Loving Jesus More

A few weeks after I heard Howard play the saxophone, our school announced a Sadie Hawkins dance. Now my idea of a "proper" first date was not one in which I had to do the asking. But as I began to watch this newly discovered musician in my homeroom, I could see that another girl had her eyes on him. If I didn't ask him, she was going to, and that scenario seemed even less desirable than the first. So I cranked up my courage and told myself I was going to ask him the very next day.

   I arrived at homeroom a little early, wearing my prettiest dress and brightest smile. I waited. I watched the door. But Howard was absent that day — and the next, and the next. Finally I overheard one of his friends telling another about Howard's bad cold. "He'll probably be out all week."

   All week? I thought. That doesn't give me enough time to ask him. Next Monday is too late. I must have glanced up and frowned because Howard's friend stopped in to see Howard after school that afternoon. "You'd better hurry and get well so Wanda Young can ask you to the dance," he said. But I didn't know that for a long time; all I knew was that Howard was in homeroom the next morning!

*     *     *

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  After the Sadie Hawkins dance, we started dating regularly — and Howard did the asking. We walked home together after school and talked about things that were beginning to invade our nearly adult lives. The war in Europe seemed too close for comfort. But our dreams weren't all of doom. I wanted to be an elementary-school teacher. Howard envisioned playing sax and clarinet to large audiences.

   One Thursday afternoon, just as we reached my house, Howard asked if I'd go hear him play at another school's dance the next evening. I hemmed and hawed and didn't give Howard a straight answer. Alden would never let me go someplace where I'd have to spend the evening sitting by myself. I knew that, but I decided to ask him anyway. When he got home, I bravely yet timidly popped the question. I can still picture Alden, pondering his response. He paused for a moment, running his hand through his hair the way Papa used to, then he finally adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat before he spoke. "All right. But I'm going with you."

  I was horrified at the thought of my twenty-nine-year-old brother acting as my chaperon. Yet I wanted to be with Howard, and that sentiment won my inner debate. That Friday night dance was the first of many I attended with my brother; if quiet Alden ever resented the loud evenings, he never expressed it.

   By the end of a year of Alden's chaperoning, Howard and I were becoming serious. Early in our senior year, our future dreams began to include each other. My once faceless "dream man" now had Howard's features — quick smile, sturdy jaw, and dark eyes that peered warmly through his glasses. I liked his strong protecting shoulders. His wonderful music played in my plans.

   A few weeks into that final year of high school, Miss Gatherer announced that our church was going to have a revival and she personally invited every teen. Church activities hadn't interested me since Mama died. Ruth had become more and more dedicated to Christ, finally even leaving home to attend Bible school — just as Mama had hoped. As I'd grown older and Alden's rule had slightly laxed, I'd gone to church less and less.

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But this time Miss Gatherer was so excited about the musicians coming all the way from Biola Institute in California that I promised her I'd attend one night — the last night when Howard was playing at a dance in Mansfield, Ohio. My cousin Natalie and friends Helen and Mary and I slid into a seat near the back. I was there not to hear the special speaker, only to see if the musicians lived up to Miss Gatherer's claims.

   Much to my surprise, they did. And despite myself, I started listening to what they were saying; their music expressed their love for Jesus.

  Many of their testimonies referred to personal losses similar to my own. But unlike me, these young people weren't bitter toward God. Instead, in Him they'd found the comfort and strength He offers each of His children. Even from the back row I could see the enthusiasm that sealed their commitment. They made no apologies for their message. It was clear that they were determined to give Jesus their all — because He had given His all, His life, for them.

   Suddenly my defenses crumbled. These young Christians could have chosen to present their talents on any number of stages across the country. Instead, they were sharing their faith in Jesus Christ at my church in Oberlin, Ohio. I knew what it meant to be Christian; I'd seen that commitment in my parents, especially my mother. It had worked for her. And I simply had never tried it for myself. These young men were saying their faith had given them new life, new peace, and the hope of heaven; it had filled the empty places in their hearts. Maybe it would fill mine.

   On Sunday evening, after one of the students preached, I couldn't get those words — "filled the empty places" — out of my mind. And when the invitation was given at the end of the service, I took a deep breath. Well, Lord, this is it. I'm going to the altar and I'm going to mean it. I'm going to commit my life to You.

   A few moments later, I stood at the front of the church, next to other teens whose cheeks, like mine, were covered with tears of cleansing and forgiveness.

  Lord, I said silently, I'm sorry for the bitterness I've carried in

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my heart. I know Mama is with You and that I'll see her again. As much as I needed her, Lord, I've needed You more.

   In that moment I made a decision. What Jesus Christ wanted for my life is what I wanted too.

   And in that moment the empty place in my heart was filled. I wanted to tell Howard right away, but he wouldn't be home from his nightclub engagement until the following day. As soon as I got hold of him, I asked him to rush over to my house for some exciting news.

   "Howard! The most wonderful thing has happened! I've become a Christian!"

