CHAPTER 17

A string of strange events, happening around the same time, left us with an unsettled feeling after we returned to Texas.

First, the dog we’d had ever since we’d lived in California had started acting strange. When Keith took her to the vet, he discovered she had cancer. She was headed toward a slow painful death and we had two options. We could put her to sleep, or Keith could bring her home and shoot her. The vet said that would be quicker and more humane.

“Shoot her? I don’t even own a gun,” Keith objected.

When Keith came home and told me the news he was visibly upset.

Nevertheless, he borrowed a gun and walked out into the fields, with our dog walking painfully at his side. Totally unsuspecting. I choked up as I watched them go.

When Keith came back, he told me he took Cy to the edge of the grave he’d dug and told her to sit. She was wagging her tail and looking at him with her big liquid-brown eyes. Keith closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. He returned home spattered with her blood and very upset by the whole thing.

Next, a freak fire started in the storage closet of the new family room we’d built on our home. We were up after midnight having a meeting with some of the ministry leaders when we smelled smoke. At first we couldn’t figure out where the smell was coming from, but we sniffed our way over to the closet. Somehow a feather comforter stored on the top shelf had gotten too close to a bare light bulb which might have been left on for days. When we opened the door it was smoldering and smoking, ready to ignite. Only the fact that we’d been awake and in that part of the house saved us from a more disastrous fire.

Then, Keith and I were talking in the family room one day when we heard a crash! We jumped from the impact of it and rushed into the kitchen. Part of the ceiling had fallen in—a huge chunk, about six feet by four feet, was laying on the floor right in front of the sink. It was soaking wet and felt like it weighed a ton. There must have been a slow leak in the roof. My first instinct was to be sure one of the kids wasn’t trapped underneath. But they were in another room—Josiah playing with his little men and Bethany with her “babies”. I sent up a prayer of gratitude, knowing that if either one of them had been playing on the floor there, the weight of the ceiling could have caused severe injury—or worse.

And then there was this other, more vague feeling. Keith was the one who voiced it. “I just don’t know what it is. Things are going too good. I feel it’s the calm before the storm. Like something bad’s going to happen.”

Just hearing him gave me an uneasy feeling, too.

The truth of the matter was things really were going good. Very good. Even Keith’s journal entries reflected the mood:

We have so much to be grateful for. The only thing we need is a closer walk with God. We have everything else a Christian couple could ever want, and for this I’m eternally grateful, Jesus.

Earlier in the year, we had started a ten-week, Intensive Christian Training School for believers interested in learning more about the character of God and about Christian service. We were also just raising the beams on our new, half-million dollar cafeteria and worship center with classrooms, bookstore, guest rooms, and plenty of space to fellowship.

At one of those early ICT classes, still being held in the Ranch House, Keith said, “I’ve been going back through our tracts and rewriting them a little bit. Taking out some of the rough edges and barbs. Keeping what’s from Jesus, and taking out a lot of what’s from Keith. There are even a couple of them I’m just going to take out of print. Our message, as you will see, will be to strengthen, encourage, and build up believers—not so much to shoot at things that are wrong but to build up the areas that are right. I’m not saying that what I wrote or preached in the past was wrong. It’s just that some of it could have been said a little differently—and with a lot more grace.”

Grace. That was the operative word in Keith’s life these days.

Keith had already decided to quit distributing “The Selling of Jesus,” and he was in the process of reevaluating “The Catholic Chronicles”. He believed he’d been too harsh in places and told me, “There’s too much of me in them.” He had also edited, “What’s Wrong With The Gospel?”

Keith had even come to a place of believing that God could direct some Christian artists to do ticketed concerts. In his heart, I think he hoped they’d make a way for those who could not afford the price of a ticket to be able to attend—but he was no longer willing to say someone who sold tickets was automatically in sin. Keith knew the Lord had led him in a totally different way, but he also knew God might tell someone else to do things differently.

I was seeing a new kind of thoughtful maturity coming into Keith’s life. In part, I could attribute it to some of the relationships Keith had developed with people like Winkie, Leonard, John, Leland and now with Loren. The grace, wisdom and patience of these men was starting to rub off on Keith. And Keith, hungering for more contentment in his own life, soaked it up.

One day, Leland came to him in regard to some strong statements Keith had made.

“Keith, God is preparing you to become a strong voice. I have no doubt about it. But as a friend I want to tell you that if you strike out at everyone and turn them off, you might lose your ability to speak into their lives. When God is ready for you to speak to leaders, the doors might not be open.”

Keith looked at him for a moment and simply said, “Thank you. I need that. I need people speaking into my life.”

Keith was coming into a lot of new light. And at each glimpse of higher ground he took action. Several months before, he’d begun to realize that his own humanity had crept into his leadership style at Last Days, and he wrote a letter to those who might have been offended. He acknowledged that we had erred in the past with some of our rules and policies and let them know how things had changed. To those that had been hurt Keith said, “I am totally, completely, and utterly sorry.”

