My most memorable Christmas~A Story from Cordell Baker

                       

                                                    My most memorable Christmas

I lay in a hospital bed in Wenatchee. On the bed beside me lay our four month old daughter, while my wife and four-year-old daughter stood beside the bed. There we opened our Christmas gifts and ate the special Christmas dinner the hospital provided. That is I ate what could be sucked through a straw that went through the gap in my front lower tooth line. My jaws were wired shut, so all my food was either liquid or blended.

Doesn't sound like a happy Christmas does it? But when you've been through what I had been through and see what I had seen, it probably was one of the happiest days of my life.

Thirteen days earlier I had been run over by a tractor while doing seasonal work in an orchard in Bridgeport. After laying on the frozen ground for forty-five minutes while the men searched for an ambulance ( the closest one 45 miles away), I was transported on an old army stretcher in the police paddy wagon to the hospital in Brewster. Seeing the extent of my injuries, the medical people at Brewster sent me on to the hospital in Wenatchee.

When it was all sorted out the diagnosis included fractures to the left foot, left femur, ribs, nose, skull and three fractures of the lower jaw. My right eye was popped out of its socket and so swelled it felt like a tennis ball. The head injuries were life-threatening. Recovery would involve several surgeries. I would spend five weeks in the hospital, fourteen months on crutches and a year on a cane. Forty-five years later, as I write these lines, I still feel the effects daily.

But in the hospital we began to see the hand of God, graciously supplying every need and opening strong and lasting friendships which would bless our lives for years to come.

We were so young and utterly without this world's goods. I was pastor of a little mission church which paid us $40 per month. We gave the $40 back to the church to make payments on the parsonage. Another church gave us $90 per month. I made up the remainder of our needs by seasonal work in the orchards. Looking at it from the human side thirteen days earlier, that Christmas looked mighty grim. Then we begin to see how God works.

A few days into my hospitalization, the cards and letters begin to arrive, most of them with checks and money orders in them. They came from all over the world, from people we knew and many from folks we've never heard of. Soon it was like a flood. The nurses literally brought my mail and by the bucketful. Then they would stand by with awe as we open the letters and extracted the checks dozens of them. We never lacked! God supplied all our needs and more through his loving children from all over the world.

After a few days of waiting (the hardest part of it all) to see that they head injuries were no longer life-threatening, the surgeries and healing begin. Though at times very painful, every day was a challenge and a new milestone in healing. Is it any wonder then, that that Christmas, as pitiful and out of the ordinary it may seem turned out to be one of my most memorable Christmases. Mary, the mother of our Lord, in her inspired magnificent, expressed my sentiments exactly when she said "He...has done to me great things... and his mercy is on them that fear him." (Luke 1:49-50)

Learning to Be Thankful: A Story from Cordell Baker

It was 1953 when my wife and I really began to enjoy the blessing of being thankful. We had left the security of a steady job with General Electric in Linton, Indiana. At the call of a seven-member Church in Bridgeport, Washington, we had moved two thirds of the way across the continent at our own expense to pastor a church that would pay us $10 per week. In addition a larger church had promised us another $45 per month. The rest would have to come by a secondary job. When we left Indiana we had only enough money to get us to Wyoming. But God had supplied along the way and on my 23rd birthday we had arrived at our new place of ministry.

For the first month, our only bed was a 39 inch rollaway that was so uncomfortable, we took turns sleeping on the floor. Our household furniture was almost nonexistent. But we were or at least thought we were truly grateful for the things God has brought into our lives. We would go to our mailbox and often find "fellowship" to supply our needs. Or the area driver for a large baking concern would meet us and load us up with bread. Just one funds were getting really low there would be work available in one of the local orchards. We were growing to love our people and our place of ministry and I thought we were really learning to be thankful and by most standards most who knew us would have agreed.

Then in November I was invited by First Baptist Church in Wenatchee to speak at the Thanksgiving service. It turned out to be also a food shower for us, for which we were truly grateful. But the highlight of the service, I will never forget. We had just sung the old song count your blessings. The congregation sat down and from the back of the auditorium, I heard the voice of a man who began literally to count his blessings as a songwriter exhorted, naming them one by one. The crowd became silent and we listened in wonder as this saint of God spoke. I turned to see who it was that spoke so eloquently and to my surprise, I saw an ancient gentleman with a white cane speaking. I don't remember a thing about the sermon I preached. And probably no one else remembered much of it either. As badly as I wanted to inspire that congregation to greater thankfulness, my most eloquent words were as nothing compared to the words that were spoken and the lesson I learned that day from that dear blind saint.

