The Road to Santa Clara (Ch. 1): The Phone Call
Ξ August 16th, 2007 | → | ∇ Stories |
NOTE: Names and some Locations have been changed for privacy.Also: Some people have expressed the desire to get this in paperback form. CLICK HERE to purchase a paperback copy for only the cost of printing. Also available on Amazon.
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“Sorry about that, Pastor Mark was on the phone,” Jeff came back to the coffee table where Nate and Selena and I were seated Indian style, holding our cards to our chests while we waited for Jeff to return.
“No worries – it’s your turn, babe.” I looked up at him and he held my gaze, looking me in the eye with an expression that told me that something interesting had made Pastor Mark call us on a Friday night at 9:30 at night. I raised my eyebrows slightly to show him I understood, then smiled at Nate and Selena and asked if they wanted any more coffee, musing to myself what fun it was to be married and able to communicate without talking.
Later that night, after we’d said our goodbyes, we walked back inside our new little town-home we’d just bought a month earlier. As donation-supported college campus missionaries at the local University, it was a miracle we’d been able to become homeowners, but a generous early inheritance from my grandma had served as our down-payment, and we managed to scrape enough together each month for our mortgage. Jeff leaned back against the door and closed it with his back, looking at me with sparkling eyes and an obvious I’m-trying-not-to-seem-excited look.
“What did he say?” I leaned into Jeff and kissed his chin, wrapping my arms around him and scratching his back.
“Calvary Chapel in Santa Clara is looking for a college pastor and Ryan and Mark recommended me,” he said with wide eyes that reflected both his amazement and flattery.
“Are you serious?” I pulled away and looked him in the eye. He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Hmm,” I turned away and walked into the kitchen to start on the dishes. We’d been talking for the past few months about possibly doing something different the following school year. We’d been working at Real Life, the college ministry of Calvary Chapel Corvallis, for almost three years, and we’d both begun to wonder if something new wasn’t around the corner. It was really just a feeling, but we’d both felt it so strongly, that this new news seemed more than a mere coincidence. Not that we didn’t like it in Corvallis – to the contrary. Corvallis was where we’d both attended and graduated from college, where we’d met, dated, married. Where Jeff came to know Christ and where I’d really grown in my relationship with Him. I’d lived there six years and Jeff eight – it was home. “What does Mark say?” I asked Jeff, who had followed me in and was gathering up glasses from the table.
“He says we should go for it – I mean, after we talk to the pastor and everything. It’s a huge church and he thinks we’re ready for it.”
“Hm.” I rinsed more thoroughly than needed, lost in my thoughts. California?
We decide that we’d at least pray about it for a few months. If it was meant to be, we figured it’d keep surfacing and sure enough, it did. One night in mid-February, as we headed out the door to the Real Life Bible study, the phone rang: It was Steve, the Senior Pastor as Calvary Chapel Santa Clara.
“Hi there, Pastor Steve,” Jeff looked at me with wide eyes as he said his greeting for my benefit. I put my purse down and pulled a stool up to the counter to listen. I heard Jeff share what he felt was our vision for ministering, where we sensed God leading us, and the experience that we’d had in our three years in college ministry here in Oregon. Then, I sat in excruciating silence while Jeff listened at length to Pastor Steve. At the end Jeff concluded, “Ok, well, let’s continue to pray about it, but it definitely sounds like something we’d be interested in. . . . yes . . . I agree . . . thank you so much for calling, Steve . . . I’ll be in touch . . . thanks. . . bye.” He hung up and raised his eyebrows again with a smile escaping through his face despite his efforts.
“Well?”
“They’d like a full-time college pastor and overseer of a new School of Ministry type thing that they’re starting up and I’d get to do both. As of right now there’s no real college ministry so we’d get to start from the ground up. We’d be on salary with full benefits and everything.” He shook his head in awe. I nodded slowly, letting the reality of this sink in. Leaving everything? My home, my family . . . I shook my head because it was time to leave and I didn’t have time to think about it.
“Let’s pray about it,” I grabbed my purse and Jeff followed me out the front door.
By late April we’d decided that it would be a good idea to drive down to Santa Clara, meet the pastor and the staff, and get a feel for whether it was a good fit. We felt God was giving us a green light, but wanted to be sure. A cross-state move meant leaving our new home that we’d just bought, our families, our friends, and all that was comfortable and familiar. We didn’t take this lightly.
