A Blessed Life (24)

A Blessed Life (24)

A Blessed Life (24)
A new era of blessing was about to unfold. With a clear wake up call from my banker’s question about running away from God, I began to look for God’s leading. Running from God was like running an uphill obstacle course, and I was tired of running in the wrong direction. We listed the farm and it sold for enough to pay the mortgage and clear up some other debts. In the meantime I was asked to take a position as youth minister and camp director with the Buechel Church of Christ. So now our family of six was off to Echo Valley Camp in Bullitt County to live in a 12 x 60 mobile home. Oh, by the way, after we sold the farm, the new owner discovered oil.
Life at Echo Valley started with a bang, literally. The mobile home was located at the foot of a knob at the end of a long gravel lane. The camp itself was very near the Fort Knox firing range. I spent the first night at the camp alone. Colleen was spending the night with Michelle who was in the hospital having tubes put in her ears. The darkness seemed to enhance my lonely and eerie feelings as I parked the car and walked into the trailer. I undressed for bed in the total silence of the night. Just as I began to relax on the bed the entire trailer shook and rattled. A hot flash went through my body and I thought Ft. Knox had misfired heavy artillery. In just a few more seconds there was another great rumble and shaking followed by a loud demanding shout-”Come on out of there.” You never know what you might do in a panic situation. In this case I responded to the unknown voice-”Wait till I put my pants on.” I then went out the front door where a giant hand grabbed my wrist. It was the pastor and a member of the youth group who were laughing at the success of their great practical joke. Thus began a two year ministry that was both rewarding and lots of fun. Relationships were built that linger to this day. It proved to be a vital part of my pathway back into finding and accepting God’s call on my life.

– Terry A. Morrison