Notes From My Journey

1985

Now for a quick leap forward from last week’s story (The Funeral – 1978) to an experience in late 1985, after we’d been living in Linstead for a year; pastoring Bread of Life Church, and training leaders! Don’t get whiplash from the time travel! I’m trying to keep these stories more or less chronological, but we get to talking and remembering stuff that happened and it’s like: “We can’t leave that one out!”, so here’s this:

In the 60’s and 70’s, Jamaica had come under the influence of Cuba and the USSR to a significant degree and the socialist party, the People’s National Party was leading the country. The US was much less an influence at that time. Then, in the 80’s, as the USSR sort of lost momentum and influence, more missionaries came into Jamaica, more interaction with the US began to develop, and the Jamaica Labor Party gained popularity and strength. Jamaica had a JLP Prime Minister (Edward Seaga) and government for the first time in a while.

When we moved to Linstead, St Catherine, in 1984 there was still a significant amount of tension between the JLP and its supporters and the PNP and its supporters. In fact, the PNP boycotted the 1983 general election, and there was a significant amount of tension and more than a little political violence. Strikes took place across the country over a range of issues from the price of fuel, to workers’ pay, to government spending cuts, and because Linstead is located on the primary north-south highway across Jamaica, we saw our share of strike activity.

When strikes occurred, they often involved blocking streets, roads, and highways with vehicles and piles of old tires and, inevitably, those vehicles and tires would be set afire and then police and military would arrive eventually and attempt to clear the blockades and break up the gatherings. Stones would be thrown, bottles of flaming gasoline would be tossed, and before long bullets would fly. When this happened in the neighborhood, it was wise for white foreign people to stay home and stay out of sight!

The Bread of Life Ministries property where the church was located and where we lived was right at a complex intersection of King Street, the main thoroughfare through Linstead, the north-south highway, the road to the village of Time and Patience, and the railroad. So this spot was a common target of strike blockade activity and we quickly learned when to lay low!

The current strike had been going on for a few days and we were running low on groceries, so our friend Andy came to the compound in his juice delivery van and picked us up to go into town to the grocery store. Relatives of our local church leaders had a store in Linstead and they had set aside some rice and flour, tins of corned beef, and some other things for us.

So Jean and I got in the back of Andy’s van and he covered us with a couple of blankets. Then Andy and his helper drove through the blockade of burning tires at the intersection, parked in the alley behind Azan’s Supermarket, and waited while we went inside for coffee with Adib and Maria and picked up our groceries. Then we got back in the back of the van, and crawled under the blankets. Andy ran the gauntlet back to our home at Bread of Life and delivered us and our groceries safe and sound! So, as you can see, getting groceries delivered from the supermarket has been around for a while. It’s not just a COVID-era development.

Our “under cover missionaries” experience happened when we were forty-two years old. It didn’t really seem all that dramatic at the time. Now, at age eighty-two it would probably seem really scary! And at this age it’s hard enough getting in and out of the car, much less climbing into the back of a van and lying down on the floor!

As always, I’d love to hear from you. You can simply reply to this email or if you’re reading this on the website, just leave a comment.

Grace to you today, Jim Stephens

1978

Soon after the Miracle on the Rio Cobre incident, in fact, just two days later, I officiated at my first Jamaican funeral. As Borge Langerud, the missionary, was preparing to leave for Canada (leaving us in charge of the entire missions organization and the church for a month) he said, “Oh, by the way, you’ve got a funeral to do in a couple of days. But it’s no problem, Brother Hamilton will show you what needs to be done.” And then we drove him and his wife to Kingston’s Norman Manley Airport and they flew away!

Early on the morning of the funeral, Brother Hamilton (one of the church elders at the Ewarton Gospel Lighthouse Church) showed up at the mission house and said, “It’s time to get started!”

Here’s how it played out…

We took the truck (A 1968 three-quarter-ton Chevy pickup, with a canopy on the back), and went to the the coffin maker’s shop to pick up the coffin (Which was made of local wood, covered in lavender fabric, had a glass viewing window in the lid, silver-colored hardware, and was almost, but not quite finished). When the coffin was ready, we loaded it and the coffin maker and his two assistants into the truck and drove to the hospital in Linstead (five miles away) to pick up the body of the departed.

When we arrived at hospital, we went directly to the morgue, a tomb-like (I know, right?) concrete room at the back of the hospital. The morgue had a steel shelf all around the walls, and because the refrigeration was broken, the steel shelf contained ten or more corpses in canvas bags with tags on the toes protruding from the bags. Blocks of ice were placed strategically.

The body of the woman whose funeral I was to officiate in a couple of hours was lying on an elevated slab in the center of the room. We had to wait while the woman’s daughters dressed her in her burial dress. When that was done, we brought the coffin on a gurney to the side of the slab and shifted her body off the slab into the coffin.

At that point we discovered that the coffin lid wouldn’t close because the woman’s body was more “portly” than the coffin was constructed to contain. The coffin maker complained that the woman was too fat. I observed that it would have been good to check on her size before building the coffin. But what do I know? I’ve never built a coffin!

Imagine four men, Brother Hamilton, myself, the coffin maker, and the coffin maker’s assistant, pressing down on the coffin lid while trying to tighten the four screws to secure the lid. Imagine the sound of the hammer pounding some nails into the lid to help take the strain. Imagine the cracking sound when the glass viewing window (see above) broke under the pressure. There was some discussion in English and Jamaican Patois about whose fault it was and what to do next. We decided to cover the woman’s face with absorbent material we found on a shelf and make it a closed casket service!

