WHAT WILL THE LORD REQUIRE OF ME?

by Danna Shirley

            The Lord was moving me to Japan.  I knew it the minute my husband, Ron, came home and said they needed people to work in Sasebo.  I responded maturely, “Y-e-a-h, right?” 

            “Well, I’ve applied for the job,” he said, “and I have an interview next week in D.C.”

         My heart sank.  I immediately knew, that I knew, that I knew…we would be going to Japan! 

           We had moved to our lovely country home just six years earlier.  I was really enjoying our four acres with catfish pond, greenhouse, fruit trees, woodworking shop, and four bedroom brick home.  Our children loved the country life. 

            My daughter, Kristen, was in junior college just ten miles away; our oldest son, Russ, age 15, had just gotten his driver’s permit; and our youngest, Aaron, was thoroughly ingrained in Dixie Youth Baseball.  What would it mean for each of us to have our lives uprooted and transplanted into a foreign country?  Ron kept assuring me, however, that an interview didn’t necessarily guarantee he would get the job, but I knew; the Lord had already zapped my heart with His assurance and I knew we were going to Japan!!!  He was selected; of course I had no doubt. I later learned of the three interviewees, Ron was the only one with ship experience.

            The next steps came fast and furiously.  Do we sell everything or try to manage our affairs long distance?  We didn’t know if we would ever return to Mississippi so the best decision was to move forward and sell everything.  Now, what to sell and what to store?  We made a list.  Sell the house, the cars, the boat, the freezer, right down to the trampoline.  How long would all of this take?  Weeks?  Months?  This was February and he was to report to Japan by the first of April.  I would remain behind until school got out in May.  I was left with the packout and all the last minute loose ends but he was to find a place to live in Japan and have it stocked with appliances when we arrived.  I didn’t envy either of us our duties.

            Kristen was already moving to a four-year university to live in the dorm, but to uproot our sons at such a vital time in their lives; how could we?  Oh, the promises we made them.  We’d increase their allowance and start a car fund for their inevitable return.  This move would go a long way to financially ensure their college education and our retirement.  And, of course, there was the assurance in my heart that the Lord had orchestrated the entire move.  How could I balk?  How could I complain?  My scariest thought was, What will the Lord require of me?

            At this point in my life I had only been a Christian just twelve years…a baby in my estimation!  I hadn’t done much in my walk with the Lord but attend church twice a week, Bible study once a week, and work in the church office typing bulletins and the like.  I was never one to be out there on the front lines.  I preferred to be in the “helps” area, behind the scenes, hopefully keeping everything running smoothly while that “anointed one of God” was ministering to the people.  However, the question kept coming to my mind, What will the Lord require of me?

            Things began to move quickly.  We sold the house in three hours with no advertising; the boat went next to one of Ron’s fishing buddies; then the car, and that work truck I had hated was sold to a man who didn’t even take it for a test drive!  God was showing Himself mighty and with every sale my thoughts cried out, My God is an Awesome God…but…what will the Lord require of me?  Everything was sold or accounted for prior to Ron’s departure and the children and I were allowed to stay in the house until school was out; another blessing from the Lord. 

            The hardest task was saying goodbye to friends.  When I put down roots, I put them down deep, and it doesn’t take me long to do it.  Ron may have thought he had decided to take this job in Japan, but I knew God was sending us there for His purposes.  That somehow made it a little easier to let go and look ahead with expectation and excitement to what was waiting for us.

            There were words spoken to me about ministering to the Japanese people…a fearful prospect since I had never ministered to anyone before and couldn’t even speak the language.  Then an evangelist visited our church for three days of meetings.  Although he knew I was leaving for Japan shortly, he never said a word about ministering to the Japanese people, an obvious conclusion if someone wasn’t hearing from the Lord.  At the end of his last service, he gave an altar call for those who wanted to move out in their ministry.  I knew God had something in mind for me so I went up for prayer.  I had a wonderful experience with the Lord and felt a deep peace that He was definitely directing my footsteps to Japan.  Again I thought to myself, What will the Lord require of me?  Added to this thought came another, To whom much is given, much is required…Dear God, what am I going to face in Japan?

            In all of my married life we had been on the go so I had learned not to bury myself in sadness or dwell on what I was leaving behind. I’ve always tried to press on to where God was taking me. I was excited about going to Japan just to see what He had in mind for this behind-the-scenes southern gal.

            Ron rented us a very nice house in a little town called Kawatana, about 15 minutes from the Naval base housing community of Hario.  As a civilian working on a Navy contract, we had base privileges but no housing privileges.  Kawatana was a nice community but Hario was like my lifeline to little America with a chapel, theatre, commissary, post office, library, craft store, restaurant…and English-speaking people! 

            On Sundays the theatre doubled as a chapel.  The morning service was Protestant and the evening service was Charismatic.  As I attended that first Sunday evening, I was greeted by a handful of believers; a blessing to find “family” so quickly in a new place. 

