BONITA JOYNER SHIELDS

CAN'T REMEMBER what convinced my friend Dale and me to colporteur¹ during the summer of 1982. Maybe it was the recruiter promising us a summer we'd never forget. Or the lure of making "big bucks" for college the following year. Or maybe it was our teenage idealism, thinking we could change the world in three months. But from being thrown off the property of the first house I encountered by its drunken owner, running out of gas on a lonely country road, or the feeling that we were part of something much bigger than we are, one thing is for sure--that summer lives on.

A Difficult Decision
While the decision to become a student literature evangelist was a difficult one for me to make, I think it was just as difficult for my parents. I'm sure the thought of their baby girl driving around a strange city with her girlfriend selling books to total strangers was difficult for them, too. And they knew that this would be their last summer with me before I graduated and moved on with my life. So even though my parents were not the kind of people who bribed their kids, I think in their desperation they resorted to the tactic this once: "Bonita, if you'll come home for the summer and work, we'll buy you a [used] car." This temptation, along with the thought that I might hurt my parents by not coming home for the summer, made this one of the most difficult decisions I had to make. But I felt at peace. And I did get a car--if you could call it that.

Buz
Dale and I began our summer at 1102 Harvard Court, Waldorf, Maryland--the home of Cal and Carm Cooksey. We pulled up in our 1970-something AMC Hornet, which we affectionately named Buz.² Buz came without power steering, air conditioning, or a functioning gas gauge. The nonfunctioning gas gauge offered us the greatest challenge.

I was the designated driver for this dynamic duo of literature evangelism. As we traveled around Waldorf, looking for new territory to canvass, sweat dripping down our backs, we prayed we would make enough money that day from selling Steps to Christ to put gas in our tank. We never really knew how much gas was in the tank. (Yes, I now know that we could have kept a written log with mileage, etc., but we were college students; we were lucky to get up in the mornings by ourselves.)

One sunny day, as we were driving along Pomonkey Way, a sparsely traveled country road, the feared happened. The gas pedal went all the way to the floor, the car slowed, and Buz ultimately came to a stop in the middle of the road. We got out and tried to steer it to the side of the road--Dale at the back of the vehicle pushing, and me halfway in the driver's side attempting to steer and push at the same time.

The sight of two teenage girls in skirts attempting to push a car off the road was so funny--even to us--that we had to stop sometimes because we were laughing so hard! Numerous cars passed our way, but no one would stop. I guess we could have gotten angry, but the sight was too funny to get angry about it.

After what seemed like an eternity, a young man who owned a garage nearby stopped in his truck and took us to his garage to make some phone calls. Fortunately, we did get Buz going again. And in spite of his annoying ways, Buz was at the center of several of our answered prayers that summer.

The Home fires
When we weren't battling the heat and the lack of motivation some days to even go out to canvass, we were in the company of Cal³ and Carm Cooksey. To this day I consider them saints. Who, other than a saint--or a glutton for punishment--would invite two teenage girls into their home for a summer while also having a daughter of their own? Remember, this was in the age of one bathroom per household. Just think of the logistics. (I've heard there's a bathroom in heaven for the fathers of girls.)

After a long day out canvassing, Dale and I would come home to find Cal and Carm in the kitchen cooking dinner. We'd eat together when we could; then we'd all pile into their living room and have worship together. Their house was full of laughter. And they graciously invited my parents to visit on several weekends, too. Their Christian love and care for us, as if we were their own daughters, made Jesus' statement very real to us: "'Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?' Pointing to his disciples, he said, 'Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother'" (Matt. 12:48-50, NIV).

We usually began our work at around 10:00 a.m., since most people don't like early callers. I would get up at 7:00 a.m. to have worship. I would spend an hour each day reading The Desire of Ages and the accompanying scripture. I came to love that book.

Our role as literature evangelists was to outline our territory to work for that day, and then go from door-to-door giving a brief presentation of our books, hoping to get inside and have an opportunity to go into more detail about our books. If the people weren't interested, we would ask if they would like to enroll in Bible studies, and offer to pray with them. Also, before we left, we would give them free literature, among it Steps to Christ. We would ask if they would like to make a donation for this book, which supplied our gas money.

One woman along our trail didn't have money to give, but she did offer a creative way to fill our tank.

The Dare
The woman stood in her front yard as we approached her house. We opened and walked through her white picket fence gate as we spoke. She listened to our introductions graciously, but turned down our offer for more information. We then chatted for a few more minutes before we gave her a Steps to Christ, asking for a donation. She replied, "I don't have any money to give you for the book, but my son works at a gas station in Waldorf. I bet if you two girls go over there and give him a little kiss on the ear, he'll fill your tank!"

Dale and I looked at each other, not quite sure that gallivanting around town kissing men to get gas money was the thing to do. But it was the woman's next words that sealed our decision.

"I don't think you'll do it."

Now, I realize that men and women of character don't usually respond to dares such as this. And our mothers' chiding still rang loud and clear in our minds: "If your friends told you to jump off a bridge, would you?" But three factors weighed into this equation: (1) We didn't know how much gas we had left, (2) we knew how much money we had--zero, and (3) Dale and I couldn't resist a dare.

We followed the woman's directions to her son's gas station. We arrived and found him. As we repeated his mother's words, on the one hand we secretly hoped he would say no. But on the other hand, we could use a few dollars' worth of gas.

"Pull her up," he responded.

We weren't sure how much gas we had left, but we didn't think it was too low. Buz will probably take a few dollars' worth of gas, we thought; we'll thank the son, and be on our way. As he placed the gas nozzle into the tank, we watched in horror as the numbers kept going up and up and up. When it was over, Buz had guzzled more than $20 worth of gas. (Remember, this was more than 20 years ago!)

