Never underestimate the power of a parent’s words!

Note: If you receive this before 10:00 AM EST, I would appreciate your prayers as I preach today in Hebrew at our congregation, Tiferet Yeshua, in Tel Aviv at 5:00 PM Israel time. We have not met in two weeks due to the war. It will be wonderful to be together with other Israeli believers after such a stressful time. Thank you for standing with us in prayer.

My mother took me to meet with the guidance counselor in between seventh and eighth grade. I had technically failed the seventh grade, but she was going to argue that I should be allowed to enter the eighth grade anyway. Her argument was that I was smart, but I suffered from ADHD. I think back then, we just called it hyperactivity.

The counselor, whose name I have forgotten, agreed with her. This man continued to be an encouragement to me throughout the year. My grades did not improve, but my mother's constant reassurance that I was smart made me feel like I was one of the smartest in the class, even though my grades testified otherwise.

Never underestimate the power of a parent’s words.

Through some miracle, I graduated from high school. Sadly, I had to retake the Government course in summer school because I failed by half a point. Now, before you express what kind of horrible human beings would not give a poor young man a half point so he could walk with his class to receive his diploma, I want to remind you that I was not exactly beloved by the faculty. I was trouble. I wasn’t as bad as they thought I was—for some strange reason, the principal and vice principals thought I was a key troublemaker, probably a drug dealer.

Once, they called me into their office and accused me of being on drugs. Fortunately, at that moment, I wasn’t, and I began to yell at them. Righteous indignation from a guy who was just lucky to be sober that morning. Other times I had come to school intoxicated or on high.

Fast forward a few years, and I am born again. I excelled in Bible school, earning a 3.85 GPA upon completion of the two-year program. But it took me many years to finish my bachelor's degree. Not until about 2001(when I was 36) was I finally able to receive it.

Four years ago, as the coronavirus was spreading throughout the world, and we all had a lot of free time, I decided to return to school and pursue my master’s degree. I was mostly self-taught in theology and felt that I had gaps that needed to be filled academically. Because my bachelor’s degree was from a non-accredited school, they initially did not let me in—it was when I told them that they used one of my books in their master’s and doctoral programs that they made an exception. It is kind of funny that I had a book that they were using, and I barely had a degree.

Why am I telling you all this? Because a few weeks ago—literally about five hours before the war with Iran began, I finished my doctoral program at Liberty University. I had to give an oral defense via Zoom late Thursday night with my professor, who was on Eastern Standard Time. He went away for a few minutes when I was done and then came back.

“I love to do these courses because I get to be the first person to call you Dr. Ron Cantor,” my professor told me. I wanted to say to him, “Actually, you’re not the first person. I’ve been telling myself that in the mirror every day for the past six months,” which isn’t true, but I thought it was funny.

My doctorate is called D.Min.—A Ph.D. would take much longer, and I’m not getting any younger. The D.Min. program is designed for individuals who are already working in ministry. Instead of writing a dissertation, I created a portfolio of four micro-projects based on my cognate, which was spiritual formation.

All that is to say that whatever I have become academically is to the glory of God. I graduated from high school with a 1.7 GPA. My first year in junior college wasn’t much better at 1.75! By the grace of God, I completed my master’s program with a 3.98 GPA and my doctoral program with a 4.0 GPA. If you had told me at 18 years old, at the end of high school, that I would one day earn my doctorate, I would have told you that there was a better chance I would be in jail. And I genuinely would have believed that back then.

So that’s it on this quiet (thank God after two weeks of dodging massive ballistic missiles) pre-Shabbat afternoon. In case I get a big head, God knows how to keep me humble. Preaching in Hebrew is always a humbling experience because I still make mistakes, and I now have to spend the next hour going over my message with a friend. “If anyone among you thinks that he is wise in this age, let him become a fool that he may become wise” (1 Cor 3:18). An easy way for one to become a fool is to preach in a foreign language, and he will realize he’s nothing. It is incredibly humbling.

Have a great weekend.

Shabbat Shalom!