I posted that statement on Facebook last week. I’m sure it drew some snickers. Many were probably thinking, “It took that long!” Let me explain.
I knew intellectually and, I’m sure, instinctively that God loved me—probably since toddlerhood. What I mean about the second decade is that I really internalized the reality that God loves me when I was seventeen years old.
You see, after I became a Christian, I really worked hard to honor God with my life. I began hanging out with people who were Christians and seeking to follow Jesus.
A critical event was when a fellow by the name of H. L. Shirey moved in next door when I was ten. He was our congregation’s new preacher. He was a young guy, probably 23 or 24, and he did a lot with us kids. In essence, he became my first mentor--outside of my parents.
Unfortunately for me, he moved away when I was about to enter the seventh grade. Shortly thereafter, I attended a church camp. Some high school boys were the spiritual leaders of that camp, and I followed their leadership.
On the third or fourth day of camp, I went into the ping-pong room during a break in camp activities. Several of the high school leaders were there, while none of the camp counselors were present.
With no adults around, many of those “leaders” pulled out and lit up their cigarettes, cussed, told dirty jokes—in other words, they demonstrated behavior 180 degrees different than before.
I will never forget that moment. It was like a light bulb went off. In my immaturity, I chose at that moment to believe that all young people claiming to be Christians were hypocrites. I chose to become cynical.
I didn’t attend a single Christian youth function until one month before my senior year in high school began. I still attended church since I was scared of what God would do to me if I did not, but those were very dark years for me. I was in a real wilderness.
During the summer of 1978, I worked at our local Brookshire’s grocery store. My last day was the end of July. The first week of August, I planned on playing golf, relaxing, and working out for the start of “two-a-days” for football, which would begin the second week of August.
The Sunday before my week of vacation began, our church held a youth meeting which was to last from Sunday through Wednesday. I had to go on Sunday because the meeting corresponded with our church and class activities, but that was all I planned to attend.
Our speaker was a member’s cousin, Steve Ridgell. I listened to him teach Bible class and left thinking, “That’s the first time I listened for an entire Bible class since I can remember.”
Next came the sermon—again I listened for the first time in memory. By the evening, I was hooked.
On Monday night, I heard a sermon that changed my life. Steve talked about the cost of freedom. Our spiritual freedom cost the Father, the Son, and it costs us our lives.
To illustrate how our spiritual freedom cost the Father (who allowed his son to die), Steve told a story. Although you may have heard this story—from what I understand it is a well-known and true story—let me share it with you.
There was once a father, a widower, who lived in a community near a large river. The father's wife had died several years before, leaving him with a son. This son was the most important possession of the father's life; the son was practically all the father had.
Because of this, father and son were extremely close. Every day when the father came home from work, the son would ask the father to play. So they would throw the baseball or football around, fish together, and simply do things that weren't important in and of themselves, but were very important to the relationship of the father and son. Everyone in their small town knew that they loved each other as much as a father and son could love.
As the little boy grew older, he naturally wanted to emulate his father, so he constantly asked his dad if he could go to work with him. Dad kept on promising the boy that he would take him, but he never quite got around to it. Finally, as summer arrived, dad thought to himself, "Why not? He'll (the son) probably get a kick out of it." So at last the father agreed to take the boy.
Dad had an interesting job, and at times, a dangerous one. He was the operator of a drawbridge on the great river that bordered the town.
Arriving at the bridge early one morning, the father told his boy, "Son, you can play wherever you would like. But the one place I don't want you to play is around the gears of this drawbridge. There will be barges crossing underneath the drawbridge, and trains crossing over the drawbridge, all day."
"This is very difficult work, and I'm going to be busy. If you want to come up and stand by my side, that will be fine. If you want to play, that will be fine. Just don't go near the gears. It's dangerous."
Of course, the boy, anxious to play, rapidly replied that he would follow his dad's orders and then ran to see what he could discover.
There was a very good reason why the dad did not want his son near the gears of the drawbridge. Lying below the father's workstation were the previously mentioned gears. These gears weighed several tons apiece. When the drawbridge was raised, one of the gears would rise at the same moment, and as the drawbridge was lowered, that particular gear would lower as well. Obviously, to be anywhere near this mechanism would be dangerous.
Time passed. About a quarter to twelve, a barge passed underneath the drawbridge.
