I'd Rather Have Jesus

Last night, after 104 years of life, one of earth’s most beloved saints of old entered the pearly gates for his eternal life.   When a person gets to be that old, you begin to wonder if they are going to outlive all of us.  George Beverly Shea, or as I’ve always called him, “Uncle Bev”, served his Lord and Savior faithfully.  For over half of his life, he served along side Dr.Billy Graham (Uncle Billy to me) leading worship as millions upon millions heard the gospel of Jesus Christ. Uncle Bev was part of the same team my Granddaddy, Dr.T.W. Wilson, was on…the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association Team.  Growing up, all of the team kids and grandkids adopted the members of the team as uncles and aunts because our families’ lives were so intertwined with each other as they pursued the mission of spreading the gospel all across the world.   

At the age of 23, Uncle Bev composed the music to the song, “I’d Rather Have Jesus.”  23 years old.  I wonder if he ever dreamed of how far that music would reach beyond his reach. I’m not sure he ever dreamed that he would sing before Presidents, royalty, and celebrities in additions to the millions of regular folks like you and me. In addition, I’m not sure that he never imagined he would live 81 years past the year that he composed this song. For as long as I can remember, though, whether in front of millions at a crusade, at a local event, or at his own personal organ inside his home, I have listened to his deep, confident voice sing the words to that old song:

I’d rather have Jesus than silver or gold;

I’d rather be His than have riches untold;

I’d rather have Jesus than houses or lands;

I’d rather be led by His nail-pierced hand

Than to be the king of a vast domain

And be held in sin’s dread sway;

I’d rather have Jesus than anything

This world affords today.

I’d rather have Jesus than men’s applause;

I’d rather be faithful to His dear cause;

I’d rather have Jesus than worldwide fame;

I’d rather be true to His holy name

He’s fairer than lilies of rarest bloom;

He’s sweeter than honey from out the comb;

He’s all that my hungering spirit needs;

I’d rather have Jesus and let Him lead

I don’t know many 23 year olds who would rather have Jesus than anything.  As a 29 year old, I am challenged to think twice about the things that I want in comparison with Jesus.  There are so many times when we get caught up in the trite activities and happenings of everyday life, that we are often left feeling overwhelmed.  We chase after so many things.  Jobs come. Jobs go. Friends come. Friends go.  Physical strength comes. Physical strength goes. Dream vacations come. Dream vacations go. Fame comes. Fame goes. Acceptance comes. Acceptance goes.  Beauty comes. Beauty goes.  Sooner or later, though, all that this world has to offer goes. 

But one thing remains.  Nothing compares with that one thing…that one person, rather.  Jesus.Jesus. Jesus. He remains when all is peeled away.  Jesus loves me, this I know. For the Bible tells me so.

During some of my Daddy’s dying breaths, Uncle Bev hobbled into his hospital room with a walking cane to lean over the bed and sing in his ear, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.”  He then said in his comforting, yet booming voice, “He loves you, Jerry.” All Daddy could do was mouth the word, “Yes.” 

It’s that simple.  Jesus.  He’s all we need.  He’s the only desire that will satisfy.  He loves us.  When all that this world has to offer leaves us distracted, He offers us more than we could imagine or deserve.   He offers us His perfect love and forgiveness.

Last night, as the thunder rolled in the mountains of Western North Carolina, Uncle Bev finally beheld face to face the one he proclaimed in front of millions that he’d rather have than anything: Jesus.  And surely he must have fallen on the knees of his new body and said, “My God, how great thou art!”

I want to leave you with some of the words to “The Love of God”, which Uncle Bev sang at my parents’ wedding and later, my dad’s funeral. 

The love of God is greater far

Than tongue or pen can ever tell;

It goes beyond the highest star,

And reaches to the lowest hell;

The guilty pair, bowed down with care,

God gave His Son to win;

His erring child He reconciled,

And pardoned from his sin.

Oh, love of God, how rich and pure!

How measureless and strong!

It shall forevermore endure-

The saints’ and angels’ song.

God’s love reached beyond the grave to bring us eternal life. Friend, if you want to reach beyond your reach, the love of God must be the power that fuels you. Nothing else matters.  I would rather have Jesus than anything.  That’s why I want to reach beyond my reach. I want you to know Him too. Do you know that Jesus loves you?  Do you know that?  He loves you so much. 

I hope that one day you’ll join in the song that Uncle Bev truly meant with all of his heart and say, “I’d rather have Jesus than anything this world affords today.”

PS...I hope you'll take the time to watch and listen to this video of Uncle Bev singing, "I'd Rather Have Jesus."  Interestingly enough, this happens to be from the very first Billy Graham Crusade I ever attended...Columbia, SC 1987.