Our college group took an annual retreat to sunny Lake Shasta, so we timed the trip to Santa Clara so that we could just join up with the rest of the staff and students on our way back up toward Oregon. We left four days ahead of the others and drove the 600 miles down I-5 to Santa Clara. I didn’t really know what to expect. I’d been to Santa Clara in High School, and just remembered blue sunny skies, palm trees, and very nice homes. From my memory it seemed like a beautiful place. Since I knew we couldn’t afford to buy a home, I’d researched numerous apartments, and while they were insanely expensive, some $1500 for a 2-bedroom, I figured that our salary would supposedly reflect the high cost of living there. I wasn’t thrilled about moving into an apartment, but they looked very nice and I figured that was certainly no hardship considering that most of them had swimming pools.
Jeff had been in constant communication with Pastor Steve, as that is Jeff’s style, and we were told that we could stay during our visit in some unused dorms that were on the church campus. There was also the Northern California Men’s Conference taking place that weekend, so Jeff would have the opportunity to meet many of the men and get a feel for things there.
The day before we left, I came down with a horrible cold. My head ached and my eyes were red and itchy, my nose raw from sneezing and blowing, my throat was swollen and hurt every time I swallowed. I was miserable. We debated whether we should go. I knew I’d feel horrible, but I also knew this was an amazing opportunity for Jeff and I couldn’t let something trivial like a head cold get in the way. I was adamant—we should go.
On the drive down I stayed cheerful and positive, despite the emotions that raged in my heart and the consumption of an entire box of Kleenex. Dayquil was no help. A part of me was excited for a new adventure, but a most of me was dying, screaming, crying, uncertain and scared. A part of me was already missing home, but it was hard to discern whether it was just because I felt so miserable physically. After staying the night at Jeff’s dad’s house in Sacramento, we arrived in Santa Clara around 9am and could see the men streaming into the church of for the conference. It was the biggest church campus I’d ever seen. A huge cross stood above the facility and could be seen for miles. Parking lots and driveways and little streets weaved in and out of various buildings. An enclosed walking bridge stretched across the street that ran down the center of the campus, the street was called Calvary Chapel Way. I shook my head in awe as we found a parking spot and Jeff killed the engine.
“Well, this is it.” Jeff was obviously as amazed as I was. “Let’s pray.” We sat and prayed together, then decided to head inside to find Pastor Steve.
Lost in the swarm of men, I felt a little out of place, but clung to Jeff’s arm and we made our way through the crowd. We found the church office and reached to open the door just as a young man in his early 30s swung open the door and came walking out, calling back to the receptionist that he had to go. He began to go past us but Jeff recognized his voice.
“Pastor Steve! It’s Jeff and Kari Patterson.” Jeff held out his hand and Steve looked a little surprised. “From Oregon,” Jeff continued, “We’re here about the college pastor position.” Then it clicked.
“Oh yes! Good to meet you,” Steve held out his hand and shook ours. “You know, I’ve gotta run and get this conference going. Why don’t you go in the office and see what you can do to help – Eddie might need you to sell t-shirts.” Steve pointed back inside the office and headed toward the sanctuary. Jeff and I looked at each other, unsure of what to do.
“Alright, let’s find Eddie!” Jeff smiled and led me into the office. We never found Eddie but we met Jim, a large man with a belly that came out and hung down over his pants, and a long face with dark hair and eyes. He held his face with his mouth open that made it always look like he was about to say something. He announced that he would take Jeff around with him for the day and show him the ropes, but they had to hurry and get to the t-shirt booth. Jeff turned to follow him and I was left standing, for a split second, all alone in the middle of the office. A quick flash of panic shivered over me, then Jeff turned back suddenly, remembering. He came back and gave me a hug.
“Well, hon, will you be ok hanging out for the day? You could walk around and see things or take a nap or read. . . ?” He looked down into my face. I looked down because I realized all of a sudden that I was about to cry and I felt ridiculous for being so weak. Just then Pastor Steve burst back in through the door.
“Here! I totally forgot – this is my wife’s cell phone number. You can call her and hang out with her for the day. The secretary can give you directions to our house; it’s only about 25 minutes away.” He handed me a scrap of paper and signaled to Jeff, “Follow me.” I smiled up at Jeff and nodded, reassuring him I’d be fine. He turned and followed Steve, an eager young man ready to serve.
