Strong Prayers and Naysayers

DECIDING TO FOLLOW JESUS

It's not easy being in competition with Jesus. At times you may think you've got a shot, but eventually He always has the upper hand. When Wanda chose Him over me, I recognized my disadvantage. I realized how deep Wanda's religious commitment went, and I honestly respected that. That didn't mean I liked it.

   There was no way to describe the feelings that went through me the night Wanda ended our relationship. I was angry, brokenhearted, and as miserable as I'd ever felt in my life. Her final words that night spoiled everything for me. Once and for all she had declared her terms for my continued friendship with her. And for me, those terms were too high.

   I couldn't live up to them. And I didn't want to. As much as I loved Wanda Young, I still believed in my heart that jazz

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music had to be the top priority in my life, and Wanda was a close second.

   Although I could not share Wanda's conviction, our talk that night only deepened my respect for her. Her devotion to God and the Bible seemed unshakable. Nothing could sway her loyalty, not even the thought of losing me. I hated to admit it, but I knew she would be completely satisfied with Christ — with or without me.

   I avoided all contact with Wanda. When I saw her at school, I went the other way. Too stubborn and proud to give in, I told myself I could live without Wanda and her Jesus. I resolved to lose myself in my music and the pleasures of the world. I knew my dance band, the money, success, and praises of our fans would be enough to dull the pain of a lost girlfriend.

   But as the days trudged on, the pain in my heart seemed only to intensify. The more I tried to find contentment from the world, the more I realized I was only fooling myself. I was miserable in mind and soul. The conviction of my wrongness and guilt before God grew worse. I became more and more restless and wretched, dissatisfied with everything the world had to offer.

   Worst of all, my unhappiness began to affect my music. I couldn't play as I used to. The men in the band noticed it. I knew it wouldn't be long before audiences would know it too. My colleagues were puzzled. No one knew better than they how much I had loved my sax and clarinet and the music I created with them. Actually, I couldn't understand it myself.

   Suddenly the music of the band did not grip and charm me as it once had. I didn't look forward to playing for big, special dances. The wonderful, spine-tingling feeling that

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once thrilled me as we poured out the big band sounds was gone. I realized at last, to my own dismay, that I no longer played because I loved it, but because it was my job and the only work I wanted to do.

   My music, it turned out, was not the biggest thing in my life after all. Without Wanda and without peace in my heart, my music was empty — it was nothing at all.

FROM CRISIS TO FAITH

   After two weeks of sheer misery, I had enough. I couldn't run away anymore — from Wanda, or from her God.

   One Sunday night, in my despair, I decided to visit Wanda's church again. Spotting her near the front of the sanctuary, I slipped into the pew across from her. After a few moments, I saw Wanda look in my direction. She flashed a precious smile. I could tell she was happy to see me, but it didn't change our state of affairs. I was still hurting.

   When Miss Gatherer took to the pulpit, I'm sure she recognized me as Wanda's ex-boyfriend — the one we've all been praying for. But her expression never let on to this fact. Her sermon, however, seemed tailored especially for me. It contrasted the world's riches with the true wealth found in Christ.

   "You think you'll be losing if you follow Christ," she said, "but Jesus is a giver and not a taker. He wants to give you even more than what you dream of. And His first gift is peace — peace that you've settled your account with God. His next gift is joy — joy that no matter what the future holds, He can be trusted!"

   Miss Gatherer had my attention. Suddenly, everything she

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was saying made sense. I was a sinner before a holy God. My life had been spent trying to make myself happy, but now I understood true happiness could come only from surrendering myself to Christ and allowing Him to have His way with me.

   When the invitation hymn started to play, I had no doubt about what I needed to do. I stood and headed to the altar; there I quietly met my Lord and Savior. The congregation wasn't quiet, though. They began to shout hallelujahs and praises of gratitude to God.

   As I fell to my knees at the altar, Wanda, Miss Gatherer, and the other two hundred congregants knelt in prayer for me. On my knees, I poured out my heart to God in tears and repentance. I confessed my sins and begged for forgiveness.

   That night God answered my prayer — and Wanda's prayer. He saved me. I stood up and testified that I was saved by faith in Christ. I was conscious that I was a true child of God. I felt good in my heart. My mind was at rest. And for the first time in my life, I knew that somewhere, somehow, God had something for me to do for Him. Wanda grabbed me and hugged me for a long time. She was crying. And the people around us were saying, "Thank God, that Jones boy got saved!"

   Everyone was elated, and I was feeling pretty good. Then Miss Gatherer approached me. "All right," she said. "Two Sundays from now, you're going to preach to the young people."

   "I can't preach," I said incredulously. "I play music."

   "Well, you've got to share your testimony," she said. And as far as she was concerned, the appointment was set in stone. Her philosophy was, you get saved, you go to work for the Lord. There was no space in-between — that way the devil doesn't have a chance to interrupt your flow.

