Monday, March 30, 2015


My wife was raised within Pentecost. Her parents came north from the hills of southern Kentucky and were part of the original group who birthed the church we attend, from a tent to an abandoned chicken coop, to a barn and then a small church built on a steep slope allowing rain to often flood the few classrooms on the lower level. The altar area in our present sanctuary would hold what we knew for worship space in those days. This past Friday marked the 43rd anniversary of my coming to Christ. The 27th of March fell on Monday that year and the following Sunday was Easter when Beth surrendered herself to Him, handing the baby, our youngest girl, to someone else as she went forward. It saved our marriage. It changed our life. Two of our daughters yet attend with us, both involved in various parts of its ministries. Jamie, the middle blessing, lives in Lexington, about an hour away, but keeps her faith with another congregation there. There are theological points where we all see things differently, yet I am thankful “in my belly” for the reality of what His Spirit does in them and through them in their daily walk. What always gives me concern is, knowing within my own walk how easy it is to get side-tracked, to operate on “auto-pilot” and lose close contact with the true source of our existence, how do I, as their father, maintain some sort of vigil over the state of their salvation? Prayer helps, of course; and maybe that’s the limit of my responsibilities. With five of the six grandchildren, along with their parents, sitting there in the pews around me, with my being able to witness Spiritual encounters as they happen, Papaw feels fortunate indeed, especially since the older boys are now young men and could well be elsewhere. Yet it remains a question for me as to why it is that believers seldom are willing to discuss their walk with Christ in any manner? Not so much in terms of theology. There’s always those who are ready to pound the Book, to defend their dogma, to rally around the flag and attack with the Gospel. I’m talking about simply being honest about being human in a stumble down the path. I’m promoting sharing His presence in everyday conversation, not arrogantly pushing the other fellow to convert to your way of thinking. Two or three, gathered together in His name, doesn’t have to mean three hymns and a Sunday morning sermon; nor does “religious” mean the Holy Ghost had to dominate every second of our relationships with each other. It does seem to me, though, that, if we know Him in that innermost depths of who we are, such love and grace ought to spill over into more areas of our life than just a Bible study…….

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