Devil at My Heels - Louis Zamperini [120]
After breakfast I told Cynthia I had to be alone. I took my army Bible, a New Testament that all servicemen had by order of President Roosevelt, and walked half a mile to Barnsdale Park. I’d tried to read it before but threw it aside, not understanding. I sat under a tree, said a prayer, opened up the Bible to John 1:1, and started reading: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…
For the first time in my life the beautiful story made clear sense. I began to cry, overwhelmed by the emotion. For many years the Bible had been a mystery to me, but now it was an open book. This was the clincher: how could I suddenly understand the Bible when I never could before? How often had I picked it up and put it down because I couldn’t make heads or tails of what it was all about? But with the Holy Spirit as my interpreter, the meanings were obvious.
I sat on that bench all morning and thanked God for my life from the day I was born, for all that I’d been and been through, all that I’d lost, all the times I’d tried to change and failed, all the times I’d prayed to survive and had. Otherwise I’d never have known Christ. All things work together for the good. The Lord had seen to it that I’d made it through every life-threatening situation and lost in every business venture because that’s what brought me to the tent. Now I knew that God’s hand had always been upon me and had prepared me for this moment.
VERY FEW PEOPLE really understand the difficulties of accepting Christianity. The picture painted by the well-meaning is that after a conversion God gives the new believer a steady diet of happiness and all is immediately well. Nothing of the sort is true. On the contrary, like every other sincere person who is striving to believe in spite of having so long lived another way with a mind conditioned to cynicism, I had to go through a period of despondency, doubt, and painful self-examination. Often I’d sit in the apartment for hours, without speaking to anyone. This was my trial period, during which I descended from the elation and satisfaction into the valley of despair. And unlike the war, when I had faced obstacles and overcome them, this time I did not have the same self-confidence. Then I’d taken survival-training courses, knew I was in great physical shape. Now I was simply a baby. That’s why they call it being reborn.
The Christian life is not easy. You’ll always get a guy who stands up and says, “Ever since I became a Christian, my life’s been a bowl of cherries.”
I’ve always turned to that guy and said, “You know what you need? You need Christ. Christian life isn’t about a bowl of cherries. It’s a struggle, and that struggle keeps you dependent on Him.”
Cynthia stood faithfully by waiting for me to rebound, and as my new humility took hold, I went to the Veterans Employment Service downtown and applied for honest work. No more “deals” for me; I’d dig ditches if necessary.
I didn’t know it, but that wasn’t God’s plan. My experience best fitted me for a different job.
FIVE NIGHTS AFTER my conversion I went back to see Billy Graham and met him and Cliff Barrows, the choir director, platform emcee, and radio-TV program director who started with Dr. Graham that year in Los Angeles. I told them my story and confirmed, “Yes, I’m converted.” I could tell by the way they looked me over that they had some scheme in mind—and I could guess it pretty well—but I said, “No man will ever get me on the platform preaching like Billy. I’m just going to be a regular Christian.”
The next week Barrows bought me a train ticket to Modesto and convinced me to give a testimony. I couldn’t very well say no. “What do I say?” I asked.
“Just tell them your war story and how God put you through this and that, and what happened to you at the tent.”
He sent me to