Chapter 1

An Inner Nudge

As a civil trial lawyer in Houston, Texas, I frequently encounter tough characters. A few years now into this beat, gruff judges no longer frighten me and frowning juries do not send an automatic chill down my spine. Even blustery attorney adversaries, those who can't complete a sentence without cursing and who willfully obstruct my efforts at every turn, normally leave me unruffled. That said, nothing had prepared me for what happened when I encountered the man I will call T.J. Thompson.

The ex-convict with a receptive heart.

Although afflicted with multiple sclerosis, T.J. was used to driving a car without difficulty. One morning as he approached an intersection on his way home from some errands, the driver of an empty school bus ran a stop sign directly into his path. Suddenly T.J. had to make a life-and- death choice. He could swerve head-on into oncoming traffic. Going the other way, he would crash into a telephone pole at 35 m.p.h. Or he could keep the wheel straight and take his chances with the empty bus. He chose the bus. The school district refused to pay for his medical treatment and T.J. came to my firm for help.

Whenever a case involves unusual facts or a client presents a special challenge, our prelitigation section is known to brief me by memo before the initial client conference. Such a memo preceded T.J.'s arrival to my office one day in 1993.

"This client has M.S.," the memo said, "and moves about in a motorized cart. He spent considerable time in the penitentiary in years past and he has developed quite a 'potty' mouth." The memo noted that T.J. could be demanding or even outrageous. "Unless you take firm control of the situation from the beginning." it warned, "this client may pose a constant problem."

The time came for T.J.'s initial conference and the receptionist paged me. Things started a bit ragged when I forgot his name en route to the reception room. "Mr. Thomas?" I inquired, looking around the half-filled room. No answer. Then I spotted the small motorized cart. Walking toward its occupant, I said it again. "Mr. Thomas?" The man sitting there glowered. "Thompson!" he said. "It's Thompson. Are you Mr. Fudge?"

"Yes," I answered. "I'm sorry, Mr. Thompson. Let's go this way to my office -- it's a more direct route."

I led him down the long, straight hallway employees use, rather than taking the usual, more impressive, half-circle past busy offices and conference rooms bustling with activity. Inside my office, I invited him to park himself across the antique oak partner's desk which once belonged to my father. After several maneuvers with his vehicle, T.J. situated his cart and settled himself in it.

"I understand this is your second accident." I said, pausing for him to answer. He did not reply directly. Instead, he launched into an embittered description of his lifelong problems, generously spiced with four-letter words and other invectives. Yet his voice, which was loud even when calm, seemed to transmit pain more than belligerence. And whenever he used profanity, he instinctively lowered his tone.

Something inside me said that this man needed to ventilate. so I decided to listen rather than interrupt. Eventually he appeared to be at a stopping point. "We could probably visit all day," I said softly, "but we had better focus now on our business or we will never get through."

For the first time, he smiled. "Yes," he said. "I need to finish and go home. I take care of my 93-year-old mother, all by myself, 24 hours a day. I cannot leave the house unless someone else comes to be with her."

My inner sense was confirmed. There was more to this man than the harsh exterior. As we continued our business, that inner conviction grew. Despite T.J.'s rough background and salty language, I sensed a heart desperately lonely and wounded in many ways. "Most of all," I thought, "he needs a personal relationship with Jesus Christ." I prayed silently that God would open a door for me to witness to him about the Lord, and determined to speak out if God cleared the way.

As T.J. and I concluded our immediate business, there came another inner sense. "You should pray for this man," it seemed to say. "Now. Out loud. And touch him to demonstrate Christ's love."

As crazy as it sounded, I believed the impulse came from God. But I also knew that God does not overpower people, or impose himself on them beyond their consent. So somewhat hesitantly I said. "I would like to ask you a personal question that has nothing to do with our legal business."

He nodded. Almost before the words were framed I heard myself ask, "Do you believe in prayer?" He paused a second. "Yes," he said, with some conviction. He seemed to anticipate what might come next.

"This is very unusual," I began. "I have never been in this exact situation before, but I feel that I am supposed to pray for you. God gives us our life and health every day," I continued, "and he loves us very much. We have all sinned and broken fellowship with God. But God loves us so much he sent his son Jesus Christ to die on the cross to forgive us. Someday he will raise the dead and restore the universe he has made to its perfect state. There will be no more suffering or disease or death then."

I paused. T.J. was still listening. "Sometimes," I continued, "because he is powerful and good, and because of what Jesus accomplished by his death and resurrection, God gives healing now as well. It is a small sign of his coming kingdom, and a tangible reminder that he loves us. If you don't mind, I think I am supposed to come around there and put my hands on you while we pray."

"I would like that very much," T.J. said, twisting his spasmatic shoulders as if to prepare for what was coming next. I walked around the desk, placed both hands lightly on his shoulders and quietly began to pray. I thanked God simply for the daily gifts of life and health, and acknowledged him as the all-powerful Creator on whom we depend for existence every moment. Then, without fanfare or special words, I asked God's healing mercy on T.J. -- for his multiple sclerosis, for the injuries he sustained in the automobile collision, for all the psychological and spiritual pain he carried from whatever source. Finally, I requested that God would make himself known to this man in a special way, and eventually draw T.J. to know Jesus Christ who shows us God's love in human terms.

The prayer ended, I returned to my chair behind the desk. For a moment there was an awkward silence. Then T.J. spoke. "Thank you," the ax-convict said softly, wiping the moisture from his eyes. What he related next still leaves me speechless -- and confirms more than ever that the God who knows all details and circumstances of our lives had brought T.J. and me together that day.

