Reni Bumpas

Prayer meetings usually garner the smallest attendance of any church gathering, so when my husband Wally shared that about 15-20 came to the first prayer meeting, to say we were encouraged would be an understatement. Especially with a congregation of around 50-60. 

Though I was the pastor’s wife, scheduling conflicts meant that I had to miss the first few.

This small group of saints began gathering each week in the choir room behind the sanctuary each Wednesday evening at First Presbyterian Church in Dyersburg, TN. 

Amidst the retirees, our dentist and his wife brought whichever of their four children didn’t have other commitments. Often that meant only their youngest, Virginia, who was maybe seven or eight, joined them. Soccer was big in the Kerber home.

For about a third of our congregation to join us in prayer encouraged us greatly. But what lit the fire in Wally’s heart the most was that little girl. Virginia Kerber, it turned out, was quite the prayer warrior.

The very first night, Wally came home saying, “I wish you could have been here tonight, just so you could have heard Virginia pray.”

Week after week, Wally repeated those words until finally whatever commitments kept me away dissipated, and I was finally able to join him. 

Not long after we arrived, familiar faces greeted us and one another, taking their seats in the cushioned folding chairs that were arranged in a horseshoe in front of the windows in the sunlit room. 

If my memory is correct, we met at 5:15 on Wednesday nights, to accommodate anyone who worked, and still allow everyone to get home for dinner.

Wally prepared a weekly prayer guide that was included in the bulletin on Sunday morning. The headings included our elders, world mission, the persecuted church, our nation and leaders, local ministries supported by our church, our church-supported school, and health concerns. Beneath each heading were the names of elders, missionaries and the names of the places where they served, the names of government leaders at the federal, state and local level, etc.

I don’t remember if Wally or one of the other elders opened the meeting that first night. But as person after person prayed, I wondered if I would get to hear Virginia.

Finally, her sweet voice began…

“Dear God, I wish You would help the people who are sick to get better. And I wish the people who don’t know You would come to know You. And I wish You would help…” 

In addition to those on our prayer list, Virginia named friends or relatives of others she’d heard about at school who were going through something hard. And she prayed expectantly. It was as if she knew she was coming to a King, and she was His little girl, His princess. So she dreamed big, expecting Him to come through.

Listening to Virginia pray taught me what Jesus meant by child-like faith.

Move back to Mississippi (and my struggling prayer life)

In January, 2017, we moved to Mississippi, where Wally now serves Madison Heights as an associate pastor.

After 35+ years of walking with the Lord, and almost 30 years of serving Him as a pastor’s wife, I would expect by now to have a vibrant consistent prayer life. The truth is that my prayer life has been one of the most frustrating aspects of my walk with Christ.

God has graciously made His Presence known to me most of my life with Him. There have been days, weeks, and even months, when I felt my prayers were hitting the ceiling. Times I didn’t pray at all or very rarely. Times I doubted my salvation because of my lack of prayer. And felt like THE BIGGEST HYPOCRITE on the planet. 

I didn’t pray. And I called myself a Christian??? And a pastor’s wife??? 

Did anyone in our church struggle with prayer the way I did?

Did any Christian struggle with prayer the way I did?

Thankfully, when those thoughts condemned me, God reminded me through Romans 8:1, “There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”

God didn’t save me because of my consistent prayer life. God saved me through the beautiful substitutionary work of His Son in my place. Jesus had a perfect prayer life. His perfection covers my imperfection. His blood blots out ALL my sin.

Knowing His grace moves me to pour out my heart to Him. To come boldly before His throne. And when I think about it in those terms, I am so astounded that THE CREATOR of the Universe, the One who hung the stars and the planets in the perfect distance from the sun, who filled the oceans with giant and tiny and colorful silly creatures has made Himself available to me? I’m a nobody. 

But HE knows my name. And beckons me to come! To enter His Presence!

If only I could maintain that mindset as I make my way through the list of all the people I’m praying for. If only it didn’t feel so rote. If only I believed like Virginia, that God would really come through.

Prayer Walk using Prayer Cards on October 7

On Wednesday morning, October 7, the heat from the asphalt steamed upward as I mapped my walk through our neighborhood. I crisscrossed to the shaded areas every opportunity, shuffling and praying through a stack of scribbled index cards. 

I created them a few weeks earlier after reviewing how Paul Miller uses prayer cards in A Praying Life, which I highly recommend.

On some of the cards, I listed groups of people like ministries, friends, and others who have been part of our lives over the years or even now—like the boys who lived in our home at French Camp or healthcare workers or elders in our church. I also transferred the names of folks on our church’s prayer list and Sunday School class list.

Not knowing a lot of specifics, my prayers tend to be more general, and sometimes I wonder if it’s really making a difference. It can sometimes feel rote, like I’m just checking off names, and I don’t think it should feel like that.

 Other cards contain individual names or ministries with specific requests. Though I just created the cards in September, some of the requests date back to the 1990’s.

I looked and prayed through the names in the bundle of 30-40 cards. Not seeing answers in so many discouraged me to the point of praying out loud. Talking out loud to the Lord helps me focus as my mind easily wanders when I pray silently. 