We wheeled the casket on the gurney out to the loading ramp and backed the truck as far as we could down the ramp. Now picture those four men, two of whom (In this case, not Brother Hamilton and me) were somewhat inebriated because they’d been drinking Overproof Rum all morning, pushing the gurney up to the back of the pickup on a slight incline and sliding the casket off the gurney into the truck bed. Picture the man holding the gurney on the sloped ramp losing his grip on it and the gurney starting to roll down the slope just as the casket was half on the truck and half still on the gurney! Picture the two sober men (Brother Hamilton and me) scrambling to catch the casket and heaving it far enough into the truck bed that it didn’t fall to the ground and explode! We couldn’t put the tail gate up, so the two assistants rode in the back of the truck to hold the casket from sliding out.

We uneventfully drove the five miles to the Gospel Lighthouse Church in Ewarton, backed the truck up to the front door, and six strong men carried the casket to the front of the sanctuary, just below the pulpit, and set it on two wooden chairs placed to the sides facing each other. Whew! We made it!

The church was filling up, I was rumpled (I’d been wearing the suit in which I was to conduct the service through all the activities I’ve described here) and sweaty. I sat alone on the three-foot high platform and tried to look ministerial and get myself prepared to “officiate”!

The service began. I was the Master of Ceremonies, the officiating minister, and the visiting pastor from overseas. Brother Hamilton coached me as things trundled along. We sang songs, the eulogy was read, the service was moving along, and it was almost time for me to speak. I think this is going to work!

We had decided that, due to the things that had happened at the morgue while securing the lid of the coffin (see “viewing window glass breaking” above), it would be a closed casket service. Suddenly the town drunk stumbled in through the open door, staggered down the aisle to the coffin and threw open the “viewing window”! Much to my relief the absorbent material had absorbed as we had hoped and overall, it didn’t look too bad! Then the entire congregation got up and rushed in a more or less disorderly manner to the front and viewed the body. We sang another song.

Then I preached the funeral sermon. I have no idea what I preached about. It was probably about life and death and heaven and hell and God and Jesus. But we got it done and prayers were said, and I had the folks stand. Brother Hamilton organized the men to carry the casket to the truck, I dismissed the congregation, and we were off to the cemetery!

When we reached the cemetery, about half a mile away, we found the grave dug and ready for its inhabitant. Inside the grave was a concrete vault, poured in place and open on top. The casket would be lowered into the vault by the bearers. They brought the casket from the truck, which had nearly burned out its clutch on the steep pull up the hill, and we prepared for the final interment.

As it turns out, no one had brought any rope for lowering the casket into the vault! Was I was supposed to have done that? I sent people in all directions to find some rope while we sang hymns on the cemetery hillside. Within a song or two we had pieces of rope which we tied into two sections, ran the ropes under the casket, then lifted the casket (eight strong men at this point, two on each end of each rope) and carefully lowered the it into the grave. When it was down and safely settled, we couldn’t get the ropes out! We couldn’t leave them, they were borrowed! So the smaller of the two coffin maker assistants crawled down into the grave, lifted the coffin, first one end, then the other, and we retrieved the ropes.

I said what I hope were the appropriate “laying to rest” words. Then the coffin maker’s assistants brought split bamboo, straw, large tropical looking leaves of some sort and actually mixed and poured in place, a concrete cover for the grave. That took almost an hour. We continued to sing songs.

The crowd of nearly a hundred mourners began to drift away and eventually the grave was sealed, the people were gone, and my first Jamaican funeral was in the books.

A funeral is one of the important passages in life. It’s serious and sobering—a time for reflection. But this one had its moments! On the plus side, I’ve never been particularly stressed by funeral ministry since that day.

And that’s what I remember about that!

As always I’d love to hear from you… You can comment by replying to this email or in the comment section on my blog page.

Grace to you today! Jim Stephens

Jim Stephens

In the mid and late 80’s Jean and I lived in Kingston, Jamaica. We had moved to Jamaica in the early 80’s to pastor a church planted by missionaries in the market town of Linstead in St Catherine parish. We set Jamaican leadership in the church in 1985 and moved to Kingston to work with a Jamaican Ministry called Whole Life Ministries to begin a Bible Training Centre to provide interdenominational lay leadership training. There was nothing like that available in the country at the time.

We joined the Jamaica Association of Full Gospel Churches, a fellowship organization that included pastors and leaders from over thirty denominations and groups of churches. The primary contact point was a monthly pastors meeting for fellowship, mutual support and encouragement, and occasional joint outreach meetings, projects, and joint statements to press and government about issues affecting the churches.

Jean and I stood out a bit because we were the only white members of the group! Jean became the Secretary Treasurer and while I didn’t hold an office, I spoke devotionally in the meetings, spoke into issues at hand, and ministered in a significant number of the member churches on weekends.

I remember a time when one of our member pastors, Herro Blair, who pastored the largest Pentecostal Church in Jamaica at the time, was under attack in the national press over some issue. We had discussed the things that were being said about him and prayed for him for wisdom and courage to handle it wisely and well. As we prayed, I had a mental picture of Herro walking up a hill along a residential street in Kingston. As he walked along, dogs came running to the gates of their yards barking fiercely at him. Some of the dogs got out into the street and ran after him, yapping and barking, but not physically attacking him. He picked up some rocks from the street and turned to throw them at the dogs to drive them back. Then I heard, “Don’t stop to stone the Devil’s dogs!”

After the prayer time finished, I shared this with Pastor Blair along with the thought that if you stop to throw rocks at all the barking dogs along the way, you’ll never get where you’re going.

This experience came back to me as I’ve been thinking about those early days in Kingston after our move from Linstead. I remember talking with my friend Steve Mickel about this experience. We were talking about how to respond to accusations and critics both from inside and outside the church. It’s hard to know what needs to be corrected and what needs to be ignored!

Here’s a couple of other things I came across as I was thinking about this:

• • Nehemiah 6:1-14 Tells of Nehemiah’s response when his opponents tried to distract him from the work he had been given. In verse 3 Nehemiah said, “I am doing a great work! I cannot stop to come and meet with you!”
  • “Do not flinch because the lion roars; do not stop to stone the devil’s dogs; do not fool away your time chasing the devil’s rabbits. Do your work. Let liars lie, let sectarians quarrel, let critics malign, let enemies accuse, let the devil do his worst; but see to it nothing hinders you from fulfilling with joy the work God has given you.”
  • “You will never reach your destination if you stop and throw stones at every dog that barks.” – Winston Churchill.

