Recovered

by Robby Gallaty

  It’s one of the most well-preached passages about revival. It shows the deep desire God had for his people Israel—a whole nation—to come to repentance. The same promise is true for his people now—Christians. It gives us four powerful steps we can take if we want to claim God’s promise of revival. No wonder pastors love preaching this verse.

  Tim—or Bro T, as the college kids knew him—listened to me preach the day after I met Kandi. It was a Tuesday worship service at BCM. The following week, he told me he’d like me to be his protégé for a summer of ministry in New Mexico. I’d be investing my time in 130 college students—an amazing opportunity. I think Tim may have seen in me a rough lump of clay that God was ready to mold into a useful vessel.

  It sounded great, and I immediately liked Tim. But I still had an open invitation from CentriKid—I’d gotten myself excited about that one, too. Crunching the numbers, I knew I could preach five times a week for CentriKid, but only once in New Mexico. I went back and forth between the two choices. I prayed but received no clear direction.

  I happened to grab lunch with my friend and fellow seminary student Byron Townsend after church at Edgewater Baptist the next Sunday. Byron had been discipled by Tim at Nicholls State, and he said a few simple words that changed my life. “Robby,” he said, “I know you think you’d get five times as much preaching experience with the younger kids. But spending a summer with Tim LaFleur will change your life. I’m not exaggerating. You’ll come back a different guy.”

  The counsel of a friend, as Proverbs tells us, can be powerful. I marinated in Byron’s words for the next two days, and the whole issue became crystal clear. I told Tim I would accept his offer to be camp pastor for the High Point program in New Mexico. I’m not sure I ever made a better decision, other than the day I gave myself to Christ, or the day I said, “I do,” to Kandi, ten months later. Those moves would be hard to top.

  Like Kandi, I felt like I was with an old friend the first day we spent together. Alongside our official duties, Tim and I began meeting once a week for intentional discipleship. I performed my first baptism in the creek at the camp under his guidance. He showed me how to organize a Bible study, how to properly prepare a sermon, how to grill steaks to perfection, how to cook 200 hamburgers on a stone grill, how to over season them with Tony’s Chachere’s, and even how to play a mean game of Spades (gambling excluded).

  Probably the most valuable lesson had to do with relationships. I watched how he interacted with his wife at just the time I had begun dating Kandi (from March to June, we were together every weekend). Then I saw how he dealt with students who were grappling with their future, with what and whom they wanted to become.

  Tim’s life-on-life approach was phenomenal. I’d never seen someone so caring, so hands-on, and so adept at changing someone’s life in one hour of conversation. It instilled in me a drive to be the kind of catalyst for life-change that he was.

  We had incredible late-night conversations, free-wheeling chats about everything from the Second Coming to our assurance of salvation. I was a sponge soaking up every tiny drop. He made little throwaway comments such as, “You can’t expect from others what you aren’t living out in your own life,” and, “The Christian life is easy or impossible—impossible in your own strength, easy if you allow Christ to work in and through you.” “If you aim at nothing,” he said, “you will hit it every time,” and “Ministry is received and not achieved.” Years later, we started calling them “Tim-isms.”

  He’d just toss them out there, and I’d grab them and try fitting them into my brain, which was like a suitcase after a long vacation, where you buy far too many souvenirs to pack. I was loaded down with new ideas and perspectives.

  I began to notice a theme in some of these phrases. Impossible in your own strength . . . received, not achieved. Finally I told him in one of our discipleship group times, “Tim, you just blew up my whole philosophy of life.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I used to go around saying, ‘If it’s meant to be, it’s up to me.’ My phrase and your phrases don’t fit together.” I told him about my business networking experience, and what I thought I’d learned about personal success—that it was all about outworking the competition.

  Tim said, “Robby, you can’t do anything in your own strength—not anything eternally significant. Not anything that gives God glory. The best you can come up with is a righteousness that is like filthy rags before God.”

