Chapter 9 The Ministry

CHAPTER 9

THE MINISTRY

Using my cane to find the building, I pushed through the double doors, and made my way to my new study room. It had been moved to the other side of the building because a second blind student had been added to the public school program. We needed, therefore, more room for our equipment. I was a senior and though I felt the tug of the ministry on my life, I now had no interest to move in that direction. I couldn’t picture myself, however, going any where but a Bible college. Setting down, I opened the lid of my tape machine and plugged in a blank cassette. One of my readers was going to take the machine home tonight and read an assignment for me.

The doors swung open and Maureen strolled in. “Hi Phil,” she said in her cheery youthful voice. “Hi Maureen. “You’re sounding happy this morning.” “Oh, sure,” she replied, “had a wonderful weekend. How’d your first week of school go?” “All right I guess,” I said shrugging my shoulders, “it’s school is all I can say.” Maureen and MaryAnn were resource teachers who traveled to

the other schools in the Omaha public school district. They talked with teachers to solve any book or material problems blind students might be facing, and they picked up future exams and either recorded them on tape for us or had them Brailled. Once they even had my geometry book put into Braille for several weeks lesson-by-lesson until the Braille copy could be obtained from the Braille publisher. How the Braillist had gotten the diagrams in raised lines was a mystery. It didn’t matter, though, because I never liked geometry even if I did receive B’s for the year.

Setting down, Maureen said, “How are you and david getting along?”

“fine,” I said. “Dave is ok really, a little odd, but he’s ok. Besides, we were in school together down in Nebraska City for over three years. I only have one class with him and I can live through that I guess.” Maureen laughed. “Anything you need done today?” “Yea, I said, “I’m going to have a test in an English class. Could you get a copy of the test and put it into Braille for me?” “Sure,” she said, opening her purse and extricating a note pad. “What’s the teacher’s name.” I told her. “OK, I’ll see her today and see if the test is going to be ready a few days in advance. If so, I’ll get it done for you.” “Thanks,” I said and picked up my cane and atocia case which

carried my small cassette recorder and Braille slate. “I gotta get to my first class now.”

“School doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes,” she protested, studying her watch.

“I know. This class is clear on the opposite side of the building though. It’ll take me almost ten minutes just getting over there; especially with the building filling up with kids.”

Finding the door to my class, I checked my watch and wished there had been more time left to the summer vacation. The effects of the drugs no longer seemed to bother me but the life style did. I stood listening to the chatter of the other students in the hall as they prepared for the first class of the day. Girls laughed and bang lockers shut. Boys discussed how drunk they had gotten over the weekend, how poor the band had played, the party which lasted all weekend, and the people with which they had spent it. I listened carefully to see if anyone mentioned using drugs but I heard no such conversation. I suddenly felt strangely alone again, as I had a few months before meeting Sharon…and what was I going to do about Sharon now. I couldn’t just cut her off. I owed her some explanation. She had been a good friend; a close friend; almost my only friend for many months. If I continued to associate with her, could I keep off the drugs? Could I bring Sharon to Christ? Would she understand? She had never forced me to do anything I didn’t want to do; she had always stayed close to me when I had tripped; she had always respected my feelings. As the bell rang and I moved through the doorway, I still was uncertain how I would handle this difficult problem; not to mention what I was going to do about college.

Each day of the new semester seemed more sluggish than the one before. As time slowed I found myself hating school. As I looked down through the coming months, I couldn’t see the light at the tunnel’s end. I was afraid of college, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get a job and support a family, and I was afraid of life. It is difficult enough for any senior in high school trying to decide what to do for the rest of their life. For a blind senior, it is even worse. I had no idea what I wanted to do.

