HE MUST INCREASE; I MUST DECREASE A Journey To Restoration, Identity And Purpose

By Jeff Cropper

Upon calling His twelve disciples, Jesus declared just two words to each: “Follow me.” He gave no explanation as to where or for what reason. Simply an invitation to go, by faith, on a journey with Him. An adventure that would change them forever. One that would restore relationship with their Father, establish true identity in Him, and reveal His purpose for their lives. Our Lord continues to extend that same offer to each and every one of those that have been given to Him by His Father. The words on these pages share such a journey and its life-altering revelations and impact. Come along and witness what Jesus has for each of us who will accept His invite and follow Him. Eleven of the twelve disciples did exactly that, and they were transformed into powerful ambassadors for and servants of the kingdom of God. We can be as well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685261320

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HE MUST INCREASE; I MUST DECREASE A Journey To Restoration, Identity And Purpose

Jeff Cropper

ISBN 978-1-68526-131-3 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68526-132-0 (Digital)

Copyright © 2022 Jeff Cropper

All rights reserved

First Edition

Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblical, Inc.™ Zondervan Publishers. www.zondervan.com.

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.

Covenant Books

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Table of Contents

Let’s Start with Some Background

More Lead-Up (The College Years)

The GPS Recalibrates

Almost There

God Restores Relationship, Instills Identity, and Reveals Purpose

The Holy Spirit Recalibrates One Last Time

The Last but Not the Final Chapter, What’s Next?

All proceeds from the sale of this book will be given/donated, as Megan and I are led by the Holy Spirit, for the glory of our Father and the advancement of His kingdom.

Preface

My journey to the completion of this assignment from heaven began with no idea whatsoever on my part of its ultimate purpose. As you will discover, I was simply driven to rise early each day and then to be still, to wait, and to listen. Eventually the desire to write down what my Father was placing within my heart, my mind, and my spirit impassioned me.

Along the way, the Holy Spirit spoke to me through several different means. Many times, He led me to scriptures as well as explanatory resources, which helped me better understand and discern the truth that He was purposing for me to share. On other occasions, He placed songs in my heart the lyrics of which demonstrated and expounded upon a teaching that He desired for me and others to receive. On, yet, other instances, He guided me to writings and teachings, which originated with Him and were then penned, under His anointing, by His spirit-filled servants.

It wasn’t until many months into my pilgrimage that even a glimpse of its eventual purpose was revealed. By the time my Father’s plan became unmistakably clear, most of what He desired to say had already been written.

At that point, I was faced with the daunting—to me but not to Him—task of retracing the steps of my journey for the purpose of acknowledging those servants to whom He had led me for help, understanding, direction, and inspiration in the completion of His calling (Hebrews 13:20–21). That process was time-consuming, difficult, and at times stressful but always faith- and trust-building.

Just as He promises, He never left my side. He is always faithful to complete the good work that He began. With His guidance and help, I have arrived at the place where it is my heartfelt conviction and belief that He is pleased to complete this good work.

To those of you who have, unknowingly, played a role in this assignment by obediently, passionately, and faithfully penning the lyrics to a song, or by writing words of encouragement, instruction, or explanation, please accept my heartfelt gratitude and thanks. I have done my sincere best to give credit to and to acknowledge each of you herein. And if there is anyone who I have overlooked or missed, please know that I am genuinely apologetic. It neither was nor is my intention to do so.

I did not start with what is before you in mind. What I did begin with was a passion to know Jesus as completely, as intimately, and as deeply as He would allow. He has and continues to bring that to pass. As you will see, He has perfectly captured my heart and changed my life.

This journey/assignment began with Him. Its every step has been guided by His hand, and it shall be completed to His glory, His honor, and His praise. That is what He has placed in my heart, what has inspired and driven me. Thank you!

Introduction

For some time now I have been reading two books entitled the Newness Advantage and the Nature of Freedom. They are written by Graham Cooke and are part of the Letters from God Series. The books are unique in that they present as a collection of letters written from God’s perspective and designed to enlighten and empower believers at all stages of their relationship with Him. At the end of each letter, the reader is presented with a number of thought-provoking questions purposed to encourage deeper contemplation of the content presented.

