Carolyn Whitehurst Wyman http://www.youprayforlife.com carolyn@youprayforlife.com Michigan http://www.youprayforlife.com sythismom@yahoo.com
I hope you enjoy listening to our sons' song "Jesus Savior," playing on this page. c.2005 Steven Christopher Wyman. Written and sung by Chris, with Jonathan on lead guitar. It's a church recording - so not the best, and if you rather not hear it, click the pause on the player! Thank you!
"Jesus Savior" registered c.2005 by S.Christopher Wyman. My mother had been raised Presbyterian and my father Southern Methodist, but Mama always felt more comfortable among the Baptists. Daddy was in the Navy until I was almost 7, so when he retired at 37, we settled in Mama's hometown of Charleston, South Carolina. They bought a house on James Island, 2 1/2 blocks from a new Southern Baptist church, so I never missed a service for several years. Rain or shine, I simply walked by myself to church Sunday morning and night and midweek, loving every moment inside those walls. More families moved to our area, and the church grew. Somewhere along the way, some rather rude deacons' kids began to torment me - pulling my hair or pinching me when I bowed my head to pray, or shoving me as I walked between buildings, etc. I never understood why; still don't. Still, church was my haven, so I remained faithful. In fact, I considered Jesus to be my personal friend - my very best friend, and some of my best memories are of the warmth of His love as I prayed before falling to sleep. But a crisis caused me to begin to doubt His love, and somewhere around my 13th birthday, I decided that God was not real. I still attended church, because all my friends were there, but the light had gone out. This I kept to myself. Down south, anyone who didn't believe in God was next to the devil himself. So, many of my questions went unanswered, because I was simply afraid to ask anyone about them. The summer after I graduated from high school, a young man I had dated was in a car accident down in Naples, Florida and was paralyzed from the waist down. Ricky was one of the nicest guys I had ever met, and this news was hard to bear. In October, while I was a freshman at The College of Charleston, he called to say that he had moved back to Charleston and asked me to visit him. It was a day that would change my life forever. On the way to his house, I was trying to think of something I could say to ease his burden. After all, while I no longer believed in God, I was expected to have something religious to say to my friends. I had read Catherine Marshall's book, "A Man Called Peter," and I remembered a sentence on the first page that had struck me. She had said that God had a plan for every life. So I decided to tell Ricky that, in hopes of comforting him. When I got to his house, he looked as handsome as ever, and it was a delight to see him looking "normal," although the wheelchair was prominent in the room. My favorite aunt had been in a wheelchair from birth, so I didn't think too much of it. As we began to talk, I kept noticing that Ricky was not bitter and that he had a glow on his face that was even more prominent than before. He told me the details of the accident - he was turning left on the beach to go surfing, and a car hit him from behind, sending him over a dune. The van door came off in the roll over, and Ricky was tossed out. He looked up to see the door flying through the air, headed straight for him. He flipped over on his stomach, just in time for the door to hit the middle of his back. He knew instantly that it was broken. The cord was bruised, never severed, but he had not had feeling or movement since that day in August. "I believe that God has a plan for every life," I lied, "so I think He has a reason why this happened." Ricky's smile was instant. "Yes, He sure does!" He went on to tell me that one of his roommates in the Miami hospital he had been transferred to was a missionary to South America. His son had led Ricky to the Lord. Ricky explained to me that he realized that he was a sinner and needed Jesus Christ as His Savior. He asked God to forgive him of all his sins - which he tried to name. He told God that He believed that Jesus had died on the cross for those sins in his place, and that he wanted to live the rest of his life for God and go to heaven when he died. He was instantly saved. When I heard this, it was as if I had never heard it before. I looked at him eye to eye and said, "Ricky, I'm going to hell." "You don't have to," Ricky smiled. "You can be saved like I was. I called you because I remembered what a nice girl you were, and I thought you would accept this." "No, I'm not a nice girl. I've been doing a lot of things I know are wrong. I haven't believed in God for a long time." "Well, you