Rev. Bob's Wealth in the Word
AN ATHEIST GOES TO CHURCH
MY TESTIMONY
By: Rev. R. G. Rindfuss
PART ONE
"Jesus Christ is my Savior and Lord of my life." I don't think
that there's anyone more surprised by that revelation than I am. I made
this profession of faith in August of 1987. Up until that time, I was
an atheist. That's right, a card-carrying, member-of-the-club, Madalyn
Murray O'Hair loving atheist. And I don't mean one of those 'Well, I
guess God don't exist because He ain't never done nothing for me, so I
won't believe in Him' type atheists, either. I believed I had a
purpose to my atheism. I believed my job was to find people with weak
and struggling beliefs and help tear down those beliefs. To help free
them from that "religious slavery" that they were fixing to get
themselves into. I even went so far as to study the Bible, not that I
might get some good out of it, but that I might find mistakes, errors,
contradictions, and any paradox or difficult-to-understand section
that I could use to help break down someone's struggling faith. Now
that I look back on it, I realize that I was empty and miserable all
through this time of my life and all I was doing was trying to make
others as miserable as I was. That was the sole purpose of my life, to
make people as unhappy as me. I guess it's true what they say, "Misery
loves company", and, since the Devil was the architect of my misery,
no one could have been more miserable than I was. I had nothing and no
one, and was jealous of those who did.
The one thing I did have, though, was my family. My misery was an
orchestration of Satan, making me feel alone and bereft, brought about
by my childhood "playing" with things satanic (you know, Ouija boards,
tarot cards, etc. I even once read the Satanic bible and tried a
'spell' I found in there to relieve pain). Childish playing, but it
opened the door for Satan to access my soul for his purposes. During
this time, my parents were trying their best to raise me and my three
brothers in a good, solid home. Mom took us to church every Sunday.
Dad even went, on special occasions. But a problem arose. God was not
often a subject of discussion in our house, as all our religious
training was left up to the church. The church we attended, a large
Methodist church in Detroit, was unfortunately so large that I got
lost in the crowd. I went to worship services, sang in the choir,
spent time as an altarboy, went to special events, took the required
confirmation classes, joined the youth group, etc, etc, but nobody
ever sat me down and tried to make sure that all this 'Jesus stuff'
meant anything to me. This was supposed to be "The Answer", but all it
was to me was a confused, unholy waste of time, and I soon began to
regret every minute I had to spend involved in it. And Satan, always
in the background, made sure it stayed that way for me. By the time I
reached 16, I'd had all I could stand. I told my parents that I wanted
nothing more to do with "God and all that junk" and my parents, being
the good, liberal parents of the late 60's and early 70's (as they
were told by society that they were supposed to be back in those days)
told me, "Well, if you really don't believe then I guess you don't
have to go." Before they even got the words out of their mouths, I was
already out of the picture. And for the next 17 years, Satan kept me
under his thumb, working for him and squirming the whole time. During
this period of my life, I suffered in everything. My personal life was
made up of broken, unsatisfactory relationships. My financial life was
made up of one problem after another, until finally a bankruptcy
forced me to move to another state. My professional life was made up
of job after job, none lasting more than a year or so, until, finally,
my last job collapsed under me, causing me to lose everything. And my
mental life was made up of pain, anguish and loneliness, growing worse
daily, until thoughts of suicide filled my head regularly. Because of
my bankruptcy and the lack of a job market in Detroit, I decided to
move to Houston, where I could (maybe, hopefully) make a new start. I
didn't realize that Satan works just as well in Houston as he does
1500 miles away in Detroit. I also didn't realize that God, too, works
just as well in Houston as He does anywhere else. So, in 1980, my
brother Scott (who was also out of work at this time) and I moved to
Houston for a "new start".
PART TWO
My brother Scott and I were always the closest of any of my brothers.
He was two years younger than I, while the two older boys were 10
years older than we were - more like uncles than brothers, really.
