The Birth of Hope (Part 3)
My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and they come to an end without hope. (Job 7:6)
(Continued from “Masterpiece in the Making: Life Lessons for Spiritual Growth.”)
Let me begin by saying that my Dad was a godly man. He trusted Christ as Savior at the age of thirty-three and never looked back. I didn’t include the story of Dad’s salvation in the first edition of this book, published only in Korea, but I feel impressed to share it now.
When Dad was serving as a co-pilot bomber in the Pacific Ocean during World War II, he was injured in a boiler room explosion on his aircraft carrier. While recovering, he had a vision. In his vision, he saw a white house sitting on a hill and surrounded by a picket fence. He was in his early twenties when he had this vision, but in the vision, he knew himself to be thirty-three. It was also in this vision that he died at the age of thirty-three. As often happens, Dad recovered and forgot all about the vision he had seen. At least, he forgot about it until he turned thirty-three.
Dad left the Navy after nine years of service. He had done what many young men did at the time and signed up at fifteen, after lying about his age. He was twenty-four when he entered civilian life. Within nine years, he earned a business degree, law degree and was busy building two companies from the ground up. His secretary, whom our family grew to love deeply, was a rural southern pentecostal woman with a country twang rivaling Reba McEntire. Only unlike Reba, Margie weighed over two-hundred and fifty pounds!
Dad was a faithful member of his local church, but he had never personally called on Christ to be his savior. During office hours, Dad and Margie talked about the call of Christ and the need for salvation. It was during these days that Dad remembered his vision. Eerie as it may sound, he was living with my mother and two older brothers in that white house on a hill, surrounded by the picket fence. He never actually said it, but his conversations with Margie were likely sparked by his fear of death.
And Dad did die. It happened one morning on the way to work. These were the 1950s in Atlanta, Georgia, and civil rights were over a decade away. But every day, my father passed an old Black man selling vegetables on Spring Street in downtown Atlanta. However, on this particular day, as my Dad described it, he “saw” this man for the first time. He stopped his car, picked up some vegetables, and handed the man some cash.
When he got back in his car, Dad said he experienced the presence of Jesus and committed his life to the Lord right then and there. Every time I tell this story, I get goosebumps and am reminded of Jesus’s words, “As you have done it unto the least of these, you have done it unto me.” That day, my father died to himself and was born to a new life in Christ.
I’ll continue this story Wednesday.
In Christ,
Dan