Life's Highest Design

By Ron Williams

For over seven decades, Gods goodness and mercy have followed Ron Williams. Designed before the foundation of the world, this pastor, missionary, denominational officer and most important, Christian friend and father relates his experiences and the lessons they have produced. From the promises made to God by his mother prior to his birth to the fulfillment of that promise as the Williams family served more than 16 years in Asia, and then to his eldership in the Foursquare Church and the Pentecostal Church world, you will be enriched and encouraged by Gods faithfulness and provision. LIFES HIGHEST DESIGN is the third of a trilogy of Lifes Highest series along with LIFES HIGHEST DELIGHT (a study of satisfaction from the Psalms) and LIFES HIGHEST DESTINY (a study of Pauls epistle to the Romans). The life principles found in the appendix makes this autobiography a must read for every believer and leader.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781469136370

Ron Williams

Ron Williams is a retired teacher, mathematician, computer-man, political scientist, farmer and writer. He has a B.A. from Sydney, and a Masters in Social Work and a PhD in Political Science from Hawaii.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

WHAT MAKES ME TICK!

Several years ago, the staff in my office sent me a birthday card which read, According to our birthday records we must inform you that the warranty on your body has just expired! My reply—Not yet! There’s still a lot of life in the ole boy yet.

My ticking began on October 23, 1940, in Decatur, Illinois, the fifth of five children to Henry L and Ella L. (Williams) Williams. At the time of my birth, my mother was 42 years of age and my father was 38. They had been blessed with four daughters, Marjorie (Marge), age 19 (I was born on her birthday); Miriam (Mick) age 17; Norma (Norm) age 15; and Phyllis (Pete) age 13. I came along and yelled, Surprise!

Upon learning that she had again conceived, my mother promised the Lord that should the child be a son, like Hannah in the Bible she would dedicate him to serving in the temple of God. God answered her desire and five days after my birth, my parents took me to church for the first time. As we walked through the door, Pastor Jesse Cotherman remarked, Here comes the Williamses with their million dollar son. I have never been able to figure out if the million dollars referred to my preciousness in their sight or to the amount of dollars which they would have to pay out as I grew up. Either way, their love and investment were enormous.

My parents were born-again believers and members of the Evangelical United Brethren Church (later to become part of the United Methodist denomination). From that first Sunday, they would place a small Bible in my hand and Rev. Cotherman would stop in his counting of the Bibles (a great tradition of years past) until he could see mine as well. Until his passing in 1983, I was in touch with Rev. Cotherman. According to his wife, there was never a day pass that my pastor did not pray for me. Though we had not seen each other since 1958, the impact of his loving concern still remains. In addition, I am always uncomfortable entering a church sanctuary without a Bible under my arm. Above all, our family was faithful in church attendance, followed each Sunday at 1:00 p.m. when we would gather around the Zenith radio to listen to the Old Fashioned Revival Hour with Dr. Charles E. Fuller. Then I would make my way to the front porch of our home to preach to the cars and people passing by.

Sometimes preaching to the masses brought trouble. One afternoon a young black girl passed by and I used the N… . word. She slapped my face and took me to the door where she informed my mother of my prejudice. This would introduce my parents to her mother and a close friendship emerged. The racial tension and prejudice which existed in the Decatur culture was huge! This would be even more deeply imprinted in my mind at the age of four, while accompanying my mother to Florida. I liked sitting in the back of the bus, but it was not acceptable in the South. I had never seen the separation of drinking fountains and bathrooms between Blacks and Whites. Could this be the beginning of a cross-cultural awareness which took me to the Chinese 29 years later? Looking back, the answer is simply: Yes.

My first memory was that of sitting in front of the radio, crying over the fact that my hero, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, had died. Later, I cried with joy over the fact that World War II was over. This meant that my sister, Miriam, and three of my four brothers-in-law would be returning from battle without being wounded or killed. During the war, special prayer was made for my brothers-in-law, my sister Mick who served in the W.A.V.E.S., and for my Uncle Jim—a childhood hero who had fought in the Battle of the Bulge.

