The Rev. Billy Mauldin was my pastor from birth until age 12 when my family moved to Central Florida. Brother Mauldin, as he was known in our home and in our church, embodied the calling of “pastor” for me and was my ideal for a preacher, counselor and leader.
My earliest memories in life are of the nursery at First Baptist Church of Richland Hills, Texas, and my encounters with Bro. Mauldin in and around the church figure prominently. I can clearly see him in my mind’s eye emerging from the door to his office that opened onto the construction site behind the church building to tell us boys to stop throwing dirt clods against the bricks. And I can hear his voice ring out, “Lee Wallace!” when my brother reached down for one more clod to throw.
Bro. Mauldin had authority and dignity in the pulpit. His respect for the Bible and reverence for God were not artificial. His sincerity connected with me so profoundly that even when I didn’t understand all the words in his sermons, I understood the point. His ministry to our family was personal and infused with love. My parents had no better friend or trusted confidant.
Bro. Mauldin was one of the few people who exhibited a literal twinkle in his eye. At times his smile would be betrayed by a sadness in his eyes, but even in those moments, a tenderness and compassion came through that displayed genuine concern and affection for people.
He was tall with broad shoulders and hair that was always in place. Around me, he was almost always wearing a suit and tie, or else he had just taken off his tie after church. The rare times he was more casual and not in his “preacher’s suit” stick out in my mind. I remember him batting in a softball game at a church picnic, laughing from the porch swing during church camp at Jan-Kay Ranch and elbowing me at lunch to punctuate a joke at my father’s expense.
“You know, if your dad had been a girl, he would have been an old maid,” he would often say.
My dearest and most profound memory of Bro. Mauldin is of a Sunday immediately after church, when he welcomed me, all of 10 years of age, into his office and listened attentively as I declared through tears that I needed to be saved. I will never forget his kindness, smile, generosity, conviction and comfort in those moments as he led me through the sinner’s prayer and helped me experience the relief and elation of God’s forgiveness. He was with me at that life-changing moment and a week later when he baptized me.
He personified wisdom for me during my formative years as I sat under his preaching and experienced the blessing of his friendship. As a young adult I saw and appreciated how much his friendship meant to my dad, and when my dad couldn’t talk about his challenges in the ministry with anyone else, he could always count on Bro. Mauldin to listen and offer wise counsel.
I learned practical lessons from Bro. Mauldin as well. He lived in a modest but well-kept home that was always comfortable and welcoming. I experienced his hospitality firsthand the summer I turned 13 and spent a week with him and his wife, Jean, during a visit from Florida. He saved his money carefully and drove a new Oldsmobile or Cadillac every two years, always paying cash and never having to worry about maintenance or car repairs.
As I grew into adulthood, I appreciated that although he had deeply held convictions on the Bible and what it meant for our lives, he could see both sides of an issue. He was quick to point out, like a true prophet, the failings of both political parties in this country, though he was conservative through and through.
Bro. Mauldin passed away in March 2015, still very much a part of our family’s life up until his death. My youngest brother, Lyle, married his granddaughter, Nicole, and we were blessed to be connected by family as well as ministry.
Billy Mauldin was a role model, and his wisdom made a profound impact on me. I know many others from our days at First Baptist Church of Richland Hills who could say the same. I hope I have retained a bit of his humor, his kindness, his conviction and his wisdom and that it will be a part of my legacy when I’m gone.