1983

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation;

old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new."

2 Corinthians 5:17

Forty years. Forty incredible years. The year 1983, for me, slowly evolved into a very good year. A life changing year. A year that altered my dreams, my destiny, my desires, and my devotion. It was the year that I would meet a beautiful young lady who would gently, yet firmly, share the truth of Jesus Christ with me. It was the year that I would hear her witness, and eventually pray for God's grace to be real in my own despicable life. Forty years. Forty incredible years of walking with Jesus. Forty years...

 

In June of 1983, I had no idea that I would soon be a student at Mississippi State University. My life began to unravel during my final year of high school. This unraveling spun totally out of control as a freshman seeking to find my way at the first university that I attended. I say that I was a freshman, but I actually began my experience of higher education as a Sophomore, as I had received advanced credit for all of my core Freshman courses based upon my ACT score. I accepted an academic scholarship that covered all of my tuition, books, room and board, along with a meal plan for dining in the school cafeteria. This university had very high expectations for me as a student, and I was about to royally disappoint them. My first semester was more or less uneventful as I was trying to adjust to my new surroundings. By the time classes resumed in January, I realized there was much more to college life than classes, homework, tests and term papers. I decided I should make a few corrections to my lifestyle as the semester ended very poorly, but changes externally didn't produce any internal adjustments. My second year would not be finalized, as I was given an ultimatum during the spring semester by the Dean of Students to either withdraw from all my classes and leave the school voluntarily or be expelled and escorted away by campus police. He said that I had twenty-four hours to make up my mind, but I decided before leaving the building to sign the necessary documents, gather my belongings, and head for home.

To be perfectly honest, I do not have any recall as to the reaction of my family. They knew the circumstances, and I'm sure their hearts were broken over my foolish choices and decisions. But it was the spring of the year - an extremely busy season in the Mississippi Delta - and I resumed my position on the farm. I began to work again for my two uncles, which I had been doing since I was about age twelve. Returning home and working didn't solve my problems, however, as they just intensified with a steady paycheck. Now I had those finances that at one time hindered me from fulfilling much of my wicked desires. With money in my pockets, I could expand my horizons when it came to searching for new adventures, usually entailing wild parties, loud music, ample liquor, illegal drugs, and plenty of loose women. It was also amazing how many friends I amassed with my ability of foot the bill. Like the prodigal in Luke 15, I hand plenty of friends, as long as I had plenty of money.

It seems that with each decision that I would make, circumstances did not get any better, they only got worse. Uncomfortable encounters with family, as well as with the law, would cause me to make promises that I could not keep. The book of Proverbs says, "As a dog returns to his own vomit, so a fool returns to his folly." My life was a perfect example of that eternal truth. In the first few weeks of 1983, I befriended a man several years older than I, and he quickly introduced me to new companions that carried me deeper into the darkness. There were times when we struck out on the trail for new experiences with the wrong crowd, that would have me absent from my family and from my job for days at a time. Funny how working with family always keeps the door of employment open for you, when you really should have been fired. Some of these adventures I can barely remember. I vaguely recall where we planned to go, but I cannot recollect if we ever made it to our destination, what happened while we were there, and how we made it back home. Life during that time was like a dense fog, and how I lived through it is a testimony of God's mercy.

June, 1983, as far as I can remember, is when my precious Mom finally had enough of me and my ways. I had broken her heart too many times. She confronted me in the garage with anger, fear, love and rage all mixed together. With her hands on my shoulders, she shook me as best she could, crying and saying, "I don't know where you'll go and what you'll do, but you've got six weeks to get out of my house! I can't take this anymore!" I looked at her beautiful face, all red with emotion and covered in tears, jerked her hands off of me, and walked inside. To be totally honest, I wanted to hit her. As I pondered this encounter, I knew I had to make plans, but I couldn't think of anything. I didn't know it then, but Mom was practicing tough love on me before James Dobson ever wrote a book about it.

Before the dust settled from this episode, I came home from work one day to find out that a dear friend from high school was going to be home for a few days from Mississippi State, and she wanted to see me. Lisa had done quite well at MSU. Good grades, really popular, school beauty, Homecoming Queen, etc., and this girl wanted to see me while she was home. I got ready as fast as possible and drove at breakneck speed to Scott, Mississippi. In the midst of my excitement, I had forgotten that Lisa was a Jesus girl, and as soon as I got reacquainted with her, she began preaching to me about my lifestyle. The audacity of that girl, for if there was one thing I really despised, it was anyone meddling in my life and preaching to me! Oh well, as beautiful as she was, I could endure her sermons for the opportunity to just look at her.

