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Why ’50’s Baby Boomers Acknowledge a REAL God

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A Unique Generation

1950’s Baby Boomers grew up in a unique age. We have seen it all: the Family Friendly Moral decade; the Radical Anti-Establishment, Free Love decade; the Do It If It Feels Good, You Only Live Once decade; the Me First, Only I Count decade; and throughout all of it we saw a real, and active, creator of the universe, miracle wielding, because-I-said-it would-happen God.

The Next Greatest Generation

The stage was set for us in the decade prior to our birth. Our parents were part of the greatest generation, our fathers were the war heroes of World War II and the Korean War. The end of the war brought a new prosperity to the country, and with a nation of booming babies a decade of family friendly, father knows best media programming emerged. Moral-centered half-hour entertainment featured families, doctors, western heroes, boys and their dogs, red-headed comedians and more. Even our comic books were scrubbed clean by the Comics Code of Authority and Congress swept the threat of a Communism takeover out of the country.

A Healthy Dose of Bible: At Home or Church or School

But 1948 was a particularly significant year prior to our birth. Several events in that year would have eventual profound impact on our beliefs. Our parents were largely practicing Christians. During the war wives prayed for absent husbands involved in a conflict thousands of miles away, while men in foxholes prayed for miracles for themselves and their brothers. So by the 1950’s, reunited once again in the land of the brave and the free, grateful parents introduced their children to a good and great God. We attended Sunday School whether we wanted to or not. We were the last generation where Sunday School lessons still crossed over into public schools in our reading and history lessons, our music, our opening morning prayers. We were familiar with God, Christ his son, and all of the Biblical heroes and their stories. But a couple of religiously significant events happened in 1948 that would expand that culture.

God is Still in the Miracle Business

In May of 1948, the U.S. and England led the United Nations into a vote that would recognize the former state of Palestine as the new state of Israel. A nation that had not existed for nearly 1900 years suddenly and abruptly popped into existence. A new nation of Jews who spoke the old language and practiced the old Judean faith from the law and the prophets just as they did 1900 years ago. The significance of this took many of us years to realize. It did not take our God by surprise. I have a 1919 Schofield Bible. There is an interesting note at the bottom of the first chapter of Isaiah that reads: “While many in this age believe the prophet is speaking to them when he talks about a future Jerusalem in a modern Israel. And while many will find this hard to believe, he is actually speaking to future Jews who will occupy a real future Israel. God says this will happen, and this will come to pass in His time. When, no man can know.” I keep this gristled old bible as proof that the things God says will come to pass, do indeed, come to pass.

God’s Word is Still True and All Men Still Liars

Also in 1948 the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls ended speculation that the Bible was a recent manipulated construct of men. From the early 1900’s, learned men were instructed by “higher critics” that like men, who evolved from monkeys, the Bible was not the inspired word of God, but a collection of myths and convoluted histories that evolved too. They were told that devious men changed and edited text over the years to manipulate a religion by recreating its meaning. Various humanists over the years alleged that everyone from Constantine to Pope John conspired to add and delete text at will or cover up gnostic texts they said were part of the original. In 1948, the son of Edgar Caycee, a medium from Virginia Beach called ‘the sleeping prophet’, published a book about his late father and his belief in Reincarnation. The son, also named Edgar, alleged that his father believed men lived multiple lives and that the original Bible proved it. He said the Nicine and Trent Councils among others ‘edited out’ all references to reincarnation from the Bible in the late third century, A.D. I mean, without this confirmation, Caycee’s thousands of ‘previous life’ readings for a lifetime of customers could be called into question as fiction. How embarrassing it was to make that statement in 1948, months before the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls. It would take years to carefully discover that the entire old testiment was here and in multiple copies. And it did not include gnostic or heretic texts. But most amazing of all, the texts were sealed more than 100 years before Christ was born. Critics like Caycee were proven wrong. Higher Critics who ‘assumed’ scriptures like Mica, or Isaiah that gave specific prophecies about Christ were written well after he was born, were left proven wrong again. The comparison between text from 100 B.C. and present day Hebrew text from which the English Bibles of our day are derived, are, if not exact, are only minorly not so, with no discrepancies in doctrine or meaning. Archeology as well as biological sciences brought more and more proof of the Bible as God’s truth from the late 1950’s to the present. For most baby boomers this brought more conviction that God is real.

