On My Way Home

By Dencle McDonald

On My Way Home is part-memoir/part-inspiration and insights drawn from the author's life experiences to highlight the practicality and power of surrendering one's life to the government of biblical principles: faith, love, obedience to God's Word, and intimacy with God. At eighteen years old, Dencle's journey takes a sudden, dramatic turn, and what began as a normal summer day in tropical Jamaica, a few miles away from the world-famous Negril beach, ends with radical changes in the values and pursuits of this teenager. One question led to another, and before he could fully appreciate what was happening, Dencle walked past his friends, all the way to the front of the church, knelt down and responded to the question that had firmly captured his mind and commanded this profound immediate response. This marked the beginning of a life-long quest to know God and to dig into the promise of a real God for real people. In Part 1 of On My Way Home, we are given a front-row seat as we are allowed to examine the author's life and background. Then in Part 2, he takes us with him on a journey of exploration as his life is transformed by his discoveries of God's character and makes a convincing case that we can have those same discoveries as well. On My Way Home simplifies the fundamentals of Christian living. The command to love the Lord and our neighbor, for example, is translated into a manageable slogan-"Love is primary, everything else is secondary"-that we can easily remember and apply to everyday situations, every point carefully explained so that the reader gets it. This book makes us feel like a life of faith and intimacy with God is right at our fingertips, ending with Dencle's glimpse of paradise and thoughts of home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646708949

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On My Way Home

Dencle McDonald

ISBN 978-1-64670-892-5 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64670-893-2 (Hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-64670-894-9 (Digital)

Copyright © 2020 Dencle McDonald

All rights reserved

First Edition

Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture is taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007, 2013, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

The Holy Bible, Berean Study Bible, BSB, Copyright ©2016, 2018 by Bible Hub Used by Permission. All Rights Reserved Worldwide.

The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®), Copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. All rights reserved. ESV Text Edition: 2016

Scripture quotations from The Authorized (King James) Version. Rights in the Authorized Version in the United Kingdom are vested in the Crown. Reproduced by permission of the Crown’s patentee, Cambridge University Press.

Scripture quotations taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version® NIV® Copyright © 1973 1978 1984 2011 by Biblica, Inc. TM, Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

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Table of Contents

Life Changed in One Moment

Back Where It All Began

Family Influences

705D

Learning, Growing, and Crazy Faith

Love Speaks

Blindsided

God Loves Us

Love Is Primary, Everything Else Is Secondary

Show Me Your Glory

Faith’s Journey

Obedience—Our Best Friend

Intimacy with God

Heading Home

To Jesus Christ, who is more than a redeemer to me.

You are the sun, the moon, and the stars to me.

You are my safe place.

Patricia McDonald, my mother!

You believed in me, your son. You showed me what loving devotion looks and feels like.

I can never forget how you taught me to reach for the sky.

You did not live long enough to know how much I loved you. I still do.

Astley McDonald, my father.

From my childhood, I loved you. You instilled in me discipline and self-belief,

without which this book could not have been written.

My auntie, Iska Gooden, from whose stories I learned that prayers of faith are answered.

My precious Cheryl, my caretaker, my wife of almost 38 years,

and our daughters,

Ivory, Jessona, and Jenna, and their future children.

Yours are the eyes and ears I seek.

In your love I find warmth.

Part 1

Chapter 1

Life Changed in One Moment

On July 5, 1978, Courtney, Howard, and I were sitting about two or three rows from the rear of our church on the left side looking toward the podium. Courtney and I had just returned from our stroll to Manning’s High School, where graduation ceremonies were in progress.

Here you had two eighteen-year-olds looking to spread their wings and take flight, become men, or the culturally celebrated version of a man. We wanted girls, we wanted fun, we wanted excitement. Each of us had our role models for this kind of manliness—older guys that shared their stories or more likely had their stories told for them. Why brag when others will do it for you? It’s what it’s like to be a male teenager.

