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In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. (v. 15)

Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions; according to your steadfast love remember me, for your goodness' sake, O Lord! (v. 7)

In anger and bitterness, and with a stubborn tenacity to cling to what once had been in my life but was no more, at age fourteen I became a church "dropout." For six years I wandered in the wilderness, with God being rejected and pushed out of my life.

Then one day, when I was a sophomore at Georgia State College in Atlanta, I was approached by one of those Bible-thumping, tract-reading Campus Crusade for Christ guys. He invited me to a weekend retreat that just happened to be at North Georgia's Camp Glisson, where I had gone on several occasions as a child. Perhaps the retreat location convinced me to go along -- I'm really not sure of my reasons for saying yes, but I agreed. Time has erased all memory of the weekend's theme, the speaker's name, or who else might have been there that I might have known. After the opening session on Friday evening, our speaker said to leave in silence and reflect for a few moments alone on the evening's message. It was a moonless, chilly October night, but I spotted a large tree near the baseball field that I targeted to become my quiet spot. As I hurried to the tree, which might partially insulate me from the enveloping cold, I stepped on something hard, which resulted in a loud cracking noise. It startled me and I looked at the ground beneath my feet. I discovered I had stepped on a very long and brittle tree branch that had broken completely in two. As I stopped to pick up the two pieces, that's when it happened.

A voice clearly spoke these words to me, not once, not twice, but over and over repeatedly, as a mantra, "My body, broken for you. My body, broken for you. My body, broken for you." I was immobile and speechless. Now shaking from cold, I began to weep. I crumpled into a heap against that tree, my eyes transfixed upon that broken tree limb now held in my hands. In that moment God's grace was made known to me and all I could do was weep. The tears kept flowing for what seemed a long, long time. I knew that Jesus had spoken my name, reminding me that although I had abandoned God, God had not forsaken me, and the sacrifice of Jesus had redeemed me from sin. Those childhood seeds from Sunday school had taken root. I remembered that Jesus' broken body on the cross had been given for my sins of indifference, anger, hurt, bitterness, and all the rest I had carried for six long years. I felt great remorse, yet a sense of inner healing. I also became aware that I was no longer physically cold.

The remaining part of that weekend is a completely empty picture, but a follow-up one-to-one sharing with this new Crusade brother in Christ several days later presented the challenge. He said, "So, the door has been opened by God, what will you do about it?" One month later, I opened a phone book's yellow pages and discovered the first United Methodist Church that was listed was the Avondale UMC, not far from where I lived. I made my way through those physical church doors the very next Sunday and in so doing I accepted Jesus' invitation to "come home." It was through this warm, welcoming, and forgiving congregation that God prepared me for a change in my career path which would lead me into becoming a full-time Christian educator. The "Voice of the Broken Branch" has been my sustenance throughout my lifelong spiritual journey. Thanks be to God that "his body was broken for me."