The 1940s was a time in our nation’s history which instilled a deep sense of loyalty and a sense of tender concern for those who were hurting or were in sorrow. No matter where I have lived, I have always been grateful for the freedom of living in the United States of America and the obligation it implied. Loyalty would play a partial role later, when a decision to serve in the U.S. Air Force was made.

Not long after the war, three of my sisters and their families moved to California where job opportunities and tremendous weather were available. My father worked for the railroad and each year, we would use his pass to visit the Golden State. There were many train rides via the Union Pacific and the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe railroads, long before air conditioning or staterooms. In January 1949, Dad, at the age of 47, quit his job in Illinois and our family boarded the Union Pacific bound for Los Angeles, a move that would redirect our lives. He immediately found employment with the Southern Pacific Railroad as an electrician and worked there until his retirement in 1967.

The train ride through Wyoming and Colorado in the winter of 1949 was memorable. Throughout the central plains thousands of cattle were frozen standing in place. With Operation Airlift, the U.S. Air Force dispatched cargo planes full of hay, dropping food to the animals stranded in the blizzard. In sharp contrast, there was the walking down the halls of Union Station in Los Angeles, sweating from the sunshine, climbing into a car and for the first time riding on what was called freeways. My brother-in-law, Wes, worked on the construction of the four-levels where the Hollywood, Pasadena, and Santa Ana freeways converged. Those underpasses were the marvel of the city.

Arriving in California required much adjustment. Compared to the friendly camaraderie of a Midwestern town, people in California seemed distant, individualistic and unfriendly. To my parents, churches in California lacked the warmth and concern with which that they had previously been accustomed. Having visited many churches in the evangelical community, my father decided that the family would wait to find a church and to simply conduct family worship on our own. Though not part of a church body, my parents remained faithful in their own personal worship and the reading of Bible lessons to their son.

One morning in July 1950, Freda Pierce who with her husband, Bud, managed the mobile home park where we lived in Downey, California, asked my mother if I could accompany her and her daughter, Patti, to their church. My mother and father agreed and the next morning, dressed in a double-breasted suit, I went to Sunday school. I do not remember the lesson; however, I noticed that the lady in charge of the Sunday school smiled. I returned home and remarked to my parents, I think I have found some people who are friendly. Myrle Richardson and her husband, Don, became lifelong friends. Her smile was divinely sent by the Lord to direct us to a fellowship of believers with whom the family has contact until this day.

Of course, the question was asked about the Foursquare church. My father had heard that it was Pentecostal in practice, and because of his trust in Freda, decided that we would attend. The next Sunday marked the beginning of four generations of worship in the Foursquare Church (known in central Illinois as Aimee’s Church—after its founder, Aimee Semple McPherson) by the Williamses.

I recall my first visit to Angelus Temple, the mother church of the denomination. The size of the sanctuary, the banners telling of Foursquare missionaries and countries around the world which were hung from its dome, were awesome. Little could I realize that one day I would be included among them. I also noticed the picture of the founder’s son, Dr. Rolf K. McPherson, inside the hymnal. Thirty-eight years later, it would be a privilege to write the brochure in honor of Dr. McPherson’s retirement from the presidency of the denomination.

My fifth grade Sunday school teacher was Louis Ziegler, a missionary kid from South Africa who was studying for the ministry at L.I.F.E. Bible College. My best friend during Junior High School was Dick Scott, later a missionary to Panama who was to be the first person to provide a written language and translation of the Bible to the Chocó Indians living in the Darien Province of Panama. The church was full of music and youth. Through divisional rallies, there was constant exposure to evangelism and especially, missionaries preparing to go to the foreign field. My first infatuation was with a young lady whose parents would later become missionaries to the nation of Brazil for more than 25 years. There was also the introduction to Faith Promise Giving/Gold Star Missions, encouraging a lifestyle of giving to worldwide outreach. Looking back at the models and the opportunities, it is obvious that preparation for the ministry and missions would later become second nature to me. The process was accelerated by the constant provision of service opportunities, even at the ages of thirteen and fourteen.