One night, after deciding to get stoned, I pulled a plastic bag over my head, and began to inhale fumes from a household aerosol. When the dangerous chemical began to buzz like angry bees in my head, fear gripped my heart and I jerked the bag off my head; flinging it to the floor. I fell on my bed and began to cry out to God. I was afraid. I wanted to honor my word to the Lord I had made just a few months earlier but life seemed too big and too impossible to negotiate alone. I felt isolated from the world and from people. I was blind and I hated it. Why wouldn’t God do something? Where was He in my life?

At the end of that first semester, I talked with my good friend Ryan about the classes he was taking. I was getting tired of feeling blind, walking the building through the maze of students, bumping into people, and feeling half lost each day. Ryan told me of all his classes and their teachers. I checked with my counselor and he agreed to help me get my classes to coincide with Ryan’s. He had been a good reader for me and this would make my last semester in high school just that much easier.

At the end of Christmas vacation, I called Ryan the night before school to confirm our arrangements to ride together. As we talked, he told me that the last day of school he had decided he didn’t like the schedule he had made for himself. He had gone to his counselor following the final day of school and changed all his classes. Now we would not share a single class.

The phone suddenly became too heavy to hold. Cradling it, I collapsed on my bed and tried to blink back the tears. Life seemed not only impossible but so unfair. I hadn’t asked to be blind but I was faced with experiencing life crippled, broken, and less than a whole person. I couldn’t see how I might possibly make it beyond this school year. What would I do when the last semester was over?

Drying my tears, I got to my feet and checked my watch. It was 11 P.M. I made my decision and climbed the stairs to the kitchen. Walking through the living room and passed the stereo, I heard Mom’s little TV playing in her bedroom. Since she never went to bed early, I walked to her room and called her name at the open door.

“What’s the matter Philip? It’s getting late. You better get to bed so you can get up early for school tomorrow.”

Stepping just inside her door, I said with finality, “Mom, I’m not going to school tomorrow or any other time. I’m quitting school.”

“Philip? Why?” I had already turned and begun walking toward the stairs. Mom followed me; hurling questions one after another; attempting to discover why I had made such a decision. She followed me all the way down the stairs and into my room. I again retreated to my bed and lay down before answering her questions.

I explained how I had gone through all the trouble of lining up my classes with Ryan. I began to tell her of my fear of what I would do for a living and how I would cope with life in college. Eventually, through my tears, she began to understand how frightened I was to walk into life blind.

After some talk, Mom got me to agree to talk with our pastor the following morning. Though I agreed, I told her there wasn’t any way I would ever return to school. She agreed not to pressure me, and if I was willing to talk with my pastor, she would be satisfied. I slept restlessly; not wanting to face the morrow.

Seated in the living room, he said, “Phil, listen, I know this is really a difficult time of life for you and I am not even suggesting I understand what it must be like. I know I haven’t been hear long as your new pastor but I’m asking that you give me a chance.”

After discussing my feelings with our new Pastor, Tom Hall, I agreed that I would consider returning to school if my conditions were met. Those were, first I wanted only a half day of school. Many graduating seniors only needed a half day of school to achieve graduation status. If I had to finish school, I wanted that half day. My other condition had to do with the number of classes I would be required to take. Talking with my counselor earlier had revealed I only needed two class credits to graduate. That’s what I wanted; two classes, one study hall, and permission to leave for the day.

“Phil,” Pastor Hall said, “I’m sure I can get this worked out with your counselor. Will you allow me to go and see him personally and to discuss this situation with him?”

“Sure,” I said willingly, “but unless these two conditions can be agreed upon, I won’t return.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I’ll call your counselor, go in and see him, and I’ll call you later today with the results.”

Later that day the pastor called and said he had worked everything out with the counselor. The pastor asked me if I would go with him to school to sit and talk it over. He assured me that the counselor had agreed to my terms but he just wanted me to come in and confirm it. I agreed.

