The Power of Testimony

RAY AND BETTY WHIPPS
parents wouldn’t approve of, and I sensed I was in danger
of drifting. Not that I was doing anything too terrible—​
just pushing the boundaries.
One of my first rebellions was smoking. I was sixteen
and trying to look like a man, and my brother Glenn
caught me. It wasn’t even a real cigar; it was something
everyone called an Indian stogie—​ a catkin that grew on
some of the local trees. I’d been trying to keep one lit
one afternoon when Glenn, who had just returned from
college, found me hiding out near the big beech tree at
the end of the street.
“I’m taking you home to Dad.” Without another word,
he grabbed me by the shirt and marched me home.
We both knew there was no way Dad would keep his
cool, and as expected, the belt came out. I was left nursing
tender skin and vowing to give up the stogies for good—​
or at least until I had my own place and could smoke in
private. Once I had a job and a room, I got a pipe. I also
quit reading my Bible and attending church.
The smoking was never a serious thing; it was more
of an outward sign of an inward struggle, and I never
liked that I’d given in to a vice I’d always considered to be
wrong—​ sinful, even. I also knew how disappointed my
folks would be if they found out. It was just that my life
was no longer making sense. For the first time in my life,
God seemed far away. The Bible wasn’t speaking to me the
way it once had, and prayers felt awkward on my lips. Piece
by piece, I watched my faith begin to weaken.
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