BY ROY ADAMS

LL THAT I AM, OR HOPE TO BE, I OWE to my angel mother."

In the prospectus they gave me to use selling children's books one summer decades ago, that line was attributed, as I recall, to Abraham Lincoln. And I suspect multitudes of us resonate with its sentiments. But however steeped in motherhood, the words overstate the case. For the fact of the matter is that at critical times in our lives God places certain individuals along our paths to lift us up, to lend a helping hand, to offer encouragement—in places where our dear mothers could never be.

And it seemed appropriate at this thanksgiving season that I should publicly pay tribute to a few of the many who came to my aid—in one way or another—at those decisive moments when I needed them most.

Changing Course
Pastoral ministry was not my first choice of a lifework—medicine was, and many of the college courses I took slanted in that direction.²

Then came the call to ministry (a story by itself), and enrollment at an Adventist college to prepare for it. It was there I was to encounter George W. Brown, in my estimation one of the smartest, most articulate teachers I've ever sat under. Among other things, he taught me European history and Greek. And as I write these lines, I can still see his grading marks and comments at the top of my reports and tests and term papers. He had a way to write a capital A that made me walk on air. And sometimes he'd add a certain adjective, followed by an exclamation mark to give it greater force: "Splendid!"

Nothing like that to birth a dream in the heart of a young student! Exciting visions well up in the mind. And over the years, Elder Brown has been to me a continuing source of encouragement, making me feel like a million dollars every time I meet him, always ready with an encouraging embrace, a word of affirmation. It was in consideration of such ongoing support that I chose to dedicate my latest book³ to him (and also to G. Ralph Thompson, whom I include below).

In a Food Line at Camp Meeting
From college I headed out "into the ministry," as we say, earning as an intern the grand sum of $93.00 a month. Within a year the vision that Elder Brown (and others of my teachers) had sparked in me widened. I felt the need for further study, and the day came when I disclosed my plans to officials of the conference.

I'd be leaving my post just past the middle of June that year, en route to Canada to work toward a student scholarship by selling books. Extremely low on cash, I'd been expecting—naively, as I now know—that I'd be paid for the entire month! But the treasurer stuck to the absolute letter of the law, and those extra dollars never came. A few days later—on a Thursday—I arrived in British Columbia, after five days by Greyhound bus from Miami, with literally 33 cents (U.S.) in my pocket. That Sabbath in Mission City (B.C.), after I'd thrown it all in for thirteenth Sabbath, I had nothing left. (Even today I look back upon that experience and tremble.) And I'll never forget how the Lord encouraged me the following Monday morning, as I hit the road—on foot—in Williams Lake. The first day, the first door, the first canvass, a cash sale for Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories!

I will also never forget those beautiful Adventists of Williams Lake who befriended me, opened their homes to me, and took me into their fellowship. When camp meeting came, one of them, Brother Bechtold, invited me to ride with him to the place.

It was there, on Sunday morning, that I visited the Canadian Union College (CUC)⁴ booth and learned that the advance deposit for foreign students was $250 (in contrast to the $1,000 Andrews University [AU] was requiring). AU had been my destination when I left home, but now it was on to CUC.

That very Sunday, at midday, I would run into Mrs. May Turner and her daughter Donna in the food line. As we made conversation around lunch, I talked to them about my brand-new decision to attend CUC.

The meal over, we went our separate ways, and I thought no more of it. Until one bitterly cold Alberta winter day when a CUC monitor placed in my hand a letter with handwriting I'd never seen before. Remembering her conversation with this church-rat kid, Mrs. Turner had graciously enclosed a check for $1,000, a huge sum in those days (when the Canadian dollar was on par with its U.S. counterpart).

You don't ever forget such kindness.

We've kept in touch over the years. Now 85, she lives in Ontario with one of her daughters, her mind as sharp as ever. Sometime after finishing my education, I raised the subject of repayment, but she'd have none of that. "Just do the same someday for someone else in need," she said, "and that will be payment enough."

What a gem! We're still in contact. I call her Mom.

He Was Looking Out for Me
When I took time out from the pastorate again, this time to work on a doctoral degree, I had every intention of returning. But as I came close to finishing, I began to understand the pressure "the brethren" can bring to bear on a guy, and that I simply would not be allowed to return in peace to pastoring—not with the needs in our theological institutions as acute as leaders made them out to be. So yes, I'd teach for a while. And when the Montemorelos University president invited me to join his faculty, I answered in the affirmative. Around September or October the following year (1980), my family should be arriving on his campus.

But Elder G. Ralph Thompson was aware of the deal. He'd been my teacher at Caribbean Union College and knew me well, and when the call came through the General Conference (GC), where he was now a general vice president, he immediately saw the implications of such a move in a way totally beyond my own radar screen.

