28. A Proof of Christ

© 2020 Daniel Yordy

October 1996 - April 1997

Back and Forth
When we drove out to the Alaska Highway after leaving Blueberry, we turned north and drove the long wintry road to Blair Valley. We stayed at Blair Valley about a week. I continued to help Rick work on his and Shirley’s cabin. Maureen taught school to Kyle. We visited more with the three families there. It was again a time of peace, a chance for my turmoil to dissipate.

When we left Blair Valley, we headed south towards Oregon. We had little money, but just enough for this trip. 

It was necessary for me to write the last letter out from the clarity by which I understand everything now. Nonetheless, at the time I did NOT understand most of the perspectives that I placed around those events. My descriptions are accurate, and what I share is what I knew in my gut. But I really did not understand.

You see, being an elder seemed to me for many years to be a “next step” in my desire to know God and to walk with a people who know God. At this point in time, I assumed and understood only that I had failed. Readers of the last letter might say “But Daniel, you did not fail.” 

Understand, however, that I had zero idea of the words God would speak to me six months later, nor any part of what they meant. I simply had not measured up, not been able to fill the role I had wanted to fill. And I stumbled confused and blank inside through the next few months.

We spent a couple of days near Vancouver, not with the Pacy’s but with their daughter, Ruth and her husband, Ricky Singh, who lived several miles away. They had both lived at Blueberry where they began a relationship, but were married back in Vancouver. I remember us all watching Anne of Green Gables with Megan Follows while we were there. We were enraptured with the story and it became one of our family favorites. We also visited John and Carol Pacy during that time.

We spent a couple of days at Sequim, Washington, with the Howat’s before driving on down to Oregon. There, we connected with Katie Bracken and stayed with different ones of her family. Katie Bracken had returned to Oregon after visiting with us at Blueberry during the summer, and was living with her parents in Hubbard. They had turned an old storefront into their home. They offered us their small motorhome, parked outside on the street, as a place to stay for a night or two. The motorhome was not comfortable for us, especially with a train whistle nearby several times a night.

The only thing we knew to do was to drive back out to Christian Renewal Center to see if we could stay there for several days, while we figured out what we could do. We arrived there for supper on November 4. The Hansen’s greeted us warmly; in fact, this was very much a part of their ministry, providing such a place for Christians like us for a time of respite. 

We spent a week-and-a-half at CRC, using it as our home base while we attempted to establish ourselves somewhere in Oregon. The problem, of course, was that mom lived in Minnesota, and there was no more place for us to go in Oregon.

Sometime in this summer of 1996, Mom, Glenn and Kim, and their children had all moved to the Christian Community on the east side of the state, north of Duluth, called Meadowlands. Mark and Cindy Alesch were the leading elders at Meadowlands. Mom had gotten her own single-wide mobile home and they parked it right across from the Tabernacle. Glenn and Kim had a larger single wide parked a short distance away, now part of the community. I would see their new situation a few months later.

The Hansen’s gave us one side of a cabin “duplex.” It was dormitory style, but more than adequate as well as quiet and in the woods. We joined the staff at CRC for meals in the main dining room. We were able to help out a bit with some of the work, at least in the kitchen.

The only thing I knew to do was to try to get some construction work. I waded through all the requirements in Oregon to be a contractor; I even found someone who was willing to loan me some tools. Meanwhile we visited with Katie Bracken about finding a place to live together with her. We looked at different possibilities.

We went down and visited with Dave and Cheryl, my sister, and then out to the home place to visit with Franz and Audrey. 

After a couple of weeks, neither Maureen nor I felt that Oregon was the right place for us. We gave up and drove back up to Sequim and the Howat’s. On the way we stopped at the woodworking tool show in Portland, Oregon. That was a memorable experience for me; it gave me lots of ideas to dream about for my own woodshop, something that has not yet materialized.

We spent a couple of days with a young couple named the Killam’s who were fellowshipping with Don and Martha Howat. While we were there, Milton and Bonnie Vereide were visiting and we enjoyed their fellowship. 