As I prayed through Jeffrey and Cathy Lancaster’s card, church-planting friends in Chicago, I thanked the Lord for how He had answered a very specific prayer—that God would surprise and startle him. 

Why don’t I pray like that?  No sooner did I ponder that question than I began to pray out loud, 

 “Lord, would You surprise and startle me? Would You answer JUST ONE of these prayers in a way I can see?”

I thought of the many “ungripped” on my list, and thought how great it would be to see one of them dramatically swept away by the love of Christ in a life-changing way, but that seemed WAY TOO much to hope for.

God Startles and Surprises me with a Specific Answer

That evening after Bible Study, (which happens to be using Paul Miller’s A Praying Life), a friend shared the most remarkable way the Lord had provided THAT VERY DAY for a request we’d been coming to Him with since June. 

My eyes clouded as I realized how specifically the Lord had answered my prayer from that morning.

As she continued with not one story, but a second phenomenal way He had worked, chills raised the hair on my arms. 

The Lord had worked exceedingly abundantly beyond all that I could ask or imagine. 

My heart was so lifted up with praise and thanksgiving as I rejoiced the entire fifteen-minute drive home. I told Wally as soon as I walked in the door—not only that God had answered those two prayers, but that He had answered that specific one that very morning, that He would “surprise and startle me” with His answer.

I thought that was the end of the story. 

Little did I know that was like a small appetizer before a feast, and the next marvel would be in my own family, in answers to prayers I’ve been praying for almost two decades. 

 To be more accurate, I guess it’s been over twenty years.

God Answers a 20+ Year Prayer

It was almost noon by the time I looked at my phone for the first time Saturday, the 10th. 

My dad, who has been living in Medellin, Colombia 80-90% of the time for about ten years, had called around 2:30 Wednesday afternoon, September 30, that he was bleeding, having just had two stents put in two 90% blocked arteries the prior Thursday. 

Why was he living in Medellin? No, he is not Colombian. I’ll get to that later…

About an hour after his call, I sent this message to a group including my brother Jad, his wife Tiffany, and sister Niki: “Just talked to Dad. He said the doctor said the medication he is on thins his blood and he didn’t seem too concerned. They’re going to keep him overnight and give him a transfusion if he needs one.”

At 6:15, I sent them this: “I just heard from Edison. They are putting him in intensive care so they can keep a close eye on him and they are going to give him a blood transfusion.”

Niki replied, “Hmmm, interesting. Hope that doesn’t mean it’s serious. Who’s Edison, by the way?”

I answered, “Dad’s driver, translator, and friend.”

Thursday, Oct. 1

Thursday mid-morning, I sent them this: “Just got this message from Dad: They will do several examinations one of them is a colonoscopy and also an endoscopy to see were the bleeding is coming from.”

Jad (who is also a surgeon at Erlanger in Chattanooga): That is what I expected

Me: It is reassuring that what they’re doing is what you would expect, Jad. How concerned are you?

Jad: “I’m concerned. I don’t know that one of us going down there would be very helpful at this point or change anything. I certainly wish he was here in the states for all of this. I don’t think it would be safe for him to travel at this point. I hope and pray everything will be OK. 

“Complications happen in ICU’s and when you’re 79 and diabetic, you’re a set up for a complication

“They have a two tier healthcare system and if you have money, you definitely are treated by some of the best physicians they have. But I am thankful to hear that they’re doing things the way I would expect to be done. In general many of the physicians I’ve met from South America are pretty decently trained. 

“If they find a bleed, they will likely be able to cauterize it through the scope”

Niki: Thank you for asking that question, Reni, and thank you for sharing how you’re feeling, Jad.  So, I’m going to go with cautiously optimistic 😊

Thursday evening, I forwarded this message from Dad: “My bleeding was due to diverticulitis. They were able to clip the lesion shut without surgery.”

Niki: That’s awesome-thank you

Friday, Oct. 2

Jad: 11 is low, but not dangerously low. I don’t start getting really concerned until seven or eight.

Friday morning about 9AM, I sent them this message: I just talked to Dad. He sounded good. He said they are going to keep him another night in the hospital for observation. He feels good and hasn’t seen any more blood, but his blood count dropped from 14 to 11 so they want to be sure the bleeding has stopped before releasing him. He said he’s ready to get back to his apartment, but he isn’t a fool, and knows it’s best to stay there.

Niki: Awesome- thanks so much for keeping us updated, and thanks Jad for the medical insight! ❤️😍😘

Saturday, Oct. 3

Reni: I just talked to Dad. He’s not doing well. They put him back on blood thinner and he started bleeding again. The cardiologist is afraid if he is not on blood thinner that he will throw a clot and have a heart attack. But he evidently has diverticular disease. Yaya had it too. So they are going to do another colonoscopy and see what they can do with his colon. He is bleeding and can feel his body going into shock

Tiffany: Oh Lord Jesus, have mercy on him! Draw him to You, give him more days to seek your face. Amen. Thank you for the update, Reni. I know it’s so hard to be this far from your dad now…

Jad called me and explained that Dad was basically in a catch-22. Depending on the type of stents they used, he probably needed to be on a blood thinner to avoid risking a heart attack or stroke. But on the blood thinner, they risked him bleeding to death with his diverticular disease. He also asked me to try to find out the name of the hospital because they had a friend with a brother who is a doctor in Medellin.