As teenagers, in the absence of other voices, highlighting and celebrating the merits of a different way of thinking and living, you’re largely at the mercy of cultural norms that influence your ways. So, inexperienced though we were, we set our sights on girls and had no intention of letting inexperience stand in our way.

However, for me the evening ended in a manner that was totally unexpected. We began the evening with the thought of girls dominating our thinking, but I ended the evening committing to a relationship with Jesus Christ!

Sitting at the back of the church where I had grown up, I heard, for the first time, a voice speaking directly to me, as though it were coming from a source just inside my ears. The voice didn’t sound anything at all like the booming voice from the movie The Ten Commandments. It was just a voice, having neither a male nor female tone, conveying a direct message. For a few short seconds this voice inserted itself into my mind, while simultaneously heightening my mental awareness so I would know exactly who was speaking to me, for the duration of this brief encounter. In the moment, nothing about the voice itself would be remembered, only the message. What are you waiting for? I thought to myself. I don’t smoke, I don’t drink, it’s only girls and I can live without that. I heard the voice again, So what are you waiting for? This time there was no conscious internal deliberation or hesitation on my part, just action. I turned to Courtney and said, Excuse me, as I needed to get by him. He replied, Where are you going? What do you say to your friend when for the first time in your life you heard the voice of God? You heard the voice of God! What can you possibly say when there are more pressing matters, like responding to that voice?

Stepping past him, I responded, Excuse me, man, walked down to the front of the church, knelt down, and said, Lord, I’m sorry I have sinned against you. I’m going to serve you now, but I can’t live this life on my own. You have to fill me with your Holy Spirit. If you don’t fill me, I will turn back. Not because I want to, but because I know I can’t live this life [the life of a Christian] on my own. Sounds logical? How does a person become what they’re clearly not? How do you shed carnal ambitions and fun-seeking at probably the most opportune time for such pursuits and suddenly resolve to be an entirely different person, chasing lofty ideals of Christian purity, in a moment of time?

By this time, I had fully embraced the message that our church taught, having been baptized five years earlier, at age thirteen, after a fire and brimstone message about sinners going to hell. Nevertheless, that conviction waned as the days passed, and within a matter of weeks I was right back where I’d started. However, this time was different and I knew it, I felt it. This time there would be no playing around. I had read in the Bible about the possibility of God’s spirit residing in me. To me this meant that his spirit would enable me to become the son of God I was being called to be. I was more than a little intrigued. My creator himself had called me, and this made me feel valued, distinguished. He had a plan for my life that required my direct involvement—an invitation to enter into a long-lasting partnership. My whole future was on the line. I didn’t know it then, but the mapping out of my future rested on the timely response I made to my Lord’s invitation on that summer evening. A holy presence enveloped and infused my weak human frailty with new desires. My life would never be the same.

The next few days found me on cloud nine. More like a stratosphere way above cloud nine. Paul, the apostle, refers to it as living in "heavenly places." The joy was spontaneous. In place of feelings of restlessness and emptiness, came peace. Love too, welling up inside of me, flowed like a river from the heavenly spring. A love for God that evoked an overwhelming desire to worship in song and dance, clapping of hands, and singing with all my might, songs of praise and commitment, in totally uninhibited fashion. I wasn’t a dancer then. I’m still not a dancer now. Some people physically lose themselves in music. I don’t. However, when it came to praising and worshiping, I couldn’t help myself. The old publicly self-conscious guy was gone, replaced by an exuberant creature that loved to sing and dance in church. Things were changing rapidly.

Fasting, praying, reading my Bible, and boldly sharing my new conviction with friends, replaced a personality that used to chuckle at the expense of a Christian being teased for their conviction. I never directly poked fun at any Christian for their commitment, but having a good laugh from the sidelines was an entirely different matter. One of my friends gave me three months to revert to normal, to the Dencle he had known, but I had discovered a new normal.