In February of 1980, with both of us visiting the same college campus for speaking appointments, he tried to bring the matter to my attention. I heard the words he spoke, but like water on a duck's back, they rolled right off. And he didn't press the issue.

In August that same year, we were both together again—this time at that illustrious gathering of Adventist world leaders in Colorado.⁵ Now the secretary of the General Conference, he again broached the issue, this time clearly enough for my dull mind to get the point: Mexico (where Montemorelos is located) belongs to my home division, Inter-America (IAD). Because I'd been working in the North American Division (NAD) less than 10 years at the time (and, therefore, not yet vested for retirement), I'd lose all the eight years or so of service credit I'd already built up there, and would be starting from scratch in the IAD should I move to Mexico.

Finally, I got it, with just two months before the move was to take place. Providentially, the principal players were also present at Glacier View, which meant I was able to explain the unexpected development face-to-face to Montemorelos' president, and also to the president of the IAD, none other than my former Greek teacher, Elder Brown. Immediately, they both understood, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. It was a close call!

Elder Thompson did not have to look out for me, but he did. And he went even further, spearheading an action on the GC committee that changed my home-base status from IAD to NAD, enabling me to answer a call to the Philippines with North America as my home.

Elder Thompson and his wife, Imogene, have been good to me—never pampering, but always caring, always affirming. I'm eternally grateful.

Encouragement—We Never Outgrow Our Need for It
Far behind me now are the days of Greek and European history, the perilous trek to Canada, the nervous days of college in subzero temperatures, the rigors of postgraduate study, and the critical decisions about what to do afterward—and where to go. I'm now at the GC, the international headquarters of the Adventist Church.

But does this all mean I've outgrown the need for encouragement?

At a particularly dark moment in David's life, his men, distressed about losing their family and property to marauders, blamed him and spoke of stoning him. In that dangerous moment, bereft of all human support or comfort, "David encouraged himself in the Lord" (1 Sam. 30:6).

God is our surest refuge—a fortress that will never fail us.

But sometimes we crave the human touch, the human voice. I wrote an article back in May⁶ in which I quoted a French woman lamenting the suicide death of her (high-rated) chef husband. "All these people," she said of him, "all these exceptional beings who give you the impression of so much assurance, they are all very fragile. They all have such strong moments of doubt."

I'm sure most of us would exempt ourselves from the category of such "fragile" folks. Still, there's a sense in which we're all delicate and dependent upon one another. And what I've personally found is that at critical periods in our lives God sends special people to give the human touch, to provide the lift we need.

That happened to me one day this past February, and I immediately dropped whatever was on my agenda so I could tell my (occasional) journal what took place. Here it is, warts and all:

"2/11/04 (Wednesday). Came from art committee to find a message on my Audix machine. From EEC [Elder E. E. Cleveland]. Just after lunch, called him back. My book on the nature of Christ had been sitting on his desk for two years, he said. This morning he'd decided to read it. He's now read one third of it, he said, and the inspiration is overwhelming. Of all the books he's read on the topic, mine, he said, goes to the heart of the issue, and answers all the relevant questions. 'There had to be something like inspiration going on when you wrote that,' he said in his typical way, 'because something is happening to me as I read it. And I said, "You know, I don't know what kind of day Roy is having up there; let me call him and encourage him by letting him know what his book is doing to me." So that's all this call is about, friend, that's all. Take care, son!'"

It was not the first time Elder Cleveland had encouraged me—in fact, just about every time he sees me, he has a word of encouragement, a word of support. But his unexpected affirmation that Wednesday afternoon floored me. This man, whose preaching and whose brilliant nuggets in Ministry magazine had brought me so much inspiration over the years, had now capped it all by calling long distance just to encourage me! Can there be a better definition of grace?

"Forget injuries," said Confucius, "[but] never forget kindnesses." This Thanksgiving I wanted to do just that.

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¹ These people are all alive, all retired, and all outside my own family. To have included deceased individuals or members of my own family would have made the list too long.
² I'm sure the Lord in His wisdom knew that, among other things, I'd have been much too squeamish for the medical profession.
³ Crossing Jordan: Joshua, Holy War, and God's Unfailing Promise (Hagerstown, Md.: Review and Herald Pub. Assn., 2004). Already in circulation in the United Kingdom, the book is due for general release in the spring of 2005.
⁴ The name of this institution changed a few years ago to Canadian University College.
⁵ The Glacier View Ranch was the venue of a special General Conference-sponsored committee to address a serious challenge to the church's teaching on the sanctuary.
⁶ "Service in a World Gone Mad," Adventist Review, May [NAD], pp. 25-28.

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Roy Adams is an associate editor of the Adventist Review.