When God Directs Your Life

 I have never fully understood how God works in my life, but I trust His faithfulness to guide me in the way He wants me to go, which I hope encourages you to trust His guidance in your own life.

Let me try to explain. I never wanted to be a pastor. I had a front-row seat to how pastors are treated. My father and father-in-law were both pastors. Being a pastor can be a very difficult ministry when people do not want the truth. That being said, I had no desire to go that direction. In August of 1967, I was working in Evansville, Indiana, as a local delivery truck driver. A friend got me the job, and we shared a two-room apartment on Garfield Street.

One night, kneeling at the old sofa, I felt a strong sense that God wanted me to go as a missionary to the American Indians. I did not understand why, but I sensed this was His calling for me, and I hope sharing this helps you feel the importance of listening to God's voice. 

Central Yealing Meeting of Friends was holding its annual meeting that week, and Sunday afternoon was missionary service. When the call was made for those willing to become missionaries, I felt a sense of community and support as I went forward, knowing others were praying for me and for God's direction in our lives. 

The year at UBS deepened my desire to understand God's message in scripture, and this hunger for knowledge has only grown, encouraging me to encourage others to seek continuous spiritual growth.

In 1971, we moved to the Wind River Indian Reservation. It was here that God taught me how to live by faith. I don't understand why, but after a while, the door began to close, and we moved back to Indiana. Arcadia Friend needed a pastor, and I was asked to fill in until they could find a pastor. I agreed. Two years later, Hazel Dell Friends at Windfall called me to pastor. We were there for four years. By now, I am wondering why I am doing what I did not want to do. 

Sugar Plain called me to come, pastor. We were there for two years when the Central Yearly Meeting Superintendent asked me to go to Gateway Friends in Kokomo. We were there for four years. I was discouraged and felt I was wasting my time. I resigned, and we moved to Indianapolis. We started attending East Lawn Wesleyan Church on Post Road. I taught a Sunday School class and held a revival meeting there. It looked like my days of being a pastor were over. A friend who was going to be the pastor of Sugar Plain was killed in an auto accident. While attending the viewing, we were asked to come back to Sugar Plain as pastors. We returned in  1987 and have been here since then.

I have never felt that I have been the ideal pastor. I have often questioned my approach, trying to do a ministry I am not yet strong in. I have not inspired the men to become leaders in the Church; I have worked to unite the Church despite persistent, unaddressed issues. I am wondering what the LORD has planned for me in the next few years. 

I was going to stop writing my blog early this year, but something happened: I went from a few hundred views a month to forty thousand, to fifty-one thousand, to sixty thousand views a month. 

I never want to stop sharing the gospel. And if the LORD wants me to share his word through a blog, then I am ready.

When God Answered a Frightened Young Missionary's Prayer

 There are moments in a minister's life that are forever etched upon the heart. They become reminders that God's power is never limited by our weakness. Looking back over fifty-eight years of ministry, I have often returned to one such memory from my days as a young missionary on the Wind River Indian Reservation in Fort Washakie, Wyoming.

I was serving among the Eastern Shoshone and Northern Arapaho people when the Lord placed an elderly man in my life named Tom Wesaw. Tom was the leader of the American Indian church, and his son, Delmar Wesaw, had founded the mission where I was serving.

I never called him Tom. To me, he was simply "Grandpa."

He was about the same age as my own Grandpa Truitt, and for reasons known only to the Lord, he adopted me as though I were one of his own sons. Wherever he wanted to go, I drove him. Wherever he wanted to visit, I accompanied him. He introduced me to people by saying, "This is my son."

One day he presented me with one of his most treasured possessions—the armbands he had worn at his first Sun Dance. To an outsider they might have seemed like simple pieces of metal bands to him they represented his past and his people. It was his way of telling me that he trusted me and had accepted me into his family.

As we spent countless hours together, Grandpa taught me much about the traditions of the American Indian people. He carefully explained the difference between the old Indian religion and the Christian faith.

He once warned me, "Never attend the Indian ceremonies. The spirits there are not the same Spirit that lives in you."

He spoke openly about the spiritual world he had known before. He said there were things those spirits could do and things they could not do. Even then, although he had not yet fully trusted Christ, he recognized there was a power greater than anything he had ever experienced.

