There Was a Tear in His Eye

      Yesterday after the church service ended at First Assembly, I thanked the worship team for their time, musicality and heart for the Lord. He stood at the foot of the stage, waiting patiently, my Dad with a tear in his eye.

     I had seen him excited, proud, and happy with me many times in my life, but this was different. It is here in this place that miracles have happened for us. The day he found out I was going out for hurdles in the 7^th grade, his eyes were filled with shock mixed with fear. After two years of being undefeated, he watched confidently and beamed with pride. When I sang in the Mall as part of my first vocal recital he stood sweating with nervousness, not sure I could do it. He was afraid I might mess up and become embarrassed. Relief flooded his face as I sang out to the very last note and stayed for a bow. When I graduated from high school, when I graduated from college, when he held baby 1, 2, and 3. He was proud, but today there was a tear in his eye.

     In the summer of 1996, my parents were struggling. I was a new graduate planning to go to a Christian Liberal Arts school, far away in Marion, Indiana. My two older brothers were living on their own. Only my youngest brother lived at home, but he had hit the teenage rebellious streak. It seemed as if he wanted to out-do the rest of his siblings. Church attendance had become less important to Dad in these days. Habits and hobbies pulled him away from that place of Christian community. He was isolated, and he was depressed.

    One Wednesday night late in August my friend Amy invited me on a road trip. Jumping into the car we traveled to First Assembly of God in Cedar Rapids. She told me on the way that this church was experiencing revival. Cars filled the parking lot that night as we walked to the youth service in the outdoor tent. From the moment I entered I felt the presence of God. As I felt the Holy Spirit a tear was in my eye.

    Four hundred students were packed in under the tent. The worship team played and the students danced freely with hands in the air, eyes shut tight, voices raised high. At times students would go to the mic to share their testimony of how God had transformed their lives.

    The youth Pastor gave an altar call at the end of his message. In response, students flooded the front of the makeshift stage. A student-led prayer team began interceding for the mass at the altar. You could almost see the hand of God physically moving the teens. Many lay peacefully on the ground soaking in God’s presence. Others were crying out, on their knees. There were still more of them dancing and singing. Like the voice of a thousand angels, the praise rose to the heavens. I made a vow that night to come back to this place. In disappointment, I knew I would have to wait, because I was leaving that Friday for the fall semester at Indiana Wesleyan.

    At home, I walked through the front door to the clamor in the kitchen, mom was cooking. I could hear the hum of the television which meant Dad was watching television. Energetically I followed Mom as she diced potatoes to throw in the stew.

“…and that is why you have to promise me you’ll go on a Sunday on your way back from Indiana Wesleyan, it is real Mom,” I said energetically. I could hear dad coming up the stairs. In the evenings he had become quiet and reclusive.

“Dad you have to hear about this church I went to with Amy!” I said enthusiastically.

To shield himself he put out his left hand, but I bubbled over with excitement. In an effort to appease, he said he would think about it.

     Early Friday morning we left for Indiana. All of my belongings were packed into the van. I was excited about the fresh start, but just a thought of the revival made me overjoyed. I shook my head at the thought, that God moves on his people today. I started to believe that even miracles could happen like they did back in the bible.

 “Oh Lord please let me serve at that church someday,” I prayed.

     As I placed my feet on the new campus that afternoon with a box of clothes in my arms, I wondered if God could move upon us here. Later after every box was unloaded into the new dorm room we headed for dinner. As mom and Dad sat with me, I asked them again, “Do you promise to stop at the church in Cedar Rapids on your way home? It is like nothing I have ever experienced.” By the end of spaghetti with meatballs they agreed.

     On Sunday night as I was organizing my new space, Mom called.

“Dianne we went to the service they had this evening on our way back home (pause) Your Dad had a tear in his eye the whole time. We have never experienced anything like it.”

     As autumn progressed I attended classes, made new friends, got involved, but my true joy came from the phone calls from my parents. Each time they called new hope filled my heart. My dad would take the phone and rattle on about all the wonderful things he was learning. Mom would be laughing in the background. Who were these people? The joy of the Lord had changed them.  

    Looking around campus I hoped to see some revival fire, but as I made my search, literally walking up to different groups, I was met with blank stares. I was disappointed to find a very common experience. God seemed to be like an old relative we visit on Sundays. We honor him with dresses and highlighted passages of our bibles, but He isn’t invited into our personal lives. I knew this tradition all too well.

“Oh Lord please remember my prayer, I want to go back to that church someday.”

     Later I realized this longing in my heart was a call to ministry, so I switched schools during the Christmas Break. While I was at home, we went to First Assembly of God. Together we sang praises. My Dad clapping, dancing and free, truly free. As I looked over at him, there was a tear in his eye as he said, “Dianne, I dream of you singing up on that stage someday.” 

     There is no perfect church this side of heaven, but it is here in this place that miracles have happened for us!