Was Roy Clark Born Again Saved Christian

March 19, 2022 Post a Comment

In this story from March 1977, the dear musician and player shares how he came to understand where his talents came from.

People are always saying how important it is to believe in yourself if you're going to get anywhere or reach annihilation. And maybe they're right. Only I've learned one more thing: Earlier yous can really believe in yourself, you take to believe in Something much bigger than yourself.

I found that out one terrifying but wonderful nighttime in a town in Arkansas named Conway. My life hasn't been the same since.

To get the story straight, I have to go back about xvi years to the time when my wife Barbara and I were living in Maryland. I was playing small local clubs there, struggling along, even so refusing to give up on a boyhood dream to make it as a vocalizer.

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Ever since I was sixteen and won a national banjo-playing contest, which included a trip to the G Ole Opry in Nashville, existence a successful state-music performer was my one goal. But in 1960, at nigh 30 years of age, it really began to bother me that nobody had the foggiest idea who Roy Clark was.

Celebrating Guideposts' 75th Anniversary One Sun during this time Barbara and I visited a nearby church. We felt very much at home there, and so much and then that nosotros filled out a menu expressing interest in joining. Nosotros'd both been brought upward in churches. Now that we'd been married a couple of years, we wanted to get back to hearing God'southward word.

A few days afterwards our church building visit, a minister came to our home and talked with Barbara. I was out at the time.

"And what does your husband do?" the preacher asked.

"Roy sings," Barbara said.

"Where does he sing?" he asked.

"Wherever he tin can," Barbara told him. "Sometimes on radio programs. Sometimes in supper clubs."

A long silence followed. "Well," the preacher said finally, "that's just not correct, you know. I'm afraid your hubby will accept to change jobs if you program on joining our church building."

Barbara was speechless. Nothing more than was said, and finally the minister left.

When I got home later, I found Barbara actually torn up. She was crying and all dislocated.

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"Oh, Roy," she sobbed, after explaining what happened. "I only don't understand information technology. We both endeavor to live right. I know how much you want to be a vocaliser. I tin can't see anything wrong with that."

I put my arms around her and smoothed her hair. "I don't understand either, honey." I said angrily.

God had always been a part of my life, starting back when my father held me on his articulatio genus and read me Bible stories. Only if this was what religion required... I'll forget about the church and everything continued with it, I thought. I've got everything I demand to make it on my ain.

That scene provided the concluding push needed to drive Barbara and me from the East Declension. I was sure a change of place would bring me closer to my dream.

But out West, more disappointment awaited. In Las Vegas, where nosotros stayed for several months, nobody seemed to notice that I was even alive. I played some pocket-size clubs, as I had back Eastward, only I was ever turned downwards for bigger things.

Los Angeles would exist better, I thought. I was now thinking of recording, maybe even doing some television work.

A friend and his married woman invited us to motion in with them in their L.A. apartment. But even that turned sour. The landlady, who had rented the apartment to two people, didn't cotton wool to the idea of twice that number staying in that location.

And my late hours, spent unsuccessfully trying to get record-industry people to heed to me, didn't suit her either. One morning time she spotted me coming home as the milkman was making his rounds. Shortly after that she served detect; Barbara and I were to exist out the post-obit day.

Past this time nosotros barely had a nickel to our name. Fortunately Barbara's mother came through and wired us some coin. Simply enough, nosotros decided, to make information technology back to Maryland.

After piling all our belongings into a battered old Chevy, we went to a grocery store around the corner to do some last-minute shopping for the trip. Just equally I reached into my pocket to pay for our supplies, Barbara slumped to the flooring in front end of the greenbacks register.

I aptitude over her, terribly alarmed. "What's the thing, honey?" I asked.

"I've got this pain," Barbara said, property her side. "The pain's been coming and going the last few days," she said.

Nosotros went rapidly to a neighborhood clinic. The doctor at that place said it definitely was not appendicitis. He wanted to see Barbara once again in the morning. In the meantime, he gave her a bottle of pills for the pain.

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Later, Barbara insisted we proceed to our schedule and take off immediately for the East. Pretty discouraged about everything by now, I didn't put upward too large an argument. "But what virtually the doctor?" I said. "He wants to see y'all again."

"I'm fine," Barbara assured me, swallowing a hurting pill. "Really, I am."

So, climbing into the Chevy, nosotros began our 3000-mile trip back dwelling. The more nosotros drove, the more depressed I became. It was quite plain no one wanted me.

Heart-searching as the miles went past, I told myself that I just wasn't cutting out to exist a singer. Once dwelling, I would give up my dream and look for something else to exercise. For the first time in my life, I had completely lost faith in myself.

Since our funds were so low, nosotros couldn't beget to stop anywhere. Late one night, after driving beyond Texas and role of Arkansas, I suddenly jerked my head up. Domestic dog-tired, I had almost fallen asleep. I knew I couldn't go some other mile without some rest.

