Selected Essays And Book Reviews

I grew up during the 1950s and 1960s in a Methodist home where my parents were very faithful to their church. My father had been the Sunday School Superintendant, and my mom had sung in the choir. Both had belonged to various church organizations and committees, while I, as a young person, had not had any interest in church at all. My fondest memory of that whole time was a Sunday School teacher that I had had when I was about seven. Her name was Miss Irene, and she had taught me about the importance of living for the Lord. But at that early age, I was still too young to be interested.

I continued through the Hampton, Virginia school system until I finally reached high school. I had been able to quit church several years earlier by using a paper route and Sunday morning deliveries as my excuse. So, as a young teenager, I broke away from church and stopped getting any spiritual training. My parents were still very committed to their church, but they were willing to let me stop attending so that I could be a paperboy. They always encouraged me to go to church and to live right, but they never forced me.

While in high school, I became best friends with a guy named Robert. His parents were also Christians, and they attended a local Baptist church. Even though I was not a good influence on Robert, they still let us be friends and do things together. I smoked cigarettes, drank alcoholic beverages, and used a very, very bad vocabulary, but that seemed to be alright with everyone. During our senior year in 1966, however, I still remember Robert's parents telling me that they were praying for me. I did not even know what it meant to have someone praying for me, but out of politeness, I thanked them for their gesture. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to most everyone, my life was starting to fall apart.

When I left home for college, I still did not know the Lord as my personal Savior, but I was beginning to feel like something was not right about me. I was struggling with the discipline needed for higher education, and I was still clinging to my same bad nicotine, alcohol, and bad language habits. My only clue that something was really wrong was that I was totally unhappy.

Finally, on December 14, 1967, I stopped trying to blame everything around me for my problems. I realized that I was a sinner and that I needed Jesus as my Savior. So, on that day, I bowed and asked the Lord in prayer to forgive me for my sins. As part of my prayer, I turned my life over to Him and pledged to live for Him all the remaining days of my life.

A number of years ago, my wife and I went on a Holy Land tour with some of the older members of my parents' church. I saw Miss Irene and told her that I had become a Christian in large part because of her teaching me about Jesus when I was young. Sharing those words with her brought tears to her eyes. A few years after that, I had the privilege of telling Robert's parents, at their 50^th wedding anniversary, that their prayers for me had also been answered, and I thanked them for their faithfulness. Through the years, I have stumbled often, but each time, I have always come back to the spiritual roots that were planted in my life in 1967.