  “So my actions are meaningless?”

  “Of course not. Hard work is a good thing, but everything should be done in his strength. Jesus says, ‘My yoke is easy and my burden is light.’ Think of it this way: you have to allow Christ to work in you and to work through you for his glory.”

  I heard about a pastor who told the story of enjoying a late afternoon swim in the ocean, down on the Gulf. He lost track of the time, looked back at the shore, and realized he’d gotten way too far away from dry land. He started to panic, realizing he lacked the endurance to swim all the way back to the beach. As his anxiety spiked, he began to struggle. Then he thought about it and realized that the waves always move toward the sand. If he simply relaxed, looked up to the sun and floated on the tide, he would be carried back toward safety.

  Tim helped me understand the difference between trying frantically to move in my own strength, which is exhausting, and relaxing into the arms of a loving God, whose strength is infinite, and who wants to guide us toward our best destination. This was an incredible eye-opener for me. That idea alone led me to return from that summer a changed man.

  Tim modeled early morning quiet time. He modeled group prayer. He modeled evangelism, Scripture memory—basically all the disciplines of faith. Yet he was probably the most fun person I’ve ever been around. I began to think, This is the model of how it works. This is who I want to be. He rides the waves of God’s will, and God moves him along effortlessly, yet look at what he accomplishes!

  One thing I forgot to mention about Bro T. He is legally blind. A heart attack years ago affected his sight, leaving him blinded in the hospital. It hasn’t slowed him down one bit. “What I lost in sight,” Tim says often, “God made up for with my memory.” Bro T is a walking Bible. He may have the entire New Testament committed to memory.

  One week, the camp was hosting a music camp. People came from all over the country to participate. I walked into the dining hall for lunch, and it was filled with faces I didn’t know. Except for one. I looked over at a nearby table and spotted Pastor Celoria. Seven years earlier, I’d been trying to build a multilevel marketing business. This man had told me he was placing all his trust in me, and he invested a great sum in our plan based on his people’s contributions—and then the business had gone belly-up.

  At the time, he was the one client I couldn’t face. Who knows how he found out he’d lost it all? It wasn’t from me. I’d changed my number, moved on quickly, and carried the burden of that sin ever since. As a nonbeliever, I’d felt it weighing on my conscience. As a Christian, I felt the conviction of the Spirit.

  I froze in place when I saw the pastor and his wife all these years later, happily chatting over their lunch. I walked out of the dining hall as quickly as I could. I just didn’t have the courage to speak to him. All day I thought about it, and as soon as I had an extra moment with Tim, I told him the story. He listened carefully, nodding along. I finished explaining, and said, “Brother Tim, what should I do?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “That’s an easy one. You have to go and ask for forgiveness. You needed to do it seven years ago, but God has given you a second chance.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.” I sat and thought about it, prayed about it. Tim was right—I had to face up to it and do the right thing.

  I had trouble sleeping that night, but lunchtime came around the next day and I clutched my tray with white knuckles. I found Pastor Celoria and head
ed his way. He spotted me when I was halfway there, and his face lit up as he recognized me.

  “Hi, Brother Celoria,” I said.

  “Robby! What in the world are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in so long. How have you been?”

  “Just fine, sir, but I need to say something do you.”

  “Okay?”

  “I owe you an apology,” I said. He must have seen my nervousness, and it must have made quite a contrast with the self-assured young guy he’d known. “I treated you poorly. You see, I got the word that our business ran out of money, and I just couldn’t—”

  When he saw the tears rolling down my cheeks, he stood up and put a hand on my shoulder. “Stop, son, you don’t need to apologize for anything. You’ve just made my day. Will you join us, and tell us why you’re here this week? We want to hear what God is doing in your life.”

  I couldn’t believe it. He was honestly delighted to see me! How would I have handled it if I’d been in his shoes? I learned a lesson in forgiveness and mercy I’ve never forgotten. We had an amazing conversation in which he brought me up-to-date on his church, and I held him spellbound with my testimony. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. His wife wept. So did I. There were hugs all around.