Of significance was the timing of my birth. Over the years that followed, major age differentials emerged between those patriarchs of the denomination and the succeeding generations. The patriarchs had pioneered and nourished the movement and the young ministries who came out of the Baby Boomer age had fresh, creative ideas. I was old enough to have seen and learned from the older generation in the height of their ministry, yet young enough to understand the new generations of leaders who have come to influence in today’s Church. Often I have had the opportunity of serving as a bridge between the two.

Though not knowing of my mother’s promise to the Lord, it was most natural when I came to the age of accountability to accept Jesus Christ as my Savior and to be baptized in water at the Downey, California, Foursquare Church. My pastor was Rev. Glenn Campbell. By the way, his wife, Lila, made the most delicious strawberry cake one could imagine.

During the years that followed, I would question, even reject, the foundations of my faith, but the seed of life had been sown deeply into the soil of my heart.

CHAPTER TWO

READING, ’RITING… AND REBELLION

Growing up with four older sisters in the home had its advantages. Being the little brother, as well as due to World War II, my sisters dressed me in every style of military uniform. I didn’t wear a pair of black or brown shoes until I was five-years-old. They took me with them on trips and bragged to their boyfriends about me. Frankly, I was spoiled, and never questioned whether or not I was loved.

From the time I entered school, reading was my passion. Two of my earliest teachers in Durfee Elementary School also had taught all four of my sisters. I was put into the church programs at Christmas and Easter, special dramas and recitations. My favorite stories were Black Beauty, also the Uncle Remus series with heroes such as B’rer Rabbit.

In the 1940s, students were taught to spell by phonetically sounding out the syllables. Mom and Dad religiously enforced: no play until homework was finished. There was to be no tardiness in completing assignments. Should one be late, he was expected to apologize openly to the teacher. Politeness was just as important as the grade. The rule still pays great benefits. I am never late in paying bills and though I might overplan my daily schedule, I find it necessary to accomplish certain necessary tasks before resting.

From a young age, I had been taught to develop my memory. In school and in church, I was asked to participate in plays and would memorize long portions of literature. I accurately remembered names and recalled experiences. This would later be translated into my learning of Russian, Japanese, Greek, Hebrew, and most extensively, Cantonese.

From the fifth grade on, two special interests began to emerge. I determined to become a professional baseball player like my father who, in his younger days, had played with the farm systems of the St. Louis Cardinals and the Chicago Cubs. Some of his team mates were the Dean brothers, Leo Durocher, Dutch Leonard. He was sitting in Comiskey Park on the day that Babe Ruth pointed to the center field fence and proceeded to homer at that same spot. Two physical signs of his baseball career were a busted lip caused by his misjudging a foul ball, and the five broken fingers on his right hand. And, as one could guess, Ted Williams was my idol.

Throughout Junior High school, I played in the South Gate, California, Junior Baseball Association. Like Dad, I became a catcher. While I could hit and had a good throwing arm, I was as slow a runner as one could be. In High school, I played on the Downey High school varsity baseball squad. I was approached by a scout from the South Gate Semi-Pro baseball club, connected with the Cincinnati Reds but I failed to make the team. My love for the game would later cause me to deliberately destroy two excellent academic opportunities. It would also bring me to a point of decision about my future after High school graduation.

The second interest was music. As a young boy, my father was ridiculed for his singing voice. From that time on, though his voice was excellent in tone quality, he would never sing in public, even during the worship service. However, that which ministered to his heart more than anything else was Christian music. He especially loved the song, It Is No Secret, written by Stuart Hamblen. My parents took special strides to make sure their son would learn an instrument and that music would be one of the channels through which he would serve the Lord.

In 1953, my maternal grandfather passed away. Our family’s inheritance was $300. They used the money to purchase a $200 trumpet for their son, leaving $100 for music lessons. For the next three years, my evening schedule consisted of 30 minutes for homework, 30 minutes to practice the trumpet, then supper. I learned music from two of the finest musicians in Southern California. In addition to participating in the High school band and concert orchestra, I was also required to play for the orchestra during church services. From the time I could make a sound on the horn, I sat next to LaVerne Campbell and Reggie Pament, 25 years old and 65 years old respectively. They covered for my mistakes and cheered for my progress.

