commencement – Jerry Lout ⚬ Writer ⚬ Speaker ⚬ Mobilizer

Any novice square dance student just learning the “grab-your-partner and do-si-do” moves is soon paying attention to distance and space. The night of Bear Trap’s special hoedown witnessed one couple stagger backward and break into laughter after conking heads at the “now bow to your partner” call.

Our return to Tulsa from the Colorado Rockies found our team and volunteers shifting gears as Spring Semester was soon to launch. Brisk January days shocked the system of some students – especially those transitioning from the equatorial climates of their homelands. It meant shedding their ultralight sweaters in exchange for garments more suited to our Oklahoma winds sweeping down the plains.

Most students in the coming days discovered the need of having their own vehicle. But many had never driven. ISM volunteers and staff stayed busy, both pursuing reliable cars that may correspond to a student’s thin budget and the considerable courage demanded in coaching the new owner to drive!

Travelers over the world know that streets and thoroughfares are hazardous places, especially at times when adrenaline runs high.

Yingli was set to graduate. The commencement ceremony would begin in an hour. Cap and gown in hand, she rushed to cross the street en route to the venue where crowds had already gathered. Yingli missed spotting the oncoming car until the last second. She immediately halted but not soon enough to avoid the tire crushing her foot. Though Good Samaritans rushed to her aid, her fractured bones waylaid any hopes for the near future to ‘walk’ for her diploma.

Our friends were quick to locate her at the hospital. Comforted through the trauma by their presence and prayers, she settled into the long season of recovery – several weeks of it back in her homeland. Afterwards, again in America while advancing her academic pursuits, she entrusted her life to Christ.

Yingdi’s smile shone with humble radiance throughout those subsequent weeks, then into coming years. She had embarked on a new journey, along another kind of thoroughfare; a passageway like no other.*

“SO, this is the man with the black heart!”

It was my first time receiving such a greeting – from anyone – much less a distinguished organizational head.
Wednesday chapel ended, the guest speaker had found his way from the platform to the early row of students gathering up their textbooks.

Stepping before me he had seized my shoulders and studied my face for every bit of two seconds. Before I could respond to his “black heart” salutation Carlton Spencer took me in a bear hug. He thumped my back as though he’d run into an old friend from the past. A rich shock of silver-white hair complimented his mouthful of gleaming teeth. Carlton Spencer. Instantly I liked him, this Elim Missionary Assemblies president.

Black heart. . .

Ann and I had already agreed to seek out an Africa-focused agency. While IBC did champion missions, its out-of-country vision centered on Far East lands and on Mexico – an obvious short hop from this Alamo City. Indeed, a long weekend in our third year of college had found us and fellow students dust-laden and mesmerized – immersed in Spanish-language culture – the school’s traditional Easter outreach south of the border.

We had also found the Lord refining our focus within the African continent – stirring us much toward her eastern regions – Uganda and Kenya. Elim Missionary Assemblies had pioneered there, starting in the 1930s.

Welcomed by Rev. Spencer to visit Lima, New York as missionary candidates, we detected our stride toward Africa picking up pace. My Bible College commencement had come and gone and Ann was now a certified LPN.

With a letter from David Coote recommending us to a few pastors we hoped could get behind our vision, we set out. Painfully conscious of my inexperience in fund-raising, I was both sobered and assured. Our dependency must be in one supremely wiser than ourselves.

Seated in our freshly-loaded Pontiac, Ann and I faced each other. Excited. Nervous. Joining our hands we prayed. I slid the key into the ignition.

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En Route

Black Heart