Jad (to the group): I also spoke to Reni on the phone and talked about everything. I’m gonna talk to dad hopefully in a little bit

Tiffany: We have a friend who works in ICU there so which hospital exactly? Raul Vila’s brother is working ICU at Rio Negro Hospital, a suburb of Medellin. He is going to call to see if he can check on him there. He’s an ICU internist. From Raul: My brother works at Hospital San Vicente de Paul in Rionegro.

Niki: Wow – thank you for the update… amazing you know someone with a brother who’s a doctor there. Hospital looks new & nice , which is a blessing .  Girls & I are traveling through Utah to Jackson Wyoming, then Yellowstone.  Shd have service from here on.

Meanwhile Dad was bleeding and even had a colonoscopy without being put to sleep because his blood pressure was dangerously low, and they were afraid they wouldn’t be able to wake him. They told him if he started bleeding again, they would have to remove part or all of his colon. When Dad told me about how horrible that all sounded, he said he was thinking he would just tell the doctors to stop the blood thinner and he would take his chances. Jad had told him there were different kinds of stents and some didn’t have the same risk as others. The problem was, none of us knew what kind of stents they used, and we didn’t know how to find out.

When Jad and I talked next, I told him dad was in Las Vegas Clinic. (I later learned that in Colombia, privately-owned hospitals are called clinics while public ones are called hospitals.)

Though he was working that morning, Jad was able to talk to Dr. Vila’s brother and learned that he has a friend who works ER at Las Vegas. His friend had been working all weekend and as it turned out, there were no beds available in the ICU, so they kept Dad in the ER, so he provided care for Dad the whole weekend and was very familiar with his case. He told Jad that the kind of stents they used required the use of an anticoagulant, or a heart attack was almost certain. He also told Jad they had given him two more units of blood and that because his type is rare (O-), it was a problem because they had a shortage.

He put out an advertisement through the medical community on social media asking for O- donations for Dad. 

Having the same blood type, I asked Jad if he thought I should go to Colombia, and he said he had 11 surgeries scheduled that week and thought about clearing his schedule and going himself, but a couple of patients were in really bad shape and he hated to do that to them. If I would go, it would really set his mind at ease. He would pay for the ticket.

Preparing to leave for Medellin

I spent hours looking online for flights out of Jackson. So many times I would think I had found something only for it to disappear when I clicked on it. Or it would be over 30 hours and thousands of dollars. 

So, I began looking at other cities: New Orleans, St. Louis, Nashville, Chicago, Atlanta. Finally, after many hours I found one for just under $900 that flew out of Atlanta at 7AM Monday and arrived in Medellin at 1:15.

I began packing a carry-on and made a hotel reservation.

The entire afternoon as I shopped for tickets, I prayed— for my dad, for me to find a ticket, thanking God that I could go, that I was healthy, that we had the $$, and I prayed I would see him alive again. 

The Lord made me so aware of His Presence, it was almost like floating as I went through the steps of all I needed to do while continuing to care for our almost one-year-old granddaughter, Charlie Grace, and sent friends messages asking for prayer for my dad and for the Lord to go before me.

Dad called a bit later and said he didn’t want to have his colon removed— that he would rather take his chances with not taking the blood thinner because he didn’t want to bleed to death. However, because of what Jad learned from Dr. Vila’s friend about the stents, I was able to tell Dad how critical it was for him to be on the blood thinner.

I could hear how sobering that news was in Dad’s tone of resignation. He recognized that his life truly hung in the balance.

Even with Dad’s health in such jeopardy, peace continued to wash over me as my head hit the pillow and I continued praying as I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Throughout the night, I awoke several times and found myself praying for Dad, for my flight, that I wouldn’t run into any traveling issues, that the Lord would go before me and help the flight and going through immigration and TSA go smoothly.

Incidentally, I love to go places, but I hate getting there!! All the hustle and bustle exhausts me, so I was NOT looking forward to this trip AT ALL. 

But… I love my dad. 

Also, a remarkable providence: two days earlier—on Friday morning—Wally grabbed our passports and said, “I’m going to take these back to our safety deposit boxes at the bank since we aren’t going to be needing them any time soon.” 

He never got around to it.

Had he, I would not have been able to make the trip.

Sunday, October 4 – PCR?

 Around 2:30AM when I awoke for the umpteenth time, I looked at my phone and saw a message from Edison. My dad calls “his man Friday.” It said, “Reni please remember to take a Covid19 test You gonna need it to fly to Columbia.”

I immediately thought of Chris Funkhouser, an NP who goes to church with us and runs the COVID clinic in Gluckstadt for St. Dominic’s. But I hated to take advantage of our relationship. 

I looked online to see what I could find. Trustcare offered Rapid results but it could be the next day and they didn’t open until 1:00, so I would be taking a chance, plus I had a six-hour drive to Atlanta plus a time change. 

So, I continued to pray, “Lord, You know all things. You see all of this. If You want me to go, please work it out.”

That morning while we were getting ready for church, I asked Wally if he would mind calling Chris for me.

