Home > Jack Hammer, Mallinak > God Meant It for Good

God Meant It for Good

December 10, 2008

Tales of a Life Half Lived

Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.  To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born (as I have been informed and believe)…

So begins David Copperfield, and so begins my story too.  I was born in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, to David and BethSalmon, who were at the time serving together in the First Church of God of Lancaster, Pennsylvania.  I wish I could give you some of the details of my birth, but unfortunately my memory of that no doubt joyous occasion has strangely disappeared.  I was born, of this I am quite certain.  And I am much larger now than I was then.  Of that I am certain as well.

But my story does not begin there.  Both my mother and father grew up in College Park, Maryland, not more than two miles from each other, though they did not know each other until they attended Bible College together.  Before them, my father’s parents both grew up in Washington, D.C., back in the days when D.C. was a safe place to live.  His parents (my grandparents) met at a softball game.  The story goes that when my grandfather first saw my grandmother, he decided that he absolutely had to meet her, and the sooner the better.  But then he discovered that she was engaged to be married.  A minor obstacle, no doubt, but an obstacle nonetheless.  That is, until her father offered my grandfather $100 if he could get her to break up with her fiance.  Grandpa got his $100.

Urban legend (courtesy of my grandfather) tells us that during the softball game, the infamous fiance came up to bat, and my grandfather determined that he was going to catch any fly ball that came his way and put the jerk out of the game.  Right on cue, The Rival hit a deep fly ball, which my grandfather chased down with all of his might.  As he sprinted into the outfield, he failed to see the rather large tree that had somehow managed to plant itself right in my grandfather’s path.  You can guess the rest.  My grandfather hit the tree so hard that the buttons of his shirt stuck in the bark of the tree.  When he woke up, who should be wiping the blood off his face, but my grandmother.  The rest, as they say, is history.  My grandfather asked my grandmother if she were doing anything after the game.  She told him that she would be going with Ole’ What’s-His-Face.  My grandfather asked if she were doing anything after that.  My grandmother replied that she would be happy to join my grandfather after that, should he come a-callin’.  My grandmother tells me that her fiance, upon finding out what was up, called her and threatened to kill himself.  My grandmother very graciously offered to supply the weapon.  She and grandpa married three months later.  And, after celebrating their 65th wedding anniversary, my grandfather (about 5 years ago) gave up the ghost and was gathered to his fathers.  My grandmother left us two weeks ago at the ripe old age of 92 years.

My grandparents were not saved when they married.  World War 2 was just beginning, and my grandfather joined the Navy as a flight engineer.  My father was born while he was away at war, and did not meet his father until he was about 2 years old.  Sometime around the time my father was entering his teen years, my grandmother and grandfather came to understand their need of salvation and in faith and repentance called on the Lord to save them.  My grandfather told me that he realized when he first trusted the Lord that he was limited in what he could do for God.  But, he said, there was no limit to what my father could do.  And so, my grandfather began to pray that God would call his son into the ministry.  When my father finished high school, my grandfather urged him to attend Bible College, but for a year or two, my father resisted this.  Finally, God prevailed, and my father enrolled (at my grandfather’s urging) in Washington Bible College.

During his time as a student, my father met and eventually married my mother, and together the two of them moved to Pennsylvania, where my father served as an Associate Pastor at the Church of God.  We lived on the second and third floors of the row house right next to the church.  When I was two, my father decided to pursue a Master’s Degree, and moved our family to Winona Lake, Indiana, where my father enrolled in Grace Theological Seminary.  My family and I lived in a trailer in Goshen, Indiana, and during that time my father served as pastor of the Valley Bible Church, near South Bend.

It was during this time that tragedy struck our little family.  My father went into the hospital to have some gallstones removed.  When the doctors began to operate, they discovered so many stones that they decided to remove his gall bladder.  This triggered a series of escalating health problems that uncovered a very rare blood condition known as spherocytosis.  At the time, doctors knew very little about this blood disorder, and responded to it by removing organs, including his spleen.  The numerous surgeries left my father in a coma for six months.  When my mother realized that he was not going to survive, she brought my two sisters (ages 2 and about 3 months) and me to the hospital to see our dad for the last time in this life.  I was almost 5 at the time.  I remember saying that dad looked like a monster.  He really did.  And then, he was gone.