"Barbara," I said, "practice you think you can take the wheel for a spell?" I looked over at her. I'd been then wrapped upward in thoughts of my dead-end career that I hadn't taken much notice of Barbara during the trip.

Glancing down, I saw the canteen of pain pills lying on the seat beside her, nigh empty. But still Barbara refused to say anything was the matter.

"I'll effort to drive," she said finally.

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As shortly every bit we swapped seats, I was out similar a light. X minutes later, however, Barbara nudged me awake. It was nearly 2 a.1000.

"I can't go on," she cried out in agony. "Something's terribly wrong!"

Leaping out of the car, I ran effectually to the driver'southward side. I floored the sometime Chevy and searched for a light–any light–along the deserted highway. Would anything exist open at this hour? I had no idea. My heart raced wildly; I didn't even know where we were.

Finally I spotted an all-night gas station and there was directed to the nearest hospital, xx miles abroad in Conway, Arkansas. Incredibly, when we arrived at the hospital, a surgeon was still on duty. Dr. Fred Gordy was his name.

After examining Barbara, he told me that she was haemorrhage internally. "It looks very serious," he said. "I'll need your permission to operate."

I stared at Medico Gordy. Center-anile, he had kind, compassionate eyes and an unmistakable air of competence.

"Whatever you say, Dr.," I said.

Everything was happening so fast it all seemed like a nightmare. I went to an empty waiting room and slumped down in a chair, exhausted, confused and terribly frightened. Hither I was in a strange town, far from home. I had hardly any money, didn't know anyone, couldn't telephone call anyone.

The person I loved more than anyone in the world was badly ill, maybe dying. Never in all my days had I felt and so lonely, so afraid, so helpless. So crazily did my mind begin to spin that before I knew it I constitute myself praying.

"Lord," I said, "being a successful entertainer doesn't seem so of import to me at present. I dear Barbara ... she means more than to me than anything. She'southward all I really care nigh. Delight aid her."

The prayer sounded so peculiar coming from me, the big, thick-headed, obstinate guy who idea he had left God back at that place in Maryland.

So a strange affair happened in that little Arkansas hospital'south waiting room. On the heels of my drastic prayer, a surge of warmth flooded my torso, a feeling I'd never experienced before. Information technology was like warm hands on cold flesh.

No longer did I feel alone in the room. Someone was at that place with me–a caring Presence.

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Then came a Vocalism, a comforting Voice, and to this solar day I swear it was God'south. "Barbara'south going to be all correct," the Vocalization said. "But expect and see. Trust ... believe..."

And with that I knew she was going to exist okay.

Just equally the sunday came peeping through the waiting room window, Doctor Gordy came back from the operating room.

"Mr. Clark," he said, "your wife had a tubular pregnancy. Nosotros near lost her in there. I don't know how she made information technology, but she did."

Tears tumbled downwardly my face, tears of relief and gratitude.

Looking at Doctor Gordy, I saw that he appeared almost every bit tired equally I felt. I wanted to hug the guy.

"Thanks, Dr.," I said, pumping his hand. "Cheers a lot."

A nurse found me a motel room where I slept till noon. Barbara remained in intensive care for a couple more than days, but the worst was over. Before long she was transferred to some other room with, of all people, a preacher's wife.

Because of what had happened in Maryland, Barbara was a little doubtful well-nigh this. But I'd experienced so many fantastic things in the past few days that to me information technology seemed merely some other one of God's wonderful workings.

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And I was right. When the adult female'southward hubby visited, and met us, we all got to talking about what the Maryland preacher had told Barbara. The Arkansas man said that he wouldn't say anything against another minister.

However, he did tell the states something that was the freshest breath of air I'd felt in a long time. "Information technology's God'due south church, not whatsoever one person'southward," he said. "Only He tin say what is right and what is wrong."

When he said that, Barbara looked over at me, smiled and squeezed my hand.

Later, on the road once again, heading for Maryland with a beautiful, healthy, Barbara beside me, I thought most those words–what is right and what is wrong.

Doing correct, I realized now, was following God and really listening to Him–not to one's ain blind ambition. That was the way to arrive as a vocalizer or as anything else–to put Him first.

I had turned my back on God temporarily, but God had never turned His back on me. Not in Maryland, not in Vegas, not in Fifty.A., not in that infirmary waiting room. It had taken a life-and-expiry situation to prove me how very real and how very caring He is.

But that happens sometimes. It'due south when we're down at our lowest, I've constitute, that He makes Himself so known.

Through the years I've come to understand that whatever talent I accept–to sing, to entertain–is God-given. I have faith in myself as a performer, sure. But only because I take religion in Someone Whose operation is always far greater than the human mind can even begin to cover–God Himself.