He called him, and Chris said he didn’t mind, but he didn’t think it was possible because the Colombian government wouldn’t accept a rapid response test— it had to be a special PCR test, and it takes 48 hours to run it through the lab. 

Chris said he would do some checking and get back to him.

For a reason I can’t really explain, I never thought it wasn’t going to work out. Maybe it was that sense of “Plan to go and do everything you need to do believing it’s going to work out, assuming it will? And if it doesn’t, you can always unpack?” I don’t know. I had a sense that God wanted me to go, so I finished packing, believing that somehow it was going to work out. I never worried that it wouldn’t. I just trusted that IF God wanted me to go, I would go, and if not, I wouldn’t. Plain and simple. I prepared to go, assuming it would work out.

Incidentally, the reason Chris knew about the PCR test is because our church supports one missionary family: Nate and Nikki Bonham, and they are preparing to serve the Lord in Medellin, Colombia! Chris and Nate had been talking about what they had to do before they leave before I ever talked to Chris. 

Wally and I arrived with Charlie at church about 9:00 when it occurred to me that I should not go in as that was going to be the first day for masks to be optional. After Edison had sent me the text the night before, I had gone to the airline’s site, to see if they had anything about requiring a COVID test, or if there was anything else, and I discovered a preauthorization form to complete in order to be admitted to the country. It included a series of questions about whether you had been exposed, isolated or quarantined prior to travel.

 Suddenly, it seemed like a tremendous risk to go to church with a lot of people. So, I took Charlie home. 

As I drove, I said to the Lord, “Lord, You know that I really don’t even want to go to Colombia. But I love You and I love my dad and I’m willing. You worked out everything for me to get a ticket. Are You really going to put up a roadblock now and not let me go? It’s up to You. If You want me to go, work it out.”

As I exited on to I-55 to head home, the realization that I might not see Dad again hit me. Surprisingly, I felt peace about it. Over the years at different times, it would have been much harder. But God healed so much in our relationship and I thanked Him that I didn’t have any unresolved anger towards him, but just gratitude. 

No, he wasn’t perfect. Yes, he hurt me at different times over the years. 

But God had poured in such a healing balm. He is human and messed up just like we all are. Just like I am. He never meant to hurt me. And he has been unbelievably kind and generous to us in the past several years.

I hadn’t been home ten minutes when Chris sent me a message: “Got it worked out – when can you meet me at the office?”

I assumed he was also at home worshiping and again, I hated to inconvenience him, so I replied, “Wow!! I can come whenever you want. I am at home, worshiping online. I just put Charlie down for a nap. But I can come whenever you want me to.”

He said, “All I can say is the sooner I meet you there the sooner the result.   Your call”

So, I replied, “Oh, well, I will get Charlie up and come now!!”

Looking back, I see that you can’t hear tone and it may have sounded like “Oh well…” But the inflection I intended was “Oh!!! Well!!! I will get Charlie up and come now!”

I met Chris there, he did the nose swab, which I was a little worried about because of all the nightmare stories of having something stuck up in your nose all the way up to your brain. And because about a few weeks earlier Chris had given me a rapid test and had said that it wasn’t like the nightmare one that we hear so much about. But he assured me it would be sort of like getting a little water up my nose. And it wasn’t too bad.

Afterwards, I went back home, got gas, and Charlie got about a 15-minute nap before we went back to get Wally. 

As I took the last turn to head toward Madison Heights, my eyes clouded with tears as the possibility hit me that my dad might die—that I might not see him again. 

“Lord,” I prayed, “Please.” And that’s all I could manage. “Please, please, please.”

We had just gotten home when Charlie’s other grandmother arrived to pick her up. Almost immediately afterward Chris called and said my COVID test was negative as we expected. The only problem was because it was a medical record, it couldn’t be emailed.

So, I loaded up my car, kissed Wally goodbye and drove back to his office in Gluckstadt. He printed a hard copy for me that had the required PCR certification, and then, because he had printed a hard copy, he was able to email a pdf from the copier to me that I was able to upload into the Colombian preregistration form. I clicked submit and immediately received an email from the Colombian government that that had received my documentation, which included my passport information, the address of where I was staying— my father’s apartment— the reason for my visit, etc.

It occurred to me while I was there that my lab test didn’t get itself to the lab, so I asked Chris, “Did you drive my test yourself to the lab?” He nodded. 

I told him how much I appreciated it and asked where it was. He said it’s at St. Dominic’s, and that it’s actually closed on Sunday. That he called the director of the lab and told her what was going on, and she said she would meet him there and run my test for him. 

St. Dominic’s is probably a half-hour drive at least from Gluckstadt, which meant he had an hour of driving time in addition to wait time for the test to run. Talk about giving sacrificially. No telling how much sacrificial time the lab director gave.

Utterly astonishing!!

Had we not been at Madison Heights— along with Chris Funkhouser and Nate and Nikki Bonham being missionaries to Medellin about to be heading there, we would not have known about the PCR, nor would we have been able to get the PCR test had Chris not been running the Covid clinic where he could call in a favor. And wow— the the director of the lab was willing. To come in on a Sunday morning to run one test! For a complete stranger? Not someone important like a celebrity or politician. But a nobody like me?

