God's Pattern in Life's Pieces

I attended my first Youth For Christ conference at the age of two months.

It’s true.

At the end of June 1955, the annual Winona Lake Youth For Christ conference began. And I was there.

In fairness, my parents facilitated this participation, bringing along my twin sister and our four older siblings.

What followed was an annual pilgrimage to rural Indiana – two weeks each summer, always encompassing the Fourth of July.

For the next 18 years.

The impact of those two weeks at Winona Lake each year cannot be overstated. Youth For Christ was itself a teenager. Energetic. Enthusiastic. Unrestrained in its passion for introducing young people to Jesus.

Young, passionate, and vibrant communicators took the stage each evening to share the beautiful message of Jesus with thousands of people, primarily young attendees.

Winona Lake was my first experience of sensing the Holy Spirit stirring in my soul.

I was very young when this happened. Not two months young, but certainly in my single-digit years. The life-altering message of Jesus—His power and His grace—landed on a young, receptive soul.

And I was touched. Moved. Shaped.

I remember walking out of the Billy Sunday Tabernacle, my mother’s hand enveloping mine, with tears welling up in my eyes as I considered the vastness of God’s love.

The tears often lasted long enough for us to make it to the ice cream line at Eskimo Inn.

Then a prevailing joy.

The quickening power and presence of the Holy Spirit, wooing me to Jesus. Shaping my heart while it was pliable. His gentle whispers resonating in my soul.

Even in that vast auditorium without air-conditioning, where the oppressive heat and humidity of an Indiana summer settled over thousands of people, the Spirit moved.

Even with sawdust floors and unforgiving wooden benches, the Spirit moved.

I suspect many of you know exactly what I’m describing. That unmistakable sense that God is reaching deep into your being with a message He doesn’t want you to ignore.

A light in the darkness.

The beckoning of a faithful and relentless Shepherd.

But here’s what has become increasingly clear to me.

The Holy Spirit was never confined to Winona Lake. Never restricted to the 1950s or 1960s. The same Spirit who stirred my young heart is still stirring hearts today.

Unfortunately, many of us have grown numb to the nudge. Deaf to the whisper.

We dismiss without considering. The clutter of life has crowded out our attentiveness to the Spirit of God.

And I confess that the older I’ve become, the easier it has been to confuse familiarity with attentiveness.

His voice hasn’t been silenced.

We’ve simply stopped listening.

Jesus made a remarkable promise to His disciples:

“The Friend, the Holy Spirit whom the Father will send at my request, will make everything plain to you. He will remind you of all the things I have told you.” (John 14:26, MSG)

The promise of His presence wasn’t limited to a generation. Or a geography. Or a gathering.

It was a promise for then.

And for now.

Now is the time. For me. For you. For us.

To listen. To reflect. To respond. To obey.

Those old invitation hymns still echo in my memory.

Softly and tenderly.

Just as I am.

But the invitation isn’t an echo from the past. It’s a call for today.

Now.

“Speak, Lord. I’m listening.”

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