Pastor Timothy Herron
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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. |
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,