Traveling to Medellin 

I drove to Atlanta stopping only once, as I tuned into Andrew Peterson on Spotify and worshipped along with the lyrics and melodies. Not once did I get sleepy. I munched on grapes and orange bits leftover from having guests for breakfast Saturday morning. And diet Mountain Dew.

Jad called after a few hours and said he had just spent about 2 hours Face Timing with Dad, and that he didn’t look good— that they had given him 2 more units of blood—for a total of 6. He said that his vitals were all over the place as he looked at the monitor, that he was very pale, that his arms were all bruised up and that he was on oxygen. Even on oxygen, the monitor showed his oxygen level as being low which suggested he might have pulmonary edema—fluid in his lungs—very scary as he was lying in a hospital bed and could easily develop pneumonia. 

Would Dad even be alive by the time I got there? Was I going to help him with his recovery? Or was I going to oversee laying his body to rest?

Amazingly, I had managed to book a room at the Hyatt Regency about a mile from the airport for less than $100 including tax and fees. 

The check-in lady told me they have a shuttle that starts at 4AM and leaves every 10 minutes and that I could register to leave my car through an independent agency, and it would be less expensive than the airport. It was $5/day!

She suggested I arrive to the airport 3 hours early since it was an international flight, so afraid I would oversleep and miss my flight, I set 4 alarms for 3, 3:10, 3:15 and 3:30 and asked for a wakeup call. And asked friends to pray I would go to sleep AND wake up!

I got to bed around 10 and woke up around 2:30–before any alarm clock. I began praying and decided I may as well get up so I wouldn’t be rushed. 

After getting everything packed, the Lord blessed me with about 15 minutes to enjoy a cup of hot cinnamon spiced tea in my room— I was delighted to find they had a hot water maker! And I had brought bags with me. And time to journal and pray.

Monday, October 12

My cousin Chris had sent me this prayer from the Greek Orthodox Church, which I prayed as I recorded it in my journal:

“Jesus, You traveled with the two disciples and set their hearts on fire with Your grace—“ (by Your Word! So set me—burn Your Word within me so that I may have the Truth I need to take every thought captive and make it obedient to You!) “Travel also with me and gladden my heart by Your Presence. I know, Lord, that I am a pilgrim on this way, seeking citizenship, which is in Heaven. During my journey, surround me with Your holy angels and keep me safe from seen and unseen dangers. Grant that I may carry out my plans and fulfill my expectations according to Your will. Help me to see the beauty of Your creation and to comprehend the wonder of Your truth in all things. For You are the way, the truth, and the life and to You I give all praise and glory forever.”

At ten till 4:00, I went down to the lobby and waited for the shuttle. As I waited, I reviewed Scripture and was comforted by many verses, among them, Isaiah 43:5, “Do not be afraid for I am with you…”

Not ten minutes later, I arrived at the gate for Spirit airlines, a no-frills company where you have to pay to even have a carry-on, and the seats don’t recline. I was the only non-South American English speaking woman on the flight. A beautiful experience.

I wondered if they wondered who this white woman was… and why she traveled among them.

Prior to that, when I arrived at TSA, I found that I was the only person there. I smiled, “Good morning,” and asked, “Am I your first customer?” The uniformed guy said, “Almost. I think there’ve been three before you.”

At Spirit, both in Atlanta and Ft. Lauderdale, they asked to see the printed certified PCR document as well as the email from the Colombian government and my passport. With those documents in hand, I easily passed through, marveling each time at how the Lord had parted this miniature Red Sea to make sure I made it to Colombia.

Arrival in Medellin

If you’ve ever taken Spanish, you know that when you see two “lls” together, you pronounce them with a “yuh” sound. So, if you’re like me, you might expect to pronounce Medellin “Med-eh-yeen.” The people in Medellin, Colombia, however, make a “zhuh” sound with two “lls,” so they pronounce Medellin “Medezheen.”

When we arrived in Medellin, the airport was not like the airports in the US. They kept everyone in socially distanced lines as we headed toward immigration, people in white coats directing us toward wall-mounted infrared thermometers beforehand. 

My temperature was low as usual.

Going through immigration in this fashion actually was much less stressful than when I’ve traveled to Europe before the pandemic and hot smelly bodies pressed behind me, pushing me into people in front of me as long lines snaked around. 

Plus, they had one line for non-Colombians, of which there were maybe twenty or so, compared to the longer line of Colombians.

When I made it to the immigration booth, the official began asking me questions like why I had come to Colombia and where I was staying. Thankfully, I had entered my dad’s address in my contacts on Saturday before I left!

After I showed the official all my documents and satisfactorily answered all his questions, he stamped and initialed my passport, and I began making my way through the perfume-lined duty-free shopping where salesclerks eagerly stood smiling as I was the only person who walked through. 

Unlike other times going through international airports where travelers crowd and mill around, I only saw a random stranger every so-often as I made my way following the signs that pointed toward the exit. 

I wondered if I would recognize Edison, or if he would recognize me from our Facebook pages. I had no doubt he would be there, as my dad had such confidence in him.

As I finally neared a windowed wall with locked glass doors, I felt sort of like a zoo animal as a crowd of people gazed through the glass jumping and waving. 

