We lived in a four-room house heated by a wood-burning stove. We stacked the firewood on the front porch. Morning and evening, I was in the barn milking the regardless of the weather. My daily jobs were slopping the pigs and feeding the chickens, cows, horses, and rabbits.

The smell of cow manure on my shoes was familiar. Farm boys often smelt like hickory smoke from the wood stove. No indoor bathroom or running water, so out to the outhouse several dozen yards behind the house. We drew the water from the well on the front porch.

Our nearest neighbor lived a half mile away, and the nearest neighbor my age lived two miles away. I could stand at the barn and call the pigs or cows; usually, they would come running. When it snowed, we had to take the hay and feed to the animals.

Arriving from school, I saddled my horse and rode to find the cattle. We counted all each day and checked to see if there were any cows ready to give birth. I had to watch the fences, making sure they were still intact. I had to report each day to my dad.

My dad planted a half-acre garden that kept us busy from spring through a good part of the summer. Dad regularly bragged to our guests that he raised all the food on the table. The only store-bought items were salt, pepper, sugar, tea, and flour.

As a young boy, I trusted Jesus Christ as my Savior. At eleven, I gave my life to be a missionary. These decisions were going to turn a country family upside down. I planned to be a medical missionary. That meant I needed to leave my country home to attend college.

I had never been far from home unless it was to visit family members, most of which lived reasonably close. A trip that took over two or three hours was wild.

How do you act in the big city? How do you dress? What shoes do you wear?

When my parents drove me to Shorter College in Rome, Georgia, taking nearly four hours in the car, I thought I had seen the world. My parents loved me. They wanted the best for me. They tried to get my college room set up right.

Many other students probably thought the Clampett family was bringing Jethro to school. I felt out of place. I had never lived alone. Camping out was about the closest I had ever been to being alone in the big city.

My graduating class from high school boasted of being the largest in history as we graduated 50 students. Now here I am in a college. I don’t have a car. Where do I go to church? How do I get there?

I felt like John boy in the Waltons, except I wasn’t that smart, nor did I have that winsome personality. I did all I knew to do. I went to every Christian thing happening. My first ray of hope happened in vespers.

Each afternoon at 6 pm, a tiny group of dedicated Christians gathered for a devotional and prayer. It usually lasted about thirty minutes. Don’t forget; I am lost. I had an older roommate who showed no interest in me or what I was doing, so I had a guy sharing my room. I am alone.

In the vespers meeting, a young man stood up. While we were in Rome, he preached and said he wanted to evangelize the entire city. This classmate was as bold as a lion, a city boy, and he knew his way around.

This guy needed a sidekick to take with him on his adventures. He was the leader. He told the group that God had laid on his heart that he should ask a certain person to help him. I silently prayed and asked God to make it be me. I wanted to do something for God, but I didn’t know how.

After the brief service ended, he approached me and told me God had told him to work with me. Of course, I acted calm. I was excited, but didn't want to show much of my hillbillyness. Maybe I'm not alone. I might have a friend. Someone might teach me what I was supposed to be doing.

Not sure he ever respected me as an equal or leader, but oh, what a difference he made in my life. He taught me to share my faith. He took me to places to meet others. We discussed the Bible and much more. His friendship would make the biggest difference in my life. I didn’t want to be alone.

I wanted friends. I wanted direction. I didn’t fit in. I didn’t know what to do. As a redneck hillbilly country boy, I hadn’t even eaten the fancy foods they were serving, like pizza and seafood.

Back home, I knew what to do. I knew about milking cows, slopping pigs, and all farm work. Mentioning that in college amazed other students and caused them to roll their eyes.

I believed I could make it through the academic part of a college with more or less average grades. The part I worried about was fitting in. My tendency was to care about what people thought of me. I wanted to be liked. I still fight this battle.

If people were laughing, I would think they were laughing at me. If I heard that several of my new friends or the people I had met had gone somewhere without me, I figured they didn’t like me and were intentionally snubbing me.

God, I need help.

Somehow, I made it through the first semester. I had made several friends; I thought. They all lived in a different dorm. I got permission and moved there. It gave me more exposure to new people.

I was still the country boy, dressing like a walking optical illusion. I wore stripes with stripes, colors that didn’t match, and all that with my pointed cowboy boots I had knocked the manure off of before coming to college.

Was there any hope?