The Life and Ministry of
Pastor Andrew Ray
The Early Childhood of Pastor Andrew Ray
The Baby Months
I was born on May 24, 1978, at 11:36 p.m. to Dennis and Beverly Ray in Knoxville, Tennessee. I was what my wife deems "a chunky baby" at eight pounds and three ounces and twenty-one inches long. My first home was located at 415 Taliwa Drive in South Knoxville where I lived with my dad, my mom, my brother Phil (six-and-one-half years older than I), and Fluffy (a cat, I think).
My dad Dennis was born to John F. Ray (son of Ed and Eliza Lintz Ray) and Deloris Hartley Ray (daughter of Earl Hartley and Violet Hartley Bass) and my mother Beverly was born to George R. Phillips (son of Smith and Louise Sentelle Phillips) and Florence Townsend Phillips (daughter of Bynum and Mary Townsend).
From what I am told, I was every mother's dream. First of all, I was a good sleeper! I first slept through the night on July 11, 1978, and began doing so on a regular basis on August 7, 1978. If I could claim any great and consistent quality binding all Ray children together, it is that we can sleep and do so for long periods of time. Secondly, I was apparently a happy baby. My mom recorded, "I love to be around you. You don't have any problems and you smile nearly all the time. I hope you are always as happy and healthy as you are now."
It seems as though my brother and I had a good relationship early on. He was seemingly happy to have a little brother and I returned the favor by smiling at him a lot. My mom recorded that Phil could not keep his hands off of me, always wanting to hold and feed me. When he went to school, he announced to his teacher that he had a new baby brother. She sarcastically replied, "You did!" to which my brother snarled, "Not me, my mother did!" I think one of the reasons why Phil was happy to have the new addition is the prospect of having someone to play with. He assured my mom that when I turned four months old, he was going to give me a baseball bat and batting glove so that he could toss me some pitches.
On August 6, 1978, my family traveled to Greeneville, Tennessee, where my maternal grandparents lived. The special occasion was the keeping of the Roman Catholic tradition carried into the Presbyterian faith of baptizing infants. If I am not mistaken, we attended the Greeneville Cumberland Presbyterian Church where Roy Blackburn was the pastor. On this morning, I "received the sacrament of Baptism." According to my mom, I was quiet until Pastor Blackburn started the prayer. Apparently, the more he prayed, the more I cried. Knowing what I know now, this feels like a proud moment.
The Toddler Years
I must confess I am a little jealous to hear my children speak with knowledge of their early years, because, for the most part, I only remember what I am told or what I read about concerning my early childhood. Only God knows why this is, but I trust that He knows best. This is especially true of my toddler years.
I am told in 1979 we moved to 142 Littlebrook Circle in Rockford, Tennessee. This is likely the house where I learned to crawl, stand, and take my first steps. Based on photographs and memories, it appears to have held some happy moments. Only two things are really etched into my mind: first, I recall picking flowers from the back yard, ringing the doorbell at the front door, and presenting them to my mother; and second, I remember dreaming monsters were attacking my brother and that I whipped the monsters and saved his life.
Preschool Years
While my memories of this time are few and faint at best, I know this is the time when things began to spiral out of control, or, at least, visibly so in our family. In the 1982-1983 and 1983-1984 school years, I attended Thackston School in their preschool program. From everything I can read, it seems like this was a prestigious school and prestigious program. To those around us, it would have appeared that we were moving up in the world; but inside our home and likely in my parents' hearts, conditions were worsening. Sometime in 1983 or 1984, my mom and dad divorced. The truth is that my memories are so few at this early period of my life that I do not even recall them being married.
1982-1983 Thackston School
1983-1984 Thackston School
It was during this time that I found my first love—baseball. I joined my first team at four years of age and was so small they did not have a jersey small enough to fit me. I was so proud to be a part of a team and wear the yellow and green (later changed to red, white, and blue) Tigers uniform. At the time, I did not get much playing time. If memory serves me correctly, when the coach finally decided to put me into a game, he put me in the outfield in hopes of keeping me safe. The thought was that surely nobody would hit the ball out there; but sure enough, a ball came my way, hit me, and "injured" me. Although I cried, left the game, and likely swore off baseball for the rest of my life, the sport would consume much of the next decade-plus of my life.
