Childhood
Charles Hadley Stevens was born on January 10, 1892, to David Samuel and Mary Holt Stevens. Wilson’s Mill, North Carolina, was their home until his family moved to Durham, North Carolina, when he was three and two years later to Greensboro, North Carolina. Before his eighth birthday, Charles found himself hard at work in a textile mill to help supplement his family’s income. It was during this time that Mary Stevens, Charles’ mother, died. His mother was spiritually instrumental in those early years of his life. She read Foster’s Story of the Bible to her children. Charles later said that he “believed God called him into the ministry when he was three years old,” in part, due to these readings. However, he did not have a “definite conversion experience” until several years later.
A year after his mother’s death David Stevens once again moved his family. This time it was back to Wilson’s Mill, North Carolina. Buies Creek Academy is where, during this time, Charles Stevens began his first schooling. After only a year and half, Charles was prepared for college. He then enrolled at Wake Forest University. Here he was honored in his studies, ran track, and became “convinced of the Lord’s call to Christian service," according to professor William Thompson.
Read more about this topic: Charles Stevens (pastor)
Famous quotes containing the word childhood:
“The limitless future of childhood shrinks to realistic proportions, to one of limited chances and goals; but, by the same token, the mastery of time and space and the conquest of helplessness afford a hitherto unknown promise of self- realization. This is the human condition of adolescence.”
—Peter Blos (20th century)
“I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father’s protection.”
—Sigmund Freud (1856–1939)
“Indeed, my mother’s beautiful face still shone with youthfulness that night when she so softly held my hands and sought to stop my tears; but, precisely, it seemed to me that this should not have happened, her anger would have saddened me less than this new sweetness that my childhood had never known; it seemed to me that, with a hidden and impious hand, I had just traced the first wrinkle and made appear the first grey hair in her soul.”
—Marcel Proust (1871–1922)