Testimony

I really feel the need to publish my testimony here on the blog. While writing my testimony for publication a few years ago, I sensed the Lord saying that there was far more to it than just my experience of being born again. A book was birthed out of this, recording my walk with the Lord over the past 34 years. This is from chapter two of the book, which is far from finished.

Each life yielded to the Lord and under the control of the Holy Spirit is another chapter in the book of Acts. It will only be completed when Jesus returns to fetch His Bride. And so it is with my life's story. The story of how God used an ordinary man to achieve a part of His purpose. His ways and thoughts are higher than ours.

The Story Begins.

Driving home one sunny, late winter’s afternoon in August, a sign caught my eye. It read “St. Stephens Anglican Church”. I had driven this route many times before but on this Friday afternoon I had an inner urge to stop. At the time I did not realise it but now I know that it was a divine appointment.

I think it was the “Anglican” bit that triggered it. My mind flashed back some twenty years to my confirmation in the Anglican Church. At the family “celebration meal” after the service my dad bless his soul, he is now with the Lord, said that I could now make my own decision about whether or not to go to church. We were not a church going family but did the “right” things.

My decision was made. A resounding NO! After all, I had gotten absolutely nothing out of it. When I got up from the altar rail on that Sunday I felt no different from the day our catechism classes started. I never even felt a sense of duty towards my parents or God. As a matter of fact all I knew about God was what I had “learned” in catechism classes and recited, rote fashion, in the creed.

Now twenty years later, I stopped the car, reversed and drove into the entrance of the property. Without hesitation and not knowing why, I got out of the car, went up to the front door and knocked.

A young woman, about my age, opened the door and politely asked if she could help me. For a few seconds I was phased. I couldn’t remember what you called the main man. “Could I see the err…” I stammered. “… my husband Allan” she helped me out. “Is he the err… “, she helped me again “…yes the minster, but he is not in right now”.

“Thanks” I said, “I will call again.” Whew! I was off the hook. But as I turned to leave she asked whether she could be of assistance. Before I knew it I was asking what time the Sunday services were. Seven am, nine am and six pm. I thanked her and made a hurried exit.

What was happening? I had not attended a church service, by choice, for twenty years. Why this sudden interest in church? Little did I realise at the time but God had been planting seeds in my heart.

About five years prior to this my dad, who now had become a regular church attendee, put me on a guilt trip about my two children. So to keep him happy, Val (my wife at the time) and I started attending the Free Church with my dad so that the kids could go to “Sunday school”. A month later my dad moved to the other side of town. Just the break I needed. 

My decision was that on Sunday mornings Val and I would take turns in taking the kids to Sunday school. I am not sure what Val did on her Sundays but I would drop the kids off and having bought the Sunday Times newspaper on the way to the church, I would park under a shady tree and read. This only lasted about a month and then the novelty wore off. We stopped going. Do you know what? The kids never once asked if they could go again. They were just having too much fun on a Sunday at home as a family.

Then about a year before the St. Stephens episode another strange thing happened. One Sunday afternoon as I was quietly sitting and reading there was a knock at the front door. Upon answering I found an elderly lady quite distressed because her car had broken down. She asked if she could phone her husband and would I mind looking up the telephone number for her. Remember the days before mobiles?

Their surname was “van Schalkwyk” and I found the number at the address she had given me. I dialed the number for her and handed her the telephone. While she was chatting to her husband my mind started processing the info. The name Ozzie came to mind. When she had finished the call and thanked me, I asked whether she had a son about my age as the address she had given rang a bell in my mind. She said that she did and that he was married with two children. It turned out to be an old school friend that I had not seen since we left the army in 1962. It was now 1977. I asked her to give him my regards.