From Hollywood to Dollywood

Last weekend we were in Pigeon Forge, TN with some of my closest college friends and their families.  It was such a nice retreat in the mountains and wonderful to catch up with some who hold a dear spot in my heart.  We all split the cost of a nice cabin, but it was definitely a splurge for us.  So, we tried to make the trip as economical as possible because of a tight budget.

One day we decided that we wanted to go up the road to Gatlinburg and visit where David asked me to be his girlfriend almost eight years ago.  If you’ve ever been to Pigeon Forge or Gatlinburg you know there’s a bounty of stopped traffic.  We decided that rather than waste gasoline; we would ride the trolley for 75 cents a piece to the Gatlinburg Welcome station and then another 50 cents each to the heart of the town.

As we were preparing to board the trolley, an older man who appeared well weathered from life joined the line directly behind us.  We chatted about the crazy weather changes that had occurred over the last few days and while it was in the upper 60’s at that moment, we had driven through snow just two days prior.  This sparked the whole conversation.  He asked where we were from. When we told him of our town in Virginia, he remarked, “Well, isn’t there a big church there?” Surprised, we answered with a yes and shared that David was also a Professor at the University it is affiliated with.  “I tell you, I sure love this place. There are so many Godly people in this town.  You don’t find that as much where I came from,” he said.

We boarded and he sat right by us.  After introducing ourselves, we learned that his name was also David.  As the bus driver pulled out, we listened to his story with wide eyes.   He grew up three doors down from Columbia Pictures in Hollywood.  As a boy, he met John Wayne, Gregory Peck, and many others.  He worked for many years as a social worker.  At some point in his adult life, he accepted Christ as his Lord and Savior and was baptized at a Southern Baptist Church in California.  He indicated that he had some struggles after that point that moved him further away from the Lord than he would have preferred, though.

Seven years ago, after retiring, he decided he wanted to get out of the busy life of Los Angeles and move to the Smokies.  I quipped, “Well, you picked the wrong place to live if you wanted to escape hustle and bustle!” He laughed and said that he had no idea what the area was really like until he actually moved here.  He had moved to Townsend, TN, which is in the mountains just outside of Pigeon Forge/Sevierville.   Familiar with the area from a previous river-tubing trip with my David, I remarked about what a pretty place it was.

It was then that he began to share about the experience that has led him to truly trust Jesus for E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G.

Not too long ago, in October of 2012, he was away for the weekend.  When he returned home to his condo in Townsend, it was not there anymore. Neither were his truck and all of his belongings.  The only things present were the fire department and ashes.  He had lost all of his worldly possessions.  He asked the fireman, “But what about my clothes?” They were gone.  He had hit rock bottom.  The only way to go was up, but his energy was scarce after being broadsided with his new reality. He was weak.

Thankfully, he had made some friends who were fellow believers prior to this.  Little by little, his spirit was renewed as they surrounded him with encouragement.  Their cheers helped him cross one hurdle after the next.  They would offer words like, “You’re going to make it through this,” “God’s going to get you through this,” and “God will provide,” that fueled his soul no matter how simple the sentiment.  When you’re running on empty, the smallest drop of encouragement can make all the difference in the choice to quite or keep going. 

When I see homeless people, I don’t often expect them to be profound or wise.  I frequently have thought through the years, “Well, why don’t they just go get a job?” That’s a terrible prejudice that God is working on tearing down in my heart.  I’ve learned through many experiences that it’s not nearly as simple as that for many of the people we see living under a bridge or whatever makeshift place they’ve wound up in.  Even most recently with our car episode in West Virginia, I can really see how a bad situation can go to a desperate, nearly hopeless situation. 

David proved my prejudices wrong once again.  He shared stories of God’s faithfulness to provide and not abandon him.  Such as a friend who is on a clean up crew at a group of cabins who gave him leftovers that travelers had left behind.  “I just couldn’t believe it when he showed up with the food folks left! Whole cantaloupes…and bacon,” he marveled. 

He mentioned he was looking for a good church to get involved in and had visited several.  Knowing that First Baptist Sevierville was a good church, I asked if he had tried that one.  He lit up with excitement.  “Why, yes! I was actually there last Sunday [Easter].  They were so kind to me.  They heard my story and when they learned I had lost all of my clothes in the fire, they gave me a voucher for a thrift store they partner with and I was able to get three pairs of pants, three shirts, some shoes, and this great [Tennessee] jacket! I don’t need much.   Just a few clothes.” 

After hearing of the generosity of those believers, he told us that the lady at the little Mom & Pop motel he has been renting has also been so good to work with him on his monthly payments. If his Social Security Check is running late, she knows he is good for it and doesn’t kick him out like many other places would.

With excitement, he told us that he had never owned a cell phone before very recently.  With a big grin on his face that beamed with pride, he pulled a little flip phone out of his pocket and shared that he had been learning all about it recently.  He had made groups on there that included a special one called, “Christian Friends.” 

