Pastor Timothy Herron

I contacted Pastor Tim when Donna was first diagnosed, now over 5 years ago! His story and words of encouragement gave me something to hold onto at a time when my world was crumbling all around me. His testimony gave me the hope I needed at a time when I needed it most! If you would like to contact Pastor Tim, you can email him by clicking here. Below is a book that he has written and has recently emailed me. Please note that this material is copyrighted and is used by permission. Posted 11-27-05.

It is always too early to quit!
A compelling case from one who knows.

By REVEREND TIM HERRON BS, ThM.

Preface

Introduction

Chapter One - Who signed up for this, anyway?

Chapter Two – The Making of a Pastor

Chapter Three - Preparing for a Trial

Chapter Four - Don’t Write the Script

Chapter Five - Another Treatment, Another Place

Chapter Six- It’s not just about me!

Chapter Seven - Moving to Houston

Chapter Eight - "It’s Never Really Finished. You just run out of Time."

Chapter Nine - Thorny Issues

Chapter Ten - Overcoming, you can do it too!

Suggested Reading

 Preface.

When God wants to drill a man[1]

And thrill a man,

And skill a man

To play the noblest part;

When He yearns with all His heart

To create so great and bold a man

That all the world will be amazed,

Watch His methods, watch His ways!

How He ruthlessly perfects

Whom He royally elects!

How He hammers him and hurts him,

And with mighty blows converts him

Into trial shapes of clay which

Only God understands;

While his tortured heart is crying

And he lifts his beseeching hands!

How He bends but never breaks

When his good he undertakes;

How He uses whom He chooses,

And with every purpose fuses him;

By every act induces him

To try his splendor out –

God knows what He's about.

Introduction

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 of gold that perisheth, though

it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory

at the appearing of Jesus Christ: Whom having not seen, ye love; in

whom, though now ye see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy

unspeakable and full of glory: Receiving the end of your faith, even the

salvation of your souls.[2]

This book tells the story of God’s intervention, in a most outrageous

fashion, in the life of the most improbable candidate - the author of

this book. I will not be relating the story of a saccharine creator,

there to gratify our whims and grant grace when, where and how He chooses,

because that would not represent reality. God can seem harsh and

severe, even as He blesses us with His mercy, and one of the great challenges

that facesface every one of His sons and daughters is that of learning

how to see His grace in the midst of the darkest moment. I will show

you a God who comforts and perplexes at one and the same time – a

Savior who sometimes delivers through adversity rather than through trials.

Reading these pages will challenge both reason and emotion to the point

where you may wonder if you are reading a work of fantasy. Believe me,

the story that lies ahead is very, very real, and the scars on my head

are testimony to it.

In these pages, I share with you some of the most beautiful and most

terrifying moments of my life, and the insights and lessons that I

learned as I lived through them. Together, we will grapple with those most

difficult of all questions: If God loves us, why does He let us suffer?

Why does He allow terrible things to happen to good people? How can we

learn to submit to His will, even when it seems horrendously unjust? How

can we, apparent victims, transform ourselves into Overcomers, and join

the ranks of those who have, throughout the centuries, struggled with

God’s challenges, and succeeded in becoming better servants of the Lord?

At a stage in my life when everything seemed to be going swimmingly, I

developed a malignant tumor in my brain, and was told that I most

probably had only weeks to live. At that time, I was a young pastor, with a

wonderful wife and a healthy, growing family of five children, one of

whom was just a newborn. I was noted for my ambition in ministry, and my

ability to handle complex theological arguments. I had every reason to

think that I would be able to take my calling to where I thought it

should go. But God had other plans for the Herron family. The effect that

this life-threatening illness had on me and on my wife, my children and

everyone around me was incalculable. One doesn’t not have to be a

Christian to understand the anguish of a family told that it is facing

the loss of its father. The language of tragedy is a universal one,

cutting through differences of culture, faith and race. Families can be

devastated when a parent dies; some never recover at all.

Despite the dismal prognoses we received from experts in the field of

brain cancer, I recovered. In many ways, however, my life had changed

completely. One thing was perfectly clear – from the years of anxiety,

pain and fear that I experienced, I became equipped to offer a very

special ministry. Since then, my life’s calling has been to share my

experience and knowledge of serious trials and the conquering of fear with

those offered the greatest challenges that God can put in their path. I

don’tdo not claim to have all the answers, but in this book, I will take

you on a journey through doubt and trepidation to acceptance,

resignation and joy.

We turn to God for help when our foundations are shaking only to learn

that

it is God shaking them.

--Charles West

To a Christian, a fearsome trial is an opportunity to rise above pain

and insecurity and embrace God with an open heart. Throughout this book,

I’veI have scattered some of the wisdom that has been most valuable to

me over the years during and after my trial. I hope that it will be

similarly insightful for you, and a tool that you can use to

transform yourself into a true Overcomer.

This book is dedicated to all of those who overcome – those who have

taken on the trials of life and won. By doing so, they join the ranks of

those Overcomers recorded in Scripture:

Revelation 2:7 He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith

unto the churches; to him that overcometh will I give to eat of the

tree of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of God.

Revelation 2:11 He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith

unto the churches; he that overcometh shall not be hurt of the second

death.

Revelation 2:17 He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith

unto the churches; to him that overcometh will I give to eat of the

hidden manna, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name

written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it.

Revelation 2:26 And he that overcometh, and keepeth My works unto the

end, to him will I give power over the nations:

Revelation 3:5 He that overcometh, the same shall be clothed in white

raiment; and I will not blot out his name out of the book of life, but I

will confess his name before my Father, and before his angels.

Revelation 3:12 Him that overcometh will I make a pillar in the temple

of my God, and he shall go no more out: and I will write upon him the

name of my God, and the name of the city of my God, which is new

Jerusalem, which cometh down out of heaven from my God: and I will write upon

him my new name.

Revelation 3:21 To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with Me in

My throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with My Father in

His throne.

Revelation 21:7 He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will

be his God, and he shall be my son.

Tim Herron.

Chapter One - Who signed up for this, anyway?

If you wear out a pair of shoes in East Texas, you’ve found a

home for life - friendly advice to a pastor’s family before moving house.

Deep in the woods of East Texas, the small city of Longview is

nestled, home to a community of 70,000 people. Longview is located halfway

between Dallas and Shreveport, and the first time we saw it was in

April, when the landscape of that part of the world is at its lushest and

greenest. In Spring in Texas, you can almost watch the grass

grow before your eyes. Texas is a state notorious for the flatness of

its terrain, and in that level context, Longview almost qualifies as a

mountain town - hence the name. Even from its modest height, it commands

a view of the surrounding countryside. The city developed during the

first half of the twentieth century, and main-street buildings from that

period testify to its history. During the Second World War, Longview

was the site of a camp for German prisoners of war, and one of the

legacies of that time is an airport far from commensurate with the town’s

modest size. Although quite a variety of religious denominations is

represented, most of the inhabitants share a family-oriented view of life and

a resistance to the globalization and corporatization that threaten to

engulf contemporary American society and replace godly standards with

secular ones. All in all, Longview certainly is an excellent home

for a young couple and their growing family. We were confident that we

would be happy there.