Keith was also in the midst of writing letters of apology and making phone calls to different individuals whenever the Lord showed him there was something he needed to make right. It was a beautiful thing to watch, because Keith was so excited about seeing relationships restored that had been strained. He went at it with urgency.

Keith wrote a letter to a huge listing of Christian bookstore owners across America, saying that when he decided to pull his recordings from the bookstores, he’d said some things too strongly, offending a lot of good people who really did love the Lord. He said he was only trying to be obedient to what God wanted him to do, but that bookstores were also a God-ordained way of distribution. “My desire to not exclude anyone has not decreased at all,” he wrote. “I hope you can understand that I am a man of principle, and yet, like a pendulum, I have a tendency to go too far to make a point. I fear that in the past I have done just that.”

Keith wanted the bookstores to go ahead and sell his albums, but he wanted to have a sticker on each one that said, “If you cannot afford the retail price of this album, write to Last Days Ministries and we’ll send you information on how you can get it for whatever you can afford.”

On all fronts, Keith was feeling like he might have been too absolute in some areas. There could have been another way to say some of the same things—an approach that would not compromise his beliefs, but at the same time make it easier for others to hear the spirit of what he was saying.

Keith also knew there were many others out there with strong personalities who might “be trapped” in their giftings, like he had been. Using himself as an example, he wrote an article in the newsletter called “For Prophets Only”. Keith knew there was a prophetic gifting from the Lord, but this article was a balancing word for those who liked to think of themselves as “prophets”.

Keith wrote:

 . . . young people (usually men) who believe that God has raised them up to tell people what is wrong with their ministry or their lives, or both. A common problem in the church today,] these people are usually hurt, independent, talkative, stubborn, unteachable, and unyielding. I know, because I have been one of them!

They don’t beat around the bush, but say exactly what’s on their mind . . . aren’t very popular, but don’t care because they believe they’re “being persecuted for righteousness’ sake”. They find fault with almost everything and . . . say to be “kind” would be phoney for them. They know that the fruit of the Holy Spirit includes kindness, gentleness, self-control, and long-suffering, but say most people misinterpret those Scriptures, and besides, there’s a lot more in the Bible about zeal and judgment and the wrath of God. . . . deep inside, most of them really do want to please God, but they’re so insulated from criticism (because they think they’re a rejected “prophet’) that no one can reach them. And unless God intervenes in their lives, they cannot truly be used in any long-term way because of their unteachable, uncorrectable spirit.

So many people told me I was a “prophet” over the years I believed “they must be—right.” . . . It’s not that I no longer believe I’m called to do that, it’s just that now I see that every believer is called to do that.

I’m not called to be a prophet, I’m called to be a CHRISTIAN—a servant of the living God! That is the highest calling that anyone can realize. . . .

At first, when I saw all the changes Keith was going through, I found myself thinking, I hope Keith doesn’t lose his edge.

No chance. As remarkable as his changes were, Keith was still unmistakably Keith. He was intense in his faith, outspoken in his opinions, and very strong in his convictions. Only he wasn’t quite as driven. He still got impatient and on edge sometimes, but he had more peace than ever before. And as Keith received the grace God had given him, he could extend more grace to others.

In early July, John Dawson invited us up to the YWAM base in Cimmaron, Colorado. Keith and the kids and I flew up in the Cessna 414, with one of the pilots from the YWAM Twin Oaks base. Keith went mainly to spend more time with John but it ended up being the restful vacation we’d envisioned for Europe.

Keith was at rest and loving life when he wrote:

July 22, 1982

We went to Colorado and had a great time. The family and I caught about 120 trout. We had some good family fellowship and I can definitely say that I had my vacation. . . . 

We have found out that Melody is pregnant! Thank You Father, I truly pray this child is healthy. . . . Please, Father, I need your help. I am in great need of wisdom beyond my years and ability. . . . Today I went to work on my missions article. Please help me redeem my time!

Others noticed the inner change in Keith, too.

A few days after I found out I was pregnant, all of Second Chapter came over to the Ranch House for dinner. They were leaving for New York the next day to do some concerts on the inner city streets with David Wilkerson.

After dinner Keith took Josiah outside with Annie and Nelly. There was a storm blowing up in the distance and the thunderous black sky was dramatic. They stood at the top of a sloping field and Josiah, his blond curls popping out from under his cowboy hat, was jumping up and down in excitement as they watched the colors change and the clouds roll by. “Wow, Daddy look!” he shouted.

Annie sensed such a big difference in Keith. For him, everything usually needed a purpose. But now he wasn’t saying, “This meadow would be prettier if there was an orphanage for the Lord in it.” He was enjoying the simple beauty of God’s creation. Watching Keith hold Josiah, in this relaxed moment, it occurred to Annie how different Keith was now, in the summer of 1982, from the way he’d been just a year before.

One night, Annie and Buck went out to dinner with us. On the drive home, she’d said, “I’m so grateful that God loves me. That’s the first thing I knew about God, and it’s gotten me through every bit of misery and every bit of joy.”

