Tales From the Summer Book Tour--"My Dad the Prophet"

By David Hobbs

I only planned to stay a few days at my folks’ home in Kent, Ohio; but the Lord had other plans. When this became apparent, I decided to make the best of it and do a big campaign there. What better place than Kent, Ohio which I left as a flaming atheist so long ago, but now was returning to as a card-carrying Christian. I scheduled a local book signing at the only Christian bookstore, and went about securing publicity from the local newspaper (which used to publish my anti-Christian Letters to the Editor). Then I compiled a list of over 100 churches in the area, and sent them out letters introducing myself and my book, and offering to come and speak to their congregations.

A few days later I got a call from a local pastor who was interested in having me come and fill his pulpit one Sunday while he was on vacation. We had a long, pleasant talk as he checked me out. Everything looked good, but he said the actual invitation had to come from their board of elders. He would report our conversation back to them and leave it in their hands.

When I told the folks about our conversation, they were excited that I might be invited to speak in a church. Dad began telling his friends, “David’s going to be speaking at a church in the area!”

The first time this happened I gently corrected him, “Dad, wait, it’s only a possibility, they haven’t formally invited me yet!”

But that didn’t dampen his enthusiasm. Shortly thereafter I overheard him tell another friend, “David’s going to be speaking at a local church here!”

As I was about to correct him again, the Holy Spirit checked me, “Let him alone. Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s speaking it into existence!”

My own father, speaking prophetically? He spent his whole adult life as a Unitarian-Universalist; he didn’t even believe in a personal God as far as I could tell, and he certainly didn’t know anything about the doctrine of creative, prophetic speaking! How could he …?

But sure enough, after Dad told people for days that I was going to be speaking in this church, the pastor called again and extended the elders’ official invitation.

For those of you who have read my book, you may recall that it begins with my father sensing the true, prophetic import of my getting on the train for California (of which I was unaware)—I was leaving home to return no more except as an occasional visitor. That was in Sept. 1965. Since then, I have been there less than a week at a time, every few years. Until this year. On the book tour, as I said, God had different plans, and I ended up staying four weeks: by far the longest visit since that day in 1965. So it was a fitting bookend that Dad would now, once again, swerve into the prophetic. He was proud of me--of what those 44 years had wrought. I could see that. Though he didn’t hold to the beliefs I had acquired in my new-found religion, yet he acknowledged the good they had done in my life, especially in how we had raised our sons.

Only 2 months later, Dad passed away at the age of 94, slipping out as quietly and without fanfare as he lived his life.

My Dad the prophet. Rest in peace.

Tales From the Summer Book Tour--Crossing Pennsylvania

By David Hobbs

From my folk’s home in Eastern Ohio I had to travel to Eastern Pennsylvania to the town of Westchester to minister in Jerry Schwartz’ church, Living Faith World Outreach Centre [there’s your plug, Jerry!], 385 miles away.

Now I expect spiritual warfare leading up to times of ministry, but this was especially intense. I awoke about 4 in the morning to hear the sound of light rain falling outside our house. When I left home a few hours later, it was still raining lightly, which continued for the 60 miles to the Pennsylvania border. In Pennsyl-vania it quit raining briefly and it looked like all was going to be well. But once on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, the skies opened. Soon it was pouring buckets. They were doing extensive construction on the turnpike, and had placed cement barriers on both sides of the lanes, leaving the cars and trucks a 2 lane tunnel to shoot through for miles and miles. But in spite of the downpour and the narrowed driving room, the traffic didn’t slow down a bit. We were all flying along at 65 mph through the torrential downpour with cement barriers to our right and left, and traffic in front and behind.

Once in this condition, it was like somebody turned off the clock and I was stuck in a time warp that went on and on. I was frozen in place, not daring take my eyes off the road or relax my hands’ death-grip on the steering wheel. I kept expecting to drive out in front of the storm, but either it was everywhere, or it was traveling at 65 mph too.

The heavy rain greatly reduced the visibility. The only way I could tell where the traffic was ahead of me was by the moving clouds of white mist. The bigger clouds hid trucks and the smaller ones concealed cars.

“This must have been what happened to me on that fateful drive from Redding to Yreka in my book,” I thought, “where I drove on and on through the thunderstorm that wouldn’t quit.” But there was no thunder in this storm, and I kept moving full speed, pushed by the surrounding traffic.

After 100 miles or so the construction was finally over and we had more breathing room, but the rain continued unabated until I had almost reached Westchester. Then I did just get out in front of the storm and found the church. I was sitting comfortably in Pastor Jerry’s office as the storm barreled through overhead. At the hotel that evening the Lord treated me to a beautiful sunset, He even moved on the desk clerk to upgrade my room to give me a better view of it.

Fast forward from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon. It had been a bang-up 2 days: speaking to the men on Saturday, the whole church on Sunday, powerful times in the prayer room, tours of the fire station, hours spent talking with Pastor Jerry about every possible subject. But now it was Sunday afternoon and I wanted to head for home and save the $100.00 that another night at the local hotel would cost. But after all the excitement, the drive home would be an emotional letdown. I thought if I left right away, I could almost get home before dark,which wouldn't be so bad. But sure enough Jerry asked me out for lunch one more time and I didn’t want to refuse--our times together had been so rich! We had another great time fellowshipping, which meant I wasn’t ready to leave till 4 in the afternoon. Now I wouldn’t get home till close to midnight.

By the end of the first hour on the turnpike I was falling asleep and jerking awake as I drove. Not good! The adrenaline was all gone and I couldn’t stay awake. I pulled into a service plaza for a break. If I was falling asleep now after only an hour while the sun was still shining, what would I do for the rest of the trip? Hmm. That’s a problem. I prayed and asked God for help. No immediate answer came and so I started back towards the turnpike. As I was driving down the onramp, I remembered a CD I had brought along on the tour but had never listened to. It was an instrumental rendition of old hymns like “The Old Rugged Cross.” What the heck? I put it on and started listening. Soon I was caught up and began singing along. As I sang I relived the excitement of the last few days and all the good things God had allowed me to experience. Then the anointing came. Soon I was belting out the songs at the top of my lungs with all my heart—who was there to hear and disapprove out on the open road? Tiredness was banished and the power of God filled me again. After the CD ran through all the songs it simply started over again and I was on my second hour. Afternoon turned into evening which turned into night. From time to time I stopped to use the restroom or get a bite to eat. But as soon as I was back in the car, the music started up again and I was back in the groove. By the time the third round was over, I was approaching Ohio and the glory of God had filled the car and remained for the rest of the trip.

The next morning at breakfast I was telling my mom about all that had happened at the meetings and the church. “Why do you sound so hoarse” she wondered? “Hmm. Must be from too much singing!”