Through My Eyes (7 page)

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.

—P
ROVERBS 3:5–6

When you’re younger,
every birthday feels like a milestone, and the summer of my fifteenth was no different. For many reasons, I was excited to turn fifteen, but perhaps the most important was that turning fifteen meant I was old enough to go on my first Mission Trip to the Philippines the following summer. For years, my dad had been leading a mission trip to the Philippines in July, and finally I’d be able to go too.

That’s how we were raised, with a joy in getting to tell people about Jesus. For as long as I can remember, this was instilled in me: to have fun, love Jesus and others, and tell them about Him.

Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.

M
ATTHEW
28:19–20

It was a real and integral verse within the life of our family. Even more than that, it was a way of life for our family.

Though I’d grown up with Dad’s frequent trips back to the Philippines and with hearing news about Uncle Dick’s orphanage, I hadn’t been back to the Philippines myself since we’d moved to Florida when I was three. But when I was fifteen, I was old enough to go to the Philippines, and so I took my first trip back to help spread God’s Word.

This was not the first time I’d done mission work, however. Just as I was entering high school, I’d gone on a mission trip to South Florida. A small church down there had invited, and made the arrangements for, some of us from Jacksonville to come. They were looking to reach the surrounding neighborhoods in the area where the church was located. Kevin Albers and I, along with our friend, college student Joey Hamrick, all roomed together with an elderly couple from the host church that was kind enough to open their home to us for the week.

Every morning, after we ate the biscuits and gravy the couple made for us, we’d head out for the day. As Kevin, Joey, and I went door to door in trailer parks and other neighborhoods, we watched God use our inadequate but sincere intrusion into the area as almost thirty people committed their lives to the Lord. It was awesome yet humbling to see God work in that way—through our simply taking part in this church’s outreach into its community.

The church simply turned us loose in our small groups. These days they wouldn’t do it that way; instead, they would probably send adults along with us. We needed to be back at the church each day at a certain time, but we missed it every time, so caught up in the passion of our visits in the neighborhoods and trying to speak to as many people as we could. Much like my approach to working out—if something’s important and a little is good, a lot is better, so why stop at a little?

In the process of doing that each day, I had a chance to give an impromptu talk to a randomly gathered group of people for the first time. We were walking past an arcade, filled with kids playing all sorts of games, when Joey, who had been trained by my dad on a trip to the Philippines, told us to gather all the kids together. So we asked—actually I believe it might have been more appropriately characterized as shouted—the kids if we could have their attention for a moment. We waited while they all finished up whatever games they were playing or whatever else they were doing. I guess they were curious, and we must have looked harmless, because nobody really resisted, and moments later they all formed a group.

That’s when Joey turned things over to me. Looking back, since he was the one with the training, I’m not sure why I was the one speaking, but I remember being pretty intimidated, seeing those kids looking at me as I stood there totally mute for what felt like a very long moment. Then I began to speak, first sharing something from my heart. It must have gone okay and it must have been sufficient for God to use, because I spoke for a few minutes about the good news of the gospel of Christ, and we ended up praying with seven or eight kids to accept Christ right then and there.

That experience was amazing, a crucial step helping prepare me for the difficult task of talking about God with people I meet—something I would do a lot later in life.

For this reason, I knew that going to the Philippines would be a challenge, but what I did not expect was that it would change my life. My dad’s Filipino and American staff works hard for months to put together a solid schedule for the Americans on the summer trip. America and the Philippines have had a long friendship; in fact there is a Fil-Am day every year, celebrating the relationship. Because of our friendship, Americans are very welcome in the communities and schools, and received with a great welcome. 

With the permission of regional and district superintendents, and principals of schools, we tie into the moral and spiritual values program already in place in the schools. It is a non-sectarian program emphasizing the love of God and a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, and drug abstinence. 

When possible we have an assembly with the whole student body, such as at their morning flag ceremony. At an assembly we have a short 10 to 12 minute message of the love of God in Christ. If we are unable to have an assembly, we share the same message classroom by classroom, which is much more speaking but more intimate. We almost always have a minute to shake hands and high-five students, which is a special time. (Perhaps this is where my tradition of high-fiving Florida fans after each game began.)

My dad gets us up early each school day, around 4:30 a.m., to get ready and fix breakfast; and then we get on the road often covering a good distance to get to the first school. We usually have two or three Americans on a team with two Filipino staff. The staff drives, does most of the talking to the principals and then translates the message to make sure everyone understands all parts of the message. We work hard all day until school is out. It is fun but exhausting. In a typical day a team will speak in six to ten schools, depending on distance and other factors. Sometimes less and sometimes a few more. When I am speaking I usually open with comments about being born in the Philippines. That creates a great connection with students. 

Then I talk about the gospel. The word “gospel” means “good news.” So I’ll ask, “Do you like good news? The good news is that God loves you! He loves you so much that He sent His son Jesus to die for you. He made you special and wants to have a personal relationship with you and give you eternal life. But our biggest problem is that we have sinned. Because God is a Holy God, He can never have fellowship with sin. Sin makes a wall between us and God. Because Jesus had no sin He could die for our sins on the cross. Because Jesus died on the cross for your sins and rose from the dead, He has the power to forgive your sins, make you His child, and give you a home in heaven. That is the best news you could ever hear. You can’t earn the free gift of eternal life, you can’t pay for the free gift of eternal life, you can only receive it as a free gift, by putting your faith and trust in Jesus Christ alone.” 

