Chapter 22 The Big Surprise

Having been brought up in the Christian faith which was considered the most important part of life, my obligation to live for God--whatever that meant--was frequently impressed on me.  Rev. Plesscher in catechism classes had often made this point.   
My parents, my mother especially, while rarely saying it in so many words, surely made it clear that this is what our lives were all about.  While I had been receiving these signals throughout my earlier life, I had not been very conscious of them.  I had ways of tuning them out, not listening, postponing serious consideration until later, or, simply, rejecting them.  The public schools I attended, while not hostile to my family's faith, did nothing to focus my attention in that direction either.  Somehow, while I would never have labeled it bad advice or irrelevant, the message, "Give your life to God," was, nevertheless, something I had not taken with great urgency.  It was religious talk for religious people; and while I didn't consider myself exactly irreligious, it just did not seem to be especially for me--not yet, at least.
            
But things were changing.  The message was gradually beginning to come through as I moved into the post high school years.  During the winter of '46-47 I began to listen more carefully to Rev. Plesscher's admonitions in catechism class.  I began to have a few disturbing questions, for example, about whether I should be shooting pool after catechism in the Kanawha Pool Hall.  I began to think about the ten commandments and consider ways I could and should try to keep them.  A radio preacher, it may have been Theodore Epp, was on the air every morning during the time I did the morning milking.  Some of his impassioned pleas to surrender one's life to Christ were beginning to get my ear.
            
Don't get me wrong.  I was not ready to make any surrender to anyone just yet.  I had been going through those adolescent years in which I had achieved a certain degree of independence.  I was 18 years old and the whole world and life was stretching before me.  Life looked, if a bit fearsome, like an exciting challenge.  I was learning to find my way through it without the direction of my parents and others, and I was, generally, not displeased with the simple course I was taking at this early stage of being on my own.
            
Now, I had nothing particular against God at this point in my life, nothing, at least, that I would dare to challenge him on.  I had been taught a lot of good about him all my life long, and a lot too which caused me to respect him greatly.  I had no doubt that he was in charge of the universe and that he held the destiny of nations and individuals, including my own, within his hands.  And I knew that he was demanding, that I couldn't pull the wool over his eyes, and that if I were to reject him, he would most assuredly consign me to everlasting condemnation.  If that is what fearing God is all about--and I do believe it includes a very healthy respect for the demands and power of God--then, it is reasonable to conclude, I had the beginning of wisdom.  In some sense, I believe I had always had that kind of respect for God from my earliest childhood days.
            
While fearing or respecting God in accord with that passage in Proverbs, may be the beginning of wisdom, it is not the fulfillment of it.  I was 18 years old, but not ready yet to take the step that would enable me to discover what true wisdom was.  As mentioned, however, I was being confronted more and more with the necessity of turning my life over to Jesus Christ; but I was resisting.  I didn't want to make such a commitment.  To do so, I would have to give up the very freedom I was learning to enjoy.  No more could I be in charge of my life.  And I would, I thought, have to become really religious, a prospect that held no appeal for me.  It would affect my associations, cramp my life-style, and cast life into a somber mood.  And yet--and this is what unsettled me the most at this stage--I knew that if I did not surrender my life to Christ, I could ultimately expect only an endless, dark eternity, completely and hopelessly forsaken by God with an excruciating torment of conscience.  Not that I expected to die soon, but with such a certain destiny looming before me, I would have to be very careful how I lived.  Accidents or disease could invade one's life at any time.  Life, at best, was a precarious venture.  And someday, sooner or later, the issue had to be faced: surrender, give your life to Christ; or die eternally.  I had a profound sense that time would keep marching on, and that the day of reckoning would surely come.

My discomfort level was rising as the struggle intensified.  Finally, on the morning of March 3, 1947, just after a huge blizzard had piled up snowdrifts like sand dunes on the Iowa countryside, the issue came to a head.  I had finished the morning milking and was feeding the cows.  The preacher on the barn radio was urging his listeners to give their hearts to Christ.  I was listening.  I was pondering it.  But, no, I couldn't do it.  It was too much for me to throw away my life for something that was not all that attractive to me.  On the other hand, eternity in hell was a terrifying thought too.  So there I was, in a no-win situation: either way I would lose.
            
I don't know whether I weighed the alternatives there that morning and came to a rational decision, or whether I finally conceded that God had me in a corner and there was no escape.  I think, the latter.  In any case, there in the aisle between the horse stalls and the milking area, I fell on my face, prostrate before God and wrestled with the decision of destiny.  To surrender, it seemed, would be leaping into the dark unknown, casting myself into the hands of a God I really suspected would enslave me.  But I had no choice.  The alternative of an eternity without him was even worse and downright terrifying.  In desperation, I guess, I took the leap.  I surrendered to the God who had me cornered.

Instantly, amazingly, the precise moment I yielded and said (in effect): "Okay, Lord, here I am," the lights of heaven went on and a most astounding, beautiful warmth and peace and sense of love, like a wave, washed over my whole being.  I sensed--almost saw--the brilliantly white-robed Jesus standing before me with arms extended.  I was totally and overwhelmingly surprised by this phenomenon.  When one plummets into a dark, unknown chasm, one hardly expects to land on a flowery, soft and lighted bed of delight.  But that is comparable to what happened with me.  I have no adequate way to describe what occurred.  In one moment, from aimless anxiety, unrest and uncertainty, I was instantly engulfed in a peace, tranquility and assurance such as I could never have imagined.  That experience was then, and remains to this day, the most dramatic, exhilarating, and thoroughly surprising one I have ever had.
           
I'm not sure how long I remained there in that prostrate position.  Not long, I think.  But when I arose I was a different person from the one who had fallen there a few moments before.  Somehow, now I could see clearly; whereas, before, I was blind.  Everything took on a new and meaningful dimension.  While I had always known this was God's world, I now could see it with the lights turned on and in color.  Even that ornery white-faced, high-strung cow that had so often enraged me by kicking my milk pail and, later, my milking machine, now became a creature of God which, I sensed, needed gentle handling.  The animals weren't just animals anymore, they were unique beings displaying the handiwork of a gracious Creator.

More important, people too would take on a new aura.  Previously, I tended to classify people as allies or rivals, as worthy of respect, or subject to indifference or scorn; all evaluations depending on how their lives impinged upon my own.  I would now see them as persons of worth in their own right because they were made in God's image.  Everything was different.  I was a new person living in a new world.  It was without question the greatest turning point of my life.  I would never be quite the same again after this great surprise.




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