I never expected God to write my love story. Honestly, I didn’t want Him to. I had watched my parents follow God into a school bus, into deserts, into places that made no sense. I admired their obedience, but when it came to marriage, I wanted something normal — something I could choose, something I could control. But God had other plans.

I was twenty years old, living in Flagstaff, running a small ministry and two growing businesses. I had dated a young woman I fully expected to marry. She was kind, godly, and everything made sense on paper. I wasn’t asking God for direction. I thought I already knew the direction. Then one night, at a banquet, everything changed. I was sitting at a table with the woman I thought I would marry when I sensed the Lord speak — not audibly, but unmistakably, the way only the Holy Spirit can. He said, “That woman will mold perfectly with your spirit”. I looked up, confused. He wasn’t talking about the woman beside me. He was talking about someone across the room — Mary, a young woman who I had been discipling. I respected her. I admired her faith. But I had never once thought of her romantically. Not once. I tried to shake it off. Surely, I had misheard. Surely, God wouldn’t interrupt my plans like that. Surely, He wouldn’t ask me to walk away from a relationship I had invested in. But the whisper stayed.

By the time I reached my teenage years, the bus had shaped me in ways I didn’t fully understand. I had seen God provide. I had watched Him speak. I had learned that obedience wasn’t optional — it was life. But knowing those things and living them as a young man were two different battles. I wasn’t the loud kid. I wasn’t the natural leader. I wasn’t the one to which people looked. I was quiet, small, and observant — the kind of kid who worked hard because he didn’t know what else to do. While other boys were chasing popularity, I was chasing responsibility. I didn’t have many friends, but I had a growing sense that God was watching me, shaping me, preparing me. I just didn’t know for what.

When we finally settled in Albuquerque after years on the road, I felt like a stranger in my own country. I had lived among the Navajo, where respect was quiet and strength was measured in endurance. Now I was in a world of lockers, football games, and teenage bravado. I didn’t fit. But I worked. That was the one thing I knew how to do. I took any job I could find — mowing lawns, hauling trash, cleaning, fixing things. I wasn’t trying to build a résumé. I was trying to build a life. And somewhere in the middle of all that work, God was building something in me: perseverance, humility, and a willingness to do whatever was in front of me with all my heart.

I grew up in the mountains of Southern California, in a little place called Upper Ojai — the kind of childhood most boys dream about. Bare feet, fishing holes, BB guns, forts in the woods. It felt simple and safe, the kind of life where you think the world will always stay that way. But God had a different kind of classroom in mind for me, one that would shape everything I would one day believe about Him.

My father had come to Christ in his twenties after a childhood spent in foster homes and orphanages. He didn’t grow up with stability or tenderness, but when he met Jesus, something ignited in him. He became a man who believed the Bible the way a drowning man believes in air. He didn’t just read Scripture — he tried it. Tested it. Lived it.

On July 4th, Americans pause to celebrate more than the birth of a nation—we celebrate the unmistakable fingerprints of God woven through our history. Independence Day reminds us not only of political freedom but also of the deeper spiritual freedom offered through faith in Christ. When we look closely at the events surrounding America’s founding, we see a story marked by courage, sacrifice, and a profound sense of divine providence.

When the Continental Congress declared independence in Philadelphia, the ringing of the Liberty Bell carried more than patriotic symbolism. Its inscription came straight from Scripture: “Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof” (Leviticus 25:10). That verse, originally tied to the Year of Jubilee—a time of release, restoration, and freedom—became a prophetic banner over a nation fighting to break free from tyranny. Early Americans often compared their struggle to the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt, believing their cause echoed God’s deliverance of His people from oppression.

Remembering my life in the past and my life today, I stand amazed not only that this little boy survived multiple near-death experiences but that to this day this body still functions well.  I have seen and experienced unbelievable beauty and adventure and after multiple years of such fullness still have the physical capacity to participate with younger men in life’s adventures.

My name is Wade Hopkins, and for the last 30 years I’ve had the privilege of serving with the Fellowship of Christian Athletes in and around the Houston area. When I look back, I’m still amazed at what God has allowed me to witness. Over the last three years alone, our team has focused intentionally on inner‑city Houston, and the results have been nothing short of miraculous. More than 5,000 young people have heard the gospel. 1,292 have made decisions to follow Jesus Christ. 2,946 Bibles have been placed directly into the hands of students who may have never owned one. These aren’t just numbers to me—they’re stories, faces, and eternal destinies. And all of it is evidence of what God can do through a heart fully surrendered to Him.

