The Road to Santa Clara (Ch. 14): The Home Fellowship

Ξ October 3rd, 2007 | → | ∇ Stories |

Few things are harder than trying to fill the shoes of a well loved, admired, and respected leader. This was exactly the challenge Jeff had before him when we started leading the East San Jose home fellowship. Pastor Raul, a seasoned minister of over twenty years, had led the group for the past four years. They had grown together, and it was apparent, the very first night that we attended, that we were outsiders coming into an already-established, close-knit family. To Jeff’s credit, he recognized this and from the very start sought to be a servant leader, attempting to get to know each person, attempting to weave himself into the existing fabric of the group. Most of the group was older than us, which posed another challenge—feeling inadequate to lead but being placed in the position. The family who hosted the group, the Mendez’s, were welcoming from the start. Eric Mendez, the father, sat Jeff down after the first meeting and simply said, “We supported Pastor Raul, but he is gone. Now, we support you. We will do whatever we can to pray for, encourage, and support you as you lead this group. We’re with you.” Jeff was undone by his words, his simple belief that God had placed Jeff there and he would therefore do all he could to help Jeff flourish in his role. Sandy, Eric’s wife, was a quiet woman with a beautiful smile and long black hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was busy with their three children, aged five, three, and eighteen months. Though shy at first, soon the children would run and jump on our laps, laughing as we tickled their armpits or pretended to steal their noses and put them in our mouths.
Jeff did make some small changes to the group. Where before they’d sat in rows facing forward, Jeff put the chairs into a circle. He also made the time more interactive, giving people an opportunity to voice questions, comments, and insights they saw as we studied the Bible passage. By Christmas, the group was thriving at about twenty-five people, growing and learning and adapting as the group grew and changed. Chris, the church maintenance man, led worship each week with his guitar while I played the djembe. Interestingly, he and Shane were two of the guys who Jeff and I had met when we’d first visited the so-called college group. Rick, the guy who helped us move into the Acropolis, and his wife Jana, were young believers who started coming and spending time with the Seifers and us.
Despite our discouragement with the church, the home fellowship was a kiss from God. We both felt that even if the only reason that God brought us to Santa Clara was to minister there, then it was all worth it. The people there were real, honest, and authentic. Though we didn’t have a history with them, they were willing to let us in, willing to give us a chance, even though it would have been easy for them to remain distant. When we challenged them, they responded, when Jeff shared hard things, they received them with grace. And the diversity of the mix produced a variety of viewpoints that always enriched our understanding of God. We had every age, ethnicity, and social class. We had a single dad raising his five-year-old son on his own, a widowed mom, struggling to balance a full-time job and raising her daughter, and a 40-year-old bachelor battling lupus. We had an Intel worker, a Whole Foods grocery manager, and several stay-at-home moms. We had Philippinos and Hispanics and pale white girls like me. I loved it. Every week we left encouraged, with the strength to continue another week.
We also saw God use the group in interesting ways. One night, as we studied Romans, we heard a knock at the door. Since we always just walk in, we knew it wasn’t just a latecomer to the group. Eric Mendez answered the door to a skinny young black kid on the porch, holding a beat-up folder in his hand. His name was Dimitri and he was selling magazines. Eric said we weren’t interested in buying magazines but invited him to join us for our home fellowship. To our astonishment, he said he’d love that. So, he joined us. Eric handed him a Bible, and we finished our study of Romans 8, praising God in our minds that we were studying such a powerful portion of Scripture. We closed with prayer and worship, and then, as always, everyone stayed for a late-night potluck style dinner. Dimitri stayed for the potluck.
He was there for almost two hours, talking to people. We listened to him share about his life, how he was trying to make money for college. We soon realized he was being taken advantage of by whoever had employed him, making a pittance for endless hours of door-to-door sales. A few of us bought subscriptions, but mostly we just talked to him. Jeff shared the gospel, explaining a little better what he already had a vague understanding of. We prayed for him, and he left. We never saw him again, but we all had a sense that somehow God had orchestrated his visit. Plus, I also got a Fitness magazine subscription out of it.

