With everything happening in my life and family, I have been thinking of my roots. You know, where I came from and how I was raised. The possibility of serving my denomination as its President has caused great reflection in my life. Of course, since November, my roots have been revisited numerous times.

When my Dad died just before Thanksgiving of last year, I was called upon to revisit my roots in an extreme way. Not only Dad’s death, but trips to my Mom’s in the process and since his death demanded a revisiting of my roots. Through Dad’s death, memories were called upon as people came to experience his loss with us.  Some of those people were folks I had not seen in years.

Being raised in small town America, but more than anything, being raised in a very small church has served as one of my greatest memories. Small was the nature of our church, even though the heart was big.  The heart was big for God, huge for the Word of God, and hot for souls to come to Christ. Of course, church was never an option growing up and should not be today, but my Dad and Mom insured it was a part of my lifestyle.  We were Southern Baptists to the core, biblically and theologically. To this, we would have never even entertained any compromise.

This small church served as an opportunity for me to speak publicly at a very young age, even before I was called by God to do so. This small church afforded me the privilege to lead the singing on numerous occasions. This small church insisted on my commitment to prayer meeting, Sunday morning and evening church services, Sunday School, Training Union, weekly Visitation, and revivals or anything we had nightly. My life was the church.

If we touched 40-50 people a week in this church, we had experienced a pretty big day. This is where I was raised.  In fact, it was not until my mid-20′s that I served a church that touched over 120 weekly.  People forget this due to church culture today.  This was the day before larger membership churches. I had no idea churches could be bigger than 200 or so when I left for my Baptist college in Texas.  God does not look at the size of a church as much as He looks at the size of our vision!

When my Dad died, I revisited all of those memories of my small church. They were sweet and life-changing. I have never forgotten them. The simplicity of it is yearning in my heart to this day!

When I think of serving those churches by the thousands if I am elected President of our denomination, I am both humbled and encouraged. Why?  Because the vast majority of us 35 and older were raised in that kind of church environment. We cannot ever forget our roots. If the nation is going to turn, these are the kind of churches that will turn it.  One pastor at a time, one member at a time, and one soul at a time. The men of God that serve these membership-sized churches are great men of God and were my spiritual heroes growing up and many still are today. They are men who are not turned on to the wonders of the world as much as their passion for God. These kind of men are the ones that so riveted my life to this very day as I think of those men of God one by one from my home church.

I would like to go back today and thank those men; however, they are with Jesus today, at least most of them are. With one or two exceptions, I think the rest are with the Lord.

My point today: Revisit your roots…it will make you better. Isaiah advised us to never forget the rock from which we were cut! Great advice. Go ahead. Revisit. Count your blessings one by one…yes, I learned that in my home church and have never forgotten it!