Scott and I had hung around together most of our lives; did the same
things, had the same friends, went the same places. The only big
difference between us was that Scott had gotten into drugs early (at
age 14) and, by this time in our lives, he was a full-blown drug
addict and alcoholic (this aspect of Scott's life showed up later as
one of God's miracle prayer answers). I never did get into drugs
(although Scott talked me into smoking pot once. I got something in my
eye, thought I was going blind and, after I got down off the high,
never touched the stuff again). I was, however, into drinking. I
wasn't a drink-up-the-rent-money, sloppy, fall-down drunk (that was
Scott's area of expertise). I was what is sometimes called a "social
alcoholic". I didn't drink regularly but when we would go someplace
for drinks, I wouldn't have 3 or 4 in a night, I'd have 20 or 30. Hard
drinks, not just beer. I would guzzle them down until the bartender
threatened to stop serving me. And I would smoke 3 packs of cigarettes
a day. I was well into a cycle of self-destruction that, not only
couldn't I break, I couldn't even see because Satan kept my eyes
closed to it. When we arrived in Houston, this is the 'baggage' we
brought with us.
Things worked out well upon our arrival. We both got jobs the day we
arrived (the unemployment rate in Houston was 2% at that time) and
found a place to stay in a hotel downtown that rented rooms by the
month. The room only had two beds, a phone and a t.v. in it, but we
were two single guys on our own in the big city. That was all we
needed. I had gotten a job at a company downtown, three blocks from
the hotel, so this was perfect for me. Scott also got a job nearby,
which was good as we didn't own a car. With all this taken care of, we
settled in and started our new lives.
After living there for about a year, I met the woman who would become
the mother of my two kids. We were married in 1982, six months before
our first son, Robert, Jr., was born. Our second son, Randy, was born
16 months later, in 1984. After the kids were born, we settled down to
housekeeping. This was difficult, however, because we kept having
troubles. Financial troubles, personal troubles, marital troubles, and
so on. It seemed that the more troubles we had, the farther apart they
drove us. As in all marriages, things between us began to cool off
and, because we didn't have a firm, solid basis to found our
relationship on, it really became shaky. We had no "solid rock" upon
which to stand and, worse yet, didn't even realize that we needed one.
It was not a good situation and over the next five years grew steadily
worse.
PART THREE
1987 arrived with a thump and a whimper. The kids were now 3 & 5
and I had withdrawn from our marriage almost completely. Cindy
was addicted to cocaine, an addiction which she managed to keep
entirely hidden from me, due in large part to the fact that I was
just about oblivious to what went on around me. The worse things
got for us, the guiltier I felt and the more I withdrew. I spent
every waking moment either at work or watching tv. We had given
up our apartment and moved into a house we shared with a friend
and her kids. When she lost the house, we had to move again, this
time into another apartment complex. It was small and had lots of
kids living there. This turned out to be very beneficial to our
spiritual lives. Because of the large number of children that
lived in these apartments, they attracted the attention of a
pastor and his wife who had a bus ministry, which involved
picking up children in their van and taking them to church each
Sunday. They came knocking on our door one Saturday, asking if
they could take our kids to church the next day. While I didn't
believe in God, I wasn't about to pass up a couple of hours of
free baby-sitting on Sunday mornings, so I told them that, of
course, you can pick up our kids. True to their word, they turned
up the next day at 8:30 am and took our kids away for the next
few hours. When the kids were returned, they excitedly told us
about the people they'd met and the songs they'd sung and the
things they did and what they'd learned. They also asked a bunch
of questions that I couldn't answer. A parent never feels dumber
than when his child asks a question about which he has no under-
standing. The only 'religious instruction' I'd ever had was what
I had received as a young child, most of which I had forgotten
due to disuse, and in an attempt to answer these questions I
began to dredge up some of this past experience. It was woefully
inadequate but, as the kids kept going to church Sunday after
Sunday, it was all I had to fall back on. And every week they
came home with a new story or a new question or a new song,
until, after several months of this, the unthinkable happened. My
wife announced one day that she wanted to go to church with the
kids!
PART FOUR
This was a miracle. My wife, while not an atheist as I was, had
renounced the church and had practiced everything in her life
except what it said in the Bible. She had been raised up as a
child in a very strict, very legalistic denominational church,
one that taught that you could not own a television or attend
movies or read other than "approved" books or listen to popular
music or dance. Women were not allowed to wear make-up or pants
or braid their hair. She didn't talk about it much, except to say
that, while all these things were preached from the pulpit, the
pastor had a tv in his basement and his two daughters wore too
much make-up and pants and were known to go out with anybody who
was looking for a good time. I don't know for sure what she was
taught in that church but, suffice it to say, whatever they
taught her had made her afraid of the Bible. She would not even
touch one, to say nothing of actually open one or read what it
said. And if you so much as mentioned the end of the world or the
Book of Revelation, she would get physically sick to her stomach
and have to leave the room. And now, all of a sudden, this same
woman wants to go to church! This caught my attention more than
anything had in quite some time but I wasn't about to stop her.
