Saturdays with Billy by Thomas Nelson

Saturdays with Billy © 2021 Donald J. Wilton All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc. Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund- raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please email SpecialMarkets@ ThomasNelson.com. Scripture quotations are from the New King James Version®. © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Any Internet addresses, phone numbers, or company or product information printed in this book are offered as a resource and are not intended in any way to be or to imply an endorsement by Thomas Nelson, nor does Thomas Nelson vouch for the existence, content, or services of these sites, phone numbers, companies, or products beyond the life of this book. ISBN 978-1-4002-2397-8 (HC) ISBN 978-1-4002-2401-2 (ebook) ISBN 978-1-4002-2399-2 (audio) Printed in China 21 22 23 24 25 DSC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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Contents Foreword by Dr. Charles F. Stanley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Introduction: Just a Word . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

Billy’s Light . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Billy’s Eyes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Billy’s Home . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Billy’s Gate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 Billy’s Crowds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Billy’s Compulsion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 Billy’s Lessons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57 Billy’s Foundation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 Billy’s “Just as I Am” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69 Billy’s Face . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 Billy’s Friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 Billy’s Beginnings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 Billy’s Humor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 Billy’s Regrets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109 Billy’s Mantle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115 Billy’s Hope . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123 Billy’s Convictions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133

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18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23.

Billy’s Church . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Billy’s Friday . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Billy’s Heaven . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Billy’s Name . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Billy’s Boast . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Billy’s Secret . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

141 149 155 163 169 179

Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189 Notes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191 About the Author . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193

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Billy’s Light Don’t be a prude, or snobbish, but let your life glow for Christ. We are lamps shining in the darkness. BILLY GRAHAM

t was as though my car just knew where we were going. The drive was breathtakingly beautiful. Regardless of the time of the year, the Blue Ridge Mountains insisted on beginning the conversation I would have on that day with Billy Graham. The haze that clung to the sides of the hills and mountains gave the appearance of smoke. As the view came into focus, the haze seemed to roll down the hillsides while settling peacefully on the gurgling waters of each meandering river I crossed. It appeared God was speaking: “Look unto the hills from whence comes your help. Your help comes from the Lord!” (Psalm 121:1–2, paraphrased). In thinking back now, how many times Mr. Graham said this to me. The towns flashed by, and the endless stream of cars and trucks seldom interrupted my conversation with God. Hendersonville, North Carolina, simply ran into Biltmore and then the magnificent Billy

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Graham Training Center at The Cove. It would have been unthinkable not to take the Black Mountain exit and enter into this place that lay so deeply embedded in the heart of every conversation I had with God. Black Mountain is a quaint little town. Most days find it teeming with visitors, all soaking up the warm embrace of its lovely sidewalks, shops, and cafés. At this point my motorcar automatically seemed to know which way to go. The stone archway that welcomed all to Montreat, North Carolina, signaled an immediate left turn taking us past George Beverly Shea’s home. How many times had this dear man faithfully reminded the world, “I’d rather have Jesus than anything”? The two-mile drive up the winding road led to the entrance of the Graham home that began at the gate. This was no ordinary gate. The brief pause, followed by the swish of the card, and the wait for the inevitable and slow, but deliberate swing away from the car and toward my destiny. Seemed like this was about to be a visit to heaven. For me, at least. The narrow but enchanting drive up to the house was wonderful. Especially the swimming pool delicately carved out between two hills at the joint. Oh! What about the little cottage that seemed to wave at me and say, “He’s in!”? It was Saturday with Billy. The dogs often came out to offer their opinions and sidle up to my car, looking curious but somewhat disinterested. China, even though a very loving and docile Rottweiler mix, could look a little intimidating at times, but Lars, the German shepherd, although big and tough, was Saturdays with Billy

