So, I guess when you are going to tell a story, it helps to know the beginning.
Where it all got started.
In this case, where I got started.
Conception.
Um, no, I am not going to talk about physical conception.
THAT is SO not my story to tell.
I'm talking about spiritual conception.
How I became the promised one.
Backing up a bit...
Mom and Dad met, started dating, got married, and moved to Haiti as missionaries
all
in
ONE
year.
Oh yeah, and Dad recommitted his life to the Lord at the beginning of that year!
Crazy, right?
By the way, did I mention that they were nineteen and twenty?
Yeah.
Sheer insanity.
Especially in 1972.
Both being from families who NEVER moved farther than thirty miles away.
Two years later, Tom and Bev Brumbley gave birth to a blue-eyed, long-legged, little girl.
Ten months later, she was killed in a plane crash.
My parents, also on that plane, were badly injured, but miraculously survived.
Mom said that is when she learned to hold on to Jesus for all she was worth.
One year later, they lost another baby, four months into the pregnancy.
Empty and brokenhearted, Mom prayed, "Lord, if it is NOT your will for us to have children, I will accept that, but, please ..... I cannot lose another child."
Miles and miles away, the Father was working on the heart of another woman, sending her a noteworthy message, answering the cries of my mother's heart. In a time where telephone calls literally cost you an arm and a leg, letters and postage stamps carried hope across an ocean.
"By the time, you are 30, you WILL have a child
and that child will LIVE."
In 1978, local newspapers who had followed the story of the young, small-town expats involved in the major plane crash three and a half years previously, heralded the birth of "big and bald" Lindsey Erin Brumbley, dubbed "the promised one."
Mom was twenty-six.
Day 1 :: A Better Story