If she wanted to go waste her time on Sundays, well, she could
just go ahead. So she did. And pretty soon, she's going on Sunday
nights and Wednesday nights and to parties and special events,
and each time she comes home she's telling me all about it. It
was about this time that the pastor who had been picking them up
regularly left the church he had be with and was called to a
small church with a dwindling congregation in an old part of the
city. My wife, kids and several other members of the first church
left with him and joined with this smaller church. Now she's
coming home telling me all about this new church, how it looked
just like the one on the "Little House on the Prairie" tv show
and how the people there really loved and cared about her and the
kids (and me too) and how when you walked in the door you could
feel the Spirit of God moving in there. And she started spending
even more time with the church. They were always doing something;
fixing, painting, rebuilding or whatever. She was never home. She
was always with "those people". And she enjoyed it. It took a
while to sink in but finally it hit home. They were having a good
time! And I wasn't. The more she and the kids got into the
church, the more often I ended up sitting at home, BORED STIFF
AND ALL ALONE! Naturally, it didn't take long for me to start
grumbling about it. In fact, I got to be quite vocal about it
until one Sunday morning my wife asked me why I was being so
grouchy, and I told her it was because I was tired of spending
all my time alone while she and the kids spent all their time
with the church. This would turn out to be the most important
next few seconds in my whole life. When I complained about being
alone too much, her response was to ask me, "Well, why don't you
come with us?". God pulled out all the stops and my whole world
changed because of my answer to that question (of course, I
couldn't see all that happening right then). I told her, "O.K. I
will."
PART FIVE
What did I say? Am I nuts? Go to CHURCH? I don't have anything to
wear (and I really didn't at the time. All I owned in clothes was
one pair of blue jeans and three T-shirts). Sorry, I was told,
this is not an acceptable excuse. So when the van came, true to
my word, regretting it the whole way, I got on board and went to
church. When we arrived I had to admit, it really did look like
the churchhouse on that tv show. The people seemed friendly
enough. I didn't feel no Spirit moving, but then, I was a long
way from home. I'd never in my life been to a Southern Baptist
worship service so I had no idea of what to expect. All I knew
(or thought I knew) about the Baptist church was that they were
somehow responsible for the "Blue Laws" in the southern United
States. But here I was. I didn't participate during the service.
I didn't sing or close my eyes or bow my head when they prayed. I
was there to kill time, not to worship some 'non-existant' God.
When the preacher said "stand up" I stood up and when he said
"sit down" I sat down. That was my whole 'participation' in that
service. I couldn't tell you what hymns were sung or what the
preacher preached on, but then he came to the invitation. I'd
never seen an invitation before or had anyone ask me to accept
Jesus as my Savior. Before the invitation hymn was over,
something strange was happening. I had to get up and leave the
sanctuary and went and hid in the men's room because I was
crying! What's going on here!?! I'm CRYING in response to an
invitation from Jesus, who I don't believe in? I was beyond
confused, almost in a state of panic. This can't be anything
except silly emotionalism on my part because what they told about
in there is a lie! It must be a lie because if it's not then MY
WHOLE BELIEF SYSTEM IS A LIE! What do I do??
It took all I had in me to pull myself together and walk out of
that bathroom. I walked to the front door of the church (thank
God everybody else was around the side talking in the parking lot
or they might have seen the tear streaks on my face) and stepped
outside just in time to see my youngest son toddle across the
grass and sit down on top of the biggest fire ant mound I have
ever seen. Randy is highly allergic to fire ant bites. He was
bitten by three ants once as an infant and the whole lower half
of his body had swollen up to three times it's normal size. If he
gets bitten enough times, he'll die. And here he is, sitting on
top of a mound of his worst enemies. No one else saw this, since
they were all around the side, so I ran for him as quick as I
could. By the time I got to him, he was covered with ants. They
were in his shirt, in his diaper, in his hair, in his ears,
everywhere. I grabbed him up and threw him on the trunk of
somebody's car. And I started swatting and slapping and tearing
clothes off. The job was hopeless because he was just "black"
with these ants. The more I slapped and swatted and pulled, the
more ants I found. I was desperate. Then the thought hit me. I'd
just been to church. If there was a God and He was going to ever
help me, now would be the time. So I prayed my first prayer. I
mumbled under my breath, "Lord, please don't let them bite this
baby." By this time I had help from my wife and a few others, so
we finally managed to get all the ants off of him. Then came the
task of checking him over to see what damage had been done. We
checked him from head to toe and couldn't believe our eyes. He
had been bitten one time on his hand between his thumb and index
finger! I couldn't believe it. Had my prayer been answered? So it
appeared and so said all the "churchfolks" standing around us.
