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.