Christmas came and Jeff and I flew home to Oregon. We bought our tickets before we found out that Jeff had to work the week between Christmas and New Year’s. So, we flew up for Christmas with his mom, then my parents drove back down with us to stay for the week while Jeff worked, then we all drove back up for New Year’s to do Christmas with my parents, then flew back down to be at work Monday morning. It was a whirlwind, but so fun. Being back in Oregon was like having a tall glass of water, refreshing and nourishing and energizing. The fresh air, the trees, the puddles and rain and friendly faces all felt like wrapping myself in a familiar blanket, sheltered from the cold.
While in Oregon, we visited Corvallis. On one hand, it was familiar, welcoming, and comfortable, but on the other hand, it was not our home. We drove by our old house, visited church, and even had dinner with friends, and while we enjoyed our visit, it was just that—a visit. As we flew back down to Santa Clara late Sunday night, we talked about this, realizing that two things had taken place. First, Corvallis had changed. We knew this would happen. People had moved, gotten married, had kids. A whole new class of college freshman had come who seemed to young for high school let alone college. Many of our beloved students had gotten jobs in Portland and moved on. The church had moved locations as well. All of our church memories were associated with Corvallis High School and the church office on the corner of 10th and Circle. Now, the church was in a different school with the church office on sight. The new facility, though nice, was completely foreign to us. There were no familiar sights or smells. We knew that Corvallis was no longer home.
But the second thing was even more significant than the first—we had changed. Stepping back onto Oregon soil made us realize that the Jeff and Kari Patterson who’d lived there before were no more, we were different because of the experiences we’d had. God had shaped us, broken us, shaped us some more, and was continuing to do so. We interacted with each other different, with others differently, with God differently. I saw a depth in Jeff, a humility, a contriteness, that hadn’t been there before, or at least hadn’t been there to that degree. I felt like I looked at things with a different perspective. I felt quicker to listen, slower to speak, slower to jump to judgmental conclusions about others. And, Jeff and I were both able to say, with all of our heart, “Our time has been hard, but so very good.”
The hard thing about visiting home was being constantly asked the question, “So what are you doing next?” We didn’t know. We were trying to just be faithful, one day at a time, in our jobs, but the truth was we desperately wanted to know what God had for us next but had no clue. We had surrendered our location to God—whether he wanted us in California long term or back in Oregon or somewhere completely different. It was up to Him. But we longed for Him to make some sort of avenue clear. While we had purposed in our hearts that if He wanted us to spend the rest of our lives living in an apartment and working our two jobs, then we would do that, but we both knew, deep in our being, that God had something more for us, and we committed to waiting and trust Him to make that plan clear.
On the flight home, as we talked about the what had changed in the past six months, Jeff got quiet for a few moments, then began, “You know, Mark and Adam are both going to Multnomah Seminary.” He started as though he were broaching a subject rather than making casual conversation. Jeff and I had both always wanted to attend seminary someday. When we were first married we’d planned to go to Moody Bible in Chicago, but God had closed the door. I had a full-ride scholarship all through my undergraduate work in Oregon State University, and because I had graduated with honors, I was eligible to apply for full-funding for two years of graduate school anywhere in the nation. However, Moody had not qualified, so I couldn’t received funding. During my few weeks at home in the windowless apartment, I had researched attending Stanford or San Jose State to get my Master’s in Fiction Writing, but after filling out my paperwork and ordering my transcripts, I just didn’t have a peace from God about moving forward with it. The desire to continue my education had always been there, but I had never gotten the green light from God.
“Oh yeah? That’s neat. I don’t really know anything about Multnomah—are they even accredited?”
“Oh yeah, they’re accredited. Mark and Adam love it. They said the professors are amazing and the teaching is just life-changing—not just head knowledge stuff but truly challenging in their hearts too, you know? Mark even thought maybe you’d be willing to edit some of his papers. You could read about some of the stuff they’re learning.” I raised my eyebrows, now truly interested in what he was saying.
“Yeah, I’d love to do that. How do they manage to take classes and still work full-time?”
“They had this Friday-only program, I guess. They go all day on Fridays and take all their classes at one time. That way they only have to commute one day a week.” I nodded, thinking.
“You should research more.” Jeff smiled, ever so slightly.
“I will.”

