In early April 2002, a devotion after breakfast changed our lives. It was based on Luke 14:25-35 and focused on the cost of discipleship. “Being a follower of Jesus was not something one did because others were doing it. It was not something you took lightly, nor did halfheartedly. There was a personal cost and commitment involved. Being a follower of Jesus might mean giving up earthly things, but the blessings gained far outweigh them,” stated the author.

We talked about what that meant for us as individuals and a family, imagining what it meant to give up everything to follow Jesus. The discussion revolved around living outside our comfort zones and “normal” life routines, giving up our possessions, our friends and family to follow Jesus and live for Him. It was a very lively conversation, as the kids were 16, 11, 10, 7, 2, and 4-months old.

On April 22, Dave came home early from work. He had been laid off from his job as a small aircraft mechanic. We knew that the aircraft business had taken a bad turn since the 911 terrorist attacks, but we had hoped it wouldn’t trickle down to his level. It did. This sent us to our knees, searching for guidance and wisdom.

Dave’s dad was also in the depths of fighting for his life with melanoma cancer. He was in the hospital now more than at home. He left us for his eternal home on June 2nd, 2002.

We tried to look at these trials as opportunities, with the Lord working in and around us.

Wanting to join God at His work in our lives, we constantly prayed for His leading. Dave received unemployment benefits and picked up a few side jobs, but there was nothing permanent in the aircraft field. The economy and industry needed to recover.

For the fun of it, we spent some time looking at travel trailers and motor homes. We dreamed, researched, and explored the possibilities of an on-the-road ministry for our family. We didn’t have all the answers to our many questions, but began to feel God’s leading in this direction. Our prayers and those of faithful friends and our pastors continued. We sought out much counsel as we looked to the future.

In August, we decided to test the home market and put a “For Sale” sign in our front yard. Our whole family started going through belongings, sorting through boxes, cupboards, drawers, and closets. We hosted a few garage sales and donated many things to other homeschooling families and friends, churches, and charities.

Around this same time, we became aware of an organization, Laborers for Christ, that provided labor to build churches, various additions, and remodeling projects around the country. This ministry typically catered to the retired age group, but Dave didn’t see it as a hindrance. Although it was not a guaranteed full time ministry/work situation, we felt that Laborers for Christ was an answer to our prayers.Dave called the recruiter and discussed our family ministry opportunity.

Dave called the recruiter and discussed our family ministry opportunity. He explained that we were a homeschooling family who desired to serve the Lord through missions and service first-hand. The recruiter stated that wouldn’t be a problem. Dave and Kris filled out applications and were accepted on their roster in September of 2002.

As plans fell in place with vigor and purpose, we started calling it “The Great Adventure”. Our home sold in September. We bought a 33-foot travel trailer and 15-passenger van and made necessary adjustments to encompass our new life of ministry on the road.

We said goodbye to Minnesota on November 22nd, 2002, sad to leave family and friends behind, but eager for the life ahead.

During our Great Adventure, we stayed at a campground in Parker, Arizona. We settled our rig and planned to take a drive around the area the next day. We sat down for lunch on our first day and noticed an elderly man sitting all alone outside of his travel trailer, staring at us. Kris suddenly had the urge to invite him to lunch. He declined lunch but came over and joined our family at the picnic table. As we ate tuna sandwiches, the man ate a cookie and told us many stories. Malvin, Mal for short (“not Mel…Mal,” he informed us), instantly became our friend during our four-month stay in Parker.

The kids fished with him, visited him, and when they, with their short attention spans, got tried of hearing Mal’s stories, Dad would sit for hours, patiently listening. When Mal chose to return to Nevada for the summer, we said goodbye, sadly knowing it would probably be the last time we would see him, as we had to return to Minnesota. He was 78 years old.

Mal and our family kept in touch through letters over the next two years, and we often wondered how we could make it happen to see him again.  We had even invited him to come and visit us.  Of course, being in his late 70’s, and eventually  early 80’s,  Mal declined.

But one day…

David and Kris received a letter from Mal and didn’t show it to any of the children.  Mal expressed interest in coming to Minnesota.

Then life changed…

After church one April Sunday in 2005, our family had been enjoying a good lunch of tuna sandwiches (not that we live on tuna, it just looks like it!) and were making plans of going to a park later. We have a large sliding glass door in our kitchen where Kris happened to be looking outside at the beautiful sunny, spring day. An old blue GMC pickup pulled up alongside our driveway. The truck and its trailer looked familiar. Suddenly, Kris erupted in squeals and tears of  delight, “It’s him! He made it! He came!” Then the rest of the family realized:  it was Mal from Arizona!

In the mysterious letter, Mal said he was coming to “visit us” for “two weeks.”

He had asked David and Kris to not tell the children about his trip from Nevada to Minnesota, just in case something happened to him along the way.  It was a complete surprise, and the family knew their lives would never be the same.

That “two week visit” turned into the rest of Mal’s life. He lived in his travel trailer on our land with just electricity—no water or sewer—until it became clear that he couldn’t live out in the trailer any more. He lived his entire life as a bachelor and, for various reasons, had no connection with his extended family, so we became his family. In 2007, we built a 26′ x 26′ addition onto the front of our house which we call “Mal’s Room”.  He lived in our home with us.  We took care of washing  his clothes and bedding, daily cleaning, helping him shop, taking him to the doctor,  etc.

In winter of 2012, Mal had several falls and because of increasing health issues and the need for 24-hour care, we moved him to an assisted-living home a mile from our home. We visited him often and missed his daily presence in our home, but were thankful for the opportunity to have him so close to us.

Doctors discovered a football-sized tumor on his left kidney in May of 2013, and removed both the tumor and kidney in an intensive procedure. They told us that they got all the cancer, but they did not tell us that it was Stage III or schedule any follow-up appointments. Little did we know that over a year later Mal would be diagnosed with a reoccurrence of the cancer.

On September 23rd, 2014, he decided to go on hospice, as the cancer was well advanced, invading his lungs, abdomen, bones, and brain. Our family was thrust into the valley of the shadow of death, and we walked a sad journey with our dear friend.

Mal died the morning of November 16th, 2014 as our family slept restlessly in our RV, hours away on a concert tour. We had been stranded in Nebraska that week, hoping we could get home to see him again, but not realizing he was so close to his final departure. We had carried on with our concerts, knowing Mal had told us emphatically to “keep doing what you’re doing; I don’t want you standing around my bedside.”

We were able to view Mal’s body on November 17th, and what a peaceful opportunity it was to cry, laugh, share memories, pray, sing, and say goodbye.  (You may read his obituary here.)

We greatly desired to be with Mal as he died, to continue ministering to him.  Yet we know what God ordains is always good.  And, we have come to believe that Mal wanted to be alone when he died.  He told the staff as the end was drawing near, “I don’t want the kids to see me like this.”  We never received a firm confirmation of where Mal stood with the Lord, but we do know he is in God’s hands, like he has always been.  Mal smiled a lot, we were told, during his last hours alive on earth, looking off somewhere beyond his room. We know God knew our friend’s heart, and that He is both merciful and just.

Was it worth it?  Absolutely.  We would do it over again in a heartbeat.  Was it difficult at times to put up with an independent, crusty Merchant Marine?  For sure.  But the joy of knowing him as a friend, seeing his face beam with love at the sight of the children and cats, and the softening that occurred in his life over the years far outweighs the fractious times.  What an honor to be part of an incredible story in which God brought to life Psalm 68:6: “God sets the lonely in families”.  We miss him a lot, but say often when we think of him, “Thank You, Lord, for Mal.”