Then came the day that changed my understanding of faith forever.

Grandpa came by the mission and said, "Get in the car. We're going to the hospital."

As we drove, he told me his grandson was dying. The doctors had given him only a few hours to live.

Then Grandpa looked at me and calmly said, "You're going to pray for him. You're going to anoint him, and he's going to live."

I nearly panicked.

I had never prayed over someone for healing.

I had never anointed anyone with oil.

I didn't even own any oil.

My heart was racing. I kept thinking, Lord, I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. What if I don't have enough faith?

The only example I had was my father. I had watched him pray for the sick. When he anointed someone, he poured the oil generously until it ran down over their head.

Before we reached the hospital, I pulled into the Safeway grocery store. They had only large bottles of olive oil. I bought one, feeling more than a little embarrassed. Imagine carrying a full-sized bottle of olive oil through a hospital while everyone looked at you wondering what in the world you were doing.

When we entered the room, many family members were gathered around the bed. The doctors had said there was no hope.

His grandson looked as though he had already slipped into eternity.

Without hesitation, Grandpa turned to the family and said, "Everyone leave the room."

When the door closed behind them, he looked at me and simply said,

"Now pray."

There I stood—a frightened young missionary holding a large bottle of olive oil and wondering what to say.

I opened the bottle.

To this day, I honestly cannot remember the words of my prayer.

I only remember pouring the oil over that young man's head until it ran down his face, just as I had seen my father do years before.

Then I said the only words I clearly remember:

"In the name of Jesus, receive healing. Amen."

That was it.

No thunder.

No lightning.

No dramatic feeling.

No voice from heaven.

As soon as I finished praying, Grandpa smiled and said,

"Let's go home. He'll be all right."

The next day his grandson walked out of the hospital.

I sat in amazement.

That experience taught me one of the greatest lessons of my ministry.

The miracle was not in my prayer.

The miracle was not in the olive oil.

The miracle was not because I possessed extraordinary faith.

The miracle was because God always remains faithful to His own Word.

The Scriptures declare,

"Is any sick among you? let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord:

And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up..." (James 5:14–15, KJV)

Notice carefully that James does not say the oil heals.

He does not say the preacher heals.

He says, "the Lord shall raise him up."

That day I learned another precious truth:

"God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise." (1 Corinthians 1:27, KJV)

God often works through people who know they are weak, uncertain, and completely dependent upon Him.

Grandpa's faith also left a lasting impression on me. Although he had not yet surrendered his life fully to Christ, he believed there was a power greater than every spirit he had ever known. He trusted that the name of Jesus was above every other name.

Years later, before Grandpa passed into eternity, he placed his faith in Jesus Christ.

I have often wondered if that day in the hospital helped prepare his heart for the Savior.

Only heaven will reveal all that God accomplished through that simple prayer.

As I look back over the many years, I smile when I remember that frightened young missionary carrying a quart-sized bottle of olive oil through the hospital.

I thought God needed someone stronger.

Someone wiser.

Someone with greater faith.

Instead, He reminded me of another promise that has carried me through fifty-eight years of ministry:

"Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths." (Proverbs 3:5–6, KJV)

The Lord was never looking for a perfect servant.

He was simply looking for a willing one.

And I have found Him faithful every step of the journey.

An Appreciative Heart My Testimony of God's Faithfulness

When people ask me how I am doing, I usually smile and say, "The Lord has been good to me. I am blessed."

Some may wonder how I can say that after all the health problems I have faced. The answer is simple. I learned many years ago that if I spend my time counting my problems, I will become discouraged. But if I spend my time counting my blessings, my heart fills with gratitude.

For more than fifteen years, I have made it a daily habit to begin my day with an appreciative heart. Before I think about the doctor's appointments, the medications, or the aches and pains, I stop and thank the Lord.

I thank Him for another sunrise.

I thank Him for another opportunity to serve Him.

I thank Him for another day with my wife and family.

I thank Him for fifty-eight years of ministry that He has entrusted to me.

I thank Him because He has never failed me.

Looking back over my life, I can see the hand of God in every chapter.

In August of 1967, as a young man, I surrendered my life to the call of God. I had no idea where that journey would lead. I knew that if the Lord wanted me, I was willing to go.