Leaving my first pastorship at Cypress near the Texan city of Houston,

I first came to the Fellowship Bible Church in Longview as an ordained

pastor in 1984.In one of the first messages I received from God after

my arrival, I had a vision for the church. At that time, it was meeting

in a facility that had previously been a nightclub, perched on a hill

above the city. Although the congregation was enthusiastic and committed

to growth, membership was still low. The vision I cast was that the

day would come when Fellowship Bible Church would be so dynamic that

one of the major news stations would be drawn, not by the scandals so

beloved of journalism, but because the love and power emanating from the

church was so strong that the news people just had to come and find

out all about it. This prayer was revealed to be prophetic.

Many different people have played important roles in the events that

unfolded over the years following my arrival in the city. They contributed

to the services offered by the church, and the lives of the people who

worshipped there. They also helped to turn a potential tragedy in the

life of a young pastor and his family into an experience, which, although

difficult, was enriching for everybody involved.

Back on that very first day in 1984, we had three small children

snoozing in the back seat of the car. When we left, nine years later, our

family had been blessed by another, and we certainly had a story to tell!

The 1980s were happy days for us – Kathy, me, and our growing family.

We moved into an old house in a pleasant, tree-filled neighborhood,

remodeled the bathroom, knocked down walls, built closets, buffed the oak

wood floors and installed a fort over a sandbox in the yard. Our home

was seated on almost an acre of property, with enough creeks and trees

and wildlife to keep the children entertained for hours. They rode their

bicycles, had adventures along the banks of the creek, and made dozens

of friends among the neighbors’ kids. I used to ride a mower around our

ample grounds, and the children loved to "help", riding along with me.

One of our elderly neighbors, a Mr. Gilgowat, was regularly banished to

the front porch of his house by his wife, who did not share his love of

pungent cigars - but our five children weren’t not put off, and

they loved to visit with him. All the kids still cherish fond memories of

that house and garden and the many happy years that we spent living in

Longview. At that time, those of school age were taught at home by

Kathy, giving us the freedom to travel with them when the opportunity

arose, and to ensure that the values instilled by their education were

compatible with those held by Kathy and me. I think Kathy still misses our

home in Longview at times - including all the closet space we built in

to fill with toys and clothes! Our house in Longview wasn’t not our

first family home, but it was the homeliest.

As our children grew and flourished, so did the church, growing quickly

from just 60 members at the outset to 250. Our emphasis as a church was

always to put people before programs. This was an approach that

enabled us to thrive as a community. Together, never forgetting that

Christ is more important than theology, we all worked to build a church

family that supported its members in times of need, rejoiced with them

in times of happiness and supported them through the ups and downs of

everyday existence. Above all, we always put families and their

relationships with God before practical issues, before ambition, and before the

personal aspirations of any single church member. We also strove to

share our joy with the world, in maintaining a strong emphasis on

missionary activities. The role of the pastor in all of this was not so much to

lead, as to help church members to enable themselves to develop

healthful relationships with Christ and with their families and communities.

The process of achieving our goals drew us all very close together. I

remember standing in the kitchen one evening with Kathy as we embraced

and agreed that these really were the good old days! Everything seemed to

be taken care of. I had a loving personal relationship, wonderful,

healthy children and the pastorship of a growing church. We had so much to

be thankful for, and the future was bright. What could possibly go

wrong? Well …

Christmas fell on Sunday in 1988. I had been suffering from the stress

that the Christmas holiday brings to all pastors, and so the headaches

I experienced that morning did little more than annoy me. I felt sure

that I would be better once the holidays were over. I preached that

morning, and was relieved when I came to an end (as was everybody else),

since I had spoken for over an hour on a day when most pastors are wise

enough to let their congregations get home to their holiday meals and

families. Although I was still unaware of it, a tumor inside my brain was

causing me to lose my mental capacities. In fact, several people had

already noted my increasingly dangerous driving during the months prior

to the onset of the symptoms. My co-pastor, Jim Johnson remembers:

"I was doing a whole lot more driving than usual because I was

reluctant to have Tim behind the wheel. I’d noticed that he was zoning out and

going through lights and things like that, although none of us knew

why. It was a time of grave concern. We knew that something bad was

happening, but we didn’t know what it was."

I had no idea that there was anything wrong either, although Kathy had

also become privately concerned about the strange behavior I’d been

displaying recently. The same failure to connect that was affecting me

while driving also translated to behaving in a peculiar manner at home.

Still, there was nothing concrete, nothing that we could "put a finger

on" and besides, we were both looking forward to the imminent birth of

our fifth child.

Kathy and I had first noticed that my headaches were getting more

severe and frequent around the end of October, when we organized a Farm Fair

for the children of the parish, but they weren’t bad enough to cause

serious concern. I’d always been inclined to suffer from allergies and

from minor sinus problems, and we probably assumed that these were behind

the problem. However, by the time our daughter Ginger was born on

December 14th, I was really worrying poor Kathy. Around that time, we went

to the Longview neighborhood of Wildwood to admire the locally famous

Christmas lights display. Instead of taking pleasure in them, the bright

lights confused and disorientated me, and we had to return home. On one

of the children’s visits to our family physician, Kathy mentioned the

recent problems I’d been experiencing, especially with orientation and

following directions. Without me there Dr. Marshall really couldn’t give

an informed opinion, so he said that he would pursue the issue with me

if it became more problematic and less vague. There was no reason to

suppose that the problems were caused by something serious. Even though

it was hard to put a finger on exactly what was going wrong, Kathy was

actually concerned about leaving the other children in my care when she

went into hospital to give birth, and in the weeks that followed, my

increasingly dangerous driving and unusual general behavior gave more

cause for anxiety. Fortunately, considering the months that lay ahead,

Ginger was a particularly placid baby. A little sister for our other four

children, John who was eight, Joseph, seven, Crystal, four and David,

still a baby himself at one year old, she never cried more than was

strictly necessary, and was easy to love and take care of.

A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a

thunderstorm, and we all go through it together.

- - - Garrison Keillor

Looking back it still seems crazy that we did not detect my tumor

earlier. Our memories only take us back to an Halloween substitute at our

church where I went all out and made animals for the children out of

balloons that were very hard to inflate. This alone would account for a

headache, but on top of it I was asked to play my bagpipes. Now bagpipes

don’t take much air but what you deliver has to be under a great deal of

pressure. So between this and the balloons and all the noise and

demands on a pastor, we thought it understandable that I had a headache and

that it last for more than a day or two. The headache never went away

but could be controlled with aspirin, so we wrote it off as seasonal

stress and not anything serious.