Medellin, Colombia

Edison and I spotted each other at once as he waved and pointed for me to head to my left.

As I pushed my pumpkin-colored carry-on down the empty walkway, every so often, to my right would be a windowed wall with locked glass doors in the middle, and there would be Edison, tracking along with me, pointing me onward. At last, we approached a windowed wall with opened glass doors. It was all I could do not to hug him, but our masked faces reminded me to keep my distance.

“Thank you, so much!” I exclaimed.

He said he was happy to—that Angelo—my father had done so much for him— for so many people in Colombia—that he was happy to do something for him. 

Dad had always told me about the poverty of the people in Colombia and how he helped them, but somehow hearing it from Edison gave it more weight.

Edison took me first to dad’s place at Panoramika Country Apartments, located on Las Palmas in the Pablado district to put down my things because they closed visiting at the hospital until 3:00.

Dad’s apartment is on the 11th floor, so the view is amazing of the city, whose population Edison said is about 6 million.

As we drove, he told me Dad was not doing well, that he had been bleeding a lot, but that he was better today. He said that they stopped all the medication and the bleeding stopped, but they didn’t know what would happen when they started the blood thinner back. 

He also said that Dad told him that if he died in Colombia, he wanted his body flown back to MS and buried next to Emily.

Dad married Emily when I was fourteen, and she died when I was thirty-two. Convinced no one loved her, I’d made it my aim to demonstrate my love for her in ways she could hold on to. She’d been my matron of honor when I married, and we gave our daughter the first name Emily after her.

Edison added that Dad was doing a little better than yesterday, and said if he makes it, that he’s leaving Colombia because of all the temptation.

For years since my stepmother’s suicide in 1998, I’d seen my dad grieve and struggle with loneliness. After two not great marriages, he followed the advice of a friend and tried shopping for a wife online and married a Ukrainian girl, who was maybe 23 at the time. 

When that marriage ended, the same friend recommended he go to Colombia where the time zone is the same as his home and the climate is known as the place of eternal spring. He’d had countless “girlfriends” in Colombia. Many of these girls were teenagers when my dad started dating them, some still in high school.

A few times he’d tell us he was thinking about marrying one of them—because he was convicted of his immoral lifestyle. But then he’d learn the girl he was thinking about marrying was cheating on him.

He decided to have several girlfriends, one who would come each week of the month, but that would keep him from getting serious, and keep him from getting hurt.

I pondered Edison’s words about my dad leaving in my heart, wondering what it meant. What would I see when I saw Dad? Would he say anything like that to me? He had shared with me about his conviction before, but it never stuck. The pull was greater than his desire to fight the temptation.

Edison asked me as we drove if I’d heard any gunshots or seen any violence, and I shook my head. He said, “People think Medellin is so dangerous because of the old drug cartel, but it’s not like that anymore. They’ve been gone for years.”

I asked him what made the difference and he said, “Mainly the United States working with the government and helping stop it.”

Then I asked if he’d lost anyone or known people to get hurt by it, and he said, “Yes, my uncle was killed.”

As Edison pulled the silver Mercedes into the parking garage at Las Vegas Clinic, he rolled down the window for the attendant to take our temperature, then maneuvered into the tightly fitting space.

Seeing Dad

After the way Jad had described Dad when he Face Timed with him the day prior, I was surprised when he didn’t look like death.

He didn’t look great, but not nearly as bad as I had expected.

I had forgotten that he’d let his hair go white, and long strands stood, swaying towards the side of his olive skin, which looked rather pallid. Oxygen was hooked to his nose while a rainbow of wires connected his body to the blinking noisy monitor.

Immediately, Dad began repeating to me the same things Edison had relayed. 

He began talking about an article he had read about 7 Steps to Restore the Joy of Your Salvation (https://www.bibletruths.org/7-ways-restore-joy-of-your-salvation/) and how he had listened to a Barbara Duguid talk I’d sent him from a podcast series she did at a women’s conference at FPC Macon, Georgia, and how he had lost the assurance of his salvation, but that God had given it back. That if he didn’t make it, he knew he would go to Heaven. (The Barbara Duguid talk that he listened to several times was the third one. All four talks are provided in links.)

Dad said he knows now that he never lost his salvation— just the assurance of it because of living in sin.

As I shared with him my story of how the Lord got me to Medellin, tears filled his eyes and ran down his face. He was so overcome with gratitude that God loved him THIS much— that He would rescue him the way He had.

He remembered Jesus’s words that “no man can come to the Son unless the Father draws him,” from John 6:44 and remarked THAT is why he had come back—because the Father had drawn him. He said, “I never believed in predestination before. But I believe in it now. It is the only explanation for why I’ve come back to God. I was not seeking him. He sought me.”

Edison said that his mother was going to be so happy—that she had been praying for him—not so much for his health, but for his soul.

Dad then spoke about Romans 8:28, which says that “God causes all things to work together for good for those who love God, for those who have been called according to His purpose.” 

He said he had always just thought about that verse in personal terms before, but that the Holy Spirit pointed out to him that “those” is plural— that it refers to the whole world. 