I asked him if he had thought about picking up a little part time job anywhere and he said he had put out dozens of applications and was eagerly awaiting hearing back, but unfortunately at the mom and pop motel he was staying at, they don’t always answer the phone.  This cell phone was a new tool for him to have in his quest for some extra income.  Dollywood, he told us, was his dream place to work.  I don’t much blame him.  I think that would be the best place in Pigeon Forge to work as well.  From all I hear, they’re awfully kind to their employees.  I know Dolly Parton has sure given back to her hometown and state for that matter. 

After hearing David’s story and chewing on it for a little bit, I briefly shared about my David’s layoff and also about losing my dad to cancer.  I decided to share something that God has reminded me of over and over through those difficult experiences…a quote from Corrie Ten Boom.   “You may never know that Jesus is all you NEED until Jesus is all you HAVE.”  

“Yes! Yes!” he exclaimed with an empathetic heart after hearing these words.  With a glisten in his eyes he remarked, “I was there.  I was there.” 

The kind old man shared how he had struggled so much this winter because he felt trapped in his motel room due to the cold weather outside.  He wanted to get out and see other people, but he couldn’t because he did not have warm enough clothes. “I watched every single commercial on television,” he said.  Soon he began to experience anxiety attacks.  But Jesus reached in and started overcoming his panic with peace.

Soon the conversation turned more lighthearted.  I told him that we really missed our little doggy, Oscar, even though we knew he was in good hands.  I told him the story of how I had wanted a dachshund and David had wanted a lab but we always had wanted to name our dog, Oscar, since our last name was Meyer, and when we found him we knew he was the dog for us.  With a raised eyebrow and huge smile, he said, “My last name is WayMEYER.” 

David Waymeyer.  David Meyer.  My literary mind had a hey day with this.  I know it was no mistake that we met.  David Waymeyer was a parallel character to my David Wayne Meyer.  We could have very easily been in the same sort of spot he was in because of the job loss that we experienced three years ago.  But for some reason, we weren’t. Both Davids were given the opportunity by God to learn the same lesson, though.

He didn’t ask us for a thing. He just shared the gift of his story.

“I think God lets us go through these things sometimes to see how we handle adversity,” David Waymeyer said.  “It isn’t about anything we can do. It’s not about our works.  It’s all about His grace.”

That it is.  I know we’ve had moments of spinning our wheels through times of adversity, trying to get ourselves out of the adversity we’re in.  It never works, though.  The only way out is through His grace.

And with grace, there’s always a way out.

My David wonders if David Waymeyer was an angel. Maybe. But if nothing else, he was an extraordinary character sent into the story the Author of all creation is writing with our lives. 

Cluttered Bathroom Reflections

If your bathroom is anything like mine, it’s a messy holding cell for toiletries, first aid items, makeup, hair styling accessories, and dishes from the previous evening’s midnight snack.  I don’t know how those people with the picture perfect Pinterest bathrooms do it.  Part of my problem is, we went from a double sink to tiny one sink vanity with limited storage.   Things area constantly falling underneath the drawers or scattered upon the countertops. I’m always getting in trouble for leaving the drawers open and resting stuff on top of them.  In fact, my husband often leaves the drawers on his side of the sink out on purpose to try and teach me a lesson.

A few nights ago, I was looking for a specific cream in our lavatory, but was having trouble locating it.   Like always (well unless company is coming and I know they’ll want a tour), there was a bunch of stuff strewn about the counter.  I just wasn’t seeing what I was trying to find. 

Our sink, like most everybody’s sink, sits in front of a mirror.   As I was scanning the cluttered area, my eyes caught the reflection of what I was searching for in the looking glass.  

Life is so much like my untidy bathroom.  It’s full of mess that distracts from what we are looking for…from what we need.  In the midst of a cluttered life, so often we look for God but just don’t see Him for all the chaos in our narrow views.  But that doesn’t mean He isn’t there.  It doesn’t mean He is hiding either.  

When our eyes look beyond the odds and ends that are crowding the spaces of life, we have the opportunity to catch His reflection in so many vessels around us.  Whether it’s through other people, nature, art, music, literature, or even His own Word, He is there.  He’s not reflected through every avenue of this world, but He is omnipresent. Though we cannot quite see the image of His face yet, we can catch His reflection.  And when we do capture a peek of what He looks like, we can rest assured because we have found what our souls are searching for. 

When people see you, do they see the makeup, hair accessories, first aid kits, and dirty dishes from the night before?  Are they seeing the baggage of your day-to-day routines?

Or are they catching a reflection of what they’re looking for? 

“And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into His image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.”   2 Corinthians 3:18

Sticks, Stones, and Words

I’m fairly certain that just about all of us heard this phrase growing up: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”  After hearing this as a child, I remember quickly learning that this little rhyme was absolutely, positively untrue.  From the cradle to the cane, deep down, we all come to know that there is power in words.