We drove on up to Vancouver and stopped again with Ruth and Ricky Singh. You see, I had to go on back to Blueberry in order to pack our stuff out of our cabin and into the blue van. So Kyle and I caught a bus up to Fort St. John where we got a ride out to Blueberry while Maureen and Johanna stayed with Ruth and Ricky. 

Kyle and I stayed in Fort St. John for a few days with Peter and Barbara Bell, our good friends from our college years who were living in a mobile home near Charlie Lake. Then, Kyle and I took our blue van with a load out to Blair Valley. When we returned to Blueberry, I backed the blue van up to the front of our cabin, and with some other help, undoubtedly the Maldonado brothers, we loaded all of our belongings into the blue van. Kyle and I then drove it out to Shepherd’s Inn on the Alaska Highway. We received permission from the elders there to park it in their staging area behind their back row of trailers. We went on back to Fort St. John, then, and bussed back down to Vancouver. 

EXCEPT – while Kyle and I were at Blueberry, we picked up our mail. Lo and behold! There was a large package from Canadian Immigration. Our immigration had passed the first part, and we were scheduled for an interview in the Buffalo, New York Consulate on January 28, 1997.

How would we get to Buffalo, New York by then? This required a complete change of thinking. The only real possibility was for us to drive on down to Bowens Mill where Maureen’s parents lived, having returned from their time at Graham River. I could work there to earn money for our plane tickets up to Buffalo. The simple problem, however, was that we had no money to get to Bowens Mill. 

Back with the Singh’s in Vancouver, Maureen and I obtained our passports and the medicals we needed for immigration. Maureen learned that she was carrying our third child, Katrina Dawn.

After leaving the Singh’s, we went on to Sequim, Washington, where we spent a week with Don and Martha Howat in their oddly shaped house, and with their three children. Don connected me with a job for a few days installing insulation in a store that gave us a bit of traveling money. Don is always a great encouragement. I was able to share in the services with the fellowship that gathered in their home. Monica Rotundi, whom I had known from early Graham River and then in college at Blueberry, was living in Sequim and fellowshipping with the Howat’s, so we got to visit with her as well.

When we left the Howat’s, we drove on down to Portland, Oregon and spent the night with John and Tomi Rutledge in Gresham. While we were there, although we had not raised the subject, John and Tomi handed us an envelope containing $1000, more than enough to take us all the way to Georgia. 

When we left the Rutledge’s, we connected with Katie Bracken again. We spent the next couple of nights, however, with Clara Lou, Sister Bertie Henshaw’s sister, who lived not far from Stayton, Oregon. We spent the nights there, but visited with my family during the day, as well as Katie’s family. Finally, on December 9, we headed south into California.

Heading South Again
I had only a few more counties to go before I would have all counties in California colored in on my “county collecting map.” I already had all counties in Nevada. So we headed towards the gold rush country in the Sierra Nevada. Maureen was not too thrilled over the extra hours of riding with the kids, but we got the counties.

We found a Holiday Inn in Stockton. While Maureen and the children were bedding down, I wandered out and found a store where I picked up a bottle of wine. I had not drunk alcohol in over twenty years, except for two communion services at Blueberry, but at this point in my trajectory, I needed some form of emotional consolation.

And so while Maureen and the children slept, I drank a bottle of wine. At this point in time, my presence in the Blueberry elder’s meetings just a few weeks before was current. I had arrived at the pinnacle of my hope of twenty years; I was sitting among brethren at the forefront of the kingdom of God in the earth. Now here I was, drunk in a motel room in California.

How are the mighty fallen. Except I don’t fit that line, because I certainly have never been “mighty.” But David also said that wine is appropriate for times like this, and so eventually, my self-pity drifted off to sleep.

