He plowed through the front door, white board in hand. He dumped dry erase markers on my freshly set dining room table and chose one to scratch out his plans for our community. He chose black.
I set out placec mats and watch him scratch out letters and circles and arrows and more letters. I turn and see the map of our city hanging from the china cabinet and I stare at the circles and numbers and dashes covering the city we feel called to love…and reach.
For a moment, my mind flashes back to Parent Leadership Board meetings in Treetop room 112, and I see my husband in front of that old white board and I have so missed that man.
I have missed that man who stood, with marker in hand, and cast vision for change and people followed. I have missed his detailed agendas and his arms flying over a room and his zeal for breaking new ground.
I stand at the oven and slice fresh bread and my fingers tremble, ever so slightly, as my mind runs away with the hope for just a glimpse of the man that I would follow all over God’s green earth. (I came back to Rocky Mount, didn’t I? Didn’t I??!)
The front door opens, and opens again, as each of our fellow church planters and their wives arrive.
I greet each couple from the kitchen as I serve hot bread and pasta. My partner in ministry serves sweet tea and diet coke and I know this task distracts him from his urge to draw more circles and dream bigger dreams.
I quietly hope he draws a few more circles on that map that hangs from my china cabinet. I need a few more circles, tonight. A few more arrows wouldn’t hurt either.
I serve my kids dinner on the floor in the kitchen and in my own zealous desire to see their daddy in front of a white board, I usher them upstairs to be a little wild and crazy as long as they are quiet about it. Am I a tad bit crazy, myself? Who tells their kids to be quiet and wild and crazy at the same time?
I take my place at the end of the table and pick at my pasta.
My love stands at the head of the table and waves his arms and bites the end of his pen. He draws more arrows and I smile on the outside. He speaks of the valleys and the crazy things people do when they are in the desert. He makes his case for prayer warriors and in the way that only he can, he tells his volunteer team he will fire them in 30 days if they don’t enlist a committed prayer team. I didn’t know a volunteer staff could be fired. But I do now.
After 9 months, we know full well that breaking new ground invites the attack of the enemy and our church planters need a prayer team. We are aiming to set up camp in the enemy’s backyard and push back is coming.
“Be ready,” he tells them. With heads bowed over paper, pens feverishly scrawl out names of prayer warriors.
As our team scribbles on paper, my husband bares his heart and I hear emotion in each word spoken. He tells the stories of how each team member was added. He retraces the fingerprints of God and we all sit in awe as we remember.
It is so easy to forget the movement of God when there is a sandstorm blowing in the desert.
My husband and I know this to be true and so he tells the stories to help us remember.
We sit in quiet amazement of what the Lord has done in our hearts in 9 short months. Wives rub the shoulders of their husbands and unspoken words are exchanged.
The group begins to gather their things and the front door swings open again as each family says goodnight.
I look across the room at this man that the Lord has given to me and I know for certain that I would follow him anywhere.
And on a side note, he sure looks good in front of a white board. No matter how small that white board may be.