Chasing God Until He Caught Me: Chapter One - The Open Door

The Compelling Story of God's Relentless Pursuit To Rescue One Lost Soul

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The Paper Boy_St. Jude's Church: Artist - Thomas Fulton

Growing up, there were only two places I ever called “home”.

Most families didn’t move around that much. Not like today, anyway.

Until I was twelve, our family lived on Honeysuckle Lane in Walterboro, a small town in the South Carolina Lowcountry.

Dad was the regional manager for the power company. Mom, like most at that time, was a stay-at-home mom.

I was the second of five children in a relatively comfortable middle-class family during the idyllic period of the 50s and 60s.

Although our family was not rich by any means, life was good. I did all the things small-town boys normally do - Played baseball, swam in the community pool, went to high school football games, daydreamed about girls, and explored along Ireland Creek with my friends for hours at a time.

There were only two hard and fast rules back then: “Respect your elders”, which meant anyone older than us, and “Be home before dark”.

With only two Elementary schools, one Jr. High, and one High School, everyone knew everyone for miles around. We rode our bicycles everywhere. We were as likely to be disciplined by a neighbor or a friend’s mom as our own.

Front doors were seldom locked in those days. We felt safe.

A Real-life Mayberry.

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In most small towns, Church played a big part in life and heritage. Ours was no different.

Successive generations of ancestors had gone to our particular denomination, so it was expected of us as well. It was just a part of life, what we did. No one questioned it. As a result, my understanding of God was rather shallow.

I mean, I knew there was a God, but he must have been pretty bored with our formal and ritualistic manner of worship because He never seemed to show up. At least not when I was there.

Don’t get me wrong. I loved going to church. It was our social life. Everyone I knew either went to our church or just a couple of others.

Sunday School, pancake suppers, Mrs. Skardon’s youth choir, and when older, youth group were all safe, happy places during that time in my life. As an Altar Boy, I even got to go shooting with the minister, who collected antique guns.

I was not wholly ignorant of what I would describe as “Christianity”. My parents were faithful in church attendance and observing the various seasonal religious practices of our denomination. As a child, I went to Sunday School and Vacation Bible School. I knew all the stories from Adam and Eve to Jesus.

Our denomination focused on ritualistic observances about the salvation of the soul, however. This was something that I later understood to be different than what the Bible taught.

I was sprinkled baptized as an infant and learned a form of “catechism” to live by. Finally, at the appropriate age, I was “confirmed”.

I thought that was it. That's all I had to do. I was in. Secure.

Nobody ever talked about a transformed life. I could now go on my merry way and live my life in whatever fashion I wanted. Much like I observed many adults doing.

I was part of the fold now, so all was good.

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One night when I was in the 6^th grade, I walked into the den and turned on the TV. A Billy Graham Crusade was being broadcast. I had heard of Billy Graham but had never heard or seen anything like this before.

I was mesmerized by the message of salvation and when he gave the invitation, he said that if we were watching on Television, we could just put our hand on the TV and pray with him to receive Christ. So that’s what I did.

I had no idea what it all meant.

Of course at that age and with no one else around to explain anything, I did not think too much more about it. But, subconsciously at least, it was the start of my quest for answers.

A door had been opened.

Rev 3:20 Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.

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