I didn’t have to wait for long.
Chapter 20
New Home, New Family
God used our three months in Spartanburg for more than healing. Kandi and I had tremendous opportunities for spiritual growth. We faced our first financial crisis and learned what it meant to trust God through it. I bonded with the idea of pastoral ministry—a complete change of thinking for me. I even went on a faith-expanding mission trip.
Now it was late November, and we were headed back westward for Thanksgiving in Houston with my folks. I’d also received an invitation to stop in Morgan City, Louisiana, to preach a sermon on Sunday.
On the way home, I thought about the opportunity to spend time with my parents. Throughout all my struggles, they’d been there for me. They could have walked away forever after I stole from them. Other parents might have given up on someone like me. Instead, they were models of unconditional love when I needed mercy and tough love when I needed correction.
My parents had given me their all. The greatest and only gift I could give in return, other than my love and respect, was to continue to share the gospel with them.
They’d watched the progress of my faith with surprise and a growing respect, but it was also puzzling to them. My passion and commitment to Christ weren’t much like the faith they had practiced all their lives.
My sister Lori had been more receptive. She’d come to know Jesus in 2005, at Creedmoor Presbyterian, when I preached there once again. It would soon be destroyed by Katrina, but on this day, that church was very much alive, and the Spirit moved there.
When I gave an invitation at the close of my sermon, Lori walked down the aisle. Somehow I managed to pray with her, as my eyes filled with tears. My sister, who had always supported me, would now join me in eternal life.
During my time in Spartanburg, I checked in with my parents over the phone each week. I talked about my relationship with Jesus whenever possible, always in a non-confrontational way, with my dad. He listened patiently, more or less. I wanted so badly for him to see what it meant to have a living faith, to know and walk with Christ day by day. How could I show him the difference it made? Finally I said, “Dad, wouldn’t you agree that you and I study the same Bible?”
“Sure,” he said.
“So doesn’t it make sense that if we’re in the same book, we should both be learning about our faith at church?”
“Makes sense to me. But I was told not to read the Bible growing up.”
“Do you still feel that way?” I asked.
“No.”
“Well, let’s try something. You go to your church and I’ll go to my church each week. Then, every Sunday, we can compare what we learned.”
He had no objections.
One week later, we talked again. He talked about Houston, where he and Mom were getting settled after having to leave their home. I brought him up-to-date on our experience in Spartanburg and how the church was reaching out to us. Then I said, “So, Dad, we were going to compare what we learned in church. Did you attend this week?”
“Well, yeah, but to tell the truth, I was tired. I guess my mind was elsewhere. I don’t really remember anything that was discussed.”
“Don’t worry about it; I’ll tell you mine. I heard about the time Jesus multiplied a boy’s lunch, and he said, ‘I am the bread of life.’ I learned how the loaves of bread represent our satisfaction in life.” I shared the main points of Dr. Wilton’s teaching.
“I see,” said Dad. “Well, I guess that was a pretty good sermon.”
“It left me a lot to think about this week.”
The next week I raised the topic again and asked Dad about church. He said, “Um, well, we had a visiting priest. I remember the speaker system was lousy, and—well, that’s all I got, to be honest.”
I told him about the sermon I’d heard, which had all kinds of implications for daily life.
The third week, I could tell Dad had tried a little harder to listen. He said, “The priest told a joke about a chicken and an egg.”
“That’s funny. But what did you learn from the Bible, Dad?”
He sighed and responded, “Bible? I don’t remember anything from the Bible.” There was a long pause. He thought a moment and said, “In fact, I’ve gone to Mass my entire life, because it’s what you do, but I haven’t learned anything from the Bible.”
I didn’t know what to say. The honesty from my Dad was raw and authentic. My response was, “We can’t change the past, but we can do something about the future. Let’s work on changing that.”
This was the beginning of God softening my dad’s heart. He knew I was learning things that had to do with how I lived, and I’m sure he could see the difference in me. But he couldn’t understand why he didn’t have the same experience. Church was a duty; he and Mom had never really thought about it any other way. And they were suspicious of “religious fanatics” who carried their Bibles around and badgered people. I was trying to help them see something different: a practical, passionate faith that goes with you, instead of staying inside with the pews and stained glass windows.
Kandi and I stopped at Immanuel Baptist Church and had a wonderful visit. Morgan City bills itself as “right in the middle of everywhere.” It’s a bayou town, an hour from my hometown and an hour from Kandi’s. Morgan City had come through Hurricane Katrina without much devastation. As a matter of fact, it was proud to be one of the first places to take in refugees from the flooding in New Orleans.
The church was without a pastor, and they’d asked me to preach
