My Future Thomas M Parsons

16. My Future

“Your life is about to change, drastically,” commented a gray-haired man who had walked up to me as I stood on the corner of Fort and London in Lincoln Park, Michigan. I was looking at the edifice of the First Baptist Church where I had been baptized as a new Christian just five years earlier. I had come to take what might have been my last look at my church home. Tomorrow I would move on to the next phase of my life.

“What?” I said, the only intelligent thing to come to my startled mind since I had not seen the man approaching.

“Your life,” he said, “it’s about to change.”

“Yes, it is,” I said, then, “Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” he replied.

I pondered that for a moment. What did he mean?

“You’re at a crossroads,” he said, “and I imagine you’re just a little apprehensive about what comes next.”

I stood silent, unable to fathom where my visitor was coming from.

“This place, this church, has been very important to you. Someday you will know just how important. The people here, your pastor, your friends, have all played significant roles in your growth as a Christian. Leaving them is not easy, and it is very scary.”

I continued to stand, unable to speak.

“I’m here to tell you it will all work out okay.”

“But, who are you?” I protested, “and how do you know what’s going to work out okay?”

“Because I’ve already been where you are going,” came the somewhat cryptic answer.

“Oh,” I said, “okay. You are older than me and so you know more about life than I do. Thanks for the reminder that things often do work out, one way or the other.”

“But you don’t believe that right now, do you?”

“Of course I believe it. I have faith that God knows what He is doing.”

“But you’re not certain about that. I can see it in your face. Apprehension. Uncertainty. Doubt. They are all there. But I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I know,” I said, lowering my head in a bit of shame. “I know I can trust God. It’s just that, I’ve never done before what I am going to do tomorrow.”

“Leave home,” the gray-haired man said. “Yes, that’s often hard.”

“How did you know I was leaving?” I said, shocked that this stranger seemed to know more about me than I was comfortable having him know.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “But I do know. And I know you are going to be okay. Everything is going to work out better than you hope.”

Again, I was speechless.

“Listen,” he said, “I know you don’t understand who I am or why I’m here. But I was sent to give you confidence that you can face the future with God. He is going to use you in ways you have not yet imagined and he is going to give you everything you need for a long life.”

A sad thought struck me. “I’m sure that’s what my brother thought,” I said. “But he died before his twenty-second birthday. Did you know that?”

“Yes,” replied the stranger. “I know that. But you are not your brother. You are going to live a long life.”

I stepped closer to the man, hoping to see something familiar in him. Perhaps I did. Perhaps I didn’t. I couldn’t be sure.

“This church,” he said pointing to First Baptist, “has meant a lot to you. You’ve really grown here. You’ve been under the teaching of a good, caring pastor. You’ve made some excellent friends. You have enjoyed some great times with them.

“But, now I have to leave them,” I said.

“Yes. You do. And that is sad. Most of them you will never see again on this earth. But they are changing, too. They are setting off on their great adventures just as you are. It’s the way it is. The things you long to have in your life are not here in this town. You must move elsewhere to find them. They are all waiting for you.”

“You say I will see some of these people again?”

“Yes. Once or twice. Three or four of them. And you will see them in Heaven.”

“But Heaven is along time in the future for me, according to what you say.”

“Oh, yes. You will be a grandfather and enjoy many pleasant times with your grandchildren.”

Read about the church of my youth, First Baptist Church of Lincoln Park, Michigan.

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“Whoa!” I said. “I’m twenty-four years old and you’re telling me I’m going to be a grandfather?”

“Well, not for a long time. But that day will come.”

“What else do you know that I don’t know?” This stranger had pricked my interest. He seemed to know what my life would be like.

“What would you like to know?” he said.

“Well,” I hesitated for a moment. Did I really want to ask this question?

“Well, tomorrow, as you apparently know, I am heading off to seminary. And I’m really full of doubts about my ability to be what I’m going to seminary to be. I mean, can I really be a pastor?”

“Yes, you can. Dr. Mac already told you that.”

“Yes,” I replied, “but he didn’t know what was coming, like you seem to know.”

“You will do fine,” the stranger said. “You will minister to people, and they, at least most of them, will love you for it.”

“Most of them?” I said. “What do you mean, most of them.”

“There are always people who don’t accept leadership very gracefully,” he said. “They will try to second guess you and will not submit to your leading them. But they are the few. Most people will appreciate what you will do for them.”

“Will I be a famous pastor?” It was pride that made me ask.

“No,” he said, bursting my bubble of pride as it needed to be. “No, you will not be famous. But you will minister to the people God gives to you, and most of them will be glad God sent you to them. You really can’t expect much more than that.”

Of course, that was enough. It had to be enough. God did not call many to be famous, but He did call many unknowns and use them quietly for His glory.

“What about writing? I have always wanted to write. Will the Lord use that?”

“Some. You will write. Some of your writing will be published. God will use that, but it’s not the main thing He will use.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know the way people tend to share their problems with you? They just seem to open up and spill out the things that are bothering them.”

“Yes, I know that happens.”

“That means you are a good listener. You listen to what people tell you. And because you know what God says, and believe His Word is true, you answer them with Biblical truth. God will use that, over and over again.”

“One thing,” I said. “It’s not easy to talk about. But as I said, I’m twenty-four years old.”

“Forty years my junior,” he said, smiling knowingly.

“Okay. So you’re sixty-four. But I’m only twenty-four, and going to seminary tomorrow. I expect most guys my age in seminary are already, well, you know, are married men. They have a wife already. I don’t even have a prospect.”

“You’ve been searching with a great deal of zeal, haven’t you?” he said, still smiling. “A couple of young ladies right here in this church have caught your eye, but have now left your life for good.”

“I’m afraid so. That’s true. I’ve known a great deal of failure with the ladies. Is that, am I, is there going to be...?”

“Someone for you?” he said. “I already told you that. But you know, you are going to have to let God lead you in that area of your life. You’ve been trying to make that work on your own, but only God can give you success there.”

“You’ve already told me? When?

“Think about it,” he said, and turned to walk away.

“Wait,” I said, “Please. Wait.”

The man turned back to face me. He smiled kindly, the old knowing, the young wondering.

“Who are you? Please. Tell me who you are.”

“You’ll find out who I am soon enough,” he said. “In fact, I would say in about forty years.” And he turned and walked away down the street.

Slowly my look of puzzlement changed as I remembered what he had said. “You will be a grandfather and enjoy many pleasant times with your grandchildren.”

Suddenly, standing on the street corner, in front of the church of my youth, I knew I could trust God to take me from Lincoln Park, from my family and from my friends, from the apprehension of youth to the satisfaction of age.

And it would only take Him forty years.