Heaven in Michigan is a Sunday in June!

by Donna Poole

Heaven’s weather must be a lot like a sweet Michigan Sunday in June. Last Sunday was close to perfect. I wish you all could have been here. Our back road ramblings took us where we’ve been driving for almost forty-six years now, the place where two dirt roads meet. We joined the other cars and trucks at our country church.

Some people wandered from car to truck, exchanging greetings; others stayed a safe social distance, but smiles and waves said everything. We were family; we were together once again, and life was good.

It was a cool morning; the sky was a brilliant blue, and white clouds dashed by in the wind. The wind messed with the mic, but our church guys, who can fix anything with baling twine and a coat hanger, weren’t deterred. Someone tied a napkin around the microphone. 

John climbed on a hay wagon to begin our church service. He gave each of the younger children a Ziplock bag with a box of crayons, a picture, and a party horn.

“You kids have to help me during the service today,” he told them. They happily agreed.

We sang an old gospel hymn written in 1939 by Eugene Monroe Bartlett. The beautiful hymn goes like this:

I heard an old, old story,

            How a Savior came from glory,

            How He gave His life on Calvary

            To save a wretch like me;

            I heard about His groaning,

            Of His precious blood’s atoning.

            Then I repented of my sins

            And won the victory.

Chorus:

            O victory in Jesus,

            My Savior, forever.

            He sought me and bought me

            With His redeeming blood;

            He loved me ere I knew Him,

            And all my love is due Him,

            He plunged me to victory,

            Beneath the cleansing flood.

            I heard about His healing,

            Of His cleansing power revealing.

            How He made the lame to walk again

            And caused the blind to see;

            And then I cried, “Dear Jesus,

            Come and heal my broken spirit,”

            And somehow Jesus came and brought

            To me the victory.

Repeat Chorus:

            I heard about a mansion

            He has built for me in glory.

            And I heard about the streets of gold

            Beyond the crystal sea;

            About the angels singing,

            And the old redemption story,

            And some sweet day I’ll sing up there

            The song of victory.

Repeat Chorus:

Kimmee, like all our church kids, grew up singing hymns in church. Children repeat what they think they hear, so little Kimmee used to sing, loudly, “He punched me to victory,” instead of, “He plunged me to victory.”

I didn’t correct her; I thought it was cute, and besides, sometimes we may need a punch or two. Kimmee’s siblings did correct her, however, and teased her about that mistake for years.

I was glad we were in the car and not in the church auditorium when Kimmee made me laugh halfway through the song. When we got to that line in the chorus “He plunged me to victory,” Kimmee lightly punched my shoulder. I looked at her, and we laughed. But now I can’t laugh without coughing. I barely recovered in time to hear John preach on “The Other Side of Our Obstacles.”

God sometimes punches us to victory in strange ways, and we’re as surprised as the next guy to find ourselves on the other side of our obstacles. If I’d been one of the fighting men who went up against the great walled city of Jericho I might have said to God, “You want me to do what?”

God gave Joshua the strange battle instructions. The men of war, priests carrying the ark of the covenant, and seven priests blowing rams’ horns were to march with him around Jericho. That’s all. Just march.

Just as God said, they marched around the city once a day for six days. The soldiers probably examined the walls each time for the slightest crack, but they saw nothing. The obstacle remained as formidable as ever. Did the soldiers feel vulnerable? Did the people in the city laugh at them? Did the soldiers start to doubt God?

The obstacle looked impossible; the plan to surmount it seemed ridiculous.

John kept telling the story of Jericho on Sunday. “You still listening kids? You ready to practice blowing those horns?”

The kids were only too happy to stick their heads out of their car windows and blow their party horns.

John told us that finally day seven came, the day God said to march around the city seven times. The rams’ horns sounded, and Joshua told the people to shout!

“Blow those horns, kids!” John said. Did they ever!

I was a little disappointed John didn’t tell the rest of us to shout. I wanted to stick my head out of the car window and shout; Kimmee probably did not.

If you’re familiar with the biblical account, you know the rest of the Jericho story; the walls came tumbling down. The impossible obstacle crumbled.

The weapons weren’t the shouts and the horns; the victorious weapon was faith.

Faith will take us to the other side of our obstacles and give us courage to face whatever we find there. Unlike some, we don’t order God to remove obstacles; we don’t demand healing as our right in Christ. We hold our requests up to God and add, “Your will, please. Just your will be done.” We realize that “no” is sometimes an answer. Hey, if God healed everyone, this earth would be a bit overcrowded, wouldn’t it?

At the end of our church service our three wonderful deacons climbed up on the hay wagon and stood next to John. They prayed for me and for my family. My heart filled with love, and tears of joy rolled down my face.

I looked at those beloved men. I blessed our little country church at the corner of two dirt roads; what a privilege it has been to be part of it. I think we have the kindest, sweetest church family anywhere.

Yes, like the old song says, “Some sweet day I’ll sing up there the song of victory.” But for now, I’m just grateful for a bit of heaven on earth, found right here on a sweet Michigan Sunday in June.