The Last Generation Without Free Love

Our heroes were noble, moral, God-fearing. We were ten years old or maybe teens when the world began to look crazy. Young adults wore long hair and beads, kissed everyone except the police. They filled the streets with noise and nudity. They popped pills, smoked dope, drank or shot themselves into oblivion. And except for communes never had children. Abortion became a word in school. Bibles and prayer were banned from school. Vietnam was a place perpetually in the news. We were too young to understand much of what all the ruckus was about, and thus, never bought into any of it. We raised our families, trying largely to pass on ideas and values that seemed largely out of step with the rest of America. Some of us have successfully generated yet a third generation of conservative Christians.

The Quiet Generation

A number of analysts have called the Baby Boomers of the 1950’s, a leaderless generation of followers. I would not go that far. If we have a third generation of Christian conservatives in a hostile progressive world it is not without leadership. What it was, however, was quiet leadership, not by the vocal antics we witnessed of the generation ahead of us in the 60’s, but practical leadership by example.

Bullied Right Out of the Debate

If we have failed to grasp the leadership reins of the country then it is because we have allowed the most raucous among us, the most vocal, to have their say, loud and long. It’s not that we agreed with abortion — but other than defending our pro-life beliefs we were told it was “illegal” to impose our beliefs on others. While we believe in heterosexual marriage only between one man and one woman we were called intolerant and bigoted if we did not allow others the American freedom to make other choices. We held our own beliefs, struggled at times to relay them to our own loved ones, and struggle now to fit into an America we barely recognize.

Like the Turtle: We May Be Slow, But We Are Sure

If, in this present world, we are having any success in keeping our Christian values and expanding them into our extended family, it is only because we know our faith is real. Our God is real. And. As we exercise our obedience, so He extends His faithfulness. And therein lies the key to America’s future. As we reach and teach our families and friends, hearts are converted one person, then one family at a time.

One With God IS the Majority

We didn’t destroy communism in Vietnam; we couldn’t have nuked it out of Russia. However it collapsed on its own like a house of cards. No
matter how loud or chaotic the current stock of rebels are, their socialist causes without divinity behind it will fail as it always has. Love and charity coupled with family and responsibility has always overcome all chaos. It transformed a nation 200 years ago with God’s help. And if we continue to partner with Him, will do it again.

The Way Back

God told us how to get back; He told us how to get our nation back. It doesn’t involve politics or voting. And we don’t have to shout down others or force them (as they do) to conform. His instructions to His own are simple:

“If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.” 2 Chronicles 7:14

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1992 Charleston Distance Run Incident Leads to Incredible Miracle

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That is me at the end of the pink pointing arrow
That is me at the end of the pink pointing arrow

More Miracle Than I Can Count

I told you previously that preparing for the 1992 Charleston Distance Run brought about a miracle where God turned back the clock an hour and proved to me faithfulness is always rewarded. I also told you that I have personally witnessed more miracles than a man is entitled to in his lifetime. Well, that’s only half the story. In the tale I about to relate to you, you will see that I was immeasurably blessed. Perhaps no man, since Job, can say what I can in the past paragraph of this incredible story.

imageA Race to End Races

I wasn’t expecting a miracle that crisp September morning. Standing in my position in the marked section of Kanawwha Boulevard waiting for the start gun, I was mumbling a prayer under my breath. Miles away, on the East end of Charleston, four of my five children waited with my estranged spouse at the finish line. I had talked her into coming with us, my children too young to drive. I needed somebody to get my car and children to the finish line. It was a trade really. I had been going through a spiritual revival and my children who had all been living with me, had been attending church with me. My oldest daughter had gone to a Wednesday teen service with her mother at a much bigger church a couple of times. Her mother convinced me to take myself and the children there and I had. She was negotiating a deal for us to repeat the second Sunday there as a family. I consented, but she didn’t have to twist my arm. The kids had real appropriate age teachers that the small church we had attended did not have. We had been getting along better than ever in our short separation. It was a win-win and I couldn’t wait to see their smiling faces at the finish line. I did not know at the time that I would not.

