In the early 1970s, a congregation in Rockford, Illinois, bought some farmland in order to build a church and a Christian radio station. They erected a little house that would shelter the station temporarily-if it ever got launched.
Starting the station required just the right person, Pastor Don Lyons knew-someone sharing the community's spiritual views, but with a professional background in the media. As he prayed about it, from time to time, the pastor would see the name Tietsort spelled out in his mind. It was such an unusual name-one he had never heard-that he was inclined to dismiss it as imagination.
One day, however, the churches in Rockford hosted a pastors' meeting, inviting clergy from all around the state. Pastor Lyons was greeting guests when a young man stepped up to introduce himself. When Pastor Lyons saw his nametag, his mouth dropped. The young man's name was Ron Tietsort. Not only was Ron a pastor, but he also had had a radio and television ministry in Sioux City, Iowa. Soon Ron accepted the job of station manager, and moved his wife, Millie, and their family to Rockford.
Station WQFL began to broadcast, but keeping it on the air was a financial struggle, and Ron found it difficult to meet the monthly bills. Because the station was a spiritual venture, he ran few paid commercials, at least at first. "We wanted to wait upon the Lord," Ron explains. "We believed that if He was blessing this project, He would supply most of our needs through donations."
While Ron coped with management duties and hired a small staff, Millie acted as part-time receptionist, bookkeeper, and occasional programmer. "We wore a lot of hats," she says, "but it was a labor of love."
However, as the winter of 1975 approached, Ron and Millie had to face reality. Despite their dedication, long hours, and prayers, WQFL was in financial trouble. Their listener base was definitely increasing. Fund-raisers were frequent and profitable, but revenues weren't keeping pace with expenses. They had fallen behind a little each month, and one afternoon when Millie did the books she came to a grim conclusion. In order to catch up and keep going, WQFL needed just over three thousand dollars-now.
It might as well have been three million. Millie sat in her receptionist chair next to the little house's front window, gazed upon a new snowfall on the silent fields-and wanted to cry. Christmas was approaching, but for her and Ron, it seemed the end rather than a hopeful beginning. All their hard work, the dreams shared by the founding congregation-everything seemed to be sinking in a mass of debt.
God, Millie prayed, we really thought You wanted the station to succeed. Did we misread You? Please tell us what to do now.
The room remained silent, its hush seemingly magnified by the stark whiteness outside. No one had come by all day. How she wished for company now, a friendly neighbor to comfort her, even a delivery person bringing a touch of Christmas into the little room.
As if in answer to her unspoken plea, the front door opened, and a middle-aged man strode in, carrying a sealed envelope. Millie was surprised. She had heard no car coming up the long driveway, no footsteps on the porch, as she usually did. But perhaps the new snow had muffled the sounds. She smiled at the man. Although she knew many townspeople by now, she had never seen him before.
The man handed her the envelope. "Give this to Ron," he told her. "Use it for the station."
"This is very kind of you," she said. "Would you like to talk to Ron? I can call him." "That won't be necessary," the man answered.
It was not unusual for people to pop by with a donation-in a way, the station belonged to everyone in the town. But usually benefactors stayed for a while to chat. This brusque man was already turning away, although he would need a receipt for tax purposes. "Just a minute, and 1'11-" Millie began, but the stranger closed the door behind him.
Strange, she thought again. She walked back to Ron's desk and laid the envelope in front of him. Absently he slit it open, then gasped. "Millie, look!" Inside was cash. Just over three thousand dollars.
Ron leaped from his chair and raced to the front of the house. Who would give them this much money-and without a receipt? It must have been a mistake, a mix-up in envelopes! The stranger would be devastated when he discovered his error. Ron flung open the front door, to call the man back.
But there was no car parked in front of the little dwelling, in fact, there were no tire tracks traced in the driveway-none coming down from the road and none going back. Ron's astonished gaze fell on the snow-covered porch, the steps leading away from it, the front walk. He hadn't shoveled yet, but there were no. footprints marring the white carpet. It lay in unbroken smoothness across the entire landscape, as far as Ron could see.
Today WQFL and its sister station WGSL are owned by the First Assembly of God Church in Rockford, and Millie and Ron have watched their long-ago dreams come true. Neither ever saw the stranger again. But sometimes, especially during the Christmas season, they hear the whisper of wings. And they remember.
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