The following narrative should remove all doubts. This event took place in the week following my divine encounter and ultra-transformation. It was innocent and completely unrehearsed. I wouldn’t recommend it to any guy, and I’d never do it again, but it’ll help you understand. I decided to visit Bluefields, at that time my favorite beach. A few weeks earlier, my brother had given me some basic instructions on how to swim, and now I had a chance to practice on my own, all by myself. Here comes this attractive girl, schoolmate from high school, and she didn’t know how to swim. Had this opportunity come a week earlier, I have no idea where it would have taken us. One thing I know, the outcome would have been a lot different.

In all sincerity, I offered to teach her to swim and she took me up on my offer. I’m looking down at this girl, stretched out in the water, supported only by my arms, learning her first steps in swimming, and my sole focus was teaching her to swim. Hah! That’s all. Nothing else. Now, years later, I wonder what might have been going through her mind. I haven’t seen her since.

The changes in my life were sudden and profound. For about a year prior, I had been wondering if I could commit to being a Christian as I was certainly not prepared to begin the journey, at least not yet. Only a few weeks earlier, I had spent the weekend with one of my friends at his older brother’s home, out of town, about fifty miles from home. His brother, along with two of his workmates, had rented this huge house in a nice residential neighborhood. These guys were swingers. They knew how to have a good time, always with a classy, sophisticated-looking female on their arm. When I woke up that particular Saturday morning, it was to the sight of beautiful women nonchalantly walking about in t-shirts and, below the waist, nothing but their undies. Taking mental notes, I’m thinking, Show me the ropes!

Now suddenly, here I am, a brand-new person! Such was the power that was visited on my life, totally unexpected, but it was a power I would not relinquish—the transformation of a life, the forming of a life-long relationship!

It’s fascinating, even to me, to view almost as if it wasn’t me, the spontaneous changes that were set in motion the instant I responded to the voice of Jesus. Mental clarity and sharpened focus took over where before there was this strange inability to apply myself to study for more than short periods of time. Now I was able to pass my exams, and satisfy the basic requirements for acceptance to college. While in college, there were one or two occasions in calculus class when, in response to someone doubting my ability, I would hit the books to prove them wrong and was rewarded with the top score in class. I had begun to experience the benefits of living a life free of carnal clutter, singly committed to one other than myself: Jesus the Christ.

Chapter 2

Back Where It All Began

I was born a small-town boy in Whithorn, Westmoreland, Jamaica, West Indies., ten miles away from the parish capital, Savanna-la-mar. Another fifteen miles brings you to the world famous, seven miles long, Negril Beach. My mother gave birth to me, her second child, at home, as she did with my older brother before me. A midwife delivered me. It wasn’t uncommon in those days, before the ubiquitous motor cars. There was nothing unusual about my birth—no complications, nothing. Just another baby boy born in rural Jamaica. In the first couple years of my life I had experienced pneumonia, bronchitis, and an hernia.

Over the years, my father, always my father, would rehearse how I had stopped breathing and how he had to clear my nasal passages and resuscitate me. He didn’t know anything about mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but his description really amounts to what we now know as mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I’ll spare you a description of how he cleared my nostrils. I was also told that at some point during my various illnesses, I was miraculously healed. I wish I could share more specific details, but at this time my father suffers from dementia and thinks I’m his grandson and my mother has long since left us.

I am the second child of my parents, a year and a half younger than my older brother. A middle child but it never quite felt that way because my sister is eleven and a half years younger than I.

So for the greater part of my childhood, it was just the two of us boys at home. My brother was always the studious one, the shining star, the one with a brilliant mind, the one who enjoyed learning, the trailblazer, whose performance created expectations for my life. From the age of seven, he could be counted on to go pick up a list of items at the grocery store, with no physical list in hand.

Those were the days you could send out a seven-year-old, in a small town, and not worry about their safety, and providing they were like my brother, you could have expectations of them reliably purchasing and bringing home exactly the list of items you ordered. We didn’t have to worry about strangers and child molesters. Two years later, when it was my turn to go pick up a few items from the supermarket, there’s no way I would accept a list written out on paper. To do that would have been substandard! Well, I recited the list in my mind from the time I received my mother’s instructions until the time I picked up the items at the supermarket. He, the brilliant one; me, the one loaded with expectations.