Suddenly he saw meaning in his sin, which he was so ashamed of. He had wondered how he could have done so much evil and it be a part of God’s plan.

He spoke of David’s sin with Bathsheba and how he killed Uriah, her husband, to cover it up. And YET. God used his sin to accomplish his purposes. Through David and Bathsheba came Solomon and through that line came Jesus!

God didn’t cause the sin, but He allowed it to accomplish His purposes.

And now the Bonhams were coming to Medellin to start their ministry, and he would get to play a role by giving them his apartment and any money he has in Colombia— several thousand dollars in pesos.

It was all so much to take in, I told Wally and Jad, but I wanted to wait to tell the Bonhams—afraid he’d turn back.

Still, Dad also spoke of how meaningful Psalm 51 had been the past several days and he was praying God would sustain him with a willing spirit. Suddenly, that verse took on new meaning.

He also spoke of how he wanted the Bonhams to meet his friends. People they could minister to.

And it wasn’t long before l began meeting them. Women began coming to his room— “girlfriends” and former “girlfriends”and their mothers, aunts, and even a father. All people he has helped.

One girl he put through nursing school. Another he has been paying to go to vet school.

Dad explained that in the culture in Medellin, probably left over from the days of the drug cartel, when drug lords would have beautiful women, that little girls saw a glamorous lifestyle and dreamed of growing up and being beautiful and taken care of. 

So, even though those days are now past, that idea has remained so that girls think it’s sort of a status symbol to have a wealthy man taking care of them— almost like in the States when someone drives a Mercedes or a Porsche.

After dad finished explaining, I said, “That’s really sad.”

He nodded and said, “It is.”

After talking a bit more, he added the thing that was so hard when he thought about leaving, even though he knew it was the right thing to do, was that so many of these families depend on him—that he gives them a monthly income.

But just because he was leaving and would no longer desire their services, did that necessarily mean he couldn’t still help them? 

Wouldn’t Grace be to give, even when you’re not getting anything in return? 

So, the next time Dad brought it up, I suggested that to him. 

And he said he had thought about that. 

At the same time, he said one girl he had paid to finish nursing school wasn’t working as a nurse because she would rather party. That her family was always fussing at her to get a job. So, he wondered if he wasn’t providing, if the need might lead to finding another way to live. He said Papouli (his father) always said “Need is the mother of work.”

So, he said he was just going to pray about it.

Meanwhile, his health continued to improve. He went from peeing in a can and my emptying it to me disconnecting him from all the wires and him getting up to go to the bathroom.

They put him back on blood thinner Monday afternoon, and we held our breath the next 24 hours as we waited to see if he would start bleeding again.

Tuesday-Friday, October 6-9, Physical and Spiritual Restoration

No blood. 24 hours on blood thinner and no blood.

They introduced a liquid diet of jello and broth on Tuesday and by that night even added crackers.

By Wednesday lunch they added a little chicken to the broth, as well as rice and potatoes, more crackers and still no bleeding.

Thursday, they even gave him stewed meat! I was surprised, knowing his diagnosis of diverticulitis, but thought maybe since it was stewed, it might be okay.

But that night, they brought him a salad and a potato with skin, along with ground beef. Because I’d had a bout with diverticulitis a few weeks earlier and knew foods to avoid on a soft diet, I told him not to eat either.

At that point, Dad shared that between the two colonoscopies, when the bleeding started and they stopped it, they didn’t change his diet at all. He was eating everything and even having his friends bring him fastfood from restaurants. 

Had they put him on a soft diet after the first bleed, he might not have started bleeding again!

I double-checked the dietary restrictions I had suggested with Jad, and he said until he gets back to the States, it’s just best to be extra careful. 

Dad mentioned the rib-eyes he had in his fridge, so I asked Jad, and he said he wouldn’t. Red meats are not a good idea. 

Again, I was surprised when the hospital brought him more red meat for lunch, so I told him not to eat it. Thankfully, I discovered some amazing quiches in a deli downstairs, so he ate them instead. Or at least the inside. Being diabetic, he had to watch his carbs. In fact, we realized late Thursday his blood sugar was elevated as they had been bringing him juice to drink and even sweets, not to mention rice and potatoes, but they failed to give him his diabetes medicine!

As Dad talked to people on the phone, again and again I heard him tell people about how I got to Medellin, and how he thought I’d saved his life—or how God used me to save his life.

Meanwhile Dad continued to marvel at God’s purpose and goodness in how He was bringing the Bonhams to Medellin, and how he could help them by leaving his apartment and everything in it for them. They could use, trade or sell-whatever best suited their purposes. And how he could pay Edison to drive them around. And even the extra pesos he had—that rather than taking them back to the United States, he could leave them for the Bonhams.

As he talked about leaving behind his life of sin, he knew he needed to leave Colombia and not look back. Leaving his apartment for the Bonhams ministry would enable him not to have to worry with selling it or anything too. He said he would leave the utilities and everything on so that it would be available for them until we could get all the paperwork worked out.

He also asked me to go into his phones and computer and delete all the porn—photos and bookmark links. It took me a few hours. The war between the spirit and the flesh he knew would be fierce. Like David in Psalm 51, he was praying that God would sustain him with a “willing spirit.”