On one occasion Jesus healed 10 lepers. One of them turned back to express his thanks. Jesus commended the grateful leper, but he asked the question. "Where are the nine? " (Luke 17:17). I pray that God will help me to always follow the steps of the one and never fall into the path of the nine.

The Town Bully Who Was Saved~A Story from Cordell Baker

The Town Bully Who was Saved

It has been my privilege to meet many interesting people along the trail of life. None was more interesting than the man who had been the town bully of a small town in north central Washington. They called him "pop".

Pop was a self educated man. He taught himself to read when he was 15 years old, by reading the Bible while he drank his morning coffee. He had been shortchanged on education because he had to drop out as a primary aged kid to sell newspapers on the street of Spokane to help support his widowed mother and some younger siblings.

But he did not let his lack of education holds him back. In his lifetime he mastered seven trades. He was once a railroad engineer. He once manage a large store in Spokane which catered to railroaders. He was a carpenter, painter, a plumber, an electrician, a wheat farmer in an orchardist.

But Pop had some terrible vices. He was a drunkard, a gambler and a brawler who just loved to fight. He had learned to fight as a kid who was forced to fight to protect his newspaper earnings from bigger boys who would attempt to rob him. He became so good at it, he later went into the professional ring both as a boxer and a wrestler.

When he moved to the small town where I knew him, Pop became the town bully. After a while, no one in the town would dare fight him. A rough cattle rancher told me that as he grew up he went to all the local high school games. He said he didn't care at all about the sports. He attended because he knew that after the game, Pop was going to fight. Since no one in his own town would dare to fight him, he would make it a point to pick a fight with some out-of-town guy who didn't know him and was foolish enough to take him on. The outcome was always a sound beating for the ignorant guy who took the bait.

However, Pop had a deep emptiness in his heart which his drinking, gambling and fighting could not fill. It all came to a head when his brother who was also a drunkard and brawler died suddenly.

I don't recommend this approach to a funeral, but the preacher preached from the text in First Corinthian letter where it states that no drunkards shall inherit the kingdom of God (1 Corinthians 6:10). Pop had not been a religious man. He hadn't attended church since the few times he went as a small child. He was not even sure in his mind that there was a god. But that Bible text got a hold of his mind and wouldn't let go. The next day he was irrigating his orchard and he couldn't get that text out of his mind. As he came to the end of his rope, he walked under a big apple tree, looked up into the heavens and said "God, if you are really God, if what that preacher said is true, my brother has gone to Hell. But I don't want to go there. " Then he stopped and thought for a moment and looked up again and said, "Now God, I've got you on the spot, because I don't want to go to hell.”

Most of us who have had some religious teaching would say that surely was an ignorant prayer. And it was! "But God has chosen the foolish things of the world confound the wise (1 Corinthians 1:27).” God took him at his word. Soon he learned the blessed truth of how Jesus, God's son, died on the cross and rose again, suffering the pains of Hell to take the place of sinners. The town bully was saved!

My cowpoke friend couldn't understand what had happened to pop, but after watching his life for many years, he had a deep respect for him. That drunken brawler was not only delivered from his carousing lifestyle, but he became an effective lay preacher who was known and loved throughout that region. Pop has long gone to his reward, but as long as I draw breath I will thank God that he brought that transformed bully across my path.

An Adventure of Faith~A Story from Cordell Baker

An adventure of faith

I completed my hookup of the small mobile home I was to leave in Missouri to be sold and contemplated the journey I was about to begin. I was leaving a good job with General Electric in Linton, Indiana to accept the call to the ministry of a little (seven-member) mission church in Bridgeport, Washington. I would pick up my wife, Virginia in Missouri and we would have two deputation meetings in churches in Central Iowa. We would continue on two thirds of the way across the continent at our own expense. The church where we were to minister would pay the tremendous salary of $10 per week. In addition another larger church had promised to support us for $45 per month. But the immediate problem was that we did not have enough money to get us to Wyoming, much less to the middle of Washington. But we were certain God had called and some way he would provide. I wiped away a couple of tears, got in the car and started out.