In the distance, the father could hear the whistle of a train rapidly approaching. For this reason, the father was about to lower the bridge when he saw a horrible sight. Directly below him was his son trapped under one of the gears of the drawbridge.
The son's ball had rolled down an incline into the section of the mechanism that housed the gears. Without thinking, the boy had rushed under the raised gear to retrieve his ball. Somehow, his shirt had been caught in one of the machines. It would have been just as well if the boy's shirt had been caught in a vice grip, so powerful was the pull that the child could not even take his shirt off.
Slowly, as the catastrophe enveloped him, it dawned upon the father that he was going to have to make a tragic decision. He could rush to his son and save him, but in doing so, he would be leaving all the passengers on the train to perish in a calamity; or the father could lower the drawbridge and save the people on the train, but in doing so, he would be allowing his only son to die.
Rapidly, the father made his decision. Lowering the bridge...he watched his son crushed to death by the gear...and then...as if it was the end to a grotesque dream...the father, with tears in his eyes, looked towards the train. The people were laughing and singing and traveling merrily on their way. They had known nothing about the supreme sacrifice that the father had made.
Prompted by Steve’s illustration of God’s love, I began to wonder how many times God had looked upon me with tears in His eyes as I went about laughing and singing merrily on my way, totally unmoved by the sacrifice that He made for me.
That night, I turned my life back toward God; I irrevocably began heading in another direction—one that would ultimately take me to do mission work in foreign countries and a ministry of preaching.
I know some hate the story of the father and son. Others cannot understand it.
I can remember telling it in graduate school and some in my class responding with horror, “So God is like a father who kills his kid to save people on a train?”
Nevertheless, I note this story resonates with a secular audience. A foreign film won several prestigious film awards depicting this story. The translated title is MOST. (Here is one link on YouTube if you are interested in seeing an abridged version: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tnq1FvnKc-k&NR=1)
This is testimony that humans instinctively yearn for the gospel story to be true. We want a Father and Son to love us that much.
My life changed forever when my gut realized what my brain already knew: God loves me.
For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life (John 3:16.) KJV
Five Things I Think I Think (with a nod to Peter King for this idea)
1. Mavs come back from fifteen behind with seven minutes left in game 2. Reverse the curse!
2. Mavs lose the all-important game three. They're doomed!
3. I can remember growing up hearing preachers preach against women wearing bikinis. They said they were designed and worn to make men think sexual thoughts. I even heard a couple of preachers ask, “Have you ever seen a fat lady wear a bikini?”
The implied answer was, “No, of course not?”
Well, Friday I viewed a sight that destroyed that premise. I saw a pregnant woman in a bikini. She was several months along. As a matter of fact, she may be having her baby right this moment—delivered at full term.
I can tell you this baby was not the first. I am sure the munchkins with her were hers because of the family dynamics. I can also tell you how old she was because I counted the rings of cellulite on her legs. Of course, the spots where the tattoos were located—and stretched—were hard to count.
All of this to say—maybe modesty has its benefits.
If you disagree, I will be forced to use nuclear weapons: empowering all men, middle-aged and up, to wear Speedos to the swimming pool—if they so desire.
I would like to think most would have enough self-respect not to do so. I’m realistic enough to believe enough would vainly wear them to change national opinion on acceptable male and female swimwear forever!
4. One of life’s neat moments occurred for me the other night. I watched one of my top five movies, FIELD OF DREAMS, with my son, Timothy. He loved it. What was neat was Haleigh watched the movie with us as well, even though she was busy packing for a mission trip to South Dakota. This was her second or third time to see it. Judy, Abby and Annie were out and returned during the finale. They stopped what they were doing to watch it.
5. I never thought I would mention a family member in the same sentence with the word “physics,” unless the reference had to do with us breaking one of its (physics) laws. Nevertheless, Haleigh’s three-girl team, working on a project for their physics’ class, won a spot at the National Nucor Strength of Steel Challenge in Charlotte, N.C. Eight spots were available, and three teams from ETCA won. Each team won a prize of $1500.
Cayse Chitty is their teacher. Evidently, she must be very good! Organizers are flying each participant and one parent to event. Being a godly man, I am deferring to my wife, Judy, to go.
Congratulations, teams. (If you want to read the newspaper article, here is the link): http://www.tylerpaper.com/article/20110602/NEWS01/110609949
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