My Number One Hero

Everyone has a hero, at least one. Through the years, I have admired many people in the ministry here in the States. Congo has its heroes too. These soldiers of the cross have impacted my life in a myriad of ways for the past 30 years. They have my greatest respect.

But the person who has influenced me most in my day-to-day living, my walk with Christ, my faith, my spiritual aspirations as far as goals and outreach, my attitude toward Scripture, and my making decisions now that will affect me for eternity, among other things, is my husband, Jim. He is my number one hero.

Here is a man whose greatest spiritual gift is faith. Here is a man with larger-than-life vision. Here is a man who has faced hardships and experiences we would call tragedies beginning with his childhood that would send most people to the funny farm.

So this blog is a tribute to my man, my best friend, my life partner, and my constant companion because we have been together 44 years together. Thirty-four of those years we have shared the same space because he did not have an office to go to in Congo where he stayed 8 hours a day, as he had at the local church we ministered in before Africa; nor does he have an office now. We both work out of our home. He is the person with whom I have had the most intimate relationship here on earth. What a blessing after all these years together not to have to resort to living separate lives under the same roof because we have become bored with one another. No one living with Jim could ever be bored, believe me!

He is the son of missionaries, Dr. Laban and Marcella Smith. I never met my father-in-law, but I know from what my eyes have seen and my ears have heard from not only my husband, but from our Congolese family, that they were valiant warriors. Their hand-dug trenches carved out a remarkable pioneer career, leaving a legacy which was totally embraced by their son. They did this by the sweat and toil of their hands, a mindset that was fixed like a flint, a prayer life like Daniel, and hearts of purity and purpose. They are a remarkable replica of Romans 12:1, totally offering up their bodies as a living sacrifice to God. They did it! Big time!

This man, Laban, whom my husband absolutely adored and imbibed growing up in Congo, "tragically" died from a fall when Jim was only 10 years old. Marcella was never the same again. How could she be? They were such a team. He was her heartbeat, and she was his soul. Together they opened 90 villages in the then Belgian Congo, and they personally saw 10,000 Bayanzis come to Christ and be baptized in the late forties and early fifties.

So when you grow up with that kind of heritage and that big a God, you are a blessed person. Jim was blessed to be an eye witness to remarkable and humanly speaking incomparable events that left indelible impressions on his young mind.

After his father died, he, his mom, and his older brother, Jack, came back to the States to try to take a breather after a 7-year term in Congo. I'm not sure how much they allowed themselves to really grieve. In those days, for the most part, the reaction to death was to push it under, stuff it behind. A wonderful lady invited them to share what she had, which wasn't much. They all three slept in the same bedroom for several weeks to begin with, and then Jim and Jack moved out onto the couch, which was their "bedroom" for the next two years. Marcella, so burdened for the work in Africa, left and, for the next 12 months, provided support and direction to the Congolese people. Jack and Jim went to live in a home for missionary children in Wheaton, IL. Life was hard. Funds were extremely limited, but everyone survived.

Jim's father's death was the second one suffered by his family. His little brother, Gareth, died at the age of 14 months from the inefficiency of vital organs that were dwarfed. They never grew to full capacity. He didn't speak or walk or sit up, ever. That occurred during the first and only furlough the Smiths took before their return to Congo and before the great Bayanzi awakening from 1947 to 1953, when Laban died.

Five years after Laban died at the height of their ministry, in 1958, Jim and Jack were camping out for the second night under a rock bluff in Bella Vista, Arkansas. Marcella was now dorm mother for the Baptist Institute of the Ozarks, the high school both boys attended. Jack had fallen asleep, and Jim was chopping wood right by him. The air was pierced with a loud cracking sensation. Jim shook Jack and yelled, "Jack, get up!" Jack responded with, "Huh?" Jim said, "Jack, get up! The roof of the cave is caving in!" Jim then grabbed Jack by the shoulder and tried to rouse him as he lay sleeping on his stomach. Jack could sleep through anything. Jim thought he was rising, when right before his eyes, ten ton of rock fell, splitting in midair. Five tons hit Jack from his waist up and five tons from his waist down. Every bone in his eighteen-year-old body was broken.

Jim and Marcella were left alone with their thoughts, their grief, and their life without Jack, Jim's best friend. They couldn't even pass in the hallway as brothers without slapping or making some kind of contact. They counseled each other. They hunted together. They grew up together. They experienced Congo together. They were inseparable until Jack left. He had prayed that very night as they sat around the campfire. "Lord, we pray for your safety tonight, but how wonderful it would be to see you and also to see Dad." The Lord granted his request.

Jim finished high school and at the age of 19, he was invited by Pastor Robert Armstrong to come to Warrendale Community Church in Dearborn to direct the music first of all and then the youth. That was in 1961. We met in 1963 at Detroit Bible College which became William Tyndale College, from which we both graduated in 1966 and 1967 respectively. The next 10 years were spent intensively, developing youth, music, teaching Sunday School, holding Evangelism Explosion sessions three times a week, and overseeing the bus ministry until Jim became Co-Pastor of Warrendale. We were blessed with 3 beautiful children, Shawn, Nicol, and Todd.