I must bring in here part of what I mean when I reference “my searing inabilities.” As I looked at all this back and forth, and all these precious people who helped us and blessed us, I realized that I have never communicated back with any of them. Some we have never seen again. Communicating long distance is outside of my ability. Facebook is a nightmare to me, filled with “exploding landmines.” I cannot even keep communication with my own family, except when I’m coming through. This is wrong, but it is also outside of my ability.

Recently, when I once again stopped with my brother Glenn in Minnesota, he said to me, “Daniel, you are always welcome here.” I can’t tell you how much that meant to me, that I am received in spite of my lack. And, the thing is, I am completely normal when face to face with people and am always kind and respectful. It’s just long distance that becomes a great mental barrier to me.

My failures are significant and real. I can place them into the Lord Jesus now, but I knew nothing of that wondrous part of our salvation in 1996.

From Stockton, we drove into San Francisco. We visited Fisherman’s Wharf and drove down Lombard Street, the one that winds back and forth. Then we drove over to Oakland and found the house in which Maureen had grown up and the school where she had attended through fifth grade.

We drove on to Modesto, then, and had supper and spent the night with Maureen’s Aunt Miriam and Uncle Al before driving on down to Los Angeles to spend a couple of days with my sister Jenelle. 

At this point, Jenelle had divorced from her marriage to Jim Hall. She had her own apartment somewhere just south of the city center, I think. I have not had much opportunity for visiting with Jenelle over the years. We have always lived far apart. I was very glad to know her better, even if only for a short while.

While at Jenelle’s, we all went to Disneyland. Kyle enjoyed going on rides with his Auntie, but little Johanna was not impressed. We had her in a stroller, but she put up quite a fuss until I found an Eeyore. She grabbed Eeyore ferociously and quieted down. That would be one of her favorite toys for some years.

From southern California, we drove towards Lubbock, Texas. I had borrowed a couple of books from Jenelle, one of which was The Client by John Grisham. From the moment I read the first page, I asked Maureen to drive, for I could not stop reading until I had finished the book. I have been reading Grisham ever since. Then, I took much extra time collecting counties in New Mexico, and so we did not arrive at the Lubbock community until 1 AM on December 15. 

We spent a couple of days at Lubbock, visiting with Maureen’s sisters, Lois and Jessica, as well as my sister, Frieda and Tim. Tim had been living in the community for some time. He demonstrated his love for Frieda by agreeing to live separately for a short time and to win her love again. Their marriage was fully restored, and they were together at this point in one of the homes in the community. 

We drove on, then, to Bowens Mill, arriving there on December 19. Maureen’s good friend from her youth, Alison (Meffin) Robeson, who now lived in Australia, was visiting at the Ridge. Maureen got to spend most of two days with her before Alison and her children flew back to Australia. They were like two girls again in the joy of one another’s company.

Back at Bowens Mill 
We spent the next several months at Bowens Mill. I will no longer go into the detail that I have thus far in this chapter. We had a good time while at Bowens Mill and visited with many whom we had known, both from Blueberry, from Brussels, and from Bowens Mill. 

All accommodations at the Ridge were full when we arrived. We had told Claude and Roberta we were coming before we left Oregon. They then arranged with the convention site and the fellowship in Dallas for us to use the Dallas cabin at the convention site. This was a cabin I had built in the early 80’s. It was much improved since then, with a full bathroom and kitchenette. We moved into this cabin on our second day at Bowens Mill.

This was the Lord’s kindness to us, because it allowed us to be involved with the different communities without obligation. The cabin was bare, but adequate. We made it our home for about two-and-a-half months. The center was the living area, kitchenette, bathroom, and on either side were rows of bunks curtained off into little “rooms.” We only needed one side for the four of us, so we closed off the other side and did not use it. The cabin had a large front porch and was surrounded by trees and quiet.

We were not alone, however, for there were several other homes on the convention site not far from us, but blocked from sight by the trees. 

I soon found paid employment, while Maureen often went to the Ridge with the children during the day. In January, Kyle began attending the kindergarten at the Bowens Mill School across the road where both Maureen and I had taught. We typically ate the evening meal at the Ridge with the family there. 

