Just As I Am: The Autobiography of Billy Graham

by Billy Graham

  My assistant Lee Fisher never could make friends with Heidi. And whenever Wanda Ann Mercer, my secretary at the time, came up to the house, Heidi went after her. Once Wanda Ann, whose voice was strong, just yelled back at her. The dog fell on the pavement in a dead faint, all four feet in the air.

  In the early days, when I traveled by train frequently, Ruth and the children came down to the station in Black Mountain to welcome me home. I always got them some presents while away, and almost their first words were, “Daddy, did you bring us anything?” Ruth eventually broke them of that habit, telling them it wasn’t polite. From then on, they would hold off until we got to the house and then engagingly ask, “Daddy, can we help you unpack your suitcase?”

  Like most families, we had traditions we tried to keep on the holidays, and favorite games we liked to play. Once Ruth put the Thanksgiving turkey in front of me to carve, along with a stack of plates. I was preoccupied with the conversation, however, and after slicing one portion I put the knife down, resumed the conversation, and started eating from the top plate—much to the amusement of the children and everyone else at the table.

  Sometimes we went fishing or played croquet in the yard or just tossed a ball around. When the children were younger, they enjoyed having me read to them or just roll around on the floor with them. I made a point of saying goodnight to each of them before they went to sleep.

  During the 1957 New York Crusade, I met a wealthy Swiss-Armenian businessman and financier; he had read my book Peace with God. He invited our family to spend a summer as his guest in a house overlooking Lake Leman, as Lake Geneva is known in Switzerland. That sounded good to me. I was already committed to preach all over Europe the summer of 1960. With the family in Switzerland, I would be able to visit them frequently.

  I left for Europe some weeks before Ruth and the children did. When the first break appeared in my schedule, T.W. and I drove from Germany to La Tour de Peilz, Switzerland. Eventually, we found the lovely house that had been loaned to us. As we drove into the yard, I saw a beautiful little child wandering out to greet us. Even after I got out of the car, it took some minutes before I realized that it was Ned. I hadn’t seen him for many weeks.

  Franklin was almost six by the time Ned came along; he was named Nelson after Ruth’s father and Edman after the president of Wheaton College, who was so beloved to both of us. Ruth had already used her wedding veil in trimming the old bassinet four times, so this newcomer had to make do with a cradle.

  With two boys in the household, my fathering was more urgently needed than ever. Still, sometime I was away for months at a time. What I did when I was away apparently didn’t impress the children much. One time, when the mountain house was being built, I was out in the yard shoveling some dirt from one spot to another. Franklin, watching intently, suddenly piped up and said, “Daddy, you can work!”

  The traveling ministry was a costly investment of my time as far as my sons were concerned. Both of them, like many of their generation in the sixties and seventies, went through severe tests of their faith and standards. I tried to let all five of the children know that I loved them, no matter what they did; that I missed them when I was away; that I supported their mother’s discipline of them; and that I wanted them to discover God’s perfect plan for each of them.

  Ruth and I were not perfect parents; and when I had to travel, Ruth sometimes felt like a single parent, with all the problems that that entailed. We tried to discipline the children fairly, but at the same time we tried not to lay down a lot of rules and regulations. When I objected to Franklin’s long hair, Ruth reminded me that it wasn’t a moral issue—and I kept my mouth shut on that subject thereafter. Actually, as Ruth pointed out with a twinkle in her eye, Franklin was in the tradition of the prophets and apostles.

  Only once, I think, did I directly interfere with Franklin’s plans. That was when Ruth called me from France, where she was visiting Gigi and her family. I was in Tokyo to address the Baptist World Alliance. Franklin was working in Nome, Alaska, and, after she talked to him on the phone, Ruth begged me to call him and lay down the law. I was to tell him how strenuously we opposed his engagement; we were convinced they were too young and unsuited to each other. Ruth cut short her visit with Gigi and returned to Montreat, arriving when Franklin did. In two weeks’ time their friendship was over, and we breathed more easily.

  In a radio interview not many years ago, Franklin told about his rebel years of drinking, drugs, smoking, girls, and fast driving. These were things he said his mother and I knew nothing about—or so he thought. And he said he never forgot a conversation I had with him in Lausanne, Switzerland, in 1974. I assured him of our love, no matter what he did, where he went, or how he ended up. He knew that he could always phone us, collect, from anywhere in the world, and that whenever he wanted to come home, the door would always be open. He also knew we would never stop praying for him. It was actually during a trip to the Middle East, while in Jerusalem, that he made his firm decision to follow Christ.

  Through it all, God did not let us lose hope. Ruth wrote beautifully about these struggles in one of her poems, titled “Sons.” When she wrote these words in 1978, she was thinking about the sons of our Team members and the families of other Christian workers whose fathers were forced to be away from home for extended periods of time.

  But

  what of the ones

  forsaken,

  Lord,

  even for You?

  These sons

  now grown

  who’ve never known

  fathers who

  had undertaken

  to leave all

  and follow You?