But Keith had replied, “Sometimes I’m not sure if God loves me. I know he’s right. I know he’s God. But as far as really feeling his love for me—well, I don’t know it like you do.”

Annie’s heart hurt when Keith had said that—but tonight for many reasons she was sure he’d discovered that love. She’d seen it in him. One afternoon recently, Keith caught her eye in a chance moment and simply said, “I love you.” He said it in such a free yet forever kind of way—just like the love of the Father.

Now he was so relaxed, like a happy daddy sharing the colors of the deepening sky with his little boy. They were all wondering if we’d get hit with any rain this time. Typical of the weather in Texas, your neighbor can get rained on and you won’t.

Sometimes storms just blow up out of nowhere.

On July 28th, I stepped out onto our back porch, and a blast of furnace-hot humid air hit me in the face. It was so stifling I could hardly breathe. It had to be the most oppressive day we’d had this year.

I hoped the air conditioning would be working in the Ranch House, where I was headed for our regular prayer meeting. The whole ministry fasted one day a week, from after dinner Tuesday until dinner on Wednesday. Today, Wednesday, we’d all stopped to gather for worship and prayer.

Keith sat cross-legged with his guitar on the living room floor of the Ranch House and led us in worship. He seemed particularly peaceful as he gazed around the room at everyone lovingly. He was also visibly excited about our missions vision—and about me.

Keith surprised me totally when he announced, “God is going to raise my wife up! She is going to speak out against abortion—but that’s not all.”

Where was this coming from? Why now—just when I was pregnant again?

“The Lord is going to use Melody in a mighty way,” Keith was saying, “and she’s going to speak about many different things, in many different places!”

It was news to me. But I was willing, if that’s what the Lord wanted.

Once the meeting broke, I eventually ended up in the office. Keith had already been there and had typed in his journal, which he was now keeping on computer. I caught Michelle’s name on what looked like a very long entry, and figured Keith must have been talking about her expected visit the next day. They were on the verge of a reconciliation.

I started to “save” his entry so I could use the terminal to work on an article. But in the middle of the normal process I lost confidence. What if I erased it by accident? I went and found Keith and he came in to finish the process. However, as usual, he was moving fast. He hit the wrong button and blipped out his own entry. Keith knew it was his fault, but he was upset with me for even messing with the computer while he was using it. I felt terrible. But luckily, he only lost that one entry.

One of the highlights of this blistering hot day was that John and DeDe Smalley were coming for a quick visit. We’d met them years ago when we first started going to the Vineyard. They had six children, and they were all on their way to Connecticut to start a home fellowship and eventually a church.

The Smalley’s arrived shortly before dinner. Keith took them on a quick tour of the offices, and then we sat talking at the dinner table in the Ranch House living room as we broke our fast.

DeDe and I were comparing notes on motherhood while Keith and John talked excitedly about the new work in Connecticut. John was enthusiastic about the move and the new opportunities for ministry. Keith wanted him to lead one of our “New Believers Meetings”after our fall tour on the east coast. We already had some arenas booked for it.

Josiah and Bethany came in just then. They were dressed in matching, light-blue bib shorts, looking adorable. They had just returned from their swimming lessons, and their hair hung in damp ringlets around their sun-kissed faces. They both looked like little angels. I was proud, to say the least, of these two sweet little children.

After dinner, Keith lost no time because it was getting late. Even though we were all tired they wanted to see the rest of the ranch, including a quick, sightseeing flight in our leased Cessna 414. Our pilot Don Burmeister, who’d flown in the military, would take them up. Apparently, John had promised one of their children a plane ride, and Keith was excited to give them a bird's eye view of the area.

I took all the small children to our house to play, while the rest went off in a station wagon to see more of the ranch.

Just a little while later, Keith rushed into the house. I was standing at the sink, and Keith wanted me to come with them on the flight. I didn’t want to go, so Keith dashed back out the front door.

I was struck by the sudden silence. The living room was empty. Were all the kids going, too? No, Rebekah was still playing in her bedroom.

I ran to the front door. Keith was standing on the far side of the station wagon. He was just about to get in. John and DeDe were inside with all their kids. Josiah was already inside, too. I couldn’t even see him amidst all the other heads. All I could see was Bethany. She was standing by the gate and in her sweet little girl voice, she was calling, “I want to go too!”

Keith said, “Let her in the car.”

The door swung open and Bethany took a few steps toward the car. I stood on the porch and thought, “No! Not her too. I, at least, want to keep Bethany!” It seemed like a crazy thought. But Bethany was lifted into the car. It was all happening so fast. I didn’t expect all the kids to go.

Something didn’t seem right. I wanted to run out and call my children back, but I didn’t want to be a spoilsport. I knew they’d cry if I tried to separate them from the other kids, but I couldn’t understand where these awful feelings were coming from. I felt stupid for being a “worried mother”, and I told myself they’d be back in a few minutes all safe and sound.