We took the opportunity to visit with many different people at the three communities, including friends Maureen had known while she was at school in Brussels. One of the families at Bowens Mill had started a coffee and lunch shop in Fitzgerald called Tony’s Just Coffee. It was a delightful place, in the rooms of a converted house. We often went there with different ones.

Michael Kuntz and Deborah Austin were married at Blueberry the first part of January. As part of their honeymoon, they came down to Atlanta where the Austin’s were from. Maureen, the children, and I went up to their wedding reception at Deborah’s grandma’s, the wealthy and “formidable” Mrs. Jean Austin. It was so good to connect with Michael and Deborah again. 

Soon after we arrived, I got work with Paul Weaver at his sawmill and wood business, just across the highway from the Ridge. Daryl Cobb worked with Paul as well. Paul had a nice bandsaw mill. I helped handle the logs going on and the boards coming off. I love watching a log turn into beautiful boards. 

I worked with Paul for less than two weeks. I must share one incident. Daryl Cobb was on the forklift with a load of wood intended to go into the kiln. I was standing at the back of the kiln while Daryll drove in with the load. Daryll was coming pretty fast only to discover that the machine had no brakes. His face was aghast. I saw the wall of boards coming straight at me. I judge such situations and react instantly. My judgment this time was that I could not go up and I could not go down. My only thought was that I would be crushed against the back wall.

And yet it stopped! An inch from my chest. From fast and unstoppable to – nothing. 

I have indeed known the grace and keeping power of God, in many more ways than one.

Then, before our trip to Buffalo, I got a job with Chris Hawkins from Family Farm, the son of George Hawkins with whom I had worked on the convention site years before, doing construction work in town. I will share more of that in a bit.

Immigration
Meanwhile, we had used our remaining money from the Rutledge’s generous gift to purchase plane tickets from Atlanta to Buffalo, New York. We left on a Saturday, driving up to the airport early. Kyle and Johanna stayed at the Ridge with their Grandpa and Grandma.  

It was winter upon our arrival in Buffalo. We found a Days Inn not far from the airport where we would stay through our time there. This was Saturday evening, but our immigration interview would not be until Tuesday and our return flight was on Wednesday. We had a quiet evening together on Saturday night. I remember our only choice for food nearby was an Arby’s; we have not eaten at Arby’s since. 

Sunday morning however, we wanted to attend a church service somewhere. I like different, as you have probably guessed by now. Leafing through the long list of churches in the yellow pages showed little that interested me, until I arrived at the title “The Church at Buffalo.” “Sound’s interesting,” I thought.

So, after calling the place to confirm our visit, Maureen and I took a cab there for the service. It was in a room in an office-building, and it was filled with Chinese people and a sprinkling of Europeans, but probably no more than fifty people in all. “Interesting,” we thought. The service was lively, but different. I was busy working my mind, trying to figure out what group this might be. Before the service was over, I had determined that it was a Witness Lee group. They were definitely believers in Jesus, regardless of their uniqueness. 

One of the elders of this group was a European man, married to a Chinese woman, Tony and Olivia Lyons. They introduced themselves to Maureen and I after the service and invited us over to their home for dinner. After dinner, we spent a couple of hours visiting with Tony and Olivia; it was a wonderful time. God’s people are unique, and they are found in every setting. Later that afternoon, Tony drove us back to our motel.

On Monday, Maureen and I bussed up to Niagara Falls. It was winter and the falls were ice. It’s a fantastic picture, totally different from the normal summer view of the falls. Then we walked across the bridge into Canada. Our visas were still current, though we were just going over for a couple of hours. We went up to the top of the Skylon tower, a circular restaurant overlooking the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. We decided to splurge and ordered their top quality salmon dinner. I have eaten a lot of potatoes, broccoli, and even salmon in my life, but we have never eaten anything as good. After our excursion, then, we took the bus back to our motel.