When a five year old loses his father, he really struggles to make sense of it all.  I remember checking the door to see if he was coming home.  I really didn’t understand why he wasn’t coming back.  I remember playing with my sisters, and looking up to see my mother crying on the couch.  My mom tells me that I began to quiz her about where dad was, and when I could see him again.  Though my memory of this is sketchy, my mother tells me that every day, like clockwork, I would climb up next to her and ask her about dad.  And every day, like clockwork, my mom would explain to me that my dad was in heaven.  Every day, I would ask her when I could go see him.  And every day, my mom would explain to me about Adam’s sin and my sin, and that my sin made it so that I could not go to heaven, because God could not have sin in his presence.  Every day, my mom would explain to me that Jesus Christ came to this earth to be punished for the sins that I committed, and that I could only go to heaven if Jesus saved me.  Every day, my mother showed me from the Bible that only Jesus could take my sin away, and that only Jesus could justify me and take me to heaven.  Every day, my mother taught me that I must confess that I was a sinner and that I must ask him to save me.

But I don’t remember any of that.  My mother tells me that I went through this routine every day for about three months.  I don’t remember asking her any day, except for one day.  We were on our way to church on Sunday morning, as we did every Sunday.  I was sitting in the front seat of our yellow Plymouth.  I remember asking my mom where dad was, and when I could see him again.  My mom told me that he was in heaven, and asked me if I remembered that I was a sinner.  I remember telling my mom that I knew that I was a sinner.  I asked her that day if that meant that I could not go to heaven, or see dad.  My mom told me that if I died in my sins, I would not go to heaven.  I remember asking her how I could go to heaven, and I remember her telling me that Jesus had taken the punishment for my sin on the cross.  I remember her telling me that only Jesus could save me.  And then, my mom tells me that I said something that I had never said before.  She says that I asked her, “What do I need to do?”  I remember that, too.  My mother told me that I needed to confess that I was a sinner, and ask Christ to save me.  I remember the sense of urgency that I had to do this, and I asked my mom, “When can I do that?”  My mom, who for all of those months had taught me the gospel so faithfully, for the first time told me that I could ask Jesus to save me right then.  And, she kept on driving.  I thought about this for a few moments, and then I said, “I want to ask Jesus to save me.”

My mom pulled the car over and, on a country road in rural Indiana, I called on the name of the Lord to be saved.  And then, in my child-like faith, I looked up at the sky for a few moments, waiting for the sky to open, for a bright light to shine down on me, and for God to bring me to heaven.  I thought I heard the angels rejoicing, and I thought that in a moment I might see my dad again.  But of course, the sky did not open, there was no bright light, and I stayed right there in my seat.  I asked my mom, “Mom, when do I get to go to heaven?  Don’t I get to go right now?”  Patiently, mom explained that God leaves us here so that we can tell others about Jesus.  And of course, that made sense even to my five-year-old mind.  After all, my mom was saved, and she was still there.  But I have never forgotten that answer.

From Salmon to Mallinak

With the money left from my father’s life insurance policy, my mother was able to buy a small house in Warsaw, Indiana, a few blocks from the Billy Sunday Tabernacle.  It was there that my mother met a young college student by the name of Dave Mallinak, also a student at Grace Theological Seminary.  As I recall, we were eating dinner with several students at the college, and I asked around the table to find out everyone’s age and marital status.  It wasn’t the first time that I did this.  But this time there was, shall we say, a bit of magic.  When I came to Mr. Mallinak, I asked him where his wife was.  He replied, “I don’t have a wife.”  I said, “oh-h-h-h-h.”  Then, I asked, “how old are you.”  He said, “29.”  I said, “oh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h.”  Then, I said, “well, my mom is only 28.  And she needs a new husband.  And I need a new daddy.”

Dave Mallinak spent the next two weeks helping mom to paint our white picket fence.  At the end of those two weeks, he hopped on his motorcycle and took two weeks riding all over the west and asking the Lord what he should do.  When he came back, he married my mother.  We moved to Rosedale, Indiana, located in the heart of beautiful Parke County, Indiana, where my father became the Assistant Pastor at the Lyford Bible Church, and when I was in the first grade, he adopted me.

