IT TOOK A MIRACLE (Another Family Story)

I have explained to my children and grandchildren and great grandchildren (those old enough to understand) that one of my missions in life is found in Psalm 78:2-7:

2b I will utter hidden things, things from of old—

3 things we have heard and known, things our ancestors have told us.

4 We will not hide them from their descendants; we will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the LORD, his power, and the wonders he has done.

5 He decreed statutes for Jacob and established the law in Israel, which he commanded our ancestors to teach their children,

6 so the next generation would know them, even the children yet to be born, and they in turn would tell their children.

7 Then they would put their trust in God and would not forget his deeds but would keep his commands.

I have a lot of stories, and I tell them over and over, realizing i am being repetitive for those who are not “new to the family.” But it is by design. My family has been blessed by God. We have experienced His workings in so many ways, and some of the stories, quite honestly, can only be explained as “miracles.” 

Today I came across a family story that I had recounted for an assignment in my college freshman English advanced composition class. As I read the familiar story, I realized again: 

I need to tell the stories. 

I love to tell the stories (of Jesus and His love),

I WILL tell the stories.

This is one of them.

From my freshman year at SBU, 1965

 Mrs. Barbara Ford

Advanced Composition

Assignment Topic: An “Inward Journey”

 

 

 For eleven years my father has been a Baptist minister, living a wonderfully happy life with his wife and five children. He is a man of short stature with bright red hair and serious brown eyes. His face is covered with freckles, but it almost always wears a smile. However, my father’s life has not always been exuberant and joyful; he was an alcoholic from high school years until the age of thirty. The miraculous event that changed his life occurred one February afternoon at West Helena, Arkansas.

 

The blinds were closed tight, and all the doors were locked. The white house at 123 North Eighth Street was empty except for himself, because his two oldest daughters, Barbara and Janene, were still at school, and his wife was at the Crippled Childrens’ Clinic at Memphis, Tennessee, with his only son, one—year—old Keith. His third daughter, Brenda, was accompanying her mother and brother, as she was not yet old enough to be in school. He could hear no sound in the house except the labored breathing of a man who was just sobering up from an all-morning hangover. As he sat on the couch in the living room, he realized anew what a mess he had made of his life. “Surely,” he thought, “there must be some way I can find the peace that would give my life meaning. There must be a peace that would help me to be a better father and husband.”

 

As he wrestled with this question, he began to glance desperately around the room for some ray of hope for inner peace. On each arm of the couch were objects for him to consider, and he knew that he must make a choice. On one arm of the couch was what was left of a fifth of whiskey. He looked at the bottle, and he said to himself, “You’ve tried for years to find peace in that bottle, and you know it isn’t there.” He looked at the other arm of the couch. There was the Bible that his wife had used the preceding night to read from, to the children, after which they had each prayed for God to “please help Daddy stop drinking.” He thought, “Maybe I can find peace there. I’ve certainly tried everywhere else.” He looked once more at the bottle; then he reached over and picked up the Bible. As he did, it automatically fell open to the fourteenth chapter of John. His eyes immediately fell upon the twenty-seventh verse, and he read, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” His heart cried with joy, as he at last discovered that he could have peace through Jesus.

 

Now unaware of the empty, still house, he got on his knees and prayed, “Lord, if you will help me stop drinking, I’ll do anything you want me to.” The Lord kept his part of the bargain; and, although not expecting a call to preach, he kept his part when the call came.

 

When the family returned to the house that evening, the older ones recognized a beam in the eyes of their father and husband which had not been there before. From then until now they, along with Melody Gay (born five years later), have lived a joyful, Christian life with this product of a miracle.

Daddy-his first pastorate, Jessieville Baptist Church

Jessieville, Arkansas 1959