I grew up in a family with 2 fine parents, neither of whom was a
Christian, although my Mother believed in God, doing good things,
leading a clean life and generally being kind and considerate to
others. I had a happy childhood and was encouraged to attend Sunday
School from an early age. I loved the singing and the Bible stories
but it meant nothing more than that.
When I was about 7 or 8, I heard an old man preaching the Good
News of Jesus on the beach. Every day during the summer months, he
would bring bibles, songbooks and a tent through the town and down to
the beach where he would conduct his one-man mission. Anyway, after
he had explained something about the love of Christ, he invited us
kids to say a prayer with him and give our lives to the Lord, and so I
did. Nothing felt different afterwards but I was still excited enough
to blurt it all out as soon as I got home for lunch. My parents told
me not to be so silly and to hurry up washing my hands because the
food was getting cold. I did as I was told (because that was how we
behaved) and forgot all about it for many years.
In my family, we all loved music, especially fine singing, and so
it was natural that I joined the church choir when I was about 9 or
10. I used to love the services because it was a chance to sing, I
could chatter quietly to my friends during the sermon, and if it was
an evening sermon, then I could screw up my eyes to look at the
candles and see each one as a cross. Best of all, we were paid to
sing!
Nothing much happened until I was about 13 or 14. My voice
started to break, the vicar suggested I should be confirmed and I ran
a mile. Me get confirmed? No way. As far as I was concerned the
church was full of stuffy old hypocrites and children who were goody-
goodies. I didn't want to be part of that. I was getting into a wild
stage of my life with under-age drinking, taking girls to the farmer's
barn and so on. And so I turned my back on the church and walked away
without any regret at the time.
Time passed. I grew out the other side of my wild patch and
married when I was 23. She was a lovely woman - everything I could
possibly want in a wife and far, far more than I could ever describe.
After 12 years, we had 3 super children, all boys. The first was 8,
the second 6 and the little one 18 months. Then life went sour, the
colors and the singing went out of it. My wife was diagnosed as
having terminal cancer.
This couldn't be. Not to us. She was so kind, so loving and I
needed her. No, there must be a mistake. But no, there was no
mistake and although we had access to the best doctors and treatments
in England, all we could hope for was to prolong her life.
During the 2 years to 1980 when she was ill, Lyn used to go to
the Sunday morning service in church and to a Bible study class in the
vicar's house every Sunday night. She used to get great strength from
it and so, as a loving husband, I helped her all I could to make sure
she never had to miss one, even when it meant carrying her because she
was too weak to walk. I didn't see how she got so much out of it but
could see it did something wonderful for her.
By early February 1980, she was so ill she was in the hospital.
We both knew she wouldn't be coming home again and reckoned there was
about 2 or 3 weeks left. Suddenly and with no apparent reason, I knew
we had to get to the hospital QUICKLY. We grabbed our shoes and
headed towards London. It was about 40 miles to the hospital, and
meant driving through nearly all of London on a Saturday lunchtime.
The streets were heaving with people, cars and lorries and yet,
somehow, it was as though a way was being cut through for us as we hit
speeds of 80 or 90.
We reached the hospital and rushed up to Lyn's room. She was in
a coma and fighting for breath, fighting to hang on. I went to her
side and spoke, not knowing if she could hear me. Yes, she seemed to
be able to. Her breathing increased each time I spoke as if she
wanted to reply but couldn't. Then, suddenly, I SAW A HAND REACHING
DOWN FOR HERS and knew that it was OK. "Lyn", I said, "if you can see
a hand reaching down for you, take it." She gave a gentle sigh and
died in my arms. How could that not make an impact on a non-believer.
In the months that followed, I searched for some purpose to life,
for some spiritual input. I looked suspiciously at the Eastern cults
before deciding that they weren't for me. All the time my desperation
was growing, largely because I had just too much grief bottled up
inside me and I was too much in control to let it out. Then there
were the kids, super boys, and their hurt was hurting me more. Where
could I turn?
About 6 months before Lyn died, I started showing symptoms of
what I thought might be cancer. But with Lyn ill, what could I do? It
seemed the best thing was to leave it until she either recovered or
died. Well, by the February when she died, it had grown and was so
unsightly that people were keeping on at me to see my doctor and have
it treated. No way, I had seen what all that radiotherapy and
chemotherapy had done to Lyn, and didn't everyone reckon the treatment
was as bad as the disease? Forget it!
Well, 12 months later in February 1981, I was at the end of my
tether. I just couldn't cope with the pent-up grief, the pressure was
on at work, my own tumor had grown and was bleeding fairly often and I
still hadn't seen a doctor. I just wanted to curl up in a corner and
die. In the middle of all this I was searching desperately for a
spiritual side to my life. Every other religion and cult had seemed
like empty shams and I remembered that Lyn had drawn so much strength
from her Christianity. She had always been a good judge of things -
maybe she was right about this as well.
And so, I started reading Christian books, going to Christian
meetings and so on. I could feel something reaching me but I was
still holding back. I wasn't ready, I told the counselor, I'm not
good enough yet. Give me time to be more acceptable to God. Then he
explained about the Cross, about how His own Son went to the Cross,
bleeding, dying just for me and my sins. And how, through the
resurrection, he defeated death and sin. And how I could have Jesus
as my personal redeemer if I would only confess my sins, ask
forgiveness, and receive Jesus as Lord of my Life.
Well, I did and I can't explain the immediate happenings. Like
Close Encounters of the 3rd kind but a million times more powerful.
All I know is that because I'm human, I've made mistakes as I seek to
follow Christ more and more every day of my life, but I'm still
accepted by God through His Son, Jesus Christ. Praise the Lord!