I can honestly say that my new dad didn’t know that I was adopted.  To him, I was and am his son, and he is my dad.  I can still remember him waking me up at 5:00 in the morning to take a walk or a motorcycle ride or to play a game of tennis.  He always took the time with me, and we have many wonderful memories.  My dad served as the pastor of Lyford Bible Church for about a year.  During that time, my dad, through the study of God’s Word, came to understand that he was a Baptist.  The church, meanwhile, came to understand that he was a Baptist, too.  And, as this idea was incompatable with the people of that church, my dad was removed as pastor.  Since he was a Baptist, and an ordained pastor, and since there was not a Baptist Church in the immediate vicinity, my dad determined that there should and would be one.  So, he started the Bethel Baptist Church in our home, just a few miles down the road from his former church.  He continued to pastor this church for about three years, and then he decided to close it down, and moved our family to Shepherdsville Baptist Church in Shepherdsville, Indiana.

It was around this time that my dad took our family to hear Fred Moritz preach at the Grace Baptist Church of Terre Haute, Indiana, and during his message, I first surrendered my life to the Lord.  My parents always worked hard to keep us in Christian School, first at Terre Haute Christian School, then later at Blessed Hope Baptist School, nearly forty-five minutes away from our home.  When Shepherdsvilled Baptist Church began a Christian school, my parents moved us there, where we attended for two years.  Finally, my parents moved our family to Freedom Baptist Church and enrolled us in Freedom Baptist Academy.

Freedom was my first introduction to Jack Hyles.  Our pastor was a full-fledged Hylot, as the regular readers of this blog have no doubt already gathered.  I have written extensively about John Price elsewhere, and will not further aggravate our readers by reiterating that particular chapter of my life.  Let dead horses be buried, not beaten.  I’ll only say that God used this time in my life in a very special way.  First, I developed a true heart for evangelism.  I learned to serve the Lord with all my heart.  Our academy had a wrestling team in addition to a soccer and basketball team, and although I hated wrestling every day, I also learned some very important and necessary lessons in life through this particular “field of friendly stife.”  Most of all, God used this time to teach me to trust him, and not to trust men.

From Boy to Man

In my senior year of high school, I began to pray very seriously about where God would have me to go to college.  The choice for me narrowed down to one of two places: either Hyles-Anderson College or Fairhaven Baptist College.  I was familiar with both places… our youth group attended the Youth Conference at Hyles every summer, and the Preaching Conference at Fairhavenevery spring.  In addition to that, we wrestled against bothschools, and found ourselves making the three hour trip to both places frequently throughout the year.  In my senior year, we made a trip to visit both colleges.  During that trip, God settled in my mind that he wanted me to attend Fairhaven.  Although Hyles was the capital of hype, and a form of hype that was particularly enticing to an 18 year-old-young man, I recognized something genuine at Fairhaven.

That summer, I attended the Youth Conference at Hyles for the last time.  When I came home, I told my parents that I enjoyed myself, and, although I’m sure I would have liked it if God had chosen to send me to college there, I was even more sure that God wanted me at Fairhaven.  My parents’ reply surprised me.  They told me that they were sorry to hear that, as they were hoping that I would change my mind.  They then told me of a message that Dr. Voegtlin had preached, called “Why I am not 100% for Jack Hyles.”  My parents had a tape, and they had me listen to it.  Then, they told me that our pastor had decided to side with Hyles, and that it wouldn’t be right for me to go to Fairhavenwithout our pastor’s full blessing.  I met with my pastor, and he told me that I should switch to Hyles.  So, I did.

