The Things That Matter

In the mid-1970's, when I was a teenager in southeast Roanoke, Va. I got saved every other Sunday at the altar of the small white Nazarene church I attended four days a week in that poor part of town: Wednesday night Bible study, Thursday night choir practice, Saturday social engagements, Sunday morning and evening worship services. I was a Sunday school and vacation Bible school teacher, drove my beat-up Buick LeSabre into an even poorer part of town to pick up welfare children, and attended summer church camps where I'd get re-saved (in case the first dozen times didn't take). God was then what mattered most in my life.