An Uphill Battle

For those of you who have never run this race it goes down the Boulevard before turning up a side street then across the  bridge and up the mountain to Oakwood Road through Kanawha State Forest down across the bridge to downtown and eventually to the East end. Fortunately, the worst and hardest part of the race is that grueling uphill jog to Oakwood Road near its beginning. Once there, Oakwood levels off and meanders through Kanawha State Forest where the road is lined on both sides by trees and lovely stone walls and fences. I agree the mountain was indeed brutal but the breeze and shade of Oakwood Road was beginning to restore my strength. I passed one of the many ambulances parked along the way. I saw ahead of me the most comfortable spot on the side of the road and I ran up to it, leaned against the rock wall for a breath or two while I leaned over and supported my weight on my knees. It would be the last of the race I would remember.

This Might Have Been a Mistake

I left out an important part of the story. Since the practice run a week or two earlier that would provide such a big miracle in my life, I had gotten very ill. Flu really. It hit me on Monday just as I was going to work. I made it all day, despite the vomiting and diarrhea. It takes a lot to make me quit. It seriously curtailed my three-mile practice run that evening. It took me two days to come to the realization that vomiting would stop when I stopped eating and limited my water intake. I still made it to work, I still made my runs (no pun intended). But I needed more fluids that would not come back up. So, to my ice water only diet, I added lightly sweetened tea. By Thursday I was feeling better, but paranoid about taking in anything but tea and water. So I went to work Friday and before coming home, I stopped at the Civic Center and ate a free Spaghetti dinner provided for all registered distance runners. It was a ‘carb fill-up’ a tradition associated with the race. I kept it down. I needed it. It was the only thing I had consumed since the previous Sunday. My bad decision to go without fluids or sodium drinks, I would find out later, contributed to what happened to me at the race. I would later discover not only was I severely dehydrated but I was dangerously deficient of both salt and potassium, two essential elements in the human body.

The Helpless State of Oblivion

In the darkness I could hear them above me. People talking. I could make out some of it, “he’s coming around, wake up buddy.” And “he’s dehydrated.” I really did try to open my eyes, when I did a couple of times all I could see were flashes of light. “He’ll be alright in a moment. Maybe we should insert an IV and transport.” Another would argue, “Just give him a moment.” I could hear. But that was all. It was like I didn’t have control over my eyelids. I tried to talk and couldn’t. I couldn’t feel my arms or legs, was unsure I had fingers or toes but couldn’t move any of it. I was breathing but only for a moment as a horrible thing happened. They laid me on my back. I have always had a little sleep apnea, but now I was in real trouble. My tongue dropped back into the back of my throat with the weight of it, blocking my airway and I didn’t have the muscle control to push it up. The people above me talked and laughed and paid no attention to my silent screams: which in reality were just thoughts motivated by my panic. As it began to dawn on me that I might die, like everybody I began to plead with God. What would happen to my four minor children. I wasn’t even sure they were saved. Who would teach them. How about my wife. What about all those things I had always intended to finish, or start or get around too? Darkness engulfed me and I couldn’t hear any longer.

A Better Place Just Around the Corner

I had heard about NDE’s (Near Death Experiences) and had largely mocked them. And what I experienced may not track with what the media tracks as one of those. But I was suddenly overcome with an unearthly calmness. I was aware that I was surrounded by many, many others. They all seemed familiar, intimate. I felt like I knew them all, like family. I still couldn’t “see” anything but an occasional out-of-focus movement of light and shadow. Without a word spoken I was assured my children would be fine, they, and my wife would eventually join me, and life on earth would be fine without me. And that’s when the most unusual thing happened. An intense joy came over me. It is Impossible to describe in mere human words and in the intervening years since even impossible to fully remember. When I described it a day later to my wife I said, “Imagine you’re six and you wake up and in your foggy state you remember it is Christmas morning. Suddenly your heart bursts with intense joy and anticipation and you rush with joy down the stairs toward the room with the bright twinkling lights and you’re about to turn the corner into the best moment of your life. Recall that feeling. Now multiply it by ten.” I was on my way to the twinkling bight light when suddenly I could hear again. It was chaos. Noises, beeps, an ever present siren. “He’s back. He’s back. I got a heartbeat. We are a minute out.”

