the church and school. They were caring people and introduced us to brown rice and plantain. When you are young the perspective of time is much different, so I cannot say for sure how long it was before we moved out, but we did eventually find a cute, little home.
At this time, I was seven and entering second grade. My father had been hired as the second grade teacher for that year. My mom was able to do secretary work in the school office, and taught some art classes. Matthew was only in pre-school. Things seemed to be going smoothly. Partway through our stay we had to leave our home. It was a rental, and someone was interested in buying it. Unable to buy it ourselves, we were left with nothing else to do but move. We were still sheltered, though. My dad was friends with many of the parents of my classmates and other teachers. It felt nice to belong. We made it through a year and were just into the second year when we felt another blow hit our family. The school was too small to keep my dad on (It no longer exists) and so, we were now asking "Where do we go now, God?" It was another whirlwind move, as we headed back to our hometown. Most of our extended family lived there or at least in the vicinity. It seemed like the logical place to return.
Matthew and I were enrolled in a public school. It only went to fifth grade, so after nearly three years, I graduated. My parents chose to trade in the neigborhood we were living in for a better one, and thus my brother and I were enrolled into another public school. This one went to eighth grade. During this time both my parents struggled to find jobs that fit their passion. My mom had taken a college commercial art course and also went back to school to take some computer classes, to aid in secretarial work. She finally settled at a small craft store. It was a small chain and there were only three other women employed there. It grew to be her niche. They offered craft classes, which my mom most often taught. On Wednesday night, she did the craft segment for Good News Club at the church. Her life seemed to be coming together, while my dad’s seemed to be crumbling. I remember him being so sad. He was persistant.
At the age of 12, I was soon about to embark upon a move that boggled my mind. We were becoming a missionary family to Antigua, Guatemala. The plan was for my dad to go down and help start a school with my mom. There was a missionary family already down there. He would teach the children from this family, as well as Matt and I, until such time as they had the means to expand. It seemed like it had God’s okay and we were plowing along, but then bumps crept into the road. My dad was disheartened that we could not find much church support, nor any other financial support for that matter. Our family was at a code red stress level and my dad did not feel that this was where we were meant to be after all. We would need to be strong. We would be under much more scrutiny in a different country. In the end, that door was closed. It left us all shaken and weary. Summer’s end had Matthew and I returning to the same school, my dad still searching for God’s plan and my mom continuing work at the craft store.
Not even two months into my first year in highschool, my dad got involved with a school in Washington. Before I knew what had really happened, I was packing all my possessions into cardboard boxes and bidding my friends good-bye. Dad’s heart was torn, as his mom was sick. Her heart was weakening. He felt this was where God wanted him and it meant leaving it all behind and following Him. Tears flowed as we hugged my Grandma in her hospital bed. Still being Grandma, she handed my brother and I a bag of candy (since it was October).
I don’t understand God’s ways. This seemed like the dream come true dad had been waiting for. It turned out that he was merely a fill in, until the teacher they really wanted for his position was ready. Add the sudden loss of his mother and you have the year from Satan. Yes, it was God’s calling that had us packing up and leaving but it was Satan who was snickering as negativity set in. Unable to remain in the country, we headed back to Ontario with no direction. My uncle took us in. My dad had persevered. He’d stopped on our way home to take an interview in Michigan. He kept seeking new opportunities. It paid off when a school in New York hired both of my parents.
Again, my parents dropped everything and just went. I am sure they had fears, doubts and concerns but they did it anyway. Five years have passed since they made that decision. My father has dedicated his life to sharing God’s Word and educating people about our history. He finds pride in standing before his class and sharing the story of a godly man, who under pressure shone or urging students to take to heart the autrocities of the past and making sure that it does not happen again. He cares about every child that sits before him throughout the day. My dad has worked hard to get where he is. He’s faced a lot of loss. My mom lost her father, the summer before my senior year. They have both sacrificed a lot to follow God.
It hurts to know they are facing some adversity right now. It is beyond the normal complaints parents make, or the inattentive ears of the kids. They are under another attack. I believe that great things are in store for them. My mom misses Canada dearly, but she has hung on to what she believes is God’s prompting to stay put. They are undergoing mountaints of paperwork and lengths of red-tape, just to be able to remain in New York and teach. None of us have been able to visit our family in Canada since 2003. If we cross the border, they will not let us back into the United States, and all the paperwork will be voided. I don’t think anyone truly knows the magnitude of what my parents have left behind, how many nets they have dropped so they could follow their Savior and become fishers of men. This is their ministry. Anyone who tries to squash someone’s genuine ministry is not doing the work of God. What I do know for sure is, that despite the utter discouragement my parents both face, they will continue to follow God. If He leads them away from that school, it’s ok, if they are supposed to remain, they trust He’ll work it all out for His glory. I don’t know if they realize how strong they’ve remained throughout my life. I know it’s because of where they place the anchor. If you know someone who has become a fisher of men, encourage them and learn from the example they set. You may not always be called on such a large scale, but if you are a Christian, at some point or another you will feel God tugging at your heart. Will you be able to drop everything and follow Him?
" ‘Come, follow me,’ Jesus said, ‘and I will make you fishers of men.’ "
Matthew 4:19
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