Just as Bethany was lifted into the car, Keith hesitated. He called across the yard to me in an offhanded way.

“If I don’t come back, raise Rebekah to be a woman of God.”

With Keith traveling so much we’d talked about the possibility of death before. But this seemed like an odd time to bring up the subject. Of course, he was kidding.

“What about this one?” I said with a slight laugh, patting my just-pregnant tummy.

“If it’s a boy, name him Daniel!”

“You mean you don’t want me to name him after you?”

I said it playfully, but the conversation was starting to take on serious tones.

“Okay. If it’s a boy, you can name him after me.”

Keith jumped in, and the car drove off. As I walked back into the house, it felt so empty. I really didn’t like Keith taking the kids on the airplane any more than necessary. I felt so uneasy I figured I’d better pass the time constructively. So I sat down at the computer terminal and started to write. I knew I was going to feel silly about my fears when they all got back . . . in a few minutes.

But in a few minutes the phone rang.

It was one of the girls from the office. “Our plane just went down! I’m going to call an ambulance, but I wanted to tell Keith first. Will you tell him?”

It was like getting socked in the stomach.

“Sure. . . .”, I said, numbly. I didn’t want to take even a moment to explain that Keith already knew.

I grabbed the car keys and ran out the door, leaving Rebekah with one of the girls who was staying with us to help me with the kids.

It took me less than a minute to get to the mile-long runway, but try as I might to find our plane at the far end, I couldn’t see anything. I drove down the airstrip, and there were people running. I quickly picked up a few as I went along. At the far end of the runway there was a large field, owned by someone else. And beyond that there were woods. From the end of the airstrip I could now see a thin column of smoke rising out of the woods in the distance.

I remembered the phone message, “Our plane just went down. . . .” What did that mean? I’d thought maybe it just “went down” at the end of the airstrip. Malfunctioned, or skid on its side after an aborted take-off. But it had obviously meant the plane was in the air and “went down” from there.

Every breath I drew became a prayer. Jesus . . . Jesus . . . Jesus . . . this can’t be happening.

I couldn’t drive through our neighbor’s field to the woods, because it was fenced off. People were jumping the fence and going on foot but it was a big field and I thought I’d get there quicker by driving. One of the guys I’d picked up said he knew how to get there on another road. But when we got onto the highway that bordered the south end of our property we couldn’t get where we needed to go. There was a locked gate across that road.

I waited in the car while he ran to the nearest house to see if they could let us through. I was getting angry now. Did anyone know where we were going? I kept thinking I should have been there already. A numb feeling was covering me—only my stomach was turning. Please God, let them be alive.

The property owner came running out and we jumped in his pickup truck. Unlocking the gate, he drove us across the field and onto a road that wound through the woods. Finally, it looked like we were close. It had taken so long, an ambulance was already parked at the edge of the woods by a barbed-wire fence.

I jumped out of the pickup and someone lifted me over the fence. Then I took off through the thick, uncleared woods, my thin, cotton gauze skirt catching on the sharp branches and underbrush, not really knowing what direction I should even go in. Other people were running through the woods, too, and I was very frustrated because they all seemed to be passing me by.

I stopped a few times, totally out of breath, and feeling like I might pass out. But I had to keep going. My husband and children needed me.

I kept running, listening for their screams or cries. It was totally quiet, except for the sound of people running through the woods. Since I didn’t hear anyone crying out in pain I told myself that everyone was probably fine. Maybe a little shook up—but fine. Keith might even be amused when he sees how distraught I am.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally broke into a clearing.

Instantly, I was overwhelmed by the awesome silence that just hung in the air. Everyone there was just standing still. No one said a word. I felt something warm beneath my feet. The ground I was standing on was black and smoldering. Hopefully, I peered through the smoky haze—but I didn’t see Keith, or the children, or anyone else who was on the airplane. I didn’t even see the plane.

One girl I knew walked toward me. Tears were slipping down her face. She looked at me as if to say something—then quietly passed by. I didn’t understand. Walking forward into the silence, I headed toward what seemed to be the center of the charred area. Some trees were broken off halfway up, and the ground was littered with downed limbs, like there had been a big explosion. Everything was totally calm—and hushed.

I finally got in sight of a blackened, smoking metal shell. Where were my babies? Where was Keith? One of the men walked up and hugged me—wrapped his arms around my shoulders and almost hung on me, sobbing out loud. I started crying too, but I wasn’t sure why. I thought, Maybe this isn’t even our plane! Maybe another plane crashed and we only thought it was ours. I asked someone, but it was our Cessna. Maybe someone had been thrown from the plane. They had already searched, and found no one.

I got as close as I could to what was left of the airplane and looked right inside, because the top was completely gone. I couldn’t see anyone. Then I said to myself, What are you looking for, Melody? What do you want to see? Do you want to see your husband and children burnt to a crisp? Is that the way you want to remember them?

I quickly turned and walked away and didn’t look again. In a few minutes, Janet, our pilot’s wife, arrived. She was stunned, but calm as we spoke.