can get saved today. You don't have to go to hell." When I heard this, everything in me began to fight it. He was NOT going to convert me in his living room! I knew how it was done. You go to church and wait for the sermon to be over, listen for the invitation, go up the aisle while everyone is singing "Just As I Am," and get handed a card. You fill out the card and check, "I want to receive Christ as my Savior." Then you get baptized the next week. I knew exactly what you do - I was raised in it! I had done it at nine years old! I had done it. And I had thrown it away. I told Ricky that I had to leave at 5 (another lie). I told him that I wasn't done having fun yet. He smiled and told me to call him when I was done having fun. I felt the dig. I left. I sat in my car in front of his apartment, wondering why I had left. I remember thinking, "Fun? What kind of fun am I having?" I had been miserable for soooo long! When I got home, I tried to tell my mother about our conversation, but she didn't get it. "Oh, that poor boy! He was so handsome and played football and everything. Well, I'm glad he got religion." "He didn't get religion, Mama. He got Jesus!" Somehow, I knew the difference. I had just seen it in his eyes. The next day, my sister Joyce and I left to go to the beach, six miles away, to visit our boyfriends. On the way, I told her everything Ricky had said. She responded, "We need to go back to church!" "No, Joyce. I don't think it's about church. I think it's about Jesus. He got Jesus." When we got to the beach house, I started telling my boyfriend about my conversation with Ricky. He stopped me with a wave of his hand. "You can stop right there. Jesus and I don't get along. It's either me or Jesus. You can't have both." I started to sit down, to stop talking. And all of a sudden, I remembered a sermon by Billy Graham. My parents watched Billy every time he came on, because my mother had gone forward at one of his crusades before I was born. In this particular sermon, he had said, "The only sin that can keep you out of heaven is denying Jesus Christ." I jumped up, pointed a finger, and yelled, "I'm not going to hell for YOU. I choose Christ!" I left, forgetting my sister was walking on the beach with her boyfriend. I had to get out of there NOW. I went straight home, gathered up everything that guy had given me, and went back to set it on his doorstep. I remember pulling out of the driveway, looking up at the sky over the house, and thinking, "This is it. No more sin. No more. I want Christ. I want what Ricky has." I never went back. For the next three weeks, I tried to change my life. I wanted to pray that prayer Ricky had prayed, but I wanted to be "clean" first. I stopped smoking pot (which was easy without the boyfriend to supply it), stopped drinking, and tried to stop smoking cigarettes. Here's where I hit a snag - I'd tried many times to quit and never could. But I kept trying. Ricky called one Tuesday morning in November and asked me to go with him to get his license for hand-control driving. I cut classes that day to go, glad for another opportunity to be around that glow. As we were in line, Ricky started talking about Jesus again. "I know. I'm trying." I told him. "What do you mean, you're trying?" "Well, I broke up with my boyfriend, I quit pot and drinking, but I can't seem to quit cigarettes yet. When I do that, I'm going to pray that prayer." Ricky laughed. "Carolyn, don't worry about all that. Just come as you are! Jesus will clean you up after you get saved." "Really?" I was stunned. I remember standing there in awe. This was getting even better! That night, I waited until I was sure that my sister, with whom I shared a room, was asleep. I wanted to be able to whisper it - to say it aloud. Around 11PM, on November 21, 1972, I began. I told God how sorry I was for all my sins - which I tried to name, but then I realized that I would never remember them all. I told Him that it felt like the biggest sin of all was not treating Jesus the way He deserved. He died for me, and I had abandoned Him. I asked the Father to forgive me, to wash all the sins away, to make me clean. I asked Him to help me live for Him for the rest of my life. I told Him that I didn't want it to be like all those times in church when I went forward - for baptism, for rededication, for renewal. I begged Him to make this last. For the first time in my life, I wasn't promising Him anything - I was asking Him to have mercy. And He did. I haven't lived a perfect life since then, but I have rested in His perfection. I haven't always been happy, but I've always known His joy. I haven't had all my prayers answered the way I would have liked, but I have seen the wonders of the Lord in a way that I never expected. Thank You, Lord.
