By 1971, I’d had seventeen Top 40 hits on the Billboard charts and had traveled the world. Wendell and I had been married for a decade, had two wonderful children, and lived in a beautiful home. I had all the material things I could possibly want, but I was unhappy with myself. Sometimes I would lie in bed at night with a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was missing. I felt restless and anxious. Then I would feel guilty for feeling restless and anxious. After all, I had everything that a person could need or want. But I still couldn’t shake that dull but persistent sense of emptiness inside.
Looking back now, I realize our marriage was probably in trouble. I don’t think we ever would have divorced, because that’s not something that either of us wanted. Yet there was no denying that being away from the kids, the long hours, the late nights, the heavy drinking, and Wendell’s jealousy issues had all taken a serious toll on us. I felt like I didn’t have a solid footing in my own life, and I knew down deep that the pressures were coming to a head. I felt like maybe I couldn’t handle it anymore. That thought scared me. I imagined what it would be like to quit touring, but our entire family depended on my career. Would I be letting them down? How would Wendell react? Would we be okay? I tried to chase away the internal whispers that were telling me something wasn’t right, but they never stayed away for long.
Around that time a lot of people were talking about The Living Bible, which was a brand-new paraphrase of Scripture in contemporary language that was easier to understand than a lot of translations. I thought maybe I could find some hope or wisdom from that, so I got a copy and started reading it out loud to Wendell when we were traveling on the road. I would go over several passages and Wendell and I would discuss it together. It seemed to me that there were contradictions in the Bible, and I was having trouble grasping many of the passages. A lot of it just didn’t make sense to me, but I wanted to understand it. It wasn’t until later that I understood that the Bible is God’s love letter to Christians. If you’re reading it, but you’re not a Christian, that’s a good thing, but it’s almost like reading somebody else’s mail. You can’t fully understand it. But we were trying.
Mother and I had, of course, started attending South Lindsay Baptist Church when she and Daddy and I first moved back to Oklahoma City from California in the late 1940s. Over the years my church attendance decreased as my career took me out of town most weekends. Mother, however, remained faithful. In fact, she kept my kids, Gina and Greg, most weekends and, just as she’d done with me when I was a little girl, she insisted they attend Sunday School.
A new minister named Paul Salyer came to South Lindsay in 1971, and our kids were very excited about Brother Paul. They wanted me and Wendell to come meet him and hear one of his messages. We told them we would go as soon as we could, but we never made it a priority. I was glad that my kids enjoyed going to church, but, truth be told, I just wasn’t that interested in getting up early and getting myself together to attend. I don’t think Wendell was, either. Even though we were open to trying to understand the Bible during those long stretches of interstate, we weren’t that anxious to go hang out with a bunch of church people. That wasn’t really our crowd.
Brother Paul had been at South Lindsay for about six months when he saw my name on the church roll. He knew who I was and was aware of my singing career. He knew my mother came, but noticed I was never there. Paul asked some folks around the church about me, and they explained that I was traveling a lot and they didn’t see me often. For whatever reason, he and some of the members of the church decided to start praying for me and Wendell. Of course, it wasn’t until later that I figured it out, but now I realize that those prayers coincided with that period when I was feeling something stir within me. I now understand that those were the early rumblings of God working in my heart and drawing me toward Him.
One day Brother Paul called our home seemingly out of the blue. None of the other preachers who had served at the church had gone out of their way to talk to me. He called and said he’d like to take us to lunch. I’m kind of surprised that we accepted, but we did, and we were amazed at how much we liked him right away. There was just something so easy and simple about talking with Brother Paul. He made us feel really comfortable, asked good questions, and gave us the space to talk about our lives. He’d sprinkle some spiritual references into the conversation, but he didn’t pull out a giant Bible and beat us over the head with it. He wasn’t judgmental and he certainly didn’t tell us we were going straight to hell or anything like that. It seemed like he genuinely loved us, even though we’d only just met.