I enjoyed the social scene of Hyles, perhaps a little too much.  I loved working in the bus ministry, loved all the activities that characterized life at Hyles, loved the sports program and even the hype.  The things I did not enjoy involved class and study and dorm life.  But, by the end of the year, I was a full-fledged Hylot, despite some very troubling concerns.  While I enjoyed the fun parts, I became very concerned about some of what I was involved with.  In my efforts to truly evangelize the lost, I found myself questioning the methods used for winning people to Christ.  It seemed too much like I was misleading people than that I was leading them to Christ.  Not only that, but I found the upper-classmen’s penchant for lying in order to boost their numbers and inflate their results to be very troubling.  Not to mention the encouragement that the staff gave, always in an off-handed manner of course, to inflate numbers.  I’ll never forget the time I confronted my bus captain for this.  It was on the second of the now infamous “Pentecost Sundays,” and when we pulled up to the Hammond Civic Center, where we would be holding services and baptizing ten at a time in the swimming pool, my bus captain reported our bus full of 26 people as “46.”  Later that night, when my bus captain came over to me to “praise the Lord,” I asked him why he lied.  He gave me a shocked look, and then said, “what do you mean, I lied?”  I told him that I counted no less than three times, and there were 26 people on that bus.  And he replied, “it looked like 46 to me!”  Then, he began to preach a little message about how I was quenching the spirit.

God used these and other things to begin to show me what was wrong with Hyles.  I’ll admit, I was not spiritually ready to leave yet, but these things were a start for me.  At the end of my first year at Hyles, my pastor and my dad came to pick me up.  They took me out to eat that afternoon, and told me that I would be leaving Hyles.  At the time, I did not know why.  My pastor, who was on the part-time staff of Hyles at the time, told me that all the allegations against Hyleshad been found to be true, told me of a taped interview with Paula Hyles that exposed what had happened, and told me that somewhere near 14 staff members had turned in their resignations, including himself.

My world was shattered, or so I thought.  Though I could see serious problems, I was not prepared to leave.  I went home that summer in the depths of despair and disappointment.  My parents told me that I would be enrolling in Fairhaven, and that I was not to argue or discuss it withanyone else.  My rebellion mounted, even though I had previously felt that this was what God wanted me to do.  Throughout that long, wretched summer, I sank deeper and deeper into rebellion, running from God in every way except with my feet.

From Hyles to Fairhaven

At the end of the summer, I bought a car and made the drive to Fairhaven.  I wanted nothing more than to get expelled as quickly as possible.  Thankfully, my rebellion had succeeded to unnerve me and turn me into an absolute weakling.  As I drove to Fairhaven, I drove right by the exit for Hyles-Anderson.  And as I passed the exit, I asked myself, “what are you doing!  All you need to do is to get off that exit right now, drive to the campus, and tell them that you are coming back anyway.”  But God wouldn’t let me exit.

From the time I arrived at Fairhaven until Thanksgiving, I wallowed in self-pity and passive rebellion.  And then, over that first Thanksgiving break, God did a work in my heart.  It has been my tradition since I was 16 to take a “Thanksgiving walk” on Thanksgiving morning.  That year, as I had for the few years prior, I got out of bed on Thanksgiving morning, pulled on my coat and hat and gloves, and started walking.  As I walked, my custom was to go through the events of the year, giving thanks for each thing that God did that year.  But as I walked on this Thanksgiving morning, I found myself complaining to God.  I complained about Fairhaven.  I complained about the rules.  I complained about my parents.  I complained about my pastor.  I complained about my friends.  Finally, after an hour of walking, I realized that I had not given thanks for one thing.  And worse yet, I realized that I did not want to say ‘thank you’ for anything. That Thanksgiving morning, God exposed my ungrateful heart, and rebuked me for my rebellion.  In that particular year, I never did get to the Thanksgiving part, but for the next hour, I wandered the streets near my house and confessed my sin to God, seeking His forgiveness.  And then, I began the long process of getting back to where I needed to be.

After that Thanksgiving, God drew me back to Himself.  My attitude changed, and I learned how richly God had blessed me in bringing me to Fairhaven Baptist College.  God used the love of the staff, the spirit of conviction, the genuineness of Preacher, and the power of God’s Word through the preaching of the Word to turn my heart back to the Lord.  I’ll not ever forget the debt of gratitude that I owe to them.  And I thank the Lord for Fairhaven Baptist Church, every day.

From Eeyore to Tigger

The story does not end there.  In fact, in some ways we could say that it just gets started there.  I met my wife the first day of school, at the school picnic.  Of course, I didn’t know that she was to be my wife.  No love at first sight story for me.  We were done with the picnicking, made it through the very painful “introductions” part, and were moving on to a choice between softball game or hike.  As I recall, I chose the hike because I thought it was my best chance to avoid talking to anyone.  And, for the most part, I was right.  Except that a group of girls walked up and introduced themselves to me.  I don’t remember who all was in the group, only that Belinda was.  And she kept on trying to talk to me.  Really annoyed the daylights out of me.  Finally, when she wouldn’t stop, I walked away, and worked very hard to avoid her for the rest of the day.  And for the most of the year as well.