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   So, two weeks later I was in the pulpit with an open Bible, sharing my journey to faith in God. I have no idea what I said that evening, but I recall I was extremely happy when it was over. However, at the same time, I recall feeling God nudge at my heart a little as I was speaking to the congregation.

   From the night of my conversion on, things began to happen. I threw away my cigarettes and gave up the smoking habit that I had picked up a few years earlier when I became a hotshot musician. Drinking, dancing, and other carnal pleasures became things of the past for me. Preaching and studying God's Word began to take on a new fascination in my mind. I was a changed person. But there was one great battle that remained to be fought between the Lord and me.

YOU GOTTA SERVE SOMEBODY

   The Lord made it clear to me at that time that, as a Christian, I had to give up my band and surrender my future fully to Him. I was already convinced I would never be happy with music alone. But now that I was a Christian, I still hoped secretly that I could have Christ, Wanda, and the dance orchestra. I knew in my heart that I was wrong, but I fought the Lord for it anyway.

   God, it seemed, was putting His hand on the lingering idol in my life — the orchestra itself. The thought of giving it up was pure torture. Outwardly, I told God I would do it, hoping that saying it would be enough. But I was just saying words with my mouth. I didn't mean it at all. God knew I didn't mean it, and He began to deal with me in a way I shall never forget.

   It was during the biggest dance event of the season. Duke

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Ellington's The International Sweethearts of Rhythm, an all-female orchestra that was one of the most famous of the day, was the featured band at this popular nightclub, Crystal Beach, on Lake Erie. All my old friends were going, and I knew every member from our orchestra would be there. No jazz fan was going to miss this night of nights. If ever I felt the power of Satan tempting me to do something, it was then.

   I had no doubt that God was against it, and I knew what Wanda thought about it. She was away visiting relatives in another city, but before she left she had written me a letter begging me not to go to that dance. She said it would ruin my testimony as a new Christian.

   The battle raged in my soul. I had to make a decision. Finally, I decided on what I thought would be a good solution — a compromise. I would go to the dance, but only to drive Clarence and his girlfriend there. I would not go into the dance hall itself, I vowed; I would only stand outside and listen to the music.

   When we arrived at the nightclub, my brother and his girlfriend went in to the dance. I stayed around outside the ballroom and for a while I had a good time talking with some of my friends. But soon, someone asked about my recent acceptance of Christ. It seemed nearly everyone there had heard about it. Even a couple of my orchestra friends talked with me about my conversion experience.

   "Howard, now that you're a Christian, are you going to leave the band?" one friend asked.

   "Yes," I replied. "I do feel God wants me to leave the band. At times I even feel as though God wants me to preach the gospel. But as to when I'm going to leave the band, I am not prepared to say right now."

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   Soon crowds of laughing people began coming from the dance hall for a break in between concert sets. My brother saw me and came to where I was standing.

   "Howard, it's a wonderful dance," Clarence said. "Why don't you come in? You don't have to dance, you know. Here is half of my ticket. Come on in and hear the Duke, man."

   Something pulled hard inside of me, but I shook my head. "No, I don't think I will," I said. "It just wouldn't feel right."

   But after Clarence left, I began to reason with myself. It wouldn't be a sin if I just went in and listened to the music — as long as I kept my promise not to do any dancing.

   All the while I argued with myself, I moved closer and closer to the door of the club, drawn as if by a gigantic magnet to the bright lights and the jazz music. With each step I took, I could hear two voices, clear and distinct, in the depths of my soul. I could hear the voice of Satan telling me not to restrict myself — that there was nothing wrong or sinful in what I was going to do. But I also heard the voice of God telling me I must not go into the dance hall.

   The sin, I knew, was not a matter of going into the club, or even dancing. None of those things is sinful in and of themselves. The sin would be in failing to die to my own powerful desire to find fulfillment from the world. Perhaps one day down the line, going into a secular dance hall would not be an issue. But right now, it was something God did not want me to do.

   But I kept on walking. I knew what God had said was right, but too stubborn and set in my foolish ways to obey, I listened to the devil and went into the dance hall.

   When I got inside, I did not experience the secret thrill that I had hoped for. The music of the band did not excite me as it

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once had. Instead, I felt a strange, depressing feeling of deep conviction. It was the conviction of sin, I knew, brought on by the power of the Holy Spirit. It was so heavy that I felt it would crush the life out of me.

   Beads of perspiration stood out on my forehead. My heart pounded as though I had just run a race. I began trembling all over. I walked slowly to the bar and ordered cold orange soda, thinking it would steady me — and let onlookers know that I was not drinking beer or liquor. Some of my own band members noticed me and were watching my strange actions.

   "Howard, are you sick?" one friend asked.

   "No, I'm not sick," I answered. "I'll be OK in a minute."

THE CALL OF A PREACHER

   All the while I was in the ballroom, the orchestra was playing, but I don't think I heard a note of the music. I was so deeply convicted of my wrongheaded condition before the Lord that all I could hear was my own heart thumping in my ears. I felt like a criminal condemned to death. I was sure everyone was staring at me.

