Missions Conference, Roughing it

Our church is having Mission’s Conference this week. Mama and I knew it would be a difficult week for me with every night being a late night. At our church we never get in a hurry so I expect to be home between 9 and 10 pm each evening. After the service tonight we are scheduled to eat with the missionaries. That’s right, after church. I do not plan to participate because I have to get to bed as soon as I can after we get home and the last thing I need is a belly full of food.


The speaker, Adam Thompson, is delightful. His message was not in the strict outline form most of us are used to but rather a progression of thought to a conclusion drawn from scripture. His stories and illustrations were hilarious and the conclusions he drew in closing were powerful. The thesis was close to my heart; there is only one way to invest money with a truly eternal value and that is mission’s giving.

Every service leading up to this conference the pastor has had one person or couples who faithfully give to Faith Promise get up and give a testimony about why they are giving to missions. When Mama and I gave our short story one of the things I said is that the only checks that I write out through the month that has any real value to God are the one for our giving to missions. That is something Mama and I will wrestle to find as we plan out move to Bowie; a church doing a work for missions.

Grandpa and Grandma are planning on going to the farm this Saturday and stay as long as they can by using the house as best as possible for temporary shelter. Mama is totally grossed out by the idea, but I have been expecting it. The idea is not nearly as unappealing to me. In fact, it seems like a workable plan. We are looking at buying a generator to make it more comfortable while Grandpa investigates the electrical service in the house. I want it checked out pretty well before we petition to get the power tuned back on.

No power, no water, no secure door. It will be like primitive camping – which never suited Mama’s tastes. But someone has to do it eventually. I remember living in our house in Chappell Hill before there was running water in the house, bathing in a wash tub, using the outhouse, cooking on a two burner hot plate. I always thought it was fun. I struggle to recall if any of my siblings had as much fun with it as I did, but none of them had invested the hours that I had working with my Dad to get the house to the point where we could do the overnight stays.

Unlike those times, when my Dad worked 60 – 70 hours per week, Grandpa and Grandma do not have much of anything to do here in Amarillo and the driving purpose of getting the farm was to get Grandpa back to work on things he loves. To me it makes good sense to get started as soon as possible doing the things we are able to do.

Lately I have started to worry as I have gone over to visit and have heard reports on every neighbor up and down the block; how many trips they made to the car to get groceries (and people say we are in a recession), how they cannot control their dogs on their morning walks (People like that shouldn’t own dogs.), how one laid fresh sod over dead sod in his yard (the idiot), how many times one went in and out of the driveway – after all don’t they know gas is expensive and shouldn’t be wasted? Shades of Marie French; a nosey neighbor we had in West Virginia.

At least working on the farm house is more productive than watching their neighbors through their front window.