Then, one day, I realized that I was spending an awful lot of time with this girl.  Guys would tease me about her, and along with that, about all the guys who were interested in her.  I kept hoping that one of them would latch on, but it was not to be.  Finally, I recognized that my friendship with her was too close.  Either I had to cut off the friendship, or marry her.

I married her.  What a blessing!  God has blessed us with five children, between the ages of 9 and 2.  I love them each, but I am especially grateful to God for blessing me with such a wonderful (and delicious) wife.  I rise up and call her blessed.

In my senior year of college, God really impressed on me that I should stick around for a couple of more years.  My home church had folded and no longer existed, and I had no other place to call home at the time.  So, I determined to take a couple more years before entering the ministry.  A few weeks after graduation, I asked Belinda to marry me, and a year later, in June of 1994, we were married.  We moved into a beautiful home about a mile off of Lake Michigan in the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore, and we learned how to be married and like it.

From Indiana to Pennsylvania

Then, in May of 1996, we packed up the moving truck and moved to Central Pennsylvania, to help a pastor in a small country church.  The church provided us with an apartment, and we both took a job – my wife a full time job and I a part time job – so that I could dedicate my time to the ministry.  It was our first ministry, and we immediately fell in love with the work of the Lord.  We had a wonderful time teaching the teens, visiting them and encouraging them to come out to church, building up that segment of the church, and also helping out with the bus ministry.  But our success was to be short-lived.  The pastor’s wife grew increasingly jealous of our ministry, and within a couple of months, the pastor met with both my wife and me and told us that we didn’t like his wife.  We were surprised to hear this.  We had always thought that we liked her, but the pastor told us that we didn’t, so we went about the work of trying to be nice to her so that she would know that we did, in fact, like her.  Every week, my wife would ask the pastor’s wife if they could do something together, and every week, the pastor’s wife would promptly refuse.  Finally in November of that same year, the pastor met with me in his office and told me that he wanted me to leave by the end of the month.  We were not loving, he said, and we were constantly ignoring his wife.  And so, that was that.  I thanked him for telling us to leave, so that I would not have to make the decision to leave on my own.

About two weeks after the pastor asked us to leave, another pastor called us from York, Pennsylvania.  He was going through a difficult time in the church, and wondered if we would move over to help out.  We visited, found the mind of Christ on it, and decided that we should.  We arrived at the beginning of December that same year, in 1996.  Once again, the church provided us with an apartment, and I took a job while my wife taught in the small Christian school.  By February, it became very apparant that the pastor’s discouragement had defeated him, and I guessed (correctly) that he was about to resign.  The next month, he asked me to meet him in his office on Sunday morning before the service, and he informed myself and the assistant pastor that he would be resigning that night in the evening service, that he would leave afterwards and that we would not see him again.  With the pastor gone, the church made it obvious that they wanted us to leave too, which we decided to do in June of that year.

By this time, I was done.  It was all too obvious to me that God didn’t want me in the ministry.  I didn’t know how to find God’s will, or so I thought.  This was God’s way of showing me that I needed to be a good layman, and nothing more.  I determined to move my wife and I back to Chesterton, and to find a vocation that was more suitable to my work in the church.  But God had other plans.  I planned to move at the end of July, but the money simply was not there to make the move.  So, I delayed moving for another month.  During that time, I received numerous phone calls inviting me to serve in various ministries.  Although I did not want to go into another ministry, I agreed to seek the Lord’s face about each one.  And, one after another, God said no.  I was very happy with that.

From Pennsylvania to Utah

And then, one day about two weeks before our move, I received a call from Pastor Mark Short in Ogden, Utah.  Actually, my wife received the call.  When I arrived home from work that night, at around 9:00, my wife informed me that this pastor had called.  My first response was, “Ewtah?  What in the world is in Ewwtah?  What is he, some kind of Mormon?”  My wife replied that he was, in fact, a Baptist pastor, and that he wanted me to call him.  My second response was, “Well, it’s too late to call him now.”  But my wife reminded me that Utah was in the West, in a different time zone, and that it was only 7:00 there.  “Well, it’s too late for me to call him… ” I said.