On Arriving Alive

I lost consciousness they say a second time after this. A nurse at the hospital said I was spitting at them as I couldn’t move anything but my neck, that I said, “it’s O.K. I can go. I can go.” One of the ambulance tech’s told them I was “having a religious experience. I’ve seen this a couple of times.” They didn’t leave me unattended in the ER, afraid I’d stop breathing again while they waited on a dozen test results. I don’t remember anything during that period.

Sorry to See You Leave

What I do remember is that while I still could not see, I was alive and barely conscious. And while I was no longer filled with that joyful anticipation, I was still not alone. Others, a hundred or a thousand pressed around me, their presence wonderfully assuring. Later, I would be terribly disappointed when I opened my eyes to only a few people in the room. For the first time in my life I was speechless. I was quiet, a little confused and introspective about what happened.

Lost My Shirt Not My Life

My wife came into the room, apparently they located her without my help. She was quiet too. Everything was so serious. Hours later they would release me after filling me with a cocktail of sodium and essential minerals missing from my body. I would be fully alert and conscious when I left the hospital. The logo shirt donated by my employer was returned to me in pieces. They had to cut it off of me to use a defibrillator. I felt grateful that they saved me from my stupidity. It would be the end of my running hobby. I moved on.

Fearless

In the years since, my memory of that NDE experience fades. I still remember the joyful anticipation but not with the intensity I once did. I still remember the feeling of the great crowd of company. I don’t know for sure if this applies, but I remember the Apostle Paul in the 13th chapter of Corrinthians saying, “For now we look through a glass darkly; but then, face to face. For now we know in part; but then we will know, even as we are known.” It doesn’t seem unreasonable to me that in Heaven everyone will know each other, like family, intimate and loving. Seems to me, that is exactly what Heaven should be. If that’s what Paul meant it is just speculation on my part. But what I did get that day, and has remained with me even into this very moment is this: I totally lost the fear of death. I can say, with Paul, “to be absent from the world is to be present with the Lord.” I KNOW what that FEELS like. Someday it will happen, can’t hardly wait, but till then like Paul I am sure I have unfinished business here.

NDE the Second Time Around

Everything I told you, while interesting, is NOT the miracle. The miracle began the next day. But before you see how it relates to all this, indulge me one minute more for something interesting. That event was my second brush with death. When I was a toddler, being the first in what would be six children I was the “practice child” for my mom and dad. Like all of us, they made mistakes. They let me get away with everything. I was so spoiled that I threw temper tantrums over everything. Somebody told my mother “let him cry, ignore him and it will stop.” Well, as a parent myself I know that toddlers adapt. As a toddler myself I did. I began holding my breath in mid tantrum when I saw it not working. I held my breath till I passed out. Again someone told my mom, “It’s not hurting him, let him pass out.” She did. Until one day after a lengthy tantrum I was silent longer than she was used too. When she found me I was blue and unconscious, she scooped me up and yelled at my dad. There is 9.7 miles between that Dunkirk, Ohio house and the Hardin Memorial Hospital in Kenton, Ohio. My dad did that distance in five minutes. The ER team went to work on me and fifteen minutes later declared me dead. Gary Lee Stuber died 1954. Doctor DeWar broke the terrible news to my parents.

Once More into the Battle

My tiny now blackened body was taken to the morgue. The nurse filled out a tag and tied it to my little foot. She covered my small frame with a blanket and was on her way out. Then she heard a sound. I cried. She had laid me on a metal slab in a cold room. My body reacted. She brought me up immediately to my mother in the doctor’s office where my mother had just been given a certificate of death. A collectors item indeed, except she tore it up joyfully in pieces.

