“We know truth, not only by reason, but also by heart.” Blaise Pascal

Some of my earliest memories are waking up at my grandparent’s house in Griffin, Georgia and looking over and seeing my grandmother reading her bible. I would then wipe the sleep away from my eyes and punch my little brother to wake him up. My grandmother would then close her bible and intervene and say, “You boys get up now and grandma will make you some breakfast.” Our grandfather would nod with a wry grin as he tended to his pipe and watched us climb out of the sofa bed and gather ourselves for breakfast. The holidays were always special at my grandparent’s houses, both sets. Thanksgiving would always start the season off and I remember my Grandma Daniel saying grace right before we ate, giving thanks to God for the blessings of life. Years later, when I was around 12 years old, I would re-live those memories of waking up and seeing my grandmother reading her bible, except this time it would be in our home in Jackson. After my grandfather had passed away, my grandmother’s health had begun to fail and she came to live with us at our home. Walking into the living room and seeing her morning devotional was a daily experience until she too went to be with God.
It was around this time of my life that I also affirmed my faith publicly. I was a member of the Royal Ambassadors of my church. The Royal Ambassadors, or RA’s, as we called ourselves, is a mission’s discipleship organization for boys in 1st thru 6th grade. I think it was the summer of my eleventh year that I attended RA camp down around Brunswick, Georgia. A busload of young boys from our church spent a week in a wilderness camp, living in huts with bunk beds and communing with nature and learning about our faith. We also would have great fun playing games, taking hikes in the woods and enjoying some watersports. We would also worship in the wilderness church located on the grounds of the camp. After one of these services, I was drawn to talk to one of the pastors who were working with the camp, and we talked about God and our faith and he asked me if I wanted to accept Jesus Christ as my personal savior. So, on a beautiful summer day under the shade of a towering Live Oak tree, sitting down with a preacher, I asked God to come into my heart. I don’t remember the preachers name, I wish I did, but I still see his face and the bible he held in his hands. I still feel the soothing breeze under the shade of the oak trees and the warmth that filled my heart and soul at that moment. I would later be baptized at my church and I remember coming up out of the water and peering over the pews and finding the smile on my grandmother’s face. I enjoyed a period of grace and peacefulness that remains cemented in my memory.
Young boys eventually begin to turn into young men. With those eventual changes, the influences of life and the expansion of experiences, the young man’s spiritual self can change from its original form into something else if it is not tended and fostered regularly. This would be my course. I began a slow walk away from God. I never left him completely and I prayed infrequently, but I did not have that endearing spirit that I had as a child. As I began a career in a job of my childhood dreams, I found both personal and professional success. My life was blessed in many ways, but I kept walking away from God. There were many times where the subtle hand of the Divine would try to intervene on my course, but I was not to be moved. I would reach a point in my life where I felt a complete spiritual emptiness. Even at this point, there was something inside that said, “It’s there, and you have to find it again.”
It was during the holidays around Thanksgiving one year, I was driving in my truck and I was listening to a CD of Christmas music by Elvis Presley. I had always been a fan of Elvis since my youth, but I couldn’t ever remember him singing the song, “I Believe.” The song began to play and I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. As Elvis continued to bellow out the tune, I not only heard the words, but I began to feel the words. I bring it out during Christmas time every year and play it along with the other Christmas carols we listen to during the season. The words go like this;

I believe for every drop of rain that falls, a flower grows
I believe that somewhere in the darkest night, a candle glows
I believe for everyone who goes astray, someone will come to show the way
I believe, I believe
I believe above the storm the smallest prayer will still be heard
I believe that someone in the great somewhere hears every word
Every time I hear a newborn baby cry, or touch a leaf, or see the sky
Then I know why, I believe.

“I Believe” is a song that was written in 1953. It was commissioned and introduced by Jane Froman, who had a popular television show in the 50’s. It was the first song ever introduced on television. Miss Froman was troubled by the onset of the Korean War and asked some writers to compose a song that would offer hope and faith to the populace. Frankie Laine, of “Rawhide” fame recorded the big hit version of the song and it is also my favorite version of the song. It has become both a popular and religious standard.
I don’t know why this particular song struck a chord with me that day. They say the Lord moves in mysterious ways. Personally, I think we are all hard-wired to believe there is something out there greater than we are. I have an acquaintance who is an atheist, yet, every year during the Christmas season, he revels in the festive spirit of the holiday. I think too, that it is the hand of the Almighty which stirs him this time of year.
Today, in our society, in some circles, it is in vogue to spurn and ridicule the belief in a higher power. I have lamented seeing some of the disparaging commentary in our media on this topic. However, I am reminded as I write this story, that faith in the Almighty, has stood the test of time. Faith has survived for millennia and it shall survive for many more. That is my faith. The founding of our nation was born out of the pursuit of religious freedom. From that first day the Pilgrims set foot on Plymouth Rock, to the signing of the Declaration of Independence, that freedom of religion, not freedom from religion, has been a cornerstone of our nation.
During this time of year, we, as adults often recall our childhood memories of parents and grandparents and those in our family who are no longer with us. This day I am reminded of having my grandmother Bon Bon’s Christmas soup at her mill house in Pepperton. I am also reminded of my grandmother Daniel reading her Bible. If I could speak to them again, I would tell them I love them and I Believe.