But my story doesn’t begin in ministry. It begins in Pasadena—South Houston—where I grew up as a fatherless kid with one dream: to play football. That dream was everything to me. I wanted the NFL. I wanted the lights, the roar of the crowd, the identity that came with being “somebody.” But growing up without a father meant I didn’t have many opportunities. My dad left when I was young, and that absence could have easily shaped my life in all the wrong ways.

Throughout our married life (61 years at this writing), we have striven to give at least ten percent (10%) of our income to our local church. I would not represent that we have always reached this goal. Several years ago, our church initiated the largest fund raiser in its history to build a new sanctuary and children’s building-an amount more than twice what had ever been raised before in previous fundraisers in total. Quite an undertaking and step of faith.

At that time, I had recently read Lt. Governor of Texas, Dan Patrick’s book on his spiritual journey, which included his thoughts on giving. For a fund raiser in his church, he had pledged ten percent (10%) of his financial net worth for a building project, just to make sure he hadn’t cheated God, and God had been faithful to him to enable him meet this pledge over a three-year period.

When Dave Hannah looks back over his life, he sees a pattern he never recognized in the moment—God quietly arranging details, redirecting disappointments, and preparing a story far larger than anything he or his friends could have dreamed. One of the clearest examples began during his junior year at Oklahoma State, shortly after he surrendered his life to Christ “in a really serious way,” as he put it. God began changing him immediately. He joined the Southern Baptist Student Union, surrounded himself with other believers on the football team, and together they came up with a bold idea: host a three‑night evangelistic event and invite all 10,000 students on campus.

Dave was a brand‑new Christian. He had seen Billy Graham fill stadiums and assumed it was simple—“I thought he just said, ‘Y’all come,’ and the Lord brought everybody.” He had no idea how much work went into something like that. But he believed every student would want to know God personally, so he and a few others met with the OSU President to request Gallagher Hall, the largest venue on campus that could seat 10,000.

Driving back to Austin after giving my life to Christ, I felt like a different man. For the first time in years, the anger and bitterness I had carried no longer owned me. That freedom changed everything—including my baseball career. After a mediocre fall, something clicked. In our Fall World Series I hit over .400 with a couple of home runs and settled into center field, where I would play that spring. Early in the season I platooned across the outfield and was the designated hitter, but right before conference play Coach Gus told me I’d earned a starting spot. A knee injury to our center fielder pushed me into the lineup full‑time, and I started strong against Baylor. By mid‑conference I was leading the Southwest Conference (SWC) in hitting and felt on top of the world.

Then a low‑grade fever slowed me down, and I spent the final week of the season in the hospital having a cyst removed. I listened on the radio as my teammates clinched the SWC Championship. Even so, I was humbled to be named First Team All‑SWC and First Team NCAA All‑District VI. I returned for the playoffs, made the All‑Region Team, and helped us reach the championship game of the NCAA Central Region.

The summer before I left for the University of Texas was supposed to be one of the most exciting seasons of my life. Friends encouraged me, opportunities were opening, and I was playing some of the best baseball I’d ever played. But while everything on the outside looked promising, my home life was unraveling. My father’s drinking and anger grew worse, and as my departure for Austin approached, so did his hostility. He continually attacked me… saying that I was in over my head and nothing good would come of my time in Austin.

The tension at home fed a deep anger inside me—an anger so dark that I began having dreams of killing my father. I was ashamed, confused, and carrying a weight I didn’t know how to release. I knew God had changed my heart, but this hatred showed me how much work still needed to be done.

As my senior year ended, baseball suddenly opened doors I never expected. Colleges were calling, and two major league clubs invited me to their tryout camps. I didn’t know much about college baseball, but one night after a summer league game, a man named Crockett DuBose approached me and asked if I had committed anywhere. When I told him no, he said I’d soon hear from Coach Bragg Stockton at San Jacinto College, whose baseball program was moving to a new campus just two miles from my home.

Meeting Coach Stockton changed far more than my baseball career. My tryout was simple—catch, hit, run, field. After timing me in the 60, he told me I’d be moving to the outfield because of my speed. My freshman year I platooned with older players but still hit around .350. Going into my sophomore year, he told me he was counting on me.

For more than twenty years I’ve felt a quiet nudge to write my story, but I always pushed it aside with the thought, “Who would want to hear about me?” Then one verse kept returning to my heart—2 Thessalonians 1:10: “When He comes… to be glorified in His saints and to be admired among all those who believe, because our testimony among you was believed.” That verse reframed everything. My story isn’t about me at all. Anything good in my life is the result of what God has done in me, preserved in me, and accomplished through me. At every turn—whether I recognized it or not—the Lord was guiding, protecting, redirecting, and sometimes rescuing me.

My wife and I have served as missionaries with Cru since the 1980s. Like many staff members, raising the financial support needed for our ministry has often been challenging. This was especially true in the 1990s and early 2000s while we were raising three children.

