Jeff Slaughter - Its All True: Walking by Faith in a Funky World

Jeff Slaughter
with Randy Winton

Foreword by Amy Grant

S KYHORSE P UBLISHING

Copyright 2013 by Jeff Slaughter and Randy Winton

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The author is grateful for the use of lyrics from Testify, copyright 1996, 1998 EMI MUSIC PUBLISHING LTD. and UNIVERSAL/MCA HOLLAND B.V. All Rights for EMI MUSIC PUBLISHING LTD. in the U.S. and Canada controlled and administered by EMI LONGITUDE MUSIC. All rights for UNIVERSAL/MCA HOLLAND B.V. in the Western Hemisphere controlled and administered by UNIVERSAL MUSIC CORP. All rights reserved.

International Copyright secured. Used by permission.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

ISBN: 978-1-62087-933-7

Printed in the United States of America

To the Giver of every good and perfect gift... my Friend, my Healer, my Savior... Jesus.

To my parents, Carl and Ruth, the two greatest gifts I could have ever received! Thank you for teaching me how to laugh, how to love, and how to stand... come what may. What an honor to be called your son!

Jeff Slaughter

To God above all, for giving me this opportunity.

To Rachel, my wife, partner, and best friend, and our sons Caleb, Joshua, Noah, and Jonah... all of whom work together to make my life full.

Randy Winton

What is to give light must endure the burning.

Viktor Frankl

For He knows the way that I take; and when I have been tested, I will come forth as gold.

Job 23:10

E VERYBODY LOVES A GOOD STORY . A DD A GREAT DELIVERY TO THAT good story, and without even knowing why, the listener and the story become part of each other. I had an aunt just like that. Our family does the same crazy thing! Ive felt that heart-stopping wave of dread. The truth is, all of us are living out a story; some just happen to be more interesting than others. Maybe its the way Jeffs rural Mississippi Delta roots push through the cracks in unsuspected ways.... Maybe its the thinness of the veil, between the seen and the unseen world, which he communicates so well.... Maybe its the plainspoken honesty that marks his conversation, with Mama Ruth or with God Himself.... Maybe its because I first heard about his life, which began in Greenwood, Mississippi, at our dinner table, many years ago, when my children were much younger and Jeff was their piano teacher (long before any thought had been given to this book). I love a good story. A good one at the right time can change your life. Reading Jeffs has certainly affected mine.

A MY G RANT

S TEPHEN WAS LIKE MOST ANY OTHER KID I VE EVER MET AT A SUMMER camp. First of all, he loved everything about it: the recreation, the Bible study, his group leader, the new friends he was making, and the nightly worship services. And, oh, how he loved to sing! He was adventurous, with this infectious laugh that made his blonde hair bounce.

Every camp has that kid to whom every other camper is drawn. Stephen was that kid. Only a couple of days into camp, he and his dad could barely walk anywhere on campus without hearing someone call out, Hey, Stephen! With that bright, toothy grin flashing, hed wave back and reply, Hey, hey!

Its common at camp for me to bring kids up on stage to sing the Humpty Dumpty song, do the motions with me for another song, or even to read a scripture. I had hung out with Stephen throughout the week and thought it would be great to honor his passion for life by asking him to read his favorite scripture during one of our worship times. So one night Stephen walked up on stage with his father, opened his Bible, and as his fingers lightly touched the bumps on the page, he read the 23rd Psalm from a Braille Bible to a hushed crowd. Though he was completely blind, Stephen understood that the Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He read with such genuine, sincere, childlike faith, that there wasnt a dry eye in the crowd.

Stephens dad was a soft-spoken man who adored his son and helped him get around at camp. It was obvious Stephen loved having his dad with him and the conversations and adventures they shared were extraordinary. Because his dad didnt want his son to miss out on anything, it was especially fun to watch them during recreation time. While there would be hundreds of kids running around, Stephens dad made sure they were right in the thick of things.

Part of the recreation time was spent with kids running down a hill and flinging themselves onto a 40-by-100- foot gray tarp covered in soap and water. Building as much speed as they could, students would try to gain enough momentum to navigate awkward belly flops as gracefully as possible and roll off onto wet, sticky grass on the other side.

Of course, Stephen wanted to be part of the action, and he wanted his dad and me to come along for the ride. I had watched Stephens father all week long and admired not only how patient and loving he was toward his son, but also how he encouraged him to take advantage of his spirit of adventure. Countless times that week Stephen experienced life at camp just like the rest of the kids.

This day would be no different, and Stephen was beside himself with excitement. The giant slip n slide has always been one of my favorite things at camp, so when Stephen asked me to do it with them, I was ecstatic. His dad explained exactly what we were going to do while Stephen unsuccessfully masked the giggles coming from within him.

Were all going together. When I say go, you run as fast and as hard as you can straight ahead. When we get close, Im going to tell you to jump, and when I do, fling yourself out as far as you can onto that slip n slide. Dont be afraid, son. You just jump, and let the soap and the water do the rest. Its gonna be a blast! You ready?

Yes, Sir, Daddy, Im not afraid. I got it!

Okay, Stephen. Ready. Set. Go!

Stephen never hesitated, and he completely left his father and me standing there. He was off like a shot. Neither one of us helped Stephen in any way during that dash, yet he ran straight as an arrow at his target. His face was lit up like a Christmas tree. As we approached, his father was encouraging him to get ready.

Fifteen yards remained, then ten, then five, and his dad yelled, Jump!

I WASNT PLANNING ON BEING WOKEN UP BY MESSAGES BECKONING ME from my phone, but at 6:30 on a cold December morning, thats what happened. I am typically an early riser, but there was one morning following a long week of Thanksgiving travel between Greenwood, Mississippi, where I grew up, and Nashville, Tennessee, where I have made my home for more than twenty-five years, that I wanted to stay under the covers for a little longer.