Paul said a couple of things during lunch that stuck with me. Maybe I’d heard these concepts before, but there was something about the way he explained them that really resonated. First, he said, “Everyone needs Christ, no matter who you are.” Then he said, “Sometimes people are afraid to admit they need Christ, and they’re afraid to turn to Him because they feel like they’re not good enough or they’ve done some things that make them feel like God couldn’t possibly love them. But He does. He loves every single person and, in order to know Him, you don’t have to change anything about your life. You don’t have to give up anything. You just come to Christ as you are and then, if there are changes that need to be made, He’ll make it clear to you, and then He’ll give you the strength to change them.” That made so much sense to me, and I walked away from that lunch feeling like the answer to my restlessness was starting to come into focus.
After our lunch with Paul, Wendell and I headed out for a two-week run of shows in Alaska. Every day we were there I felt God pulling on my heart. Later I learned that Wendell was feeling it, too. We didn’t talk about it. We didn’t know how to talk about it. Subconsciously, we were probably scared at the prospect of surrendering our lives to God. Instead of embracing the lure of His love, we tried to make it go away. All I remember about Alaska was drinking. Everywhere we went we tried to drink the place dry. We were running. Running from the reality that our marriage was suffering. Running from the fear that our lives were unraveling. Running from Brother Paul’s words that everyone needs God. Running from facing the hard truth that we needed God, but were ignoring Him. Looking back, the trip was a complete blur.
When we returned home from Alaska, it happened to be a weekend. That was unusual because I almost always worked on weekends. The kids were excited and made us promise we’d come to church to meet them after Sunday School and go to the morning service with them. When Sunday morning came, we were hung over. We thought, Oh, gosh. The last thing we want to do right now is go to church, but we said we’d meet them there. We were late getting out the door and, by the time we arrived, Mother and the kids had given up waiting for us. She had gone ahead and taken them home so she could fix a late breakfast for Daddy after church. “The kids are gonna be so disappointed,” I said out loud to nobody in particular. “I guess there’s not much point in us sticking around.” I turned to Wendell. “Let’s just head on over to Mother and Daddy’s house,” I suggested.
Wendell shook his head. “No,” he said. “We’re here, so we might as well just go ahead and hear Brother Paul preach. He seemed like a nice guy, so we’ll listen to him, say hello, and then go get the kids.”
I look back on that Sunday morning, and I think God knew just exactly what He was doing. He didn’t intend for our children to be there, because He didn’t want us to be distracted, and He didn’t want us to feel self-conscious about our kids watching us. Instead, He wanted us to hear His voice. I don’t even remember the details of Brother Paul’s message that day, but I know that when he was done, he invited anyone who felt compelled to come forward and accept God’s love into their lives by beginning a personal relationship with Jesus. It wasn’t an audible voice, but I heard God speak to my spirit just as clearly as if someone were sitting next to me having a conversation. He said, “Walk with me.”
I would have walked through fire at that moment if I had to, but I knew I was giving my life to Christ. I turned to Wendell. I hoped God was speaking to him in the same way and that he would come with me, but, either way, I knew I had to go. I said, “Honey, there’s something I’ve got to do.”
“Me, too,” he said.
We both stepped out, took one another’s hand, and headed down that aisle while the congregation sang the old hymn “Pass Me Not O Gentle Savior.” On June 6, 1971, the old Wanda and Wendell were changed. We prayed with Brother Paul and were reborn as God’s children. After we got up off our knees everything was different.
That afternoon we went to visit friends of ours who had just moved into a new home and invited us to come see it. As soon as we walked in they said, “What do you want to drink?” Wendell said, “Oh no thank you. I’m going to be baptized tonight.” They weren’t quite sure what to make of that! As the days progressed and we saw other friends, they all began wondering why Wendell and I were suddenly different people. All of a sudden, friends would come over to discover we didn’t have drinks to offer and Wendell’s jokes were a lot cleaner. It was as if our thinking, our priorities, and everything just changed so fast.