Our full salary through Cru was only paid if we raised enough support each month. If the donations that came in were insufficient, our paycheck would be reduced to match the amount received. As a result, many years brought short paychecks—some only slightly short, others significantly so. At times we had to borrow money just to pay our bills. Yet through it all, the Lord faithfully saw us through. Somehow, we always had enough.

In 2004, my life changed abruptly. I was diagnosed with a life‑threatening tumor on my brain stem, heart failure, and a condition so severe that my brain was literally being forced downward because my skull was too small. The weight of those words was overwhelming. I went to MD Anderson for answers, and their recommendation was radiation and surgery. But something in my spirit kept prompting me to ask one question: “What is the scatter effect of the radiation?” No one could give me a clear answer. I truly believe the Lord put that question in my heart.

As I celebrate my 83rd year in my earthly body, God has reminded me of the following.

The Bible is not a collection of stories of human heroes. No, the Bible is the story of a hero Redeemer who transforms weak and ordinary people by His power through faith.

FAITH is trusting and believing God loves us more than we love ourselves and wants the very best for us. God is not Santa Claus, who we ask for what we selfishly want, but is the Sovereign Father who desires to do what is always best for His kids (true believers in Christ). We, many times, struggle with God’s definition of “best.” We want what we think is best.

The scan found a mass on my carotid, which is one of the two main routes to feed blood to the face and brain. But since the walls of the interior carotid and the exterior carotid met, that Y-shaped meeting point was also the tumor itself. So came the complexity.

The surgeon pulled a blue Bic from his white lab coat pocket protector. Sketching a diagram on a torn-off piece of exam table rolled paper, he showed me how he would dissect the artery above and below the tumor, remove it, and then attempt to patch and run a new bypass to reconnect my brain to my heart. And, of course, time was of the essence. My brain and face both needed that blood!

Carole Ward’s life was marked from the beginning by a legacy of missions, courage, and unwavering faith. Her grandparents served as missionaries in China for three decades, befriending Christian leader Watchman Nee and enduring imprisonment during the communist invasion of Shanghai. Her parents continued that legacy, spending 48 years as missionaries in the jungles of the Philippines with Wycliffe Bible Translators. Carole grew up among remote villages and even the children of Islamic terrorists, witnessing firsthand both danger and the transforming power of the Gospel. When terrorists placed a price on her father’s head in 1975, her family refused to retreat, modeling the fearless obedience that would later define Carole’s own calling.

The Easter story is the greatest God Story ever told, because it reveals the heart of a Father who would not leave His children in their sin or their graves. It is the story of a Savior who stepped into our brokenness, carried our guilt, and rose again so we could live with Him forever.

Jesus’ journey to the cross began long before soldiers arrested Him in the garden. At the Passover table, He took the bread and the cup—symbols of Israel’s rescue from slavery—and showed His disciples that God was about to bring a greater deliverance. His body would be broken. His blood would be poured out. Freedom from sin was at hand. Even as He prayed in Gethsemane, overwhelmed with sorrow, He surrendered to the Father’s will so that redemption could unfold.

Loving a prodigal is one of the most painful journeys a parent can walk. The Cru Storylines article When You Love a Prodigal shares the story of Judy Douglass, a longtime leader with Cru, who spent years navigating the heartbreak, fear, and uncertainty that came with her son Josh’s destructive choices. Her experience has become a lifeline for countless parents who feel overwhelmed, ashamed, or alone in their struggle.

Judy and her husband, Steve, led Campus Crusade for Christ (Cru) globally for two decades, all while wrestling privately with the turmoil at home. Out of that wilderness, Judy began writing letters on her blog to encourage other parents of prodigals. Those letters eventually became her book, When You Love a Prodigal: 90 Days of Grace for the Wilderness. The Cru article introduces her story and offers excerpts from her chapters on Love and Grace, showing how God shapes a parent’s heart even when a child is far from home.

I grew up in a small town of about 500 people in rural Minnesota. Both sets of grandparents lived there, and I grew up seeing them all the time. Both had a heart for missions but were involved in different ways. One was a businessman who gave generously to support missions. The other was a farmer/businessman that sold his farm/business at 51 to be a self-supporting missionary. He stayed in the mission field until his health gave way in his 60s and moved back to Minnesota but continued ministering in a drug/alcohol rehabilitation center until he died at 74.

In 1972/73, at 19 yrs old, I made a solo trip around the world. I flew, hitchhiked every type of vehicle imaginable and walked a lot. I visited many missions and missionaries in 34 countries. Some were very disappointing and a waste of resources, but most were very inspiring and accomplished great things. When I got back, I knew I wanted to be involved in missions, but I didn’t know how.