I called him.  We talked.  The last thing I wanted was to go do the “new ministry dance” all over again.  And the very last thing I wanted was to do the “new ministry dance” in Ewwwtah.  To make a long story short, about a month later, I found myself, my wife, and our cat packed up in a moving truck, driving slowly across Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, and finally, three days and forty-some odd hours later, pulling up in Ogden, Utah.

School started a week after we arrived.  And for the first time in the ministry, I learned what it is to work for a pastor who loved me, who loved my family, who paid me a full salary and took care of me, who welcomed me into his home, and who had a flourishing, thriving church.  God used Pastor Short to heal us, to strengthen us, to equip us, and to build us into useful servants.

We arrived in Utah in August of 1997.  When we came, we both taught in the school.  By November of that same year, Pastor Short invited me to come on the pastoral staff, and with the church’s approval, I began to serve in the position of Assistant Pastor.  Then, in May of 2000, while I was preaching to our teens in a school assembly, God began to speak to me about becoming a pastor.  The thought scared me, surprised me, and angered me, in that precise order.  Who did I think I was, thinking I could be a pastor?  For that entire summer, I prayed about it every day.  Well, actually, I didn’t pray about it.  What I did was, I told God what a proud fool I was, thinking that I could be a pastor.  Every day, I confessed my sin of pride.  Every day, I begged God to change my wicked heart.  And then, one Fall day, God finally answered my prayer, by showing me that it was not, in fact, pride that made me want to be a pastor.  It was Him.

From Door #2 to Door #1

Soon after, I asked Pastor Short if I could talk to him in his office.  We sat down, and I told him what God had been showing me.  To my surprise, Pastor Short didn’t stand up, slam his fist into the desk, and say, “You want to do WHAT?”  He didn’t laugh either.  He didn’t say, “so what…”  He didn’t do any of those things that I kind of thought might happen.  Instead, Pastor Short cried.  Right there in his chair.  And then he told me that he knew that already.  And then, he said something that almost inspired me to stand up and shout, “You want me to do WHAT?”  He said that his prayer was that God would call him to the mission field, and that I would pastor Berean Baptist Church.

I staggered out of his office, and I determined that I was not telling anybody about that meeting.  Not even my wife.

A week or two later, I found myself back in Pastor Short’s office, and once again discussing what God wanted me to do.  I had peace that God wanted me to finish out the year, and go from there.  I really did not have a time line from God.  That was all fine.  Except that Pastor Short, once again, told me that his prayer was that God would have me pastor Berean.  “Great!”  I thought.

I finished out the year with little direction from God.  That year, I was camp director for our summer camp, which involved our church and several others.  And that week of camp was probably the worst week of camp ever experienced by Independent Baptist Camp.  I found out later that a group of teen boys came to camp determined to get kicked out.  Between dealing with those boys and the other duties of camp, I found myself spending hours on my knees in prayer for the week.  But all to no avail.  By the end of the week, I was forced to kick one boy out, and the spirit of the camp was entirely destroyed.  On the last night, I wandered out in the woods to pray one more time that God would somehow salvage the camp.  As I prayed, God made it very clear that he had given me such a rough week in order to get me alone.  And there, in the woods at our camp, God showed me that I was to leave Berean and seek a ministry.

I still had not ever talked to my wife about what God had been doing.  About a month later, in mid-August of 2001, my wife and I took a brief trip to Park City for a short get-away.  It was during that time that I told her what God had been saying to me.  We came back home, and a couple of days later, Pastor Short and his family left for Fiji.  Pastor Short never came back home, for God took him.

This was, of course, a very difficult time in my life.  When we had buried him, we formed a pulpit committee.  Two weeks later, the pulpit committee voted unanimously to call me as the tenth pastor of Berean Baptist Church.  And two weeks after that, the church voted to approve their recommendation.  That was seven years ago.

Since that time, God has enabled us to overcome our sorrow at the passing of Pastor Short, and has seen fit to prosper and bless the church.  We rejoice in his goodness.  Every sorrow, every heartache, every disappointment along the way, though difficult at the time, God meant for good.

