Joel

 October 24, 2021

“I have a few things I’d like to bring out to you.” It was Jo-Anne, asking if I would be home in the afternoon.

“Give me a call or text when you get near, and I’ll be sure to be there to meet you,” I responded. About 4:15, the doorbell rang. She came in, and she, Linda and I sat at the kitchen table for about half an hour, talking about her and Joel’s life together and of the illness that took him from us more than two years ago. Distance kept us from getting together as much as either of us wanted, but almost from the first time we met more than twenty years ago, Joel and I shared an affinity I can’t explain. 

Joel grew up in Vietnam, son of missionaries who were evacuated in scenes replayed recently in the withdrawal debacle in Afghanistan. Sitting in Willie’s courtyard in Cuba, or talking late into the night before drifting off to sleep, he spoke of feeling more at home there than in his native USA, a feeling I understood in a way. Growing up, I struggled to fit in, and never really found that place where I felt I truly belonged. I wasn’t popular in school, didn’t excel at athletics, and was only so-so in the music I loved. Even there, I was somewhat of an outlier, loving the smooth harmonies of jazz and even (gasp!) the lush sound of Mantovani’s strings.

Joel was a scholar at heart, and was on track for his PhD, planning to be an administrator for a missionary school when the model for American missions took an abrupt turn and his plans evaporated almost overnight. On one of our trips together, he shared how it was pretty devastating for him; so when he discovered Cuba, he found his niche and his purpose, and grabbed at it like a drowning man for a life preserver. Above all, his desire was to establish seminarios where young Cuban Christians could study and prepare to be leaders in the church.

His enthusiasm was contagious; his passion for the people of Cuba was responsible for opening my eyes to the possibilities awaiting there as he introduced me to people, and encouraged me to press deeper into the ministry. We were so different in personality, but so alike in heart that it was really no surprise that we became such good friends. When the cancer took him, I knew I had lost a friend and brother never to be replaced. 

I had the honor of speaking at his memorial service, and told my favorite Joel story:

We were preparing for what turned out to be the last of our Cuban adventures together. The church foyer was overflowing with suitcases and supplies which we would be taking with us. Joel was being Joel, striding from suitcase to suitcase, tossing supplies into whichever one was open, trying to even up the weight distribution so we wouldn’t have to pay extra for heavier baggage. 

The next morning, we are at the airport, checking our bags; no problem…until we go through security and carry-on X-rays. The man operating the machine looked from the screen to me, and back to the screen before taking me aside. “Do you want to take these back to your vehicle?” he asked kindly. 

“Take what back?” He asked me to open my carry-on, and when I did, I knew immediately there was a problem. Joel had tossed a full set of kitchen cutlery into my carry-on, thinking it was to be a checked bag. “Our transportation has left,” I responded sheepishly. The agent was patient. 

“Are you sure you can’t take this back to your car?” I repeated my answer and told him he’d have to throw them out. He reluctantly did so, and I went through the rest of security thanking God he didn’t call the authorities and have me hauled away.

Jo-Anne’s visit today brought those memories flooding back, giving me pause to once more thank God for this saint whose contagious enthusiasm for missions and love for Christ opened to me a whole new life, changing mine forever.