During the same time, my wife, Megan, gifted me a journal and encouraged me to begin to write my thoughts on paper. Throughout my life, I had never been one to chronicle anything. No diaries, no journaling, no note cards during church services. It wasn’t that what I was hearing or thinking lacked significance but was mostly a product of an innate capacity to retain information without writing it down. Now I found myself presented with questions that I wanted to answer, in writing, and a book full of clean, white, lined pages to do so on.

At some point during the month of May (2019), I finished the books and consequently ran out of questions to answer. With no intention of continuing to develop my writing prowess, I placed my partially used journal on a shelf and moved on to other, what I thought to be, more important undertakings. God had a different plan. The Bible teaches that His ways are not our ways and His thoughts are not the same as ours (Isa. 55:8). This is a truth that I had seen play out time and time again in the lives of other believers. One that I was about to witness firsthand in my own life.

The year 2019 was both a trying and an amazing season of my journey. God was using troubles that I was experiencing with my health as a perfect opportunity to increase my faith by teaching me to trust in and surrender to Him. He had my full and complete attention. I was all in, and my Father knew it. The Holy Spirit was my constant companion, whispering truth and promises into my receptive ears. The life-changing pilgrimage that God had planned for me had begun.

For some time I had been rising early and sitting in the quiet stillness of the morning hoping to hear from my Father. I think I mentioned that it was also an amazing season of my journey. Incredible because He met me there every single day. He never missed one. He promises to be with us always, wherever we go, and I for one will carry the banner and wear the T-shirt that proclaims so.

Not only did He show up faithfully, He also prepared a table for me, right there in the middle of my battle. And if that wasn’t enough, He sat and communed with me there. Not out of some sense of pity or obligation but because He wanted to. Because He likes, no, He adores me. How is this so? This was all new to me. It was just the beginning.

While all of this was wrecking me in the most amazing of ways, as my sister-in-law Ruth puts it, there sat my journal on the shelf quietly awaiting its moment of divine appointment. It did not have to tarry for long. Soon I came up with a brilliant idea (at least that was what I thought). Why not write down what I was experiencing, both the great and the not so great? For what reason, I really had no idea. The Holy Spirit is funny that way. He will allow us to take what is His and believe that it is ours, even though it never was—all for the purpose of preparing and empowering us to fulfill the divine calling prepared by God in advance for us.

With no concept whatsoever of the magnitude of what was happening, I found myself exactly where God wanted me to be. Not surprisingly, I was there eagerly and willingly. Armed with pencil and journal and a determined resolve to write down only that which my Father, through His Spirit, spoke into my spirit and my mind, I pressed on. What followed can be found here.

Beginning at a conservative pace and then gradually ramping up the production, the Holy Spirit, for a period of approximately eighteen months, faithfully spoke truth over and into me and then guided my hand as I documented the same in what had become one of my most precious possessions, my new journal.

Sometimes the messages came in dreams, other times by way of songs in the night. Often they arrived via scriptures or other Holy Spirit inspired writings. Mostly, they were presented as I waited and listened at the altar where we gathered each morning. Rarely were they ambiguous or unclear. Like everything else that comes from God, they were always right on time. Never too early nor too late.

Until about a month ago, I proceeded with only one purpose and intention in mind. Show up, commune with and listen to my Father, and then write down that which the Holy Spirit directed. You will find, and I will reiterate on the pages that follow, that the one being ministered to first and foremost was the one with the pencil in his hand.

I acknowledge that there were instances where I was allowed a glimpse of the ultimate purpose for what was transpiring before me. However, making every effort to keep pride from entering, I strived to avoid giving any consideration to the same. That is, until God opened my eyes to the concepts of clear vision and audacious faith during the latter days of my assignment. As you will discover, it was then, at just the perfect time, by way of a book entitled Sun Stand Still by Pastor Steven Furtick, that my Father revealed how His hand had divinely ordered each step of my journey and birthed a vision of how He would continue to do so going forward. (Sun Stand Still is an incredible writing with an anointed message. I would greatly encourage you to read it [Furtick 2010].)