Since that day, He has allowed me to serve as a missionary, evangelist, Bible teacher, pastor, songwriter, educator, and writer. He gave me the privilege of spending thirty-eight years in education, helping young people prepare not only for careers but for life itself. He opened doors for me to preach His Word to countless congregations.

For more than four decades, He has allowed me to pastor Sugar Plain Friends Church. Every sermon preached, every hospital visit, every funeral, every wedding, every revival meeting, and every soul who came to Christ has been another reminder that God uses ordinary people who make themselves available.

I deserve none of the credit.

God deserves all of the glory.

Along the way, He blessed me with a wonderful wife, children, grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren. They have become one of the greatest pieces of evidence of God's goodness in my life.

Has life been easy?

Not at all.

Like everyone else, I have walked through valleys.

There have been disappointments, burdens, and unanswered questions. There have been nights when I prayed for direction and days when I wondered what tomorrow would bring.

Then came the health problems.

Diabetes slowly took its toll. Eventually, I lost two toes and much of the feeling in my feet. There were times when walking became difficult.

Then my kidneys began to fail.

When I was told my kidney function had declined to Stage 5, I knew what that could mean. Dialysis was becoming a real possibility. Yet through careful treatment and God's mercy, my kidneys improved enough to return to Stage 4. I still have kidney disease, but I also have hope because every day I continue without dialysis is another gift from God.

More recently, I was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. The tremors remind me every day that my body is changing. There are things I once did without thinking that now require patience.

I have congestive heart failure.

I have arthritis.

I have undergone hip replacement surgery.

There are mornings when my body reminds me that I am no longer a young man.

Yet my heart reminds me that my God has not changed.

The older I become, the more precious the promises of Scripture become.

Isaiah wrote:

"Even to your old age I am he; and even to hoar hairs will I carry you: I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and will deliver you." (Isaiah 46:4, KJV)

That verse is no longer just something I preach.

It has become something I live.

People sometimes ask if I am afraid.

The truth is, I am not.

I do not spend my days worrying about how much longer I have to live.

I spend my days thanking God that I have lived.

I thank Him that I can still preach.

I thank Him that I can still write.

I thank Him that I can still sing.

I thank Him that I can still encourage someone who may be carrying a burden much heavier than my own.

The Apostle Paul wrote:

"In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you." (1 Thessalonians 5:18, KJV)

Notice he did not say, "Give thanks when life is easy."

He said, "In every thing."

That has become one of the guiding principles of my life.

The Lord has taught me something over these years.

An appreciative heart does not deny reality.

It simply chooses to see God's faithfulness amid reality.

It does not ignore pain.

It simply refuses to let pain exceed God's grace.

I have also discovered something else.

When I preach on Sunday morning, the people in the pews are watching far more than they are listening.

They want to know whether the faith I have preached for nearly six decades is strong enough to carry me through my own trials.

By God's grace, I can honestly tell them that it is.

The same Lord who saved me as a young man has never left me.

The same Lord who called me into the ministry has never abandoned me.

The same Lord who carried me through every burden has never once failed to keep His promises.

As I look toward retirement from the pastorate, I do not see the end of my ministry.

I see another chapter that God is writing.

There are still sermons to preach.

There are still books to write.

There are still songs to sing.

There are still souls to point toward Jesus Christ.

One day, my body will finally wear out.

That does not trouble me.

This old body has served me well for seventy-eight years, but it was never intended to last forever.

The day is coming when faith will become sight.

The tremors will cease.

The heart will never fail again.

The kidneys will no longer struggle.

There will be no more pain, no more tears, and no more death.

Until that glorious day arrives, I have made my decision.

I will not spend my remaining years complaining about what I have lost.

I will spend them thanking God for what He has given me.

If you are reading this while carrying your own burden of sickness, loneliness, grief, or disappointment, let me encourage you to begin where I begin each morning.

Take a few moments to thank the Lord.

Count your blessings before you count your burdens.

You may discover what I have learned over the past fifteen years.

An appreciative heart will not remove every trial, but it will remind you that God's faithfulness is greater than every trial you will ever face.

The Lord has been faithful to me for fifty-eight years of ministry.

I have every confidence He will remain faithful until He calls me home.

"And my tongue shall speak of thy righteousness and of thy praise all the day long." (Psalm 35:28, KJV)