"Great peace have they who love your word, and nothing can make them stumble."

Lizzie Mae, let me tell you about a man who, apart from Jesus himself, influenced me more than any man who ever lived. His name was Charlie Beatty.

"How does a young man keep his way right? By conducting his life according to your word. I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you."

I met Charles Beatty owing to the fact that he worked as a minister in our church, the First Brethren Church of Long Beach, California. They call it something else now. Something more contemporary, I imagine.

But back then, the church was affectionately known as, "Fifth and Cherry," for the rather unambiguous reason that it was located at the intersection of Fifth and Cherry streets of that fair city. One of the saddest days in my life was when I learned that the church had been set afire by an arsonist, and had burned down. There was no repairing it. The congregation had to build in another location. Some, who thought the church was stagnated, rejoiced in this.

I did not.

"Charlie" Beatty was a medium to small man. Wiry. His face handsome, serious and wrinkled. He spoke deliberately, with precision.

Everyone called him "Charlie." His eyes reminded me of the eyes of Sarah Lee Hogan, my favorite high-school teacher; eyes that could transfix you and make you feel pinned to the wall, or to your chair, or wherever you stood. But they were not harsh eyes. They were, simply, no non-sense eyes. Eyes that stripped you of disingenuousness.

His skin lacked paleness and in the summertime, seemed almost bronze. His temples, gray over his ears, glasses perched on his nose looking as natural as if they had grown there. I don't know where Charlie grew up, but his accent betrayed a rural setting, a gentle lilt. You felt caressed when he spoke to you -- even if he were upset with you.

Charlie was a walking Bible. He had not memorized it from Genesis to Revelation, just parts of it, huge parts of it, the parts that spoke to him personally, and through him to others -- like me. I have never met a man who knew Holy Scripture, as did Charlie. None of my teachers in Bible college, none of my professors in seminary. These were all theologians, not incarnate embodiments of Scripture, like Charlie.

Except when he offered public prayer, when Charlie prayed, it was always on his knees. Sometimes stretched out, flat on his face. He never prayed silently. Always out loud, even when he was alone. If you were in earshot, you could hear him plainly.

It was shortly after what I have always called my "conversion to Christ," I believe, that I first met Charlie. Maybe a few days. Maybe a few weeks. From that day to this present hour, and no doubt to the moment I confront The Valley, Charlie looms large. Large.

Charlie took a personal interest in me. Not that he didn't take a personal interest in others. He did, indeed. But he took enough of his time and interest to make me feel as though I was the only one. Charlie took me under his wing. He nurtured me. He discipled me. The man's influence on me was preemptive. Cataclysmic, if one can use that word in a good sense.

You had to know Charlie, I mean really know him, to be aware that he was upset with you. "Upset," is not exactly the appropriate word. "Displeased," is better. Charlie would take me by the arm, get close to my ear and gently persuade me to see things his way. It was a powerful and effective approach.

I don't think ever saw Charlie come unglued. He was the most stable, the most serene man I have ever known; a man of peace, a man of the Word.

As "Minister of Evangelism," Charlie had an office in our church. A large, old, beautiful church. I happened to walk by his office early one morning. Charlie was praying in his office, through a closed door with frosted glass, I could hear him plainly. I could hear Charlie groaning in prayer. "Oh, Lord, . . ." he groaned. As I stood in the hall, listening for a moment, I was stunned to realize that he was praying for me.

His memory holds a special, honored, place in my heart. I was twenty years old. Yet Charlie sought me out when I was but a few days old in the faith. He invited me to meet with him regularly. I needed to be "discipled," he said. So every Saturday morning at 7:00 a.m., we met for never less than an hour, and often for as much as two.

During these times we talked of my life and experiences as a new Christian. He showed interest in me. He asked non-threatening, but penetrating questions. Non-threatening? Seems a foolish notion. Charlie didn't have a threatening bone in his body. He made me feel like I actually mattered. This was a new and remarkable experience for me.

And then, Charlie would have me memorize Scripture. Not randomly, but with design and purpose. Each Saturday morning, using the "Navigators" program, he would have me quote the verses I had learned that week, with the Scripture references front and back,. Then we would review the verses I had learned before. Every Saturday it went like this. Week after week, after week, for more than a year. I never actually counted them, but I think, after Charlie started the habituation, I memorized over 500 passages of Scripture.

After we talked for about an hour, Charlie would get up from behind his desk, come around to the two chairs sitting in front of it, and get down on his knees. That was the signal for me to do the same. Charlie would pray first, most of the time. Then me. Together, we prayed maybe thirty, forty minutes.

Then we went to "The Park Pantry," a local restaurant for breakfast; the Word of God, safely locked in my heart.

That was sixty-seven years ago.

I look at where I have been in life since then. I look at my life now and I ask, what did those times with Charlie Beatty mean? How did they help mold and shape me into what I am now? Honestly, I am not sure.

All I can tell you is, it's still going on. Each day the word of God speaks to me. Each day I enjoy "coffee with God." Sometimes I think I am less of a Christian, less of a disciple today than I was then. So much life has happened. Charlie is a young man again now. He is like I was then, only infinitely wiser. He is in a place now where the disintegration of years have no effect. He is up there with Dawson Trotman, the man who started "The Navigators;" a man Charlie greatly admired. He is young, just beginning his life in eternity.

Now, I am old in earth years. My bones ache and I weigh too much. As I go to sleep at night, I seriously wonder if I will awake in the morning.

I wonder if there are places in heaven where Charlie can get down on his knees and pray? If there is, I wonder if he still prays for me? Lord knows, I need it now as much, perhaps more, than I needed it then.

Although diminutive in size, spiritually, he is the largest man I have ever met. If I have a human foundation in my life, it is either him or because of him.

I miss him. I look forward to our times together in eternity.

-- PDM

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