On the day before Christmas Eve, I went out with Crystal to buy a new

television and Nintendo system - our annual gift to ourselves as a

family. Kathy was terrified that I’d have an accident and worried and prayed

as she waited for us to get home, which we managed to do. In fact,

although I managed not to crash the car, later that evening I dropped

Crystal while we played amid the excitement of setting up the new system.

The indentation caused by hitting her head cheek against the hard edge of

the sofa can still be seen on her face today, as a rather becoming

dimple. Christmas Eve saw a further deterioration of my condition and

behavior. Our family tradition had always been to gather around a manger

scene to recount the story of Christmas with the children, but this year I

wasn’t able to participate properly, and I found myself staggering from

the bedroom to the couch while I apologized for holding everybody up.

God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience,

but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world. -

Søren Aabye Kierkegaard (1813-1855).

What more eloquent way of expressing why a just God allows His

people to suffer! Often, it is not until something goes wrong that we

realize that God is with us always. Then, we understand that apparent

hardships are really blessings in disguise.

The next day - Christmas day - saw things come to a head. I walked from

the church into the bright sunshine and towards the car, wishing

everyone a happy New Year. Then I climbed into the car and started for home.

Or so I intended.

"Are you OK, Pastor?" one of the congregation called over with a note

of concern in his voice. His anxiety stemmed from the fact that I had

backed the car out, put it into drive, and brought it slowly forward into

the corner of a house that sat on the edge of the church lot. The

astonished, horrified gaze of the young couple who lived there brought home

what had happened. Their property jutted out and members of the

congregation often joked about the inevitability of someone bumping into it

one day, never thinking that that person would be the pastor, who used

the parking lot more than anybody.

"I’m fine," I assured the anxious church member, as I apologized to the

couple, "I just need to get these kids home and have a rest."

"That’s good," he said, continuing to look at me with a worried

expression on his face. Saying goodbye, I drove my family home. In retrospect,

the fact that I have no memory of the trip from the church to our home

is terrifying. All I can really recall is collapsing into our warm,

soft bed while the children, eager to open their gifts, protested. Poor

kids! I stayed in bed all day, trying to sleep despite my pain. It wasn’t

until that evening that I managed to stagger out of bed and into the

living room where my family was trying to be festive. I recall taking

some pride in the fact that the kids all knew the Christmas story so well,

while regretting that, for some reason, I just wasn’t able to join in.

I knew that there was something wrong with me, but I didn’t know what

it was.

I try to take one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me

at once.

--Jennifer Unlimited

I remember little of the two days that followed, until Tuesday when I

took our newborn daughter, Ginger, for her two week checkup. It wasn’t

until after she’d been examined that I mentioned my own headaches. From

the symptoms I described, Dr. Marshall thought it likely that I was

suffering from a severe sinus infection, as so many people do in East

Texas, and he prescribed a strong antibiotic which he expected would have a

rapid effect on the symptoms.

The next morning, however, my headache was worse. The intensity of the

pain caused me to vomit and any medication taken by mouth was quickly

rejected by my stomach. I tossed and turned, and tried lying in

different places – the bed, the living room couch – but nothing helped.

Thatnight day, my head hurt so much that I could not stop myself from

screaming with pain and begging the Lord for help. Kathy poured me a

scaldinghot bath, a measure which had often soothed me in the past. I crawled

into it, but to no avail. There didn’t seem to be anything that could make

me feel better.

There are no words capable of describing the pain I endured. If, at

that moment, I had been given the choice between ending my life and

enduring the torture, I would certainly have chosen the former. It felt as

though Satan himself had reached through my skull with his clawed hand,

grabbed a fistful of my brain, and squeezed, twisted and pulled it

without mercy. To anyone who has never had a brain tumor, that might sound

melodramatic. Believe me when I tell you that it is not. And because the

pain was in my head – the center of all thought and feeling – there was

no way to escape, beyond submitting to unconsciousness.

1 Cor. 10:13 "No temptation has overtaken you but such as is common to

man; and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond

what you are able, but with the temptation will provide the way of

escape also, so that you will be able to endure it."

This passage came to my mind when I was in the deepest despair before

the first surgery. I could scarcely imagine brain tumor being something

common to man, but far be it from me to disagree with the passage. I

wrote this one up to something I would ask God when I saw Him face to

face. However, knowing that there was a way of escape was very important

when the pain was the greatest. In time God proved faithful and He

graciously provided a medical way of escape. Had that not been possible,

death itself would have been blessed relief!

While all of this was going on, Kathy had bhustled the children into

the front of the house to keep them out of my way. Over the next hours,

she monitored me, called the available physician for a prescription for

the vomiting and waited for the pharmacy to deliver the medication to

our door. She didn’tdid not feel that she could leave me, even for a

short trip to the drug store. All the while she ministered to my needs,

she managed to keep the kids quiet and entertained with videos and games.

They were young enough not to be too frightened by my cries for relief,

although both John and Joseph do remember that horrible day, and their

childish prayers to God, that He help me to be better soon.

I tried to endure things as they were until a more convenient time to

seek medical help, but that proved to be impossible. At 10 that evening,

our family physician came back on call and Kathy rang him. He suggested

that we wait until regular office hours the following morning, but

Kathy insisted that I’dI had been suffering all day long and just

couldn’tcould not wait. In fact, the excruciating pain hadn’thad not left me,

even for a moment. Kathy’s urgency communicated itself to Dr. Marshall,

and he told us that he’dhe would call the emergency room at the local

hospital, and alert the staff to the fact that I was coming in. A CAT

scan was going to be necessary.

We felt that the children would be frightened to see an ambulance

pulling up outside, so Kathy contacted my associate pastor, Jim Johnson, who

came immediately in his family station wagon, and helped me into the

car. I collapsed into the passenger seat, my head falling onto his lap,

while he drove to the emergency room. Shortly afterwards, I was inside a

CAT scan machine, trying to stay immobile while the medical staff took

images of my brain. Wave after wave of unspeakable pain made keeping

still difficult, despite the morphinemorphine, I’dI had been given. When

the scan was over, I was taken to the emergency room where Kathy was

waiting for me. The pain-killing drugs began to give me some relief, and

I was able to talk with Jim and Kathy, although I have no memory of

what we said. All I can recall is the agony and the relief that followed

when the morphine finally began to take effect.