“Where’s Keith?” she asked.

“Keith was in the plane with Josiah and Bethany and the Smalley’s.”

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed.

Then Janet said, “Do you know for sure who was 
flying the plane?”

“As far as I know, Keith said Don was the one taking them up,” I replied.

Some rescue workers arrived. They were asking how many people were in the plane, and I was the only person who knew exactly who was on board. I started counting. “There were the Smalley’s with their six kids—that’s eight. And Keith and our kids, and Don. Twelve.”

The rescue workers just looked at me when I told them. Then it hit me, too. Why on earth did twelve people go up in that plane?

Now I felt so weak I wanted to lie down, but there wasn’t any place there in the woods. I felt so very vulnerable suddenly. There was no point in staying around, so I turned and started back out of the woods. Janet came, too.

When we were almost out of the woods, we passed a fireman on his way in. He must have thought I was a survivor, because I’m sure I looked a mess.

He smiled. “Everybody okay?”

I simply said, “There are no survivors.” What that meant to him, and what that meant to me, were two different things.

As Janet and I, and a few others, were driving back through the field, the strangest thing started happening. It had been a totally clear day, but suddenly dark clouds seemed to gather out of nowhere. The odd thing was, they were only over our property. Now, large lightning bolts shot from the clouds—all the way to the ground. And it suddenly started to rain. The drops were huge, like fifty-cent pieces as they spattered against the windshield.

As we turned onto the highway and drove along our property line, it was easy to see that the clouds and lightning were only over our land! The raindrops looked like huge heavenly tears. We felt the distinct presence of the Lord in those moments. He wanted us to know he was there. What happened was not apart from his knowing or caring. Most definitely, what we were seeing was a demonstration of his power—and his presence.

When I got home I headed straight for the phone and called Leonard before doing anything else.

“Leonard, this is Melody,” I said, still numb. “Keith and Josiah and Bethany have gone to be with the Lord.”

“I’ll be right over!”

Then, I fell on my knees beside my bed and started sobbing.

Later I was hit with every emotion imaginable. I felt like my insides had been ripped out but, by some mistake, I didn’t die. Waves of numbness and intense sorrow washed over me again and again. Sometimes I cried my heart out to the Lord. And sometimes I could talk about the crash like I was talking about something that happened to someone else.

My last conversation with Keith kept coming back. What prompted him to talk about not coming back? Why didn’t I say something about my concerns? Why didn’t I grab Bethany when I had the chance? I felt so guilty. Maybe the plane wouldn’t have crashed if there had been one or two less children in it. Maybe it was my fault.

One of the hardest things was not having Keith to talk to, especially about the children. Keith was the only other human being who could possibly understand my anguish over losing Josiah and Bethany, the only one who loved them as much as I did. I’d think things like, Keith, you won’t believe what happened, or, Keith, our babies are dead. . . . I wanted him to hold me while I cried. To tell me we could make it—that he understood. But I was on my own with God for the first time. I wondered if I could make it.

And besides my personal loss, I thought of the others on the plane—they were gone as well. They were such wonderful people who were totally committed to helping others and serving God with all their hearts. And all the children! None of it made any sense.

I also grieved over losing Keith’s ministry to the world. What a terrible loss. We so desperately need people like Keith, people who love us enough to tell us the truth. With all that the Lord had been showing Keith recently, I knew his ministry would have been more powerful than ever.

I knew God was ultimately in control. He didn’t intervene when the plane started to go down. He could have, but he didn’t. That must mean the crash was his will. Or was it? Maybe it was a strategy of the enemy to get rid of Keith. Even if it was, God allowed it. I had a million questions, but knowing why wouldn’t change anything.

The only thing that kept me going was a sense of the presence of God. I was blanketed in his grace. I felt his presence like I’d never felt it before. Buffering the blows. Holding me. Comforting me. It didn’t erase the pain. But I felt God’s tender heart for me. The pain was real and it was constant. When I wanted to lie down and not get up he helped me to my feet. When I didn’t want to eat he reminded me of the new life inside me that he’d given me to take care of. And my precious little Rebekah needed me, too.

Some things I had to just “put on hold”. In the meantime, the loss of my husband, two children and nine others was enough to deal with. The reality of the situation demanded my immediate attention.

People needed to be notified. Arrangements needed to be made. The word about the crash traveled quickly through our quiet little community of Garden Valley, and my home was filled with activity—especially the coming and going of friends. Leonard and Martha Ravenhill, Leland Paris, Jimmy and Carol Owens who had moved here from Hawaii, and many others. I was comforted by so many people who loved me and showed it by their caring presence. They brought me food, cried with me, and dropped their lives to help me pick up and go on with mine.

On the night of the crash, John Dawson phoned. His first words to me were, “What we need right now is just to hear from Jesus. Get a pencil.”

I grabbed one immediately, and wrote swiftly as John spoke the heart of the Lord to me:

“They are with Me.

