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Here’s what I’d like to do. First, I want to tell three stories—about cafeterias, cars, and continents—and see if you can spot the theme. Second, I’ll share some exciting news. Third, I’ll ask your help. Let’s start with the stories.

Story #1: cafeterias. On the first day of sixth grade, I was a transfer student, the new kid at Keokuk Middle School, and I knew I would be an outcast. I had just gotten my first pair of glasses, so I felt like a nerd. (Actually, I could recite a little Elvish, a little Klingon, and all the Star Wars dialogue, so I was a nerd before the glasses.)

Plus, I’d broken my right arm a few weeks before, so I was wearing a cast. When I arrived at the middle school, I felt conspicuous and alone. I navigated the strange hallways, palms sweating, heart thumping. I thought everyone was staring at the new dork, and I was afraid no one would be my friend.

At lunch, I carried my tray into the big, teeming cafeteria. Kids sat everywhere, chatting noisily with friends, but no one was saving a seat for the new guy. I remember as if it were yesterday a sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew I was going to end up in a corner, head down, eating rubbery pizza all by myself.

But then Curt Wollbrink saw me. He was a blond, popular kid, big smile—we went to church together—and he was waving me over. Curt pointed at an empty seat among his friends, “Hey, you can sit with us.” My heart leapt. I said, “Thanks,” and a huge wave of relief washed over me. I wasn’t alone. Someone made space for me.

Story #2: cars. This is the story of the growing Proctor clan, as told by our family vehicles through the years. I’ll recount it in five chapters:

· Compact Sedan: When we were newlyweds, Katie drove a zippy, little Mercury Topaz named Sherlock (she kept locking her keys inside). I drove a Plymouth Reliant which, like me, was reliable but unimpressive (until the band Relient K made it ironically cool). It carried our first two car seats home from the hospital.

· Station Wagon: Before baby #3 arrived, we traded up to a Ford Taurus station wagon. No wood paneling on the side, but more seats, and I was starting to feel suspiciously like Mike Brady on The Brady Bunch. Katie loved that vehicle: room for more kids, but still maneuverable and a little sleek.

· Minivan: Katie grieved when we sold the station wagon, but with baby #4, we needed more space. You know Lamborghini? I saw a minivan sticker: Vanborghini. But there’s nothing sporty about them. Minivans are the vehicle version of dad bods. But our Chrysler Town and Country could haul a herd of kids.

· 15 Passenger Van: After baby #6, we needed even more seats. Also, how could we announce to the world that we were homeschoolers? A big white van! That Chevy Express took our whole tribe thousands of miles—to Yosemite and the Grand Canyon, to Florida beaches and Gramma’s house in Iowa.

· SUV: The big white van’s worn out now, and baby #6 is an OCC sophomore. But we can’t go back to zippy sedans—grandbaby #8 is on the way! We’ve now got gobs of seats between my Toyota Highlander and Katie’s Ford Flex (which says it’s an SUV, but it’s really her old station wagon in disguise).

Are you catching a theme? Something about making space for people, right? You nailed it. Whether cafeteria seats or car seats: love always makes room for more.

Keep reading for story #3, some exciting news, and an ask for help…

Story #3: continents. The Bible begins with God—a Father, Son, and Spirit who enjoy each other so much they decide, “We should share our love with others. Let’s make mankind.” But Adam, Eve, and offspring will need a place of their own, so in Genesis 1, God creates the world with seven whole continents, elbow room for all humanity.

And how does the Bible end? In John 14, Jesus says, “I go to prepare a place for you,” and in Revelation, at the end of time, we see Jesus has kept his word. He’s prepared a new heavens and new earth so large (12 continents?) it can welcome “a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language.”

The Bible begins and ends with this powerful truth: love always makes room for more.

Here’s the exciting news: 91���˵��� and Lincoln Seminary has an all-time record enrollment! This fall, we welcomed 904 students, the most in our 84 years. Campus is bursting! We love having more men and women to train for kingdom leadership, and we’ve found enough beds and desks and chapel seats for everyone.

But one thing we started running out of: parking spaces. Students in the first week were already parking on the grass. So with trustee approval, we made a quick decision: we paved a new parking lot at the end of August. Just north of Strong Hall (and just east of Mabee Hall), we were able to add 67 new parking spots. (And they’re already being well-used.)

So here’s where I ask for your help: The parking lot price tag is $80,000, which we borrowed from ourselves (an emergency reserve account) to do quickly. Your gift allows us to pay that back, and you wouldn’t just be underwriting asphalt and striping. You would be making room for more kingdom leaders who will take the gospel to the world. Would you consider this? As you do, I’ll sneak in one last story.

Story #4: crowded tents. I heard a preacher once tell the story of someone he called “the most spiritually significant hero in our nation’s history you’ve never heard of.” Mordecai Ham was not a famous man. He was an American tent revival preacher in the early 1900s.

In 1934, Mordecai Ham preached a tent revival in Charlotte, North Carolina, that two fifteen-year-old boys decided to attend. But as they entered the crowded tent, they saw no available seats. As they turned to walk away, an usher ran up, “We can find seats for you boys.” He asked a couple to scoot in and found chairs for the two teens.

At that tent revival, Mordecai Ham preached the good news, and those two boys gave their lives to Christ. One of those boys, said the preacher, was Billy Graham, who ended up proclaiming the gospel to hundreds of millions of people, more than anyone else in history. The other boy, said the preacher, was Grady Wilson, who organized those crusades for Billy Graham.

“That unknown man changed the world,” said the preacher. “Not Mordecai Ham. I mean the usher, whose name history never recorded. The usher, who saw two boys walking away and said, ‘Not on my watch.’ The usher, who made room for two teenagers to hear about Jesus.”

I can’t promise that a young man whose car fills the parking spot you provide will be the next Billy Graham. But I can tell you: these men and women will change the world. In my 30 years here, I’ve seen it. In big churches and small churches, on mission fields, battlefields, and ballfields, our grads share the gospel, and lives are transformed.

So for now, while they’re training, ? With your gift, you will—like that usher—be a blessing not just to the student you make space for, but also to those that student will someday reach.

Thank you for considering this. I hope we see you at The Event in November or the Christmas musical in December. If not, we’ll save you a seat at February’s Preaching-Teaching Convention, because love always makes room for more.

Yours in Christ,

Matt Proctor
President

P.S. After June’s letter, your generosity remodeled our cafeteria serving area for more room, and it’s now full and flowing better than ever. Thanks again!

Your gift is a sacred trust. We promise to honor your generosity by using your gift in the most effective way to train men and women for Christian service. The project described here reflects OCC’s ministry needs at the time of writing. Your gift will go to the general fund to be used where it is needed most when received to prepare students to take the gospel to the world.