  At one point, Brother Celoria looked me in the eye and said to me, “I always knew, Robby, that if God got ahold of your heart, there’d be no telling what he would do with you.”

  Not only did I learn about forgiveness that day, but also about how God wants to heal our emotional scars—even old ones. If we’ll put him first and walk in obedience to him, he’ll work in the supernatural realm to bring healing to things we’ve messed up in the physical realm.

  When I came rushing back to Tim to tell him the whole story, he was as happy about it as I was. He was teaching me so many things, but this was a lesson that had to come directly from heaven.

  During one of my long talks with Tim, I found myself invoking the name “Kandi” for about the ninth time in the last five minutes. I have no idea what the spiritual topic was, but Tim bypassed it. Instead, he said, “Listen, brother, when are you going to marry that girl?”

  I gulped. “Tim, I can barely afford to take care of me; I don’t have any money. We’ve just been dating three months or so anyway. I’ve got three years to go in seminary. I’m a struggling itinerant preacher, and a full-time student who works part-time for his father. I don’t know if I’m ready.”

  “You’re ready.”

  “What?”

  “Robby, don’t you think that if God can care for one, he can care for two? Has he given you a tight budget, or has he asked you to trust him to provide?”

  When Tim spoke, I listened. When the summer ended, I came back to Louisiana, bought a ring, and proposed two weeks later. After ten months of dating, we were married on December 18, 2004, one week before Christmas.

  I had to stop and catch my breath when I thought about how quickly God was bringing things together in my life—there was no doubt his hand was in everything. It hadn’t been so long since I’d been a baby Christian on an island, praying for God to send somebody. First he’d sent Julie, who had pointed me in the right direction. She led me to T-Bone. T-Bone directed me to the kind of church and Bible study fellowship I needed. The church had connected me to David Platt, who had sent me to seminary and taught me how to study the Bible and pray. From there, God sent Tim LaFleur into my path, and that was a spiritual tsunami in my life. Meanwhile, he’d also sent the perfect woman, my soul mate, wife, and best friend.

  As I work through my story, I realize over and over again how God sends people into our lives at just the right time. When I was begging God for someone to disciple me, he sent David. When I couldn’t figure out what to do with my summer, God sent my friend Byron, who could testify to Tim’s excellence as a disciple-maker. When I couldn’t decide what to do about my relationship with Kandi, Tim was there to speak into my life the principles and discernment I needed to move forward and propose marriage.

  We’re never alone. Wherever we are, whatever we face, God will send someone to offer the wisdom and guidance we need. All we need to do is to be open and receptive. From the bottom of my heart, I thank the Lord for his grace and providence during a formative period of my ministerial life. I may have been Ignorance on Fire, but I discovered fire isn’t a bad thing. As one of my favorite preachers, Leonard Ravenhill, used to say, “You don’t have to advertise a fire; it advertises itself.”

  I was a walking billboard of God’s grace.

  Chapter 18

  He Speaks from the Whirlwind

  In 2005, I was a newlywed with a life not too far from perfect. I was in the city I loved with the bride I loved, and we were together on the campus where I was studying. Kandi had a job there. We also lived rent-free in the home of my grandfather, while he stayed with my parents.

  I continued my preparation for some form of ministry—but what kind? I wasn’t the typical seminary student. For one thing, I was receiving invitations to come and preach, sharing my story and a few magic tricks. It was so clear that God had taken nearly all of those opportunities away when I’d sunk back into addiction. Now, to my surprise, the phone began to ring again while I was in seminary. God was gradually restoring opportunities to serve him.

  But those invitations created a bit of tension and resentment of me on campus. Here I was, still a new believer compared to many of them, still learning some of the basics of the faith—and yet I was already helping to finance my education through preaching engagements.