The first thing we noticed was that God gave us a hunger for understanding His Word, the Bible, and what it meant to live a life of service to Him. We went to church twice a week—on Sundays and Wednesdays—attended conferences and Bible studies, hosted meetings in our home, fasted from midday Sunday until midday Monday, and tried to pray together for an hour every day. It was all just so good and wonderful that I couldn’t soak it all up fast enough. I had a lot to learn, but God was teaching me. We were surrounded by some of the greatest people who came alongside us and shepherded us as we grew in our faith. I felt like, at the age of thirty-three, I was just learning what it really meant to live life to the fullest. God didn’t just save our souls. He saved our marriage, too, as Wendell and I came together in pursuit of spiritual maturity. Our priorities were realigned and we were both filled with an indescribable sense of peace. My selfishness and Wendell’s jealousy and possessiveness that caused so many problems for us early on faded into the past. Wendell joked, “I was so mean and jealous in our early years you should have just shot me!” Thanks to God’s healing power now I look back on those days and just laugh about the immaturity we displayed before we let God get a hold of our hearts.
Not only did God shake up my personal life in the best way possible, He also opened new doors of opportunities in my career. I had never really liked gospel music very much, but when I became a Christian I got a gospel album by The Oak Ridge Boys and played it over and over. Then we got an album from The Florida Boys. All of a sudden I was collecting gospel LPs.
I gave my very first gospel concert on October 3, 1971. It was held at South Lindsay Baptist Church, which was fitting. Wendell shared his testimony that night, telling the crowd about how God had changed his heart and his life. Six people dedicated their lives to Christ that evening, and the event was a tremendous success. A week later, I sang four songs at First Baptist Church in Houston, Texas, where John Bisagno was the pastor. Wendell shared his testimony once again and received a standing ovation. We were so warmly received, and we felt like we were doing exactly what God wanted us to do. It was during that trip that Wendell and I both felt like God was calling us to stop working in nightclubs and bars in order to dedicate ourselves to the ministry. At that time, between seventy and eighty percent of our family income came from my nightclub work, so deciding to give it up was a leap of faith, to say the least. We believed it was God’s plan for our lives, and we believed God would somehow provide. It was a little scary, but I clung to a favorite Bible verse from Matthew 6:33, which encourages God’s people not to worry about material things, since He already knows exactly what we need. In the Living Bible it says, “He will give them to you if you give Him first place in your life and live as He wants you to.”
Wendell got on the phone to start canceling some of the shows that were coming up on the itinerary. One of them was at the six-hundred-seat Frontier Room in the White Horse Bowling Academy in Trenton, New Jersey. He explained to the owner, Charlie Fox, that, due to religious convictions and personal changes, we’d have to cancel the date.
“Wendell, you can’t do that,” Charlie said. “I’ve got a signed contract and the date is coming up soon. Everything is set and we’ve been advertising.”
“I know it, and I’m sorry,” Wendell said. “But if you’ll look at the contract down at the bottom, in small print, it says ‘This agreement can only be altered or changed due to an act of God.’ Well, sir, this is an act of God and we can’t come do your show.”
“Okay, in that case, Wendell, it’s fine,” Charlie finally said. “We’ll work it out.”
We still had some nightclub dates on the books that were coming up too soon to cancel, so I began sharing my testimony on stage. Sometimes that was the easiest thing in the world for me to do, but other times I was a little hesitant about how the audience might react. I remember doing the very last show before we gave up the clubs. It was in Kansas and I recall thinking, Lord, I don’t want to give my testimony tonight. I was out there in front of the audience, and the decision about whether to talk about my faith or not was weighing on my heart. I was thinking, Should I or shouldn’t I? I got to the end of the show and never did tell the audience about my conversion. I was just glad to be saying “goodbye” to the honky tonks and was ready to get off the stage and call it a night. I was waving to the crowd as the band was playing my exit music. I went back to the same place where I thought I’d come on stage, but I couldn’t find the opening in the curtain. I thought, Well, maybe it was behind the drums. There was a little path, so I followed it over there, but still no opening! I literally could not get off that stage. Finally, a lightbulb went off. I realized, “Oh, God isn’t going to let me go.” That’s the moment I realized that God’s got a sense of humor. I went back to the microphone and I said, “Folks, I want to tell you why this is the last place I’m working.” I explained my new priorities, and I got a lot of applause. Then I just walked off stage, and the opening in the curtain was right there where it had been when I first went on!
