The profound ripple effect of a single seminary student's dedication in the 1960s, whose simple message of love and care ultimately transformed lives and built generations of faith.



Ken Gire writes of a man by the name of Scott Manley who reached out to high school students on the campus of Arlington Heights High School in the late ’60s:

He showed up in a pair of Converse All Stars, gym shorts, a T-shirt, a handshake, and a smile. Several of us on the basketball team were playing a pickup game in the gym, and this young seminary student from Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary worked his way into the game. Over the weeks ahead, he kept showing up. At lunch. After school. In the parking lot. And before long, he worked his way into our lives.

Scott was working through a ministry called Young Life that builds relationships with high school students, establishes clubs, and sponsors Bible study groups, all for the purpose of reaching out with the saving message of Christ in places where churches often cannot go.

Ken reflects that he doesn’t remember any of Scott’s talks, only the music of the message: I love you. I care about you. You matter. Your pain matters. Your struggles matter. Your life is sacred and dear to God. He has a future for you, plans and hopes and dreams for you, and blessings for you.

And the music streamed into Ken’s heart, and Ken became a Christian, going on to Texas Christian University, where he turned around and led a Young Life club himself. Also on the leadership team was a young woman named Judy, who would one day become Ken’s wife. Judy had become a Christian through a classmate, who had become a Christian through her Young Life leader, who had become a Christian through... Scott Manley.

One day, Ken and Judy ran into Scott at a conference they were attending together, along with three of their four children. Judy, who had never met Scott, went up to him, and said, “You don’t know me, but I’m Judy Gire, Ken Gire’s wife.” They hugged, then she continued. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time.”

Years of emotion welled up inside her.

Scott, you were instrumental in leading my husband to Christ. You led my Young Life leader to Christ. My Young Life leader led a friend of mine to Christ. And this friend told me about Christ. You are my spiritual heritage. These are three of our four children. This is Kelly, and she knows Jesus. This is Rachel, and she knows Jesus. This is Stephen, and he knows Jesus. And Gretchen, our oldest, isn’t here, but she knows Jesus, too. All of us know Jesus because of Scott Manley. Thank you so much. Thank you.

Scott threw his arms around her, and for a long time they wept together.

As the prophet Isaiah once wrote, “How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of the messenger who brings good news, the good news of peace and salvation” (Isaiah 52:7, NLT).

At a recent prayer gathering of our church staff, a young woman shared a poem written long before she was even born. Its words had been dear to me for many, many years. I was surprised that she even knew it existed, yet here she was sharing it with all of us before our prayer time to remind us all how much our collective efforts to reach our unchurched friends and neighbors matter.

It was written by Samuel Shoemaker and is simply titled “I Stand by the Door.”

I stand by the door.

I neither go too far in, nor stay too far out.

The door is the most important door in the world—

It is the door through which men walk when they find God.

There’s no use my going way inside, and staying there,

When so many are still outside and they, as much as I,

Crave to know where the door is.

And all that so many ever find

Is only the wall where a door ought to be.

They creep along the wall like blind men,

With outstretched, groping hands,

Feeling for a door, knowing there must be a door,

Yet they never find it...

So I stand by the door.

The most tremendous thing in the world

Is for men to find that door—the door to God.

The most important thing any man can do

Is to take hold of one of those blind, groping hands,

And to put it on the latch—the latch that only clicks

And opens to the man’s own touch.

Men die outside that door, as starving beggars die

On cold nights in cruel cities in the dead of winter—

Die for want of what is within their grasp.

They live, on the other side of it—live because they have found it.

Nothing else matters compared to helping them find it,

And open it, and walk in, and find Him.

So I stand by the door...

I admire the people who go way in.

But I wish they would not forget how it was

Before they got in. Then they would be able to help

The people who have not yet even found the door.

Or the people who want to run away again from God.

You can go in too deeply and stay in too long

And forget the people outside the door.

As for me, I shall take my old accustomed place,

Near enough to God to hear Him and know He is there,

But not so far from men as not to hear them,

And remember, they are there too.

Where? Outside the door –

Thousands of them. Millions of them.

But – more important for me –

One of them, two of them, ten of them.

Whose hands I am intended to put on the latch.

So I shall stand by the door and wait

For those who seek it.

I had rather be a door-keeper

So I stand by the door.

And so should we all.

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