There was a Tear in his Eye

On my end table a picture of my parents stands in a frame of black and gold. They are embracing on the edge of a lake in beautiful clothes to celebrate their fiftieth anniversary. My mother’s white hair makes her face look radiant in the April sun. He stands proudly next to her. The picture captures a strong love weathered by storms and improved by battles. Their love story has rocky chapters but they would tell you their faith brought them through it all. With a gleam in their eyes they would recount the wonders God has done for them and the taste of Revival they had the gift of experiencing once at a church.

Taking in the picture of their joyful faces brought back a memory from five years ago. A very small moment in the countless moments in my life yet special even in its simplicity. It happened on a Sunday right after the church service ended at First Assembly in Cedar Rapids. I had just finished thanking the worship team for helping me lead the congregation in song that morning. He stood at the foot of the stage waiting patiently, my Dad with a tear in his eye.

I had seen him excited, proud, and happy with me many times in my life, but this was different. It was here in this place that miracles have happened for us.

My dad often shares how he felt the day he found out I was going out for hurdles in the 7th grade, his eyes were filled with shock mixed with fear. But after two years of being undefeated at hurdles, he was able to watch confidently and beam with pride. When I sang in the Mall as part of my first vocal recital he stood sweating with nervousness, not sure I could do it. He was afraid I might mess up and become embarrassed. Relief flooded his face as I sang out to the very last note and stayed for a bow. When I graduated from high school, when I graduated from college, and when he held baby 1, 2, 3 and much later 4 he was proud. But today there was a tear in his eye.

In the summer of 1996, my parents were struggling. I was a new high school graduate planning to go to a Christian Liberal Arts school, far away in Marion, Indiana. My two older brothers were living on their own. Only my youngest brother still lived at home, but he had hit the teenage rebellious streak. It seemed as if he wanted to out-do the rest of his siblings in mischief. Church attendance had become less important to Dad in those days. Habits and hobbies pulled him away from that place of Christian community. He was isolated, and he was depressed.

One Wednesday night late in August, my friend Amy invited me on a road trip. Jumping into the car we traveled to First Assembly of God in Cedar Rapids about a forty-five minute drive. She told me on the way we were visiting a church experiencing Revival. The parking lot was filled with cars as we walked to the youth service in the outdoor tent. From the moment I entered the tent I felt the presence of God. It was like an invisible force held my heart and all that was love within it. In the presence of God I felt as if I could reach out and touch hope, joy, and peace. As I felt this Presence, The Holy Spirit, a tear was in my eye.

Under the cover of white canvas somewhere around four hundred students were packed together. The worship team played and the students danced freely with hands in the air, eyes shut tight, voices raised high. The lyrics of freedom rang out through the parking lot and into the neighboring trailer park. At times students would go to the mic to share a testimony of how God had transformed their lives. I stood transfixed, unable to speak, I felt so moved. I didn’t know that kids my age could be so vulnerable and bold to share their sins and the power of God’s forgiveness without fear or shame. “This must be God,” I thought.

The Youth Pastor, Kerry Brown, gave an altar call at the end of his message. In response, students flooded the front of the makeshift stage. A student-led prayer team began interceding for the mass at the altar. You could almost see the hand of God physically moving the teens. Many lay peacefully on the ground soaking in God’s presence. Others were crying out on their knees. Still more of them were dancing and singing as the band played. Like the voice of a thousand angels, the praise rose to the heavens. The glory in the make shift tabernacle was so wonderful I vowed that night I would come back to this place.

I was disappointment, because I knew I would have to wait. I was leaving in two days for college at Indiana Wesleyan.

At home the next night, I walked through the door to the clamor of pots and pans, mom was cooking and alone. I could hear the hum of the television coming up from the family room, which meant Dad was watching television. This was the routine, in the evenings after work he had become quiet and reclusive. They were like two passing ships in the night.

I poured out the details of my encounter to her as she took the lid off the stew to give it a stir and taste.

“…and that is why you have to promise me you’ll go on Sunday on your way back from Indiana Wesleyan, it is real Mom,” I said energetically.