We talked about the importance of prayer and confession and fellowship and God’s Word. And how feelings are just feelings. That there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

Leaving Medellin

We wanted to leave ASAP, but as we began looking for flights—for him to fly to Jackson and me to Atlanta—but to fly together most of the way, the first thing we found Wednesday evening that wasn’t over $6k was not until October 31. We booked it.

Dad said it must be God’s will for us to stay until then since there were so many roadblocks.

I pondered that possibility. 

But I also thought back to all the obstacles before I left. Had I not kept praying that God would open up a way, I would have never made it to Colombia in the first place. And isn’t that often the way the Lord works?

As Proverbs 16:9 says, we make our plans, but God directs our steps. 

Not only was I eager to get back home because of Wally, Charlie, and responsibilities, especially as Wally’s parents planned to move in with us soon, I was concerned about how hard it would be for Dad to stay in Colombia that long with all the temptation. 

All the “girlfriends” and their families had been texting Dad incessantly. While he recognized that the reason they wanted to come see him was likely not so much because they had genuine care about him, but because they wanted his money and because he had helped them so much in the past, that didn’t mean he shouldn’t help them. 

I agreed. I also knew the longer we stayed the harder it was going to be to leave.

I began fervently praying and Wednesday night sent several people prayer requests that Dad and I could get two business class tickets much earlier. 

As I prayed, I began to wonder if it would be a better idea for Dad to go to Chattanooga where Jad could oversee his medical care rather than go home to Jackson where he would have to coordinate everything himself or have me help him. 

Jad and I talked about it, and he thought it would be a good idea for Dad to go there. 

Thursday morning, I told Dad I wondered if that might be better, and that I’d mentioned it to Jad, and Dad suggested I check the flights. 

When I opened my phone, Google opened up where I had last been looking at flights, and it showed business class seats on American from Medellin to Atlanta on Sunday, Oct. 18 departing at 2AM and arriving at 10:44AM for just $514!! 

With Chattanooga being less than a 2-hour drive from Atlanta, I was able to call and get our flights changed. It only cost Dad $5 and some change for his ticket, and he got a refund of over $50 for mine!

I then saw the following message from Jad: 

Please share this with dad…

Psalm 116 says… For You have delivered my soul from death,

My eyes from tears,

And my feet from falling.

I will walk before the LORD

In the land of the living.

Sunday night I went to bed not knowing if I would wake up in the morning and hear that you had passed away. When I saw your vital signs and knowing of your condition, I knew that you were standing at the edge. You could’ve very easily gone into multi system organ failure or developed acute respiratory distress syndrome. There is a saying in medicine that the medical ICU is like the roach motel… You check in but you don’t check out. God has been incredibly merciful to you and it looks like you are on the road to recovery. 

Hebrews 3:7-8: Therefore, as the Holy Spirit says:

“Today, if you will hear His voice, Do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion,

In the day of trial in the wilderness,

In the same way Joseph ran from Potipher’s wife and left his cloak behind even willing to go to prison to flee from temptation, I beg you to flee temptation. In the same way the Lord sent an angel to lead Lot by the hand out of Sodom and Gomorrah I beg you to go with the angel he has sent to you. Her name is Irene Angela Dorizas. God used her to lead me to Christ and he can use her to lead you by the hand from Sodom. Go with her and don’t look back. Lot had a rough time when he left. The life he had lived in Sodom left scars and many sinful habits. It will be hard, but the reward of experiencing oneness with Christ is far greater than any fleeting pleasure that this world can offer you. Flee idolatry of sexual immorality.

I love you and beg you to please leave.

I shared with Dad, and he was so moved. Said he wants me to write his book to evangelize— to share how God rescued him and how He can rescue others.

Friday, October 9

The hospital discharged Dad and we came back to his apartment where I cooked for him and taking care of him as well as packing and cleaning out his apartment to get it ready for the Bonhams.

I heard Dad on the phone share with friends again and again this story of how the Lord has worked and not just saved him from the brink of death, but restored to him the joy of His salvation and given him a desire to walk in obedience to Him.

Dad said he is excited about sharing his story of how God rescued him and having his friends see the change in him. Of God using his story to share the Good News of the salvation and life He offers through Jesus. Though he still struggles with temptation, he is determined to fight it and make decisions based not on his feelings, but on the truth he knows of Who God is.

On top of that, we have had some of the most amazing conversations. I didn’t think I had any “unfinished business” with Dad or any unresolved issues. But the Lord AGAIN did exceedingly abundantly beyond all I could ask or imagine as he led us to talk about some of the hard things in our past. 

He conveyed how genuinely sorry he was for the pain he caused me. 

And I was able to assure him that I held nothing against him but thanked God for him as I recognized that God used it all to make me who I am. 

I also shared with him how many times I had felt like a failure as a mom, how I hadn’t lived up to my ideals, but that is what makes me love Jesus so much— that it’s not about me and my goodness but about Jesus and His. He has clothed me in His righteousness.

That is the only hope any of us have. And that is the hope the Bonhams will be bringing to Medellin. How the Lord must love the people here.

And how utterly astounded I am at His love for me.

AND how He answers prayers. Yes, Virginia, God still answers prayers.