I thought some of my readers might be facing challenges and criticisms and distractions these days, and the message still rings true! We’ll never get where we’re headed if we stop to stone the devil’s dogs!

As always, I’d love to hear from you… You can reply to the email or comment on the blog page!

Another Jamaica story next week!

Grace to you, Jim Stephens

Melissa and the Pink Prison
Immaculate Conception High School
January 1985

Two weeks ago was Stephanie’s Story about the special school God allowed her to start in Linstead, St Catherine, Jamaica soon after we moved there as missionary pastors of Bread of Life Church in 1984. Last week I told about my experience doing “Devotions at Dinthill” and how God used that experience to bless in so many ways. This week is another School Story: How God provided for Melissa’s education from eighth grade through high school at Immaculate Conception High School in Kingston, Jamaica. ICHS remains to this day one of the top Secondary Schools not only in Jamaica, but across the Caribbean.

Here’s Melissa to tell her story:

Our family made the decision to move to Jamaica when I was in seventh grade at Hedrick Junior High, in Medford, Oregon. I had an amazing Social Studies teacher, Mr. Perkins, who I told about our move, and he let me do a self-guided project for the last semester of my seventh grade year that involved learning all I could about Jamaica and doing a presentation about it. I spent my social study periods in the library researching – can you say Encyclopedia Britannica? Google didn’t exist! I was so excited for an adventure!

It was great preparation for me as we prepared for our move to Jamaica. Sidenote: I kept in touch with Mr. Perkins for years, into my adult years, but by the time I returned to the states and moved to Bend, Oregon, we had lost touch. Imagine my surprise, when I was leaving the post office one day, and I saw him standing in line! He had retired from teaching and moved to Central Oregon. It was amazing to reconnect.

That Summer we headed across the US to Springfield, Missouri to set up a base before our move to Jamaica. The process took longer than we expected which meant that I had to sign up for school in Springfield. I was ready to get to Jamaica! I spent a month or so at Pipkin Junior High, and I wasn’t thrilled. I also had to ride the bus for the first time in my life instead of walking to school and it was a bit scary – I even missed the bus on my first day, because I didn’t understand how it worked. Little did I know that a school bus would soon be a big part of my school life! I turned 13 shortly before we made the move to Jamaica.

We moved to Linstead, St Catherine, Jamaica in October and spent some time getting the lay of the land and figuring things out. That meant that for a while I was “homeschooled” which meant Mom and Dad gave me math problems to work on, and some reading to do.

We needed to find a school for me, but it was a whole new world, and a whole new school system and way of doing things. The leaders that Mom and Dad were working with at the church in Linstead had a sister-in-law who had been the assistant to the headmistress at a school in Kingston. We didn’t know much about it, but heard that it was a good school. It was an all-girls, catholic school, but it was a public school. Our friends were able to get us an interview with the headmistress, so we thought we’d give it a shot. We arrived at Immaculate Conception High School – a beautiful campus with pink buildings, gorgeous grounds, and an amazing garden in the middle. We were shown into the office of Sister Maureen Claire, and I, for one, was immediately intimidated. She was a formidable woman in a Franciscan habit.

She told us a bit about the school, but focused on the fact that there were waiting lists to get in, it was the middle of the year, and they didn’t have space for me! Mom and Dad shared our story, and what we were doing in the country. Then there was a general sense that it was time for us to go. But something happened and the next thing we knew, she was telling us where we needed to go to pick up uniforms, what time I needed to arrive the following Monday, and what the dress code was (uniform – white shirt, white skirt, blue tie, brown shoes and socks, no makeup, no jewelry, and only brown, white or blue hair ties and barretts). As we were walking out the door, we were all a little in shock as we mumbled our thanks!

Then it was a mad dash around Kingston to get uniforms – the everyday uniform, plus PE clothes, a swimming costume and swimming cap, and appropriate shoes. Not only that, we had to figure out how I was going to get from Linstead to Kingston (about an hour drive by car) five days a week.

The school had a boarding house down the road a ways from the school, so that was our first solution. My parents would take me there on Sundays and pick me up on Friday afternoons. At first, I was excited about it. It was like something out of a book – a girl attending boarding school in another country. Reality set in quickly though, and neither my parents nor I enjoyed it. We were soon looking for an alternate solution.

There was a woman named Valda in the church, whose husband, Stedman, drove a juice delivery van from the Trade Winds Citrus production plant in Bog Walk, St Catherine, near Linstead, to Kingston every weekday. He offered to take me in the delivery van, drop me off at school and pick me up and bring me home. That involved him backtracking a bit to Linstead to pick me up.

So began my juice van adventures. I would sit on an upturned juice crate in the front of the van between Stedman and his helper. We would drive through the countryside and cross the Rio Cobre Flat Bridge. If the river was flooded, then we’d have to go the long way through Spanish Town. It was an hour’s journey. I got to hear a lot of Jamaican music in that van, and grew to love reggae and dancehall music. I also quickly learned to understand Jamaican patois. It was quite the sight – a young, white girl sitting between two big black men in a juice delivery van – all singing along to We Are The World. They really looked after me and I always felt so safe!

Meanwhile, we learned that there was a bus that the Alcan Aluminium Company ran for students from our area who attended ICHS. Someone put us in touch with them and we were placed on a waitlist for when space might open up. I don’t remember how long it was until a seat opened up, but one eventually did and for the rest of the time we lived in Linstead, that bus would pick me up and drop me off at the end of our driveway. I made some really good friends on that bus, including friends I am still in touch with today. We shared a lot of experiences and laughs on that bus. Then when we moved to Kingston, Dad dropped me off and picked me up from school every day.