The pages that follow will first provide you with a glimpse of my life leading up to the moment during the spring of 2019 when I was inspired to begin writing down that which God had imparted and then carry you through a year-and-a-half-long journey during which my identity and purpose in Jesus became abundantly clear. Along the way, my sincere belief and my genuine prayer is that God will reveal to you how deeply He loves you and how precious you are to Him; that the realness of His power and majesty will captivate your heart and your spirit; that you will come to realize that His presence and His favor are yours to possess, in abundance; that He, His beloved Son, and His powerful Holy Spirit desire to become everything for and to you; that They are all that you will ever need; and, finally, that the words spoken by John the Baptist and written in the Gospel of John chapter 3 verse 30 will resonate with you and become your daily declaration: He must increase; I must decrease.

Let’s Start with Some Background

Billy Burton Cropper was a kinda skinny young man who was as outgoing and friendly as he was handsome. He had a personality that would light up and take over a room when he entered it. There was rarely a time that he was at a loss for words. Shirley Lane, on the other hand, was quiet and reserved. She was one of thirteen children (yes, you read that correctly) born to Charles and Elizabeth Lane, entering somewhere in the middle of the pack. She was smart and drop-dead gorgeous. When she entered a room, no one noticed her personality because they could not see beyond her beauty.

Billy Burton first laid eyes on Shirley on New Year’s Eve of 1956. He was immediately smitten. As he tells the story, he was instantly determined to first kiss and then marry her. After Shirley made him work pretty hard, he was successful on both counts. They were married on November 15, 1957. Why is all of this important you ask? Because Billy Burton and Shirley were not brought together by chance or by fate. They were enjoined by the hand of God to be my mom and dad. A gift for which I am blessed and forever grateful to my Father.

Less than a year later, on September 29, 1958, in Milford, Delaware, I joined the family. As I write this I am sixty-one years of age. My brother Bill and sisters Tamara and Vicki joined Mom, Dad and I one, four, and seven years later, respectively. The early years of my life could best be characterized as traditional and normal. I know that it is cliché, but life really was so less complicated for a child during the sixties. No video games, no cell phones or computers, no cable television (our TV was black and white and had only two channels) and no Air Jordans. We went to school, worked from an early age, and enjoyed simple things like camping and ice skating on the local millpond. My parents worked hard, loved us greatly, and provided everything that we needed. Growing up, I would have told you that we were wealthy. It wasn’t until many years later as an adult that I grasped the realization that we were not. That is what an amazing job of parenting my mom and dad did and one of the reasons that I know that God’s hand was upon us.

My father had to work a lot, and my sisters took up much of my mother’s time and attention, leaving my brother and I to navigate life together. I will be forever grateful that such was the case. During that season, God formed a depth of loyalty and an unbreakable bond that has served to carry and strengthen each of us to this day. Whether we were reenacting the World Series in the front yard with a Wiffle ball and bat; embarking on bike adventures; listening to WKBW in Buffalo, New York, on the radio; hanging out at Uncle Jake’s general store; fighting (mostly with each other) or engaging in more mischievous enterprises, we did it together. Much of who I am today was rooted and formulated during those years.

In 1964, my family moved to a large Victorian-style house located in Bishopville, a small town on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. I did most of my growing up there. My mother has lived nowhere else since, while my dad did so until February 2001 when he went to live in one of those mansions that Jesus has prepared for His followers.

That same year I began my formal education at Bishopville Elementary School, a six-room schoolhouse. My class had six students, and there was one teacher for every two grades. We did have a cafeteria that served amazing food (lots of mashed potatoes and gravy). Before you start judging me, know that I never had to walk miles barefoot, in the snow, to attend school; and we did have pencils and paper as opposed to stones and chisels. I learned greatly and progressed from those humble beginnings to Berlin Middle School and then to Stephen Decatur High School, from which I graduated in 1976. (Both had many more than six students per class.) It was on to college and the next season of my life.

