A Boy Named Russell

My life as a child was marked by a considerable amount of fighting. More than one teacher at school mentioned the words “reform school.” As I look back the problem stemmed from my built-in anger over the loss of my father, who died at the age of 28 from tuberculosis. Things seemed different for me on that street where mother and I lived with his parents. Hand-me-down clothes that were my father’s and my stubborn streak only added fuel to the overall scene. I had always been strong for my age, and I was not afraid to show it in my battles with my peers.

I was about 10 years of age when a boy named Russell came into my life. He was two years older but much smaller and very frail. He and his mother and grandmother lived up the street in a run-down, two-room house. His mother worked to support all of them. Russell was my exact opposite. He always looked at me with trusting eyes, fully aware that I could hammer him into submission at any instant. Yet, he was eager to share his meager belongings with me and to invite me into his home.

It seemed that Russell had no other friends. He could not throw a ball; he could not run without exhaustion, and he did not appear to fit into the activities of his class at school. He was just too small and insignificant--or was he?

One day we rushed to his house because Russell was thirsty. To my amazement he reached for a jar of pickles, quickly removed them, and then drank the whole jar of that sour liquid! Somehow his body craved it. I was to learn later that Russell was exceedingly ill. His mother told me that his blood was very “thin”. I can now guess that Russell was suffering from leukemia.

Russell continued to show me kindness right up to the end. He had a gentle way of bringing out the best in me. I began to learn that strength could show in the midst of apparent weakness. Russell did not focus on his own situation; instead he was more interested in being a companion to me. My life did not change immediately after he died, but the seeds had been planted. Gradually I was able to find a peaceful way through life.
I am certain Russell was there for me by an act of God. On a Saturday night a few years earlier, at an age of about seven, I had gone forward at a Revival meeting held on the town square. To my knowledge I was the only one to approach the makeshift altar. There was no follow-up and the event was forgotten--at least until I accepted Christ at the age of 32 while at a Billy Graham Crusade. Then it all came back to me. God had chosen to send messengers into my life that were destined to show me more of the Christ I had not fully embraced. He continued to do that until I was ready to make a more mature decision.

Have you ever had a “Russell” in your life? Did you learn from him or her? Did you experience the tugging at your heart to make changes in your life? Sometimes the weaker things in life are keys that open up avenues to God. (2 Corinthians 12:9) There must be a special place in heaven for these love bearers that we encounter. God has a miraculous way of bringing diverse lives together so that ultimate praise can be given to Him.


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