25 Years in America: The CONFESSIONS

I came to the United States 25 years ago – exactly to the date. Quarter of a century of my 30 years of ministry I’ve spent preaching here.

Naturally, I’ve seen a few things change. I am not talking just about political correctness, cheap import quality or long distance customer service. Yes, I can say this because I am an immigrant too. But in my line of work, I made my mind a long time ago. No Made in China sermons or creative commons mini series downloaded from the internet. When I preach, I will give it my best so help me God.

Having said this, I wish I would have lived in States in the late 70s. Big cars, cheaper gas, cleaner foods, much clearer standards and maybe even a much simpler life. All made in America. And a very different type of people and churches. But we all come to this world when it’s our time…

I landed in New York late one cold and snowy night. Being barely 19 at the time, I had recently watched Home Alone: Lost in New York. Landing over the brightly lit Manhattan was just like in the movie. The feeling was indescribable.

Not so much after going through customs. The officer, a professing Muslim as he told me, took one quick look at my passport before giving me a long lecture of all the dangers I was facing by enrolling in the Bible College named on my entrée visa. I disregarded his words, at least at the time. But they haunted me often for the next couple of years.

The heavy snow storm halted all flights out of the city and we had to spend the night in the Big Apple. Waiting for the hotel’s shuttle at JKF’s lobby, I had my second peculiar encounter of the evening. A well dressed lady, obviously a New Yorker, waiting alongside picked up a conversation hearing it was my first visit to the States. She welcomed me with the words that everyone in America has come from somewhere else. She then gave me a dime, which I still keep somewhere, showing the words inscribed on the back side “E pluribus unum,” the meaning of which I knew from my studies in Latin.

The next morning I had my first American breakfast right before flying over to Charlotte. The South welcomed us with some of its coldest weather ever recorded. It was 1994 and 15F. Some even said I brought the winter with me from the old country. And so my journey began.

At first, dreams started to come to reality fast. Many dreams – too many to even count. For a short time, life was a highway. A few trials later, I sobered up. The high places of life are still reached via the narrowest of roads. And through a personal walk. Can’t get there driving fast and furiously or piggy back ridding someone else’s dreams.

Because just when you have it all, there comes a time for losing. I lost friends I knew and enemies I didn’t know I had. And I learned to tell my story. Most of it is told in my upcoming book Confessions. Not merely in the way I know it, but in a way where others can understand it. And use it.

As I was getting ready to commemorate this anniversary, along with the passing of my faithful father and my praying grandmother this time 20 years ago, I lost another friend. A praying man, a faithful supporter of our ministry, a Man who walked straight and stood up for what was right – a legacy in the minds of many. I told his dear family at the grave site that a generation is passing. Their mantle has been thrown upon us, so we may become carriers of their legacy.

After 25 years, this is our time! We are here and now, so generations may come after us to a new reality, new place in history and new world. The world we’ve dreamed of…