I could hear dad coming up the stairs.

“Dad you have to hear about this church I went to with Amy!” I said enthusiastically.

As if to shield himself from my zeal, he put out his left hand. Ignoring his gesture to stop, I bubbled over with excitement.

“Dad you won’t believe it until you see it for yourself. If the youth service was that powerful I can’t imagine what the regular church service is like.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said in an effort to appease me.

“Dad promise me,” I pleaded. “You need something…”

Looking at me for a moment his brown eyes softened, “Ok I promise.”

With a cheerful laugh I hugged him, and sat down at the table to eat our last dinner together. Around the wooden table that mother had served me thousands of meals, one last time we bowed our heads to pray and eat, before I flew away to college.

Early Friday morning we left for Indiana. All of my belongings were packed into the van. I was excited about a fresh start, but thoughts of the revival made me wish I could stay. Something had awakened in my faith under that tent, a wonderful belief: God is not far off and distant. No, in fact, He is moving in the lives of His people today. The joy of such a belief lead me even further into believing bible kind of Miracles could happen now, because anything was possible with God.

“Oh Lord please let me serve at that church someday,” I prayed.

Stepping out of the van, on the campus of Indiana Wesleyan that afternoon I looked around. With a box of clothes in my arms, I wondered if God could move upon us at this school. Later after every box was unloaded into the new dorm room, we headed for dinner. As mom and Dad sat with me, I asked them again, “Do you promise to stop at the church in Cedar Rapids on your way home? It is like nothing I have ever experienced.” By the end of our meal of spaghetti with meatballs they agreed.

On Sunday night as I was organizing my new space, Mom called.

“Dianne we went to the evening service they had on our way back home.” There was a pause, as her voice grew soft. “Your Dad had a tear in his eye the whole time. We have never experienced anything like it.”

As autumn progressed I attended classes, made new friends, got involved, but my true joy came from the phone calls from my parents. Each time they called new hope burned in my bones like a fire. My dad would take the phone, but instead of talking with a deep voice and a few words he was energized. He talked on and on about all the wonderful things he was learning about his relationship to God. I could hear Mom laughing in agreement in the background. They were in this together. Who were these people, I thought. The joy of the Lord had changed them. I smiled because God was answering my prayer for their marriage.

It became clear early on, the youth tent experience had made a deep impression on me because I was searching for other students who longed for Revival. I was bold, I realize that now, as I literally walked up to students and asked them about their faith. I was disappointed by the blank stares. I realized the students I met, shared the same view: God was like an old relative to visit on Sundays. We honored him with dresses and highlighted passages in our bibles, but He wasn’t invited into our personal lives. I knew this tradition all too well. After all, this was me before that Wednesday night.

“Oh Lord please remember my prayer, I want to go back to that church someday.”

Later on, I realized this longing of heart was a call to ministry, so I switched schools during the Christmas Break. While I was back in Iowa on holiday, as a family we went to the Cedar Rapids, First Assembly of God. The sanctuary was packed full of people. The music pulled the entire room into thunderous worship. I was next to my Father who stood tall but light on his toes as he clapped, danced and sang out in a childlike freedom. Gone was the depressed furrow in his brow. His left hand was not held out to stop the hope of God any longer. In fact, both of his arms were raised high as if saying to the heavens, I want all that God has for me. As I looked over at him, there was a tear in his eye as he said, “Dianne, I dream of you singing up on that stage someday.”

I am holding their picture in my hands now. It’s been five years since we left that church I served at for almost 10 years. It is funny that even dreams have beginning and end dates. I am no longer singing over that congregation, but I hold the wonder of it all in my heart, how God changed my family through Revival.

I was recently asked, what is one practice you used to do that you need to start doing again? Looking back to this story I am reminding myself: Believe for the wonder working power of God right now.

How about you? How has God worked in your life?

I have seen him move and heal my family and I believe he can do such wonders today. There is no perfect church this side of heaven, but I am grateful to look back to the place where miracles happened for us!

“Oh Lord, do it again.”