How all those connections and opportunities came about kind of felt like magic – we didn’t chase them down, but through relationships I ended up at one of the top high schools in the Caribbean, on a campus that was once a hotel and resort. It wasn’t something we were aware of when I started school there, but we soon learned what an amazing gift we had been given for me to attend school at ICHS! Parents enroll their daughters in ICHS almost as soon as they’re born – that’s how good the school is and how long the waiting list! ICHS was “old school” in terms of discipline. We fondly called it the Pink Prison! I received a top notch education, and learned so much, not just educationally, but through discipline, friendships, and sometimes through hard situations and being a teenager in a completely foreign culture. I was a student from eighth grade, when I was 13, until I graduated in 11th grade at age 16.

I learned to trust God to provide. It became a natural thing for me – I know I didn’t see the stress and worry that Mom and Dad experienced – I saw the outcomes, the provision every step of the way. Those travel and cultural experiences cemented a love of travel, new experiences, and “the road less travelled” in me. Someday I’ll tell you the story of how a Keith Green Memorial Concert in Medford Oregon, and a day on the Mercy Ship Anastasis, in Montego Bay Jamaica figured into my journey with YWAM in Cardiff, Wales and London, England! Here’s a link to the ICHS web site.
https://immaculatehigh.edu.jm

Jim Here:

Thanks, Melissa! It’s so amazing to see and hear the ICHS “Pink Prison” story through your eyes and in your voice!

Friends, as always, I’d love to hear from you! You can reply to this email or post a comment on the “Notes From My Journey” page on https://jimastephens.com

Devotions at Dinthill
1984-1986

It would not be surprising if you thought of me and devotions at the same time. In the same mental breath! I’ve been writing and sending GraceNotes, my daily devotional, since 2009 and that’s how many of my readers first connected with me.

Last week’s post and story was about Stephanie’s Special School. It took place just after our arrival to pastor Bread of Life Church in Linstead, St Catherine, Jamaica in 1984. Here’s a link to that story.

As we settled into our pastoral duties and began to identify potential leaders in training, we were introduced to Enos Barrett, Principal of Dinthill Technical High School, a government training centre for skills and trades, located just outside Linstead. Dinthill had a student body of around 2500 students, and Principal Barrett asked me if I would come to the school once a week for their beginning-of-day assembly and give a devotional talk and prayer for the students, the teachers, and the staff. (Is it possible that this is what got me started with Devotionals?)

What an opportunity for this newly-arrived missionary pastor of a newly planted local church in the area! I asked Principal Barrett what they normally did for morning devotions, and what he would like me to do. He said that morning devotions was a time to pass on “notices” to the students and teachers, to gather the students to foster a sense of “student body” identity, and to inspire and encourage the teachers and students spiritually. The entire gathering would be about 15 minutes and I’d have 10 minutes to speak and pray for the day and week ahead.

I remember the first day I was to do devotions at Dinthill, I arrived early, driving my little Ford Escort station wagon up the driveway to the school, passing dozens of students in their distinctive DTHS uniforms as they walked up from the highway. They were surprised and curious to see a white guy coming up the drive and I immediately became the center of attention!

I parked the car and made my way to the Administration Building where I found Mr. Barrett in his office. He explained that they would ring a bell at 8 AM and the students would gather in the courtyard. Announcements would be made from the second-floor balcony and then he would introduce me and I’d speak. I could read a scripture or tell a story and pray and we’d be done.

As we made our way up the outside staircase to the balcony I saw the students gathering in the large courtyard. It was a lot of students, a sea of faces and uniforms, and a low roar of conversations and laughter. I was beginning to get a kind of “I don’t know if I can do this” feeling!

Sidebar: Dinthill had an old screechy PA system that had probably been used to announce Jamaica’s Independence back in 1962! Over the next couple of years, that PA system would screech with feedback, crackle with poor cable connections, and just plain not work when the power was off, something that happened a lot!

After the “notices” were given, Principal Barrett handed me the microphone, which promptly stopped working, and I stumbled through a greeting, read a verse of scripture, told an “application” story, and prayed for Dinthill’s staff and students for the week ahead. Then as the students scattered to their classes, I told Mr. Barrett I wasn’t sure I was up to the task. My voice was hoarse, my throat was scratchy, and I felt like I had failed miserably. I’ve always prayed, “Lord don’t let me waste people’s time when I speak.” I felt like a time-waster that morning!

Mr. Barrett told me that my scripture and story and prayer had been appropriate and helpful, but that I needed to quickly learn to project my voice to be able to be heard by those 2500 people in the courtyard every week! So I rushed home and Googled “How do I project my voice?” and found a very helpful Youtube video on the subject. Just kidding! It was still a few years until the Internet happened and more years before Google and Youtube would appear!

But I did learn to project my voice. Mr. Barrett gave me some helpful insights and I began to experiment and practice and before long I was not only more confident about what I was saying to 2500 Jamaican teenagers, I was saying it so they could actually hear me! And they loved my American accent!

Projecting my voice has been so helpful in the years since Dinthill Devotions. I’ve preached in village churches and community gatherings across Jamaica where there was no electricity or sound system, I’ve spoken in churches and to groups of people gathered in outdoor settings in Ghana, Rwanda, Uganda, Malawi, Kenya, Botswana, and Costa Rica without sound amplification. And I could make myself heard, so that’s a win!

When I thought back on the years I spoke at Dinthill Devotions, I did sometimes wonder if I was wasting people’s time or if it was making a difference. But one day several years later when we were arriving at Norman Manley Airport in Kingston and making our way through the chaos of the Customs Hall, I heard someone call out “Pastor Jim, Pastor Jim, over here!” A young Customs Officer was walking toward us through the noisy jumble of people, luggage, and commercial goods. She greeted us with a big smile and said, “I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I was a student at Dinthill when you used to come and do Devotions every week! I’ve never forgotten you. The things you taught us helped us so much! (And then she led us through the Express Lane with our luggage!)