I found Kathy, the secretary, who explained where the dorms were located and let me know there was actually another girl living in them at the time so not to be alarmed if we saw her. Then she printed me directions off Mapquest . I glanced at them — I had to go on five freeways to get to their house. I took a deep breath and thanked her and walked back out to our car. By that time the parking lot was quiet and then sun was hot making the inside of the car suffocating. I sat in the driver’s seat and as soon as I slammed the door, the tears came. I didn’t even know exactly why I was crying, but I knew I’d been holding it in for longer than I’d realized. Now I was alone, and felt alone. I felt like a little girl who suddenly looks up at the grocery store and realizes she’s not with her mom and everyone around is a stranger and she doesn’t know what to do. I was not good with meeting new people, and the idea of calling up this pastor’s wife and inviting myself over for the entire day was the last thing on earth I wanted to do. So I did the only thing I knew to do—I prayed.
God, help me. I’m so lonely and scared and I know it’s silly but that’s how I feel. I want to just run away from this place. I don’t want to call her; I want to just hide. I feel horrible and weak and I just want to be home. Please give me strength. I want to be supportive of Jeff. Please help me. I finally dried my tears and blew my already stuffed nose and began carrying our bags into the building that the secretary had told me was the dorm. It felt good to have a task, even though I felt so weak from being sick, so the trips up and down the two flights of stairs in the heat didn’t bother me. After I’d gotten everything to the small outdoor landing at the top of the steps, I opened the door and headed inside.
Apparently there was a reason the dorms were unused. There was certainly no sign of a girl’s presence. Old torn up couches filled the hall as well as crunchy towels and old gym clothes. Food wrappers and popcorn littered the carpet, and I distinctly smelled the odor of bachelors. I found the room number the secretary had given me and stepped inside. Apparently these “dorms” had been offices converted, because there was a huge room with a low ceiling, partitioned into “dorms” with cubicle dividers. I found the cubicle that was our room, and the dear secretary had put sheets on one set of bunk beds. I sat down on the bottom one and began, again, to cry.
Finally I mustered up the courage to call Steve’s wife, Lacey. She answered in a high-pitched, squeaky voice and I immediately envisioned her. We decided I’d meet her at noon at her house, and I hung up the phone, relieved to have it over. Since I had two hours to myself, I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes that burned from crying. I buried my face in my pillow and cried myself to sleep.
Upon awakening I had a worse headache and felt as sick as ever, but got out the door and to the car. Miraculously, I maneuvered the five freeways and found myself at a little duplex with a small palm tree in the front that’d seen better days. No one was home. As I got back in my car, a Jeep Grand Cherokee pulled up and a little blond head peeked out the tinted window. Lacey got out of the car and waved over at my car. I got out and walked across the street and could see her eyeing me, perhaps a little suspiciously.
“Well, hello!” She said as if I’d surprised her somehow. I told her my name as I could see that she didn’t remember it and she suggested I hop in her car and we’d go get lunch. Two little boys sat in the back seat and she glanced me over again as she turned back on the ignition.
“You know I am pregnant.” She told me. I couldn’t tell but she rubbed her belly and turned to face her little boys, “Look at the pretty lady, boys. Can you say hi?” I smiled and said hello and we went to lunch.
The afternoon was relatively pain-free and before I knew it, she was ready for a nap and I was ready to escape, so I read my directions in reverse and found my way back to the church. At four Jeff called me on my cell and told me he’d be done at 5 and we had the evening free because Pastor Steve and his wife were busy. At 6pm he came to the car and met me, apologizing because he’d had to man the t-shirt booth until everyone was gone.
We decided to head to Santa Cruz to see the beach. We found a parking spot on a sketchy side street, locked our car and prayed it’d be safe, and enjoyed the evening sitting on the sand, nestled close together, calm and serene in the midst of the throngs of people talking, waving, running, laughing, flirting, shouting. We watched the surfers, bronzed from the sun, the middle schoolers running around with cell phones, whispering to each other and giggling as people passed, the lovers walking hand in hand down the beach, the twenty-somethings playing sand-volleyball, the parents, tired from a long day, brushing the sand off their youngster’s legs and urging them to the car. We watched the sunset, slowly dipping into the ocean until there was nothing but a tiny spot of orange and then nothing but brilliant pinks and oranges streaking across the sky, making sparkles all over the ocean’s surface. We zipped up our sweatshirts and I snuggled under Jeff’s arm, laying my head on his chest. It was delicious to sit in silence in the midst of the beach din, as if we were secluded in a bubble of tranquility, protected from the chaos of the busy beach. As I sat there I knew that it would be ok. I didn’t know what was ahead, but I knew it’d be ok. I snuggled closer in to Jeff and kissed him on his rough cheek.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you too, Sauce,” he responded and kissed the top of my head. On the way home we stopped by a drug store I’d never heard of and bought some Nyquil—I was ready for a good night sleep.