Maybe this church stuff bore a little closer look.
PART SIX
That next week I spent in a lot of deep thought. I was stuck in a
quandary like I'd never seen before. Was there really a God? If
there was, was He what they said He was? Had my son been saved by
God answering my prayer, or just by coincidence? Was this right
for me? It was a week of tough introspection and soul searching.
One day I sat down to read my Bible (the same one I'd used before
to look up things I could use to tear down others beliefs) and
started reading in the Book of Daniel. I must tell the story of
this Bible. It was given to me on August 12, 1965, at a
confirmation class graduation at the Methodist church my Mom had
taken us to. I have lost all the other 'trappings' of my
childhood. My high-school diploma, my yearbooks, my army
discharge, etc. have all been lost over the years, but this Bible
has stayed with me all that time. It is still with me to this
day, held together with duct tape on my bookshelves at home. This
day in July, 1987, it would turn out to be much more than just a
seldom used companion. I started reading in Daniel because that
was the one book I remembered something out of (Daniel in the
lion's den). I read all of Daniel but didn't stop there. I read
straight through the prophets until I got to the Book of Haggai.
I had never heard of the Book of Haggai before but what I found
there I was never to forget. Before I had finished the first
chapter, God spoke to me in a powerful way. I read Haggai 1:9 and
had to stop.
"Why did he write this book about me?" I asked myself. The verse
says:
"You looked for much, but indeed it came to little;
and when you brought it home, I blew it away.
'Why?' says the Lord of hosts.
'Because of My house that is in ruins,
while every one of you runs to his own house.'"
I couldn't believe it! Here in this one verse was my whole life!
Everything I had ever done had come to nothing. Could it be because
I had let God's house in me fall to ruins? I just had to know! So
come the next Sunday, the biggest miracle of them all took place.
The 'atheist' went back to church!
PART SEVEN
Sunday morning when the van arrived, I was ready to go. No
hesitation this time. I had questions I had to get answered. So
off we went. This time during the service I sang the hymns, I
bowed my head when they prayed, and, all the while, I was
silently voicing my questions to God. I was waiting for some
spectacular answer, during the sermon perhaps or some special
revelation during the prayer time but nothing happened. Soon the
service was over and it was time for the invitation again and I
still didn't have any answers. But then, once again, I was
invited to accept Jesus as my Savior and ask Him into my life.
Something began to happen again and, just like last week, I had
to get up and leave because I was crying. I went and hid in the
men's room again only this time I didn't just cry, I bawled like
a baby. I cried like I'd never cried before in my life. I cried
like a man who's heart has been broken and, of course, that's
just what was happening. My heart was being broken. My questions
were being answered and my life melted down and transformed into
a new creation. I tried my best to act normal as we left church
that day but it was all I could do to climb up into that van for
the ride home. (Even though it was years ago, my eyes still tear
up as I write about that day). My wife noticed right off that
something wasn't right and asked me what was wrong, but I put her
off until we got home. When we arrived back at the house, she put
the kids out to play, sat me down and demanded an explanation of
what was the matter with me. And I couldn't tell her. I wanted to
but something would not let me. I ripped the arm rests off my
favorite chair, then kicked it over. I screamed, over and over
again. I threw a lamp across the living room, then slammed all
the doors in the house. I threw things, I kicked over furniture,
I punched walls until I cracked the dry wall, but I could not say
the words I wanted to say. Satan had had a hold on me for too
long and wasn't going to let go with out a fight. Finally, after
about an hour of this, something welled up inside me that I
couldn't resist and I screamed at the top of lungs, " I WANT WHAT
YOU PEOPLE HAVE! I WANT JESUS!" And the minute I said it, all the
commotion stopped. It all just stopped. And immediately I knew
what I had to do. I asked Jesus to save me right then and there.
The next Sunday morning I raced down the aisle, trying to be
first to the altar. I made my profession of faith that day and,
by the time I was through, there wasn't a dry eye in the house.
But that wasn't the end of the adventure. It turned out to be
only the beginning.