By words, one phone call can change your life forever. By words, you can either get expressions of affirmation or termination at a place of employment. By words, you can receive news of birth or of death. By words, inventions can come into existence. By words, a soldier can be sent to battle. 

By words, you were created.

Imagine with me a beautiful hill in a far away land over looking a city called Jerusalem.  Six large pieces of wood…sticks, if you will…are nailed together to form three heinous instruments to implement the death penalty.  You know the story: one thief on the left, one thief on the right, one Jewish carpenter in the middle. 

Although the sticks did not break His bones, they did break His body.  The silhouette formed by the carpenter on the cross reminds us that yes, words can be destructive and even lead to death, but the Carpenter of all creation has the final word.  The power from the man upon those sticks rolled the stone away because of the words He uttered with His final breath: “It. Is. Finished.”  His Word is greater than sticks, stones, or hurtful words. 

There is power in words for good or evil.  There is no greater power than the final word.  Only one person can have the final word.  Have you heard it yet?

Listen. Shhhhhh. Listen. Throw down whatever is breaking your bones and listen.  

It.Is. Finished.

“Carrying His own cross, He went out to the place of the Skull (which in Aramaic is called Golgotha).  There they crucified Him, and with two others- one on each side and Jesus in the middle.”  

John 19:17-18

“Later, knowing that everything had now been finished, and so that Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, “I am thirsty.” A jar of wine vinegar was there, so they soaked a sponge in it, put the sponge on a stalk of the hyssop plant, and lifted it to Jesus’ lips. When he had received the drink, Jesus said, “It is finished.” With that, He bowed His head and gave up His spirit." 

John 19:28-30

“At the place where Jesus was crucified, there was a garden, and in the garden was a new tomb, in which on one had ever been laid.  Because it was the Jewish day of Preparation and since the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.” 

John 19:41-42

"On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women took the spices they had prepared and went to the tomb. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus.  While they were wondering about this, suddenly two men in clothes that gleamed like lightning stood beside them.  In their fright the women bowed down with their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, "Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; He has risen! Remember how He told you, while He was still with you in Galilee: 'The Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men, be crucified and on the third day be raised again.' Then they remembered His words."  

Luke 24:1-8

Stuck in the Middle of Nowhere, USA

If you know my husband, David, and me then you know we have experienced so many unusual and/or exciting things together during the eight years of our relationship that we could write a book.  In fact, people have begged us to pen a collection of The Meyer Adventures. Tales of things like the time we saved two old ladies’ lives a top a mountain from their van that blew up in blazes on a windy day, or when we almost got attacked by a crazed man rapidly approaching our car at Krispy Kreme, or when we wound up on a Mexican bus full of people and chickens headed for who knows where, or when we were on a walk around our suburban neighborhood only to see a herd of cattle run in front of us. Our friend, Justin, has been the most consistent distant witness to our zany happenings that he and his wife, Lindsay, are always some of the first to hear of ‘what happened to the Meyers this time’.  They’ve sworn off travelling with us for fear of having the curse…errr….uh…blessing of the predictable unpredictable opportunities rub off on them.   Well, our attempts to drive home to Cincinnati for Spring Break last week will one day be part of those tales we bind up in a book.

With our move eight months ago, we haven’t been able to come visit David’s family in Cincinnati until now.  So, for his Spring Break, we loaded up our car with over a week’s worth of clothing, books, games, snacks for the road, and of course our sweet pooch, Oscar, to embark on our eight-hour journey from Virginia to Ohio.  We were passing through some of the most beautiful landscapes that America has to boast.  Given the fact that I’m still reading the biography of Daniel Boone, pioneer life is fresh on my mind.   I commented to David, “I feel like we’re in a covered wagon blazing a trail to those western territories over yonder.”   Little did I know that it would wind up taking almost as long to get to Ohio from Virginia as it would have had we truly been on a wagon. (Ok, not really, but I do enjoy a good hyperbole).

So there we were, just past some of the snow covered scenes of Virginia and West Virginia chugging along, starting up the incline of Sand Stone Mountain. Then it happened at about 1:30 in the afternoon.  Our car would no longer accelerate.  A little light with a wrench symbol came on.  Trying to sound all smart I said, “I have a feeling it’s the transmission.” I had no idea what that meant, but it just felt like the right thing to say at that moment. Unfortunately, according to the user manual, I was in fact right.  Not only that, but it said, “Get to the nearest Ford dealership immediately.”  We were not even half way into our trip.

There we were, stuck in the middle of Nowhere, USA. But praise Jesus; I was able to pay the Triple A renewal fee just a month before this incident.  We called them from a Shell station to explain our situation.  They asked where we were.  Neither of us knew, so we whipped out the GPS and discovered we were in Beaver, WV.  Have you ever been to Beaver, WV? I didn’t think so.  While I’m sure it is home to some lovely people, there’s not a lot happening there.  But apparently they rent a lot of cars there because when I called to see about acquiring one, there were none available except for one mini van that we would have been required to return right there to Beaver, WV. 

