"Pastor, I have something I need to tell you!"

I knew by the tone in her voice that the "need to tell me" was not going to be a pleasurable confessional. Several thoughts converged at once, but I did not want to prejudge. After all, this was one of the matriarchs of our young church; what possibly could she have done wrong?

It was only a little over a year ago, in the spring of nineteen hundred and ninety two; Marti Ward had approached me and asked me what I thought about her going to East Africa as a missionary. I was ecstatic when she unfolded her incredible testimony of how the Holy Spirit was calling her to go. I then recalled, with fondness, my hesitation in broaching the subject of her age.

My mother's southern roots taught me that a gentleman never asked a lady her age, but since I was very concerned about her physical well being and CornerStone was going to partner with her financially, I timidly asked, "Marti, do you mind if I ask how old you are?"

A smile enveloped her face and with a twinkle in her eye she said, "I am sixty five pastor."

I could not help but think that at an age when our culture is preoccupied with retirement, Marti was making the most important and admirable career move of her life. When most people were standing in line at the Social Security administration office, Marti was launching out into fulltime ministry.

Her initial journey had gone well. She spent over nine months in Kenya and Uganda, many times taking the gospel to people groups that had never heard the good news of Jesus Christ before. She possessed a pioneering spirit that pushed her national ministry team members, who were half her age, beyond their own physical limitations.

It was not uncommon for her to walk over four hours to reach her destination in the remote, arid bush country. She endured searing temperatures, malaria-laden mosquitoes, and numerous tribal, cultural, and linguistic barriers. She overcame those obstacles by possessing an undaunting spirit and an undying love for the indigenous tribes. Literally hundreds of Kenyans made first time decisions for Christ during that inaugural year.

While I was initially apprehensive about her health, Marti's ninety-pound frame was the epitome of vitality as even her ultra fair complexion glowed with a blush of color upon her return.

Marti leaned back in my Sam's Club Victorian high-back as a flicker of sunlight danced across her snow-white crown of hair, what a contrast it must have been against the deep, dark skin of the Kenyan people. From the onset of our appointment, I was poignantly aware she had difficulty in making eye contact with me.

Here was a woman who had the courage to lay aside personal conveniences, confront cannibals, and bravely walk through an embassy that would later be the object of terrorist bombings; and she was having trouble finding the necessary words to enlighten me as to what was bothering her.

"Pastor," she pensively said, "I need to confess something to you!"

My heart sank immediately. I tried to keep a sense of professionalism in my demeanor.

Was I able to hide the trip wire of disappointment that had been triggered, an incredibly deep love that I possessed for her, juxtaposed with a bit of cynicism which was the result of having "heard it all" ministering in Las Vegas for so many years?

What wrongdoing could she possibly be guilty of committing? Visions of Marti running off with a tall, Ubangi-warrior ran through my mind…

It could hardly be misappropriation of funds. How was she able to make ends meet on approximately eight hundred dollars a month? It was not uncommon for her to take her ugali and rice and give it away to others who had not eaten in days.
The tears welled up in her eyes. "I lied to you. Last year when you asked me how old I was, I wasn't honest with you."

I could not help but chuckle, "You lied to your pastor?" trying to keep a sense of ministerial decorum.

Incredulously I asked, "Does that mean when you told me last year you were sixty-five, you were really..."

She abruptly interrupted, "Seventy five! Since I had another birthday last month, I am now seventy-six. I was afraid to tell you my real age in fear that you would worry too much about my safety and would not allow me to go!"

A protracted, awkward, silence enveloped the room. "Marti, I think you are awesome!" and with that exclamation I reached over and gave her an enormous bear hug.

"You're right!" I mused, "I probably would have objected to you going!"

To my knowledge, the only other time that Marti was ever again careless with the truth was an occasional inducement, which was necessary in order to gain favor with a rapacious border official.

The Lord used Marti extraordinarily during those seven years. When most people her age were barely surviving in convalescence homes, Marti had brazenly entered the most exciting phase of her life. Her purposed sacrifice of leaving behind family, comfort and culture will serve as an inspiration to all of us at CornerStone for decades to come.

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Pastor Greg Massanari