On Tuesday, January 28th, we bussed into downtown Buffalo to the Canadian consulate for our immigration interview scheduled for 9:30 AM. To me, being fifteen minutes early is “being unacceptably late,” so I’m sure we were there waiting an hour before. Our interview did not happen, however, until 11:15.

Our interviewer was a Canadian lady, probably in her mid-thirties, very professional. She went over part of our application with us, asking questions. She asked about Blair Valley and the people there. We were immigrating on the basis of our welcome at Blair Valley only, typically not enough, but our two children were Canadian, so that was a large factor. Her interest in the interview, however, seemed to be to know who Maureen and I were. It wasn’t long before she said to us, “Welcome to Canada.”

We left the Canadian consulate in a daze of joy and wonder. How could it be? We were immigrated to Canada. Only long after did I realize that she was assuming that we still lived in British Columbia, which was technically correct, for all our stuff was still there. I think she made her decision partly based on our long-term commitment to living in Canada.

Nonetheless, that was just the first part of a long process. She specified that we should wait until our next child was born to complete the process, which would then include a trip back down to the border at Aldergrove, BC, because the final step of immigration happens only when crossing the border. We were completely free, however, to live at Blair Valley until we got our final papers.

Our lives had become new again.

Grandma Susan
Just before our flight up to Buffalo, Maureen’s grandmother, Susan Jacobsen, had suffered a stroke and was taken to the hospital in Fitzgerald. She was ninety-four years old. Maureen’s mom, Sister Roberta, spent the first day and night in her room with her. Even while Maureen and I were flying up to Buffalo, Grandma Susan’s several sons and daughters were arriving or on their way. 

That evening, while we were back in our motel room, Sister Roberta called to say that Grandma Susan had left to be with Jesus. 

Several of Grandma Susan's daughters had been in the hospital room with her. These were godly women of great respect, in their fifties and sixties. I know Aunt Miriam and Aunt Irma were among them. They were singing praises with their mother. Then she closed her eyes to rest while they sang. Suddenly, Grandma Susan opened her eyes, looked up into the corner of the room, and with great joy on her face and arms lifted up, she said, “Jesus,” and left.

Though her body remained, it’s hard to say that she actually “died.”

Maureen and I did not arrive back at the Ridge until late Wednesday evening. By that time most of Roberta’s brothers and sisters had arrived. We got to visit with them for the next few days. There was sobriety, certainly, but no grief. Grandma Susan had walked with God her whole life, and all her children had grown up inside of the power of the Holy Spirit. This was, in fact, a time of joy.

On January 31, all of little Johanna’s great aunties held a wonderful birthday party for her. Jo was three years old; it was a celebration of joy.

Grandma Susan’s graveside service was on February 5; she was buried in the little cemetery at the edge of the Bowen’s Mill property, right down from the Ridge. That evening we had a memorial service for her at the Gathering Place, the three-farm community worship place at the convention site. Many shared, both family members and people of the community, for Grandma Susan had given a heritage of God to us all.

Building Walnut Cabinets 
Upon our return from Buffalo, I went back to work with Chris Hawkins. Chris was much like his dad, George (who had earlier passed on), very friendly and talkative, and good to work with. Chris did construction contract work, and he loved walnut on the side, walnut trees, logs, boards, and making things with walnut.

Chris had secured a large remodel job in the house of one of the wealthiest men in Fitzgerald. I don’t remember his name, but he made big bucks most every weekend running a large gun show around the southeast. He paid us cash, with which he was overflowing. The man was “new rich,” which meant he wanted the most extravagant home in Fitzgerald. But he wanted appearance more than value, so it was always a contest between his exhortation to slam it together and our desire to do quality work.

Chris had sold him his reserve pile of beautiful walnut boards to be used to build a fantastic office in the man’s basement, along with a secure show room for his guns. That was my part of the job, while Chris handled all the rest of the remodel work. Chris’s job was difficult, because the wife would say, “Do it this way,” which he did, only to have the husband come by and say, “No, do it this way,” which he did, only to – yes, on and on.