Before delving into my college experience and beyond, there is one additional important subject to address: my faith experience. For as long as my mind will allow me to recall, my mother took me and my siblings to church. I have this picture burned in my brain of my mom on her knees beside her bed praying. I did not know what she was saying, but I was fully aware of Who she was saying it to and that she did so every night. It left an indelible impression on me.

As for my dad, he did not initially attend church with us. To be completely accurate, he did not go into the building with us. He would drop us off at the church, go somewhere that remains unknown to me, and then pick us up after the service. All of that changed when one of my sisters asked him the reason that he did not come inside with us. Having no good answer, my father attended church regularly with the family from that point forward. Out of the mouths of babes.

The church that we attended was very ceremonial with an orderly, ritualistic style of worship. Being young and impressionable, I followed along without giving much thought to the truth of or the basis for what was being expounded. At times, I did get a sense that something inside of me did not completely line up or agree with what I was being taught. However, I quickly discarded any such thoughts and moved forward with life.

That is, until my sophomore year of high school. It was then that I met a young man by the name of Grant, who would not only become my closest friend throughout high school but in addition, the person through whom God would launch my faith journey into flight. Grant was a born-again believer who loved Jesus and would not hesitate to tell you so. Even though I had no idea what that meant, Grant had an early birthday, a driver’s license, and a Ford Pinto. He met all the necessary requirements to become my bud.

The catch to my growing friendship with Grant was that if I wanted to ride in his car with him, I had to go where he went, and in Grant’s case, that meant church. Not knowing what lay before me, I agreed. Since I still had to attend church with my family on Sunday morning, I went to church with Grant on Wednesday or Sunday evening or during special services called revivals. For those of you who know anything about these particular gatherings, you are aware that I was being thrown into the deep end of the pool, head first.

It did not take long for me to discern that there was something different at my new best friend’s place of worship. The minister talked a lot about Jesus and the Bible and sin and hell, and when he did, his voice grew louder and more stern. He also spoke of love and forgiveness and salvation and eternal life. Funny thing was that, as foreign as it all sounded, my attention was grabbed and my curiosity peaked. There was something real and genuine about it. I went back many more times, and as I did, I began to notice that at the end of each service, the minister would invite anyone who wished to receive Jesus into their heart to be their Lord and Savior to come forward. While I never did take him up on his offer, my heart pounded within me each time. Seeds were being planted. The Holy Spirit was preparing me and drawing me to my Father and to His Son.

More Lead-Up (The College Years)

During the fall of 1976, my parents, my siblings, and I all piled into our Chevy window van with wood paneling on each side and set out for Morgantown, West Virginia, and my freshman year of college. Being the oldest child and the first on either side of my family to pursue an education beyond high school, it was both an unfamiliar and an emotional experience for all of us. The females cried a lot while my dad and my brother did not, although I think that they had to fight the urge. Morgantown is six hours west of Bishopville, so when the van drove back toward Maryland without me in it, reality set in, and then I cried.

That first year I stayed in my room most of the time and studied, only leaving temporarily to go to class, to eat, and to attend football and basketball games. That lifestyle resulted in good grades, little fun, and kept me free from the normal temptations of college life. I neglected to mention in the prior chapter that during high school, I steered pretty much clear of drugs and alcohol. An accomplishment that can be attributed to playing sports, hanging with Grant, and spending time with my one and only girlfriend. My every intention was to continue that lifestyle during this next season of my life. For one year at least, my plan was a success.

Year two began with the walls of my grand scheme developing some cracks and the temptations of college life gaining territory. The relationship with my high school sweetheart had by now fallen victim to distance and the allure of many, many attractive and available coeds. I also began to buy into the old adage that goes something like this: Oh, come on, what will one drink hurt? Everybody does it. Problem is that, it wasn’t long before neither one drink nor one girl was enough. I was all in—and I do mean all in.