   There was only the slightest pause before he answered. "Oh, that's fine, Wanda. You belong to your church now and I have my church; we'll be just fine."

   "No, Howard, this is more than belonging to a church; I belong to Jesus now. I finally understand why He had to die on the cross and why I can't hope to get through life without asking His help."

   Something about Howard's noncommittal "Well, as long as you're happy" didn't set well. We promised to meet the next day to talk more, but I knew there was a new tension between us.

   During the following weeks, Howard's jaw would set whenever I talked about Jesus. Finally, his frustrations tumbled out. "Look, I've made plans for us. Wanda, one of these days, I'm going to take you around the world. This music I play is going to make me as famous as Duke Ellington, and I'm going to give you the best of everything. That's what you've wanted all along too. Someday I'll be playing even at the Apollo Theater in Harlem, New York!"

   Slowly, I shook my head. He just didn't understand that things had changed. "Oh, Howard, we thought that would be the best thing in the world. But when I gave my life to Christ, I found an inner strength and peace and joy that jazz can't give me. I can't explain it fully. But Jesus means more to me than anything."

   "More than anything? Or more than anyone?"

   Howard's challenge surprised, even stunned, me.

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"Howard, I love you. I truly do. But we can't go on like this because we're just not on the same path now. We're separating more and more, and that's going to continue unless you give your life to Christ. Commitment to Him is more than just church membership. You're afraid you're going to lose if you let Him into your life, but you're only going to gain."

   He rubbed his jaw in frustration. "Look, Wanda, we're not going to solve this thing by arguing. Give me some time to think."

   "All right. But I'd like you to come hear Miss Gatherer preach. She explains it better than I can."

   Whether it was because of his own inner turmoil or fear of losing me, Howard was with me at church the next Sunday. During the sermon he fidgeted a few times, as though her challenges to take the Good News of Jesus Christ to a dying world were striking him. There he was, a decent young man who felt that he was already a Christian — he'd joined a church; he'd been baptized — and yet he'd never been taught that Jesus wants to be our Lord as well as our Savior. He wants us to trust our lives as well as our souls to Him.

   On that Sunday and others, out of the corner of my eye, I watched Howard fidget. He was obviously putting up a struggle. I knew how painful it was to hold on so tightly. For years I had clung to my bitterness as desperately as Howard was holding his plans for the future.

   One night after church, we walked ever so slowly to my door. I knew my commitments to the Lord and to Howard were becoming confused, and I knew our relationship couldn't continue as it was. The ache in my chest hurt more with every step I took. Finally, when we were on the porch, I motioned toward the swing. We sat and then I took Howard's strong hand into mine. I had to force the words out. "Howard, I love you, but I love Jesus more. He has to have first place in my life."

   I searched his eyes, hoping I'd see a glimmer of understanding. "We can't go on like this," I continued. "It isn't right for me to continue going with you until you're ready to make a commitment too. We're getting further and further apart."

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   The silence was my answer, and that silence was like another death to me. I'd lost Mama, then Papa, and now Howard. His fingers tightened over mine as he said good-bye. I watched him walk down the steps and then went up to my room, where I cried myself to sleep. I had done what I had to do, of that I was sure. The cost had been high, but I had maintained my peace with God.

   During the following days, I asked several of our church people, including Miss Gatherer, to pray for Howard — and for me. We avoided each other at school, and both of us carried a great deal of hurt.

   With all of us praying, I don't know why I was surprised when he slipped into the pew next to me a couple of Sunday nights later. The smile that slid across my lips was like the tip of an iceberg. All the way to my toes I was excited. When I glanced at him, I saw how miserable he looked! Surely just as miserable as I had been feeling for weeks.

   If Miss Gatherer saw him come in, she never let on. But I noticed her message contrasted the world's false riches with Jesus' true wealth.

   "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. And His next gift is joy — joy that no matter what the future holds, He can be trusted!"

   At that, she had Howard's full attention, and he wasn't fidgeting. When we sang the invitation hymn at the end of the service, Howard gave my hand a quick squeeze before going to the front of the church. That squeeze went straight to my heart.

   But while that night's decision brought Howard to the peace I'd been trying to describe, it didn't result in a change of his career plans. I tried not to badger him about the dance orchestra, but I knew the lifestyle he was planning wouldn't be in harmony with our commitment to Christ.

   Howard tried to explain. "Wanda, I want to stay with the orchestra. This is what I've been trained for; this is what I want to do.

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Why would God give me this talent if He didn't intend for me to use it?"

   I shook my head miserably. "But you're telling God how to put those talents to use!"

   Howard didn't reply but just looked hurt. We were getting nowhere.

   "Okay," I replied. "This is something you're going to have to settle with the Lord. I'm going to keep quiet and just start praying."

   For a month, I kept that promise. But what I didn't tell him was that I was praying that the Lord would break up the band. I wasn't sure he'd understand. Meanwhile, Howard had told the other band members about his commitment to Christ and the inner peace that resulted. They had no problem with his "getting religion," but they shook their heads in amazement that Howard and I talked so much about what the Lord meant to us.