In the midst of those few visits with Lisa, she talked at length about me trying to get back in school and making a fresh start at MSU. Since I had the ultimatum from my Mom, with a time frame of getting out of her house, I decided to take Lisa's advice and call the number that she gave me about transferring to State. The lady on the phone had a nice voice and was very kind. When I told her the reason for my call, she informed me that I had just missed the deadline for applying as a transfer student. My heart sank, but then she said, "I tell you what, I will mail you an application today, but promise me to fill it out and mail it back the same day that you receive it. That means that you need to secure a copy of your transcript from your previous college, so that you can be ready to send it back to me on the very same day. You promise me that you'll do this?" I assured her that I would, and she bid me a pleasant farewell. When I got off the phone, I immediately began to wonder what kind of response she would have to my transcript. I thought surely she would burst out laughing and show everyone in the office what kind of idiot I was for trying to enroll at MSU. But since I promised her I would do it, I thought, oh well, it won't hurt anything to try.

July 1983. To my utter amazement, I received a positive letter from MSU not long after I mailed the requested material to the Office of Enrollment. I had failed to meet the deadline, my transcript was atrocious, and yet I was reading an acceptance letter that opened with this word in all caps: CONGRATULATIONS! As I continued reading, my heart sank. Yes, I had been accepted, but it was on a probationary status, and only about twelve hours of course work would be accepted. Plus, all of the advanced credit for the core freshman courses were deemed unacceptable. As I read the letter, I thought, "Well this is just dandy, I'm 21 years old and will have to sit in classrooms alongside immature teenagers with zits and fake ID's." But at least I had the problem solved as to where I'd go, and what I'd be doing, even before my Mom's tearful deadline had come to pass.

August 1983 was moving time. I was fortunate to be able to secure a room at Arbor Acres Apartments, a university owned housing complex on the south edge of campus. Friends from the Delta had their names on a waiting list to get into this brand-new facility, and they had enough space for me to join them. Life was good as I tried to adjust to my new surroundings. I was living with old friends, learning the layout of campus, and beginning to understand that there were some extremely popular establishments near Mayhew and Columbus that existed to make sure college students had enjoyable experiences outside of their educational demands.

During the second week of classes, my roommate asked me if I had purchased the necessary books for each of my courses. "No," I responded, "I really haven't thought much about that." He encouraged me to get some books, so that if I decided to attend a class, at least I would look like I belonged in the building. When I finally located a list of all the books that I needed, he said that he would go with me to the bookstore to help me gather all my supplies. The place wasn't very crowded, since most of the other students had already gotten what they needed. When I mentioned that I didn't know where anything was located, he asked for my list, and told me to stay where I was until he found everything for me. He quickly disappeared, and I as I turned around to see what else might be interesting to find, my eyes landed on the most beautiful young lady that I had ever seen. She was tall, trim, tan, and TERRIFIC! You've heard of love at first sight? Well, it was something like that, but rather than love, it was lust at first sight! Holding a book just a few feet from me, her eyes were looking at a list somewhat like mine, then glancing at a shelf filled with additional material. I walked up to her with a smile and said, "Hey there, can I help you find anything?" Believing that I was one of the student workers, she responded, "Yes, I've already gotten most of my books, but I came back for just a couple more and can't seem to find this one," as she handed me her booklist. Not having any idea how I might help this beauty, my friend returned with his arms loaded down with what I needed. "Hey, thank you, perfect timing." I said. "Now I need you to find this book for this young lady." When he returned with her book, we headed to the register, where I stood behind her and recorded her name and phone number as she completed her transaction with a personal check. Sort of creepy? Yes, but a man's got to do what a man's got to do!

Needless to say, she was somewhat surprised when I called her later that day. We agreed to meet at a high school football game the following evening, as I learned that she had just graduated from a local private school, and she already had plans to attend the game. The next week, we saw each other on campus quite often, and I decided that starting anew at MSU as a Freshman wasn't all that bad. We didn't have any classes together, but we were often in the same buildings, and could enjoy brief conversations in the hallways or outside near the entrances.