The office and show room were not in the wife’s domain, so I had to struggle only with the impetuosity of the man. Nonetheless, I made him a beautiful set of walnut cabinets for his office. I have included a picture of it, with Kyle and Johanna visiting with me.



I worked on this job all the way up until we left to return to Canada, the first week of April.

In the third week of February, we went to the Georgia coast with Claude and Roberta for an outing. While there, we visited St. Simon’s Island and walked with the children along the beach. 

Kyle had begun his guitar-playing career in kindergarten, and so we attended two performances of his class playing their little guitars.

On the first weekend in March, Maureen and I drove up to Atlanta with the children to spend the weekend with Peter and Patti Honsalek. Peter is Maureen’s cousin. He was doing well working as a house painter and running his own company. Peter had a house design software program on his computer, and so I spent a few happy hours drawing my thoughts for our home to be at Blair Valley while Maureen visited with Patti. Maureen and Patti had lived together with Grandma Susan when I first moved to the Ridge.

We spent several hours at Stone Mountain, just outside of Atlanta. We took the gondola ride to the top and then hiked down the rock mountain back to our cars. It was a memorable experience. That evening we watched our first John Grisham movie, The Client, which story I had just read. This was the second edge-of-your-seat experience in my enjoyment of Grisham from then until now.

An Intense Study 
Even though I have not always mentioned my continual relationship with the Bible. my intense study that I might know what God actually says in His Word had not slowed down. I continued writing verses and chapters and books and reading from cover to cover around once each year. 

My strength was continuing to abate. At this point in my life, working a forty-hour work week was all I could do. If I were to survive at the job, I could not do anything physical in addition. This was a bit distressing for Maureen, since the only way I could earn money was to rest through all the non-work hours. 

So, through February and March, sitting in our bare cabin on evenings and weekends, I hammered away at my electronic typewriter in my pursuit of knowing what God says.

The big question for me was – What is God’s order for His church, according to the New Testament? 

I begin at Matthew, turning page after page, and typing out every verse that was any kind of command or instruction. For my first time through, everything was ordered by the books of the New Testament. This was not sufficient to give understanding, however, and so I set myself to retype all those verses a second time using the printed out pages as my study reference.

And so I organized all the New Testament commandments into categories. One category was commandments to be righteous, another was those to love, a third was the “follow Me,” commandments, a forth was “give thanks – do not be afraid,” and so on. I spent many fulfilling hours on this task, and I still have that second set of pages in my file cabinet. 

In this process, however, I discovered a specific set of New Testament commandments that required their own category, for they were fantastically different from all other gospel commandments – and that is the “Be Just Like God” category. And inside that category of commandments to us as believers in Jesus to be just like God was a New Testament verse that I had never noticed before or heard preached on in my life, a verse that fitted itself into my heart in this incredible exercise God was pressing me through, that of changing my definition of God.

Receive one another in exactly the same way that Jesus receives you (Romans 15:7).

Granted, I still was defining so many New Testament things by the Calvinist definitions preached by Buddy Cobb. Nonetheless this verse lodged itself in my heart. I did not know what it meant or where it fit, but I knew that it spoke of something not found in any definitions of Christianity I had known up until then, something that sang inside the desire of my heart to know God and to walk with a people who know God.

Bowens Mill Convention 
Because of the upcoming convention, the Dallas fellowship needed to have their cabin free so that it could be prepared for their use during the convention. For that reason, Maureen and I, with Kyle and Johanna, moved over to the Ridge, to Grandma Susan’s now empty airstream trailer, about ten days before the convention. 

This year the “April” convention was to be at the end of March. Glenn and Kim Yordy, with their children, came down from Meadowlands over a week before the convention in order to spend time with us and to visit the communities in Georgia. Glenn, who is also a builder, went to work with me for a few days, to help with the remodel job. 

A couple of days before the convention, Tim and Frieda Louden arrived from Lubbock. It was a mini Yordy reunion, though mom had not come.