At that point, Kathy received a call at the nurses’ station from our

family physician, Dr. Marshall. That was the moment, sitting alone at the

station at 11.30, that she received the devastating news that the scan

had revealed an extremely large mass in my brain. Dr. Marshall tried to

be reassuring, telling her that for the moment there was no way of

knowing what the mass was - perhaps it would turn out to be benign. Surgery

would have to be performed, and a biopsy taken to determine the nature

of the tumor before a diagnosis could be made. Somehow, Kathy found the

strength to deliver the news to Jim and me. It was too late to start

asking questions and making decisions, so the three of us prayed

together, and Kathy and Jim left me, as I was wheeled down the hall to my room.

A restful night was not meant for me that night, and at some point the

nurses had to restrain me to preventprevent, me from thrashing around -

behavior that they later informed me was an effect of the medication.

When Kathy came to see me in the morning, she was alarmed to find that I

had been stripped of my clothes - my underwear had even been cut off.

All I was wearing was a hospital gown, and the marks of the restraints

that had held me in place the night before were still visible as weals

cut into my flesh. Despite all that, she was initially relieved to see

that, although I was groggy, I was calm. Her relief began to fade when

she saw me struggle to move the left side of my body. I was barely able

to walk from my bed to the bathroom without support and guidance. My

left arm seemed to have a will of its own and moved unexpectedly and

erratically.

Our morning was punctuated by the visit of Dr. Guierra, the

neurologist, who ran me through a series of elementary neurological tests. These

included such simple actions as touching my nose with my left finger (I

failed), walking toe to heel (I almost fell over) and alternately

raising my knees while in a standing position (I fell over onto the bed).

The doctor informed us that Tthe brain scan had revealedthe culprit to be

a large, invasive tumor, and it was immediately apparent that I would

have to have surgery. It appeared that a cyst was rapidly growing around

the tumor, and this was the factor that was causing the rapid

deterioration of my coordination, the pain and the many other symptoms that I

was displaying; my erratic behavior, severe headaches, and tendency to

respond irrationally to irritants. The right ventricle in my brain was

almost completely blocked and the midline of the brain was pushed way off

center. All of this indicated more than clearly that my case was an

emergency, and surgery could not be delayed. Dr. Guierra . left to make

the necessary preparations.

Kathy stayed with me through lunch, watching as I vainly tried to

wrestle some lime jello into my mouth. After I’dI had eaten, she left me in

the care of others and went home to take care of Ginger, who was

dependent on her for nursing, to call family and friends and to prepare her

for my probable surgery the following day. She promised to return that

afternoon with news. My doctor, Dr. Marshall, broke the news after

speaking to the radiologist

While I waited in the hospital some of our friends lovingly stood guard

at the door of my room. Among them was Bart, a former navy man with a

heart as caring as his exterior was gruff. He’dHe had brought a long

extension cord for the phone so it could be answered by whoever was at the

door - and there was always someone there, watching and waiting,

regardless of the time of day or night. One of the newer additions to the

congregation, a gentlemanman called Lawson Younger, came and sat by my bed

and read Scripture to calm me while I drifted in and out of

consciousness. In fact, all of the church members showed their love and support

without ceasing during those difficult days. Although Kathy and I were

facing the greatest trial of our married lives to date, the knowledge

that members of our church were in the waiting room, praying and

encouraging Kathy and one another gave me some peace. When I was able for it,

small groups were ushered into my room to encourage me with their words

of comfort and cheer. Some popped in briefly to greet me, while others

stayed, offering soothing words. Even though I’veI have forgotten the

details of those comments, I can still feel the care that they conveyed.

Physically, I was cycling in and out of pain according to when my last

dose of morphine had been, or whether or not I had Ginger in my arms.

Holding that tiny little bundle of life and promise was better and

sometimes more effective than any drug.

Get Real, Not Religious

Piety will not help you through a crisis. "Religion" is man’s

attempt to appease God on His own terms, but Christianity is a

relationship. It is about God inviting you to know, in person, the one who made

you. It is about God inviting you to receive the free gift of eternal

fellowship with Him. A relationship with God takes you through the valley

of truth. Religion leaves you in the wastelands of self, guilt and

fear.

Among the first peoplepeople, Kathy contacted were two physician

friends of ours, Mark and Dwight. They promised that they would begin to pray

immediately, and start making their own inquiries as to the best course

of action. One of them lived and worked on the west coast, and one on

the east. Between them, they would be able to find out the best

treatments available in every part of the country. Because of family and

practice responsibilities Mark was unable to leave his home but Dwight, who

was unmarried, said that he would do all he could to be on the next

flight to Longview to be with me. The fact that my friend of a lifetime

would put everything on hold for us was tremendously encouraging.

So far, Kathy had been unable to contact my parents, who had forgone

their usual Christmas with us to spend their holidays in sunny California

with thousands and thousands of RV’ers at the Rose Parade in Pasadena.

They’dThey would come to see each new grandchild shortly after birth,

but this time, they planned to come a little bit later. Remember that

this was before the days of ubiquitous cell phones, so it seemed likely

that finding them would prove impossible. The daunting task was left in

the hands of my two sisters, Lynda and Julie.

The hospital staff at the Good Shepherd hospital tried to postpone

surgery until after the holiday season, but I was quickly losing my

faculties and power of reason. The surgeon and oncologist urged us to operate

immediately – there wasn’twas not even time to have me flown to the

nearest major cancer center in Houston. As I was wheeled to the operating

room, I drew strength from the words of a hymn that is very dear to me:

"If ever I love Thee, Lord Jesus, ‘tis now."

My Jesus, I love Thee, I know Thou art mine;

For Thee all the follies of sin I resign.

My gracious Redeemer, my Savior art Thou;

If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I love Thee because Thou has first loved me,

And purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree.

I love Thee for wearing the thorns on Thy brow;

If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I’ll love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death,

And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath;

And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow,

If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

In mansions of glory and endless delight,

I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright;

I’ll sing with the glittering crown on my brow;

If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.[3]

Aware of the dangers I was facing, I focused especially on the verse

that says: "I love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death … " This hymn

was the perfect expression of my commitment to live for Jesus Christ,

regardless of what happened. To die for Him, if that was His will.

Although I was drugged and confused, I thought about the possibility that I

would perish while undergoing surgery, and wondered what it would feel

like. The image of a roller-coasterroller coaster, with all kinds of

folk waiting to ride, while others stepped on, occurred to me. I was

waiting in line to ride! The happy faces of the people stepping off the

ride in my vision were a comfort.

Forasmuch then as Christ hath suffered for us in the flesh, arm

yourselves likewise with the same mind: for he that hath suffered in the

flesh hath ceased from sin; That he no longer should live the rest of

his time in the flesh to the lusts of men, but to the will of God.[4]

These were my thoughts as I looked up at the face of the

anesthesiologist, who was also a friend of ours. I could see the conflict in his eyes

as he administered the drugs, and the sober expression on the face of

Dr. Marshall, who stood beside him. With that, I drifted into

unconsciousness, all the while singing my song to the Lord, and to myself.