In Iowa we had two meetings scheduled in which we would explain what we were going to do and challenge the people to join us in prayer for its accomplishment. In those times, the mid-fifties) a church usually gave a home missionary an offering of $20. We had two meetings, but forty dollars just would not cut it! We finished the first midweek prayer meeting and to our delight they gave us an offering of $100.

The second meeting was our home church at Ames, Iowa. The church gave us an offering of about hundred dollars. Then at the close of the service we stood on opposite sides of the main door greeting the people, many of them our friends. Over and over again we would shake hands and pull back a five dollar bill or a $10 bill hidden in the palm. We would stuff the money in any convenient pocket and reach out to the next person. Neither Virginia nor I knew that the other was going through the same routine. When we counted it up, we discovered that those generous people had loaded us with over $100 at the door, in addition to the offering.

A couple days later, we were at my parents home, when we saw a man come up on the porch and ring the bell. It was an elderly gentleman, a carpenter who had been an old friend of Virginia's family. He didn't have time to come in, but he handed us an envelope, saying the Lord had laid upon his heart to give it to us. After a brief chat, he left and we open the envelope. In it there was a $100 bill.

During that one week, God had open the hearts of his people not only to pay for our entire journey, but also to feed us for the first month of our ministry. It was the beginning of four years of walking by faith. We never knew in what way it would come, but we never lacked. Week after week we found "fellowship" in our mailbox at just the needed time. Sometimes we would meet the bread route sales man as he delivered to our supermarket and he would load load us with bread. Occasionally a church would give us a food shower: sometimes it was a matter of temporary secular work opening up. We never ate better in our lives than during that time.

Our Lord, who knows the end from the beginning knew then and still knows our every need. Jesus gave us one of life's most practical lessons when he said "seeking ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness and all these things will be added unto you."

A Little Pair of Shoes~A Story from Cordell Baker

A little Pair of shoes

Virginia and I arrived in a little Washington "dam town" for our first mission pastorate in the middle of the summer of 1954. In just two weeks we were fully occupied with our very first vacation Bible school. Daily, we packed 90 kids into a little 25 x 40 storefront building. One morning I took our 5 Passenger, Coop to pick up kids from a dumpy little housing project in a rural area nearby. I returned with 15 kids stacked in five rows, three deep. When the day's sessions were over and I had returned them I discovered a little pair of girl's shoes left in the car. That afternoon, I scoured the housing project till I found the little owner and her family. Her mother, Janet, was a short redhead, somewhat attractive, but what today I would call a typical airhead. I visited the home two or three more times and she responded by enrolling the kids in our Sunday school. Then suddenly, 300 men got their "pink slips" in one week and they moved out of the area.

Five or six years passed and we had moved to a new mission pastorate and again, I was a bi-vocational pastor, this time selling cars. One afternoon, I showed a new car to a young man who I did not recognize. But he recognized me. It turned out that Janet had divorced her first husband to marry this man, Larry, who had been their neighbor. He was distraught because Janet, true to form was now being unfaithful to him. I counseled with him and invited him to bring the family to church. The next Sunday night the whole family took seats in the front row for our evening gospel service. Besides the immediate family, also in the group was one of Janet's sisters, Marilyn. I noticed Marilyn because she seemed to hang on to every word I spoke as I presented the glorious gospel of salvation through the Lord Jesus Christ.

I found out later that Janet had tricked her sister into moving up from Nevada to care for Janet's kids while Janet worked nights in a café. Problem was it was only a ruse to get out of the house and play the harlot. But Marilyn was stuck. She was eight months pregnant and had a dangerous congenital heart problem. Her doctor would not release her to fly back to Nevada.

In an effort to part Janet from her paramour, Larry went to Arizona and got a job working on another dam. He sent bus tickets for the family to join him. But Janet decided she was not going to go. We found her shacked up with her "boyfriend" in a cheap motel. We got her out of bed and put her on the bus for Arizona. But now, Marilyn was really in a pickle. Her family was gone, she could not go back to Nevada, her husband was stationed in Greenland and because of her heart problem, she did not dare to live alone. So she came to live with us.