After about an hour, a tow truck pulled up.  We thought we had convinced the driver to let us keep Oscar in the cab with us, which was going to be great because the truck had two bucket seats in the front and a bench seat behind them. Plenty of room, right? Well, apparently there were only two rules for the cab: no pets and no smoking. While I was more than happy about the no smoking rule, the no pets rule was a bit of a predicament for us. Nevertheless, Oscar was banished to ride solo in the unmanned car on the tow truck behind us.  Thinking it would be a nicer than expected hour-long journey to Charleston, WV, we stretched out.  Then our driver told us we were going to be switching trucks and drivers for that part of our trip.  So, he took us to their office building, which was, as it turns out, pet friendly. We waited in the dingy, cold hallway and watched The Waltons on a small television from the 1960’s that was perched next to an empty candy dispenser, while awaiting our next driver.

Mike came in and told us we could load up and since his truck was more beat up than the last one, Oscar could ride with us.  So, the three of us humans piled in the one bench cab with Oscar on my lap and David’s knees contorted between the stick shift and the side of my legs.  Always the seat belt police, David and I dutifully buckled up. David struggled to find the buckle for his seat belt. Noticing this, the driver said in his West Virginian drawl, “You can just use mine. I figure if I get in a crash I wanna have some fun and fly. I’m just an ole redneck.” Redneck was right, but it was easy enough to make friends with him, especially for this Southern girl. Bumpity bump bump bump down the road we went.   Our bodies took a beating from the rivets of the road and the old truck.  We carried on a conversation with our driver from everything between country music, tattoos, blown up bridges, and The Lord. 

Then, before we knew it, there we were at the AAA approved Ford Dealership in Charleston at 5:00 on a Friday afternoon.  Technically they were closed for the weekend, but the employees who were wrapping things up did let us use their restroom.  Then we went back to our car, which was parked behind the building, to camp out and wait.  We tried our best not to turn it on so as to preserve gas and to be sure that nothing blew up. But after a couple hours, we were shivering too bad to avoid it.  In the midst of this, David’s parents said they would drive the four hours down it would take from Cincinnati and we’d all spend the night so that they could drive us back the next day.  We had called the pet-friendly Hotel mom and dad had booked to ask if we could go ahead and check in while we were waiting on them to get to town and they had agreed.  So, we called THE ONLY cab company in town, made special arrangements for them to let us bring our dog in the car too, and waited for them to call us back once the driver was on his way.  We waited. And waited. Then we called to see what the hold up was. They said they were a little short handed, but hopefully it wouldn’t be too much longer.  So we waited. And waited. And waited. And then we called again.  This time, they explained that the driver who normally serviced the area we were in had been in a wreck.  How comforting.  So, we checked in with David’s folks to see where they were.  They were about thirty miles away, so we called and cancelled the lost cause of a taxi.  This was at about 10 minutes till 7:00PM.

While sitting there, David started chuckling.  He said, “I feel like one of those people who approach you on the street and go, ‘Hey, I’m coming from Virginia trying to get to Cincinnati and my car broke down. I’m with my wife and dog and I just need a few dollars to make it down the road.”   Seriously, we were stranded.  No way to get a rental car, a taxi, or anything.  I knew of a lady that this happened to in Nashville after travelling there from out of state for a job interview.  She never left. She wound up homeless on the street.  She’s still there today, years later. Now I understand how a thing like that could happen.

Whilst waiting on Mom and Dad to get there, we decided to start organizing our luggage. There we were in a back alley parking lot sorting through our unmentionables in the wide-open spaces, just trying to survive.  Then it happened, the cavalry arrived! It was the most beautiful sight.  Mom and Dad pulled up to save the day and rescue us from the dreadful mess we were in.  David and I flung ourselves into their arms, never quite so happy to see them as that moment.  We and all our stuff squished in the car like The Beverly Hillbillies to drive into the sunset (well, actually it was already dark) for a not so lonely night in Charleston.  At last, we had been rescued and were in good company. After a good meal and a hot shower, we all tucked ourselves in for a good night’s rest followed by a fresh start to the Midwest.

When our very own cavalry named Mom and Dad pulled up, we were rescued from a desperate, helpless wasteland where we could not save ourselves.  Has anyone ever done that for you?

Are you stuck somewhere, desperate, helpless, and in a wasteland with no resources to save yourself from the mess you’re in? I’m here to tell you that there’s a cavalry much bigger than even Mom and Dad called Calvary that has ushered in a rescuer for you.   Just call out His name: JESUS and He’ll be there faster than any slipshod taxicab in town could be.  He’ll take you out of the dreadful, scary place you’re in straight to the Heartland. 

