In the 1960s, I grew up watching reruns of "The Adventures of Superman" television series and was a big fan. That's back when the Man of Steel was played by the actor George Reeves. I must have been about seven, but I still remember playing in my backyard with my friends, fastening the end of a bath towel around my neck with a wooden clothespin, and running as fast as I could—my cape waving in the breeze. In my imagination, I was Superman, even putting my arms out in front, pretending to fly through the air.
Who wouldn't want superpowers far beyond ordinary mortals? To fight the never-ending battle for truth, justice and the American way—to dream of being faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. But who would dare to dream of turning down such extraordinary powers and exchanging them for the power of prayer? It's not in our nature to boldly surrender and trust our very lives, fate, and destiny to another. We want control; we want to play and live life by our own rules. We want to be Superman!
My childhood play was unfortunately grounded by gravity and reality. My bath towel aerodynamics weren't really going to help me fly, and a plain cloth towel certainly doesn't match indestructible fabric woven on the looms of Krypton. We all know that life isn't like a comic book or TV show filled with superheroes possessing special powers. The only thing close to reality would be a mild-mannered and very mortal Clark Kent. Without his powers, he'd be an average Joe, not Superman. He'd be like you and me. But what would happen to Clark if he were to experience real-life hardships on planet earth? The kind that breaks your heart and spirit.
What if a hard knocks mortal life left Clark discouraged, lonely, and suffering from depression? Happiness would seem as distant as another galaxy. Mentally exhausted and emotionally desperate, he wouldn't know where to turn for help. Even if he was Superman, brute strength wouldn't save him. His greatest weakness as a mortal isn't kryptonite; it's his own heart shrouded in darkness and despair—a feeling we've all encountered to some degree. A quick phone booth change into tights, a cape, and the famous letter "S" wouldn't be an option. Instead, perhaps he'd drop to his knees, sobbing, and offer a desperate prayer for help—something akin to George Bailey's plea from the movie It's A Wonderful Life.
God...God...Dear Father in Heaven, I'm not a praying man, but if you're up there and you can hear me, show me the way. I'm at the end of my rope. Show me the way, God. - George Bailey
There isn't anyone, anywhere, who could honestly deny that at some point in their life, they haven't needed to be shown the way. Even a mortal Clark Kent. We all need help, direction, and guidance to navigate life. It can come from a parent, teacher, mentor, clergy, or friend. If you're at the end of your rope and desperate, maybe you'll finally get around to asking God! It's then that you realize that you're not the master of your fate or captain of your soul; you're mortal and very, very human.
When I was in my junior year of college at Mississippi State University, I was still learning to navigate life, but I already knew I wasn't the master of my fate or captain of my soul. I knew I wasn't qualified to have a captain's license to navigate the uncharted days of my future. It's like the old saying, "The more you know, the more you know you don't know." We all sail into the unknown of tomorrow hoping for calm seas, but sometimes life's storms can knock us off course or threaten to sink us. What do you do then?
There was so much I realized I didn't know, especially regarding spiritual matters. I was, after all, majoring in business, not theology, and I didn't even know what church denomination I identified with. I really had no idea, since it had been sixteen years when I last attended the Wellesley Hills Congregational Church. That was back when I was nine years old, and I was now twenty-five. During the time in between, I could count on both hands the number of times I'd been in church, and most were for a friend or family member's wedding.
The question of denominations came up after I'd taken a walk around the corner from my dormitory and found myself standing in front of the Baptist Student Union. Across the street was the United Methodist Campus Ministry. If I wanted to attend either of their on-campus activities, I didn't know which one to choose. I later called my mother for help and advice. I asked her, "What church denomination are we?" She had been married in a Presbyterian Church and told me about the other churches she'd attended in Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Maine. She also mentioned growing up in the Baptist Church, which she liked very much, and suggested I give it a try. My mother's advice was the deciding factor; I'd try being a Baptist, whatever that meant. My main motivation, though, in all of this, wasn't to get closer to God, but to hopefully meet a nice girl, get married, and have a family.
I attended some of the weekly events at the Baptist Student Union (BSU,) like their Wednesday lunch. The picture of the BSU building is a newer facility and was not the one I attended. The mission statement, though, remained the same: "To Know Christ And To Make Him Known."
