Family Matters

LIVING, LOVING, AND REMEMBERING

One afternoon in Monrovia when our son David was seven, he came storming into the house with what he clearly felt was exciting news.

   "Mommy! Daddy! Guess what Jimmy and I did!"

   At this point, we had been back in Liberia for less than a year, but David already had become best chums with little Jimmy, another missionary kid. The pair found all sorts of "boy" things to do in their adopted land — skipping stones off the ocean surface, capturing and then releasing strange bugs, playing makeshift games of baseball on the beach. they were generally good boys. Nevertheless, they were boys. Translation: They conjured up their fair share of mischief, for instance on this day. At first, David's unbridled excitement failed to raise our suspicions. But that didn't last long.

   "What did you and Jimmy do?" Wanda quietly answered David.

   "We went preaching! In the village!"

Page 180

  "You did what?" I quickly said, beating Wanda to the punch. The first part of David's statement wasn't so bad. After all, he was the son of a preacher. David had shown a penchant for preaching since his toddler years, when he would stand on a stool and mimic his daddy's pulpit gestures in front of an imaginary congregation. And since both Wanda and I encouraged him — and all our kids — to read their Bibles and to, in the apostle Paul's words, "be ready in season and out" to share the good news of their faith, it was only natural for him to dabble in the family business.

   What was troubling was the second half of David's announcement — "In the village." I had repeatedly warned him that he was not to go into the interior village without an adult accompanying him. "Now David, you know you're not supposed to go into the village without permission," I said in my best stern-but-patient disciplinarian voice.

   "I know, Daddy, but I was 'Passing the Word.' "

   Wanda and I shot quick glances at each other. Passing the Word was the Liberian phrase used to describe the preaching of the gospel.

   David continued: "And Daddy, we even took up an offering!" He dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled it out to produce a fistful of pennies. Wanda and I stared at each other in disbelief. The wonderful humor of the moment was not lost on us. Yet, at the same time, we had to present a convincing demeanor of parental concern and displeasure with what our son had done. Those villagers had nothing to spare, yet they had given their money to David and Jimmy. They had truly sacrificed.

   By now, David was beginning to understand that we did not share in his enthusiasm over his little evangelistic outing

Page 181

in the village. But we tried to remain calm as we walked him through a review of his actions.

   "Tell me exactly what happened in the village, son," I said.

   "We went to the village, and I stood on a box and preached while Jimmy handed out tracts."

   "What did you preach about?"

   "I told the people about John 3:16 — 'For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life.' I told them that if they loved Jesus and believed on Him they would go to heaven, but if they didn't love Jesus, they would be lost. Some of them raised their hands to accept Jesus, and then we took an offering." (David later told me that an offering is what he presumed all preachers did following their sermons.)

   David added that the villagers encouraged Jimmy and him to come back soon. "Daddy, please don't be mad. We were 'passing the Word.' "

   "David," I said squeezing back my amusement, "you disobeyed us by going into the village without an adult. I'm glad that you want to tell people about Jesus, but don't ever go into that village again without Mommy, me, or another grownup that we trust."

   David nodded sweetly.

   "And as far as taking an offering goes, son — believe it or not, you actually can tell people about the Lord without taking up a collection." I finally let loose an audible chuckle, and Wanda and David joined in. "Here's what you're going to do," I continued. "Take that money to the ELWA station, and give it to Aunt Clara. She'll know how to use it to help the people." ("Aunt Clara," as she was known to all the children,

Page 182

was a Liberian woman who worked at ELWA and was an influential force in getting the locals out to ministry events.)

   With that, David dashed out the door. And I stood there, feeling a combination of amusement and fatherly pride. That day, Wanda and I knew without a doubt that we had a future preacher on our hands.

"PASSING THE WORD"

   David's little preaching escapade was a lighthearted example of what Wanda and I made sure the whole family did while we lived in Monrovia. We all had an obligation to pass the Word. We were not just there to enjoy the balmy weather and beautiful beach. Everyday ministry — beyond my preaching tours and Wanda's and my radio broadcasts — was a central part of the Jones family's life. I believed it was essential that we get out and live among the people of our adopted home. For many American missionaries, the temptation was great to broadcast the gospel message to the African people but to avoid personal contact. I did not want our family to fall into that trap.

   So on Sunday afternoons, Cheryl, Gail, and Phyllis would go into the villages to share Bible stories and teach praise songs to the local children. The Liberian kids adored the colorful flannel-graph boards the girls would use to present the stories. In addition, the girls — in their role as The Jones Sisters Trio — sang in local churches, on the radio, and provided special music for several of my crusade events.