The toddler who did everything he wanted
The toddler who did everything he wanted

Doctor DeWar told my mother, “When he throws a tantrum or holds his breath, jerk him up and turn his butt red. You break him of this.” My younger siblings never got the free ride I did for my first two years I did. The free ride ended for all of us.

Oh Yeah, About That Miracle

I came home that afternoon and sat in quiet contemplation of what had transpired. I knew the story of my NDE as a toddler but had no memories of being younger than five. This event was different. I was alive and filled with strange memories and emotions. I was quiet, but did relay some of what happened to my wife when I dropped her off at her trailer on my way home with the kids. As promised the next morning we all went to church as a family. The service was good, but had a more profound affect on my wife than on me. After the service, she pulled me aside, “I am having trouble forgiving myself.” It wasn’t long before we got the pastor involved in the conversation. “Are you saved?” He asked. She wasn’t sure. “Well, let’s go get sure.” Our two daughters listening to this, caught the Pastor’s attention. “Anyone else want to come to the alter and get saved?” My oldest daughter said, “Yes.” And was chimed immediately by my youngest daughter. I sat behind a few pews back as I watched the event. I wept. The assurance I had been given only a day earlier came true. I thanked God. But this miracle was not over. My wife and I ended our separation and attended this church becoming a real family again and members. A few months later, our two boys would join their sisters in salvation. We were all baptized a few months later. Our oldest son would join us a few years later.

Few Men Are Ever This Blessed

And the miracle continues. Our five children continued to attend church and each in turn would marry Christian spouses. They would give us over the next 22-years, twenty-two grandchildren and two great grandchildren. I watched my grandchildren grow up in church and each (except the very young, too young to know) have accepted Christ and been baptized. I am the only man I know who can say he has watched all his children and grandchildren (of a family this size) all be saved. All of them will join me in Heaven just as I was assured back on that September day in 1992. Hey! Who says I didn’t win my race? At least the one that counts. Like Job, I am a blessed man.

(Note to my Daughter-In-Law Brandy: Took me a while but I got around to writing this down as per your request)

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Why Marriage Is ONLY for the Faithful Godly

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imageMarriage Made in Heaven

Civil unions. Utopia. Ideas that don’t really work. Well, maybe for a short while under the best of conditions, and the most extreme luck. Generally, they are doomed to failure. Marriage won’t last without faith. Like salvation, that faith is not of yourself: it is a gift of God. The book of Ephesians is where Paul says: all things “consist” because they are held together by Christ. Things without Christ, natural law of entropy tells us, will eventually break down and fall apart. Before I get a bunch of hate-mail or angry debate, let me validate my point.

The Path Least Taken

The easy path doesn’t exist. Marriage is messy business. I mean we make wedding vows that seem easy to keep. Everyone loves to “have and to hold” and we like to be “obeyed”. Harder still are vows to “love and honor and cherish, forsaking all others”. Sheer will power might keep that alive for years, even if in appearance only. But the love of Christ makes even those so much easier to accomplish, when real love and charity is involved. But the two things hardest on that list of vows are (1) “in sickness and in health”, and (2) “till death do us part”. These two things I contend cannot be accomplished without the power of commitment through Christ. And, sadly, some totally committed Christians don’t keep these, even though Christ repeatedly assures us, we can through him.

I Can Do Forever

We all like to think we can do forever in our own power. Meatloaf’s song, Paradise By The Dashboard Light, a song about eternal promises made in the heat of lust ends with this line: “Now I’m waiting for the end of time: so I can end my time with you.” I submit if you had to live in a loveless marriage for a lifetime, that lifetime would be short: without Christ in suicide or in homicide for one of you. That is why divorce exists: so you can part without dying or killing. Marriage by definition is till death. Divorce, which was never part of God’s definition of Marriage, validates my point that marriage cannot be accomplished as a civil union without faith. Christ gives you the power through His love, to bear all things, including the apparent lack of passion on anyone’s part. When you keep your eye on Him, it’s easier to focus on the needs of others and not the lack of your own. Colossians 3:19 says: “Husbands love your wives, and be not bitter against them.” It’s an interesting command (not a suggestion) from God. No matter where your marriage is at, good or bad, if you love and stay your own tongue and thoughts from bitterness, your marriage will improve. Your relationship also improves with Him. God says obedience is always better than sacrifice.