There were some other events I attended, but I was never a regular attender. This included an overnight retreat at a lake in Mississippi. Besides the BSU, there were two or three times I attended Calvary Baptist Church in downtown Starkville. At that point, I didn't yet know why it was called "Calvary" (which refers to the place outside ancient Jerusalem where Jesus was crucified). Although I had read the Bible, I was still Biblically illiterate.
The only reason I attended Calvary Baptist was because I was invited by a very cute coed. While this post is meant to focus on the power of prayer, let's not underestimate the power of attraction—it led me to church, where I started listening to the pastor's sermons. Another factor in my decision to explore the Baptist denomination was my roommate, Marty Williams. He was Baptist, and some of his friends were as well. If I recall correctly, he even read his Bible regularly, something I hadn't done.
In fact, for the second time, I'd left my Bible behind at my parents' home in Maine. I'd already managed to read it from cover to cover once and decided I didn't need it with me. I treated it like a movie I'd already seen—I already knew the story and had no desire to see it again. When I was close to graduating, my campus experiences with the BSU, Calvary Baptist Church, and my roommate Marty made it clear that I'd most likely end up joining a Baptist Church. This time, it wasn't about meeting a girl; I genuinely wanted to know more about God.
During spring break of my senior year, I drove to Tallahassee, Florida, and spent the week looking for a place to live. With graduation approaching in December, I wanted everything settled regarding where I'd call home. I ended up buying a townhouse not far from the Florida State University campus—the one in the picture below. It had been rented to a couple of college students who remained as my tenants until their lease expired. When they moved out, I moved in and quickly learned that being the master of my fate didn't necessarily mean I was the master of my circumstances. I had made a big mistake, resulting in a costly lesson.
My new neighbor and his roommate were college students who liked to party. This included plenty of alcohol, loud music, and hanging out in their hot tub until one or two in the morning. I wasn't getting much sleep and just wanted some peace and quiet. During the day, it wasn't much better because he always seemed to be working on his car, which was parked just outside my front door.
I continued to put up with the college party atmosphere for several months until I finally decided I'd had enough. Instead of calling the cops to bust them for disturbing the peace, I started looking for a house in a quiet residential area far away from student housing. In the meantime, I'd landed a job working for a major insurance company as a financial advisor and was studying for my licensing exams to sell both life insurance and mutual funds. By the time I passed my licensing, I was a house and townhouse owner—all within months of graduating from college.
In the picture below is my brand-new two-story suburban house, located on a quiet cul-de-sac in a family-friendly neighborhood. The setting was peaceful, with woods in the back. The house was 1,600 square feet, three bedrooms, and two and a half baths. Initially, I lease-purchased it until the townhouse sold several months later. If the townhouse hadn't sold, I would have rented it out. Unfortunately, due to the real estate transaction costs associated with buying and selling the unit so quickly, I ended up losing money on my investment. It was a valuable lesson, and while everything else seemed to have worked out, there were still challenges.
I quickly discovered that I hated my work. My training supervisor and I were making house calls, where he showed me how to sell life insurance—lots and lots of it. "Sell, sell, sell! seemed to be his mantra. For him, making a sale was like winning a game; he celebrated each one as if he'd just sacked the quarterback. His excitement was palpable—he'd pump his fist, not with a "cha-ching," but with a resounding "bata-boom!" However, this relentless focus on sales and commissions wasn't for me.
When I finally decided I'd had enough, I was still in training and studying for my property and casualty license exam, which would allow me to sell auto and homeowner's insurance. Management's advice was clear: Get into a customer's house through their biggest door—the garage—by first selling them auto insurance. Then, sell them life insurance! Despite my brief 3-4—month stint in the insurance industry, I knew it wasn't the right fit for me. I made the choice to switch either to banking or to find a job working for the State of Florida.
It wasn't too long after moving into my house that I received the following letter from Celebration Baptist Church, welcoming me to Tallahassee and inviting me to worship there. It was, of course, from the denomination I'd been planning to join since college. The letter was dated June 10th—my birthday. I accepted the invitation and would soon discover that the letter was not only a providential (birthday) gift from God but also an invitation that would lead me to one of the greatest blessings in my life and directly toward the future God had planned for me.