I tried my best to get her to enjoy the dark side of life, but that was to no avail, as she had her guard up against my kind of pleasures. I would back off for a while, and we would simply take in an occasional movie, have a milkshake date, ride around in my sports car, or attend a MSU football game. A few weeks into our relationship, I pulled up outside of a very nice duplex in a quiet, older neighborhood in Starkville, and asked her: "You see that little place? Doesn't it look nice and quiet? I'm beginning to get tired of the constant noise at Arbor Acres, and thought a place like this would be perfect, if you would agree to move in with me. What do you say?" Since she didn't say anything, I thought that she didn't understand the great proposition that I was making, so I repeated myself. Following more awkward silence, I asked her, "Tell me something, what do think about me? Be totally honest, what do you think about me?"

"Do you really want to know?" she finally said.

"Yes, certainly, I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know." I replied.

"Well, for one, I despise your smoking cigarettes. They make your car stink, and they make you stink. They make my clothes stink, they make my hair stink, they make me stink, and I don't like to stink."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, every time that I'm around you, you are drinking some kind of alcoholic beverage. You keep whiskey under the seat, or you have a small cooler of beer with you in your car all the time. At your apartment, that's all you ever have to drink. And even on campus, as you walk around with that stadium cup going to class, I know that you've got some kind of alcohol in there. Drinking is all you do, and I don't like it."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, your language is atrocious. I have never heard someone with such a vile tongue. If you get mad, it is unbelievable what comes out of your mouth. But even in normal conversations, you use filthy curse words. It's horrible, and I can't stand it."

By now, my feelings were quite bruised, but what could I say, it was all true. "Anything else?" I mumbled.

"Yes," she said. "I am very tired of the constant pressure you put on me to go to nightclubs, pool halls, and these off campus parties that you always seem to know about. I don't like those kinds of places, I'm not comfortable in those environments, I don't want to go, and I don't want to be pressured to go. In fact, I refuse to go, and if you and I are going to continue to have any kind of relationship, on or off campus, then you need to go to places that I like to go!"

"Okay, so where do you like to go?"

"I like to go to church."

With that response, I felt like reaching over, opening the door, putting her out, and saying, "See you later." But there was something about her beautiful smile, those big, brown eyes, and that silky, shiny, dark hair. This awesome young lady was slowly melting my calloused heart. Pulling away from the curb, I asked, "Uh, where do you go to church?"

"Friendship Baptist Church, it's right behind my house, and you need to go with me."

"So you're a Baptist? That's wonderful! So am I!" I exclaimed. She didn't seem to be very impressed at my compelling statement of religious identity. I'm sure that she realized there's a huge difference between being a saved Baptist, and a lost one.

The time frame is a little foggy after this encounter. I continued to speak to this young lady on campus whenever I saw her, but I was uncertain of my next move. I realized that I wasn't going to convince her to embrace my lifestyle, yet I was helplessly drawn to her honesty, sincerity, and to her breathtaking beauty. She was so different from the party girls that I was accustomed to spending time with. They were usually loud, crude, foul-mouthed, and aggressively seductive, especially when they were all overly intoxicated. Even as I attempted to immerse myself in my usual routines when the sun went down, I could not help but think of her, and what she might be doing. I was still drinking heavily, swearing profusely, smoking constantly, partying nightly, and fighting occasionally, whenever I felt my manhood was clearly challenged. My schedule was full, but my heart was empty.

I finally decided that I should approach her about coming out for a Sunday service. I'd been to church services before, many of them. I had joined the Baptist church in my Delta hometown when I was ten years old. Church activity and attendance had at one time been a very important part of my young life. Besides, I had even prayed publicly to close out our services on several occasions. Sometimes I'd still be drunk from the previous night's party, or about to vomit with an intense hangover, but I could offer a few religious words with the best of any hypocrite. She told me what time to arrive to pick her up, that I was welcome to come to her home after the service for Sunday dinner, and we could spend the afternoon together. It sounded appealing, but I didn't make an immediate commitment to join her. Thinking about her invitation brought a few thoughts into my mind. One, she is knock-out gorgeous every time that I see her, but I felt that she would really set a high standard for a church service. Two, a home-cooked meal for a guy in college would be priceless. And three, if I didn't come out to sit with her through the service, some other dude might get the privilege. Well, those thoughts sealed the deal, and I told her that I'd come on out and go to church with her.