PART EIGHT
My feet were floating a foot off the floor, not an uncommon
feeling for a newly born-again Christian. But underneath all the
new feelings and emotions, something more was tugging at me,
pulling on me, calling me. For three weeks or so I tried my best
to ignore it but it got stronger and stronger. Finally I could no
longer stand it so I fell on my knees, threw up my hands and
said, "All right, Lord. What do You want?" And the minute I
asked, I knew. I went straight to my pastor, Bro. Larry, and told
him I had to talk to him about something. His response left me
dumbfounded. He told me, "I know what it is, but don't make up
your mind right now. Take a week, think about it, pray about it,
and when you're sure, come and tell me." I couldn't believe it.
He KNEW! I hadn't told him but HE KNEW! I went home to follow his
advise but it was impossible. That night I couldn't sleep, I
couldn't eat, I tossed and turned all night. The next day I went
back to Larry and told him, "I don't need a week. I've made my
decision." He asked me now to tell him what it was. I told him
that God had called me to the ministry of His Gospel and I had
decided to accept the calling. "I knew it", He cried. Tears lit
up his eyes and together we fell on our knees and worshipped God.
That next Sunday morning, I went before the church and told them
of my decision. Again tears of joy fell like rain, especially
when I found out that all our congregation had been praying for
me to change and work for the Lord since the first time my wife
had gone to church with them. That same night, my wife and I and
several other church members went to hear a revival service at
another church. After the service, we stayed a while and talked
with the evangelist. My wife mentioned that I had surrendered to
the ministry just that morning and the evangelist told me to come
and see him when my feet got back down on the ground. He had over
one hundred spots where he could use a minister right then. I was
really flying. I had been born-again, called to be a minister and
offered a new job all in the space of three weeks. No drug could
have gotten me higher than I felt right then. I was never able to
take him up on that job offer, though, because things began to
happen awfully fast after that.
I went to work at a food pantry that was run by our
pastor out of another church. Picking up groceries in the van,
hauling boxes, bags and cartons, and sorting through produce
became one of our usual occupations. I had begun reading and
studying the Bible intently and it had become my whole life. The
way the pantry was run was like nothing I had ever seen before.
The people standing in line outside waiting for groceries would
be brought (about 80 at a time) into a room we used in the Sunday
School building and we would have a worship service for with them
for about 20 to 30 minutes. It was a regular service, just like
you'd find in any church, except this was a food pantry on
Saturday mornings. There would be a time of announcements
(usually we went around the area and posted jobs we found for
people to check into), a prayer time, and a message. Those folks
would then go get their groceries and we'd bring in the next 80.
One day, the pastor asked me if I would like to share the
preaching duties with him. He would do one service and I would do
the next (due to the number of people who came there for
groceries, we would sometimes do three, four or even five
services each Saturday). I was ecstatic! What a privilege! I'd
been a Christian only about six weeks and already had a preaching
assignment. I couldn't believe my luck. "Of course I'll do it", I
told him. And right from the start, I could tell that this was
where I belonged, preaching the Gospel. This went on from Sept.
1987 until March of 1988, when I got the surprise of my life.
PART TEN
March 6th, 1988, started out as a normal Sunday. Of course that
meant running around looking for socks, hair brushes, kids
clothes, etc. You know, the normal routine when trying to get the
family up and off to church. The van arrived, like usual; we all
ran, half-dressed, to catch it, like usual; we laughed, talked,
joked, sang, etc., just like we always did. You know, the normal
trip to church. Upon arrival, everything went as usual. Sunday
School classes were presented as usual; the worship service, song
service, prayer service, etc., all went like usual. But when it
came time for the morning message, the pastor announced that he
needed to make a special announcement first. He then called the
church officers to the pulpit. This included my wife, who was
church clerk. I was getting concerned by this time, as this
announcement must have some major significance. No one else
seemed concerned. In fact, some seemed to view this announcement
with amusement, as they were smiling and some even snickering
under their breath. Could it be that I'm the only one who doesn't
know what's going on here? The pastor took his place behind the
pulpit with all the church officers at his back. "Robert
Rindfuss", he intoned. "Would you come forward and stand before
me please?" ME?!? WhadidIdo? Slowly I stood and walked down the
center aisle to stand at the foot of the pulpit. He then stepped
from behind the pulpit and stood beside me. With a slight mist
visible in his eyes he made the following statement. "Robert
Rindfuss, having watched you closely for the past several months,
and having had several opportunities to hear you deliver God's
word to us, we, the congregation of Cottage Grove Baptist Church,
have hereby agreed that you have given evidence that God has
called you into the Gospel Ministry and have hereby unanimously
voted to license you into the ministry of Jesus Christ." He then
handed me a ministerial license and shook my hand while everyone
else applauded. I don't remember much of it because I was in
total shock. I've only been a Christian a little over 6 months
and suddenly I'm a licensed minister!?! But...But...But...! I've
got no training, no knowledge, no diplomas or degrees or nothing!