“For He has rescued us from the dominion of darkness into the kingdom of the Son He loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sin.”  Colossians 1:13-14

MY St.Patrick

       St. Patrick’s Day has always been a well- acknowledged holiday in our family.  Not for the beer guzzling side of it, but for the Irish heritage and the legacy of St. Patrick himself.  Excited that I was born just two weeks before the holiday, my dad bought a little St.Patrick’s day button in the hospital gift shop that proclaimed, “It’s a BIG day for us WEE folk!”  He was of ¾ Irish descent was given his middle name for his mother, Patricia. Both of them were named for St.Patrick. When he was dying, he repeated his middle name, Patrick, often to be sure that we would include that on his tombstone.  That we did.  Do you know what Patrick means? It means noble.  I’d like to share with you what my noble Daddy, Jerry Patrick Pereira, taught me about being a saint.  I’m not talking about the kind of saint that is canonized or worshipped.  I’m talking about the kind of saint that goes marching in when the trumpet sounds.  I want to be a part of that number. I want you to be part of that number too.

1.     He taught me that anyone can come from a rough past, but they can make decisions to give them a great future.

           

      From the start, my Dad’s childhood was shaky.  He almost didn’t even make it into this world.  My grandmother contracted Tuberculosis while she was pregnant with him and doctors recommended that she have an abortion.  At the urging of a Catholic priest, who said to her, “Patty, if GOD wants to take him home then he will. Don’t do that. He may grow up to be a man of God some day. Give him a chance,” she declined the abortion.   Little did that priest know that Jerry Patrick Pereira would grow up to be a Southern Baptist Pastor and two term President of the North Carolina Baptist Convention.  

       Not only did he enter this world by escaping abortion, but his own dad died when he was just six years old.  Growing up without a father was more than difficult.  Grandma Pat had to play both roles.  It was difficult.  The family line had struggles with alcoholism.  Money was scarce.  Dad was gone. Things were hard.

       I’ll never forget two stories my dad told me of his teenage years that started to shape his future.  Though he grew up as an altar boy in the Catholic Church, he never heard the gospel until he joined the Army.  When he was sixteen years old, my dad was drinking and driving while on a date and ended up in a terrible wreck.  It threw him from the car and left him on the ground, with his arm contorted. The girl he was with walked over to him and said, “Are ya hurt?” Duh. He had to get several permanent pins in his arm to be able to keep and use it.  He also (rightfully so) lost his license until he was 21.

       During his teenage years, he served as a volunteer firefighter.  One night, he got a call to go help clean up from a tragic wreck on the side of a hill. When he got there, he realized that the bodies he was to clean up off that scene were those of some of his friends.  Totally shaken by the time he got home, he lay wide eyed in bed.  Not a man of prayer at that point in his life, he cried out desperately, “God, if you’re there, don’t let me die before I find you.”

      June 14^th, 1972, Daddy found God in Aschaffenburg, Germany while he was serving in the U.S. Army.  Though he had come from a rough past, he found the only hope he had for a great future: Jesus Christ.  Hungry for God’s Word, he began to attend Bible studies and devoured the old beaten up Bible a Chaplain passed onto him.  Then, at a special conference called SPREE ’73 at Earl’s Court Arena in London, England, while hearing Dr.Billy Graham, he surrendered to the call to preach.  He turned to someone next to him and said, “Hey, is this guy, Billy Graham, sort of like the Heavy Weight Champion of Christianity?” When the person responded, “Yes,” he asked what kind of church Dr.Graham was a part of.  “Southern Baptist,” was the response. So, not knowing much more, he decided that’s what he would be too.  He often quipped of his first sermon, “I preached and preached. Got back to my seat, looked at my watch and realized I was done in eight minutes flat.”

       Later, he would go to college and seminary and then meet his bride, my Mama, in Billy Graham’s office during staff devotions.   God brought a lonely, lost boy from California around the world and back to wind up in North Carolina, where he would bring the same message of hope that it took him some twenty years to hear himself to others who needed it just as badly. 

2.     He taught me how to BE a saint.

      I never would have been born had my dad not found Jesus. The sovereignty of God.  Wow. He really does hold the universe in order.  As a little girl, sitting on the pew by my mother and sister, listening to my father preach, I heard the message of hope through the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ early in life and often.  That was the message of hope he had waited twenty years to hear.  I heard it from day one of my life.

       It didn’t take me long to realize I wanted what my parents had: hope of eternal life. At the age of four, I realized that I was in fact a sinner- a person who made mistakes that separated me from God.  I was destined for a very real and miserable place called Hell if I didn’t ask forgiveness for my sins and accept the gift of eternal life that God wanted to give me through Jesus’ death on the cross, burial, and resurrection. 