Jim became a private pilot which came in handy when we went into Music Evangelism in 1974, and we partnered with two other individuals to buy a plane. He never forgot how long it took to get his dad to the hospital in Kikwit. Nine hours. It was only 60 miles away from Nkara. Laban died one hour later. So in the back of his mind was this great desire to fly.

I shared with you that fire took our home in 1977, and then we stepped into the great adventure of returning to Africa as missionaries one year later. Our baby, Jack, was born in 1978, and I so loved taking care of him. It kept me from going insane. I felt like I was in another world. Jim was so patient and understanding. I cried for the first 2 years, and he kept telling me that I would someday make a great missionary, as he lingered many times in front of our bedroom window, asking the Lord what he had done to his family by bringing them all the way to Africa. I didn't want to necessarily be told that I would make a great missionary. Personally I would have preferred the rapture to have taken place. That would be an honorable way to get out of that wilderness I found myself in, which was supposed to be what God had prepared me for all of my life. However, God has a remarkable sense of humor, and He kept me alive.

We were met by tremendous opposition from a national "pastor" who turned out to be a reprobate in sheep's clothing. Talk about standing still and seeing the salvation of God. We were helpless. Prayer became our constant mainstay. Mapungu was finally ousted by the national church, and we saw God move in marvelous ways.

The work was going well. The big area of gray, however, during our second term there was sending our children away to school. We both languish over this, even today. Did we do the right thing? Did we have a choice? Our wonderful kids and we have had many discussions about this. I don't know how many times we have had to leave it at the foot of the cross. The remarkable thing is that Shawn, Nicol, and Todd have not run from God because of this. In fact, they and their awesome spouses follow close and seek hard after Him. Thank you so much Jesus for that!!! Jack and Molly are God chasers too. Jack was too young to go away to school in case you are wondering why I did not include him.

In 1989, after escorting his cousins to the checkpoint just outside of Kinshasa, Jim said good bye to them. The cousins would drive all night into the bush until they arrived at Nkara. Jim planned to fly the little Texas tail dragger we had been given on furlough up to the mission station the next day. Details are unknown to this day, but it is thought that the flatbed of a hauler, a huge truck with a flatbed attached, pulled out in front of Jim and another missionary by the name of Tim Downs, who was driving the Isuzu Trooper that was transporting them back to where Jim was to stay that night.

Without warning at a speed of 60 miles an hour, they hit that flatbed and slid under it, which should have caused decapitation. Remarkably, Tim suffered only a concussion. Jim suffered a closed head injury. Three weeks in a makeshift "hospital" in Kinshasa with urine saturated privacy curtains, unkempt surroundings, contracting hepatitis B from contaminated needles, spending 5 days in a coma, experiencing a totally disoriented and alarmed state of mind, being medivaced on Swiss Air, 3 weeks in Beaumont Hospital in Royal Oak, and another 6 weeks of rehab brought about adjustments we had to make to survive. Jim was another person.

It took four hours for the only crane in the city, which happened to be working at the time, to remove his body from the crushed trooper, the top of which was peeled back like a banana. While Jim lay on the pavement unconscious before being rushed to the hospital, he was stripped of everything but his underwear and his glasses. His watch, money, wallet, camera and all personal belongings were stolen. Everyone thought he was dead.

During this horrible aftermath of the accident that almost claimed his life, I saw in Jim a determination not to let this bludgeoning trauma break his spirit and ruin his life. He fought depression every single day, but decided he would not turn into a bitter old man. We had always prayed since we were first married that we would not become bitter old people. At 47, that was a ways off. Nonetheless, it could have been the beginning of the end. The grace of God is ALWAYS SUFFICIENT. He would not forget that. Ever.

Emotionally, closed head injured victims go through the scary experience of growing up all over again. Jim can remember when he felt as if he were Jack's age, then a teenager, and then coming back into adulthood. It was a nightmare. Our sacred marriage vows were put to the test. The neurologist gave him 5 years to return to his baseline but could not guarantee anything. Jim was flying again in less than 2 years. He was remarkably healed but not without a few scars. His left leg constantly tingles as if it is asleep as a result of nerve damage. Thus, it is difficult for him to get up quickly from a sitting position. But I will take that any day as opposed to the fallout I saw in other patients suffering from an injury to the head. They were no longer able to walk, or talk, or even think.

We have had a glorious life together, enriched by pain and spiritual gain. They have been so interwoven in all of our years together. I love you, Jim. I thank God for you all of the time. I honestly don't know what my life would have been like had the Lord not brought you to me. I don't even want to think about it. Thank you for your undying devotion to me, for your eternal optimism, for your fresh approach to life each day as we begin it together, for your profound love of the Lord and driven desire to see as many souls come to Christ as possible in your lifetime, for the exemplary, devoted father you have been to our children, for the countless prayers for all of us and now for our sweet grand babies as well, for helping me walk this road of sorrow over the loss of Audrey and Lukey, of staying true to me all of these years. I love you with all of my heart. You are my heart, dear Jim.