My mother had been raised Presbyterian and my father Southern Methodist, but Mama always felt more comfortable among the Baptists. Daddy was in the Navy until I was almost 7, so when he retired at 37, we settled in Mama's hometown of Charleston, South Carolina. They bought a house on James Island, 2 1/2 blocks from a new Southern Baptist church, so I never missed a service for several years. Rain or shine, I simply walked by myself to church Sunday morning and night and midweek, loving every moment inside those walls.
More families moved to our area, and the church grew. Somewhere along the way, some rather rude deacons' kids began to torment me - pulling my hair or pinching me when I bowed my head to pray, or shoving me as I walked between buildings, etc. I never understood why; still don't.
Still, church was my haven, so I remained faithful. In fact, I considered Jesus to be my personal friend - my very best friend, and some of my best memories are of the warmth of His love as I prayed before falling to sleep.
But a crisis caused me to begin to doubt His love, and somewhere around my 13th birthday, I decided that God was not real. I still attended church, because all my friends were there, but the light had gone out. This I kept to myself. Down south, anyone who didn't believe in God was next to the devil himself. So, many of my questions went unanswered, because I was simply afraid to ask anyone about them.
The summer after I graduated from high school, a young man I had dated was in a car accident down in Naples, Florida and was paralyzed from the waist down. Ricky was one of the nicest guys I had ever met, and this news was hard to bear. In October, while I was a freshman at The College of Charleston, he called to say that he had moved back to Charleston and asked me to visit him. It was a day that would change my life forever.
On the way to his house, I was trying to think of something I could say to ease his burden. After all, while I no longer believed in God, I was expected to have something religious to say to my friends. I had read Catherine Marshall's book, "A Man Called Peter," and I remembered a sentence on the first page that had struck me. She had said that God had a plan for every life. So I decided to tell Ricky that, in hopes of comforting him.
When I got to his house, he looked as handsome as ever, and it was a delight to see him looking "normal," although the wheelchair was prominent in the room. My favorite aunt had been in a wheelchair from birth, so I didn't think too much of it. As we began to talk, I kept noticing that Ricky was not bitter and that he had a glow on his face that was even more prominent than before. He told me the details of the accident - he was turning left on the beach to go surfing, and a car hit him from behind, sending him over a dune. The van door came off in the roll over, and Ricky was tossed out. He looked up to see the door flying through the air, headed straight for him. He flipped over on his stomach, just in time for the door to hit the middle of his back. He knew instantly that it was broken. The cord was bruised, never severed, but he had not had feeling or movement since that day in August.
"I believe that God has a plan for every life," I lied, "so I think He has a reason why this happened."
Ricky's smile was instant. "Yes, He sure does!" He went on to tell me that one of his roommates in the Miami hospital he had been transferred to was a missionary to South America. His son had led Ricky to the Lord. Ricky explained to me that he realized that he was a sinner and needed Jesus Christ as His Savior. He asked God to forgive him of all his sins - which he tried to name. He told God that He believed that Jesus had died on the cross for those sins in his place, and that he wanted to live the rest of his life for God and go to heaven when he died. He was instantly saved.
When I heard this, it was as if I had never heard it before. I looked at him eye to eye and said, "Ricky, I'm going to hell."
"You don't have to," Ricky smiled. "You can be saved like I was. I called you because I remembered what a nice girl you were, and I thought you would accept this."
"No, I'm not a nice girl. I've been doing a lot of things I know are wrong. I haven't believed in God for a long time."
"Well, you can get saved today. You don't have to go to hell."