“Phil,” the counselor began, “I’m really sorry all this happened. I thought we’d worked everything out with your friend and his schedule but I understand the whole thing fell apart over the holidays. If you’d come and discussed it with me first thing, I know we could have worked it out.” He paused for me to speak but since I remained silently passive, he continued. “Listen, you are correct. You need only two credits to graduate but I’m asking you for a favor.” “What,” I muttered suspiciously. “You’re not the first teenager that’s faced this kind of a

dilemma and here’s what we normally do. You need two classes, that’s true, but I’m asking you to agree to one additional class. Now wait just a minute,” he said, holding up his hand in protest. “You’ll still be allowed to go home at 11:30 with other seniors on half days. You’ll have three classes, one of which is an early 7:35 class, then a study hall, and finally two more classes, and then you’ll be free to head home. How’s that sound?” “Why a third class?” I wanted to know. “Well, it’s for insurance purposes. If for some reason you’d

fail one of the other classes, we would be able to substitute that third one for your needed credits.”

That sounded reasonable to me and I said so. As it worked out, Ryan and I would share the 7:35 A.M. class so I was once again able to ride with him to school. The arrangements were finalized and the following day, I was back in school.

The first couple of weeks I enjoyed my free afternoons. Mom buzzed over each day from her nearby job during lunch and dropped me home. I fixed lunch and carried it down each day to my room in the basement. During the late 1960’s the ham radio bands were alive with signals from all over the globe. I worked Europeans and African’s every afternoon both in voice communications and Morse code. The late afternoons brought in the Pacific stations and Japanese. I thought very little of graduation and what I might do with my life. The radio hobby became a drug and I was addicted.

MaryAnn and Maureen were concerned, however, and eventually discussed with me the possibility of getting a job during the afternoons. I agreed, thinking no one wanted a blind teenager for an employee, but I was fooled. They secured a job at the Good Will work shop. I soon found myself catching a bus just outside the high school each day, eating my lunch either on the bus or on the bench waiting, riding forty-five minutes downtown, walking four blocks, and setting behind a work bench scooping three nuts, three bolts, and three washers into a small envelope which I stapled shut and tossed into a cardboard box all for $1.65 per hour. The job lasted about a month before I decided my afternoons were more important doing nothing at home.

“Hi Phil,” Maureen said one morning coming through the double doors into the study room.” “Hi Maureen,” I said, lacking enthusiasm. “What’s happening?” “Not a thing,” I reported. Sitting next to me she opened her purse and took out her note pad. “Are you still interested in taking drum lessons?” I had purchased a used set of drums from a friend a few weeks

earlier and had mentioned my desire to take lessons. Setting up, and suddenly showing interest, I said, “Sure, I’m still interested. Why?”

“Well,” she began, “MaryAnn and I had lunch with someone the other day who gives drum lessons. She…” “She?” i interrupted. “Yes,” she continued, “she gives lessons out of her home. She’s also a very attractive lady, too.” “That’s pretty unusual,” I observed. “Not many women play the drums.” “True, but this lady is pretty unique.” “How old is this lady?” I asked. “She’s twenty and she’s blind.” “Blind?” I said incredulously. I didn’t finish my thought.

The last thing in the world I wanted to do is connect with another blind girl.

“Yeah,” Maureen said suspiciously, “anything wrong with that?” “Oh, no,” I said satirically, not a thing.” “Somehow I get the feeling…” she stopped. “Well, no

matter. Here’s her phone number. I think you should call her and talk with her about taking lessons.”

I pressed the keys on my Braille writer mechanically; writing down the numbers as she recited.