Two or three days after giving birth to her first child, her heart failed and she nearly died. We got her husband home from Greenland and helped to transfer her to the nearest military hospital. For several days she hovered between life and death. We were sure we would lose her. Then one morning I drove the 100 miles to the hospital and walked into her room. To my utter surprise, she was sitting up in bed, the oxygen apparatus was gone, her hair was groomed and she looked wonderful. I could only blurt out the question, "Marilyn, what has happened?" Her simple reply was, "I am saved and I know it." In her darkest hour, she had believed the simple gospel message of salvation through the grace of God. God answered her simple prayer of faith and given her a perfect assurance that live or die, she would be in the care of God. When God saved her spiritually, he also saved her physically. I have never seen such a dramatic recovery.

In just a short time she was back in our home. Six weeks later we put her on a train for San Antonio, Texas. The Air Force transferred her husband there, so she could be near their great medical center there. Though the doctors advised against her having more children, she became a mother two more times. The second time, she became the first woman who ever gave birth with a catheter and monitor in her heart.

For many years we would occasionally hear from Marilyn. Her news was always upbeat in spite of the fact that the doctors said she would probably not live past 35 years. She did make it, but we don't know by how many years.

In our last communication, she was full of joy as she reported that all five of her sisters, her mother and her eldest child had trusted Christ and were happily living the Christian life. Her husband, though not yet saved was showing definite interest.

I think about Marilyn often wonder if she is still among us or gone to her reward. And I can never think of this family without wondering, who would ever have thought that so much good could've come from the return of a little pair of shoes?

The Ways of God~A Story from Cordell Baker

 

The Ways of God

We had just begun our midweek prayer and Bible study service in the little storefront building we rented for our church. Suddenly the wind began to howl. The doors rattle and with each gust of wind the double doors partially opened allowing a cloud of dust and a draft of sand to enter. With our eyes full of dirt and unable to speak we dismissed the service. The car proved to be the most secure from the dust so we took refuge in it. We drove by our church building project to see that everything was anchored down safely. To our utter dismay, we found half the roof structure laying upside down in the lot next door. We went home and for a little while we just cried. Our disappointment knew no bounds.


We had started this building project when we had only seven members in the church and $400 in the bank. I was too young and green to know that it couldn't be done, so we just did it anyway. We tore down an old house for lumber. I walked the banks of the Columbia River and picked up drift lumber that had washed down from the dam project upstream. We traded a lot for another on which was an abandoned, partially completed store building with a pile of lumber with it. The walls and roof were up and the subfloor was down and we had begun the wiring. But now half the roof lay in a heap..


I called my friend and mentor, a retired building contractor. This tough old gentleman was a former professional boxer and wrestler, but I could hear him openly sob over the phone, though he tried to be upbeat about it. We didn't sleep much that night and I was up at first light. I knew "Pop" would be there early to work. Before seven we were on the job and by noon we had cleaned up the mess and salvaged as much lumber as we could. Before the afternoon was over we had scabbed together as many salvageable rafters as we could find. Next morning we began to put it back together.

While we worked we had a continual stream of curious onlookers and visitors. One of them was an insurance man. He had stopped by a week earlier and wondered if we wouldn't want builder’s risk insurance. We hadn't even stopped work, but simply told him to write up a "binder" and we would settle later. Even though this man had earlier sought to keep our church from even being started, he was a young and honest man. He came by to tell us that he had not even done the paperwork, but his word was good and we were covered. When it was all settled we actually made money on the roof.

God's ways are truly beyond our comprehension. That storm proved to be the best thing that could've happened to the ongoing work of the church. Now, people we hardly knew began showing up on the job with hammer in hand to work. About six weeks later we moved into the uncompleted building for our first service. A large crowd turned out and a rough couple responded to the invitation to accept Christ as their Lord and Savior. Several others of the town came for membership. Nothing to that point had done as much to put the church on a solid footing as the sight of that roofline in the lot next door and evident determination of that little congregation to believe God and move on from what appeared to be a tragedy. It

"How unsearchable are his judgments and his ways past finding out" Romans 11:33