The little building had a nice crowd of people when we arrived. We took a seat almost at the very back. I didn't bring a Bible, I didn't help them sing, and I sure didn't bring money for an offering. My goal was to endure the service, enjoy the lunch, establish a better relationship with this young lady, if at all possible, and get back to Starkville before she tried to get me to stay for the evening service. I already knew that she attended all of the functions of the church, including those on Wednesday nights. I really thought that was strange. Why would a beautiful young lady go to some kind of prayer meeting, when there were so many other things to do that would be fun?  I really enjoyed the idea of having a dazzling girlfriend with Baptist convictions, but I didn't like the idea of her being a religious fanatic!

What I did not know, however, was that in that little building on that particular Sunday morning, God was going to call my name. Her pastor did not know anything about me, yet as he preached with passion and zeal, he made a statement that shook me deep on the inside. It was as if there was no one else in the building, and that he was speaking directly to me. At some point in the midst of his sermon, he said rather authoritatively, "It makes no difference how good your mother is, if you die without Jesus, you'll be in Hell forever!" Judging his delivery as far as being seeker sensitive was concerned, it was awful. In today's world, it would make the snowflakes need coloring books, smiley stickers, and a few puppies to pet in a designated safe space. But judging his statement based upon what I needed to hear that day, he hit a grand slam! My Mom's prayers, I believe, had secured a wall of protection around me as I lived such a self-centered and foolish life. Some of my friends lived the same kind of lifestyle, and it took them to an early grave. In drunken stupors, I had bragged how that my Mom was praying for me, and that God would not allow anything to happen to me that would break her heart. To me, this was just a way to validate my destructive habits with a false sense of security. But now this preacher man had just nailed my sorry hide to the wall.

I could not escape this sobering experience. I didn't say anything to anyone, but my heart was deeply touched, and my mind was securely engaged to consider eternal thoughts. The following week was filled with a thorough self-inspection and spiritual evaluation. I was thinking about what my life had become, compared to the loving expectation of those who watched me grow up in my tiny hometown. I began to consider all of the biblical truth that I had learned as a child at the Duncan Baptist Church. Memories of Sunday School, worship services, revival meetings, Vacation Bible School, and youth events and activities danced in my head. At that time, although I had been patiently and lovingly taught the word of God, the only truth that I remembered from the Bible, was that someone, somewhere, said, "You must be born again." I didn't know who said it, and I didn't know where I could find it, but I remembered it. As I pondered this biblical truth, I asked myself, "Is this what happened to me when I joined the church at the age of ten? I remember the revival meeting, and I remember some of the details of my coming forward. Is this what happened to me? Was I born again?" Immediately, I could sense the Lord powerfully intervene, as He answered this question in my heart, "NO!"

Walking to and fro on campus was an unbelievable experience of God consciousness. As I spoke pleasant greetings with other students, faculty and staff, it seemed as if everyone responded, "You must be born again." Sitting in class and preparing to write notes, I experienced the same phenomenon. It seemed as if all my professors were writing on their white boards, or their overhead projectors: "You must be born again." I know this was not being said or written, but this is what I heard and saw. God's Spirit had me in a corner, and He would not allow me to escape. During this time, I lost my taste for alcohol, parties didn't appeal to me, and going out to night clubs was pointless. I didn't know it then, but this is what's called Holy Spirit conviction: To wrestle with God over His supreme right to control your life; to be allowed the privilege of having blinded eyes partially opened to His glorious light; and to have deaf ears beginning to hear His voice calling you from spiritual death to everlasting life. It is one of the most troubling encounters you will ever have, and one of the most wonderful. I've heard people say, "Well, I've never experienced anything like that. Holy Spirit conviction? My soul, I don't have the foggiest notion what you're talking about!" My only reply can be, "I'm so sorry, it's a terrible tragedy to be spiritually dead, and not even know it." You see, beloved friend, the only way that you can be converted, is to first be convicted. No conviction? No conversion!

I knew that it was time to be totally transparent with my beautiful young friend. She invited me to come have supper with her at her sister's house not too far from Starkville on a Thursday evening. When I arrived, I entertained her little nephew, who had just celebrated his first birthday a couple of months earlier. After supper, we sat alone on the couch together watching television, when she asked me, "Is anything the matter? I have never seen you so quiet." Several days without alcohol had my mind working deeply, and my mouth staying shut, which was a rarity. As soon as I tried to answer her question, I was deeply overcome with emotion. I began to cry uncontrollably, which was horribly embarrassing.

"What's the matter? Are you okay? What's going on?" she asked.

"I'm lost! I'm lost!" I cried, "If I died tonight, I'd go straight to Hell!"

