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By Phil Callaway
EACH summer, when our kids were young, my wife and I
packed up the minivan, herded the kids aboard, and sped off to speak at a
family camp somewhere. Of course, the best way for a speaker to gain
credibility at family camp is to leave his children at home; but ours
always joined us.
This is how it should be, I believe, because there is
something very comforting about watching the children of the camp speaker
smack each other with marshmallow sticks. It sets you to wondering which
parts of his sermons he tries at home. And it sets the speaker to wondering
if there’s any hope for his kids.
A few years ago, we arrived at Hidden Acres Bible Camp
in Central Iowa, after 40 days and 40 nights in the van.
To say we were fatigued is like saying Saskatchewan is
flat; and frankly, we were feeling a little flattened ourselves, and
looking for a fresh shot of hope.
At dinner the first night, camp director Earl Taylor
told us a little about the camp. Located on 660 acres of wooded property,
it had experienced significant growth the last few years. With growth came
the usual structural hurdles and the camp staff had been praying God would
supply enough money for a major project.
When the money arrived, they hoped to build a sewer so
frightened campers would not have to hike past bears and wolves to use the
facilities in the middle of the night. The staff prayed often. But nothing
happened.
One day, a semi-truck crept up the gravel road and a
man climbed out. “Do you mind if I park my rig here?” he asked,
pointing to a hay field on the southern edge of camp.
Earl, as accommodating a midwesterner as you’ll
ever meet, said “Sure.”
“We’re filming a little movie, and there
are more of us,” said the truck driver. “You know, trailers and
equipment. Oh, and helicopters, too. Is that okay?”
The crew was from a little studio out west called
Warner Brothers, and they had a few more questions. “Could we shoot
some scenes on a road west of camp? Scatter a little straw? Blow it around?
We’ll pay you to clean things up.”
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Earl said “Sure.”
Next, a helicopter landed in the south field and a
bearded man ducked out of it, with his personal chef. He was producing a
little film about a tornado. His name was Steven Spielberg.
Warner Brothers stayed 36 hours on the property,
filming Twister.
They paid the camp staff $1,000 for cleaning the road. Then they asked them
to put all the trash back on the highway, because they needed to shoot the
scene again.
Of course, Earl said “Sure.”
Before the trucks and helicopters departed, Earl was
holding in his hand another check. One which made his eyes grow wide. It
was for the exact amount they’d been praying for, to build their
sewer.
A friend rolls his eyes when I mention answered prayer
– because he is more educated than I, and can put a voice to the
‘hows’ of history. How could a God who answers prayer turn a
deaf ear while Hitler murdered six million Jews and several million
Christians? How could God watch Stalin kill 60 million without doing
something? How about the Middle East, and Baghdad and Hiroshima?
I don’t know how to respond. There is so much I
don’t understand. But late at night, I keep circling back to
God’s obvious hand on my life all along the way.
I have seen him give joy when there is no plausible
explanation – when I’ve been in the back of an ambulance
holding the hand of my unconscious wife, while nurses cast sideways glances
at each other. And as my children have aged, I have watched
God’s grace take hold of each of them – despite the fact
that I have stumbled so often, failed to trust him, and failed to practice
what I preach.
Earl agrees. Ask him if God answers prayer, and
he’ll smile and tell you a story. And he’ll probably conclude
it this way:
“When I got that check, I knew what we’d
build with it. And we’d do it in memory of Hollywood. They’ve
built their share of sewers – so why not build one out here in
Iowa?”
“Sure,” I say.
Phil Callaway is online at www.philcallaway.com and
www.youtube.com/user/callawayhumor.
June 2008
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