“The Lord Will Provide”
After watching my father’s casket being lowered into the ground one month past my ninth birthday, I grasped my mother’s hand and gazed up at her. “What are we going to do?”
With a loving smile, that did not belie her sorrowful eyes, my mother simply replied, “The Lord will provide.” Abraham spoke these same words to his son, Isaac, as they climbed the mountain with wood and fire for the sacrifice, but no animal; only Abraham knew that God had asked for his son. The reward for trusting God to provide was a ram—caught in a thicket—to use on the altar.
My mother answered without hesitation, although our economic situation had plummeted and she had begun working the first job she had had since her wedding day – at pay well below the poverty line.
In my crisis of faith, the looming questions mounted, “Is there a way out for me?” “Is God listening to me?” “Do I matter to God?” Losing my dad felt overwhelming and the future seemed bleak and depressing. My mother offered me hope with her telling stories of faith. As I grew, I added my own to the repertoire of faith builders. Even now, with daily warnings of the austere economic forecast—the problem of keeping afloat surpassed only by the Great Depression, I fall back to the faith I learned at my mother’s side.
Her steadiness assured me then and her chronicles gripped my attention; teaching that trusting the Lord to provide would be rewarded. Faith grew with each reminder of God’s grace; especially the story of Reverend Clyde, which remains a favorite.
It was the 1940s. War was draining resources and people. A young pastor arrived at a fledging Bible church in Glendale, California. Reverend Clyde envisioned a growing congregation that would meet the needs of the community. Limited resources didn’t matter, because the Lord would provide.
He rented a store front on North Glendale Boulevard (where an IHOP now stands) and converted it to a Young People’s Christian Center, appealing to school-aged youth and those working in the defense plants; his family lived in the back. Across the street was a vacant field (three sixty foot parcels) that started him dreaming. Diligently praying; he formulated a way to purchase the lot he gazed at each day.
Down the road, the small congregation met for Sunday morning services in the Disabled American Veteran’s Hall. To prepare for worship, Reverend Clyde and his family would go to the hall early each Sunday and clear it, removing the empty beer bottles and trash left from the night-before partyers.
As the congregation grew, they discussed buying property for a sanctuary. Rev. Clyde shared his vision of a colonial-style, red-brick church with a grand two-story portico rising from spacious steps leading down on three sides to the surrounding walkways. A tall pristine steeple topping the church would be a symbol from the street to the neighboring hills that here was a place of Christian worship.
As it happened, a bookkeeper attended the small Bible church. Her employer was a Jewish widow of a liquor salesman, who owned the property the pastor envisioned for the church. When Reverend Clyde approached the employee, she indicated that her boss had noooo interest in selling the property to a Christian organization. After all, the laws about churches and limitations on sales of liquor surrounding them meant their interests were mutually exclusive.
The reverend prayed for wisdom and guidance on prospects for the church. He checked frequently with his congregant, hoping for an opportunity to meet the owner and present his ideas for the property, but the news was never good.
A member of the congregation came forward to offer a gift of a property worth about $3,000.00. It was a small plot hemmed in by residential properties, and offered no future for expansion. There was a condition; it could not be sold to purchase another property. Reverend Clyde recognized it could meet their needs for a time but was concerned that it would not accommodate the projected growth.
His dream of building a sanctuary, a fellowship hall to host the youth activity center and a Christian elementary school on the vacant land across the street was undimmed. But the cost of that property was prohibitive; it was worth $40,000.00.
The dream was unrealistic to some, impossible to others, but the reverend never faltered in his belief in God’s power to create a solution. Instead, he focused on his calling—spreading the good news that there was hope and salvation through Jesus Christ—while praying and waiting.
He encouraged those around him to pray: his wife, the church leaders and members of the congregation. Despite checking repeatedly with the bookkeeper to see if an opportunity to meet with her employer could be arranged, he was frequently disappointed; yet, the dream would not die.
Then, one day the bookkeeper called. If there was ever a day to speak with her employer then today was the day; would he be available to come over right away?
Reverend Clyde jumped into his car and headed across town to persuade the business woman to part with the property. While driving, he asked God for guidance and wisdom in presenting his ideas to the owner. He prayerfully bargained, “If You get me in the door to talk with her, I promise I will tell her about You.”
He was invited in and the bookkeeper introduced him to her employer. Launching into explaining his dream of a New England-style red-brick church with elegant landscaping, he enumerated the myriad ways that the property would be improved; exploiting every persuasive tactic. Certain to dazzle her with the brilliance of his vision, for an hour he exhausted his reserves of clever witticisms.
“No, I’m not interested.” Emphatic and unimpressed, she remained resolute. Realizing the futility of his words, he made his excuses and rose to leave.
As he did, a niggling voice in his head said as clearly as if it had been spoken, “I thought you said that if I got you in the door, that you would tell her about Me?” He stopped short, realizing his failure to live up to his promise to God. Silently begging forgiveness, he turned back to her.
“Just before I go, Mrs. M——-, I would like to share a story about a countryman of yours.” He reached into his coat jacket and pulled out his pocket Testament and turned to the third chapter of the Gospel of John and read.
“Now there was a Pharisee, named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night and said to him, ‘Rabbi, we know you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God. …”
When he finished reading the passage, he replaced his Testament.
The stillness in the room was charged. Everything had changed. Her directness was startling. “Young man, I can see you are a man with a purpose. I’m going to sell you that property. How much can you afford?”
Dumb-founded, Reverend Clyde had to resist the urge to have her put it in writing immediately. Instead, he decided to trust that the God he believed had changed her heart could be counted on to sustain her promise. Suggesting she meet with her relatives and discuss the sale, he agreed to return after meeting with his people.
The board of elders determined that they could realistically afford to offer $10,000.00 for the property—a fraction of its value. Gathering the congregation, an anonymous ‘collection’ was proposed—no guarantee required—as to what cash amount each person could reasonably contribute within three months. When the tally of that ‘paper-of-hope-offering’ was counted, it was $3,000.00.
Carrying their bid to the widow, who was now surrounded by relatives opposing the sale and working to dissuade her, the young pastor detailed, “We can offer $10,000.00, with a down payment of $3,000.00.”
“All right, you may have it,” Her decisive action stilled the relatives.
When he proposed to give her a note for the balance, she countered, “You don’t need to; just pay it when you can.”
It was an unusual arrangement even for a time when a deal could be sealed with a handshake. The contracts were written, reviewed and finalized, and the property worth $40,000.00 was sold to the growing church for $10,000.00.
Reverend Clyde could not have known that a future freeway would cut a swath next to their property, making its location soar in value. That isn’t significant.
The significance is that the red-brick colonial church, with a tall steeple (that now stands at the Glendale Boulevard eastbound exit/entrance to the 210 Freeway in Glendale), remains a monument to the truth that the Lord will provide despite the uncertainties of war, the failure of economies and a general malaise among people.
My mother’s word remained true; our needs were met. Over the years there were many such instances affirming God’s provision, despite considerable obstacles. This account, however—one of my favorites—continues to reinforce my belief that the Lord will provide; after all, Reverend Clyde was my father.