When I first visited Celebration, it was before their current sanctuary building had been constructed, and their services were being held in the student activities building on the gymnasium floor. While sitting on a folding chair, in between the basketball hoops, I had my first experience and awareness of the Holy Spirit's presence in my life. I just didn't yet know it was Him. All I knew was that I'd had a very strong spiritual prompting and awareness that this was where I would someday meet my future wife.
I later told Pastor Jerry Garrard, of my strong belief that I'd someday meet my wife at Celebration. I also explained that while I was sitting on the gym floor between the basketball hoops, I was reminded of the vivid dream that saved my life and of the scene of two boys crossing the street with a basketball. I describe the dream in my August 8, 2019, post titled "Like the Brightest Sunrise." Several years would pass, but on December 8, 1991, I did finally meet my wife on the front steps of Celebration's new sanctuary building.
When I began attending Celebration, I was unemployed by choice and thought I might as well go back to school and get a master's degree in business (MBA). So, I applied to Florida State University and found out that I'd need a couple of prerequisite courses, including math. I think the math course was my lifetime nemesis—calculus. In the fall of 1988, I ended up enrolling at Tallahassee Community College to get the classes out of the way so that I could move on to FSU. I lasted a couple of months and then decided to drop out. The math did me in, again!
It was about the same time I dropped out of college, now for the second time, that my parents moved into my house. They had earlier visited me while I was still living at the townhouse, and I toured them around Tallahassee. In May of 1988, my mother called from her home in Blue Hill, Maine, and told me to find her a lakefront lot in the golf course community that I had shown her.
My mother was tired of the long, brutal winters of New England and thought it would do my dad some good to swim and play golf year-round. I found a lot and put down a deposit. She quickly came back for another visit and bought it. After she talked my dad into selling their retirement home on the coast of Maine, they ended up living with me for over a year while their house was being built.
While my parents lived with me, I was in no rush to make another mistake by selecting the wrong job and career. I could afford to be quite picky about what jobs I was applying for because I had enough in savings, and my dad—instead of paying me rent—was paying my mortgage. It was a great deal for me. They were great tenants, and I had the benefit of home-cooked meals from Mom as part of the deal. When they finally moved into their own home, that's when I changed my job search tactics to include almost anything and everything.
I sent out over a hundred applications and had over thirty interviews without a job offer. With all the rejection, I became discouraged and disillusioned, even to the point of putting my house up for sale. I thought that maybe I wasn't meant to live there and I must be living in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing was working out as I'd planned. I was ready to quit and try starting all over again in Austin, Texas.
In September of 1990, despite my life being so unsettled, my parents and I joined Celebration Baptist Church as members. I then publicly gave my life to Christ and was baptized. Three months later, I experienced a real-life dictionary definition of a miracle: "a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency." My life would never be the same again!
The miracle happened on December 8, 1990. The day before, on the 7th, I had two job interviews and went to bed that evening discouraged and exhausted. Nothing—absolutely nothing—was working out, and my house was still for sale. I got down on my knees by my bed and, in tears, prayed, "Lord, wherever you want me to go, whatever you want me to do, I'll do it! Just lead me!" When I prayed that prayer, I sought help, guidance, and direction to navigate my life. I wanted God, the Captain, to take over the helm and steer my life. I desired Him in control, not me. It was like George Bailey's prayer: "...Show me the way, God."
When I prayed, I never expected God to actually "show me," but He did! I'll continue with what happens next in my following post titled "Beyond Believing." Here, you'll witness the power of prayer at work and see how my journey beyond faith begins.
From my story, it's clear that I wasn't a Superman, yet I tried to be. As a kid, I ran around my backyard wearing a towel cape, and as an adult, I continued running around, attempting to have the power to fully control my life. My life, however, was controlled chaos. I had no idea what to do, where to go, or how to turn things around. In my weakness, I became discouraged. Perhaps you feel the same way now—that nothing in your life is going as planned. You may have heard the saying, "When all else fails, pray!" Well, prayer shouldn't be our last resort; when we do pray, He hears us and answers. If you pray to Him, He'll hear you too! You have His promise...
"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened." - Matthew 7:7-8
The next post titled Beyond Believing begins at:
Comments