“Now give her a call tonight,” Maureen said invitingly, “I think it’ll be worth your while.” I agreed but knew I would do no such thing. “have you called Sandy,” Maureen prodded me two weeks later. “Sandy?” I said totally at a loss. “Whose Sandy?” “You know…she’s the drum teacher.” “Oh, yeah,” I muttered. “No I haven’t called her.” “Come on Phil. I thought you wanted to take lessons. Sandy’s really a neat lady.” “Yeah, yeah, I know…I will.” “When? When you gonna call her then?” “Well,” I said hesitantly, “I’ll call her tonight I guess.” “Good! Let me know what you find out.” That night I sat at my ham radio desk with the phone in my

hand, dialing Sandy’s home number. The last thing in the world I wanted to do is take drum lessons from a blind girl. Those I had known at the school for the blind were not all that sharp. They were scholastically ok but socially…

Suddenly someone was on the other end of the line. “ahhhh, hello,” I stammered, “is this Sandy?” For the next ten minutes I did all the talking to someone who barely spoke. They were all yes and no answers with nothing in between.

Hanging up the phone, I walked from my basement room and climbed the stairs to the kitchen. “Well,” I said out loud, “I’ll never talk to that blind girl again as long as I live.”

By the end of the week, Sandy had realized I had been calling for drum lessons and had to contact MaryAnn for my phone number. She had been sound asleep when I called and couldn’t even remember my name after my phone call. Since she needed the extra money for the lessons, she obtained my number and called to see if she could convince me that she was the right one for the drum lessons.

As I talked with her over the phone, I found it nearly impossible to believe this was the same person to whom I talked a few days earlier. She was bright, cheerful, sharp, and fun.

During the next four hours, I learned that she had been raised on an Iowa farm and since my home was Iowa, we seemed to have much in common. I likewise found out the reason for her lethargy a few days before. She had been on tranquilizers for a few weeks and she had just taken one an hour before I called; making her sleepy and drowsy.

the following night we visited again for almost another four hours. We finished our conversation by deciding we would get together at her apartment within a few days. I found myself strangely drawn to her even though she was blind. “Sandy, how long have you been blind?” I asked. “I’ve never seen,” she replied candidly. “Never?” I said dubiously. “No, never,” she said firmly. “I was born two and a half

months premature and weighed just two pounds ten and a half ounces. They put me in an incubator for oxygen and that caused my blindness. I’ve never seen in my life.”

The reason I found this difficult to believe was do to her keen perception. She seemed to be able to understand and comprehend things once described to her. I had found that most blind people who had been born blind were often unable to perceive things they had never felt. I eventually decided that such ability was due to her parents. They never isolated Sandy from all they did on the farm. She was allowed to do chores with them including feeding the animals, gathering eggs, riding and driving the tractor with her father, and tending garden, cooking, and washing and house keeping with her mom. All this made her ability to comprehend seem innate.

As we continued to talk on the telephone over the next few weeks, I shared with Sandy my past involvement with drugs. As a medical transcriptionist in a local hospital, she had unique insight to such drug involvement. I went further, however, and began to tell her of my Christian life. To my amazement, I discovered that she had just been led to Christ by a friend who began taking her to church. Her friend was a fellow employee at the hospital and felt drawn to Sandy because of her loneliness.

Sandy had been working in Omaha for nearly two years by the time we were introduced. She had lived most of her life away from her family and home sickness was almost a way of life for her. She had been separated from her parents at the age of four to attend the Iowa School For The Blind. Because they lived a hundred and fifty miles from the school, she only came home every third weekend and, of course, on major holidays. Now that she was working, she again was separated from her family. She was very lonely and began drinking. Though she was only eighteen when she first moved to Omaha and was thus under the state’s drinking age, she often asked cab drivers to stop on the way home to buy alcohol. Eventually she was old enough to make purchases herself and often drank herself to sleep at night to ward off the awful loneliness. Most weekends she frequented bars with those with whom she knew to keep from being home alone. She was also a hyper active person and eventually was prescribed three heavy tranquilizers to be taken daily. It was in the middle of this that she came to know Christ as her Lord and Savior.

The end of my last semester in high school was approaching. I was spending more time with Sandy and one night while setting in her living room, I said, “Sandy, I can’t say I like you any more. What I feel for you is something much more, much stronger, than the word like can described.” “Don’t say it,” she said. “I love you,” I said, ignoring her warning. She agreed her

feelings for me were equally strong. I told her that I felt the Lord was calling me to full time ministry and that such was quite a different life than her up bringing. She, however, was growing in the Lord and had no problems excepting what I was trying to say. A few weeks later I asked her to marry me and we were engaged.