What About My Rights?

It’s always right to do right. If you insist you are right, or that your spouse is infringing on your “rights”, here is another commandment from Ephesians 5:25: “Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the church, and gave himself for it.” Think about how that went. Did your wife spit on you? Beat you? Betray you? Lie to you or about you? Put nails through your hands? Well, even if she did, you are commanded to love her through it as Christ did, sacrificially, giving up everything, even his very life. How do your “rights” or being right stack up now?

Healthy, Wealthy and Wise

We generally marry in our youth. We are young, healthy, if not wealthy, we are full of potential. We have a full wonderful life ahead: homes, cars, careers, children, grandchildren. After all isn’t that a promise of God? Well, wisdom isn’t our strong suit in our youth. No such promise exists. That is why that one dreaded line in the marriage vow is easy to overlook. “In sickness.” (Man, I saw it there but I was thinking ‘flu’ or something). Time does not heal all wounds; neither does chicken soup, anti-oxidants, plastic surgery or Prozac. We don’t enter into marriage thinking about long-term illness or injuries; certainly not those that are till death. Many of us are ill-prepared for this, and again, never without faith. And sickness covers a lot of ground.

A Lot of Job

Remember Job? God let him lose everything: his property, his substance, his kids, his health, his future (some say his mind). He didn’t lose his life. Sometimes we can lose a spouse to grief, mental illness, cancer, loss of limbs, motor skills, hepatitis, aids and more. We watch helplessly as they suffer, even pushing us away. Like Job’s wife we want to say, “Curse God and die.” But death is not part of the plan. Sometimes, since life has changed for us, we selfishly ask, “why me.” But we know full well it is not us who is suffering the greater loss. We’re human, even if we never say it to her, if a wife loses her breasts to cancer we take it personally – those were mine. If she was raped and the trauma leaves her fearful, untrusting and unable to be intimate, we ignorantly say to ourselves, “get over it. Buck up. I have sexual needs.” If she has a mental illness like schizophrenia or manic depression and we watch behavior erratic and unpredictable take her places nobody should go, we get angry. Against whom? The person who can’t control it? Or perhaps the God we think who should? Or maybe the medicine that sometimes works, sometimes might not, and sometimes leaves her a zombie, or worse, intimately and sexually numb. We might be angry at the drunk driver who took her legs, but we might be angry at her too because she is no longer “complete.” God forbid a spouse should actually be the intentional cause of their own ailment: an accident caused while they were texting; an addiction caused by their drug or alcohol use. We will never let them forget our loss is THEIR fault.

Not all ailments are forever. A lengthy hospital stay and a long convalescence at home and things go back to normal. But schizophrenia is forever. PTSD is manageable most of the time but when it rears an ugly head is near unbearable and dangerous to both parties. A life-long illness does indeed change life. And it can change a relationship. But when God is the glue, there is still grace, gratitude and goodness in your marriage.

Life as a Zombie

Sadly, I think the greatest cause of divorce in this nation starts with the inability to cope with sickness in a marriage. Rights, needs, abilities, all become insurmountable issues. Whether because of inability or feelings of guilt, one spouse or the other ‘releases’ the other from the promised commitment to God. (As if either had that right or power). Like the undead, the injured often then, live in a perpetual state of limbo: too sick for life and love; too healthy for eternal rest and peace. The healthy party often remarries as if they were widowed. Christians too, are counted among these heart-breakers. This too, was never God’s plan. What if you had been the one injured? Would you still be happy with the outcome? Could you live life like a leper while your spouse goes out to find someone new to meet her needs?