How do you thank a handsome young man for giving total strangers more than $20 worth of gas without charge? We thanked him profusely, gave him that kiss on the cheek, and for the rest of the day wondered at the humor of a God who would use his daughters' mischievousness to meet their needs to do His work.

Wise Investing
Working in the area of Waldorf took us down many country roads. We never really knew where we would end up. We'd just mark our territory at the beginning of the day and work the places we hadn't worked before.

One such adventure took us to the "other side of the tracks." The homes in this area, if you could call them by such an extravagant name, spoke of poverty that I had witnessed only on TV. Not that I hadn't experienced my share of lack in my lifetime, but even that spoke of "wealth" in comparison.

My partner and I came to the home of a middle-aged woman. With clothes tattered, she graciously invited us into her home and allowed us to present our canvass to her. She became so excited about the books. She wanted to buy one of the books for her grandchild. I cringed inwardly as we told her the price. How could this woman afford that amount of money for a book? Everything in me wanted just to give her the book, but I remembered our training: people who invest themselves financially will place a higher value on what they purchase. So I waited.

The woman returned with a $10 bill. "Can I use this as a down payment and make payments?"

"Of course!" was our reply.

Over the years I frequently lose the lesson I learned that day. It's so easy for it to get lost in the blindness of contentment. We as Christians and as Adventists are so wealthy with knowledge of God. Yet the knowledge of God we do have oftentimes gets spurned. But this woman--only God knows how far along in paying her monthly bills $10 would take her--was gladly willing to invest it in the future so that her grandchild could have more knowledge of God.

Of Canines and Catholics
A Saint Bernard greeted me one evening at a customer's house. I wasn't worried--until he propped himself up on his hind legs and became taller than I am. However, he soon showed his true intent by slobbering down the front of my dress. I think it was here that I learned how to keep a straight face in the midst of internal chaos. While externally I smiled and said, "Nice dog," inside I was screaming, Gross! Ugh! Gag me! You know, the big dogs aren't the ones to be concerned about while we are going door-to-door; it's the small dogs. I think they try to overcompensate for their size by being vicious. There's no need to rip a person's ankle off just to get some attention.

We approached another house and gave our canvass. No takers. The couple wasn't interested in buying any books, but when we left, they gave us $20 for our Steps to Christ--the largest donation we received that summer. They were probably some of the few Catholics I had met in my life--and also some of the most godly people I had ever met.

How do you explain the moment you begin to realize that behind a set of beliefs and doctrines and theological interpretations are people? And that those other people's Christian experiences cannot be labeled and defined by their denominational affiliation, for Christ's sheep are in many folds? And that a group of people called Adventists--many of whom refuse to live up to their knowledge of God--will see many of "those people" walk ahead of them into the kingdom?

War With Willpower
I think the most difficult obstacle Dale and I battled was ourselves. While we enjoyed our work, it took a sheer act of our wills to leave the house each morning, and daily subject ourselves to rejection. But seeing the hand of God working in our lives so evidently was enough to make us stay. It is said that God works in mysterious ways. Well, His most mysterious way for us that summer lay ahead.

As was a common custom of ours, Dale would work one side of the street and I the other. On this particular morning I was ascending a very steep set of stone stairs leading up to a home. Halfway up the stairs I tripped. And if falling as ungracefully as I could in a dress wasn't enough, my briefcase flew open, and my materials lay strewn on the lawn.

It was at this point that my faithful partner set down her briefcase so that she could . . . you're probably thinking I was going to say "so that she could run over to help me." No. She set her briefcase down so that she could hold her side because she was laughing so hard.

After she regained her composure, and I regained my dignity, she came over and helped me gather up my materials. We decided to canvass this house together--that was our first mistake.

We rang the bell, and a woman came to the door. She invited us into her home. We made some small talk about family, etc., before proceeding into our canvass. As I began my presentation, I couldn't help laughing. It must just be a leftover from that tumble I just did in the yard, I thought. I'll be OK. So I started again, but I couldn't stop my laughter. Then Dale got tickled. By then we had both lost it.

We apologized to the woman and explained what had happened in the yard. She was gracious to us, but we realized we couldn't go on. As we were about to leave, we told her we were almost finished with our summer work, and one of us casually said to her, "If by chance you know of someone who wants to buy a car, please let us know."

"What kind?" she immediately asked. "My son needs a car."

"An AMC Hornet. But we have to be honest with you: neither the gas gauge nor the air-conditioning works."

"That's OK," she replied. "My son is a mechanic."

We told her the price, when we would be finishing up for the summer, and gave her our phone number.

"Perfect," she said. "That's right about the time he would need it. I'll call him and get back to you."

Dale and I felt quite bad about not being able to present our canvass. We missed an opportunity to share our books with her, to pray with her. But all the way home we again marveled at the humor of God: how He could take a seeming failure and use it to meet our need of selling our "mechanically challenged" car so we'd have enough money for college.

Happy Trails
I didn't win any salesperson awards that summer. And I wouldn't say I learned the "art of the deal." I barely made enough money to pay my registration fee for college that fall. (But don't let that discourage you; other students made much more than I did.) But I made several valuable discoveries. The main one being that God has a thousand ways to fill our needs-and He has fun doing it!

The summer of 1982 lives on . . .

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¹ Colporteur is an older term for "literature evangelist," but one that is so ingrained in the Adventist psyche that I wanted to mention it for those whose memories may come to life when hearing it! I'll use them both interchangeably throughout the article.
² Its name was a play on the word "Hornet," but also taken from two Old Testament characters that you colporteurs should remember--even in your old age! See Genesis 22:21, about Abraham's nephew's two sons: Buz and Huz.
³ Sadly, Cal died of a reaction to medication when he was in his early 50s.

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Bonita Joyner Shields is an assistant editor of the Adventist Review.