The Faithfulness of God

“I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me” (Gal. 2:20).

This was the first and only Easter I would sit with my parents in church. The whole family had gathered to celebrate. As the service began, I glanced over at my Dad.

He was singing with a hymnal in his hand and tears streaming down his face. When I looked over at Mom, her tears equaled his. They were brand new Christians, just a few weeks old, and my heart exploded with joy. But then something strange happened. Conviction washed over me. How long had it been since I worshipped with the same humble heart? Wasn’t God deserving of my full focus? Where was my passion for the Lord?

This was a fleeting moment, but one I have often thought about. As I sat there, my mind wandered back to their remarkable story of mercy.

Go with me as I journey back.

Jesus became my Savior when I was sixteen, but even though my parents were good people, they were not believers. The burden I felt for them was more than I could stand. As a young mother and wife, I traveled from my home in Georgia to their home in Florida. I went to share the gospel and God’s love for them.

I do not remember what I said, but my words sent Dad storming from the room and Mom crying. I felt like a total failure. But that night in my old bedroom God gave me a song. “When We All Get to Heaven.” I held on to that moment for years. Every chance I had, I asked others to pray for my parents’ salvation.

I had dear friends who shared my concerns by making a stop in Florida to take my parents to lunch. During lunch they shared how much I loved them and how Jesus loved and had a plan for them. They were gospel seed planters.

Their visit did not appear to have any results.

Every visit to Florida filled me with pressure and fear. The responsibility for their salvation drained me. This burden was too heavy to bear.

Dad and I had always been close, but now he was distant and aggravated at me. This grieved my heart. He had a tough time being in the same room with me. My family noticed the change, and they were frustrated with him.

However, God, in His mercy, showed me that Dad was in the middle of a spiritual battle. This helped me to understand and release my hurt.

After my parents had both retired, they took a trip with friends and Dad did something that made my Mom angry. She is not a person you wanted to make mad or in this case furious. She was done with him, but he must have groveled enough for her to give him a chance to make things right.

These were her demands: One, they would start going to church together, and two, he would learn to play bridge. He said, “Okay, fine.” He would do that if she learned to watch football with him. They both agreed to the demands. Thank goodness!

They started attending Lakeshore Baptist Church in Jacksonville, Florida. My husband and I had history with this church. I was baptized and married there. A friend in my church in Georgia was from Jacksonville, and her parents were members of the church my parents were attending.

The world is small in the Hands of the Lord.

When I heard that they were attending church, I didn’t want them to be overlooked. I called the church office to make sure the pastor knew my parents were not Christians. I must have sounded a bit bossy, but we sometimes forget that older people are not all saved. It was important for the church to know.

Months went by, and from a conversation I had with my Dad, I began to give up hope. I was questioning that God had given me a song of promise years ago in my old bedroom. My faith and hope were disappearing.

Mom was seventy-four, and Dad was seventy-six. Time was running out. What more could I do? All my Christian friends were praying. If someone knew me in the church, they were praying.

I was selling tickets for Wednesday night supper at church when my friend, Nancy came bouncing full of joy. She told me the most wonderful news.

My parents had made a profession of faith on Sunday.

I am not much of a crier, but the floodgates opened, and I was sure I was about to flood the Christian Family Life Center.

My church family didn’t know what had happened, but their concern turned to joy when they heard the news. Many of them had wrestled in prayer for the salvation of my parents.

There is more to the story, but for now, as we are getting close to Easter, I hope and pray that we will celebrate the wonderful gift of Jesus. He has made a way for us to be righteous before Him. I pray that tears of joy run down our faces as we come together in awe of the goodness of our God.

“When we all get to heaven,

What a day of rejoicing that will be!

When we all see Jesus

We’ll sing and shout the victory.”

“When We All Get to Heaven,” by Eliza E. Hewitt (1898).

Pray with me:

Dear Lord,

Thank You for Your provision of Jesus. A provision that gives us a new identity and a new eternal home. We need Your grace and mercy to fill our hearts as we prepare for Easter. May the praise and honor of that celebration be sweet music to Your ears. Oh, Father, we bow before You, our great merciful God. In Jesus’ name, Amen.