At the end of October we participated in our first revival, which was held at the First Baptist Church in Choctaw, Oklahoma. It was a full eight days of singing and bearing witness to what the Lord had done in our lives, and it was such a joy. Twenty-one people joined the church, and we made so many new friends, including the church’s regular pastor, Brother Harold Thompson, and his wife, Mamie. We felt like God was blessing us with new relationships and a spirit of excitement. Being around so many spiritual people helped shape us in positive ways.
When we were home we often participated in church events around our area with Brother Paul. We sang and shared our faith at a revival at Southwest Friendship Baptist Church in early November that drew record crowds. At the end of that month we did a revival with Brother Harold Thompson in Anadarko that drew the largest crowd ever for that church. The next several months were a blur of Baptist church visits, including eight days in Corpus Christi, Texas, a five-day revival at First Southern Baptist Church in Wasco, California, near Bakersfield, an appearance at First Baptist Church of Whitesboro, Texas, near Gainesville, and a pair of concerts at Immanuel Baptist Church in Wichita, where there were record crowds of three thousand people in attendance. It was there that I prayed with someone who wanted to receive Christ for the first time. It was a sixteen-year-old girl named Brenda Dutton, and I was so thrilled to share in the experience of leading her to faith. When I gave a 1972 gospel concert at Red Star Baptist Church in Cape Girardeau, I was reminded of how I’d first met Elvis in that town several years prior. I would always treasure my performances with the King of Rock and Roll, but I was filled with a much deeper joy to be performing for the King of Kings!
Shortly after we were saved I was praying about my smoking. I knew I shouldn’t be doing it, but I was worried and afraid I couldn’t give it up. I had been smoking for around fifteen years at that point, and I really liked it. On one of our road trips I was trying to fall asleep in the back of our motor home while Wendell was driving. I was praying about that smoking, and I felt like God was saying to my spirit, “Wanda, don’t be afraid.” After that, I was able to let go. I’ve come back to that gentle reminder so many times over the years when I’m facing challenges that I know I can’t tackle with my own strength.
Eventually we formalized our gospel presentation, calling it “an evening of entertainment and inspiration.” I would sing and Wendell would share his testimony, followed by an invitation for others to come forward to receive Christ if they felt God calling them. We traveled together in a van, just the two of us, with our own audio equipment. I didn’t carry a band at that point, which would have been too cost prohibitive. Instead, we just used prerecorded tracks, over which I sang live. It was a radical change of lifestyle, but Wendell and I felt happier and more fulfilled than we ever had before.
It was all so different from what I was used to. I had never had stage fright playing in honky tonks, but the first few times I sang at churches, I was so scared I was throwing up before I went on. I hadn’t learned a lot of lessons yet. If you really put God in charge, you really don’t have to figure it all out ahead of time. I was used to singing for people who were there for a party. It was nighttime, and there was smoke, and everyone was drinking and acting silly and having fun. Suddenly, there I was in a long dress—not a miniskirt—and no fringe and no go-go boots. And it was daylight and everyone was sober! I didn’t know how the church folks would react to me.
Not long after my conversion, I was performing at an open-air concert at Disneyland in California. While I was singing it was like a light switch came on and I realized, Hey, I’ve got the confidence now that I never had before. All of a sudden I thought, I can do anything. God had a lot to do when He got a hold of me. He had some chiseling to do if He was going to form me into my best self. But I was ready. Wendell and I always said, “If God can use us, He must be desperate!” But if He wanted us, we were all His.