A little salt goes a long way by Pamela Mytroen

I don’t see God’s supernatural hand when I’m in the midst of a storm; I see it after the calm. After that wounded day of 9/11 in September of 2001, I had responded by writing an article, which I had taken to our local newspaper. It was rejected. However, I was offered a job as a correspondent, which softened the “blow”. I began writing feature pieces for the paper but I was restless. I desired to share Christ with my community, to point the way to Truth.   

The world’s thinking had shifted as the smoke from 9/11 dissipated into the clouds. Christ was embraced at first as people grieved, but the thunder of suspicion and skepticism towards Christianity began to rock our world. I felt that if I didn’t quickly share truth with people, that our chances might crumble like the twin towers. The editor had assigned me to write human interest pieces and I was not allowed to venture out of that role. How could I write for Jesus in our paper now? 

Previously, the Pastors of our community had written a weekly column in the paper, but over time, as the Pastors moved on and a new editor was hired, that column disappeared. I longed to see God’s Word in print, taking on advertisements and news. I began to pray about it and God began to nudge me to take action.  

God whispers, seldom shouts, but it’s a whisper made of fire that burns deeply. I don’t like to be the one to give feet and action to my dreams, but God believes in us; isn’t that amazing? So He wouldn’t let go. I was and still am fearful about leading. A storm of doubt always rages inside me when I need to talk to people and make something happen, but God’s whisper had shot through me and I needed to obey.  

I could send an email to the newspaper office with my desire to see this column start up again. No, too impersonal. Or I could call. Again, too easy for the editor to say, “no.” I knew I had to go in person, which unsettled my stomach. I approached one pastor and shared my idea. He liked the idea of writing for the paper, but said he was too busy to help me. So I approached another pastor, who was very young, and new in his position. “Yes, of course, I’d be happy to come with you.” I suspected that our inexperience and youth wouldn’t stand a chance against this seasoned, curmudgeonly editor. I’d been told that the new editor was very secular and wanted nothing to do with Christianity in her paper. “She will run you out of her office,” one said. Another said, “She won’t publish anything Christian. I’ve been trying for 3 years.” I really hoped the editor wouldn't be there when we went to see her or that the office would burn down before we arrived. Anything to avoid being chased from her presence. Just before we went to the Times, this young pastor and I bowed our heads and prayed that God would open the hard heart of this editor. 

We were ushered into The Editor's office. She jabbed at her keyboard as we stood before her. She asked what we wanted while she scrolled through her screen, harrumphing and sighing. We sat down. She looked at us over her glasses and I shared how I would like to see this type of column start up again. The young pastor enthusiastically talked about his ideas of writing for the Times. 

I will always remember what happened next. The editor crossed her arms over her chest and stared at us. She said nothing. The silence condemned me – why did I think this had been a good idea? Then, she leaned back in her chair. It was one of those reclining office chairs. She kept her arms folded and continued to stare at me. My perspiring hands slipped on the plastic arms of the chair. Not only would she reject this crazy idea, but she would probably not trust me to write any more feature pieces. Her chair creaked as she leaned forward, preparing to announce her judgment. I uncrossed my legs, and planted my feet, ready to flee from her presence. 

The words she said burned their way into my imagination and seared my doubts to a crisp. “Yes,” she said, picking up her pen. “That is exactly what our paper has been missing.” 

The young pastor, who had believed all along, chatted with her and they began to put plans in place. It would be called, “Pass the Salt” The word count would be 300 and pastors from a variety of denominations in town would take their turn writing every week. About that time I began to breathe again and we left the office together. That was almost 20 years ago.

The salt is still being "passed" every single week. Storms continue to happen since 9/11, but during every one that our nation, province, or community endures, the Word of God is shared by our pastors. Like a rainbow, it arches over the fear and devastation and gives hope and light to our community. 

As I look back I see that although God’s whisper is so gentle, and can be snuffed out, that is how He guides me. He is so wise. He fought the battle in the heart of an editor. He paved the way to transform lives, and all He asked of me was that I take His hand, go along with Him that day, and watch Him do something amazing. We serve an extraordinary God who whispers calm into a storm.