"There is something very strange going on here," he said. struggling for words and for the composure to express them "When I was growing up many years ago, my mother used to pray for sick people. She put her hands on them, too. " His voice broke momentarily and he cleared his throat. "When she did, people often said they felt heat from her hands go through their body. My mother prayed for me many times as a child and young man. But for some reason, I never felt the heat from my mother's hands."

I trembled in awe at what my ears were hearing, and what they were about to hear next. "When you prayed just now," T.J. continued, "I felt heat coming from your hands into my shoulders -- right through my clothes. And I tell you, Mr. Fudge, your hands were cool when we met a few minutes ago."

Now I was the one lacking words. "God is real and he is in charge," I said. "We can never presume what he will do, but we can always ask him for his blessing. Sometimes he responds in an immediate and obvious way." T.J. listened respectfully. "Sometimes he gives health gradually and in smaller portions," I continued. "Whether God works quickly or slowly -- and to whatever extent -- we must always remember to give him the praise."

The experience with T.J. was not the first time I had felt God's silent nudge. The earliest occasion I remember was far less dramatic but equally as unexpected.

"Go calling around the block..."

It was a Sunday afternoon during the summer of l 974. With my wife Sara Faye, I had returned to my hometown of Athens, Alabama in 1972 following my father's sudden death, to assist my mother in the family Christian publishing business. I also preached for a small Church of Christ 18 miles out in the country.

Though I regularly proclaimed God's Word to an audience of 200 people with no nervousness whatsoever, the thought of initiating a spiritual conversation one-on-one with a stranger still petrified me.

We had just finished lunch that Sunday and settled in our favorite den chairs to read the newspaper. Suddenly I felt a curious compulsion, almost as if someone were telegraphing a silent message to my mind. "Take some gospel booklets and go door-to-door around your cul-de-sac," the inner urge seemed to dictate. I had never experienced anything like this before, and frankly did not relish the thought of calling on neighbors uninvited, some of whom I had never even met. The sense persisted, however. So, convinced that this leading came from the Lord. I gathered some gospel materials and started walking dutifully around Sandra Lane.

Nobody answered at the first house or two and I sighed in secret relief. A lady responded to the doorbell at the next house. "Hello," I said, with no prepared script. "My name is Edward Fudge and I am your neighbor at the corner. I just wanted to say 'hello' and give you this booklet. If you would ever like to talk about the Bible, I would be honored to visit with you."

"Thank you," she said. "It was nice of you to come by." I walked on. "What's this about, Lord?" I prayed silently. while walking up the sidewalk. Some residents were not home. Others appeared cool and reserved. None was impolite, but was I doing any good? Was this "call" for my neighbors or for me?

Half way around the circle, at the opposite corner from mine. I found the front door open behind a locked screened door. The interior appeared unlit and the sounds of a baseball game drifted from a television somewhere in the rear of the house. I knocked on the door and waited. Shortly. a large man wearing trousers, an undershirt and a weekend beard came from the TV room to answer my knock.

"What can I do for you?" he called out as he approached the open door. From his rumpled appearance, I guessed I had waked him from his nap.

"Hello," I said, and repeated the few sentences I had put together around the block. Suddenly he sprang wide awake. "I am so glad you came," he said. "I have a real problem and I didn't know where to find an answer." He explained that he had recently begun attending a particular church and wished to join. "The minister told me I should not be baptized until I quit smoking and became sanctified," he said, "but as I read the Bible, Jesus commands me to be baptized and I don't want to wait. What do you think?"

There are some subjects about which I know little, but as a life-long member of the Churches of Christ I know a lot about baptism. "I believe that we should never put off doing anything we clearly understand that God commands us to do," I confidently told him. "If you believe that Jesus wants you to be baptized, I encourage you to do that as soon as possible. God will help you quit smoking later if he wants you to do that. "

"What is more," I added, "I believe that God has sent me here this afternoon to tell you this very thing," and I described the strange events which had brought me to his door.

What do these "nudges" mean?

What should I make of these incidents? I am not altogether sure. Both the Old and New Testaments tell us that God directs the daily lives of his people, indeed, the Bible provides many accounts of God wondrously bringing people together to accomplish his own saving purpose. Saul goes looking for donkeys and encounters a man, Samuel. God sends Philip down a desert road where he meets an Ethiopian nobleman at a literal standstill, struggling to understand the Scriptures. God dispatches Ananias to visit the blinded persecutor of Christians, Saul of Tarsus. He sends kosher Peter to a houseful of Gentiles.

It seems so natural and ordinary in the Bible stories. But how did God actually communicate with Samuel and Peter and Philip so many years ago? Did he speak aloud? Did he bypass their ears and address their minds? Or did he direct them by some quiet urging -- what I have called an "inner nudge"? The Bible does not always make that clear.

At first, these divine impulses caught me by total surprise. Not for lack of faith in God, or shortage of Bible knowledge. I was surprised that he knew me -- and had decided to use me in his own grand purpose. He was not only "out there," high and holy and sovereign over the vast expanse of stars and space. He was also on Sandra Lane in Athens, Alabama, and in my law office in Houston, Texas, ready to involve himself in the daily concerns of people I could see and talk to and touch.

I had been blessed with Christian parents and a devout upbringing. I had been privileged to receive 19 years of outstanding formal Christian education. Yet nothing had prepared me to expect God's leading in this manner. In church, we sang about moving at God's "bidding" like a trusting child, but I was still almost incredulous when that bidding actually began to come.