The convention ran from March 26-30, ending on Easter Sunday (which we made no note of, as was the custom in that fellowship). It was a regular convention, filled with mighty praise services and much preaching of anointed word.

About midway through the convention, Brother Ernest Watkins got up to share a word. In his word, he gave an illustration of a mafia story he had read. 

A young man had grown up in the mafia and now wanted to take his place as a crime boss. The older men agreed, but on a condition. They asked him to fly to St. Louis to take care of a small “job.” At the airport in St. Louis, however, the young man was seized by federal agents and spent a few years in prison. When he was released, he came back to New York.

The young man sat down with the men who had sent him to St. Louis. They all put their guns on the table. He asked them, “What went wrong? What did I do that got me caught?”

They replied, “We were the ones that informed the FBI.” As he reached for his gun, they asked, “Do you want to know why?”

“You see, you were asking for a place of trust among us. We could not give it to you until we knew that you would never speak of our affairs to the police. You did not; you passed the test. Now, before you shoot anyone, tell us, which nightclub or casino would you like to run as your own. We now know that we can trust you.”

Brother Ernest’s point was that sometimes we think that what is happening to us means one thing, when all along, what God was doing in our hearts was something entirely different.

At this point, in the anointing of the Holy Spirit, all my failure at Blueberry and in the eldership came up before me. And in that moment, I heard the words, not in my mind from Brother Ernest’s illustration, but in my spirit from my Father. – “Son, you passed the test.”

And in that moment, I knew that what God meant was that regardless of all my failure or the shortcomings of anyone else, I had justified God and found Him right and true, and I had not blamed others or myself.

From then on, the importance of this moment in my life has grown in my understanding. The first thing that it did in me at that time was the realization that God is different from what I had understood Him to be and from what I had heard tell of Him, and that God’s purposes are not the same thing as what has been preached.

I lived in a theology that claimed that to “please God,” we had to hear Him speak and to be sure to obey. “Pleasing God” was entirely inside the arena of outward performance. In that arena, I had failed and continue to fail completely.

But my Father’s words to me opened my understanding to the fact that what God is after is the heart as His dwelling place, and that He must remove contempt from our hearts before He could ever show Himself to us.

In writing this account, I have realized the connection of this twelve-year arc, from the April convention of 1985, to the March convention of 1997, sitting in the same part of the Bowens Mill Tabernacle. At the beginning, the issue was John Hinson, at the end it was John Clarke. 

Would I find fault with them or would I justify God and find Him right and true in all things? This is the proof of Christ.

Now, let me carefully define what I mean by “the proof of Christ.” I don’t mean me; I mean Jesus. It is Jesus who proves Himself in me to the Father. It was Jesus, my only life, all the way through. It was He alone, inside my heart, who caused me to be what the Father desired.

I could never have known, and if I had known, I certainly could never have done.

Christ Jesus is my life; I have no other life.

On Sunday, Maureen and I sat down with the Father ministry to share with them our intention to return to Blair Valley. Again, it was Buddy Cobb, Joe McCord, John Clarke, Tom Rowe, and Bill Grier, all of whom we knew well. They blessed us in our going. I asked about my position of walking as an elder. They assured us that they knew of no reason why that would not continue. Brother Buddy stated that it would be the life and blessing in the community at Blair Valley that would affirm my being set in as an elder.

That afternoon, Maureen and I, Tim and Frieda, Glenn and Kim, and all our children went to Shoney’s in Fitzgerald to enjoy their buffet. They would return to their homes on Monday.

Returning to Blair Valley 
Through the next two days, we packed our things and said our “Goodbyes.” On Monday afternoon, Michael and Deborah Kuntz came by to visit with us. On Tuesday, the family at the Ridge put on a “going away” celebration for us.

We left Bowens Mill on April 2, heading north. It was springtime in the south, with flowers blossoming everywhere. We stopped at Chickamauga, near Chattanooga, Tennessee. I wanted to tour the battle site and Lookout Mountain. 