My glory is revealed to them.

They are in my arms,

In My presence,

Not far from you, for I am with you, also.

Nothing has been in vain,

I will build on this foundation.

In gentleness I will lead you

And a multitude will enter my presence.

But a little while, my daughter,

And you, too, shall enter my presence—

For life in the body is as a passing shadow.

In that day I will wipe away every tear,

For you will all sit at My table.”

Then John said, “Melody, your own healing comes from entering into their joy.” That really spoke to me. I knew it was right.

But it was easier said than done. I did rejoice that they were with the Lord. I knew I would see them again in heaven, which made heaven all the sweeter to me. It was deeply comforting to know that my loved ones were in the presence of the Lord. I knew they were fine. But I was miserable. I missed them.

On the morning following the crash, I opened my eyes and for a split second it felt like any other morning. That was the only relief of the day as reality came quickly crashing in. I had a scheduled doctor’s appointment that day to go in and have my pregnancy “officially” confirmed. I decided to keep it. I had to spend my time doing something.

My pregnancy was confirmed, but being in town was terrible. The plane crash was headline news. Complete with pictures. I saw newspapers in the drug store, and outside the restaurant where I stopped to eat. I wanted to stop and scream out loud to everyone—’s my 
family. My husband. My children. How can you act like everything is normal? How can you be smiling today?”

For a few days, my friends Chris and Carole Beatty slept in the family room by the front door to provide a sense of security for the household. It was a good thing, because as news of the crash broke, the media came out in full force. It got crazy. News helicopters circled overhead, and we were swamped with reporters and camera crews wanting statements. A blockade was finally set up at the Last Days driveway to maintain some sense of privacy. So the news teams camped out there, just a few hundred yards from my door. Reporters knocked on my door, too. And Chris was there to talk to them.

As word got out to friends they began arriving for the Memorial Service scheduled for Saturday July 31st at the Agape Force ranch. Among them were Bill Maxwell, Don Stephens, Billy Ray Hearn, Todd Fishkind, and many other friends and relatives from around the nation. Michelle came, too. It wasn’t the reunion we’d expected, but just being together sealed the healing that had already begun.

Word also started to fan out all over the nation and literally around the world. Loren Cunningham was in Okinawa, Japan, when the news came over the U.S. Armed Forces radio station. Don Stephens was in Finland when he heard. Keith’s grandmother in southern California unfortunately found out when she saw Keith’s picture flashed across her television screen on the early morning news. Phone calls, letters, flowers, and telegrams poured in from people of all walks of life who had been touched by Keith and his music. But the majority of messages came from Christians out on the front lines somewhere, who had been encouraged to serve Jesus in a deeper way because of Keith’s ministry.

One of the important details I wanted to take care of was to write a letter to everyone who received our newsletter. On Friday, July 30th, I sat at a computer terminal up in the building. I wanted to tell them what happened in case they hadn’t heard over the news, and to let them know that I was all right. And that God was faithful. With all my heart I believed God was sovereign and I held fast to that truth. I wanted everyone else to hang onto it, too.

As I sat there thinking, praying and crying, a phrase came into my mind out of nowhere: A grain of wheat.

I thought, Isn’t there something in the Bible about “a grain of wheat?” I looked it up. It was John 12:24: “Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies it remains alone, but if it dies it bears much fruit.”

I caught my breath as I read it. It was the first time I’d ever received a scripture in that way. And it was so specific. Was this the Lord speaking his heart to me regarding Keith’s death? One of the things I was troubled about was the loss of Keith’s ministry to the world. Was this God giving me a promise? Could he redeem even this disaster? The verse seemed to be a promise. But how on earth could it be fulfilled?

On Saturday, we had a Memorial Service for Keith, Don, Josiah, and Bethany. Several people were going to speak, and I decided I wanted to say something if I could get through it. The Memorial Service was open to anyone—but I was shocked to see all the cars lining the highway as we approached. Thousands of people had come from all over. Inside, it was standing room only.

Wayne Dillard, in his opening prayer, brought a very personal and sweet remembrance . . .

“Lord, I see today that we’re not the ones to have suffered the greatest loss—but those who never knew Don and Keith and the Smalleys and the kids. Who were never touched by their lives and never drawn closer to you because of their love and their commitment to you.”

Bill Maxwell reflected on meeting Keith and on those who had been impacted by his life.

“I met Keith before he did his first album. Billy Ray Hearn said, ‘I have an artist who would like to talk to you about producing his album.’ My first question was, ‘Does he love Jesus?’ Billy Ray said, ‘You’re gonna be in for a shock!’”

“Keith was the kind of person that pricked you! He would arouse something in you. Sometimes it wasn’t pleasant, but it all worked for good. Keith said we were like two rough edges working together. But something smooth came out of it.”

John Dawson brought a word of comfort, encouraging us not to look at the situation from our own perspective. “Our friends who are departed from us are in a greater place of joy and contentment and fulfillment than they have ever known—or we could ever understand. And this, which we regard as a tragedy, prematurely put them in a position of receiving their hearts’ desire.”