Another time, after we had been living in Kingston for several years, I walked out in my yard and saw a young man with a gun, wearing a Jamaica Defense Force uniform looking over the neighbor’s fence at me. He said, “Pastor Jim, I was one of the students at Dinthill you were speaking to every week! Now I’m serving as a guard to the Member of Parliament who lives here. I want you to know I’ll be keeping an eye on your home as well. Thanks for the things you taught us!”

You never know!

Thanks for reading my story! As always, I’d love to hear from you! You can reply to this email or leave a comment on my blog page…

Grace to you, Jim Stephens

1984-1985

In last week’s story, we got to the Miami airport with all our stuff, traveled to Kingston, Jamaica, eventually made it through Immigration and Customs, and then a convoy of friends and people from Bread of Life Church got us safely to our new home in Vanity Fair, Linstead, St Catherine, Jamaica. As we settled into our pastoral duties and began to identify potential leaders in training, we were introduced to Enos Barrett, President of the Local Kiwanis Club. The Kiwanis Club had been working for over two years to start a school for developmentally disabled children. In rural Jamaica at that time “crippled” and “retarded” children, as they were thought of there and then, had nothing. Parents often kept them confined at home, even restrained if there were challenges. There was shame for the parents and abuse for the children if they were seen in public.

Enos Barrett and the Kiwanis really wanted to begin to change those attitudes and improve the outlook for those children and their families. They had secured a building on the east side of Linstead, remodeled it, furnished it, and had teams of “recruiters” going through the nearby villages and bush settlements to find the children with special needs and win the approval of their parents to allow them to come to the school.

The Peace Corps was involved and had been able to get some supplies and materials from the US Embassy in Kingston. Now they needed a teacher to get the school started! When Enos Barrett found out about our nineteen-year-old daughter Stephanie and that she had some experience with special needs children, he immediately asked if she’d be willing to be the teacher! So God did one of those “God Things”!

I’ll let Stephanie take it from here (The following is Stephanie’s Story):

When I was a student at Mid High (8-9th grade) in Medford, Oregon, I got involved in a Program called the SKY Club sponsored by the local Kiwanis Club. Sky Club students volunteered to work in special education classes throughout Medford schools helping teachers work with their students. It was an incredible experience and gave me me such a sense of purpose and joy working with the kids and seeing the sense of accomplishment they experienced!

Then life took a bit of a turn! In my 11th grade year, our family made the decision to move to Jamaica to serve as missionaries. After discussing things with my parents, I chose to take my GED a year early and not try to do a senior year in another country. The plan was to spend some time in Jamaica with my family and then move back to the US to attend college. That summer (1984) we moved to Springfield, Missouri to prepare for our move to Jamaica, and arrived in Linstead, St Catherine, Jamaica in October.

In Linstead we lived on the church property and we all got involved in church life pretty quickly. My dad was getting involved in life in the community outside the church as well. He was doing devotions for Dinthill Technical High School. In conversations with Enos Barrett, the Principal of the school, Dad talked about Melissa and me and told the principal of my plans for future education in Special Ed. The principal asked if I would be interested in helping to start a school in Linstead for special needs kids. In thinking back it is pretty crazy that a nineteen-year-old who hadn’t even really finished high school was helping to start a school for special needs kids. How does that even happen?

It all happened so fast! A lovely lady named Liz from the Peace Corps came along to help and there were a few moms of the future students and a teacher from one of the local schools that helped as well. I remember meeting the principal at the building where the school was going to be. It was so clean and had 2 class rooms. They had worked so hard on it, and it was amazing! It was pink on the outside and the security bars, which were a necessity there, were painted a cheerful red and white. There were school desks and supplies. We decorated the rooms with alphabets and numbers and lots of cheerful pictures. Then suddenly the school was open and I was the teacher!

I remember being nervous and feeling a bit of the “I don’t think I can do this” – impostor syndrome before it had a name. I also remember feeling so grateful that I got to be a part of bringing hope and help to these overlooked, disadvantaged children. We were full-up from the start. I remember one little boy the most. His name was Dougie. He was an amazing little kid with Downs Syndrome, and I can see him and his mom coming up the stairs. She was pretty shy and hanging back a bit but Dougie was pulling her up the stairs and ready to go! He was dressed in his Sunday best and had the biggest smile. His mom was so proud of him and proud that he was going to be able to go to school! This opportunity was huge for them. Dougie greeted us the same way every morning—a huge smile and a big hug!

The school continued after I left to go back to the states, and I know that it changed my life in many ways! It changed how I saw the world outside of myself and I realized that saying “Yes!” to something I don’t think I can do, can change more than just my own life. I didn’t end up completing a degree in Special Education. Instead, I came back to Jamaica after a year of college to help my parents with the Bible Training Centre they were developing in Kingston. I tutored the special needs son of another missionary couple in Kingston for a few months. Then I moved back to the States with my sister and got involved in ministry in the church we were attending in Atlanta. I worked several jobs involving office work and I managed a retail store. But I have never lost my heart for children with special needs.

In 2007 my husband and I adopted our son Jesse. He is an amazing kid and my heart swells every time I think about him! When he started school he was so excited and I was too. But that year wasn’t what we expected. He struggled with the class, with the curriculum, with behavior, with school. It was really hard and very sad! But the next year he had a wonderful teacher who saw Jesse as a person and saw who he was behind the struggle. She helped us get him diagnosed (ADD) and into a program that gave him resources and strategies that changed not just his school experience but his whole life. I believe that in my little school in Jamaica in the 80’s, God was preparing me and my heart for Jesse!

Our education system is not built for kids that don’t fit into a box so we have had to fight for Jesse’s education. It has been a tough road but I know God has placed people along our path to help us. There were so many times where I felt some of the feelings of hope and thankfulness that I experienced when working in the school in Jamaica!