   One night Howard asked me if I'd go with him to hear a nationally known orchestra performing at a resort on Lake Erie. He wanted to check them out and then adapt some of their style into his own band.

   I shook my head. "No, you know how I feel. You go on."

   That night, I tried to work on an English paper, but I was strangely distracted. I kept glancing at the clock. Howard would be almost to Crystal Beach by now . . . He'd be walking into the hall . . . O Lord, please show him Your will for his life!

   Finally, I knew it was useless to work on the English assignment; I might as well go to bed. I closed my notebook, stood up from my desk, and leaned over to turn off the lamp. At that moment, I heard a car screeching into our drive. A car door slammed and someone thumped up the porch steps. I looked out the window. Howard! What was he doing here?

  I ran to meet him, and from the grin on his face, I knew something wonderful had happened. He explained before I even asked. "Wanda!" he laughed, "God wants me to be a preacher!"

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I just stared at him. He laughed again and giddily whirled me around the room.

   When he set me down, I stammered for an explanation. In rapid jumble, the story came. He had arrived at the dance just about the time he had expected, but as soon as he had started toward the front of the room to get a closer look at the band, he'd suddenly felt as if he were suffocating. He couldn't stand it.

   He'd tried to loosen his tie. "God, what's happening to me?" he'd whispered. And as an answer, the invisible cords that seemed to have been around his neck had tightened their grip. Hey, I got to get some fresh air, he'd thought. "Wanda, I was stumbling as if I was drunk," he said. "A couple of the men at the door yelled, 'Hey, man, you all right?' but I couldn't answer them. Finally when I did get outside, I could breathe again. Then, standing outside and looking back in toward the noise and bright lights, I could see what was happening. I looked up into the stars and said, "Okay, Lord, this is it. I'll preach the gospel. Instead of taking my music around the world, I'll take Your Word wherever You want."

   He gave me another giddy twirl.

   Still speechless, I continued to stare at him in delight. This is what I'd been praying for, but I hadn't dreamed the answer would come so dramatically.

   His grin never left. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Don't you want to be a preacher's wife?"

   At that, I threw my arms around him.

   Long after Howard left that night, joy continued to ricochet throughout my being. I was going to be a preacher's wife.

   The next morning, we told Miss Gatherer, who 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. Ask Him to give you His priorities and to let you know which Bible school He wants you attend. There's something wonderful waiting for you!"

   With her encouragement, we began to pray specifically about attending the same Bible school as Ruth — Nyack, a school in New York State noted for its missionary emphasis.

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*     *     *

   We sent off our applications and then knew it was time to tell Howard's parents about our school plans. His mother, tall and slender, was like a rock for her family of three men. As I watched her, I could see where Clarence, Howard's brother and band associate, had gotten his outgoing characteristics. In some ways she helped fill some of the void left by Mama's death.

   Howard's father, a broad-chested, strong man, took a little more getting used to. A skilled plasterer and a hard worker, he took pride in his self-made status. He liked to remind us that no one had paved an easy road for him, and yet he'd become one of the best in his field. We couldn't argue with that. In fact, no one argued with Howard's father.

   "You want to go where?" Dad Jones quickly threw down the Nyack brochure he'd been reading. He leaned forward in his chair and waited for further explanation.

   Howard never flinched. "I know God wants me to be a minister, so we're going to Nyack to study."

   Dad Jones answered with a snort, "Who ever heard of that college? Nobody! If you want to be a minister, go to a regular college. Go to Oberlin's theological seminary."

   I could see the hurt in Howard's eyes, but he held his ground.

   "No, Dad. I know the Lord is leading me to Nyack to study the Bible. Once that's accomplished, He'll let us know the next step of His plan."

   "His plan? I'll tell you what His plan is! He's planning you to be a nobody. You aren't going to amount to anything. You're throwing away your life! Well, I'm not going to help you do that; don't ask for one cent from me!"

   Dad Jones grabbed the discarded paper and opened it with a snap. The discussion was over as far as he was concerned.

   Howard's mother could also read her son's face. She was aware of his disappointment and, as she walked us to the door, she reached over to pat Howard's shoulder. "Son, I'm proud of your decision to go to Bible school. Just give your dad time to cool down. Even if he doesn't help, the Lord's going to honor

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your determination to prepare for whatever He wants you to do. I'll try to help you, but just know you are doing the right thing."

   What a tonic her words were! During the rest of our senior year, we hung onto them as we continued to read the Bible together and ask for the Lord's direction. We also continued to use every opportunity we could to share our faith, either singing solos or duets in church or handing out tracts on the street corners. In addition to Howard's mother's encouragement, my brothers Bob and Alden, remembering Mama's wish to go to Bible school, promised to help me financially, as they had Ruth. I couldn't wait to join Ruth in Nyack on the beautiful Hudson River.

Chapter Three  ||  Table of Contents