Following his graduation from L.I.F.E. Bible College, LaVerne became a Bible club regional director for Youth for Christ International. He ministered in schools across Southern California. His association with Christian musicians such as Ralph Carmichael, John and Linny Olson, Phil Kerr and Audrey Meier (just to name a few) opened doors for the formation of a brass ensemble to minister in music and testimony. Though I was a young Christian and an even younger musician, he invested hundreds of hours in my life with Bible studies, lessons on platform ministry, etc. At the age of 15, I was invited to join the Harmonaires Brass Quartet, made up of three very accomplished Christian musicians, including LaVerne, Karl Hild, Darrel Leonard, accompanied by Lorraine (Ballard) Ulrich and later, by Roberta Rodriquez. On weekends, the Harmonaires would travel to churches with Youth for Christ International, witnessing about Jesus Christ. I was continually called upon to share my testimony at youth meetings. I preached my first sermon at the age of 15 ½. Later in my life, LaVerne Campbell would again show up at the right time, to assist me in reordering my priorities regarding ministry and family.

Music has become a major part of the Williams family today. All three sons play at least two instruments and sing. For a period of time, our daughters-in-law joined us to conduct several concerts in various churches each year. I still have the trumpet my parents purchased, and it has traveled around the world with me. For a season, during my first few months in the Air Force, it was my only link to God.

As I entered High school, my mother became extremely possessive, actually suffocating. I was not aware of her previous covenant with God, or of her continued prayers, asking God to use me as a minister of the Gospel. In addition, there were times when our pastor would talk about me being a natural for the pulpit. Within, a conflict was brewing. It came to a head in the spring of 1957. As previously mentioned, I tried out for a semi-pro baseball team associated with the Cincinnati Reds. The problem was that I would be required to play on Sundays. Mom would not hear of the matter. My father’s only question was how I could play baseball with the club and travel with the brass ensemble at the same time. A choice had to be made. I chose baseball. As mentioned above, I also failed to make the team.

The rebellion further heightened in my senior year. I purposely failed an audition for a full music scholarship to the University of Illinois. Moreover, having been involved in the school’s aviation society, I failed a test in Navigation which would have allowed entrance into a new program being developed by Northrop Aviation, in El Segundo, California. It would later become known as NASA. Now, all the hopes for which I had sacrificed my heart were crushed. The only possible alternative was to enter the United States Air Force the morning after my High school graduation. Feelings of rejection and dejection over my failures were the order of the day. Still, I didn’t want to acknowledge the turmoil I was experiencing.

By this time, my spiritual breach within our family and the church became acute. To keep peace at home, I attended the Thursday morning Bible club at Downey High. Over 1,500 students attended the meetings; it was the thing to do. The club was led by a senior, Gay Overstreet (now Almond). For some reason, she took a special interest in me. She had a group of students praying for me.

When I asked Gay to write a short message in the inside cover of my 1958 High school annual, THE VIKING, little did I expect her to write: Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not to your own understanding; in all your ways, acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths (Proverbs 3:5,6). Not only did I not want the other kids to see a Bible verse in my annual, but the verse kept coming back to haunt me. I expressed my displeasure, scoffing her and she walked away in sorrow. It took fifty years for our paths to cross once again. Yet, it was Gay’s courageous act that God would use to return me to Himself. I shall be eternally grateful.

On June 17, 1958, I enlisted in the U.S. Air Force, just 12 hours after graduating from High school. During basic training at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas, we were compelled to take a series of tests. Out of 200 airmen, the results revealed that six of us had an aptitude for linguistics. I had never been aware of that ability. Furthermore, in High school my grades in English were low. The six of us had three days to make a decision whether we would study language or serve as Air Policemen. If we chose linguistics, we would undergo the nation’s highest security check. Following a year of study and receiving the security clearance, we would be sent overseas to serve in intelligence gathering. I chose linguistics. In September 1958, I began study of the Russian Language at the Defense Language Institute in Monterey, California.