Several weeks ago, the Executive Board and others met for a time of listening prayer. We listened for God’s direction regarding our ministry and the future. During the prayer time, someone envisioned our church as a way station. I let that image play like a movie in my mind.
I was one of the travelers on an Old West stagecoach traveling along a dusty, well-worn road past a compound of buildings and corrals. I saw a well next to a barn with an attached corral. Horses were feeding and resting. The spacious main house was in the middle of the compound.
As the stagecoach entered the gate, it passed beneath a sign which read “FJW Station.” Nearby, several ranch hands were mending a split-rail fence, feeding horses, and mending another stagecoach in the open-ended barn.
In the doorway of the main house stood the lady of the house, greeting us all. With a broad smile she waved us inside. She looked capable of making a delicious meal while barking out orders to the hands to “get those horses watered since the next stage could arrive anytime and need fresh horses.”
With a gentle hug and a “howdy” we were led into the main house and were met with sights and smells that made us feel like we were home. The lady’s name was Rebecca. She glided past us to give us her little welcome tour. She waved her hand toward the stove at the gentleman stirring an iron skillet of sausage gravy.
“Folks, I’d like you to meet the main cook and head of the station, my husband, James.”
James looked away from his skillet for a moment and nodded a how-dy-do. Rebecca started to go on about James’ many skills like cooking, shoeing horses, and birthing calves.
James interrupted her with, “Becca, you know better than to go on about that. Let the folk sit a spell and catch their breath. Breakfast is almost ready.”
James winked at Rebecca, then turned back to his stove. The kitchen was a bit bigger than most. It had a big table with numerous chairs. I could imagine a whole party of folks around that table eatin’ and talkin’ and even laughin’ as they told some of their experiences.
Past the table was another expansive room. In it were several cots covered in handmade quilts, Navajo blankets, and feather pillows. Apparently, there are times when travelers need to stay on a bit.
Directly across from the sleeping room there was a corner of the main house that looked like a school. A few chairs were circled around a dusty chalkboard which hung on the wall.
I asked Rebecca, “Why have a schoolroom in a way station?”
She smiled back. “Sometimes we have guests that have to stay awhile. Roads wash out, winter storms, even Indian unrest make it impossible to go on at times. We not only provide meals, but shelter, and everything a family might need while they journey from one place to another.”
As she talked my gaze fell on a fiddle case and a banjo standing in the corner. Rebecca told me it was also important to sing, tell stories, and share time around the hearth in the evenings.
Just then James hollered, “Come and get it before I throw it out.”
Rebecca had moved to the dinner clang outside. All the hands and travelers jostled for a place around the oak table. James stepped to the table after everyone was seated. He removed his hat and the men followed suit. James bowed his head and offered a simple prayer of thanks.
Almost before the “Amen,” hands and elbows flew to the middle of the table to get a plate full of grub. Rebecca scolded the ranch hands.
“You boys know we have quests. Try to show some manners and courtesy. We need to show some hospitality to those who have traveled so long and are weary and hungry too.”
The flurry didn’t stop, but it did slow a bit. After breakfast, the ranch hands all pitched in and cleared the table. One brought in water to wash the dirty dishes, another took the scraps and leavings (though there were not many) out to feed the livestock. Still another found a broom and swept up the floor. It seems like just a few moments had passed when the main house was nearly vacant and all the hands were back to their jobs outside.
I looked at James and quickly commented, “My that was quite a breakfast.”
“Ah, that’s not so much. Biscuits and gravy are easy to make.”
“No, what I mean is that everyone jumps in and helps and then they vanish as quickly as that plate of biscuits did. How do you get everyone to pitch in and help?”
James scratched his jaw for a minute, then looked me in the eye. “Well, we only hire on those that want to help others. You see, this is not just a job for these fellers. Rebecca and I couldn’t do this alone. What has made this place so homey and inviting is that we care about everyone that comes our way.
“We know everyone that comes by our place has already been somewhere and is on a journey somewhars else. But they stop with us for just a while. I also know that everyone who comes by our station has had some bad as well as good in their journey. We might just be catching them at a bad spot.
“They need all the kindness and help we can give. We also don’t always know what a body might need-maybe a good night’s rest, some book learnin’, a good meal, or even a job. In fact, take ol’ John out there.”
James points to one of the hands putting a new wheel on one of the spare coaches. “Why John was a traveler that came by on the stage a few years back. He was just on his way, when he had a bad spell. He needed to stay awhile and rest up before goin’ on. Well, he liked it here so well, he stayed on and became one of the best hands on the place.”
I thanked James again for his time and the delicious breakfast. I couldn’t remember when I’d had such a good breakfast. I was just about to go out and look around the station when the stage driver poked his head in the window over the wash basin and called for everyone to get back on the stage. It was pulling out in 15 minutes.
I made myself as comfortable as I could in the stagecoach and heard Jake snap the reins. The coach jerked into motion. I turned and waved to James and Rebecca as they stood on the porch. I looked out at the way station as we pulled away but this time I saw more than just some buildings, a well, and some old ranch hands. I saw a home away from home. I saw people who were better off for being there. I saw the great possibilities for new direction for someone like old John the wheel man.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get back to those parts or not. But, if I get chance, I’m going to stop in and say a big “howdy” to John and Rebecca, and to have one of James’ great biscuits.
As the dust covered the road behind me, I settled back in my seat. We went through the big gate that led back to the main road. I looked at the sign that hung from the cross bar-The FJW Station. I didn’t notice it when we drove in, but now it almost jumped out at me. I read the back of the sign-The Friends of Jesus Wayside Station. I smiled a little smile and thought to myself, “I knew there was something special about this stop and these people. I wish there were more way stations like this one. This world would be a better place.”
-by Merle Clowe.
While the prayer meeting Merle referred to was a rewarding experience for everyone there, he could hardly wait until it was over so that he could go home and write down this story.
There will be other prayer meetings like this which will be held periodically. We can’t guarantee an experience like Merle’s, but we can guarantee that God will be there in the midst of those who gather. Any time that happens, it is well worth it, no matter what the sacrifice. Plan to shake free from other responsibilities when you notice dates and times for prayer in the bulletin. Make a divine appointment, then keep it.