        On October 4, 1988, I went to my mom and told her I’d like to pray to ask Jesus to save me.  She helped walk me through how to pray that night and my life was changed.   Unlike so many people, I was blessed to have Godly parents who pointed me to hope and gave me the opportunity to hear the Gospel before I had to learn the hard way.  Being a saint doesn’t have anything to do with being worshiped or being perfect.  It has everything to do with being TRANSFORMED into perfection through the sacrifice of God’s perfect Son, until we walk through the doors of our eternal home, Heaven, and become like Him. 

3.     He taught me how to LIVE like a saint

        When Jesus saves you, it’s not a ticket to a free ride through life in which  conflict or temptation are absent.  When you become a saint, the power of God living in you is what gives you the strength to continually strive to be more like Him and less like yourself. 

        There’s no greater way that my dad showed me how to live like a saint than by studying God’s Word and living it out.  I remember talking to a reporter shortly after he died who was doing a piece about him. I told them, “My Daddy was the same man in the pulpit that he was in the home.”   He made a few mistakes in both arenas, but he was always quick to seek forgiveness and to both learn and turn from his shortcomings when he did. 

        He was also very careful to be in the world, but not of the world.  He would minister to people from all walks of life to tell them of the life changing power of Jesus. But, he was also very cautious to live a life above reproach.  Though he was a Pastor, he was still a man.  He consciously fled from things that would lead him to evil.  He literally ran away from questionable things that popped up on his computer or television. As a person who had struggled with alcohol earlier in life, it was never permitted under our roof and he warned my sister and me of its consequences.  He suffered from kidney stones quite a few times. The doctors nearly begged him to drink beer to pass them, but he adamantly refused because alcohol had nearly wrecked his life years before.  He did the same thing with medical marijuana, when offered it during his wretched bout with cancer.  I don’t know if I ever admired him as much as I did when he turned down those things.  To him, those things represented a life of addiction, seclusion, heartache, and hopelessness that he had once known. He wanted no part of that life again.  His New Life didn’t need that stuff anymore.  God was bigger and He was the only thing he wanted to be addicted to.

4.     He taught me how to HANDLE ADVERSITY as a saint.

            When you grow up as a Pastor’s Kid, you quickly learn that people aren’t perfect.  Everybody has different ideas, which is fine.  God gave us all unique brains to formulate various perspectives.  But when those ideas turn into personal attacks, it’s less than desirable.  Through facing times of adversity, my dad taught me about perseverance, courage, standing for truth no matter what, and putting your trust in Jesus instead of people.

       There are many times he wanted to give up. But he didn’t.  What he would say to me on the way home from Basketball practice or games was what he lived out, “You don’t give up in the fourth quarter, Emily.”  He taught me that God never puts you in a position then only to leave you when you’re almost done.  His message to me was, ”He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it upon the day of Christ Jesus!” (Philippians 1:6)  It takes courage to stick it out even when you’re winded.  It takes extra courage to take a stand for truth even when it’s not the popular thing to do.  Most of all, though, you have to put your faith, trust, and hope in Jesus or else you’ll fail miserably with whatever assignment it is that you’ve been given.

       My father was given the final task of using his physical life as a platform for hope in his dying days.  In one of his last sermons, he sat as he preached and said, “People keep wondering if I ask God, ‘Why?’ in regards to my cancer.  But ya know, I’ve decided that, ‘Why NOT me?’ is a better question.”  I know I didn’t have that attitude when I heard his diagnosis. I, in fact, fell on the floor crying out, “Why?!” to God.  But not Daddy. He was in the business of reaching lives with the Hope of Jesus Christ.  This was just a new method of doing just that.  If you ask me, his greatest vehicle for sharing the message of the suffering death of Jesus, burial, and resurrection was through the grace he displayed in between his final breaths.

5.     He taught me how to DIE as a saint.

           

       My dad’s final sermons are the ones I’ll remember the most for the rest of my days.  In one of them, he preached from Mark 4, where Jesus calmed the storm from the boat after being awoken.  The biggest thing he pointed out was that Jesus promised to get them to the other side.  He got into the boat with them on the journey that He had laid out for them.  He was with them from start to finish.  He took them through a storm.  A scary one at that.  But He never left them to be destroyed or to be alone. He promised to get them to the other side.

       He was with Daddy before he was born.  He entered the vessel of his life on June 14^th, 1972.  And then on November 7^th, 2003 He got him to the other side…to completion.

6.     He taught me how to LEAVE A LEGACY as a saint.

       Having been blessed that Jerry Patrick Pereira was my Daddy gave me the eyes to see how God can transform ANY life, no matter how bad or dejected it may be, into a life full of purpose and hope.  That’s the legacy he has left for future generations of our family and this world.  You don’t have to come from a great home life to have the promise of a perfect Home.  That’s the story I plan on telling those that come behind me.  That’s the story I hope people will remember once I get to the other side.  

That’s the story of MY St.Patrick.  

