Growing up as a preacher’s kid in a small country church that was surrounded on all sides by dairy farms, I suppose it was rather unusual to have vivid memories of a radio broadcast, “Echoes of Faith,” being recorded from our Sunday evening services (choir, special music and all), but that was exactly what took place. My Dad delivered an evangelistic message every week. We even had a small orchestra, led by my Mom. During the week, she would faithfully listen at home while preparing school lunches and rounding us up for breakfast. The messages have long since receded into my long term memory bank, although I suspect they are living out their truths in my life. However, I can still hear the choir’s opening hymn:
Encamped along the hills of light, ye Christian soldiers, rise!
And press the battle ere the night shall veil the glowing skies.
Against the foe in vales below shall all our strength be hurled;
Faith is the victory, we know, that overcomes the world!
– John H. Yates, Faith is the Victory
I have to tell you – we had some pretty good musicians in that little congregation! They loved the Lord and you could hear it in their singing, which my Dad often explained was the spiritual thermometer of the church. But even more remarkable to me was that humble, unassuming servant of God, whose main objectives in life were to bring as many souls to heaven with him as he could, and to train and equip the next generation to go out and do the same. And I can still hear him signing off each week with,
“This is Pastor George Whitman speaking. Until next time, you’ll be – listening?”
He was never famous, although his children can hardly go anywhere in the world without running into someone who knew him or sat under his ministry that extended well past his 53 years of pastoring churches. His early childhood and upbringing were very simple and ordinary: raised on a farm in the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains, a mischievous lad who walked with his sisters to a one-room schoolhouse. His family was so poor he had to sell homegrown popcorn to buy his first bicycle. He even brought a cow along with him to his first week of Bible camp – you know, to pay his way by providing milk for the campers that week! Wouldn’t our health inspectors have a cow over that?
What was it that compelled such an ordinary young man to go out and accomplish such extraordinary things? What was it that inspired a young farm boy to set his sights on eternity, planting seeds throughout his life that would bear fruit in the Kingdom of God? It was the soft prompting of the Holy Spirit calling him out and leading him on to do great things — things that most likely seemed ordinary and mundane to him as they played out in his daily life.
“There’s no sense in going further — it’s the edge of cultivation,”
So they said, and I believed it — broke my land and sowed my crop –
Built my barns and strung my fences in the little border station
Tucked away below the foothills where the trails run out and stop:
Till a voice, as bad as Conscience, rang interminable changes
On one everlasting Whisper day and night repeated so:
“Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges –
“Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go!
. . . Anybody might have found it, but his whisper came to me!”
– Rudyard Kipling, The Explorer (1898)
We are continually retreating behind our limitations and saying, “Thus far and no farther can I go.” God is ever laying His hand upon us and thrusting us out into the open, saying, “You can be more than you are; you must be more than you are.” – Lettie B. Cowman, Springs in the Valley
God’s people had been waiting and longingcmas2 for his arrival but they were expecting more of a conquering king; a political savior and religious leader who would play by the rules. Mary and Joseph held their firstborn son, not in the comfort of their home with adoring family and friends, but huddled in a cold and lowly stable they shared with some animals and a few shepherds who had just received a celestial invitation. Not exactly what the young couple might have expected, but far beyond their wildest dreams. The heavens erupted in praise. The angels looked on in wonder. The shepherds knelt in reverence as the tiny Prince of Heaven locked eyes with his earthly parents, and Mary and Joseph rejoiced.
A feeling of panic swept over me as I prepared for my first trip to Nashville to meet with Creative Soul. What was I thinking – saying I’d go down there? I started assembling all of the lyrics I could find – some scribbled, some typed, and others written neatly on legal pads. After I had exhausted all possible options of where they might be hiding, I stared at the dining room table covered with songs spanning several decades. With a lump in my throat I began to talk to myself – half complaining, half praying – “this cannot be for nothing – this cannot be all there is … there must be a purpose. Whatever possessed me to sit down and write all these songs? Why would anyone one do that, Lord?”
This was written for our friend, Nikki, who valiantly and joyfully lived every moment of her life until she was ushered into the presence of Jesus. I can still see her sitting in the balcony at church wearing a brightly colored scarf, face beaming with sheer joy as she watched her children participate in the annual Christmas pageant. And maybe there was a little coaching going on up there when the three ‘wise guys’ sang! My daughter had recently given me a quote: “Yesterday’s the past, tomorrow is the future, today is a gift; that’s why we call it the present!” I was pondering that as I went to see Nikki in the hospital early one morning. She was in and out of consciousness but smiled and held me close as I thanked her for all she had taught our church family about loving and caring for people.
Every time my Dad got up to preach he would pray, “…and Lord, please give me a clear mind and a warm heart with which to teach your Word. But if I ever had to choose between the two, Lord, I’d rather have a warm heart…” I was always touched by that but as I got older I used to be a little afraid that God might take him up on that proposition and although he did repeat himself a lot in later years (jokes, that is – which we appropriately teased him about), and was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s when he was well into his 80’s, he never got confused about God’s Word and he always presented it with clarity and a warm, tender heart – 53 years in full time ministry, and many more after that, mentoring pastors and churches wherever God placed him.
The story of a little girl’s journey to faith, and the Daddy who led her there. But the story began long before that:
This song developed out of a personal Bible study on genuine love as described in 1 Corinthians 13. As I read the chapter through several times the melody began singing to me. There’s an interesting story about the song’s debut in church – a stark contrast, presented just moments before I was to get up and sing – the contrast between love and hatred; a story of how God gave me the strength and composure to get up and present a message of love in the face of utter contempt and humiliation.
A true story inspired by a little girl’s treasure hidden away in a crayon box, and the lesson I learned about how God works in us; a song for my dear friend and all the beautiful little ‘butterflies’ in our lives. Interestingly, the song developed in much the same way as the message it conveys when I found an old journal entry 25 years after it was written. Much like the caterpillar my daughter had tucked away in an obscure place, the journal had been sitting unnoticed in a box of personal effects that had endured several moves. When I found it I wept as I realized how true it was – the message was for me!