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always available for a little charm. “Hello, Lars, and how are you today, my good fellow?” I would say. He responded by wagging his tail. The house always looked friendly and inviting. I surveyed the parking lot and noticed which cars were there and which ones were not. Each one represented faithful servanthood of the highest order. Such amazing people, so giving, so loving—each with countless recollections of a vast world out there represented and embraced by just one man in here. I opened the side door and entered. To my left was the comfortable sitting room. To the right, the kitchen. Yes, that warm, beautiful place in that warm, beautiful house. This was the home of Ruth and Billy Graham. This place perched on the lofty hillside overlooking forever, it would seem. This place, this retreat, this refuge, this rest, this relaxation, this quiet. Now, this world. It was as though Billy Graham’s entire world could be found in the home. Nevertheless, the memories lingered of the world he knew so well out there, filled with people and places of every kind and description. This was Saturday, and time was of no consequence This was Saturday, and time between friends. Our converwas of no consequence between friends. sation took place over a long time and was watched over mostly by the dogs and the cat. Always accompanied by great food prepared by precious people, or by favorite foods delivered from restaurants “down there.” Over the years, this Saturday conversation took Billy’s Light

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Billy Graham’s mountaintop haven of rest.

place around the kitchen table, in the sitting room, or in the study, surrounded by books and countless pictures of family and close friends. It also took place many times outside in the yard, sitting on favorite chairs while sipping great cups of coffee or simply eating hot dogs together. There the distinctive split-fence wooden railings had their own message and conversation of wonderful times past and the calm assurance of things to come. Those railings seemed to offer the proverbial invitation, so deeply etched into the heart of the evangelist. The invitation to “look out unto the hills” where only the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ could offer hope, joy, and forgiveness to a lost and dying world (Psalm 121:1, paraphrased). The invitation to “look out” to the nations and see that the “harvest truly is plentiful, but the laborers are few” (Matthew 9:37). Mr. Graham knew it. He had Saturdays with Billy

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seen it. He heard the call of God. He had lived on that mountain for decades. This was where God spoke to him and through him times without number. This was where his soul-spirit was rekindled. This was the one place, in all of God’s creation, that this one light for Jesus was ignited and set on fire. This piece of beautiful real estate was Billy Graham’s haven of rest. This was where he would recharge his batteries and find solace and comfort for his weary bones. This was where the family lived that he loved so well. This was Billy’s home—the home where a deep friendship was forged between two pastors. One, most certainly America’s pastor, and the other just a local pastor and friend. Despite the confines of this one location later in Billy Graham’s life, every time he opened his mouth the nations were in his voice. The miles he had traveled were in his DNA, it seemed. His passion for reaching people for Christ never left his eyes. Sometimes it was just a nod. Sometimes a long explanation. Many times a question designed to provoke deep thought, offer background rationale, or simply to inquire about the God he served with all of his heart, soul, and mind. It was as if the light that shined so brightly needed to be fed a daily dose by the Holy Spirit of the living God. It was as though Billy thought he was incapable of doing anything of substance for Christ. It was as though he was pursuing nothing for himself. No fame. No glory. No recognition. No reward. All Billy seemed to do was “look up” to the mountains to get all the help from God he could possibly muster, and then “look out” to the nations, where the people were. He could see them. He had met Billy’s Light

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them. Presidents, prime ministers, kings and queens, old and young, rich and poor, famous and infamous. He wept for them. They needed to know Jesus. The endless chatting and laughing, the digging deeper, the reminiscing, recalling, revealing, and the analyzing were really a one-way endeavor. I was simply a friend who had nothing to offer except to sit at the feet of this most precious man of God. I talked and talked but only to listen and listen. Soaking up decades of wisdom and proven integrity is impossible. There were myriads of stories, considered opinions, funny happenings, and a highly tangible sense that only God could have used this one man to touch the lives of countless people in countless nations of the world for Christ. Jesus put it like this: â&#x20AC;&#x153;Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heavenâ&#x20AC;? (Matthew 5:16). Saturdays with Billy is about an incredible light. A light that will always shine for the Lord Jesus alone.

Saturdays with Billy

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