"But you told me you were saved, that you were a Baptist," she responded.

"I lied! I lied! It's all been a lie!" I said, continuing to weep.

When my eyes first saw this young lady, and my heart was filled with lust, I approached her with the calm confidence that she would be my next "trophy" to conquer. Little did I know that just a few weeks later, I'd be confessing my sin to her, crying profusely like a baby, as she held me in her arms and whispered over and over again into my ear, "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!" I spent several hours in that home as she told me how I could be saved. I tried to refute everything she told me as I recounted my sordid, pathetic life, and declared that God couldn't love someone like me, because of my open, rebellious, sinful lifestyle. Every excuse I offered; she had a counteroffer: Jesus! On two or three occasions, I would go out to my car to leave, then she would begin to cry and say, "Please don't go until you get saved." Her tears would bring me back inside, where she would again whisper His name, and share with me Bible verses concerning forgiveness of sin and the promise of salvation.

It was nearly two in the morning when I finally told her that I had to go. This episode was surely keeping her sister's family up, and for the first time I thought about a young lady with honor and chivalry. The guys in my apartment knew that I was going to see my special friend, and I did not wish to mar her pure image by dragging home in the wee hours of the morning like an old tom cat. She held me at the door, saying again, "Please trust Jesus!"

"I will; I will. I promise you that I'll settle this when I get back to my apartment."

With that statement, I climbed into my little sports car and headed back to Starkville. The highway was nearly empty at that time of the morning, which was a good thing as my eyes were still filled with tears from such an emotional evening. I distinctly remember meeting two approaching vehicles on the way to town, immediately feeling overwhelmed by the stirring fear of what would happen to me should one of these cars come over the center line and hit me head on. My heart rate soared, holy fear paralyzed me, and I gripped the steering wheel with all my might until the cars passed on by. I was still overwhelmed by the Spirit's convicting presence, but then another presence invaded my life, or at least another voice, I should say. When those two vehicles passed by, I seemed to hear someone say to me, "Now, now, you're alright. Everything is going to be fine. Quit worrying. Calm down. You're okay."

With those two encounters, the tears flooded my eyes again. Wiping the tears away, I felt my car leave the security of the pavement as I veered off to the right side of the road. Terrified, I jerked the car back on the highway, and thought about what those pine and hardwood trees would do to me should I hit them. And again, that voice, "Now, now, you're alright. Everything is going to be fine. Quit worrying. Calm down. You're okay." Hearing these words, I immediately began to relax. This had been quite a roller coaster of an evening for me. I realized that I had gone five days without a drink, and my emotions were shot. We sometimes didn't have enough food in our apartment, but we always had an abundance of liquor. I just need a good, stiff drink, then a cold beer, or two, out on the back porch. Such thoughts filled me with confidence, especially when I looked up and could see the streetlights of Starkville. I was almost in town. The two-lane highway was about to widen into a five-lane road, campus was only a few minutes away, and Arbor Acres and my alcohol were almost in reach. Oh man, I could nearly taste it.

Then it happened. As I approached the sign designating the city limits of Starkville, and just before the road widens to multi-lanes, my eyes were riveted on an eighteen-wheeler coming out of town. My heart pounded again, my blood pressure shot up, sweat poured out on my forehead as I gripped the wheel. Then I saw it, on the trailer above the cab were large letters that said: U S MAIL. It was just a few months ago that a friend died on his way home after enjoying a few beers with the boys. He was just a few minutes from home, but he did not make the soft curve in the road and veered over into the path of a mail truck. It all happened at the sign along the road that designated the city limits of his hometown.

Now I'm meeting a mail truck at the city limits of Starkville. I could envision this rig coming over the line and demolishing me in my sports car. When the dust settled and the fuel is washed off the highway, I thought, someone will have to use a shovel to get me off the pavement and into a body bag. I remember screaming at the top of my lungs as the truck roared passed, barely able to see because of the tears that were blinding me. Then immediately, that voice, "Now, now, you're alright. Everything is going to be fine. Quit worrying. Calm down. You're okay. You need that drink that you've been thinking about. Everything will be just fine."