I was planning to speak after John, but my heart was pounding so hard I thought I’d pass out. I decided to try, and when I did, I felt the grace of the Lord bathe me.

“I know that Keith is where he wanted to be most. His heart was so with the Lord—he just had such a desire and burning to be close to Jesus. And he really didn’t care about this life!”

“The children were unexpected. I was not prepared for Jesus to take Josiah and Bethany. But I think maybe they needed to be with their dad and God knew that. He took them on an airplane ride—and they just kept going. I don’t understand, but I trust the Lord and I know that he has my best, and everyone’s best, in mind.”

“For those of you that don’t already know, I’m pregnant and I’m due in March. And I am so grateful. I think this pregnancy is God’s mercy to me. I am not empty. Jesus gave Keith two babies, and he’s given me two. We’re gonna share them. I’m really rejoicing in that.”

Next, Tracey Hansen shared about Don. Tracey had worked closely with Don at Last Days. “I really loved Don. . . . Don has two strong sons who know the Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and they desire to serve him with their whole heart. That’s the mark of a successful father . . . the desire of Don’s life was to serve the Lord God with all that he had.”

One of the keynotes from Leonard Ravenhill’s message was that this tragedy was making people all over the world respond to a sermon that none of us could have preached more powerfully. Somehow the Holy Spirit was saying to people all over, “Are you living too much for time and not enough for eternity?”

“Hundreds of phone calls came to me. Nobody said they loved Keith’s preaching. Everybody said, ‘We loved Keith.’ David Wilkerson called from New York. He recently went into a town after Keith had been there. He said, ‘That boy’s got a message! Some of the churches were shaken in that town and the pastors rang home to do a bit of adjusting!’

“The Salvation Army never spoke about dying—they always talked about being promoted. The embarrassment is if you get to heaven without any blood on you-without any notches on your sword. You’ll have to go back to the junior class, I’m sure. . . .

“Supposing Keith had just relaxed and said ‘Let somebody else do it’. No, we’re not going to be saved by works . . . but we’re going to be rewarded for them!”

“Someone once said, ‘Any road will do if you’re going nowhere.’ I thought, ‘Wait a minute! There are only two roads.’ Either you’re marching to Zion on the narrow way that leads to life eternal, or you’re in the jazz band going to a lost eternity!”

“There are three kinds of people in the world this afternoon—those who are afraid, those who don’t know enough to be afraid, and those who know their Bibles.

“The only people entering are those whose names are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life—isn’t that wonderful? Is your name written there? . . . Nobody has ever cheated their way into eternity, into the presence of God. We preachers have the most serious job in the world. It’s not to be popular, not to be nice—it’s to get people to step out of darkness into the light. Life is short, eternity is long.”

On Sunday we had the burial, open only to personal friends. I buried the children in the same coffin with Keith, in the arms of their daddy.

The only consolation I had in the terrible way everyone died was to hear that it was almost certain that they were all knocked unconscious from the impact of the crash and that they didn’t suffer in the fire. Leonard spoke again at the funeral, and when it was over, I picked up the first handful of dirt, in Jewish tradition, and threw it into the grave. My mother followed suit, and so did several others as the small crowd dispersed.

Just ten days after Keith and the others went to be with the Lord, the M/V Anastasis was due to dock in southern California after its voyage from Greece. Keith loved the vision of the mercy ship so much that he’d sent them $28,000 to pay for their Panama Canal crossing and provide food for the six-week voyage. Keith planned to greet the ship. I went instead. Leland Paris just “happened” to be on the same flight so we sat together and talked about the future of Last Days.

At the docking ceremony I spoke for about ten minutes along with several others. And as the Anastasis pulled into the docks, Keith’s recording of “Holy Holy Holy” was playing over the sound system. It was a very moving moment for everyone.

In the coming days and weeks, talk centered around the impact of Keith’s ministry and what it might continue to be. But when the visitors slowed down, in my quiet moments many questions remained. I knew the Lord could tell me anything he wanted me to know. I didn’t know if he would. I wasn’t going to demand anything from him—but I did ask for any understanding he could give me. Trust was made for the darkness. I resolved to trust God’s character, whether I got any insights or not. I knew I’d never have all the answers until I stood before God. Still, I knew people were wondering, why?

Probably one of the biggest questions people asked was, “Why did the plane crash?” Months later after long investigations, the FAA would conclude that the crash occurred because of human error rather than some type of equipment failure. Thinking back, it had been a very hot and hectic day. Really, only God knows exactly what 
happened. For me, the question wasn’t so much “why?”—because I knew I’d never have a complete answer to that this side of heaven. The question was, what would God do with Keith’s ministry now? Would the Lord fulfill the promise of the scripture he had given me?

The scripture that had come to me about the grain of wheat turned out to be very significant. At the same time I’d gotten that scripture at my desk in Texas, God was speaking to someone else on the other side of the world. In Japan, when Loren Cunningham heard the news about Keith, a scripture immediately leapt into his mind, “Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies. . . .”