   I started to panic. "I've got to get out of here — fast!" I told myself. Turning quickly from the bar, I walked as fast as I could to the nearest exit. "If I don't get out of here right now, I'll die," I said.

   I rushed through the door and pushed my way through the crowd and across the outer porch until I was finally on the ground outside. The clean, cool night air swept over me. Tears of shame streamed down my face as I looked up into the beautiful moon-lit sky and on the shimmering waves of

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Lake Erie cried out to God from the depths of my soul:

   Oh, God! If You will forgive my sins this night, and my disobedience, I will serve You the rest of my life. Lord, I know You want me to leave the band and surrender my life to You. Tonight, Lord, if You will help me, I will leave the orchestra and accept Your call to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ.

   God heard my prayer. He answered it by lifting the weight of conviction and guilt. Then He flooded my soul with peace and joy such as I had never known before.

  The next day, I hurried to Wanda's house to tell her my news. From the wide grin on my face, she immediately knew that something wonderful had happened.

   "Wanda," I said laughing, as I entered her house. "God wants me to be a preacher."

  Wanda was speechless. She stood there staring at me with this profoundly blank look on her face.

   "What's wrong?" I asked. "Don't you want to be a preacher's wife?"

   With that, her face began to soften and take on the more recognizable expression of joy and excitement. She threw her arms around me and laughed. "I knew God had something special for you to do," she said.

   I proceeded to tell her the whole story of my experience at the nightclub the previous night. I told her how I had tried to enjoy myself at the dance, but how I just couldn't shake the sense that I was going against the Spirit of God. And then I tried to describe that supernatural moment when I conceded total control to the Lord and freely embraced his new call on my life.

   Wanda was thrilled, but many of my friends fell emphatically in the other category — especially after I made the announcement

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that I was leaving the band. Their reactions sounded like a chorus of negativity:

   "What?" they said. "You've crazy to leave the orchestra."

   "Howard, you've gone mad! You could become a famous sax player some day, man. What's wrong with you?"

   "Those religious feelings will go away after a while, man. Just wait and see."

   "Jazz is in your life. It's in your blood. You will be back in the orchestra in two weeks."

   On and on it went, but my confidence in the Lord's call on my life brought me the courage to endure the opposition with grace. It was not easy though. Many nights I wet my pillow with tears. The trials and testing were as great as any I had ever known. But God stood by me and gave me the strength and wisdom to go on with Him and withstand the peer pressures of my unbelieving friends.

   Perhaps my greatest challenge was related to my health. After I left the band, I was suddenly sicker than I had ever been in my life. Playing long hours for dances and running day and night with the old crowd had broken me physically. I suffered strange fainting spells and serious attacks of indigestion. In bed at night, I felt as though I was sinking through the floor. Attacks of indigestion were so bad, that was sure I was going to die.

  Finally, I went to see a doctor. He told me I had high blood pressure. Though I was a young man, he said my blood pressure was that of a 65-year-old. As if that were not enough, the doctor warned me that my condition was so serious that even if I did live to be 30 years old, I would be a complete physical wreck. My indigestion, he said, was caused by nervous disorders. This began a long period of

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rest, diet, and medical treatment for my recovery.

   One evening an attack of indigestion was so painful that I could do nothing but go to bed. As I lay there in agony, I began to pray. I told the Lord that I knew I was saved, but I still was not sure if He really wanted me to preach the gospel. I was willing, but I did not see how I could serve Him with such a sick body. I asked Him to heal my body and deliver me from my misery so that I might serve Him well.

   After praying, I fell into a deep sleep. As I slept, the Lord gave me an amazing vision. I saw myself standing in the pulpit of a very large church. The building was crowded with people. It seemed as though I were conducting a great service. With arms outstretched, I invited the people to come to Christ. They came down to the church altar from every direction. Many were weeping! God was there in our midst, as men and women found Christ as their Savior. Wanda was there, too, kneeling near me, praying for souls to come to Christ.

   It was morning when I woke. To my astonishment, as I got out of bed, I felt strong and refreshed as never before. Then and there I knew with unshakable assurance that God had called me to the Christian ministry and that He would completely heal my sick body. In time, He did just that.

   When Wanda and I told Miss Gatherer about my decision to become a preacher, she clasped her hands together in delight. "Both of you have so much talent that I just know the Lord has a special place for you."

   With her encouragement, we began to pray about attending the same Bible school as Wanda's sister Ruth — Nyack, a Christian and Missionary Alliance college in metropolitan New York. This school was noted for its emphasis on missions.

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There was one problem: Like my nay-saying friends, my dad thought I was idiotic to give up my future in music for some elusive call to ministry. And he was bent on making it a difficult path for me to tread.

   But by now, both Wanda and I were so confident of our destiny together that we viewed each episode of adversity not as an insurmountable obstacle but as a momentary bump in the narrow road — and an opportunity to trust God more.

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