The Way of Freedom

     It doesn’t seem to have been too publicized in the States this week, but the news that has captured this household’s attention the most as of late is from Kenya.  Their Presidential election was this week. We’ve been praying months on end with our Kenyan friends for peace and that God would fill the office with someone who will lead the nation in righteousness.  You see, when their last election was held just over six years ago, over a thousand people were killed and somewhere between 180,000 and 250,000 were displaced from their homes.  Last I heard reported from the BBC, approximately 15 people have been killed as a result of this year’s elections. Freedom and its cost. That’s what’s been on my mind this week.

     I fear that most of us Americans do not quite grasp the high price that has been given for our freedom.  This hit me hard when I saw a picture on Facebook that my husband’s best friend, a native Kenyan, posted of his sister-in-law and himself walking on a dirt road to go vote early in the morning.  Now don’t get me wrong- their family lives a very civilized lifestyle comparable to Western culture. They don’t live in huts or anything. Nevertheless, he and his family members had to travel those dusty roads and stand in line for five+ hours to cast their ballot. 

     I think of our friends who live in Kenya and DO live in huts. They are just as concerned with the welfare of their nation as our more Westernized friends are. Though they have no electricity or running water in their rudimentary homes, they still found the time, energy, and resources to make the best-informed decisions possible for casting their ballot.

     Then there are those that I don’t even know that reportedly stood in lines stretched for miles nearly all day with pride and pleasure only to reach the front of the line with their voter registration cards and be told their name was not on the list.  Many people who had been displaced from their homes during the last election experienced this due to the fact that they feared returning to their villages for violence. 

  

     What happens in the States when election time comes around? There are signs, billboards, television commercials, and bumper stickers that cause opposite party affiliates’ blood pressure to rise.  There’s mudslinging and name calling.  There are a few places with long lines. There are those who are too lazy or ignorant to even register to vote.  There are those who travel comfortably to cast their ballots in a building of some sort. But rarely, if ever, in this day and age do you hear of mass killings because of election turmoil on U.S. Soil. 

     While I’m grateful that we don’t experience these atrocities, I’m mindful that we often forget the price that has already been paid for our privilege to be free, as it has been engrained in our culture for so long.  The desire for freedom is a universal yearning.  It’s not cheap, though.  It comes at the high cost of our most precious of commodities- life itself.   For America, this mostly means the high cost paid by our valiant servicemen and servicewomen who have either given some or all of their life for the preservation of freedom.  For our Kenyan friends, it’s the lives of civilians who were senselessly killed during opposition demonstrations or simply for their ethnicity.  Much blood has spilt for freedom.  I have an inkling that our Kenyan friends take a little more pride in exercising their rights to vote than we collectively do because more recently than us, they’ve seen their unarmed brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters fall to those who would seek to hinder them from their liberty.  Often, our persuasion in the U.S. is more of a civic duty than a desire to contribute to the continuation of a free society.   We all got hyped up following the 911 attacks, rightly so.  But many of us have grown cold to the warm blood that has been shed for our liberty.

     Freedom and its cost.  I said earlier that I believe the desire for freedom is a universal yearning.  No one desires to live in oppression.  Not even the oppressors.  Everyone longs to be liberated.  No matter what the geography or political standpoints, the world longs to be free.  Impossible, you say?  Not at all.   Freedom is available to every son or daughter of Adam. The only ballot you must cast is for acceptance or denial of this precious gift. Yet it has come at a high cost.  Similar, yet, much more weighty to the here and now, many have grown cold to the warm Blood that has been shed for their liberty, turning hearts of stone against this wonderful gift. But it’s available, nevertheless. 

     Our celebration of Easter is fast approaching.  But, realize this: Easter isn’t something that happens only once a year.  Each citizen of the universe has the opportunity to experience a resurrection from their dead states of apathy, ignorance, or frigidness any day of the year.   The cost of personal freedom from whatever has made a heart turn to stone must first be acknowledged, though, before it can be rolled away from the place that was once sealed and intended to be an eternal grave.  Why?  Because the cost was the Blood of The Way, The Truth, and The Life. 

     Perfection bleeding upon imperfect souls to create a life of freedom from the tyranny of Hell: that was the price that was paid so that the universal yearning for freedom could be satisfied.  

     When I look at the pictures of our dear Kenyan friends walking along dusty roads to cast their ballots in hopes of enjoying a life of freedom in the land they call home, I think of another walk to freedom along a dirt walkway very similar to the ones they traversed.  I think of the Via Dolorosa…the way of Suffering…the way of the cross…The Way to Freedom. 

     Are you living a life that knows this Freedom? If you haven’t come there yet, I hope whatever road that has you covered in the dust of this earth and its struggles will soon find your feet walking straight to The Way of Freedom…Jesus Christ, who counted the cost of shedding His warm Blood worthy of bringing life to hearts that were once lifeless and cold.

“Surely He took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered Him stricken by God, smitten by Him, and afflicted. But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His wounds, we are healed.” Isaiah 53:4-5