BY MARY MASON
This is Mary’s testimony, which she shared on Sunday, October 6th. Since September, OBC has led an inspiring sermon series on the Book of Numbers.
When Pastor Jonan said we were going to study the Book of Numbers, I certainly did not get excited or enthusiastic about it.
It was not my “go-to” book in the Bible. It started with all those unpronounceable names of tribe leaders and Israel’s family descendants, etc. Then it goes on to them wandering in the desert for 40 years.
Now, at the same time as we were being introduced to all the tribes, the Māori King here in NZ had died, and all the Māori tribes were gathering. These tribes also had unfamiliar names, and most were difficult for me to pronounce.
I realised that throughout history, nothing has changed. Every culture calls together its leaders to set the rules and boundaries for its people to follow and acknowledge.
Next, we read about the people wandering in the desert for 40 years.
That was me. I wandered in the “desert” for 40 years, too. I did not leave the “desert” until I was 43 years old when I accepted Jesus as my Saviour and Redeemer. This reading and reflection was not the end.
I kept on reading until I came to Numbers chapter 27. Something else was happening in my life alongside this reading.
Before I became Mary Mason, my name was Mary Buck. My husband’s name was Cliff. We lived in Kekerengu in Marlborough.
One day, we drove to Christchurch to visit friends, and while there, we saw an article in the Christchurch newspaper about a man from San Diego, California, whose name was Cliff Buck (the same as my husband).
This man had seen a TV documentary called “This is New Zealand,” which prompted him to visit this country. He contacted the TV company in Wellington, and through them, the article was published.
On reading this, I suggested to my husband that he should find out this man’s address through the TV Channel and explain that because they had the same name, he would like to write to him.
And that is exactly what happened. The letter went back and forth. My Cliff wrote about life in Kekerengu and that he did a lot of deer stalking and pig hunting. He was a keen hunter.
A few months passed, and Mr. Cliff Buck from San Diego wrote to say that he was coming back to NZ and was looking forward to meeting us.
When we knew which day he was coming, we advised the newspaper reporters from the Marlborough Express, who duly came, took photos, and wrote an excellent article about the two men.
When Cliff Buck arrived, he had a special gift for my Cliff. It was a Buck Hunter’s Knife. For anyone who doesn’t know, the Buck brand is to hunting knives as a Rolex watch is to watches. It was a very special and much-valued gift.
A few years later, when my husband died, I put the Buck Knife away, where it stayed (still in its special box) for 35 years.
Three weeks ago, I took it out from its hiding place and thought, “What am I going to do with this if it is worth a bit.” Should I put it on Trade Me and sell it? No, that did not seem right. Should I give it to someone I knew was a hunter? No, I would have to think carefully about that. I had no idea what I should do.
While this quandary was going on, I continued to read the Book of Numbers, and when I got to Chapter 27, I found the answer.
Chapter 27 tells the story of these girls whose father (Zelophehad) had died, leaving no sons but only these daughters. The girls went to Moses (Eleazar, the priest, the leaders, and the whole assembly) and said they felt their father’s inheritance should come to them; otherwise, their father’s name would be lost.
Moses said to leave it with me; I will ask the Lord about it. And the Lord replied that the girls were correct. Give them the property that would have been given to their father if he had lived. If a man dies and has no sons, then his inheritance shall be passed on to his daughters. Moreover, this is a general law among you.
Wow, what a revelation that was. I had not given them, his daughters, a thought. My husband had no sons, only daughters, and I knew then that I had to pass the knife on to them.
I had no contact at all with the eldest daughter. As far as she was concerned, I was the “wicked witch of the West” as I had married their father. All I knew was her name and that she lived on the West Coast.
How was I going to find her? The West Coast Electoral Roll and the Greymouth Phone Book “found” her.
I phoned and explained who I was and why I was calling. I could almost feel her smiling. She said, “I’ve just been thinking about you. I knew Dad had a pen pal with the same name, but I did not know about the knife.”
We chatted for a few minutes, and I told her I would have it couriered to her along with photos, a newspaper article, and even an envelope sent from America. She was thrilled. She said she had no grandsons, but her sister did and that it would go to one of them one day.
When Cliff’s daughter received the parcel, she messaged me and thanked me so much. I was no longer the “wicked witch of the West.” A healing had taken place.
The Book of Numbers was exactly what I was meant to read.