We had agreed to at least a year, if not two, years of Bible college before we married and in the fall of 1970, I enrolled in Bible college. Since the school was in Iowa, I often came home weekends to spend with Sandy. I found school, however, to be very lonely and once again I was faced with the reality of life. I had no problems soliciting volunteer readers, taking oral exams, and functioning in the every-day routines of college life. My two years of high school experience had helped me acclimate to such circumstances. The question, however, that continually haunted me was, “You can graduate from college but can you make a living and support a family?” Because of this, we decided to get married following the third semester of Bible college.

After getting married in January of 1972, I shortly thereafter obtained a job working in the county welfare department of Omaha as a case assistant. My boss was totally blind and had started a special department within the welfare agency which was especially designed to help the handicapped secure jobs. My responsibility was to assist another social worker in obtaining jobs for forty-five blind welfare clients. Much of our days were spent visiting factories and offices attempting to educate sighted employers to the abilities and advantages of hiring the blind. I had never directly felt the effects of rejection due to my blindness until I began trying to help other blind people get jobs. I was amazed at how many employers simply didn’t think the blind could do the same job others did. I was even told by one employer that if a blind person and a sighted person both applied for the same position, and even if they both had the same previous experience and skill, he would hire the sighted person instead. Why? He said it was because the sighted person posed fewer problems. He was unable to explain himself further and because I poised myself like a wild mountain cat ready to spring, my partner cut the conversation short and removed me from the building.

“Fred, I said with no little irritation in my voice, “why’d you cut me off? I was about ready to kill that moron!”

Laughing, he said, “…And that’s exactly why I pulled you out of there. I was afraid you’d kill him.”

We walked in silence down the corridor of the employers building, our foot falls echoing off the walls. Finally I spoke. “Fred, you’re black and probably have experienced what I just did back in that man’s office.” “yeah,” Fred agreed, “I’ve seen it before…you’re right.” “There’s only one thing,” I said, “that could be more frustrating than being blind.” “And what’s that,” he encouraged. “Being blind and black at the same time.” We both laughed,

realizing the force of my statement, but it wasn’t really that funny because we had clients who were in fact blind and black. As we left the building that day, I wondered how we would be able to help them get jobs.

After working in the welfare department for a few months, I began to see how the philosophy of the world was beginning to effect my Christian values. I had never really been in a secular work environment. I felt the pull of the world hard against my relationship with the Lord and decided it was time to make a change; one which would bring me closer to perhaps going into the ministry. After discussing it with my wife, we decided to move to Denver where most of my family lived. They had left Omaha the same week I had gone to Bible college. Mom had taken a job in a Christian day school where my oldest sister was a kindergarten teacher. I had visited their church a couple of times while in college and liked what I saw. Their stand for the Lord was firm and they had a burden for the lost; something I, too, felt. Furthermore, their Christian day school was solid and it would be a good place to raise our children in later years. Making the arrangements, we moved in the fall of 1972 to Denver.

After Sandy obtained another medical transcription job in a local hospital, I went into the vending stand program through the Colorado Services For The blind. This training program allowed the blind to learn how to run and operate snackbar lunch counters and cafeterias throughout the state. After the three months of training, I began working in a partnership with another blind man at the Denver University Law Center. Our full service cafeteria was opened from 6:00 in the morning till 10:00 at night. I supervised the evening shift. Do to the way the vending stand program operated, I was able to obtain my own snackbar a few months later and began operating independently.

During the next two years, we were faithful in the church we had joined and I was eventually asked to be a deacon. I was only twenty-one years of age and was the youngest deacon they had ever asked to serve. It was a great honor for me and I appreciated the opportunity to serve the Lord in this way. It was one more step to full time ministry. In early 1975 I felt the call to the ministry so strongly that I quit my snackbar job and began to travel as a guest speaker; holding revival meetings.

