One of God’s greatest
blessings is the gift of a good memory. By “good memory” I don’t mean being
able to remember everything, but the joy of re-living past blessings (people,
places, experiences) by calling them to mind and savoring them again.
Lately I’ve been surprised with
memories of a good friend—one of my favorite cousins. (I only have about 80 or
90 first cousins when I combine the Arington and Blumenberg families. I guess
they’re really all favorites).
Al Hendrix is the cousin I’m thinking
about. He was one of a kind. He had his struggles, but I’ll never forget the positive
impact he had on my life. In many of the best things that happened to me, he
was intimately involved. We were so close we would sometimes both get an idea
at the same time and would carry it out without ever verbally or audibly
speaking it. It didn’t always work out. Sometimes it turned out we weren’t
thinking the same thing at all, but often we would do something cooperatively
without ever discussing what we planned to do.
When I was saved as a sophomore in
high school, Al was pastor of Mounds Church of God, in Mississippi County
Missouri. Our Uncle Linvel Arington was holding a revival. Several people were
saved (two of us grew up to serve in ministry). After I knew the Lord was
calling me into ministry, Al took me to Falkoff’s Department Store in East
Prairie, Missouri, and bought me my first new suit. He said, “Every preacher
needs a good suit.” (Back then it was true. Now? Not so much).
After I graduated high school, I struggled
with my call to ministry. I didn’t know how to preach and felt like I would never
be able to do it. I sort of gave up in discouragement. The result was that I
drifted away from God, felt like a failure, and gave up my faith. When Al and
Nelva were pastors at the Church of God in Edwardsburg, Michigan, I went to
live with them and look for work in the area.
The first Sunday I went to church with
Al and Nelva and family. At the end of the service I was sitting in the congregation
when Al asked the congregation to stand for the closing prayer. Then he asked me
to pray. This was not unusual in those days. Christians and especially ministers
were expected to be ready to pray at any time.
The problem was I hadn’t been praying
much lately. My first thought was, “I should have told Al I’m no longer a
Christian! What do I do? I can’t pray anymore!” (I was what we called “back-slidden”.
In other words I was no longer walking in faith.) In a panic I couldn’t think
what to do, so I decided to just fake it. I would pretend to pray and hope no
one would notice that God and I were no longer on speaking terms. So I began to
pray.
The absolutely amazing thing was that
when I began to pray I felt the warmth of God’s love overwhelm me. I found it
wasn’t at all difficult to pray. With the feeling of warmth I felt like God was
saying, “Aw-w-w don’t worry about it. I was never that far away.”
I still believe we can turn away from
faith, but I no longer believe it is easy. I now know God never gives up on us.
His love is unconditional and his patience is beyond comprehension.
I have many wonderful memories of time
spent with Al and Nelva Hendrix back when we were all a lot younger. Al stood
with me when Carol and I were married and we both have good memories of time
spent with him and Nelva when we were all young marrieds. I truly thank God for
those memories.
Al was an incredible artist—sculptor,
painter, song-writer and singer. He was also skilled at auto body work. He was
sort of a renaissance man—he could do about anything he wanted to do.
Later in our lives it was Al who
struggled with his faith and I think he felt the way I did on that long-ago
Sunday in Southwest Michigan. He saw a lot of hypocrisy that really bothered
him and he totally gave up on the church. He still had great respect for those
people who had genuine faith. He seemed to have a knack for knowing who was
real; but he was also slow to judge and quick to overlook a failing in a person.
When I get to heaven I expect to see Al there and I’m guessing he’ll be picking
his guitar and singing with the saints.
I doubt if Al expected to get to
heaven when he died. I don’t think he thought of himself as still being a man
of faith. He had given up on God and I think he thought God had given up on
him. But I’m guessing when Al died Jesus surprised him much the same way he
surprised me on that Sunday when I felt like such a failure. Al may not have
known it but God loved him just as much as ever. The same way he loves you.
I’m Rick Blumenberg, and that’s “My
View from Tanner Creek”.