To Everything There Is a Season

“Wherein ye greatly rejoice, though now for a season, if need be, ye are in heaviness through manifold temptations: That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honor and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ.” 1 Peter 1:6-7. I used to ask, what does he mean, “if need be”? Why do I need to go through heaviness and temptations? Why do I need trial by fire? Sometimes we don’t know those reasons. Remember Job? God never told Job that he was teaching a great lesson to all his angels (especially Lucifer) by the testing of Job. And Job proved himself faithful and thus he ended up at the end of his life with more than he ever lost: property, stock, children, wealth, health, respect, reputation and a reserved spot in Heaven. Perhaps his greatest honor was that his story would fill a whole book in God’s greatest work: the bible, where it is promised to stand forever, long after Earth is gone. I no longer ask why. I just weather the seasons. Though “now for a season.” How long is a season? Well for some, seasons are short, and perhaps mild. For others, seasons are many months, even many years. For a few they seem a lifetime. But like the Apostle Paul, all true followers of Christ can echo that “I am content in what ever state I find myself.”

Making the Bed and Laying in It

Life, they say, is no bed of roses. But then it is not a bed of thorns either. Those who have Christ and the experience of weathering many seasons of trials and tests can smile with genuine joy and gratitude that marriage even in long-time sickness is well-worth the effort for all parties and reaps benefits few others could know. Ask Job.

So now I am back to my original statement. Marriage is for the godly faithful. Marriage is not for the faint-of-heart, the fair-weathered soul and certainly not for “same sex” couples (God certainly cannot bless that which He calls an “abomination” by the disobedient). The godly faithful are the only ones capable of fulfilling the life-long commitment no matter what the state of circumstances. And why not? Marriage is God’s picture of His relationship to us: a relationship he is capable of keeping regardless of our failures to him. Remember Colossians 3:19? He is the perfect husband who is never bitter to his bride.

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The Day God Turned Back The Clock: A Miracle of Faith

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image

I have been witness to more miracles than a man is entitled to in his lifetime. More, indeed, than I can count on fingers and toes. But this event holds a certain fascination for me more so than some of the others. I have always been fascinated by the constraints of time; its unbending, immobile motion always forward. Those fictional characters who escape its confines draw me like a moth to flame. And while I’d like to believe H. G. Wells, Arthur C. Clark, Jules Verne and others, my God says, “It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgement.” Hebrews 9:27. In other words, there are no ‘do overs;’ no matter how much I want to Quantum Leap certain events differently in my life like Sam Beckett. So I was completely taken by surprise when God answered my prayer one day and turned back the clock a full hour.

The spiritual lesson I learned that day was that God is true and faithful to his promises and that when we have faith and press on in that faith no matter what setbacks or discouragement we face, He delivers. The event even now, sustains my faith; a moment in time that proved to me things are different with faith than without it. Let me tell you about the ‘event.’

I had been going through a reformation. A spiritual revival after years of being a ‘dormant’ Christian. I had gotten my children under their own will and power to consent to attending church every Sunday with me. I was growing in wisdom and knowledge daily In the word of God. It was a time of testing and encouragement. It was also an appropriate time to do something about my body.

I had lost some weight by running and had been encouraged to set goals. I had registered for the Charleston Distance Run in 1992. I was weeks away from the event and was stepping up my game. I discovered that the distance between the Elkhurst Bridge (a quarter mile from home) and Hartland Bridge, both in Clay County, West Virginia, was three and a half miles. The same distance exists between the Hartland Bridge and the Pisgah Bridge at the town of Clay. Seven miles one way, seven miles back: fourteen miles; the same length of the Charleston Distance Run held annually in Charleston, West Virginia. While I had been doing the Hartland and back run, daily, I had yet to double it to Clay. I thought if it took me about an hour to cover seven miles, it should only take me two to do fourteen. Boy was I naive.