Thanks to the efforts of the anesthiologist I remained blissfully

unaware of what was going on throughout the course of the operation. Later,

I learned that the pressure inside my skull was so strong that as soon

as a piece of the cranium was removed, my brain sought relief from the

pressure by expanding through the opening and onto the operating table.

The surgical team realized the extent of the problem immediately and,

unable to do more, they lanced the large cyst that had formed as a

result of the tumor, took a sample for a biopsy, and sewed me back together

again. Later, the doctors working on my case told me that the

atmosphere in the operating room, not optimistic to begin with, dropped when

they saw how serious the tumor was. One of those doctors was Jim Maudlin,

who had delivered Ginger just weeks before. Although his specialty is

gynecology, Jim oversaw the operation so as to be able to provide an

extra witness to the procedure, and report back to Kathy and our family

and friends.

"Although it was clear from the scan that the tumor was probably

cancerous," he recalls, "nothing could be confirmed until after the

operation. Once they went in, it was obvious that they were dealing with cancer,

and that the situation was grave."

While I was undergoing surgery there were about twenty people in the

hospital waiting room at any given time, sharing the tasks of

telephoning, playing with the baby and keeping up to date. Not long into the

operation, Ginger needed to be fed, so Kathy took her to a quiet spot and

waited with Bart and Irene, two of our closest friends from Longview.

They all knew that things were not going well when it was clear that the

surgical intervention had ended after less than half an hour. (is this

right?) If the doctors had felt that there was a chance to help me by

operating, they would have done so. Instead, they patched me up, sent me

to Intensive Care and went to break the news to Kathy and our friends.

"I’m thankful that Bart and Irene were with me," Kathy remembers, "not

just because of their support and love, but also because it’s always

important that more than just one person hear what doctors have to say at

moments like this. As Tim’s wife, I was too close to him, and too

involved with my emotions to listen properly to what the surgeon had to

say."

Both of the doctors who had performed the surgery sat with Kathy and

explained how the procedure had gone. Although I was doing well, and the

pressure had been removed, they had been unable to deal with the tumor.

That would have to come later.

Later that day, Kathy was able to come and visit me in Intensive Care.

It’sIt is surprising how quickly you come around after brain surgery!

I spent the night after surgery in the dismal, windowless cellar that

was the Intensive Care Unit at the Good Shepherd Hospital. Coming to

after the anesthesia, I felt myself to be in complete control of my

senses. That’sThat is why the extraordinary behavior of some of the people in

the room was so confusing. I was sitting in front of the nurses’

station when I saw an orderly enter the room, carrying an empty plastic milk

jug. As I watched, he took out some glue, smeared it around the inside

of the container, and started to sniff, all the while bragging to the

nurses that this was the best way to sniff glue. The nurses seemed quite

unconcerned. Why should they care? They were all busy painting silver

face masks with paints of many colors … they were only disturbed from

this strange activity when more orderlies entered, put the man in the bed

next to mine in a body bag and left.

I had no idea that the strange people I was watching were all

manifestations of my befuddled mind. When my friend Dwight and the doctor on

charge came to see me in the morning, I had prepared a few stern words

about the inappropriate behavior of the hospital staff. The two men

exchanged a knowing look, and the penny dropped … "Don’t tell me I’ve been

hallucinating!"

Don't Panic.

Even if your world seems to be falling apart, God is still in

charge, and He knows what to do. Don’t forget that God led you through

rough patches in the past – He’ll do it again. Give Him a chance to prove

that He loves you and knows what He is doing. Cast your fears on him.

Fear is what we feel when the demands of life seem greater than

our resources. Never forget that God’s resources are unlimited – but we

must be prepared to outstretch lifted hands to reach them! Throughout

the Bible, God tells us not to be afraid. The reason is always the same

– His protective presence is always with us. As the psalmist said: "If

God be for us, who can prevail against us?" But God can’t help us if we

don’t take our troubles to Him; "[cast] all your anxieties upon Him,

because He cares for you."[5]

I was allowed home a few days after the operation, while the tissue

that had been removed from my brain during surgery was sent to pathology

for examination, and Kathy and I waited for the news. At last, relief

from waiting came in the form of a telephone call from Dr. Marshall’s

office, summoning us to hear the verdict. We left straight away. It was a

cold, January day, and there were still patches of snow on the ground

from a rare East Texas snowfall. After parking in the lot of the

doctor’s surgery, we sat for a while and talked about the news that we were

likely to hear from the physician. Our pattern for dealing with crises

has always been to consider the worst that could possibly happen, so we

shared our deepest fears of the news that we were about to hear. The

scenario that frightened us most was the prospect of a short life riddled

with physical and mental deficiencies, followed by a painful death.

Then, as always when facing a trial, we visually imagined the strong hands

of a loving God bearing us through the worst fate we could imagine. I

think that it was Corrie Ten Boom who said that there is no pit so deep

that God’s presence does not reach, and exceed its depth. This proved

to be very much the case for Kathy and me.

The operative staff had been unable to remove the bulk of the tumor, so

most of it was still inside my head while pathology inspected the

sample that had been taken. An examination of the excised tissue had

revealed it to be an example of Glioblastona Multiformae, of fourth degree

malignancy – the deadliest of brain cancers. At that time, less than one

in a thousand Glioblastona Multiformae victims survived the first year

of the disease, and beyond that, there were no statistics. This was the

news that Dr. Marshall had to break.

When Kathy and I entered the doctor’s office, it seemed to us that the

staff were averting their eyes, and in fact we were already resigned to

hearing bad news. When a doctor calls you in for a meeting, the

prognosis is rarely good.

"I told you when I discharged you from the hospital that I felt that it

was likely that the tumor was cancerous," Dr. Marshall told us gently,

"but that we should wait for laboratory reports before making a

definitive diagnosis. I also expected the tumor to be low grade and slow

growing, because your scan showed evidence of calcium deposits in the area

of the tumor. Unfortunately, I was wrong. It’s a malignant,

rapid-growing tumor called Glioblastona Multiforme, or GBM." He paused, and then

added, "I wish there were a cure."

This wasn’t the first brain tumor that Dr. Marshall had treated, but it

was one of the worst. There are different types of tumors, with

different types of predicted outcomes and responses to treatment, and mine was

in the category of "almost impossible to treat".

I met Dr. Marshall recently, many years after my last doctor’s

appointment with him, and we spoke of how very difficult it is for doctors to

break bad news to their patients. When I became ill, Dr. Marshall and I

were much the same age, and we were both fathers of growing families.

He had successfully treated my daughter Crystal when she was ill with a

potentially fatal condition, and had been our doctor for several years.