What will the second half hold?  One can only wander.  But we can look back on all that God has done and say, with all our heart… The Lord is Good.

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Categories: Jack Hammer, Mallinak
  1. Bobby
    December 11, 2008 at 1:32 pm

    Thanks for writing this. It is a blessing to see how the Lord has worked in your life for His glory.

  2. December 11, 2008 at 2:21 pm

    Thanks, Bobby.

    And, while we’re at it, you are blessing, too.

  3. December 11, 2008 at 4:51 pm

    Wow! it sounds like I wasn’t the only one to have a difficult semester that year. I left after your first semester, my third semester. God is good, isn’t He? Your testimony was a blessing

  4. December 11, 2008 at 5:39 pm

    There was a lot here I didn’t know, although I had heard bits and pieces at different times. It’s nice to read all in one place.

  5. December 11, 2008 at 6:58 pm

    BTW, Dave, praise the Lord for a godly mother who patiently preached the gospel. I have a similar testimony in a set of godly parents who diligently raised their children up to know and love the Lord. Perhaps this is one of the most vital things we can communicate to our people. If only more of them would embrace it!

    Maranatha!
    Don Johnson
    Jer 33.3

  6. reglerjoe
    December 11, 2008 at 11:14 pm

    What a wonderful story.

    Just outta curiosity, was the Paula Hyles interview the “nail in the coffin” for most folks. I think I remember hearing it on the net somewhere. All I gathered from it was that Hyles knew his son and daughter-in-law were physically amorous before marriage, but declared (falsely) in their wedding ceremony that they had never kissed before…did I miss something?

    Sorry, Dave. I hope I don’t derail a thread here.

  7. December 12, 2008 at 12:56 pm

    No, Joe, its fine if you ask. It does have to do with what I wrote.

    Since I was still a teen at the time, I had to rely on what I was hearing from others. The Paula Hyles tape was around before the mass migration of staff. In fact, I remember it being discussed while I was a student at Hyles, even though it was a taboo subject at the time. It was one of those “undercurrents,” whispered about in private conversations, to be denied later if necessary. What really blew the lid off of things was when Dr. R went in to meet with Dr. Hyles about the Paula Hyles tape. As I understand it, when Dr. R confronted Hyles about the tape, Hyles refused to answer any questions about it. Dr. R questioned Hyles about it to the point that Hyles finally asked him to drop it. When Dr. R said that he couldn’t, he turned in his resignation, which started a domino affect among those who still maintained a little of their integrity.

    So, my understanding is that it wasn’t the Paula Hyles tape that was the last straw, so much as Hyles’ refusal to answer the allegations made in the Hyles tape, which included allegations that Hyles himself was immoral, that Dave Hyles had talked to Paula about his immorality, and in fact, that Hyles had carried on a very inappropriate conversation with Paula during marital counseling. Along with that, Paula said that when she discussed what Jack Hyles said to her during the counselling session, Dave became very upset and forbid her to counsel with his dad again.

    But most of the tape was concerning Dave’s immorality, and his father’s knowledge of it stemming back to when Dave was in High School. So, Paula’s testimony proved that Jack had in fact disqualified himself, and his refusal to answer the charges proved that he wanted to have a personal following, rather than to be a Scriptural pastor.

  8. December 12, 2008 at 12:58 pm

    Thank you all for your kind words. It is good to remember your history, and it is fun to tell it, although I struggled to avoid getting bogged down with details.

    I appreciate what you said about my mother, Don. I have never forgotten to thank the Lord for putting her there during that time of my life, and I regularly use her example to urge others in their work as parents. We really don’t understand the impact we have on our children, do we.

  9. Steve
    December 12, 2008 at 3:49 pm

    Great testimony Dave.

    I think for me anyway its really encouraging to see what God has done in your lives and for others through you!!

    R/S

    Steve

    Gal 2.20

  10. December 12, 2008 at 4:34 pm

    Thanks, Steve.

  11. December 15, 2008 at 3:12 am

    I enjoyed reading the story of your life thus far. It is always good to see how God works and His grace toward us.

  12. December 15, 2008 at 10:15 am

    True, Terry. And, I look forward to reading the rest of the story.

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