It turned out to be far more than a poetic note of comfort. In the months following Keith’s death, remarkable reports came from across the country and around the world. Almost at once I was beginning to see how the falling of this one grain of wheat was indeed going to bear fruit.

The Lord touched millions of lives through Keith, and he would be missed. There was a deep grieving that swept through the body of Christ when he died. There was a sobering, too. God took one of his choice servants home at the age of twenty-eight, and it spoke reality to all of us. We have no time guarantees. I wondered if I would have been ready to stand in front of God with no advance warning. A lot of people asked themselves the same question.

Winkie spoke at several summer festivals that year. And every night after he spoke, it was the same. Crowds of young people gathered around him and opened their hearts. Most of them were weeping as they told Winkie, “I’ve gotten serious with God since Keith died! . . .” God told me He wanted me to shine his light in the darkness!” Lives were being turned around everywhere.

And of course, many told me their reactions when they heard about the crash. One guy I’d never met before told me he was driving in his car when he heard the news on the radio. Stunned, he pulled off to the side of the road and wept. Another fellow I hadnknown told me he took three days off work and grieved as if someone in his family had died. Both said they’d cried out to God, saying, “Lord, who’s going to speak to our generation now?” Both got the same answer, “You are.”

God was using the pain people were feeling over losing Keith to call them forth. Not to “replace” Keith, because no one can ever be replaced. Keith’s unique expression of Jesus was gone. But the void was used to point believers to Jesus. Many realized they’d been cheering Keith on, but the things he was doing or saying could never replace what God wanted them to do. Who was going to speak out now? The answer was in Keith’s “For Prophets Only” article; “Every Christian is called to speak to their generation.”

One day, I was sitting in a Dallas coffee shop with our good friend, John Dawson. John brought up the conversation he’d had with Keith about the prophet’s test of taking their wide circle of influence and using it for God’s bigger purposes.

“John, do you think Keith passed the test?” I asked.

It was quiet for a moment as John studied his hands. Then his face brightened.

“Oh yeah! Of course he did.”

“How?”

“Keith was really well known and many people were willing to follow him. But he wasn’t going to amass all that power for himself or even for Last Days! He wanted to raise up 100,000 people for short-term missions, and millions of dollars for missions service. And not just for YWAM, but for missions groups everywhere.”

“Wow, Keith really did pass the test! He was submitting his ministry to God’s larger purposes for reaching the world. I’m so proud of him!”

“I am too,” said John. “I am too.”

Over the years, I kept hearing wonderful things about Keith from people who knew him and loved him. Of them all, perhaps one of the most precious experiences came one day, almost by accident.

It was the summer of 1987. I was on the east coast to make a guest appearance on a Christian television program. Right next to my waterfront hotel was a little mall with lots of specialty shops. In a few stray moments, I decided to wander over and look around. I ended up in a tiny, little import store.

There was a young girl working there who patiently helped me look at some imported jewelry. She was very thin and delicate looking, which might be why the cross around her neck looked so huge. I wondered if she was a Christian. Then I noticed her faded, blue-jean purse and jacket behind the counter, with several slogan-buttons pinned on them. One of them read “I Love Jesus.”

“I’m looking at that cross around your neck,” I said. “Are you a Christian?”

Her eyes lit up. “Yes, I am. Are you?”

“Yes. I’m part of a ministry out in Texas.”

“Really? What one?”

“Have you ever heard of Last Days Ministries?”

“Last Days? . . . It sounds kind of familiar, but I can’t really place it.”

“Well, have you ever heard of Keith Green?”

“Keith Green? Oh yes! I love his music. I listen to it all the time.”

“Well, I’m Melody. I was married to Keith.”

She looked at me in surprise. Then her eyes immediately brimmed with tears.

“You’re Melody Green? What are you doing out here?”

I told her, and then asked her how long she’d known the Lord.

“I’ve been a Christian for a year-and-a-half. Keith’s music is just about the only music I listen to. I love his music. It’s changed my life and drawn me closer to the Lord. I sit my friends down who don’t know the Lord and say, ‘You have to hear this song!’ I give his tapes away all the time and keep having to buy new ones.”

As we talked I could tell she’d been through some rough times. I could also tell that she was sold out to Jesus. She was new in her faith, but she’d already helped many friends and strangers come into a relationship with the Lord. She had a fire burning in her soul for God—and apparently Keith played, and continued to play, a big part in lighting the flame. As I saw the way her life had been touched by Keith’s life, I saw how his ministry continued on. Not before thousands, but in one life.

One precious life.

And wasn’t that what it was all about? She thought I was someone special but she had no way of knowing how special she was to me.

Before I left we held hands and prayed while a few customers browsed. As I walked back out into the sunshine and later caught my airplane home, my heart was filled to overflowing with thoughts of the goodness and mercy of God. He had just given me another glimpse of what loving him was all about.