            We’d only been in Japan a few weeks when there was an announcement in the base newspaper that a visiting Chaplain would be holding daily Bible studies for one week in Hario.  Again, just a handful of us met for these studies.  The Chaplain taught on the benefit of daily journaling.  At the end of the week he encouraged us to continue meeting for Bible studies, however, there was no one to lead the group.  I couldn’t believe my ears as I heard myself volunteer.  Me, who had always been the attendee, the listener, the soaker-up of someone else’s teaching, was volunteering to lead a Bible study!  What was I doing?  Actually, I volunteered to do one chapter in a book on marriage and suggested that everybody take a turn leading each week.  When it came time to pass the book along to the next person, I was told to just keep going, I was doing fine.  That was the beginning of my “ministry.”

            I taught a Bible study every Wednesday morning for the next four years.  We grew from that handful up to 12 to 15 ladies.  In a transient community such as Hario, with Navy orders transferring families in and out every two to three years, we were very happy to have our faithful group.  It didn’t take long for me to realize that my ministry was to the Navy wives, not to the Japanese.  The evangelist had heard from God by not spouting the obvious.  I was growing in the Lord right along with everyone else.  God was teaching me so I could teach others in turn. 

            The most memorable teaching the Lord gave me was on forgiveness.  I had awakened that Wednesday morning, my mind racing with ideas about how to give a lesson on forgiveness versus unforgiveness.  I was to compare (with illustrations) a fresh croissant to a moldy piece of bread, a cherry tomato to a rotten tomato, fresh milk to sour milk, fresh flowers to wilted flowers, perfume to ammonia, etc.  I was quite pleased with my upcoming presentation for I had put a lot of thought into it and knew it would really make an impact.   Imagine my disappointment when only two people arrived that morning.  We had not had so few ladies since the beginning.  I wondered if I should present something else and hold this teaching for the next week.  I didn’t want to “waste” this good lesson on just two people!  You know . . . the kind of prideful thinking that is worldly and not godly.  God’s lesson was as much for me that week as it was for them. 

            The ministry that took place that morning could have only occurred with just two people there.  You see, I just had in mind to teach a lesson on forgiveness but God had in mind to heal a sweet sister of unforgiveness.  If we had had our usual group of ladies, she probably never would have opened up and we would not have known of her hurting heart.  As it was, she talked to us of her childhood, her sister, her mother, and of the feelings she had against them.  Through that teaching, through all of our shed tears for her, and the prayers we prayed, she began to break open and begin that blessed journey down Forgiveness Lane. 

            God’s lesson to me was that the numbers don’t matter.  When He is doing a work, more can be accomplished with one or two than with many.

            I would not change the five years I lived in Japan for the world.  Each one of us in that Bible study realized we grew more in the Lord in Japan than anywhere else.  I guess because we were forced to hold onto each other, and the Lord, with a firm grip in that dark country.  This was not a place to “play” church.  It was our best and finest growing.

            I did meet and make friends with many Japanese people.  I was privileged to see two of my friends, Hitomi and Nobuyuki, come to the Lord.  They are now in the good hands of a Japanese pastor.  Their salvation is a real miracle considering the spiritual darkness of that country and the blind worship of thousands of gods. 

            What did the Lord require of me in Japan?  Well, I taught a Bible study, led praise and worship at church, organized the annual Harvest Party (Halloween), was secretary of the Ladies Joy Fellowship, and preached from the pulpit a number of times. 

            If the Lord had told me back in Mississippi that I would be moving in ministry this way, I probably would still be running from Him but God is so good.  All He required of me was to take that first step…and then the next…and the next…until the realization came that God was doing the leading.  All I had to do was be obedient to follow.  

WET PAINT

© 2012 Danna Shirley

Why do we believe the experts when they say there are four billion galaxies . . .

          but won’t trust a sign that says “WET PAINT?”

Is it because there’s no way we can count four billion galaxies . . .

but we can touch the wall to see if the paint is wet?

Is it curiosity that leads us to stretch out our finger . . .

or lack of faith to believe what’s right before our eyes?

OR . . . is it just plain rebellion that no one is looking . . .

and no one will ever know what we did . . .

and we absolutely need to know if that paint is still wet?

WHY do we need to know?

BECAUSE WE WANT TO TAKE DOWN THAT BLASTED SIGN!!!

We Didn't Have the GREEN THING Back in Our Day

Unknown--via e-mail message (no green thing)

In the line at the store, the young cashier told an older woman that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment. The woman apologized and explained, "We didn't have the green thing back in my day."

The clerk responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment."

She was right. Our generation didn't have the green thing back in our day.

Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled.

But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.

But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.

Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry the clothes. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or
sisters, not always brand-new.

But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.

Back then, we had one TV or radio in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief, not a screen the size of the state of Montana.