I had been using these runs to be in perpetual prayer while I was jogging. It was my quiet time with Him. As I started out from the house I was full of energy, and hope and encouragement. I felt like there was an unvoiced promise between me and the Lord. If I didn’t give up he would meet my goal. I would have to return to the house within three hours. On these runs in the past, the Lord and I covered a lot of ground, figuratively, as well. With fresh air and endorphins pumping through the body you have a lot of thoughts running through the mind. You can lose yourself completely in prayers, and lists of things you’re thankful for as well as pondering texts you studied that morning. After a time you look up and wonder how you got as far as you have without noticing. The other thing you lose is a sense of time. Even though your body and mind seem to be covering miles it feels like hours. And when you realize that you haven’t made the halfway mark a little panic begins to set in. Why didn’t you bring that watch? You try to pick up the pace but this is the place you are used to reaching your goal. Your body is beginning to believe it is done but your mind knows this is only the half-way mark. You need to summon more than courage and strength. You need endurance and determination. Now, all thoughts, even prayers escape you; you’re just breathing and a throwing one leg in front of another trying to hold the energy level.

Some encouragement came when I got back to the Hartland Bridge and I knew I had a little more than three miles to go. That’s when I saw them pull up behind me and slow down. It was my wife in her station wagon and my daughter was hanging out the window, “Daddy. Daddy,” my fifteen year old daughter yelled at me. I pointed to my wrist, yelling back, “What time is it?” As they pulled away she yelled, “Ten till eleven.” As they disappeared in the distance I tried to run and do math in my head. “Eight to nine, nine to ten. ..” Then it occurred to me: I had three miles to cover in ten minutes or miss the three hour deadline. At first the shock gave me a burst of adrenaline. But as I struggled to clear a thousand feet in what seemed like five minutes my strength left me. My disappointment was physical and as my hope evaporated so did faith. Now I know how that little freshette got there a quarter mile from the Hartland Bridge. The Devil put it there knowing I would be by.

The small waterfall stream coming off the bank looked so inviting to a weary runner so tired, so hot, so defeated. As I stood under the water, feeling sorry for myself, and letting the cool relief pat on me. My thoughts turned back to the Lord. How about our understanding. I do my best, and . . . What? Was I REALLY doing my best? What was this pity party. Was I doing my best? When Abraham thought he was defeated he went down to Egypt. So did his son. The Bible is full of examples of people who gave up instead of plodding along in faith. What was I doing in Egypt? But then can God REALLY stop time? Can he really turn the clock back? I had to decide if he could let me cover three miles in five minutes by foot. I thought: would Abraham have died of starvation if he stayed in Israel? Would Ezekiel have been caught and killed by Jezabell if he hadn’t fled away in fear? Do I REALLY believe God at his word?

A new energy rushed over me once I decided I did believe God could somehow miraculously meet every need, even turning back the clock. I prayed that He would, believed that He could and got up with new vigor. I would later read in His word: “But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk and not faint.” Isaiah 40:31. I didn’t run like the wind, but as every minute ticked by I was not discouraged. God would deliver if I did.

I ran. I ran. I ran. As I got close to my home the dogs announced my arrival to all who were in the house. My daughter Leona come bounding out of the house, jumping off the porch and running to me. “Daddy, daddy I’m so sorry! I read the clock wrong! It was only ten to ten when I told you eleven. It’s only ten thirty now.” Before she got to me I dropped on my knees with tears of joy. My daughter at that time did not see a miracle. But I surely did. I guess it is in how you define miracles. A miracle is the supernatural intervention into the flow of natural laws that generates a conclusion hoped for, even prayed for, that should not be the expected end by natural course. Even if He did not really turn back the hand of time, if it was all just the devil trying to de-rail me, it was a miracle indeed, that believing myself defeated, God could change the outcome if I chose to believe him. It’s as if he were sticking it to Satan, “See! So there!” Whether time changed accidentally or intentionally, either way God delivered on his promise that he would meet me where my faith was. He proved to me that he rewards faith in kind. I still live by that lesson he taught me that day: in faith I believe he will provide even in times of apparent hopelessness. Now, I never give up. Between the two of us, I am the only one capable of letting me down. Praise God.

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