At this season of the year in 1992, my wife and I visited the tiny, east Texas town of Poynor, where a dear friend of my childhood lived just a few yards from the general store that she once operated, and not much farther from the First Baptist Church which she served devotedly and loved dearly all her life.
KirklandOne evening, we – and by then our little group included my second grade teacher – drove around Poynor looking at Christmas lights, eventually winding up at Roper’s Lake Trail Restaurant in nearby Frankston, where we had dinner and talked about old times.
My dad served the Poynor church as pastor during his last two years at Southwestern Seminary, and the 140-mile trip from Fort Worth to Poynor on Saturday and the return trip on Sunday night were the routine for me during those formative years.
During that last visit to Poynor, my mind moved back to, and became fixed on, an event that took place not at Christmas, but on Easter.
The year was 1952, it was Easter Sunday, and my dad was preaching about the resurrection of our Lord, but I knew that his mind also was on me. At the end of the service, when he gave the invitation, he knew that I, at the age of 8, would make a public profession of faith.
What I knew about Christianity, and even about Jesus himself, was limited that day, but I knew that I wanted to give my life over to Jesus and be one of his followers.
The Poynor church did not have a baptistry, and so in late June, when the water in a pond on the property of one of the church members had warmed up enough, I was baptized as church members stood on the bank and sang, “Happy day, happy day, when Jesus washed my sins away.”
I trace my spiritual roots to that church in Poynor and think often, and with a deep sense of gratitude, of what happened in the life of a young boy in that east Texas town.The memory of it is strongest at Christmas.
At Christmas, a Savior who is Christ the Lord came into the world on behalf of all people, and it was in Poynor that an 8-year-old boy made it known that he loved Jesus and wanted to follow him for the rest of his life. The world has not been the same since “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” – and neither has that little boy, who has lost none of his sense of wonder at the very idea that God could love the world that much, that God could love him that much.
Christmas of 2011 is a few days away and too quickly will become a memory for most of us as we turn our attention to the new year, wondering and perhaps fearing what 2012 will bring into our lives. In 1952, as a youngster timidly beginning his personal pilgrimage of faith, I did not – I could not – grasp the extent of God’s love and grace. Nearly 60 years later, as I make stumbling efforts to follow Jesus, I still cannot.
But every year, I become more aware of, thankful for, and experience to a greater degree, that amazing love and grace. I know 2012 will be no different.
The editor at 8 in Poynor, Texas.