Jesse was in middle school when COVID happened. That meant that he started going to school online and it really changed his education experience. He thrived! When COVID was over, he just wanted to continue with online school. We found a school – it was online and local, but the struggle continued. We were denied the transfer and had to appeal. Our family prayed and I prayerfully and thoughtfully wrote our appeal. We sent it and again I believe that God went before us. Jesse was released and was able to start his new on-line high school journey. Jesse and I worked together, argued together, and celebrated victories together. I know my time working in the special education classes and the school in Jamaica helped me help Jesse.

Jesse is amazing and has fought many battles in his time in school. I’m so proud of him! As I’m writing this, Jesse is on a week-long trip to Washington DC with other students just before he graduates this June. God has been so faithful to bring people into our lives, direct us to the right programs and schools, and strengthen our family through this journey! And God used my time with the kids at the little school in Linstead all those years ago for purposes I couldn’t even have imagined!

Jim here: Thanks so much, Stephanie, for your story about the school in Linstead, St Catherine, Jamaica, and how it helped not only those kids forty years ago, but is still helping today!

Next week, we’re going to continue with some stories about our early days in Jamaica. It’s been so good to remember and relive these experiences of God’s faithfulness!

As always, I’d love to hear from you! Reply to the email or post a comment on the blog page.

Grace to you today, Jim Stephens

• • What if our ride doesn’t show up?
  • What kind of vehicle can take the four of us, on a 94 degree hot Miami afternoon, on eight miles of Miami freeway, along with our 22 pieces of luggage, and get us to the airport on time?
  • If it’s a van, it could take us but not all our luggage.
  • If it’s a pickup, it could take our luggage but two people would have to ride in back. In the heat. On the freeway.
  • If it’s anything else, it’s not going to work anyhow!
  • What if our ride doesn’t show up? (oh yeah, I already did that one didn’t I?)

1. 1. Let’s remember that God already knows what he’s going to do.
   2. Let’s remember that God understands our weaknesses, is gracious in his love and care for us, and he’s there to help us where and when we need it most!

June 1984
Thinking back to the story from a couple of weeks ago about the Miracle on the Rio Cobre, our relationship with Jamaica, the Jamaican churches, and a growing number of good friends in rural Jamaica kept developing. After that month-long tour of service in 1978, we made more short-term ministry trips to Jamaica from Bible Way Church in Richland, WA over the next couple of years until our move to Medford, OR to plant a church in 1980. Then, after the move to Oregon, we continued to stay in touch and our hearts continued to be linked to Jamaica.

We went back to Jamaica in 1983 from our church in Medford to visit and minister. Old friendships were rekindled and new friendships formed. A situation had arisen in a new church in Linstead that had required the missionaries, who had started the church and were currently leading, to leave and move back to the US. The mature Jamaican leaders in the church and the US leaders of the small missions organization asked Jean and me to consider moving to Linstead to lead the church and train some local leaders. Everyone agreed that it would be at least an 18-month commitment.

We felt God wanted us to take this step of faith and began immediately to make preparations for the move. We were pastors of Grace Bible Fellowship, a small non-denominational church in Medford that we had launched four years earlier. Our friends Darryl and Martha Rodman were pastors of a small non-denominational church in Central Point, just a couple of miles north of Medford. Somehow, the idea surfaced of joining the two churches together under the Rodmans’ leadership. It seemed good to us all and to the Holy Spirit so we began making the plans and implementing the process of the merger.

Darryl and Martha contacted us just two days before the five of us, Jim, Jean, Stephanie, Melissa, and our dog Bo, were due to leave Medford for a cross-country drive to Springfield, MO to begin connecting with the churches of an area missions supporting group in Missouri, Kansas, Georgia, Ohio, and a couple of other states in which we had potential contacts. They came by our home, empty now of most everything but sleeping bags we were using as we disposed of years of accumulated possessions. (Have you ever visited a week-long free garage sale? But that’s another story!)

By the way, my parents Joe and Alice Stephens were preparing to accompany us to Missouri in their Chevy pickup towing a U-Haul trailer. They would be carrying the items we wanted to keep and store for an eventual return to the US, and the items we planned to take with us to Jamaica, but we still hadn’t found a vehicle that would get the four of us to Missouri! We were waiting for some money from the four-years-earlier sale of our home in Richland, WA, which we had earmarked for the purchase of a vehicle for our next season of life in Jamaica. If that money had arrived, we would have used it by this time to make a hurried purchase of a vehicle for the trip to Missouri and subsequent support-raising travels in the southeastern states prior to our planned October departure to begin our new life and ministry in the Caribbean.

When Darryl and Martha arrived at our house that day, they told us that God had clearly indicated to them that they were to lend us their big Dodge van to make the trip to Missouri and to use as long as we needed it until time to move to Jamaica! What an amazing offer! But we immediately began to see practical objections to their offer: “How would we return the van to them?” “What would they do for transportation while we drove their van all over the southern states?” Plus a few more! Their response was a simple, “If God wants us to lend you our van, it will all work out! Don’t worry about it!”

So we agreed with the Holy Spirit’s prompting and the Rodmans’ generosity and our immediate transportation need was settled! And we could keep moving forward! That very day, the check for the money we’d been waiting for came in the mail! If the check had come a day earlier or if Rodmans had made their offer a day later, we’d have hurriedly spent the money for a vehicle for our travels and we wouldn’t have had it for the unexpected expenses we encountered over the next four months and for the Ford Escort Station Wagon we purchased in Miami in October and shipped to Jamaica in December and that served us so well during the seven years we lived and ministered in Jamaica!

