Summertime, the first week of July, 2012. Our second anniversary of my second pastoral Call, this time to the California seaside community of Santa Barbara. But we were living about 15 miles south of there in a sleepy little beach town called Carpinteria, where we were renting a house about half a mile from the Pacific Ocean, as the crow flies. Our kids were mostly still in single digit ages. We were settling in to life and ministry in an idyllic climate and setting difficult to do justice to in words. Trying to figure out what ministry looks like here, how to reach out into the community beyond our small, mostly retired congregation.
It was natural that we would seek out cross-cultural ministry opportunities. Gena had built an entire full-time, fully funded ministry for this out of nothing years back before uprooting for my seminary training. A little Internet investigating led us to a game night for international students hosted by the pastor of another congregation in town. Gena went once or twice in hopes of making some friends.
She met two young ladies from Saudi Arabia. They were both in Santa Barbara at one of the English language schools, working to improve their English and experience American culture. They seemed very young, but were probably around 22 or so. They exchanged contact information and one of the young ladies followed up with Gena. This resulted in an invitation for the two of them to come to our home and experience an American 4th of July meal. The girls excitedly accepted, warning us they would need to bring their uncle with them.
So it was that Samantha (*not her real name) and her friend and a male guardian arrived at our home. The girls could speak fairly good English. The uncle, none at all. But we smiled and he smiled as well and we gathered around food. I don’t even remember what we had, but we knew enough to make sure the meal was halal – acceptable to Muslims, kind of like observant Jews observe kosher laws. We communicated this to the girls who communicated it to their uncle who smiled and nodded and we proceeded to eat. No Hebrew National pork hot dogs, for sure. I think we had chicken or something like that, along with fruit and salad and sides. An enjoyable couple of hours. And then it was over and they were gone. There wasn’t much more communication after that. One of those situations where a relationship sparks in the darkness for a short time and then sputters out.
Six years later Samantha e-mailed Gena, telling her she still remembered that afternoon at our home, and letting Gena know she was now married with two small girls, their family living in St. Louis. It was an unexpected message out of the blue, and Gena responded and then the communication dropped off again. Shadows closed back in around that relationship for another two years, when there was another brief exchange of updates.
And now, this week Samantha e-mails again. Twelve years after the event. Talking about how clearly she remembers it and treasures that time with an American family in their home, learning a bit about who we are and how we must live. Still in St. Louis, but now with a young son in addition to the two girls and completing her PhD in mathematics at St. Louis University. Gena’s preparing to write her back tomorrow, sharing our rather big changes.
You don’t know how you will impact someone. Or how the Holy Spirit will create an impact in someone through you. We presume Samantha is still Muslim. There hasn’t been any religious discussion in the brief e-mails over the years. But she met Gena at a church and was told I was a pastor and so understands that we are Christians who welcomed strangers into their home and shared a meal. Perhaps this time there will be questions about why we left paradise to move to the other side of the world. Perhaps not.
But at the very least she remembers kindness fondly. Openness. Hospitality. And how the Holy Spirit has, is, or will use that we have no idea. But we’re grateful we took the opportunity to extend it. Please pray that Samantha encounter the Gospel. Perhaps through us, but if not through others in St. Louis. And that the Holy Spirit would use experiences large and small, insignificant and monumental, to bring her and her family into saving faith in Jesus.
The Nelson Family Indonesia 