My story

I have no hesitation in saying that the greatest and most momentous decision I have ever made in my life was the decision to become a follower of Jesus Christ.

Prior to my conversion I had always felt, to some degree at least, that there was a longing within my heart to know God in the way my parents seemed to know him, but I was afraid to pursue it in case I might be disappointed. Many times God had tapped at the window-pane of my soul. Like times just before bedtime when I would kneel to pray - something I had been taught as a child - and the feeling would come over me that I needed to take spiritual realities more seriously. Even in my most rebellious times, I would never slip under the blankets without saying a prayer. It was a simple and short prayer recited very quickly:

'If I should die before I wake
I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.'

Sometimes I would think to myself, 'What would happen if I died? Would my parents' faith be enough to save me?' I think, however, that the kind of person I was prior to my conversion needed more than tapping on the window-pane of my soul - the glass needed breaking! I needed God to confront me, wake me and wrestle me to the ground, so to speak, pin me there and bring home to me as strongly as possible my need to open up my life to Jesus Christ.

A familiar voice

Just before my sixteenth birthday, God began to move in my life in a very powerful way. It began one weeknight early in 1944, when I was making my way to the local dance hall. It was about 8.00 pm and the route to the hall was past the local mission hall where they were holding their weekly prayer meeting. As I walked through the blacked-out streets I heard a familiar voice and was instantly stopped in my tracks. It was the voice of my father, who was obviously taking part in the prayer meeting. I stopped and listened as he prayed for me, pleading with God for my salvation.

I had heard my father pray many times at home and in church, but never with such passion as this. His voice took on a tone and power that penetrated deep into my heart. I was rooted to the spot. What should I do? Something inside me wanted to rush into the prayer meeting in response to this and say that I wanted to be saved. Or should I wait to see if this feeling would pass off? I waited - and it passed. I went to the dance that night but there seemed to be something odd about the whole place. The lights appeared less bright than usual; there was something missing in the music; the whole atmosphere of the place seemed as if it had been changed. God was calling me and I was beginning to see things from a new perspective.

The weeks that followed were difficult. The more I threw myself into the pleasures of the flesh, the less satisfying they were to my soul. I turned from one to the other - smoking, gambling, rugby, football - but for some reason they seemed not to thrill me as much as they once did.

Not that preacher!

For weeks I fought against the strivings of the Holy Spirit. I would lie awake at night and wonder what was happening to me. Things came to a head on a stormy Sunday night in February 1944. I went to church with my parents, but with so much rain pouring down, no one expected the guest preacher to turn up. The speaker booked for that occasion was a man who lived about six miles away and in order to get to us meant a tortuous bicycle ride over the mountain. As the service began I was, quite frankly, a little disappointed to see him walk in. It meant the service would be longer than usual, with my uncle not being the preacher. Now it meant we would be in church for two hours at least.

The back seat was always reserved for the young people. Seated next to me was a close childhood friend, Ronald Lewis. Ronald was a son of one of the elders of the church and though we were close he was not part of the gang I usually went around with. He was not a Christian, but there was no evidence of the rebellion in him that characterised my own life.

'What is happening to me?'

There was something that night about the whole service that was different. I found myself being strangely drawn to what the preacher was saying. There was nothing dynamic about him. He was an ordinary person, not much to look at. I had heard him a few times before, but now his words seemed to have some powerful conviction that reached deep into my soul. His face was irradiated with a strange light. His words seemed to be barbed, reaching deep into my soul. I especially remember these words: 'This is the night when God wants to draw you to himself. Come to Jesus, who will save you from your sin, live in you and give you the power to be able to serve him'. I had heard these or similar words many times from that pulpit, but that night they seemed to take hold of me with a power I had never known before.

'What is happening to me?' I thought to myself. The tears were coming into my eyes. I didn't cry often - especially in church. I felt the strong defences I had built against the Spirit were breaking down. My heart was crumbling. The preacher asked if there were any there who would walk to the front and commit themselves to Jesus Christ.

I was the first to move. The church was quite small and it took perhaps ten seconds to move from the back of the church to the front, but that night it seemed like a mile long. It was the most wonderful walk of my life. As I moved toward the front my pastor, who had been sitting on the platform with the preacher, quickly came down to greet me. The same arms that had held me and prayed the prayer of dedication so many years ago were thrown around me to embrace me.

I was conscious that others had come to the front also. My friend Ronald Lewis was there and so was his sister Mary, together with several other young men who had been sitting with me in the back seat. Altogether there were about ten of us who were converted that night. My uncle sat with me and read me these words from the Bible: 'Call to me, and I will answer you, and show you great and mighty things, which you do not know' (Jeremiah 33.3).

I sobbed out my heart as I knelt at the front seat of the church that evening and asked God to forgive my sins. I received the assurance that Christ was mine, that my sins were forgiven and I was saved. There was no doing the usual Sunday night thing afterwards - walking over the mountain to Rhymney and chatting up the girls. I went home, where my parents rejoiced with me and told me how glad they were for the step I had taken. That night I fell asleep wondering where it would all take me. I knew there were things I must break with - lying, cheating, stealing and so on. What would happen now? How was I going to tell my work mates and friends? I knew what they thought about Christians.

'You're not smoking!'

That morning, as I made my way to the railway station at about 6.30 am to take the train to Dowlais, my mind was made up. The cigarettes would have to go. Nothing was said in our church about the evils of tobacco, yet I knew for me it was wrong. There were other habits I knew would have to go also - swearing, for example. I do not say this proudly, but I have never used a swear word from the day of my conversion to this.

The train took about 20 minutes to puff its way up the steep incline to the steel town of Dowlais. In those minutes I made the discovery that when someone gives their life to Jesus Christ, he not only changes them but resides in them. 'To them gave he power to become the sons of God', says the apostle John in the first chapter of his Gospel. The boys took out their cigarettes as usual, but I didn't. 'You're not smoking?' 'No', I said. 'Last night I gave my life to Jesus Christ and I don't think that is what I should now do.' There was an awkward silence. One of the young men tried to argue about religion but I sat and prayed that God would help me not to fail him in any way. I proceeded to tell my friends just what had happened the night before, and as I gave my first stammering testimony to Jesus Christ I felt his presence and power wonderfully supporting me.

'I'll give you a month'

I needn't have worried about telling the men and boys in the engineering shop about my conversion. When I arrived some of the boys who had been on the train with me had gone ahead to tell everyone that I had become a Christian. When I opened the door of the engineering shop I found the place buzzing with excitement. One of the older men patted me on the back and said: 'Good morning, preacher. Are we going to have a sermon today?' It was all good-natured fun and I felt no animosity in what he said. Another man said, 'I'll give you a month'. Yet another commented, 'I'll give you a week!' I think I finally convinced them I had become a Christian when I said I would no longer be running the football pool. The baiting and teasing continued throughout the day, but though it was difficult for me to handle I did not feel their comments were malicious.

As the days passed and they saw I was serious, their respect for me grew, until eventually all came to accept the fact that I had become a Christian and I intended to run my life differently. The teasing stopped and there were times when some of the men would ask me to include them in my prayers as they struggled with various difficulties in their lives. In those early days of my conversion I remember ending all my prayer times with this phrase: 'Lord, you have made a world of difference to me; grant that I might make some difference to the world'.

This is an extract from My Story by Selwyn Hughes, published by CWR (£9.99, ISBN 1 85345 296 3), and is used with permission. There is also a review.

© Evangelicals Now - December 2004
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