When we returned to our room, we could see that the girl lived in the dorm right next to us. A door joined the two rooms, and we could see her light through the crack at the bottom and could hear dishes clanking and her opening and closing the refrigerator, popping popcorn, watching a movie. We thought about knocking on her door to introduce ourselves, but we were too exhausted to socialize and I was ready for bed. After evaluating the bed arrangement, we tried to squeeze into the bottom bunk together, and managed to balance, snuggled close together in each other’s arms, for almost an hour, but eventually I was tired of being smashed against the wall and Jeff was tired of almost falling off the edge, so he got up to use the restroom and said he’d take the top bunk when he returned. I pulled the pillow over my face and listened as Jeff stumbled in the pitch dark of the room, feeling for cubicle walls and trying not to trip over random pieces of furniture. When he got to the door, I heard him try the knob. Click. Click, click, click. Kick. Kick. Kick, kick, kick.
“What’s wrong?” I shouted a whisper, not wanting to wake the girl next door as it’d been silent for some time.
“The door won’t open!” He hissed back and turned on the light. I threw off my blanket, as if I could help, and stumbled across the room. Click. Click, click, click. It wouldn’t open. The lock was broken and some fifteen minutes later, when our ideas were exhausted, we looked at each other and looked toward the other door.
“Can you sneak through her room?” I suggested. Jeff looked hesitant. We’d never even met her, and he obviously wasn’t wild about trying to grope around in the darkness, unfamiliar even with the layout of her room. I reached for her door and tried, just to see. Click. It was locked too. “Are you sure you have to go?”
“I drank that whole bottle of water. Yes, I have to go!” I shrugged my shoulders and looked down at the floor. We both saw an old plastic cup next to a potato chip bag and a dirty sock. I looked at Jeff, shook my head, and went back to bed. The next morning the cup was sitting on the counter, full. Jeff took a picture, “to remember the night we were trapped in the ghetto dorms.”
Still locked in our rooms, we knocked on the door until Tana, the girl next door, came and let us go through her room. She was very large with long brown hair and a plain face. She seemed friendly enough, and as we traipsed through her room, we stepped over the piles of clothes and I tried not to eye the stacks of dishes and spilled popcorn on the carpet. It was a little awkward sharing a bathroom. There was that uncertain feeling, when I would walk in and know that she was in the stall. Do I say hello or just pretend that she’s not there? Do I leave and let her be alone or just go about my business and brush my teeth and wash my face at my leisure? I never quite figured out communal restroom etiquette when it’s just two perfect strangers sharing the space.
Later that morning, we attended church and found Kathy, thanking her for putting sheets on the beds and letting her know of our dilemma with the door.
“Yeah, it does that.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Just go through Tana’s room.” Afterwards we went to lunch with Pastor Steve and his family. Lunch was basically comprised of preventing their two young boys from spitting food or licking the salt shakers, so we didn’t talk much. Monday was Steve’s day off so we decided we’d just explore Santa Clara and Jeff would meet with the staff and pastor Steve on Tuesday before we had to leave on Wednesday morning for Shasta.
Sunday night we walked around the campus and met Chase Riggs, the youth pastor, and Kelly, his wife. They had seven children, six boys and one girl aptly named Patience, all of whom could have been on the cover of a magazine they were so beautiful. But not beautiful in a manicured, well-put-together way. Beautiful in a wild, wind-blown, bare legged sort of way. They all had wavy, longer hair and brown skin, undoubtedly from hours at the beach and playing in the sun. Their clothes were comfortable, board shorts and t-shirts and virtually always bare-footed. I occasionally heard Kelly telling them to put shoes on but I don’t think she actually cared because they never did. Chase and Kelly looked young enough to be siblings of the oldest three children, and the kids behaved in that fresh, youthful, energetic way that kids do who have parents who aren’t overbearing or controlling. Though energetic and mischievous, their energy was contagious and attractive, their mischief wholesome and delightful. Jeff and Chase immediately clicked, and though Kelly eyed me with the same suspicion that Lacey had, she made a visible effort to be friendly and I was thankful for that. They announced that they were headed to the beach for the day on Monday and they’d love to have us join them. We were thrilled. Though I felt so sick I could hardly function, I wanted to get the most out of this trip, and knew that perhaps Chase and Kelly would end up being close friends if we did indeed move there.