Elementary Years
The word change would best describe this period of my life. I went from having married parents to having divorced parents. As if it were not enough dealing with a divorce, several men came and went in my mom's life and several women came and went in my dad's life. It was a constant struggle for me to understand why my parents divorced. Did I do something to drive them apart? Was I to view one or both of my parents as bad people that caused a divorce, thus driving the other one away? Was I to love one more than the other? How could I legitimately maintain a good relationship with both?
Schooling was also best described by the word change. In kindergarten, I attended Thackston School. In the first grade, I attended Bonny Kate Elementary School. In the second grade, I attended Rockford Elementary School. Finally, in the third grade, I settled in at Gibbs Elementary School where I would spend the bulk of my remaining years in education. My grades would come and go. My class attendance was hit and miss. I never got too used to teachers, friends, or people because none of them would be in my life long.
When mom and dad divorced, I moved with my mom to a place on Green Drive off of Chapman Highway. I vaguely remember that we lived near a drive-in movie theater. (I am told that it specialized in X-rated shows.) This should give you a sense of the type of neighborhood in which we lived. The only lasting memory I have of living here was that one of our druggie neighbors broke into our house, stole all of the jewelry, and pawned it. I do not recall being worried about the monetary value lost, but it was extremely scary to know that someone could just walk into your home and take what he wanted and that there was nothing we could do about it. While I do not know how long we lived there, it seemed short to me. To some degree that would become the theme of my life until adulthood, living in at least thirteen different homes prior to getting married at twenty years of age.
After Green Drive, we moved to a trailer at 3649 Concord Road, Rockford, Tennessee. This is the first home where I really have some strong and certain memories, albeit not all of them are good. Some of my strongest memories about living here will be withheld in order to protect the people involved. It was here that I met what would become some of my favorite and least favorite people. On one hand, there were brothers who were thugs who threatened my friend and me for sitting in a particular seat on the school bus. He and his brothers went through the neighborhood with chains bullying young people. Because of their mischief, we placed no trespassing signs in our yards, but to no avail. One of the brothers came into our yard one day and was accosting us. I was a bit of a mouthy child and told the brother that he had no business in our yard and should leave. As was to be expected, the young man became more threatening and my brother hit him in the mouth. After some choice profanity exited his lips, my brother punched him again, this time dislodging a tooth. At first, it seemed as though this would increase our troubles, but it was instead the beginning of the end.
It was not all bad at Concord Road. In fact, this is where I met a family that would become my second family and a friend who, at least for the next decade, would be one of my dearest friends. Apparently, the Russell family spotted me in the street playing some ball and they reached out and took me as if I was their own. One of their sons, Jarrod, and I had just enough in common to become best buds and more than enough opposites to not get bored. I loved this family dearly and they were a rock in my life in a very unstable time. One of the things I recall, albeit it was a minimal aspect of our relationship, is that they invited me to attend a couple of nights of a Vacation Bible School. All I can remember is the happiness and anticipation with which I heard the stories and answered the questions those nights. I am sure this was not my first experience with church, but it is my earliest recollection and it makes me wonder if there was not already a longing in my heart to know of God.
I am not sure what exactly took place, but between the second and third grade, I was moved to Gibbs Elementary School in Corryton, Tennessee. This change was the start of the only period of stability I would find in the education system. Whatever the underlying issues were that prompted this shift, I know my dad being a coach and teacher at Gibbs High School played a major role in this development and was the reason why Gibbs was the chosen destination. Much of who I am is because of this shift, and although Gibbs was not a safe haven of spiritual fortitude, it was a place that God used to shape me into the man that I am today. It was also the place, even in my high school years, where God would gradually infiltrate my heart with the knowledge of my own sinfulness and of my need for Him.
