Nancy Stewart

My husband and I just celebrated our 40th wedding anniversary. Wow, how time does fly. It seems like yesterday we were waiting for our first child, Angel, to be born. Two years later, Travis arrived and ours lives were never the same again. My focus was raising two children who loved the Lord and would follow him. God was gracious and helped them forgive my many mistakes, the burned food, and the nick on the ear during a hair cut. Now, they are both parents, each with three children, and I can enjoy the blessings of being a grandparent of five boys and a little princess. I watch Big Pop (Granddad) spoil them and spend hours teaching them to cook and paint.

I have many hobbies, but the first one would be reading. Give me a good Christian mystery and my family tells me I am “lost in space.” The hot sand on the beach calls my name when I think of real relaxation. Swimming is enjoyable and good exercise. I also enjoy a good adventure movie and a big bowl of Poppycock popcorn with nuts. My greatest treasures are the many friends we have made all over the world and my extended family.

I have been to India four times as part of The Jesus Way team. Each time, I meet so many great people and God continues to show me ways to “jump in and get involved.” Now, I am getting to be a part of The Jesus Way team in Jamaica, and I am excited to watch God move again. We always need more workers and I want to invite you to come and see what great things God is doing in our ministry. Ask God how you can be used by Him in India and Jamaica.

Lou Stewart

So how should I introduce Lou Stewart to you? Should I let you look into my war chest and see my career history, to see related play toys, to list my days of glory, honor, and achievement?

Okay, I’d want to be sure you’d see the proven U. S. Marine Corp NCO, in dress uniform, with my chest of combat medals—“The Proud, The Few, The Marines.”

The war chest has my tools and instruments gathered as an obsolete witness to my efforts to be a proficient Auto Mechanic.

The glory of my police badge and gun is in the chest, covered with the politics that define the protected and the privileged.

You’d find the stethoscope I used as a Paramedic, buried in the funeral program of our first foster daughter that I could not revive.

I have a button and an old physics text book there too. The button reads “Professional Student.”

Photo albums and bank ledgers, with a list of teenage boys sentenced by the court to live in my home, are in my war chest. These forty-five boys depended on me as their Foster Parent and soon confessed I was the only dad they ever had.

You are likely to be curious about that bag of drug paraphernalia in the chest. As a practicing counselor in the Drug Intervention Program, a few of the patients turned in their stash for Life.

The garment bag with the Pulpit Robe, and the extended library of theology, gives testimony of the Preacher, Church Administrator, Church Janitor, and Grounds Keeper.

Well there are many other odd items that fill in the cracks: campaign pamphlets of my run for Political Office, my corporation papers for the Paramedic Company I founded, folders of court documents I presented as a Protection and Child Abuse Investigator, and paper clippings all about me.

But when I look through this war chest I understand one man’s look at his life: “I count it all as lost, a clanging symbol, and dirty rags.”

My family chest is full and overflowing too. There are pictures of my daughter in her blanket under her first Christmas tree. There is the bottle of tears from the doctors report, “Your son has a hole in his heart.” There are prayers at bedtime for daddy, “Help daddy love you Jesus.”

There is the romping, tumbling, laughing, listening to endless child stuff that only now makes sense. There are bicycle chains, worn out jeans with no knees, boyfriends who were not good enough that she outgrew, and so much more that took my breath away. At this chest I stand, with my wife—she gives it meaning and value.

But there is one more box. It is on the floor behind the recliner. It is the box labeled Safety Deposit. Lying on the floor around it are dreams, visions, inventions, plans, business ideas, outreach programs that build rather than bind. All of these ideas were the products of many hours and days of thought, planning, and research. However, they were never acted upon, and they didn’t make it into my box. Many of the ideas and inventions were developed, and became very widespread in production and application, by someone else, years later, because they acted when I did not.

At 60 years of age, it is hard to bend down and pick up the lost dream. But with what is left of my life, these chests and their reminders, and with God’s Holy Spirit to power me, I have another chance to seize the moment: Carpe Diem. Before me now are new dreams—of going to Jamaica, India, and beyond. That puts new breath in my sails.

And maybe……..

“Beyond” might be to fly a hang glider, paraglide from a mountain cliff, be towed into the clouds flying in a sailplane, or facing the spray of sailing across the ocean on a ketch, as a crewman. Or, perhaps to race the wind over the desert, on a wind buggy, to return to Scotland and go to Edinburgh Reformed Seminary, and possibly take my grandchildren to Washington D.C. and across the United States, to see the history that makes her so great.

That takes my breath away.