And then I always end with an invitation to pray with me if they want to trust Jesus, praying something like this: “Dear Jesus, I know I am a sinner and need a Savior. Thank you for dying on the cross for me. I open the door of my heart and ask you to come in. Save me now, Jesus. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for coming into my heart. Thank you that God is my Father and I am His child. Thank you that I have a home in heaven, and I will come and live with you some day. In Jesus’s name, Amen.”

Finally, I ask them several questions. “Did you ask Jesus in your heart?” “Where is Jesus right now?” “Is He ever going to leave you?” “He promised to never leave you, to never forsake you, to be with you forever. If you have Jesus and you died today, where would you be?” “If God is your Father and God is my Father, what does that make us?”

Personally it is so exciting to have the privilege to share this good news with other people. I know that God is the one who changes hearts, but I am always eager to try and plant a seed. There was one special day that a friend of ours, Jenessa Spaulding, and I spoke in nine schools to 29,000 people. The first school that day was over 11,000 students. Needless to say, it was a wonderful and fruitful day in the schools.

Many nights I got back to the hotel we were staying in with a terrible sore throat. As I would fall asleep, I thought there was no way I’d be able to speak the next morning, but sure enough every time, I would wake up refreshed, throat fine and ready to go.

In addition to the life-changing aspect of preaching the gospel and leading people to place their trust in Christ, it was great preparation for the speaking I would end up doing as I got older. Speaking without notes, learning to reduce or extend my remarks depending on the time allotted, tailoring my remarks on the fly for an intimate setting or for a larger gathering—the opportunities I had speaking in the Philippines provided great training for it all. I now actually prefer speaking without notes, because it ensures that I won’t come across as scripted, and it gives me a chance to engage my audience with my eyes and my gestures. And also, without notes I’m assured that my comments will be real, authentic, and come from the heart. I still get nervous when I speak, but even so I would rather not have notes and instead simply have prepared enough to know the material I want to share, I might have several words jotted down to remind me of points I want to make, and I’ve found that being slightly nervous actually helps me, in that it boosts my energy and passion.

Full days. Packed classrooms and auditoriums, and being worn out at the end of the day. That’s what our trips back to the Philippines were like. But we loved it, and I came back from my first mission trip to the Philippines renewed to fulfill my purpose of living for the Lord, whether here or there and in whatever place, setting, or game I found myself in.

Life was good
back in the States, too, when we returned from the Philippines. For the most part, life was quiet for us other than my schooling and studying with Mom, working, and sports.

One of the hardest parts about living at the apartment during the week was that it meant I was apart from Otis, our beloved dog given to us by Peter’s friend Philip Hurst. We’d always had a number of dogs on the farm, but many of them didn’t survive—or didn’t choose to stay—on the farm. Otis set himself apart in many ways, including longevity. We got Otis when I was around five years old, so he and I had plenty of time to develop a trusted and close bond.

Otis was loyal and protective, traits you’d hope to find in a dog. If you came by, you would see blonde-haired Otis, who looked to be a mixture of half Lab and half golden retriever, walking down our long dirt driveway at the farm and toward the house, keeping my mom company . . . and safe. He would wander the property, looking for threats to the family, including snakes. When he found one, he would neutralize the threat and then, proudly, leave the dead snake, I suppose, for us to see that he was keeping us safe. He must have done this a hundred times.

Once at a birthday party, we were all swimming in the pool, when all of a sudden one of us spotted a small snake in the pool at about the same time that Otis did. He beat us to it, thank goodness, and leapt into the pool, grabbed the snake in his mouth, and made sure it would never again end up in any pool. Then he climbed out with the now lifeless snake draped out of his mouth, carried it off, and laid it to its final rest in our backyard.

Otis met every visitor who came onto our property, whether invited or not, and usually before anyone else in the family had the chance. Our guests or any delivery truck or our large-animal vet—anyone and everyone—were all escorted—chased, really—as they came up the drive toward the house. He was always keeping an eye out for us and
on
all others.

For my birthday weekend in August that year I went with my brother Robby and Kevin to Disney World. When we returned home after the weekend, I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something seemed different as we drove onto the property. My mom met us as we pulled up in front of the house.

“I haven’t seen Otis all weekend.” She seemed pretty unsettled.

That’s what it was. That’s what seemed out of place. Otis (the “first greeter”) always greeted everyone on their arrival, always excited to see friends and strangers—even though he was too trusting of strangers until they showed him they couldn’t be trusted. That’s what was different. He wasn’t there when we pulled up. And now Mom was telling us he seemed to have been gone all weekend? It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for him to take off for several hours, but never several days. We were concerned, so we all headed out to find him.

Getting more upset by the minute, I took off on foot, running around the farm, then decided that the car would be faster. So I got in and started driving around the property, calling as loud as I could, over and over again, for Otis. We covered the length and breadth of the property as well as some property off the farm, even though Otis had never left the farm before. I went back and forth, over and over, hoping at any moment Otis would come bounding and barking from behind the corner of somewhere—maybe even with a snake that no longer could harm us hanging from his mouth. I smiled thinking for a moment about what a welcome sight that would be.

I made another pass down the driveway, driving slowly, keeping my eyes peeled toward the underbrush on either side of the drive. There it was—that golden head popping up in the brush. I slammed on the brakes, jumped out of the car, yelled for the others, and ran toward him, calling out to him as I ran.

He put his head back down. In the past, he would have always come running to greet me. I reached him, afraid that maybe he’d been bitten by a snake. He looked fine, and I slowly and gently lifted his head. I still didn’t see anything wrong, until he opened his mouth.