It was 1973 and I was 15 years old as I sat alone on a rocky outcrop in the Matopos Hills of southern Zimbabwe waiting for the sunrise. There was a stillness in the cool air. The only sounds were the muted songs of the early morning doves and the gentle singing of an elderly African man who was building a fire in the gray dawn hours. Soon the sun would rise and another hot African day would begin. In those quiet moments I was oddly contented but also deeply conflicted. I felt both blessed and burdened. I felt blessed that I had grown up in a family where the truth of the Word of God was shared daily. My parents truly lived their faith and measured every decision based on the Word of God and the Lord’s will for their lives.
Even though they made sure that I knew the gospel from a young age, I was eleven years old before I surrendered my life to Christ at a gospel campaign and accepted the free gift of salvation. I felt joy that night as one of the local church leaders asked me to tell him why I had made this profession of faith. His primary concern was that I fully understood that I was saved, which I happily did. A few years later, my parents were commended to the mission field and we left our life in the USA and moved to Zimbabwe. And now, about fifteen years of age, I sat in the quiet dawn at a Bible camp, wondering and praying about how the Lord would use me. The expansive valley, spread out in front of this rocky hillside, gave me an unusual perspective of my smallness relative to God’s greatness. The expectation of the coming sunrise added to my sense of wonder at the majesty of God and His Son. It was at that moment that I felt sure that I wanted to be used by the Lord, but also aware of how spiritually unprepared I was.
There was no formal discipleship as I grew up. I don’t know that I ever heard the word used until I was well into my forties. But I had people in my life that poured into me in different ways and I am sure had no idea of their impact on my life. I watched and imitated other godly men and women and wanted to be more like Christ, but nobody held me accountable. In Africa, we were surrounded by many missionaries including my parents and grandparents, as well as other commended believers from the US, the UK, Australia and South Africa. Each of them demonstrated through the pattern of their lives what a faithful servant of the Lord should look like.
Not long after we arrived in Zimbabwe, I met a man by the name of Frank. This older brother was not a speaker or Bible teacher. I never heard him pray or share a word from scripture. He didn’t teach Sunday school or youth group. But Frank made an impact on my life that few others did. Frank was faithful. He was the first there on a Sunday morning. He greeted each person by name as they arrived. He shook hands with each person with hands that were rough as sandpaper after years of manual labor. The second Sunday I was there, he shook my hand and asked me, “What did the Lord teach you this week from His Word?” I stood speechless, not really sure what to say. From then on, Frank asked me a variation of that question every Sunday for many years. And I knew he would ask and I knew I needed to be ready! Frank would never have called that discipleship, but his questions prompted me to spend more time in God’s Word. For that I was grateful.
But in spite of the examples all around me and in spite of the teaching I received at home and at the meetings, the distractions of this world began to pull at my faith. After a year in the military, followed by college, I was truly a lukewarm Christian, even though I had never left the local church. The certainty of God’s plan for my life seemed less certain.
After Shirley and I were married and especially after our children were born, I felt the renewed call to live my life more fully for the Lord. Our local church was shrinking as many families left Zimbabwe after struggling through seventeen long years of war. The country faced an uncertain future as a new Marxist government came into power. With so many leaving, I was thrust into leadership at a dwindling assembly of the Lord’s people. I was asked to participate more, to share in the teaching and to serve as an elder in our little local church. There was more study and more discussion about spiritual things. In many ways, I was forced to get more serious about living out my faith.
I thank the Lord for His constant patience with me through these stops and starts in my Christian walk. And I thank Him for orchestrating circumstances that led me to again desire to serve Him in my home and in the local church. As I look back over my life, I can sadly say that my spiritual growth has not been a straight line with measurable growth each year. It has been a series of ups and downs and plateaus. I know that I failed the Lord many times, yet He loved me and cared for me even through my weaknesses. “And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” 2Corinthians 12:97
Pattern Of Sound Words 