  Some sons,

  wounded beyond repair,

  bitter, confused, lost,

  these are the ones

  for whom

  mothers weep,

  bringing to You

  in prayer

  nights they cannot sleep—

  these, Lord,

  are what it cost.

  Ned, as the youngest, may have gotten special privileges from us, along with special pestering from his older brother, whom he adored, and from his “mothering” sisters. He didn’t seem as defensive as Franklin, though, and was more happy and outgoing. As with all of our children, Ned eventually went away to boarding school, but his school experience in England was not a happy one; we brought him back after only one year. His teen years too were troubled, with complications—including drugs—in high school and college. His many enthusiasms included photography, swimming, tennis, and skiing, but studying didn’t make the list.

  PKs, as “preacher’s kids” are called, often have difficult, if not disastrous, periods in their lives. Maybe people expect too much of them because of their parentage. Or maybe they themselves expect too much, making unreasonably high demands on themselves in order to live up to others’ expectations. And our kids were given a double burden: they were PKs with a well-known father. The girls would marry and change their last name, but the boys would be stuck with “Graham.” While the PK issue was only a part of what we went through during the tumultuous years with the boys, it certainly played a role. I have known a lot of PKs who grew up resentful and rebellious, and not a few who brought disgrace on those who loved them most. In all fairness, though, it’s worth noting that a lot more of them have distinguished themselves in adulthood and found their way into Who’s Who listings instead of onto Wanted posters.

  Certainly one of the great influences on our children was their grandparents. This was especially true of Dr. and Mrs. Bell. They lived nearby, and the children all felt a deep sense of loss when Dr. Bell died of a heart attack in his sleep in August 1973. Slightly over a year later, Mrs. Bell also slipped into the presence of the Lord.

  My own parents were only a few hours away in Charlotte, and I was also thankful for their example of love and godliness. My father was the first to die, in August 1962, and that death made a deep impression on all of them—esp
ecially Ned, who was only four.

  My mother continued to live in their home after his death, keeping active in her church and with her family. I visited her every time I could. When her health declined, we were fortunate enough to find a wonderful woman, Rose Adams, who lived with her and looked after her faithfully night and day. Rose said that every morning my mother would ask her to read Scripture and have a prayer with her. My sisters, Catherine and Jean, also spent much time with her.

  Mother had asked the Lord that when it was time for her to die, she might not suffer needlessly. As the end approached, she slipped in and out of a coma. When I visited her for what turned out to be the last time, along with Melvin, we had a good talk with her, and she hugged and kissed us both. On August 14, 1981, she quietly left this earth in her sleep and entered Heaven. When word came, I wept and yet rejoiced at the same time. Of all the people I have ever known, she had the greatest influence on me. I am sure one reason that the Lord has directed and safeguarded me, as well as Ruth and the children, through the years was the prayers of my mother and father.

  Ruth and I found out that for us, worrying and praying were not mutually exclusive. We trusted the Lord to bring the children through somehow in His own way in due time. On a day-to-day basis, however, we muddled through. But God was faithful. Today each one of them is filled with faith and fervor for the Lord’s service.

  Not that their lives or the lives of their children (and now their grandchildren) have been free from struggle or heartache, for that has not been the case. I know of almost no large family today that hasn’t been touched to some extent by the anguish of a wayward child, or a life-threatening illness, or drugs or alcohol, or conflict, or divorce, or any one of a dozen other agonizing problems. Our extended family is certainly no exception. In each case the story is theirs to tell (or not tell, as they see fit)—but whenever they have chosen to share their struggles publicly, their motive always has been to help others who might be facing similar problems. Ruth and I are grateful for this concern. And no matter what they may be going through, Ruth and I have tried to let our children and grandchildren know that we will always love them and pray for them, and will help them in whatever ways we can. We may not always agree with their decisions, and may even urge them to take another direction—but Ruth and I know from personal experience that life isn’t perfect, and in the midst of life’s turmoils and failures God’s grace is still at work.

  At the same time, we rejoice that each of our five children is committed to Christ, and in their own individual way each is seeking to serve Him. Our oldest daughter, Gigi, has also been the most prolific author in our family while at the same time raising her large family. She has published a number of books that have brought encouragement and hope to their readers, and now speaks on occasion in churches and conferences about her own journey of faith.

  Our daughter Anne, who founded AnGeL Ministries, is by far one of the most effective Bible teachers I have ever known, and her teaching and writing touches thousands every year, and now extends to many countries across the globe. I am especially grateful that on television, and on every other occasion offered to her, she consistently gives a winsome and yet clear presentation of the Gospel.

  Our daughter Ruth gained valuable experience several years ago as an acquisitions editor for a major publisher, and now devotes herself to writing and speaking. Reflecting some of her own struggles in life, her organization, Ruth Graham & Friends, seeks to point people to Jesus Christ as the ultimate answer to the deepest problems of life.

  We are thankful for the unique gifts each of our daughters has been given, and for their commitment to use them for the furtherance of the Gospel.

  As for the boys, two memorable occasions symbolize for me the fulfillment of our prayers and the Lord’s persistent pursuit of them.