In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric appliances to do everything for us.

When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used a wadded up old newspaper to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.

Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.

But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water.

We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new one, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away a disposable when it got dull.  

But we didn't have the green thing back then.

Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service.

We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.

But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back in our day?

WATKINS BANKING COMPANY

by Danna Shirley

            In 1978 Ron and I were living in a little town called Demopolis.  Kristen was seven and Russ was eighteen months.  Ron worked for the Alabama Power Company and I was a stay-at-home mom until it became necessary for that additional income.   

            I searched the paper for a secretarial position and found an ad for temporary employment at the Watkins Banking Company in Faunsdale, Alabama.  Faunsdale is about fifteen miles from Demopolis and in the 2000 census it had a population of eighty-seven.  It had been a booming railroad town at one time.  The current mayor was also a checker at the Piggly Wiggly in Uniontown, Alabama.

            My employer was the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC).  Watkins Banking Company, established in 1891, was in receivership (July 1978) and closing its doors forever. Why receivership?  Well, it seems the bank was purchased by someone who used it to finance his own personal business and gave loans to his friends and associates as well.  These were out-of-state people who could have cared less about Faunsdale or Watkins Banking Company or paying their debts.   

(Faunsdale Plantation near Faunsdale)

            My co-worker, Biddie Lawrence, had been an employee at the bank and was allowed to remain under the direction of the FDIC.  The first few months were busy as we closed the accounts of the locals and sold the current loans to other banks.  Letters were written to customers to retrieve their personal papers from the vault.  It was a sad demise to go through the process of burial of this fine old establishment.

            One of the former presidents of the bank had been employed there during the 1930’s.  He was the town’s mayor, notary, life insurance salesman, and took care of any important business for the townspeople.  Every piece of paper he ever touched was stored in a back room.  Interestingly, the carbon copy of his reply was typed on the back of the letter he was answering.  He was a conscientious recycler before we ever knew of the term. 

            My duties were to go through these old musty files and destroy anything not related to bank business.  I found life insurance policies dating back thirty and forty years.  Since there was no internet for research in 1978, a letter was written to every company to learn if the policy was still in effect.  Most of them had not only expired but the company itself was out of business.  These policies were beautifully handwritten in calligraphy and the cover was like artwork.  They represented a history of the residents of Faunsdale and it pained me to destroy them.  The FDIC had no heart for family, lineage, ancestors, or descendants.  Just close the bank and move on to the next assignment.

            When I reached the files of insurance correspondence, I noticed the letterheads changed.  As the company aged, the letterhead moved from horse and buggies to Model A’s, coupes, sedans, and right up into the 40’s and 50’s.  The company building also changed from one-story to two, to three or would expand from a small building to a city block.  I didn’t have the heart to destroy these magnificent images so I cut off the letterheads, kept them in a file, and then disposed of the letter.

            Shortly into this project, I became curious as to why all of this paperwork was saved at the bank so I started to read some of the letters.  One of the families had a daughter in a mental institution and the correspondence back and forth between her father and the doctors was heartbreaking.  This was so personal and confidential that I couldn’t just toss these letters into a trash can so I cut them up into little pieces with the paper cutter (no shredders either in those days).

            During my lunch hour I would explore Main Street, which was just one block long with most of the buildings having already been abandoned.  Nothing was locked so I entered one of the store fronts to find a piano that had fallen through the floor.  I also found an old travel trunk that had a corner chewed through by the local mice.  Down the block on the bank’s side was a little grocery store where I could purchase a sandwich and a soda. 

            Eventually all transactions at the bank slowed down and Biddie and I dragged through the day at a snail’s pace while we waited for the next non-existent customer to come through the door.  There were only two outstanding loans remaining and their owners made a payment once a month.  At this point our supervisor allowed us to do anything we wanted just to pass the time.

            After doing our nails, reading books, and getting to know each other quite well, we started putting together jigsaw puzzles.  The counter at the bank had a slant with a ledge at the bottom so it was the perfect place for laying out the pieces.  I brought in the most difficult puzzles with the most pieces that I could find.  After we had completed three or so of these, our supervisor finally proclaimed his work was done at Watkins Banking Company.  The last two loans would be moved.

            And so ended the most touching job I ever had . . . learning the history, triumph and tragedy, of a small southern community; and the most boring job I ever had . . . reading, manicuring my nails, doing jigsaw puzzles . . . and getting paid for it.

    

   Faunsdale Plantation is a historic plantation near Faunsdale, AL. The slave quarters on the property are among the most significant examples of slave housing in Marengo County and are among the last remaining examples in the State of Alabama. The house was added to the National Register of Historic Places on 13 July 1993 as a part of a multiple property submission, “Plantation Houses of the Alabama Canebrake and Their Associated Outbuildings.” Faunsdale Plantation is one of the few large plantations in Alabama where detailed slave records were recorded and managed to survive as part of the historical record.