At that point, however, Maureen began to experience some difficulties with her pregnancy. We spoke on the phone with a sister at the New Covenant community who was a medical doctor. With her advice, we decided that Maureen should not continue on this trip in the car. We spent the night in a motel there in Tennessee. While Maureen rested in the motel room the next morning, I took the children on a tour of the battlefield. Then we drove back down to Bowens Mill.

The next day, Maureen saw a doctor in town and received an ultrasound. Little Katrina was just fine. The physical stress of sitting in a moving car, however, was not a good idea. 

So – Maureen decided to stay at the Ridge with Johanna and her parents while Kyle and I drove up to Blair Valley, to prepare a place for her. They would fly up to Edmonton together in May when Maureen was feeling stronger.

So, on April 5, Kyle and I headed north again. This was a special time of several weeks to spend with my son, in both the long drive up to Blair Valley and then working on our home together, getting it ready for the girls to come up. Kyle was five, and would be six in August. He was a very aware little boy and remembers all these things well.

But, hey, I was behind the wheel of a car, with many days of no obligation, just me and my boy, so we did a zig-zag route on our long trip north. I had been enthralled with Simon Kenton’s story in the opening up of Kentucky and Ohio, so it was Kentucky where we did the most zig-zagging. 

First, we hiked through Mammoth Cave. I did not find it as impressive as Carlsbad Caverns because it was just a large rocky “hole” with no limestone formation. Then we went to Boonsboro, the site of Davy Crockett’s fort. Both of us were really impressed with this fort. It was like a community, with the wall around it, and various village craft workshops against that wall all the way around, all of them facing the interior plaza. I still hold that concept in my mind for one part of a “teaching community.”

Then, after driving through Simon Kenton’s part of Kentucky, we ended up at Abraham Lincoln’s birth place. Kyle and I walked the path through the woods to see the little log cabin where Lincoln was born. At this point, I still believed the tales I had been taught all my life. As I tried to explain to Kyle what it all “meant,” I teared up and could not speak. A great sense of worship arose inside of me, as great as anything I had known in an anointed worship service.

I was appalled, and I began to ponder what on earth that meant. It would be about three or four years, yet, before I learned of the falseness of the Lincoln cult, who is the “patron saint” of “God bless America.” But having experienced the power of the demonic that rules the entirety of that dark religious cult, I was backing swiftly away from it.

We headed on north, then, in a reasonably straight path to Meadowlands to see Mom. By Indianapolis, the ground was dusted with snow. This was a fascinating study, because Spring was past at Bowens Mill when we left, and as we drove north to Minnesota, we went back through the opening of springtime, bit by bit, all the way to full winter in Duluth. We stopped in Madison, Wisconsin and explored the state capitol there. It was a beautiful and impressive building.

We arrived at the Meadowlands community, less than an hour’s drive north of Duluth, Minnesota. At this time it was a vibrant community. The lead elders were Mark and Cindy Alesch. Mom had her own trailer, a single wide, just across from the Tabernacle. Kyle and I stayed in her trailer for the three days we were there. The community was not large, maybe thirty to forty people in all, so, even though Glenn and Kim’s trailer was on the other side of the building area, it was just a short walk.

I was so pleased. As we sat in the dining room and watched the flow of the family together, I saw my mother honored by all as the grandmother and matron of the community. I was especially thrilled to see how Cindy Alesch blessed mom as well as Glenn and Kim’s children. They had come to the right place. 

I realize now that my difficulty with my mother was only when she was trying to live “with me.” Every time I visited her, including this time, we spent long hours sharing together in good conversation and in the fellowship of Christ.

I realize now, maybe for the first time, how much I miss my mom. I think that’s a good thing to realize. Sometimes we take mothers for granted, or at least I did.

Meanwhile, we were in communication with Maureen by phone several times. She was missing us, but feeling better. She had obtained plane tickets for their flight up in May.

On April 12, Kyle and I crossed the border into Canada. We were headed straight across the diagonal to Edmonton, and then on to Blair Valley.