Riding home from high school one afternoon, Mom said, “Philip, have you thought any more about what you are going to do when you graduate?”

“Well,” I said reluctantly, “I’ve thought about going to law school but I don’t know if I could really handle something like that. I know a lot of blind guys have gone into law and have done well but I just don’t feel comfortable about it. I’ve also thought of teaching. Lots of blind people have gotten teaching degrees and are able to get jobs in schools. I really don’t feel comfortable with that either.”

“If someone were to ask you,” she said turning left on to our street off of Maple, “what you really wanted to do in life, what would you say?”

Without hesitation, I replied, “I want to be an evangelist and travel; holding meetings in churches.”

“Then,” Mom said with quiet confidence, “you simply need to go to Bible college and prepare.”

Leaving the snackbar for the first time never bothered me. I was looking forward to going into the work for which I felt called. Over the months, serving in our church, I often considered when I might go full time into the ministry. Although I had already attended Bible college, I had not graduated and that made some people nervous including my pastor. When I discussed my intentions with him, he was reluctant to indorse my desires. It was generally concluded by many that no one could be used of God unless they had graduated from Bible college. Finally one day I left my place of business for the last time in February of 1975 and by April I was traveling across the midwest preaching.

My first meeting was in Chandler, Arizona where one of my Bible college roommates was an assistant pastor. Following the full week of meetings, I remained in the area, staying with my friend and his wife, and preached single day engagements around the Phoenix area. At the end of the month, after spending four weeks away from home, I returned to Denver. Such began my life as a full time traveling evangelist.

Though it was extremely difficult to obtain meetings, most pastors preferring guest speakers able to sing and play musical instruments, perform carate feats, or gospel magic tricks, I eventually, with the help of my pastor, began to be able to support my family. Sandy traveled with me at first and for awhile after the birth of our first child, but eventually I began traveling alone because of the expense involved. Traveling by plane was always expensive and to make my trips pay for themselves, I often had to stay away for several weeks.

My wife and I always seemed to face objection and rejection by those who felt blind people were not capable of living normal lives. When people learned we were starting a family, some were horrified that two blind people would bring a child into the world. It was too late, however, by the time they found out.

In light of such opposition, Sandy and I decided that we would not invite anyone to stay with us upon bringing our first child home from the hospital. This ruffled a few feathers in the nest of both our families but as it turned out, this was the wisest decision we could have made. The first night alone with our new son was quite interesting, to say the least, but he, and we, survived the ordeal. So did the other two children the Lord gave us over the next few years. The biggest fear people had was that we might bring other blind people into the world by our selfishness of wanting children of our own. All three of our children were born normally and none wear glasses.

The more I traveled, however, the more desirous I became to minister with people on a more personal level. Traveling preachers are in a church for a few days and then leave; often never to return. I wanted to minister to people and see the changes in their lives as they continued to walk with God over the years. I had never really consider pastoring a church until December of 1977.

We had flown to Iowa to visit Sandy’s family for the Christmas holidays. Traveling evangelist usually have few meetings during the summer months, except for church camps, and no meetings are generally scheduled for the entire month of December for obvious reasons. I had become discouraged during our stay with Sandy’s folks. I sat and considered all of my abilities, gifts, and talents one day and listed them in my mind. I enjoyed, and loved, to sit and visit with people concerning problems they faced. I enjoyed teaching the Word of God to people and attempting to show how it applied to every-day life. I liked people and enjoyed being with them. I felt compassion for others when they were facing difficult times. I loved to win the lost to Christ and especially to teach them the doctrines of the Bible. As I mentally listed all my good qualities, I decided I would return to Denver and attempt to employ those character traits in my ministry. IT NEVER CROSSED MY MIND that those were the traits of a pastor.

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