A Note From The Editor

Dear Sweet Friends,

When I was six years old, Billy Graham invaded my space.

It was the mid-sixties. I was visiting my grandparents’ home in East Texas for some much-needed R&R from my stressful life as a six-year-old kid. My cousins lived across the state highway, and I was so excited about playing with them.

We spent the day working hard and helping with the garden and other projects. After dinner had been served and the dishes cleaned, I expected to have some free time to play. But that’s when it happened. Although my grandparents lived in a rural area, they still enjoyed the latest technology—a party line telephone and a black and white television that offered three viewing stations. On this particular night, Billy Graham had the audacity to air his crusade on TV. My grandmother was a God-fearing, church-planting, piano-playing Jesus freak, and her philosophy was that if God’s Word was being preached, we needed to revere the moment with our full attention. (Looking back at that night, I breathe a sigh of relief that this was a long time before 24/7 Christian television existed.)

My grandmother insisted that we sit down on their red sofa and watch the crusade like we were in church—no playing, no talking and (in my opinion) no fun. Although my grandfather was not a particularly religious man, he was well able to enforce Granny ’s wishes when it came to children (having raised six boys together who had given them 18 grandkids). He sat to the side of us with his flyswatter in hand ready to swat the occasional pesky fly or the rowdy hooligan sitting on the red sofa. After we watched Billy Graham, I thought: Surely we’ll have time now to play before bedtime. Wrong! The Billy Graham crew had purchased airtime on another station, which started 30 minutes later. This was evil! True to her convictions, we had to watch the same message all over again. Now! Finally! I thought, hoping we would be released from church to go play before bed. Wrong again! The geniuses in Billy Graham’s organization had figured out a way to make it impossible to watch television that night without seeing the crusade, because 30 minutes later, Billy Graham was airing on the third channel! I really don’t remember what he said. I just wanted to play. As it ended, I thought: Finally! We’re out of stations, so maybe now we’ll have a few minutes to play. Wrong again! My grandmother then restated the gospel message and asked us if we wanted to get saved. With no positive responses, she then proceeded to pray with us individually. The entire evening of fun I had been looking forward to was spent “playing” church, which I didn’t consider fun at all.

A few years later, after my grandmother died of cancer, I became hungry to know more about the God of my grandmother. When an evangelist came to our church with the same familiar gospel message spoken by Billy Graham and my grandmother, I made a choice to believe. I believed that I was a sinner worthy of death for my sins. I believed that Jesus paid the price for my sins. I believed that if I asked God to, He would save me.

That was not only the best decision of my life, it was also my birthplace of believing. But that one choice to believe didn’t immediately put me on a conveyor belt that automatically moved me from one point of belief to another. No, I have to daily have pinch points in which I ask myself: Will I choose to believe or not believe?

I’ve also learned that before I really believe I have to decide to believe. King David knew this truth and that’s why the Psalms are loaded with heart declarations—he constantly had to tell his heart what to believe.

As you read through this issue of Studio G, I pray you will be inspired to make godly heart declarations of your own.

Blessings,