   Wanda, who continued to blossom as a speaker in her own right, spoke to numerous women's groups throughout Liberia and developed a reputation as a thoughtful and passionate

Page 183

woman of God. A particularly thrilling moment for Wanda was an invitation from the Council of Evangelical Women in Nigeria to travel through the interior on a five-week tour that allowed her to speak to five thousand women. In many locations on the tour, Wanda was the first black American woman ever to address an audience there.

   Wanda and I also felt a special obligation to reach out to the handful of black American missionaries sprinkled throughout Monrovia and the more rural interior areas of Liberia — people like Wilfred and Betty Quimby (also mentioned in chapter 10). More than any other African nation, Liberia attracted black American missionaries — primarily because it was one of the few African countries with an open-door policy on missions. We felt called to provide encouragement and support to the black missionaries at the Killingsworth Mission and others. After all, we knew first hand how lonely a road it could be to be black trailblazers in the predominantly white evangelical world of ministry.

   One of the surprise blessings that arose out of our work in Liberia was the birth of the Monrovia Bible Institute. During our first trip to Africa in 1957, we preached a massive one-week crusade at the Executive Pavilion in Monrovia. By week's end, more than six hundred people had come forward to dedicate their lives to Christ. Present at that event was Naomi Doles, a young and fiery African-American woman. She was a new missionary with the Carver Foreign Missions Board, based in Atlanta, Georgia. Naomi had come to Liberia to work with young people, and she was instrumental in helping to launch the Liberian branch of Youth for Christ. She also worked with ELWA on weekends.

   Naomi and others from Carver spent a lot of their time

Page 184

ministering to many of the people who had become Christians through my preaching at those early meetings in 1957. Soon, the Carver contingent saw a need for starting a Bible school to help nurture the young faith of all those converts — hence the founding of the Monrovia Bible Institute. When Wanda and I learned of this work upon our return to Liberia, we dedicated ourselves to helping however we could, usually by coming in to speak to the students.

   As the school grew, additional Carver missionaries were sent to teach and assist the effort. Many of these young missionaries grew close to our family. In addition to Naomi, women like Coral McCleery, Mary Stevens, and Henrietta Herron became dear friends who also served as fine role models (and occasional caretakers) for our children.

   In time, it became evident that the Bible school would need a permanent facility to house its swelling numbers. After speaking to Naomi and Cora, I decided to speak to President Tubman about obtaining land on which a school could be built. After listening to my appeal, President Tubman decided to donate twenty-three acres of land — located right across the road from ELWA — to the project. With generous support from Carver and other mission groups, the building was completed and the Monrovia Bible Institute had its new home. I was honored when the Carver organization invited me to serve as the school's first president, which I did until we left Liberia in 1962.

CIRCLE OF LIFE

   As I described earlier, the reason we eventually left our Liberian home was because of family — and our sense God

Page 185

was directing us to return to the United States.

   After spending our first few years back in the United States living with Miss Woolward in New York, Wanda and I discovered that my dad's health had deteriorated and my mom, whose strength had been diminished by old age, was struggling to care for him. We knew we were needed back home in Oberlin. So, in 1965 we made the trip westward.

   Moving our family into my childhood home in Oberlin felt like coming full circle. Mom and Dad were thrilled to have us with them, even though it meant getting used to additional bodies scurrying around the house. David and his grandfather became fast friends; and Dad fell equally hard for his precious little granddaughter Lisa. We enjoyed a tremendous time of quality bonding, and everything seemed bright and cheery — until the doctors revealed the heart-wrenching news: Dad was suffering from leukemia and would not have much more time on this earth.

   We prayed for God's will to be done, and we took advantage of the time we had left. When he felt up to it, Dad never missed a chance to go out to the ball field to watch David play Little League. We squeezed as much joy and affection as we could out of the remaining time, but soon, on November 19, 1967, Dad went home to be with the Lord.

   Right about now, you're probably wondering what happened to that stubborn, rough-edged man who ranted against my going to Nyack to become a minister. Well, I should tell you that over the years the prayers of family and friends, along with the standard issues of life, conspired to draw my dad closer to the Lord. In fact, the man who once refused to give me any money to go to Nyack later paid for Wanda to accompany me on my first trip to Africa. Indeed,

Page 186

during the last years of Dad's life, he mellowed a bit. He listened to the radio all the time, and the dial was always tuned to the local Moody station. Before he finally passed away, he called me to his bedside and told me, "Son, it's all right now." I knew what he meant. Perhaps the greatest heritage a parent can leave his loved ones is the peace and assurance that his soul is in good hands.

   Seeing my mom's health take a turn for the worse a decade later might have been even harder than watching Dad's decline, since Mom had always been an indomitable force. However, a series of strokes left her body weakened and partially paralyzed. So after much prayer and internal wrestling, Wanda and I felt we had no choice but to place her in a nearby nursing home. We visited her daily, as did members from our church. But we were left with an incredible sadness. A few months later, on June 6, 1976, she went home to the Lord. It is so painful to watch a loved one disappear before your eyes. And little did I know, Mom's situation was only the beginning.

