Anne and I were an hour out of Pinehurst on our way to Charlotte
on Saturday, when I yelped and slapped
my forehead fourteen times. Anne thought I was having a spasm.
“Are you having a spasm, dear?”
“I forgot the books!” I said.
“The books” were the box of smaller Zender paperbacks and
the packs of The First Idiot in Heaven I’d brought down from Pennsylvania ,
to sell in Faith on Sunday. I’d left them in my car in Anne’s garage, thinking
I’d remember them as we left. But Anne had pulled her car around to the door,
and I never went into the garage. I had, in my suitcase, nice book stands, and
a beautifully-made sign with book prices—but no books.
“We can go back,” Anne said.
“But we can’t,” I said. “Look at the time. That would be two
hours lost. We’ll be late for the meeting.”
I was upset, especially, about The First Idiot books,
because I knew I’d be teaching on that topic on Sunday, and that people would
be hot to have it. It wasn’t the money I was interested in, believe me. (Just
ask Anne what a hard time I have asking for money for anything.) It was the
fact that these people would be hungry for more information on Paul, and I
would not have, in my possession, a single copy of the best book ever written about the
dude.
It took me about twenty miles to cool down and forget about
it.
“We can always come back tonight,” Anne said. “If the
meeting ends by seven, we can drive back to Pinehurst, pick up the books, and
come back here.”
That was gracious of Anne, but it sounded like a wild scheme to me. The trip
was two hours each way. Anne doesn’t let anyone drive her car; she’d be
handling all driving chores. We would have to drive four hours total, not returning until 11. Again, it was noble of Anne to offer, but
unworkable. For one thing, I was already tired, and knew Anne would be, by
then. We decided just to wait and see how we felt.
“I can live without the books,” I said. “Maybe we can drive
back on Monday, and have them ready for the Tuesday meeting.” I didn’t like my
own idea, because the iron would be hot on Sunday.
The meeting in Charlotte
went great, as you already know. Things broke up around seven, as expected.
Anne looked at me, and I could tell she was less than enthusiastic about the
prospect of returning to Pinehurst. I agreed that driving four hours in the dark, when we were already so
tired, was a bad idea. We both resigned, then, to the sorry scenario of an author
having none of his books.
Just then, Tom Bishop stepped up. Actually, he’d been
eavesdropping on the whole conversation.
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| Anne and Tom at the Charlotte meeting. |
He looked at me in all earnestness and said, “I’ll take you
back, Martin.” I told him it was an extremely generous offer, but that
he didn’t understand the situation. It was two hours there, two hours back,
and then Tom would still have to drive two more hours back home to South
Carolina; a six-hour road investment in practically the middle of the night.
“It’s a road trip,” he said. “I love road trips.”
By that time, I was wondering whether I really wanted
to do it. But Tom’s enthusiasm got the bettert of me. “It will be an adventure,”
I said.
“A great adventure,” Tom said.
“A road trip adventure,” said I.
Then we both said, somewhat together: “Let’s do it!”
We didn’t start until 7:45 .
But do you know what? God foreordained, before the disruption of the world, for
Tom Bishop and Martin Zender to spend those four hours together. We talked and
talked, never running out of things to say, truths to marvel in, or past trials to share. Here was a man I’d never met, but who had been blessed, for years, by my books and teaching.
“I love books,” he said. “Martin, I love your books. It’s
important for these people to be able to get these books. It would be a
disaster is they weren’t available.”
“You know, we are suffering evil for the evangel,” I told
him. Yes, there was great fellowship, but it wasn’t an easy trip. It was a
measure of suffering, certainly. We both needed sleep, but wanted even more for
the folks in Faith to have books.
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| Books in tow; leaving Pinehurst at 10:15, for Charlotte. Tom is buoyant. |
We arrived at Pinehurst at 10, loaded the books, got a snack,
and were back on the road by 10:15 .
We arrived back in Charlotte , at my
hotel, at a quarter past midnight . Poor
Tom still had another two hours to drive. But this did not look like a “Poor Tom“ kind of guy. In fact, the trip had energized him.
I made sure he was feeling all right, hugged him good-bye,
and off he went into the night.
It wasn’t exactly a day and a night in a swamp, or a
shipwreck, or a literal beating, but still, it was a measure of sacrifice and
suffering for the sake of the heralding of the evangel.
 |
| 12:15 a.m. Tom has dropped me off at my hotel, and faces two more hours of driving. See how unhappy he is? |
(The books were a hit in Faith. The First Idiot in Heaven
sold out; I wish I’d had more. By the time the Tuesday meeting rolled
around, several people had already read halfway through it. The effect was “magical.”
Last night, a man who had read half the book came into the door and said, “When
are you going to make the movie? I couldn’t put it down.”)
Thank you, Tom Bishop. I will always remember this
adventure, and your sacrifice for the sake of the evangel. It was no small
thing. This work will precede you to the dais of Christ.
God bless you, dear brother.
© 2013 by Martin Zender