Don't I have to go to seminary or something? I'm not ready for
this. I'm not a... I don't have a... I can't... I was totally
dumbfounded. No wonder these guys had seemed so 'odd' before.
They were all in on this together. And I was the only one who
knew nothing about it. I just couldn't believe they had done this
and I suspected nothing. (Boy, am I dense or what?) I couldn't
believe that I was a licensed minister, either. Never in all my
life had I expected such an honor. It didn't take long for
reality to set in and for me to realize the implications of what
had just happened. I had just received a major career change. I
could now legally marry people. I had been called into full-time
service for the Lord. I was now a recognized preacher. Praise
God, I couldn't believe it. Was I worthy of it? Could I do it?
Was I the right man for this? Why did I have this feeling that
things would never be the same again?
And from that point on, things never were the same. I had many
people ask me how I could be a minister without any training (a
point which bothered me as well), so I prayed about it and
received the following as an answer.
"But the anointing which you have received
from Him abides in you,
and you do not need that anyone teach you;
but as the same anointing teaches you concerning all things,
and is true, and is not a lie, and just as it has taught
you, you will abide in Him." -1 John 2:27
I came to understand that I had received my training the same way
the Apostle Paul had received his, from the Holy Spirit of God
that resides in me. It was that Spirit that had been guiding me
and the situations around me to bring me to usefulness in God's
kingdom. And He continued to guide and lead me to higher and
higher goals.
PART ELEVEN
Due to lack of funds and a dwindling congregation, Cottage Grove
church was forced to close in December of 1988. I continued on in
the ministry, working and ministering wherever and whenever I
could. My wife, sons and I joined a new church and I served in
every way I could. I ran a successful bus ministry, sometimes
hauling 30 or more people to church in our little 17 passenger
van/converted-school-bus that we bought from the local school
district for $600.00. I continued my ministry at food pantries
and would sometimes load up the van/bus with groceries and take
them to low income apartment complexes and give it away free of
charge. It gave me a great way to meet people and spread the
Gospel at the same time. I continued on working, teaching and
preaching in every way I could and, the whole time, I was
learning, absorbing and maturing. This process continued for
several years until the Lord decided I was ready for the next big
step.
One day in November of 1990, my mentor called me and asked if I
could help him out and fill in for him at a church where he was
supposed to guest preach. He had overbooked himself and was
supposed to be at two places at the same time. Of course I
agreed, seeing as I love to preach more than I love to eat (and,
man, do I love to eat). The church was only 3 blocks away from
where Cottage Grove church had been. I had heard of it but had
never visited there. I went and preached as agreed and met a
group of lovely, solid, strong Christians who really love the
Lord and are strong in their faith. I liked them and I guess they
must have liked me because about a month later they called me and
asked if I would guest preach again. I again agreed and went back
that Sunday. After the service was over, the music minister
approached me and asked to speak to me in private. We stepped
into the church office and he asked me a question that, again,
changed my life. His question was, would I be willing to pastor
their church? It turned out that they had been without a regular
pastor for almost 10 years. They had had a series of interim
pastors but none they had felt lead to call to regular service.
Until me. Again I was totally shocked at the way God had worked,
but now I was getting use to how He does things. I accepted their
invitation and started preaching there on a regular basis the
next Sunday. Thanks to God's guidance and the leadership of the
Holy Spirit, I brought the messages and provided a vision for
this little, inner-city church. The church membership began to
grow and soon we had built the congregation up to triple it's
original size. We had a dedicated music minister, a youth
minister who was really on fire for kids, my wife, who was
ministering to the women in the church and running a telephone
ministry (24 hours a day sometimes) and myself. In March of 1991,
the church convened an ordaining council for the purpose of
ordaining me as pastor. I was never so nervous in my life! I had
seen a couple of ordination ceremonies but had never taken part
in one. And now I was the object of one. My hands shook the
entire time up until the Inquisitor pronounced me "faultless"
before the council. Then the tension 'ran' out of me (sort of
like wax runs out of a melting candle). I knew, from that point
on, that I didn't want any other occupation.
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