   As I look back, I am grateful for the good, quality time we were able to spend with Mom and Dad — and especially that our kids were able to know and love them as well, since Wanda's parents had passed away before they could meet any of their grandchildren.

THE "CHURCH BABIES" GROW UP

   Had Wanda's parents lived to see their grandchildren, they would have been as proud and delighted over those precious little people as I am today over the adult versions. Wanda and I always prayed that God would ultimately guide

Page 187

our children to a personal faith in Christ. While we saw each of them make commitments to the Lord as children, it was even more encouraging to see them take that faith with them as they matured into adulthood. Today, I'm able to look at each of them and see God's faithfulness in answering prayers. As they lead their own families in the way of the Lord, I continue to seek God's covering of love and protection over their futures.

   Cheryl, who is married to Norman Sanders (an ordained minister who directs communications at the Billy Graham Training Center at the Cove in Asheville, North Carolina), has two grown sons. She is a Bible teacher and frequently speaks to women's groups. She continues to share her musical gifts as a church soloist. Cheryl, whose dynamic Bible studies draw upwards of thirty women each week, tells me her most outrageous memory from childhood was accidentally falling into a lake with all her clothes and shoes on at a youth camp in New York. She remembers I had to fish her out. I'm glad I did.

   After a brief career as a flight attendant with United Airlines, Gail married Andre Thornton, who was a professional baseball player with the Cleveland Indians before starting his own consulting business. He is now president of Global Promotions and Incentives. Andre is also a trustee at Nyack College. Gail and Andre have three grown sons and live outside Cleveland. "The Jones kids were affectionately called 'church babies,' " Gail recalls, "because being in church on Sunday morning, sometimes Sunday afternoon, and then back again on Sunday evening made for long days — and that doesn't even include Wednesday prayer service, Saturday youth group, and the occasional all-night prayer meeting." Still, she says, she

Page 188

loved it. Today, when Gail is not assisting her husband, she continues to use her musical gifts to share the gospel.

   Phyllis also worked briefly as a flight attendant. Then she, too, married a professional ballplayer — Pat Kelly, who played with the Baltimore Orioles. Today, Pat is an evangelist with Life Line Ministries; he and Phyllis have one teenage daughter and live in Timonium, Maryland. "Something that has left a real impression on me is the fact that Mom never complained when you were away," Phyllis recently told me. "She knew evangelism was what God had called you to do, and she was supportive of it. Now that I'm married to an evangelist, I know it had to be tough on Mom at times. But she never let us know it. She kept the household running and did a great job." Amen.

   My only son, David — or H. David Jones — is married to a wonderful woman named Daphne and has three grown step children. He lives in Seattle, where he is an elementary school counselor and the founder of a ministry called Father Matters. A graduate of Gordon-Conwell Seminary, David has pastored Alliance churches in Michigan and Ohio and continues to write and perform gospel music. He tells me one of his favorite memories from childhood was the day in Monrovia when we entered the father-son kite-flying contest at the last minute, using a makeshift kite that was quickly assembled from sticks, rope, and a piece of his mother's tablecloth. We won the contest and my nine-year-old boy just cried and cried. The first prize, David recalls, was a huge chocolate bar. But he says the best part was spending that time together. I couldn't agree more.

   Lisa, married to Michael McGloiry, lives in Los Angeles and has two teenage step-sons. She graduated from Ohio

Page 189

State University with a degree in music and recently went back to school to pursue a law degree. She works as a project manager for an international consulting firm. Lisa recalls one of the funniest moments of her youth was the day she and her mother prayed for her dog, Muffy, after he suddenly took ill. Unbeknownst to Wanda, Lisa had taken the anointing oil that I had brought back from one of my trips to the Holy Land and poured it on Muffy while they prayed. (I was out of town when this happened.) When Wanda opened her eyes to see Muffy drenched in holy oil, she almost pitched a fit. On the bright side, Muffy started feeling better. Lisa, however, would think twice before "borrowing" Daddy's things. Still, no one could accuse my little girl of lacking faith. She recently told me: "One thing I really appreciated about our family was that it didn't matter if you were human or canine — we were taught that 'prayer changes things.' " As for my anointing oil: Lisa and Wanda didn't tell me about their little healing service until many years later. In the meantime, they refilled my little white vase with Wesson cooking oil.

   I give thanks to God every day for the way that He has taken care of my family. Perhaps the single greatest regret about my career is the time that it took away from my family. Though I knew God had called me to preach His Word around the world, it never made leaving home any easier. I'm just grateful the heavenly Father was always there, even when this earthly one wasn't. How glad I am that those adorable "church babies" went on to become "church grownups" who love the Lord.

Chapter Sixteen  ||  Table of Contents