  Some of the students questioned my speaking schedule. I can understand how some might have said, “Why should he get so many invitations? Why should his message be more valuable than ours? He’s a new convert! This guy is sharing the gospel with tricks and gimmicks instead of sound theology.”

  It wasn’t just the magic, of course. There was no “smoke and mirrors” when it came to my testimony, and I always felt that was the true heart of what I had to offer.

  But I could sense the skepticism, and it played on my own vulnerabilities, because I still fought self-doubts. I still struggled with the old identity question. Who is Robby Gallaty?

  Well, he was no longer an addict. He was no longer lost. He was a committed follower of Jesus Christ, and he was pursuing a full-time ministry. But was I good enough? Was I mature enough? And what kind of ministry would fit someone like me?

  To be candid, I grew tired of having to apologize for my lack of depth when it came to Bible knowledge. I was learning as fast as I could. I was fully committed. What else was I supposed to do?

  In one of the campus Bible studies, a student began teaching on James 3:1, which says, “Not many should become teachers, my brothers, because you know that we will receive a stricter judgment.” He was hammering home the point about needing the maturity to teach. As he continued to talk, I noticed his hand kept sweeping in my direction, as if pointing me out. “Too many people rush out to preach and teach when they’re not ready,” he said. “They’ll receive a stricter judgment.” His eyes brushed across mine.

  Maybe it was subconscious or maybe it was deliberate; for me, it seemed pretty clear where he was aiming his message. I sat and stewed, and at the end of the session, I wanted to confront him about it. “Do you have a problem with me, brother?” I asked. I only wanted to talk with him about it directly. But when you’re six-and-a-half feet tall, you can be imposing without intending it. Several other students jumped in between us: “Come on now, Robby—let’s stay calm.”

  I could only sigh in exasperation. I wasn’t going to knock anyone out; I just wanted us to clear the air.

  This kind of thing only added to my sense of alienation from the student body, other than my closest friends. The way I looked at it, everybody else had a head start in being “seasoned.” I couldn’t catch up with them. They were made for the pastorate, most of them. I felt like the a
postle Paul when he said, “Last of all, as to one born at the wrong time, he also appeared to me” (1 Cor. 15:8).

  Why wasn’t I saved in college? Why did I have to endure drugs and alcohol? Why did I have to lose so many friends before I found Christ? Why did it take so long? I’ve learned since then that God’s timing is impeccable. He may not be on our time, but he’s always on time.

  There are no accidents in the economy of God.

  So, I decided, maybe God wasn’t leading me in the direction of preaching regularly at a church. I could imagine a search committee interviewing me and wondering about my past, and whether it would stay in the past. I was a risk.

  What made more sense was that I become a revival-type preacher. I had a powerful story to share, I connected well with lost people, and nobody had to worry about me in the long term. I’d be more like Billy Graham, traveling and maybe building an organization. I loved the message from 2 Chronicles, my first real sermon. The message of spiritual awakening was close to my heart.

  I devoured sermons from preachers like Leonard Ravenhill, Paul Washer, and Paris Reidhead. Most of my time was spent studying the Great Awakenings in our country. Whether it was the First Great Awakening with Edwards, Whitefield, and Wesley, the Second Great Awakening with Finney, Asbury, and Campbell, or the prayer revival that started in New York led by Jeremiah Lanphier, I yearned to see God do that again in America.

  Traveling and speaking seemed like the avenue to bring about revival, and it best fit my gifts.

  I told Kandi how and why I felt this way about my future, but she didn’t really endorse that evaluation. Kandi has incredible discernment, and she’s unlikely to make impulsive decisions the way I always have.

  One of my best experiences was working with MissionLab, a seminary initiative built around the needs of New Orleans. Given the uniqueness of the city, MissionLab was a program for bringing in college students to do mission work, using our campus as the base. There were custom mission trips to the downtown area for groups of all sizes. While it functioned all year, summertime was, of course, the main hub of activity.