When he looked at me, and thought about the five children I had at

home, it was easy for him to empathize, and extremely difficult to be the

one to have to alert a young family to a tragic situation.

"It’s one of those situations that every doctor hopes he’ll never have

to deal with," Dr. Marshall recalled, "but you just know that sooner or

later you will. Inevitably, every doctor has to break the news of a

serious diagnosis and a bad prognosis. The hardest challenge to cope with

is that of telling parents that their child is gravely ill. Tim’s case

was hard, too. He had five kids, including a new-born daughter. His

wife was still recovering from her delivery. It didn’t take much to

realize what sort of impact the illness was going to have on the Herrons. It

wasn’t easy."

Dr. Marshall was the first to admit that he was not an expert in

neuro-surgery, and together we perused his journals of medicine for any

information we could find about my particular type of brain cancer. What we

uncovered was far from reassuring. According to the somewhat outdated

publications on his shelves, I had a 0.04% chance of survival. Kathy and

I both protested that I was a child of God, not a statistic.

The Lord was working through Dr. Marshall as he was through us.

Fortunately, our family physician was comfortable with acknowledging the

importance of spiritual health in a clinical context. He believes that God

works through him, and recognizes that there have been times when his

diagnoses and treatment decisions have been inspired by a force much more

significant than all his years of medical training. He’s also had many

opportunities to see how a healthful relationship with God helps

patients to deal with illness and treatment. Those who love God and know that

He loves them show higher levels of recovery, greater stamina and

forbearance in pain, and greater calm and acceptance when things do not work

out as they had hoped.

But despite the fact that Kathy and I knew that God was acting through

me, and that everything would ultimately be for the best, despondency

was an unwelcome guest hovering on the fringes of our every thought. We

struggled not to loose our grip on hope.

The hard thing about trials is that life is lived forward and

understood backward.

When someone is undergoing a trial, it’s important for them to

keep their eyes focussed on the future: "Why has God chosen me for this

challenge? How will this make me a better person, a better Christian?"

In order to be hopeful, it’s important to be able to think of the good

things to come, rather than dwelling on the past. It’s not easy. Of

course it’s not. But don’t forget that, as difficult as it may be at times

to understand why God does the things He does, hindsight is always

clearer. Some day, when all of this is behind you - regardless of the

outcome - you’ll understand why it happened with wonderful clarity!

Chapter Two – The making of a pastor

Blessed is the man who finds out which way God is moving and then

gets going in the same direction. -- Source Unknown

Have I grabbed your attention yet? I guess now it’s time to introduce

myself properly, and tell you a little about who I am, where I come

from, and what I’m all about. My name is Tim Herron, and together with my

wife, Kathy, I have been called by God to minister in a number of very

special ways.

Although my life’s calling has been to work for God, I was not raised

in a particularly religious household. My parents, to whom I was born on

February 27th, 1953 in Washington, D.C., were irreligious - an

agnostic, engineer father married to a Christian Scientist mother. When it came

to rearing their children, they compromised. I remember being taken as

a small boy to Sunday School and the usual Easter and Christmas

services, but little more.

During the Summer vacation, I was sent to camp Oceola, a summer camp

sponsored by the YMCA. We were there to have fun, but the leaders did

speak about Jesus sometimes, and even at the age of 10, I found this

intriguing. As soon as I left the mountain location of the camp, however,

all thoughts of Jesus and traces of spirituality evaporated as quickly as

did the rain from the streets of southern California, where we lived.

Little changed until I reached adulthood and left home for college.

Although I never imagined that I would become severely ill while still

young, I was familiar with chronic, severe pain from childhood. My

mother was born without a hip socket before anything could be done about

the condition, and she suffered constantly with what I perceived as

senseless, excruciating pain. In the 1970s, she was among the first to have

an artificial hip socket implanted. Sadly, it didn’t repair well, and

caused her pelvis to twist, which in turn led to the slow deterioration

of the disks in her spine, making the pain even worse. In retrospect, I

have to acknowledge her as a real "Overcomer", although with the

selfishness of childhood, I could only see how her problems restricted my

adventurous spirit. I remember once complaining to my father about Mom’s

apparently constant state of anger. He cut me off in mid-sentence, and

told me with great emphasis that, despite the difficulties that her

illness had brought to the family, he had never regretted marrying her. My

eldest sister Lynda also suffered throughout her life with both

physical and emotional pain. Born 13 years before me, she had a condition

called Turner’s syndrome[6], and was ill throughout much of her childhood.

I was my parents’ fourth child, and the only boy in a family of

daughters. My reaction to a potentially stifling family situation was to

strive to achieve. In every field – academic subjects, marching band,

athletics – I just had to be the best. I had to show the world that I could

conquer anything and everything. Eventually, this drive propelled me

towards a position in the United States Air Force Academy, which I

experienced as a great honor – I acquired quite a high opinion of myself,

considering myself to be hot stuff, at the top of my "groove". I wasn’t

really all that interested in the Air Force per se, but I wanted to show

the world, and myself, that I could be accepted by a notoriously elitist

organization.

Entering the military was the beginning of a new way of living - a new

understanding of the world far different to anything I had ever

imagined. At the academy, I was assigned to a dormitory room with two other

young men who happened to be nominal Christians. Although they attended

church no more than I and seemed to live lives no better or more

spiritual than mine, I was impressed when they spoke of Bible verses with some

familiarity, and about God as if they really knew Him. One of the Bible

passages they showed me related that, in order to see the kingdom of

Heaven, one must be born again. The concept was completely new to me, and

the idea that two of my peers - who were obviously not ministers -

could open their Bibles and find help was very novel. My roommates were

unable to answer any of my questions about rebirth, although they did try.

Their responses were not easy for me to understand, but my interest had

been very much aroused. I wanted to find out more, and was unsure of

where to look. As irreligious as my family background was, I felt,

nonetheless, that I might discover some answers in the church and so, when I

read a notice that the cadet choir was seeking new members, I put my

name down.

My first discovery was that my talents did not lie in singing! The

Bible was never opened during choir practice, and no one mentioned anything

about being born again. Not until one of my upper classmen broke

protocol to "fraternize" with me - a lowly "dooly" - in order to fan the

smoldering fire in my heart, or perhaps because God moved Him to seek me

out when he found out about my questions. Using his Bible, he explained

that religiosity is not helpful in terms of seeking for God. God, he

told me, is by His very nature holy and perfect, a reality that is

difficult for human beings to grasp in its entirety. Some days later, my new

friend approached the topic of spiritual rebirth. The explanation, which

came from a passage in the Bible, was straightforward. It demonstrated

that whoever believes in God and His only begotten son will not perish,

but have eternal life. Good works, no matter how earnestly fulfilled,

were not enough. I was excited to hear this, and to find that it made

perfect sense. This knowledge was a gift. Shortly afterwards, the

opportunity arose to attend a retreat organized by the Baptist Student Union

in Colorado. Cadets were encouraged to attend with promises that we

would have a chance to spend some days out of uniform, and to meet some

attractive girls. I don’t know why the others went, but my mission was to

find out more about Jesus and His gift to humankind. There, I was moved

to stand up and, with great determination, placed my faith in Jesus

Christ as my savior. The other people at the retreat told me that I had

done something wonderful, something that I would never forget. They

crowded round me, but all I wanted at that moment was to speak with God on

my own, so I hurried outside, kneeled beside a great pine tree and

stayed alone and quiet for a long time.