Incredibly, I continued to go to class and to study and was able to maintain the GPA that usually results therefrom. By this time, I was fully acclimated to college life and thriving therein. I graduated in the spring of 1980 and prepared to pursue my lifelong dream of becoming an attorney. Jeff’s life plan was moving forward, full throttle. I was on the increase, and there was very little evidence of Jesus anywhere in the picture.

Prior to graduating, I was hired by the university to serve as a resident assistant during my junior year. I was assigned to a huge four building complex called Towers. Each Tower had ten floors with approximately fifty freshmen on each floor. There were two male and two female dormitories all connected on the ground floor.

Not long into the fall semester, my attention was drawn to a freshman coed who was the most amazingly beautiful woman I had ever laid my eyes upon. Instantly, she held captive my every thought. I could barely focus on anything else. After much contemplation, I engineered a plan by which I could make her acquaintance. Once successful, I never looked back. Her name, you ask? It was Megan. We began to date and remained together throughout college. She is now my wife and the mother of our children. We have been together ever since.

After three grueling years of law school, still in Morgantown, and two bar exams, Megan and I were married in Ocean City, Maryland, on October 1, 1983. We took up residence in my hometown of Bishopville. Happy, ambitious, and much in love, we ventured into the future together—her, a special education teacher, and me, practicing law—with high hopes and expectations.

This would be an appropriate spot to interject a couple of updates. My parents continued to be well, living in that same house in which I had spent the majority of my life. My brother, Bill, had fallen prey to the drug-and-alcohol culture and was living a high-stakes lifestyle in Florida. My sisters were embarking upon their college experiences, soon to be married themselves. Megan and I continued to engage in the social scene, but only on weekends, and lived a life far removed from the one described by that preacher at my good friend Grant’s church. That was all about to dramatically change.

Speaking of Grant, our relationship dissipated after we each headed off to college. Then, after graduating, we reconnected; and Megan and I, along with our children, were blessed to be able to spend time with Grant, his wife, Dawn, and their daughters, Amy and Emily. Several years later, at a seemingly way too early age, he went to be with Jesus. I carry the thought that God had a vacancy in His army, and Grant possessed all the necessary qualifications for the position. Maybe he has even been assigned to minister to an old high school best friend.

During the month of November 1985, Megan; my sister Tamara; her husband, Michael; and I ventured to Morgantown for a football weekend. For two days we engaged in much frolicking and revelry. As we traveled back to Maryland, I began to experience severe chest pains. So much so that immediately upon our return, Megan and I headed for the emergency room. After a battery of tests, which lasted for days and weeks (not spent in the hospital), my symptoms were diagnosed to be stress related. It would be an understatement to say that I was not satisfied. Did these people not know that I was dying? Were they going to just stand by while I perished? Somebody was totally not getting it, and I soon discovered that it was not the medical professionals.

Sometime between October 1983 and November 1985, I had been watching television one evening when my attention was drawn to an advertisement for a free book entitled Power for Living. I immediately got up, called the number provided, and ordered the book. I had no real idea why. (You will hear me say that a lot.) When it arrived, I put the book on the shelf and forgot about it. That is until my health dilemma during the fall of 1985.

With seemingly nowhere else to turn, I took the book off the shelf and read it completely through in one sitting. It laid out the plan of salvation clearly and concisely. Almost immediately, every word that God had spoken into me ten years earlier at Grant’s small church rushed back into my heart, my mind, and my spirit. The seeds that lay dormant for so long instantly began to germinate, and the answers to many questions at once became crystal clear. It was Jesus! I needed a Savior, and He was right there with open arms waiting for me. With just the two of us present, I asked Him to come into my heart and save me from my sins. He did both. I had been set free. I was a new creation, a child of God.

Being fully convinced of the realness of what had occurred, I was now faced with a dilemma that appeared the size of one of those Towers that I lived in during college. How was I going to explain this to those closest to me? Being born again was not only a foreign concept within the circles that I existed, but it was pretty much frowned upon as well. As I would soon learn, God writes better stories for our lives than we do. He had this, and He had me exactly where He wanted me. Don’t go away. The story that He was writing was just beginning to unfold and was only going to become more interesting.