–

Back in California we hit the ground running. The following morning I went into work, took the usual phone call from Minoto, reporting on the activity of the gym and the lack of any messages or phone calls, but before hanging up, she asked a favor.
“Can you call my exterminator?”
“Excuse me?”
“Can you call my exterminator? The number’s in my rolodex.” I was a little caught off guard, but said I would and what did she want me to say to him. “Oh, tell him I saw a spider this morning in the front hall.” I sat in the silence for a moment.
“You saw a spider? Do you want me to tell him anything else?”
“No, just tell him I saw a spider, he knows where the key is so he can just go and take care of it for me.” I sat in dumb silence. The exterminator, come get a spider? I said I would call right away, and hung up. Sifting through her rolodex, I found the number and dialed the phone.
“Matt Foundry.”
“Hi, I’m calling for Minoto Boon.” I thought I heard a faint chuckle, but couldn’t be certain. I continued. “She said to let you know she has a spider in the front hall.”
“Ok, I’m on my way there to do my weekly check anyway, so I’ll see if I can find him.”
“I’m sorry what? Did you say your weekly check?” I thought I’d heard him wrong.
“Yeah, my weekly check. I’m on a monthly contract to go by there and kill bugs. Minoto hates bugs you know, scared to death of ‘em.” This time I knew he chuckled.
“Ok, well, thank you.” He hung up and I shook my head, smiling.

