WE’RE PORTERS, SIR

            As Southern Baptists, we have mission work in our blood. Mission work always creates excitement, whether it is local or across the world. It is a time of venturing into the unknown, meeting different people, and experiencing the power of God.

I remember my second mission trip to Wyoming during the 1980s’ Alabama/Wyoming partnership. The Bridger Valley Baptist Church in Lyman, Wyoming, needed help with a mission in Granger, Wyoming, and Pastor Bertis Ray, an Alabama boy, extended a Macedonian call to come help them.

A log home company donated a building to believers in Granger. The Chilton Baptist Builders’ mission was to remodel the log home and make a small church. Bridger Valley, the sponsoring church, said that it would be ready for our team. The Chilton Baptist Builders were in their second year of existence as mission workers. The first trip, we had driven to Kemmerer, Wyoming. On this second trip, we decided to fly. That was the beginning of an eventful mission memory.

I remember it was the first time to fly for several of us. Somewhere between Birmingham and Memphis, I experienced a holy hush. It was a wine-and-cheese-sampler flight. Being from a dry county and being teetotaler Baptists, we confused the flight attendant by our refusal to partake of the different flavors of cheese and wine. Someone did suggest what we could have the Lord’s Supper, since they were serving wine, but since it was our Lord’s last meal, we did not want this to be our last meal because of drinking the communion wine. What I thought of as a holy hush after that moment was really my ears being stopped up from the altitude change. I realized this when I could see people talking but could not hear them. I learned to chew gum to make my ears pop.

Flying into Salt Lake City International Airport, we watched a severe thunderstorm beneath us as we circled the airport. We noticed a great big flash on the horizon. We saw that the Great Salt Lake resembled an Alabama catfish pond. It was much bigger when we got on the ground. We were glad that we hadn't drunk the wine and that we had missed being struck by lightning.

Exiting the plane, we went to get our luggage. One of my bags was the first to come up and around the carousel. Soon everyone had his luggage, and we were ready to go, as I waited for my second piece. All of a sudden, the airport went black. The thunderstorm had knocked off all the power in northern Utah and southwest Wyoming. I decided to go down into the luggage carousel. I saw my piece, retrieved it, and we went to find our ride. I am glad the electricity did not come back on while I was inside the carousel.

Outside, a black man asked if he could take our luggage. David, one of our team who had never been out of Chilton County, said “Sure.” He told the man that it was neighborly of him to offer.

After he had carried our luggage on his cart to the curbside, the black man stood at attention, lowered his left hand by his side, snapped his fingers, and said, “We are porters, sir.”

David said, “Glad to meet you. I’m an Easterling and we have some Porters back home in Clanton.”

The porter snapped his fingers again and said, “We are porters, sir.”

I said, “David, he wants a tip.” I was pretty country myself, but I knew tipping porters was different from tipping cows. David gave him a dollar. The man snapped his fingers again. David gave more, and I gave some. David was neither a generous giver nor a happy missionary.

Pastor Ray stood outside with a sign with alabama printed on it. We loaded in his van for a 135-mile trip to Granger. We were hungry; remember we had had only cheese and water or soft drinks for our only meal of the day. All of northern Utah was without power, had no places to eat, and we had a long ride before we found a place with power and food.

Finally, we stopped at Bingo’s Truck Stop in Evanston, Wyoming. It was ten at night, Wyoming time. The cook there looked like the cook on Hee-Haw, except he did not have a flyswatter. Bingo’s had a twelve-ounce T-bone special. I ordered it medium rare. When the cook brought it out, it was the largest steak I had ever seen. The French fries were on another plate. I could not eat it, and I took it back. With the toothpick rolling in his mouth, the cook said, “What’s wrong?”

I said, “You are going to have to ‘lick that calf again.’” That means you have to do it again.

He said, “You said medium rare.”

I replied to him, “I can eat a steak when it is rare, when it is red, when blood is seeping out, but it has to be hot!” The steak had ice crystals around the bone on the side against the platter.

He said, “Complaints, complaints …”

I was hungry, but not that hungry. He heated it thoroughly, and I ate it.

We pulled a Willie Nelson and got on the road again. Arriving at Granger at midnight, we found the log home. It was sitting on the ground; there was no phone, no power, no water, and no sewage. We thought as we surveyed the situation, Welcome to mission excitement.

And a vision appeared to Paul in the night; There stood a man of Macedonia, and prayed him, saying, Come over into Macedonia, and help us. And after he had seen the vision, immediately we endeavoured to go into Macedonia, assuredly gathering that the Lord had called us for to preach the gospel unto them. (Acts 16:9–10, KJV)

If you have flown, describe how you feel about flying. If you have not, do you desire to fly?

Most believers are stingy when it comes to tipping. What kind of tipper are you?

Have you as an individual, or your church, ever received a Macedonian call?

Prayer: Generous and gracious Father, flying changed my perspective about clouds and the earth. It made me realize how great You are. Meeting new people and ministering in new places gave me a new meaning to the Great Commission. Thank You for Macedonian calls and the ability to respond.

 From Bro Bobby's 31 day Devotional: I Will Speak Using Stories 

To be continued …