When I heard this, everything in me began to fight it. He was NOT going to convert me in his living room! I knew how it was done. You go to church and wait for the sermon to be over, listen for the invitation, go up the aisle while everyone is singing "Just As I Am," and get handed a card. You fill out the card and check, "I want to receive Christ as my Savior." Then you get baptized the next week. I knew exactly what you do - I was raised in it! I had done it at nine years old!
I had done it. And I had thrown it away.
I told Ricky that I had to leave at 5 (another lie). I told him that I wasn't done having fun yet. He smiled and told me to call him when I was done having fun. I felt the dig. I left.
I sat in my car in front of his apartment, wondering why I had left. I remember thinking, "Fun? What kind of fun am I having?" I had been miserable for soooo long!
When I got home, I tried to tell my mother about our conversation, but she didn't get it. "Oh, that poor boy! He was so handsome and played football and everything. Well, I'm glad he got religion."
"He didn't get religion, Mama. He got Jesus!" Somehow, I knew the difference. I had just seen it in his eyes.
The next day, my sister Joyce and I left to go to the beach, six miles away, to visit our boyfriends. On the way, I told her everything Ricky had said. She responded, "We need to go back to church!"
"No, Joyce. I don't think it's about church. I think it's about Jesus. He got Jesus."
When we got to the beach house, I started telling my boyfriend about my conversation with Ricky. He stopped me with a wave of his hand.
"You can stop right there. Jesus and I don't get along. It's either me or Jesus. You can't have both."
I started to sit down, to stop talking. And all of a sudden, I remembered a sermon by Billy Graham. My parents watched Billy every time he came on, because my mother had gone forward at one of his crusades before I was born. In this particular sermon, he had said, "The only sin that can keep you out of heaven is denying Jesus Christ."
I jumped up, pointed a finger, and yelled, "I'm not going to hell for YOU. I choose Christ!" I left, forgetting my sister was walking on the beach with her boyfriend. I had to get out of there NOW.
I went straight home, gathered up everything that guy had given me, and went back to set it on his doorstep. I remember pulling out of the driveway, looking up at the sky over the house, and thinking, "This is it. No more sin. No more. I want Christ. I want what Ricky has." I never went back.
For the next three weeks, I tried to change my life. I wanted to pray that prayer Ricky had prayed, but I wanted to be "clean" first. I stopped smoking pot (which was easy without the boyfriend to supply it), stopped drinking, and tried to stop smoking cigarettes. Here's where I hit a snag - I'd tried many times to quit and never could. But I kept trying.
Ricky called one Tuesday morning in November and asked me to go with him to get his license for hand-control driving. I cut classes that day to go, glad for another opportunity to be around that glow. As we were in line, Ricky started talking about Jesus again.
"I know. I'm trying." I told him.
"What do you mean, you're trying?"
"Well, I broke up with my boyfriend, I quit pot and drinking, but I can't seem to quit cigarettes yet. When I do that, I'm going to pray that prayer."
Ricky laughed. "Carolyn, don't worry about all that. Just come as you are! Jesus will clean you up after you get saved."
"Really?" I was stunned. I remember standing there in awe. This was getting even better!
That night, I waited until I was sure that my sister, with whom I shared a room, was asleep. I wanted to be able to whisper it - to say it aloud. Around 11PM, on November 21, 1972, I began. I told God how sorry I was for all my sins - which I tried to name, but then I realized that I would never remember them all. I told Him that it felt like the biggest sin of all was not treating Jesus the way He deserved. He died for me, and I had abandoned Him. I asked the Father to forgive me, to wash all the sins away, to make me clean. I asked Him to help me live for Him for the rest of my life. I told Him that I didn't want it to be like all those times in church when I went forward - for baptism, for rededication, for renewal. I begged Him to make this last. For the first time in my life, I wasn't promising Him anything - I was asking Him to have mercy. And He did.
I haven't lived a perfect life since then, but I have rested in His perfection. I haven't always been happy, but I've always known His joy. I haven't had all my prayers answered the way I would have liked, but I have seen the wonders of the Lord in a way that I never expected.
Thank You, Lord.