On top of that, we were teacher’s kids, so there was an expectation of high performance. When one teacher’s kid performed well, you subconsciously knew that you had to measure up as well.

As in most former British colonies, we had to pass an examination, the Common-Entrance Examinations, to get into high school. I should clarify that for us, high school was middle school and high school combined. We entered high school at eleven or twelve and graduated at age sixteen to eighteen. Each child was given two chances to take and pass the Common Entrance Examinations. My brother, as was expected, took the exam and passed on his first attempt.

Following behind him, I knew that when it was my turn, I couldn’t let my mother down. Two years later, at the end of the school year, heading into summer, with four months of in-class instruction left before the examination the following January, I knew I would not be prepared to successfully sit the exam. So I picked up the pace and worked diligently from the time school ended in June, throughout the summer holidays, the fall term, and Christmas holidays, peaking in time to sit the exams in January, passing on my first attempt as well. This meant that most of the kids in my class were a year or two older. But whereas my brother kept on trailblazing, I, the fun-loving one, daydreamed from eight in the morning till three in the afternoon. I lived for after-school activity: football, track-and-field, table tennis, the cadet force, whatever extracurricular activity took my fancy.

They really ought to have had me repeat a year in high school so I would wake up, but they didn’t, and for some reason, despite my father’s threats, I just couldn’t get with the program. There were other guys like me, perfunctorily attending classes but lacking the desire for mental exertion, enjoying every joke in class a little too much. One subject really held my attention though: religious studies. I was intrigued by the course material and never failed that course.

I thoroughly enjoyed my school days, looking forward to the camaraderie, the banter, sharing an orange, a pack of cookies, or a spicy beef patty with my schoolmates. They didn’t have to be my friends either. It’s just the way we lived. Someone buys an orange, and before you know it, he is only left with two sections of the orange for himself. We quickly learned to retain a half and give away the other half for the rest to split up amongst themselves. Going to school was fun, even on the dreadful rainy days when ninety-five percent of the class stayed home. The fact that I got into fights every now and then, actually about three in total, and lost a couple of them doesn’t spoil my memories at all.

There was one fight in high school that stands out. It started in class during recess and spilled out into the courtyard. It was far from being bloody, but it was a classic. We were in fourth form at the time, which meant that I was about fifteen. If you know anything about the seventies, you know that martial arts was the craze. Kung fu and karate filled our imaginations. One guy I knew started training at a new dojo in town, but most settled for the movies, television, and comic books. For me, it was the comic books. When no one was home I would climb up on the roof of our one-story home and practice jumping off, like Bruce Lee portrayed in the comic books.

Anyway, back to my most classic fight. My adversary was older and bigger than I, which called for careful planning and execution. He was bigger but not at all nimble. It so happened that when we were in first form, three years prior, we had a brief encounter and I had made mental notes about his fighting style and how best to counteract it. Hence, the chief reason why our fight spilled out on the courtyard for everyone to see: the fifth formers from above, the first and second formers from the west end, and the sixth formers and administrative office on the east end.

From out of nowhere, my body was suddenly impacted by a savage blow to my middle back, administered with an open palm swinging down from above. This happened as I was bending forward to retrieve a table-tennis (Ping-Pong) ball. Rising up and turning around, I asked that the culprit reveal himself. No one spoke. There were three boys standing directly behind me. Judging by the force of the blow on my back and by the process of elimination, I chose the one boy of the three, who I thought may have been most inclined to hurt me, and when his back was turned, exacted my revenge, in the same manner as I had been attacked. In this case, my judgment was way off. My adversary, falsely accused with justice on his side (though unknown to me until years later when the true culprit made himself known) came at me with the seeming intent to wrap his arms around my neck as he had done years before. This time I was ready for him and so, bending my neck, I jammed my chin into my chest and proceeded to work on his gut with both fists. Upon releasing me he was met with taunts that he had been beaten. Watching his anger mount I got terribly afraid as I could see no way out of the continuing conflict. Infuriated he ran toward me, and I knew that I had to get to an open area where his advantage of strength and power could not be used against me. In hot pursuit, he followed me outside where our fight would continue for about another minute, in full view of the whole school. Changing his tactics, he sprang in the air and attempted a flying kick—not once, but twice—however, both times his size and lack of athleticism worked against him.

