Tennessee

I was born in Kingsport, Tennessee in 1959. My dad was the pastor of the local Church of God (Anderson) congregation. Dad’s church was a very simple, small white frame church sitting by a stream that would occasionally flood during spring rains. Even though we moved away from Kingsport when I was nine, for some crazy reason, it seems–and always has seemed–magical. It was a sweet town, part of the Tri-cities of Kingsport, Bristol, and Johnson City in far northeast Tennessee. 

One spring night, heavy rains had come through the area, the aftermath of which brought the stream over its banks spilling water into the church basement. That evening, for some reason, I was allowed to go with Dad to the church where other men in the church had gathered with buckets to get the water out of the basement. I don’t recall much about the evening other than sitting on the steps leading to the basement, my father’s stern instructions to stay on those steps, and watching the laymen of the church try to get the water out of the basement.

I suppose we all memorialize or even attach our version of reality to our childhood moments. All I know is that I remember Kingsport with very fond memories, and consider that church and that small city to have shaped me in ways I could have never imagined at the time. The small white frame church would eventually be sold and a beautiful new building would be built and become the new home for our church, named the Memorial Boulevard Church of God. It seemed huge. It seemed fancy. Regardless of what I thought it was, it was suddenly full. Crowded. And local business leaders started inviting my dad to speak in places a pastor had never before been invited. Local business and civic clubs would name my father the most important leader of the year in the city. Harry Mills Volkswagen offered us whatever VW we wanted and that continued until we moved away in 1968. We had beetles, station wagons, and the really sporty CarmanGia. 

It was this church that shaped my love for the local church, and especially for great worship music. Dad had his cousin, Perry Grubbs, move to Kingsport and lead the worship ministry. Perry’s voice was amazing and our worship services were what I would call robust, moving, exciting. One of dad’s friends from Anderson College was a great singer and would often visit to do a Sunday evening concert. His name was Doug Oldham and he would always stay at our house when he came to town. My brother and I made sure we made him regret that he ever agreed to stay at our house. Doug was fun, friendly, and always kindly played along. He would later tell people that those Grubbs boys “would never amount to much” and he had every reason to believe that. Later in his life, he was so gracious and kind to us, and he became a guest artist at my church in Oklahoma City in the early 80s. 

It was also during this season that my father’s friends from Indiana would frequently visit our church to sing songs they had written. Bill and Gloria Gaither would sing songs that even then framed more of a worship experience than a concert. 

The move to Dayton, Ohio in 1968 was, in some ways, a “re-do” of Kingsport. The church was a smaller church of around two hundred people meeting in a multipurpose room with two hundred and fifty folding chairs. The summers were hot and there was no air conditioning in the room. And, as if on cue, a heavy rain caused the basement of this church to flood. This time I was older and was allowed to wade through the water with my dad as we picked up everything from Bibles to Sunday school curriculum to choir music and threw it into the trash bins. And, just as we had great music in Kingsport, we had great music in Dayton. And our friends, Bill and Gloria, had become some of the most significant writers and singers of the finest Christian music the world had ever heard. They would go on to fill every arena in the country, and put Christian music into the mainstream, on the radio, and even on national television. It was an exciting time as the world was introduced to the greatest music they'd ever hear about a man named Jesus. 

It seems to me it is very important to not only remember the past, but celebrate what those around you did to love you, embrace you, stand with you, and inspire you. To this day I stay in touch with the pastor of the Church of God in Kingsport. He's a dynamic young leader and I'm proud to call him a friend. And you have no idea how much it means to me to be providing encouragement to a wonderful pastor who is leading the second and third generations of people who loved me and showed me a very clear picture of Jesus. 

I'm thankful that even sixty years later, I can in some way encourage the church that served as the launch pad for my father's ministry and set the tone for our family. All I can think of to say to those good folks in Tennessee is, "it still matters." Their simple acts of kindness and care for our family are still making a difference today in my life and my brother's life. It was this simple church in Tennessee that shaped our love for the church. Our Dayton, Ohio family added love, kindness, and grace to the recipe. And today, churches in Tennessee, Ohio, Oklahoma, and California are producing the "fruit of the spirit" because one simple small church in northeast Tennessee decided to love a young pastor and his wife, and tolerate their two sons who were very capable of keeping them on their knees. There's just nothing like the church, the local church who keeps Jesus at the center, and commits themselves to doing all that Jesus asked us to do.

It is so simple, and yet so powerful, it is hard to explain. But the longer you think about it, the longer you consider it, ponder it, and give Jesus a chance to show you what is possible, things will happen that will surprisingly have an impact long after you and I are gone.

So, thank you Kingsport, Tennessee. You saw something in me and Joey that caused you to love and lead us kindly gently, lovingly. 

And as Paul Harvey used to say, "And now you know the rest of the story!"