  One was January 10, 1982, in a church in Tempe, Arizona. After preaching the sermon, I joined several other ministers in laying my hands on the head of William Franklin Graham III to ordain him for the Gospel ministry. History was repeating itself some forty years after godly men had done the same for me in a Florida country church.

  In the strange ways of providence, God led Franklin into a worldwide ministry to those who suffer from diseases and disasters, through his leadership of two relief organizations, Samaritan’s Purse and World Medical Mission. He might have been inconsiderate of our feelings when he was struggling to find himself in the early years, but his sensitivity toward the physical and spiritual needs of others now is his consuming passion. He is driven not only by humanitarian generosity, but a real yearning to see people come to know Christ.

  History repeated itself again several years later when Ned completed his seminary training and joined the pastoral staff of a Baptist church in Auburn, Washington. As in my case some fifty years before, Ned needed to satisfy the denominational requirement of baptism by immersion, since he came from a different church background, having grown up in the Montreat Presbyterian Church. He invited me out to do that. I prayed as he came up out of the baptismal waters, he would feel the way I had back at Silver Lake in Florida: that the power of God had come upon him in a fresh way.

  Ruth wasn’t able to make that trip with me, but she—ever the Presbyterian—did give me a letter for Ned. Under her signature, she scrawled the letters PTL. In many circles, that stands for “Praise the Lord.” In this case, she explained, it meant “Presbyterians That Last.” She admits that any stubborn streak in our children was inherited from her.

  In the mystery of divine leading, Ned later became president of East Gates Ministries International, whose ministry includes a strategic program to publish and distribute Bibles to churches in the People’s Republic of China, his mother’s birthplace. Ned has also become a knowledgeable observer of China’s culture and history. As I noted earlier, Ned’s organization has been able to distribute millions of copies of the Scriptures in China. What it will mean to have God’s Word available throughout that enormous Communist country, only future historians will be able to record.

  The five children, and the Christian spouses whom they married and whom Ruth and I have loved as if they were our own, have given us nineteen grandchildren. And the number of great-grandchildren keeps multiplying! When one family group or another arrives for their annual visit with us, we welcome them with open arms. By the time they leave, those same arms have grown weary from all the tugging and hugging, and our good-bye waves are weak—but enthusiastic! They understand.

  One day one of our daughters, who was discovering how the little ripples of disagreement with her husband could swell into crashing waves of confrontation, said to Ruth, “Mother, I can’t remember ever hearing you and Daddy argue.”

  Ruth probably chuckled inside as some of our “discussions” flashed across her memory. But her reply revealed a principle we had followed: “We made it a point never to argue in front of our children.”

  We thought that concealing our disagreements would spare them unnecessary pain and insecurity. Now I’m not so sure our approach was entirely correct. The girls have said that never seeing us argue left them wide open for surprise and disillusionment when the inevitable conflicts flared between them and their husbands. When the harmony of their households was disrupted, they assumed that their marriages weren’t normal. Well, if the television soap operas and sitcoms set the current standard for marital bliss, I much prefer the route Ruth and I chose, in spite of its possible shortcomings.

  Ruth and I don’t have a perfect marriage, but we do have a great one. How can I say two things that seem so contradictory? In a perfect marriage, everything is always the finest and best imaginable; like a Greek statue, the proportions are exact and the finish is unblemished. Who knows any human beings like that? For a married couple to expect perfection in each other is unrealistic. We learned that even before we were married.

  Being human, not one of us will ever have a relationship with another person that doesn’t have a wrinkle or a wart on it somew
here. The unblemished ideal exists only in “happily ever after” fairy tales. I think that there is some merit to a description I once read of a married couple as “happily incompatible.” Ruth likes to say, “If two people agree on everything, one of them is unnecessary.” The sooner we accept that as a fact of life, the better we will be able to adjust to each other and enjoy togetherness. “Happily incompatible” is a good adjustment.

  In many Crusades over the years, I have devoted at least one message to the subject of the family. In my Depression-era growing-up years, I suppose we Grahams on our North Carolina dairy farm bore some resemblance to the fictional Walton family on television. It’s easy to feel nostalgic about simpler times, but they obviously were not easier times. Nor were they necessarily happier times.

  What we did have back then was family solidarity. We really cared about each other, and we liked to do things together. Jesus’ word picture of a hen gathering her brood under her wing fits my mother. She saw to it that we gathered frequently and regularly—and not just around the dinner table or in front of the radio for favorite broadcasts. She gathered us around herself and my father to listen to Bible stories, to join in family prayers, and to share a sense of the presence of God.

  For many years, a Roman Catholic group sponsored an excellent radio dramatic series that had as its slogan, “The family that prays together, stays together.” Nothing can bring people closer to each other than communal prayer. Even if worship in the home is reluctantly endured by the children as simply a religious routine, it builds a pattern that they themselves will often follow when they have families of their own. There is no reason why family devotions should be either dry or long. One verse wisely chosen will be remembered better than a whole chapter. Make it interesting, says Ruth, and make it brief. That time together is a gathering, a family reunion with Christ at the center. I believe such gatherings can help strengthen families into the most durable bond of our society and our civilization.