By this time a crowd had gathered, from above and below where we were, and from east and west. Seeing the crowd and hearing that our headmaster was on his way, we stopped fighting and together ran from the scene, all animosity having taken flight. A few minutes later, when we returned to class, we were told to report to the headmaster’s office.

It just so happened that I chose the wrong day to forget to button on my two light blue and dark blue epaulettes (our school colors) on the shoulders of my khaki shirt. Heading to the office we were met by a sixth former, who saved us from getting suspended. First, he noticed my missing epaulettes and took me to the bookroom where epaulettes were sold and asked the clerk to lend me two epaulettes. She quickly consented to help me out. I don’t know if it’s because she had been one of my mother’s former students or just out of the goodness of her heart. Whatever the motivation, I was grateful. But our ward was not through with us just yet. What are you going to tell the headmaster? he inquired. You can’t tell him that you were fighting. Tell him that you were playing kung fu and when you saw the crowd gathering you realized that you had to stop—a solution to which we both agreed.

Finally, we were ushered into the headmaster, Mr. Neita’s office. When he asked, I recited the storyline that we had just agreed on. He surveyed us through his glasses and I’m pretty sure he knew we were lying, but we had provided him with an escape from issuing a suspension. I had always suspected that his bark was much worse than his bite.

My former adversary and I now live about thirty-five miles apart, have each other’s phone number, and to this day still get along. I should add that what we called a fight then would not meet the current definition of in-school fighting. Most of us got along a day or two later.

Why did I get into these stupid fights that were over almost before they started? I didn’t know then, but now I have a pretty good idea. I mean, I wasn’t really a bad kid. Internally, there was this raging dichotomy—a strong sense, more like hyper-sensitive sense, of right and wrong that compelled me to defend my honor. At the same time, I was extremely provocative; always teasing and, for fun’s sake, not knowing when to stop.

I remember once teasing this younger kid until he lost it and punched me. I could have easily beaten him, but considering that I was at fault I took the blow meekly while the guys laughed at me. My manhood, I should say boyhood, took a hit and I was ashamed. The kid was now scared, but I would not attack him. A bully, I was not. When you’re wrong, walk softly away. A few months later, my actions were proven to be quite prescient and more than a little prudent. You wouldn’t believe how fast the kid had grown over the summer months and had become much bigger and taller than I! Whew!

Another time, we were on the school field, engaged in track-and-field training. One of my classmates, a practicing Christian whom I greatly respected for his commitment to his faith, was trying to improve his high jumping skills. The problem was that he had gained a few pounds from the year before and was having difficulty jumping a height he had easily conquered the previous year. This I found quite amusing and greatly entertaining. Here came my opportunity, the devil’s minister, to scorn and ridicule the poor guy. I can still picture it now. I went to work on him, strictly for my entertainment, wondering how much he could bear.

My fun-loving ways required that I not be left out or deprived of the experiences that teenage boys wish to boast about. Honestly, looking back, it was a very small minority amongst us that had stories to share, yet it seemed to me like I was in the minority. I wanted more, but somehow, I felt like I was being checked. I wanted to obtain the prize, to attain the gold standard of achievement by getting the girl. Yet when a girl sent a note to me, informing me of her physical desire for me and how far she was willing to go, unlike my peers, I acted as though I hadn’t received the note.

I remember having a strong inclination to embrace the gospel message when I was about seven years old but was told that I was too young to get baptized. Our church equated baptism with making a decision of faith to follow the message of truth found in the Bible. We were not asked if