The vast expanse that was the Colorado sky was bright with stars. Who

can gaze at the night sky without a sense of his own smallness and the

immensity that is God? These were my thoughts, and now I received Jesus

as my savior, concluding that, if He was the Lord of the universe, He

must also be the Lord of my life. It was at that moment that I committed

myself to giving everything to following Jesus Christ, telling the Lord

that, whatever challenges He chose to send me, I was prepared to stand

firm. I was confident that He would listen to my prayer, but never

imagined that this might take the form of brain cancer, many years later.

On returning to my dorm, I rang my parents in southern California to

tell them about the wonderful revelation that I had just had. I had

expected that they would be overjoyed to hear of my newly discovered faith,

but their response was rather muted, to say the least. This was

disappointing, but I had hopes of the second call, to my girlfriend of four

years. I was very much in love with her, and sure that my feelings were

reciprocated, so I had no doubt that she would understand and be excited

when I told her that she, too, could have a personal relationship with

Christ and be reborn. Again, I was let down. She seemed less than

impressed, and I had the feeling that she was dismissing my sincerity as

homesickness.

More disappointments awaited me on my arrival home. I had believed my

girlfriend’s line about waiting for me to get home from my tour of duty,

and expected to be able to return to my old life. Instead, I found that

she had replaced me with another young man and a much racier lifestyle.

Faced with a choice between a newly religious old boyfriend and a

flashier new contender for her heart, she made her decision, and it did not

involve me. This was hard, but it was for the best. We no longer had

anything in common, not least our disparate views on faith and

Christianity.

What to do? I was secure in my newfound faith in Jesus Christ, and knew

that I had to grow spiritually, but I had no idea how. For the want of

another plan, I found an old house in the roughest part of Los Angeles,

and rented it with another young man on a month by month basis. At this

time, I was studying for a degree in engineering at the University of

California, following in my father’s professional footsteps. Our

arrangement lasted for four weeks before we realized that it just wasn’t

working out. My roommate was a former Mormon, and was interested in no

spiritual exploration beyond the restraints of the religious tradition he

knew. Shortly after our household broke up, a group called The

Navigators[7] discovered that I was in town, and came to look me up. The fact

that they sought me out was impressive, as I was living in the very

roughest of neighborhoods! In fact, when Jerry, the member who had been sent

to meet me, knocked on the door, I almost didn’t answer. In an area

like that, one couldn’t be too careful.

Without even knowing the number of the house that I lived in, The

Navigators had done their utmost to seek me out, so when Jerry suggested

that I move to share an apartment with him and three other men, I didn’t

hesitate. Later I discovered that, on learning of my Christian faith and

of my situation, they had been worried that I might get sucked into the

Mormon church, being as yet ungrounded in the Scriptures. I lived in

this household – a "training apartment" of the type where men or women

lived communally, learning to be Christians – for two years. It was here

that I learned to lead a devotional life, which provided an environment

in which I could develop my personal relationship with Jesus. One of my

new friends and spiritual advisors taught me how to memorize Scripture,

a skill that was to be invaluable later, when I became ill with cancer

of the brain. Another helped me to understand that differences are

valuable and appreciated. To these men I owe my grounding in the basics of

the Christian faith.

God prepares us for challenges long before we have to face them.

I’ve already mentioned the fact that many of God’s interventions

in our life can be hard to understand when they happen, but marvelously

clear later on. During my early days as a new Christian, I memorized

countless passages from Scripture. At the time, my motivation was simply

to know God better. In retrospect, I can see that He was also preparing

me for the challenge that I would later face. Even when I was at my

most confused and ill, God’s word, as revealed in Scripture, never left

me. What a wonderful gift I had been given by Him years before I became

ill!

Rebirth as a Christian changed my life utterly, but it took some time

before I began to consider becoming a pastor. Although I was deeply

involved in ministry during my university days, it was not with a church

organization per se. In fact, there was an ongoing joke among The

Navigators that pastors were good because they were paid to be, while the lay

ministers were good for free! Many felt that the ministry of a lay

person was at least as valid – if not more so – than that of a pastor.

However, as my desire to teach the word of God grew, so did the

recognition that I lacked the tools and learning to study His teachings

properly, and the realization that it was time to enter a seminary for some

formal training. In my mentors, Joe Aldrich and Chuck Swindol, I found

the models I needed. They knew the word of God inside out and could even

read the Bible in its original languages, Greek and Hebrew. These

academic achievements leant a great deal of credibility to their teachings.

I was already blessed with some teaching ability, but lacked their

intellectual training, so when I heard that both were graduates of the

theological seminary of Dallas, it seemed inevitable that I should study

there too. Despite my deficiencies in history and languages, my

application was accepted. I would be lying, though, if I did not admit that I

still harbored some residual doubts about my calling. Because I had not

grown up in a religious family, I was unfamiliar with the concept of a

call to ministry, and I was unsure of what God wanted for me. In short,

I entered the ministry with little or no idea of what was in store for

me. All I was certain of was my need for further training. Joe’s advice

was that "the church is a lot like Noah’s ark. If it were not for the

storm outside, the stench inside would be unbearable." His message to me

was that it is not always easy to be in the church. Another mentor

added, even more prosaically, "If you can’t stand the smell of sheep, you

shouldn’t be a shepherd." Like any organization, the church sometimes

falls prey to the all-too-human flaws of quarrelsomeness, pettiness and

excessive bureaucracy. One of a pastor’s many tasks is to negotiate all

of these problems while holding on to the real light of faith and the

truth and beauty of the church as a spiritual and community entity.

As well as discovering my love for Jesus, I had recently discovered my

love for the woman who was to become my wife, Kathy Tarczynski. I was

living in the dormitory at the University of California at Urbine, part

of a brand-new complex where nobody knew anybody. More or less by

default, I became the leader of the Christian students in the complex, and

one of the things that we did each year was to reach out to the entering

students, especially those who were Christians, to encourage them to

join the Christian organizations on campus. Kathy was one of these new

students, and she was assigned to my dorm complex by accident - a good

accident! We lived in the same building, so I initially met her just as

one of my fellow residents, finding out soon thereafter that she shared

my beliefs.