–

Work continued to provide entertainment as I grew to know more of the women there. Graciella was an older woman who was probably stunningly gorgeous in her younger years. She used to be a ballerina and she still carried herself in the most graceful fashion, with her head held high and somehow seeming to point her toes at all times. She was very sweet but also manipulative, always trying to sign up early for the yoga class a day in advance, which was strictly against the rules. Jennifer was seventeen and gorgeous. Tall, blond, with a knock-down drag-out figure I tried not to covet. She weaseled her way into the club every time even though her account always flashed red when she checked in because she never paid her dues. Bridgett was a young mom who I began talking to about Jesus. The worldwide Church of Christ was pursuing her, so we had conversations about Jesus and grace and the Bible. Lindsay always wanted to know the reason I was so happy all the time, but as I began to start a conversation about Christ the phone rang and then she was gone.
And then there was Lynn. Lynn came in every day and always seemed grumpy. She was tall and masculine, with long muscular legs and always wore bicycle shorts. She always seemed to be glaring, and looked at me as though suspicious. When she handed me her card each morning, she sighed deeply, as though tired just thinking about working out. Not that she worked out that much. She spent a lot of time just talking to other women, or noticing that we were low on toilet paper or that someone was taking too long in the shower, which she was quick to point out to me.
A few weeks after we got back from Oregon, I was working my normal shift. Lynn had come in that morning and left, as usual. But a few hours later, around 10am, one of the workers at the grocery store that shared our parking lot came through the front door. He walked up to the desk and said there was a problem outside. Before I could even turn toward her office, Minoto was at the desk, with a nose for drama, sniffing out some sort of sinister event or conspiracy. Her eyes were wide with wonder, her lips drooping as she breathed out of her mouth.
“What it is? Is something wrong?” She wrung her hands together and shifted from one foot to the other, slightly bobbing up and down as she bent her knees.
“There’s a woman lying out in the parking lot. She’s conscious, but . . . I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Oh dear goodness!” Minoto’s voice rose an octave. She hurried out the front door and the man followed her. I stayed at the front, checking women in. A few moments later she returned and paced in front of the desk for a moment, shaking her hands by her shoulders. Finally, she turned and put her hands on the desk, looking at me, rocking back and forth. I raised my eyebrows.
“It’s Lynn. Do you think you could go out there and talk to her. I don’t know what’s wrong and I think maybe you could take care of it.”
“Me? Lynn is collapsed out in the middle of the parking lot?! Is she hurt? I mean, what’s wrong?” I wasn’t sure why I, and not an ambulence, was being alerted.
“I don’t think she’s hurt. But she isn’t responding. It’s kind of wewed.” She pronounced “weird” in her signature way. I took a deep breath, wondering what God was up to today.
“Ok, I’ll go.” I walked outside and saw Lynn lying on the pavement, on her side, her cheek lying on the blacktop. As I got closer I saw that he eyes were open, staring into nothing. At first, I really thought that she might be dead, but as I got closer I could see her breathing and an occasional very slow blink. A chill ran up my spine, and I became cautious, slowly stepping toward her.
“Lynn? It’s Kari.” I said slowly, calmly, gently. Nothing. “Lynn, are you hurt?” Nothing. “Lynn, are you ok?” Nothing. I took a deep breath and moved closer. “Lynn, can you please answer me? Are you hurt?”
Silence for a moment, then she took a breath, and in an eerie, hollow, deep voice responded slowly, “No.” Another chill ran up my spine. Her voice was bizarre, almost unearthly.
“Lynn, are you ok?” I moved a step closer.
Again, a breath, and the same empty, slow voice, “Yes.” Her eyes never moved, just remained fixed in space. I shiver of fear washed over me. I prayed and moved right next to her.
“Lynn, can I help you?”
A breath, “No.”
“Are you hurt?”
A slow blink, “No.” I thought for a moment and took a deep breath.
“Lynn, are you sad?” As the words left my mouth, a wave of something washed over us. I looked in her eyes and they slowly watered. They remained fixed, but slowly, tears brimmed and ran over, running down her cheeks onto the pavement. “Lynn, you’re sad. Is that it?” Her face began to move, slowly, contorting into a look of pain, her eyes closed, the tears running down her cheeks. She was crying. She slowly pulled her legs up, pulling her knees close to her check, curling up in a ball.
“Yes.”
I sat down on the pavement, putting my hand on her head. To my shock, she reached up her arms and pulled herself into my embrace. At first I was horrified, but I pulled her into my arms. She nuzzled her face into my neck, soaking my shoulder with her tears, clinging to me like she were drowning.
“It’s ok, Lynn. It’s ok.” And with that, she broke. Tears, wild, unstrained tears, flowed down her cheeks. She choked and sobbed, like her insides were being unknotted, like pent-up pain was being loosed in a torrent of emotion. “It’s ok, Lynn, it’s ok.” I didn’t know what to say so I just sat there, in silence, for a long time, letting her cry, waiting until the tears had run their course. Finally, I asked her if she wanted to talk.
“I want to die. I’m worthless and I should just die. If I lie here long enough I’ll just die.” I shivered again, glimpsing into the spiritual realm, recognizing the father of lies in her words.
“Lynn, you are not worthless. You are valuable. You are loved . . .” I began.
“No no no no!!!! Shut up! I am not! I’m worthless. I’m ugly and no one here likes me. I should die!” She shouted at me, shaking. I held her firmly in my arms. She shook and began sobbing again.
“Lynn, that is not true. You are loved. Can I tell you how I know that?” She didn’t respond, but she had quit crying and shaking, and just laid limp in my arms. I prayed and continued, “I know that Jesus loves you. He created you, exactly like you are. He fashioned you. He knows you. He thinks you are beautiful and valuable. He wants you to live. He loves you.” She pulled away and looked me in the eye for the first time. Her face was swollen with tears, her strange masculine features distorted. She didn’t respond but I knew she was thinking. “Can I pray for you, Lynn?” She slowly nodded and leaned back on my shoulder, exhausted. And so I prayed. I didn’t know her situation, but I prayed for healing, truth, wholeness, salvation, deliverance. When we’d finished, I asked if she could get up now, and she said she could. We stood up and she pushed her hair out of her face. I asked if she could go inside and clean up and if she had a ride home. She said she lived with her mom. We walked inside together and I called her mom, arranging a ride home.
After she’d washed her face, Lynn came out of the locker room and walked toward the door, stopping by the front desk. She leaned forward and looked uncomfortable, shifting her eyes back and forth, but finally whispered, “Thank you.” I just smiled slightly and put my hand on hers.
“Remember what I said.” She nodded and was gone.
–
Lynn continued to come in every day. I didn’t want to embarrass her, so I never brought the incident up and neither did she. But every time she handed me her card, she looked me in the eye, and ever so slightly, smiled.