The GPS Recalibrates

It was not long before I sat down with Megan and laid out the details of my life-changing experience. I could tell that she had pretty much no idea what I was going on about. My wife had been raised in the same denomination that I had, so the concept of being born again was new to her. However, I could also see the love and acceptance in her eyes, and she would confide in me later that she knew that something genuine and real had taken place in me. We began attending a Bible-based church similar to the one that I went to with Grant, and it was not long before Megan also had given her life to Jesus. Soon after, we were both baptized.

This next part blows me away even as I write it now. I had immediately begun to pray for Jesus to capture the hearts of my entire family, honestly believing some to be too far outside of even His divine reach. Boy, would He show me. A few months later, I received a call from my brother. We had very limited contact during that time, so the call was out of the ordinary to start with. It only got more so. It didn’t take long for me to realize that something was different. Bill was having a difficult time explaining the purpose of his call to me, a fact that completely changed when he declared these words: I feel like someone has lifted a refrigerator off of each of my shoulders. I knew right then that my Father had radically answered my prayers.

I was witnessing the immeasurable power and love of Jesus up close and in a huge way for the first real time, and it far exceeded the limitations of my human mind. My brother giving his heart to Jesus reminded me of Paul’s conversion. Although he never imprisoned or took the life of any of God’s children prior to being saved, it was not beyond him to ridicule, criticize, or even humiliate believers whenever the opportunity presented itself. His lifestyle was about as far removed from the teachings of Jesus as one could be. Bill’s conversion not only profoundly impacted me, but it had a similar effect on many others. He has been walking with and serving Jesus ever since. He pastors a church in Maryland and has influenced people’s lives for the kingdom of God in far too many ways to document here.

Within a few months, my entire family had asked Jesus to be their Lord and Savior. God was on the move in the Cropper family. The seeds planted years earlier were reproducing five, ten, even a hundredfold. Our Father was pleased; the enemy was not. While hardships and trials were on the horizon, Jesus was on the throne of my life—at least for the foreseeable future.

Armed with a completely different perspective, Megan and I continued with life. We worked, we prayed, we fellowshipped with other Christian couples, and we attended church. We did our best to grow as believers by studying God’s Word and by serving Jesus as He led us. Our lifestyle had changed because our hearts had been transformed.

On January 13, 1988, we were blessed with the birth of our son, Daniel. Any of you who have children are fully aware of the extent to which the arrival of a child impacts and changes your life. Nothing prepares you for the experience of raising and caring for another human being, especially one so helpless and fragile. Every thought, every emotion, and every decision that you make now revolves around this precious gift from heaven. Any consideration for yourself exits stage right. But make no mistake; the loss of sleep, the dirty diapers, the excessive crying, and the lack of anything me related are all minor sacrifices to make when compared to the indescribable love and joy that these little blessings bring into our lives. The child-rearing years in the Cropper household had begun.

On July 23, 1990, God blessed Megan and I with our second child and our first daughter, Sarah. I have these great stories that I like to tell about the hospital birth experiences of each of my children. My wife would be mortified if I related either of them here, so I will refrain from doing so. Suffice it to say that neither was routine or without excitement. I will mention that Sarah’s collarbone was broken during her introduction to the world. Had that happened with Daniel, we would have been devastated, but by this time, we were experienced pros at this having-babies thing. (I cannot wait to see the look that will be on Megan’s face the first time she reads what I just wrote.)

We took our precious daughter home, and she soon recovered from her birthing incident. At the risk of alienating my son, I have to say that Sarah was a much easier baby to care for than he was. Maybe it was that Megan and I had now been there and done that. Once! Actually, I do not believe that any experience that we had gained made that much difference. Sarah was just a pleasant, peaceful baby who required less maintenance than Daniel. I love them both more than I can put into words and would not change either of our experiences in raising