The next morning I felt sicker than ever, but we pulled on our bathing suits and grabbed our towels and sunscreen and headed across the parking lot. Chase and Kelly had told us that they lived there, at the church, in one of the apartments. There were three apartments there available for the pastors and their families to live in. Hmm. That sounded interesting. I wasn’t sure whether that sounded good or not. On the one hand, you would have no commute; on the other hand, it’d be like being at work all the time. But, I figured, they must be pretty spacious and nice if they could live in one with seven kids, right?
The day was nice – the kids were obviously used to being beach bums and they played happily for hours. Kelly understood that I didn’t feel well and was content to let me bask in the sun in silence, which demonstrated understanding and was the greatest gift she could have given. Jeff and Chase got to know each other and talked about ministry ideas. We fell asleep that night with a sense that it would not be the last time we spent an afternoon with the Riggs nine.
Tuesday was filled with meetings for Jeff, so I took advantage of the time and spent the day resting in the dorm. I still felt uneasy – I didn’t want to move but I also didn’t want to miss what God had for us. I knew this was an amazing opportunity for Jeff, and while I didn’t instantly connect with Steve and Lacey, I did certainly enjoy Chase and Kelly and could see us spending time with them. But I felt confused. I just wanted to know. Everyone had said that once we were actually down there visiting, that we’d just know. Everyone said it’d be crystal clear. But it wasn’t. I was confused and didn’t know exactly how to hear God’s voice.
Figuring that God’s Word was the best place to turn, I opened my Bible, pulling the gold tassel up to find my spot. As I read through the Bible each year, it made it easy to pick where to read. I wished that somehow God would show us, through His word, if we were to come here or not. Like a crystal ball, perhaps there’d be something that would clearly indicate “Yes” of “No.” At least, that’s what I hoped. My tassel brought me to 2 Chronicles 25. Hmm. This would be interesting. My chapter title read “Amaziah reigns in Judah.” Hmm. I’d kind of hoped for Genesis 12 and a booming voice saying “Get out of your country. . . and you shall be a blessing,” or alternately perhaps 1 Timothy 1, “Remain in Ephesus!” That would be nice. Even reading the Macedonian Call in Acts 16. Any of those would do, really. But 2 Chronicles 25? Well, we’ll see, I thought. And so I read.
And a totally ordinary story unfolded before my eyes as if it were written in gold. Amaziah was going to war against Edom and he hired 100,000 mighty men of valor from Israel for 100 talents of gold. But then, right before they go into battle, a man of God prophesies and warns Amaziah that they aren’t to use those hired men, and if they do that God will make them fall; “for God has the power to help and to overthrow.” So Amaziah responds like a good manager of resources would, insisting, “But what shall we do about the hundred talents which I have given to the troops of Israel?” But the man of God responds, “The LORD is able to give you much more than this.” And there I stopped. That sentence glowed. The LORD is able to give you much more than this. What does that mean? The LORD is able to give us much more than these crummy dorms or than this place or is it referring to my not wanting to leave my home and all I’ve “invested” in Oregon. God, what does this mean?
I didn’t know what it meant, but I did know that one thing was clear. Amaziah had gone one direction because he thought it was best, and it had cost him a significant amount of money, but when God revealed that he was then to go a different direction, Amaziah was obedient and considered it worth it to “waste” the 100 talents in order to follow God. So I could stand on this—no matter what, God would be faithful to help us to follow him if we were willing to do it no matter what the cost, and if we were willing to change directions at any point, no matter what the “loss.” This certainly wasn’t a crystal ball answer, but it gave me peace. We’d be ok.
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Read The Road to Santa Clara (Ch. 2): The U-Turn »
on September 11th, 2007 at 7:31 pm
[…] Road to Santa Clara (Ch. 1): The Phone Call […]
on October 3rd, 2008 at 8:43 pm
Just read chapter 1. Got to your blog from the “Going to Seminary” blog skimming throug several other blogs to get there.
Started reading this post and continuing because you are a good writer and good writers captivate their readers . .
I am glad you write well and record details. In my case the details matter because we (my wife and I and two daughters) lived many moons ago in what I would call a sub-apartment at that church you speak of.
It was a painful and beautiful time. I spent many a time with the Lord in hard labor and in intensive prayer crying out to Him in the nooks and crannies of that place.
Well, I will read more and maybe respond more later.
Doug