A few weeks later. Sunday afternoon. Enjoying a cold beer; knock at the front door. Sundays were beginning to get to me. What happened to the peace and quiet. To my surprise I opened the door to find Ozzie standing there. He was all dressed up in a suit. What was up? Had he been to a funeral? People don’t have funerals on a Sunday. No, Ozzie was on his way to church. I could not help myself, maybe the beer helped, but I burst out laughing.

Ozzie did not think it was funny. He had actually come to invite me along. I laughed again and offered him a beer. No thanks, he didn’t drink anymore. This time I almost cracked I laughed so hard. Ozzie did not think it was funny. This was definitely not the same guy I knew in the good old army days. Ozzie had been born again, whatever that meant. I declined his invitation and invited him to come around again, not on a Sunday, for a chat about the good old days. He left. Strange though, he never seemed angry or phased at all. His face was actually glowing.

I forgot all about that incident until… you guessed it, the next Sunday afternoon. Knock at the front door. Ozzie in suit inviting me to church. Me, beer in hand laughing. I decline, Ozzie leaves with peaceful look on his face.

What is with this guy? He used to be a great buddy. Now he is hassling me.

Not again. Sunday afternoon. Ozzie suit. Me beer. This time I wasn’t laughing. I could see that he was serious about getting me to go to church. Did he know something I didn’t? Ok. I agreed to go once if he agreed to stop hassling me. Deal. He gave me the address and said he would wait outside for me just before six pm.

Val and I bundled the kids into the car and drove the five or six kilometers to find that the address was a Boy Scout Hall! There was Ozzie in his suit. I was dressed in an open neck shirt. Part of the deal… no dressing up. He greeted me like a long lost friend. He hugged me! Strange… a slap on the back would have been good enough.

Inside the building I found about sixty people. They were happy! Strange… I had never seen this in a church service before. There was even a guy up front with a guitar! Church? Then we were asked to settle down. We had to because the place was buzzing. Someone opened with a prayer. Ah! It was a church service. Then we were asked to stand to sing. Definitely a church service. Now what? People clapping their hands to happy songs… with a beat. Definitely not your normal church service. This I could go for. I had been a jazz/rock drummer so this part was good.

Then people started talking in strange languages. Weird or what? A man, maybe the minister, spoke about something from the Bible. But by this time I had gone into shut down mode. I couldn’t wait for it to end.

Afterwards, I thanked Ozzie for inviting me and said that I hoped he would keep his side of the deal. Do not invite me again. Sure he said with a big smile. That was that!

However about six months later our paths were to cross again. This time it was my choice. Val and I had been going through some serious marriage problems and once again the subject of divorce came up. A name immediately came to mind. You guessed right again… Ozzie. But I never had a contact number. Then I remembered the address I had looked up for his mom, found the number, called her and got a number for Ozzie. His name was actually Raymond according to his mom… I never knew.

I made an appointment to see him and when I arrived I found both Ozzie and his wife Ruth waiting for me. Ozzie could see that I was not happy to have a woman in on our discussion but he assured me that Ruth would remain neutral. Now this was the first time that we had actually spoken together since our army days. Apart from our greetings on the night of the church service, we never communicated. 

To my surprise I found both Ozzie and Ruth to be very gentle. Ruth’s face was also aglow with that same peace that I had seen on Ozzie’s face. What was this? They read some passages out of the bible and explained how they applied to marriage. They started talking about Jesus, but I was trying to control myself from weeping. I never really heard what they were saying. Somehow I felt better about my situation and after they had prayed, yes prayed out loud for Val and me, I thanked them and left.

Strange meeting. Apart from a minister, I had never heard ordinary people pray out loud before. And when they prayed it was as though they were talking to someone who was in the room with us. I truly cannot remember what they prayed but somehow I knew that it was for real.

Our marriage stayed intact. I didn’t know why. And, I never saw Ozzie and Ruth again until maybe five years later. Why the interlude concerning Ozzie? I believe now that seeds were planted which bore fruit on the 23rd August 1978.

Continues Here.

With much love ,

Jack.

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