So we hit the road on schedule, and Rodmans’ van accumulated a lot of miles very quickly! First the initial move to Missouri, then support-raising and friend-making travels across the southern states. We remember a scary late afternoon failure of the radiator and cooling system on a freeway in Missouri, a blessing of generosity and effort by a mechanic in a small Missouri town who stayed open into the night repairing the van and the sent us on our way with enough fried chicken and fixin’s to last us a couple of days. And didn’t even charge us for the repairs!

A couple of months later, after our major travels in the van were done, the church we were working with in Springfield, MO hosted a missions conference. David Crook, a good friend who was pastor of a church in Chehalis, WA attended the conference and he and his wife Janet volunteered to drive the van back to the Northwest and deliver it to Darryl and Martha Rodman! Nobody saw that coming! But God knew all along there’d be a way to get Rodmans’ van back to them!

That was not the only time Darryl and Martha provided us with transportation. About eighteen months later, when we made our first visit back to the US, we flew from Jamaica to Miami to Reno, NV where one of our key supporting churches, New Hope, led by Ray and Ann Stokes, was located. After a few days of ministry and rest in Reno with the Stokes, Darryl and Martha drove to Reno in their same van and picked us up and took us as far as Medford, OR, where long time friends and supporters Tom and Donna Schneider came to get us and drove us to our next stop in Richland, WA. Through the years we served in Jamaica, Darryl and Martha continued to loan us their own vehicles for use on our visits to Northwestern US. Looking back, I think it was largely their generosity and faith that stirred in Jean and me a desire to bless others with transportation and the gift of vehicles.

Since that blessing of the use of Rodmans’ van in 1984, we’ve been able to give cars to several other families. In some cases, giving our own car when we moved from one country to another, in some cases giving our car when we were able to get another one, and in some cases being able to purchase cars specifically to give to someone in need.

Sorry (Not Sorry)! One thought, one memory, leads to another and the stories just keep coming to mind! There have been so many instances and experiences of the faithfulness of God and the generosity of people through the years that it’s almost overwhelming to dive into the stream of remembering!

Here’s a couple of important takeaways from the Rodmans’ Van Story (and subsequent experiences):
• Sensitivity to the Holy Spirit’s promptings builds faith, and faith acted upon produces blessing and builds faith in others.
• Generosity breeds generosity. Every generous gift sets in motion waves of blessing. The recipient is blessed. The giver is blessed. Those who hear about the generous acts of love and faith are blessed. There’s blessing all around! (2 Corinthians 9:6-15)

Thanks for reading my stories. I hope you find some encouragement and that these stories stir in you some remembering of your own!

As always, I’d love to hear from you in the comments, or with stories of your own!

Grace to you today, Jim Stephens

Medford, Oregon, about 1983

The four years we lived in Medford, from 1980 to 1984, prior to moving overseas as missionaries, were four wonderful years! Those years were filled with the joy of planting a church and caring for the people God brought to us, of being a family (a family that more often than not had other people living with us in our home) and of trying to make the mortgage payment and keep the bills paid every month.

I worked part time at a gas station for much of the time we lived in Medford, and the contacts made there became the key to the growth of the church for a season.

Because money was tight, we were fortunate we could heat our home with wood. We went to the mountains several times each summer and fall to cut wood and our wood cutting expeditions became the basis for some of our most exciting adventures!

One Saturday morning, Jean and I drove north along the I5 freeway just past Central Point to where we had seen some trees blown down by the wind. We found a couple of rutted dirt roads that got us to the trees and I fired up the chain saw and began cutting into the maze of tree trunks and branches while Jean started tossing the cut wood into the old Dodge truck.

I was in a hurry that morning, and the cutting was good so I got careless and violated about three things everyone knows about cutting wood from downed trees. Suddenly, as I stood on one branch while cutting on another branch (Don’t ever do that!), my saw cut released the tension on a trapped limb and it snapped toward me, slamming the saw bar and the rapidly spinning chain into my knee.

I felt the shock of it and saw the cut in my leg with bone and ligament showing white and other stuff showing red. My first thought was, “This is going to ruin a good pair of jeans. I hope we can make shorts of them”! I called to Jean and then limped to the truck and got a towel—not very sanitary of course as it was an old towel I used to wipe oil and grease off the saw. Jean cut the leg of my jeans just above the knee and we wrapped the towel tight around my knee and fastened it with a bungee cord. Jean and I threw the wood we had already cut into the truck and I backed the truck around facing toward the road (no power steering!). Then Jean drove home while I kept pressure on the leg. Going to the ER was not an option as we had no insurance and no extra money.

When we got home, Jean pulled the half-full truck into the alley and into the back yard by the garage. Our neighbors Lyle and Glory and their four-year-old son Christopher were in their back yard and saw me get out of the truck holding the blood-soaked towel to my leg. Immediately Christopher wanted to know what was wrong and when we told him, he said “I want to pray for Jesus to heal your leg!” So I sat on the back step as Lyle, Glory, and Jean laid hands on me and Christopher prayed the simple healing prayer of a four-year-old. Then we went in the house and unwrapped the towel and began to carefully wash the dried blood off my knee and leg so we could see the extent of the damage.

I guess I was still in shock to some degree and so I wasn’t really feeling a lot of pain. As we carefully washed the blood off with a cloth, we were amazed to see that the large, long, ragged wound we had both seen as we wrapped my leg with the towel had already mostly healed, leaving only an inch-long cut that we closed with a small bandage. The knee was slightly stiff and a little sensitive for a couple of days. Now I have a small scar, about an inch long, that reminds me of God’s goodness and through the years, I have had no adverse effect from the injury. I was healed by God’s power released through the simple prayer of a four-year-old child!

I’ve thought about this experience many times since that day, and I’ve come to realize that if we’d had health insurance or if we’d had money to be able to pay for treatment at the Emergency Room, the story would be much different. It would be something like, “Jim cut his leg while using the chain saw and Jean quickly drove Jim to the hospital emergency room. The emergency team cleaned the wound, stitched it up, gave him some antibiotics and pain meds. Jim was instructed to stay off the leg for a few days and come back in if it showed any signs of infection. In two weeks they took out the stitches and all he has to show for it is this three-inch scar that looks kind of like a lightning bolt. And it still hurts a little sometimes. But it’s all good!”