I was one of the few car-owners of the dorm, and I used my vehicle on

Sundays to take as many students as would cram in to church. I invited

Kathy, and she accepted. But when I opened the door of the car for her,

she responded by saying, "My arm isn’t broken!" I was quite taken

aback, because I’d always felt that men should be courteous to women, in the

old-fashioned sense of the word. And I have to be honest - I was

slightly chauvinistic back then, too. This was not love at first sight. Kathy

was from a feminist background, and felt that she had to demonstrate

her strength at every opportunity. Each of us realized that we were on

different wavelengths, but over time we came to appreciate each other. I

became less chauvinistic, and she became more accepting of

old-fashioned manners.

The ice began to melt when I began a series of early morning prayer

meetings, and Kathy attended. All of the students would pray for this or

that, but Kathy’s prayers were truly intriguing and obviously heartfelt.

As time went on, the attendance of the prayer group shrank, and

eventually it grew so small that sometimes just Kathy and me turned up. I

think it was in listening to each other’s hearts through prayer that we

fell in love. Despite my feelings, I made no overtures towards her beyond

making myself available to take her, along with other students, to

different events. One Thanksgiving, I invited Kathy and a bunch of other

students to my home. Kathy had a good time, and so did everybody else.

After the party, my grandmother announced that she could see that Kathy

and I were in love! I don’t know how she knew, because we certainly

didn’t. We hadn’t even been on a proper date. In fact, I wasn’t looking for

a girlfriend - I and several other fellows had dubbed ourselves

"Bachelors till the Rapture!"

As my contact with Kathy grew, my admiration for her became stronger.

We talked about her parents’ divorce, which was affecting her at that

time, and talking about her difficulties gave us the opportunity to

become closer. Now, the young men in the ministry were committed to

accompanying the young women across the campus after dark, and I always went

out of my way to be the one to take Kathy back to the dorm. Kathy’s

girlfriends, like my Grandmother, felt that we were right for each other,

and kept insisting to her that we belonged together. At the end of my

senior year, I made appointments to say goodbye to various students who

were special to the ministry. Kathy and I arranged a breakfast date. That

morning, we walked to the university restaurant, and ordered our food.

I prayed before eating as usual, but our conversation was stilted.

Kathy was probably surprised when I stopped to pray again, for help in

finding the right words. I told Kathy, "I don’t know what to say, because

I’ve pledged not to tell any woman that I love her until I’m able to

marry her." Kathy said nothing, but her smile told me that she understood

that, in my own way, I was telling her that I loved her and was asking

her to be my wife.

Despite my misgivings, I left for the Dallas Theological Seminary the

very next day. Kathy and I continued our relationship on the telephone

and by writing letters. At Christmas of the next year, we met up in

southern California and I took Kathy to Disneyland, planning to propose to

her while the mass choir sang Hallelujah. It didn’t work out, not least

because my parents were also there. Later, we went to the coast where I

intended to make a second attempt. The picturesque spot I’d chosen

wasn’t available, so we huddled in the cold on a bench and I handed her the

letter I’d received from her father, granting me permission to ask her

to marry me. An old-fashioned approach, perhaps, but I wanted

everything to be just right.

"Kathy, I wanted to grow old with you," I told her, "and I want you to

have my children." She shivered for a moment, in the cold winter wind,

and then sealed my happiness by saying, "yes". We agreed that Kathy

would stay at university to finish her degree, and marry only then. It was

important to us both that she achieve the goal she’d set herself. When

she graduated with a degree in Computer Science from the University of

California she wore a sign pinned to her back that read, "Just

Married". Our wedding had taken place the day before. Kathy was beautiful in

white, and I wore a shirt embroidered with flowers! Surrounded by our

family and closest friends, our wedding was perfect, as was our honeymoon,

which we spent hiking through the mountains.

During my four years of training at the Dallas Theological Seminary I

worked hard and succeeded both academically and socially while Kathy

labored in a computer firm and I put in nights as a waiter. I didn’t want

Kathy to have to be the sole breadwinner while I studied. On completing

my studies, I was still unsure as to the form that my calling to

ministry would take. God’s answer did not take long to arrive. Just days

before graduation, a pastor from Houston came to the seminary. He was

looking for a co-pastor to help him minister to Cypress, a northern suburb

of the sprawling Texan city. When my fellow students heard that he was

interviewing me, they didn’t hesitate to tell me how lucky I was to be

able to serve him. When we met, we were both tired, and knew little of

each other – we didn’t particularly take to each other. It can only have

been the hand of God that brought us together and lead me to serve with

him in Houston. Kathy and I had decided to have a child as I approached

the end of my studies and our son John was born shortly after my

graduation, and just before moving to the city.

I went to work with Cypress Bible Church in 1980. One great – and

unforeseen - source of joy during these years had been my father’s blessing.

As you know, my family background was far from religious. My father’s

early reaction to my new priorities was ambivalent, to say the least,

and he had been openly suspicious of The Navigators – accusing them at

one point of being "a cross between Billy Graham and the CIA." When I

entered the seminary, however, he told me that, while he had several

friends who had entered the ministry, none had seemed as devoted as I. This

meant a great deal to me, and may have been the first step he took

towards his own rebirth as a Christian.

I spent four years at the Cypress Bible Church, with the official title

of "grow co-pastor with an emphasis in Christian education." In short,

I was effectively the chief cook and bottle washer, there to do

whatever was needed. I was delighted to find that I loved being pastor! But

not everything was easy from the very beginning. First of all, the

congregation did not always respond so well to my messages as had my seminary

professors. This was frustrating at first, as I felt that I was being

judged lacking. It took some time to learn how to speak to a very

different audience than that of the highly specialized environment of the

seminary. Fortunately, God arranged for me to attend a counselor training

week, allowing me to leave my office and go to where the people were.

During this time, I learned a lot about hunting, fishing, tennis and

other everyday activities of my congregation, allowing me some insight

into their world. At the same time, I was given an opportunity to reveal

myself as a real person and not just a pastor.

The first year of pastorship was an opportunity for growth. The second

began with a crisis for the church. My co-pastor became involved with a

member of the congregation who was not his wife. Both were married, and

each had four children. When they parted together, they left

destruction in their wake. Suddenly, I was the senior pastor of a disillusioned,

hurting church. This was a real challenge to my abilities, and

confirmation that I was really living my vocation. Fatherhood was a constant,

joyous challenge during these years too, as our eldest son John was

followed by Joseph and later by a beautiful daughter, Crystal.

My second pastorship was in a small city called Longview in northeast

Texas - the city you were introduced to in the first chapter of this

book. We spent nine years there, and they were wonderful. The ministry was

challenging and fruitful, and the church group open, and rich in

numbers and maturity. After the first two years of my pastorship had been

completed, I was hired as a full-time associate pastor,