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I grew up a church rat. Because of the deep faith of my parents there were few days I didn’t spend in and around the place they loved. It was a second home to them and by extension became mine as well.
That didn’t mean I knew the Lord in any meaningful way. I had my own agenda and God wasn’t often part of it. Because of my weight I had self-esteem issues. Being as big as I was I heard the usual litany of fatso, blimp, you name it. But playing football in junior high I realized my size was the key to success. I knocked over a lot of people, and with high school on the horizon the varsity coach had designs on me as starting left guard. I was feeling pretty good about that.
Then the youth pastor visited our home one evening. Mom, Dad, Pastor Joe, and I gathered in the living room as he laid out his problem.
“We’ve got this upcoming missions trip, as you know, but we’ve got a significant issue we have to resolve. Oliver, we’d like you to come with us.”
That wasn’t going to happen. It was a long trip, three weeks, and I couldn’t visualize myself dealing with God things for such an extended, intense period. More importantly, the group planned to leave the day before football practice began. No way was I, Big O, going to miss that and ruin my chances to play varsity as a freshman. I began shaking my head.
“Here’s our problem,” Pastor Joe continued. “There are fourteen girls signed up and no guys.”
All of a sudden my head stopped shaking, seemingly by its own volition. I felt resistance leaking out of me. Fourteen girls? No other guys? My hands couldn’t keep still as my fingers began twitching. I stared down at my feet. Big feet. Size thirteen. I could just see them over my belly.
“Sally Young is coming. Did you know that, Oliver?”
I groaned. Sally Young! I’d had a crush on her since sixth grade, and Pastor Joe knew it. This was unfair. How could a just God do this to one of His own? As I struggled with this dilemma, I thought, Am I really one of His? Maybe I’m not, which is why He’s making me suffer like this.
“I know you’re concerned about football, so I took the liberty of speaking with Coach Connor.”
No!
“I told him our predicament. Thankfully he’s a Godly man and understands our need to have a least one boy come along on the mission to provide necessary balance. He agreed he would give you every opportunity to fulfill the role he’s envisioned for you on the team.”
I blew out my breath in resignation. My every excuse was gone, and there was certainly a bright side. Fourteen girls! I started feeling rather excited at the prospect.
For a month before the trip our group underwent extensive training. We were headed to an Apache Indian reservation where there was great need. Reservations almost universally across the country contained many impoverished Indians. Worse, there was much alcoholism, drug abuse, and despair among the people. Youth had few opportunities and lived dissolute lives. It had been shown over and over again that only the love and hope of Jesus Christ changed things for the better. We were taught how to lead people to the Lord and given much encouragement during the planning of the trip. We would be helping build a new church by day and attending worship services in the evening. I spent a lot of time with Sally Young.
The week prior to our arrival at the reservation violence between clans erupted. The thing that made it dangerous for us was the focus of the hostility. A woman had made a Christian commitment and the local witch doctor vehemently disapproved. The woman would not renounce her faith and had been murdered. In retaliation a member of the shaman’s clan had been killed. Blood rage ran high and we as a group were forced to keep together more than originally planned. Of course we were feeding the fire because our intent, after all, was to win souls to Christ.
The work went well and the church building made great progress. Those with whom we interacted expressed such appreciation for our being there, for the time and effort we spent for them. It was good to hear that and I pondered their attitude at great length.
I used the work opportunity to lug bricks, to mix sand and mortar into cement, and to walk extensively from one part of the building site to another. I felt the hardening of my muscles. I figured I just might come back ready to take my part on the football team.
Worship was worship with me. I didn’t get all the praising of God and the lengthy time we spent at it each night. It was hot and I sweated easily. If I exerted at all during the singing I was soon drenched.
Near the end of our time on the reservation during one of the final worship services, three Apache teens went to the altar in response to a call by Pastor Joe to give their life to Christ. I was up front with the rest of our group and Pastor Joe motioned for me to come over to him.
“Go and pray for those young men, Oliver.”
I made lame excuses, pretended to have a headache, and tried to just say no. Pastor Joe was insistent. “They need you, Oliver.”
This couldn’t go well. I had never committed my own life to Jesus. What did I know about truly leading someone to Him, despite the training I’d had? Resigned to dismal failure I stood beside the three guys.
“Why do you want to be saved and give your life to Christ?” My question wasn’t what you might think. I wasn’t testing them. I wasn’t encouraging them. I had no idea why anyone would do such a thing and was really asking in a somewhat dismissive way.
They spoke English but there were cultural things between us. They misunderstood my intent. Thinking I wanted to be assured of his commitment, one of the fellows stood straighter. He said, “If I have nothing to die for, then I have nothing to live for.”
Right then, it all made sense to me. Jesus died for my sins. Could I do less than give my life to Him, even die for Him if necessary? Just like the Apache woman who was killed several weeks prior for her commitment to Christ? Jesus paid the ultimate price for mankind so that we could once again be in relationship with God. He was the ransom for our salvation. What else in this life was worth living for but the one who loved us so much?
Tears flooded my eyes. I led those three young men in the sinner’s prayer, but it wasn’t only for them. All of us gave our lives to the Lord that night.
Note: The core of this story is true based on the testimony of one of my instructors at Bible school. I put a fictional wrap around it, but I’ve also tried to convey as accurately as I could what this instructor shared in class. Names have been changed.
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