I like the “Christopher prayed for my knee and God healed it” version better, because that’s just how it happened.

Thanks for reading my story! As always, I welcome your thoughts and comments!

Grace to you today, Jim

Jim Stephens

We moved from Bible Way in Richland Washington to Medford Oregon in July of 1980 to start a church. Several people moved to Medford with us to be part of the church planting team.

At first we all lived together in our big house on Lindley Avenue, then the others quickly found housing and work in the area. We started right away with Sunday morning meetings, Sunday evening fun and fellowship gatherings, and Midweek Bible Studies in our home.

After a few months we moved the Sunday morning meetings into rented space. Finances were tight! I soon began doing part-time work as it became available and before long took a part-time regular job at a Texaco Gas Station near our home. My younger brother Bill worked there and actually got me the job!

I had owned a Mobil service station with a partner in 1965 and early 1966 and when I was drafted into the Army during the big troop build up in early 1966, Jean and I simply signed over our share of the business to our partner Don. When I returned from Vietnam at the beginning of 1968 and started school at Columbia Basin College in Pasco, WA, my ex-partner Don gave me a part-time job with fairly flexible hours working evenings and weekends as I attended College.

A few months later a long-time friend proposed that he and I buy a service station as partners. He wanted to get out of the police business and I missed the cars and the customers, so we bought a Texaco Station and named it Jim & Walt’s Midtown Texaco. We ran the business together for about a year and then Walt moved on to greener pastures. The business gradually thrived and we owned and operated Jim’s Midtown Texaco in Richland, WA until selling the business to go into full-time ministry with Bible Way Ministries.

So when I took the part-time job at Dahl’s Texaco in Medford I actually had more service station and mechanic experience than anyone else on staff! Dick Dahl, the boss, was gracious and helpful and allowed me to work as much as I could, but was flexible and understanding of my additional responsibilities as pastor of Grace Bible Fellowship. I usually opened the station on weekdays and then worked until everyone had lunch then went home. I was off by 2 or so most days.

The service station became a point of contact with the community and a point of growth for our little church! Several key people who became part of Grace Bible Fellowship came as a result of my meeting them on the pump island and getting acquainted and inviting them to church.

One Monday morning, I arrived for work, opened up for business, and took in a service job on a van for Norco, a company that delivered oxygen to doctors, clinics, residences, and the local hospital. They used 1-ton vans that were too big to fit into our service bays to service on the lifts, so they had to be serviced lying on one’s back on a creeper with a drain pan and a hand operated grease gun in front of the station. It was a dirty and messy and thoroughly unpleasant job to do!

The company had three of these vans and we had the service contract for all of them. As it worked out, we probably serviced one of them a month and when one came in it turned out to be a “stall and avoid” thing for the three employees who worked on service jobs. On this morning, I had come in wearing a freshly laundered uniform, and as the other two guys showed up and we checked the job list, everyone began to find ways to avoid going out and servicing the van. It had to be done by noon, so after doing my share of trying to avoid the task, I grabbed the creeper and drain pan and grease gun and headed out to get it done.

I pulled the van around to the pad, blocked the wheels, lay down on the creeper, and proceeded to drain the oil, replace the filter, diligently grease the chassis and suspension joints, and check the fluids and tires.

As I finished the job, rolled the creeper from under the van, and stood up wiping my greasy hands on a greasy, oily rag, I heard The Voice! I heard The Voice say, with just the hint of a smile behind it, “You’re not going to be doing this much longer!” And as I heard it, I knew God was pleased and that a much-longed for change was coming. Somehow.

That same evening, one of the key couples in the church phoned and asked if they could come over and talk for a few minutes. If you’ve ever been the pastor of a small church, you know the icy chill that floods over you when you hear the words, “Pastor Jim, we’d like to come over and talk for a few minutes this evening. Is that all right?” and I said, “Sure, come on over! See you in a few minutes!”

When Chuck and Donna came in, everything seemed fine, and some of the apprehension began to dissipate. We did “small talk” for a couple of minutes, then Chuck said, “What we wanted to talk to you about is: We’ve sold a piece of property in California and we’d like to give a tithe of the money to the church! Is that all right?”

The tithe that Chuck and Donna gave became the boost to the church finances that we’d been praying and hoping for. Within just over a week, I was able to quit the job at the Texaco station and become a full-time pastor to Grace Bible Fellowship. That gift lifted our spirits, freed my time to lead the church, and led to one of the most fruitful seasons of ministry that we experienced at Grace Bible Fellowship from the time we started in 1980 until Jean and I left to become missionaries in Jamaica in 1984.

That experience in 1982 or ‘83 wasn’t the last time we felt the pressure of tight finances or felt hindered in doing what we believed God was calling us to do because of financial limitations. But this experience has always been there as a memorial, a reminder, a call to act in faith because of the unfailing faithfulness of our good God!

By the way, that wasn’t the only time I’ve heard “The Voice” through the years. There have been a few other times and I plan to tell you those stories as we reach them chronologically in this series of God Encounter Stories. And I still struggle a bit sometimes when people say. “God Told Me…” and I still hesitate to say “God Told Me…” when I’m remembering one of my own experiences.

But here’s the thing, I’ve heard “The Voice” referred to as the inaudible but unmistakable voice of God and I’m okay with that. My experiences have normally been that “The Voice” is something I hear on the inside. It’s normally not religious sounding in form or tone or content. In fact, it usually sounds a lot like my own voice when I’m meditating or praying. Anyhow that’s the way it’s usually been for me.

I’d love to hear from you with comments or questions. So far, there have been more than I expected. I’ll do my best to respond.

Grace to you today!

Jim Stephens