Divine Appointment ... It was.

Looking back, I can see now that it was a Divine appointment...
When I first met Herb, in the company of mutual friends at the Fish Net restaurant in Polk County, he was an old evangelist living a boring routine in retirement. I was an old salesman, also retired and somewhat bored, half heartedly involved in the ministry Herb Shreve had founded a quarter century earlier.
Herb had, prior to retirement, built a 40-year career in evangelism. I had started out trying to be a writer but had resorted to a career in sales so I could feed my growing family.
Herb knew he had found his calling at the age of 18, preaching his first sermon at Williams Baptist College in Walnut Ridge, Arkansas. The seed of a calling to be a writer came upon me at the age of 21, a young soldier serving in Japan…
After reading the war novel, From Here to Eternity by James Jones, I was stunned by its power, and I declared to friends that I would write my own book some day. With my newly wedded wife working and paying the bills, I spent a year at home trying to write “my own book.” Writing and finishing it in a hurry, hoping for sudden fame and quick money, I sent it off to the same publisher that had published From Here to Eternity…
When a brief letter of rejection came back from the publisher, I was devastated. I had to go out and find a real job. Recognizing that journaling was a therapy for me, I wrote to newspapers -- letters to the editor, at first, and finally a weekly column called On The Road with Gene H. Powell.
It brought neither fame nor money, but it honed my writing skills.
When I met Herb Shreve, the founder of CMA and once its driving force, he had become bored with retirement and he felt the ministry had mostly forgotten him. As I came to realize the great work this small town preacher had done, and the personal sacrifices he had made to do it, I had to pose the question: Is anybody taking a look at writing this man’s life story?
From Herb, and from every corner, the answer was no…
Well, I had declared to my Army buddies in 1956 that I would write my own book some day. When I met Herb Shreve, I knew I had found my book. Not for fame or money, but for a story that had to be told.
I was not devastated by a publisher’s rejection this time. I was delighted when it was accepted -- with plaudits -- by the first publisher my daughter/agent sent it to.
It had to be a Divine appointment for Herb and me to meet, a story that had to be told.