This time, however, it was different. Wiping the tears, trying to catch my breath and get my emotions in check, it happened. Before I could even contemplate what the voice was telling me, I felt it. I was safely in Starkville, but I sensed something else, or someone else, was in the car with me. The only way to describe is to go back in time to when I was a boy. Dad had bought my sister and me a couple of horses. Whenever I rode them, I only had one speed: wide open. Dad had taught me that when I brought one in hot, take everything off of it, then lead the horse around with a halter and rope until it had cooled off. On many occasions, I walked a hot horse while it had its nostrils flared, breathing in massive amounts of fresh air, and blowing out huge quantities of hot air. I could feel hot breath blowing on my neck as I made my way into Starkville. It seemed as if something, or someone, was in the back seat trying to get me, and this little car didn't even have a backseat!

I was too scared to turn around and look, so I just cried out, "Oh, please, help me, help me!" My heart pounded and the tears flowed all the way across town until I pulled into the parking lot of Arbor Acres. No one was in sight, I found a parking spot, got out as fast as possible, and refused to look back toward the rear of my car. Walking towards our apartment, all I could think about was that I've got to talk to God. Everyone was asleep when I arrived, so I quietly slipped up to my room and into my bed, heart still pounding, tears still flowing, body still shaking. The window to my room was just above my head, and a security light outside provided a soft glow to my room. Lying motionless, still under deep conviction, and thinking about all of the activities of the previous hours, I finally whispered a prayer, "Dear God, please don't let me die and go to Hell. Please, Jesus, I know that you died for me, and if you'll save me, I won't have to go to Hell. Please, Jesus, please save me. I'll do what you want me to do, I'll go where you want me to go, and I'll say what you want me to say. Please don't let me go to Hell, please save me."

As those words left my lips and approached the throne room of Heaven, God did a work of amazing grace in my life. No fireworks went off that night in my room, no flashes of lightening nor peels of thunder, and there were no visiting angels coming up and down a shining ladder thrust through that little window. Something more spectacular, however, took place. The Spirit of Christ stepped out of Heaven and into my heart, cleansing me of my sin, transforming me, and giving me new, abundant, and eternal life!

As Friday dawned, I decided to skip my eight o'clock class so that I could be waiting on my lovely friend to arrive at nine o'clock in Carpenter Hall. I remember sitting on the big concrete steps awaiting her arrival, and how I felt when I finally saw her walking across the Drill Field. Something was much different now. She was still so knock-out gorgeous, but this time my heart was filled with something other than lust. Looking at her as she got closer, I sensed the voice of God speaking to me, "Son, you're going to marry that girl." Coming up close to me, she didn't even ask if I had prayed to be saved (she later said that it was quite evident on my face). As our eyes locked, I said, "I believe God just spoke to me."

"Really?" she replied, "What did He say?"

"He said that I'm going to marry you!"

"Well, He hasn't told me that," was her less than enthusiastic reply, as we walked into the building and up to her classroom.

Forty years. Forty incredible years. You might be wondering: "What happened to that young lady? The one that you dreamed of spending a few nights with - what happened to her?" Well, we exchanged vows and rings the following year as we stood before a congregation of witnesses in our wedding ceremony at Friendship Baptist Church, and I've been blessed to spend thousands of nights with her! When those who knew me well heard about my salvation experience, they said it would last no more than six months. They were wrong. And when word began to spread that I was planning on getting married, those same voices said it wouldn't last two years. They were wrong, as well. "Let God be true, but every man a liar!" (Romans 3:4)

These past forty years have not been perfect, because we live in a fallen, sin-cursed world. And it's not been perfect because I still must renounce the demands of my Adamic flesh, take up my cross daily, and follow Jesus. I have often disappointed Tammy, Apryl, Laurie, Micah and Eli, as well as many other folks that we have known over the years. Yet through it all, God has been so good to me! Surrendering to preach His word a few years after my conversion, it has been almost like a fairy tale of activity. The places to which I have traveled, the people that I have met, and the precious opportunities that have been given to me to exalt Christ are, at times, difficult to describe. How could a boy from Duncan, Mississippi grow up to experience what I've experienced? How could a teenager who worked in the flooded rice fields of his family farm in the Delta wind up traveling to places in Africa, Europe, Asia, Central and South America, as well as all across the United States to proclaim God's word? How could a young man with his own landscaping and lawn maintenance business, along with his young family, pack up and leave behind a profitable future for the great unknown of church ministry and seminary training? And how could that same young man follow the leadership of the Lord to leave seminary without a degree, and eventually find himself leading and conducting preaching, evangelism and missions, prayer, and church leadership conferences all over the world? The only explanation to my life and ministry is the amazing grace of God.

Forty years. Forty incredible years. To God be the glory - Amen!