Beavers is pictured below receiving The congratulations of Georgia House Speaker Tom Murphy and Rep. Calvin Smyre.	Beavers is pictured below with Jimmy Rogers, International Vice President of the FGBMFI; Roy Barnes, Governor of GA; And Tom Allanson, National Director of FGBMFI.

                                           

Presented to

JACKEY BEAVERS

 

AMBASSADOR

December 2000

 

On Friday, December 15^th, at the 7^th Annual Glory Jail/Prison Aftercare Banquet, given at the Glory Harvester Church, my husband, Dr. Robert L. “Jackey” Beavers was presented with the prestigious award and title of Ambassador given by the Full Gospel Business Men’s Fellowship and presented by International Vice President Jimmy Rogers and National Director Tom Allanson.  This is the first of its kind award even given to an individual by the FGBMFI.  He will be representing FGBMFI in 160 nations.  The plaque read as follows:

 

            “It is with great honor we name Jackey Beavers as an Ambassador to the Full Gospel Business Men’s Fellowship International.  He caught the vision and has been a faithful servant to the FGBMFI.  He has been a tremendous witness for Christ and has had great influence in the circles where the Lord has placed him.  He has given generously of his life and substance.  He has been a faithful witness for Christ during the past 20 years.  This is Jesus’ method for His witness.  He bids us to go and tell others about Him.  There is no substitute for this Christ appointed plan of personal testimony by His people for Him.  May I paraphrase to say:  “Jackey Beavers served the great State of Georgia, bringing FGBMFI here by the will of God.”  It is by service that we vindicate our faith in every realm of life, in business, in literature, in statesmanship, in religion.  Faith is more than dogma – it is passion.  It lifts, it achieves, it arrives in service.  Great believers are always great doers!  The reward “and they that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament: and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars forever and ever.” (Daniel 12:3)  On behalf of the Fellowship we pray the Lord’s greatest blessings on you and your family.  We welcome you to the “Hall of Faith.” 

 

Full Gospel Business Men’s Fellowship International

 

Richard Shakarian, International President

 

To God Be The Glory!

 

The Governor's Man

     Jackey Beavers once circulated in the glitter of Nashville, Hollywood and Las Vegas.  As co-author of the million-selling hit, "Someday We'll Be Together," lead singer of a top dance band and producer for big-name musicians, he reveled in the "good life."     When Beavers walked away from it, friends thought he was crazy.  But that was only the first unexpected turn in his career.  Six years after being called to preach, the Lord dispatched Jackey to another field – which he thought attracted only corrupt people.  Never in his wildest dreams did Beavers see himself as ...."The Governor's Man."     


     "Jackey, are you sure you should sing this song?  All these folks here, man....we've got to be sure." The campaign manager bit his lip, sweat glistening from his forehead. Behind us lay the hotel ballroom, jammed beyond capacity.  Another 200 peole milled around in the hallway, vainly trying to spot an open seat.     "Well, this is the way I've got to do it," I replied.     "Have him do it," came a voice from over my shoulder.     It was Joe Frank Harris, who would surprise every political observer in Georgia to become governor later that year.     I had sung this tune before in my hometown, but now we were in Atlanta for a $100-a-plate fund raiser, where the press would pounce on any hint of injecting religion into a gubernatorial campaign.     Such fears didn't bother me, so when it came time to introduce Harris I belted out new amended lyrics of a song I had written from 'The Imperials' hit "Praise The Lord."  These new lyrics promoted Joe Frank Harris in a song of victorious Christian faith. Talk about excitement!  Before I finished, hollering punctuated the air and some supporters stood on tables, cheering.  A few called me later to jokingly suggest that I run for governor.     I sang may amended version of "Praise the Lord" throughout the state with little objection, except for the Atlanta newspapers.  One printed a cartoon caricature of me and mocked, "This guy is being cynical.  He said God says Joe Frank Harris is going to be governor."      That's true.  Thinking all politicians were corrupt, I had agonized over an invitation to join his campaign.  But when I prayed, God said,"This man is going to be governor.  Help him."     My only prior exposure to politics had been in the 1960's, when my wife, Gloria, worked for a congressman in her home state of Michigan.  I felt out of place at political gatherings and when someone asked if I were interested in running for local office, I shook my head, "No way."     Why would I want to leave the stage, which I loved, for distasteful politics?  After all, music was my life.     I had cultivated my talents in the Air Force, which had stationed me in Detroit.  The sights and sounds of "Motown" were a long way from the cotton fields of north Georgia where I had worked as a youngster.     In the service, I quickly won talent shows and soon was part of a music group with Johnny Bristol.  Through various connections, Gwendolyn Gordy, sister of the founder of Motown Records, became our manager and we were on our way.     Bristol and I reached the big time when we wrote the Supremes' smash hit, "Someday We'll Be Together," and we also wrote music for "names" like Junior Walker and the All-Stars, and the duo of Marvin Gaye and Tammy Terrell.  I also wrote for Ella Washington and Joe Simon.     Later I produced music for Nashville's Big John Richberg, who pioneered the spread of popular black music over WLAC radio, a 50,000-watt AM station.  Over the years, I kept the airlines in business, enroute to producing top acts while not playing music.      The constant traveling finally wore me down, and we decided to return to my hometown of Cartersville, Georgia.  Even then, I spent a lot of time touring the Southern nightclub circuit before returning to the club my brother and I ran.  "Brothers 3" served as a performing home for my band, The Continental Showstoppers.     Just two years after we opened, a catastrophe struck.  The 1974 energy crisis created gasoline shortages and suddenly people were staying home a lot.  Friday and Saturday were the only good nights for entertainment; during the week, clubs were dead.     Bored by this unexpected inactivity, I discovered that by enrolling in school  I could earn tuition payments of $410 a month from the GI Bill. That's how I wound up at Rhinehart College, a small United Methodist institution.     I first studied art and earned a bachelor's degree in business, but religion hooked me.  On the first day of class, the professor told us to write six pages about the meaning of Genesis 1:1.  As we moved on through the Old and New Testaments I got excited.      In studying the Word, I developed such an appetite for it that I couldn't put it down.  I began to see myself as God did: a wretch!  I didn't like that.     My Bible became my constant companion, even accompanying me to our nightclub.  More than once, I sat in my room and read 'til dawn.     Saved at a revival at age 13, I had thought that as long as you attended church and "paid your dues," you could do whatever you wanted the rest of the week.  So for years I warmed a pew, but my devotion to God ended at the door when I shook the preacher's hand.     Now I was reading and talking about the Word so much that friends kept asking if I were going to preach.  Finally, I prayed, "Lord, if You want me to do this, give me three signs."      He did.     First, my car ran for 300 miles without a timing chain, which a mechanic insisted was impossible.     A week later, we played at a nightclub alongside blues legend Rufus Thomas.  I told the Lord if I were the only one who didn't get paid, that would be another confirmation.  Everyone else drew cash, while my check bounced like a basketball.     Soon after that, I entered a familiar hangout in nearby Summerville and a frightening sight greeted me - a vision of rats, roaches, maggots and snakes were all tangled up on the dance floor.     I hurried back to the dressing rooms where gamblers were tossing dice and every time they cursed, the words clanged against my eardrums.  Worse, the cigarette-blue air was choking me.  I'd spent 17 years in nightclubs, but I couldn't stand them.     Though I'd never gotten mixed up on drugs or booze, I could now see there are many pathes of unrighteousness.  This was my third sign.     The next morning I told my brother our nightclub was all his.  His reaction summed up what most people thought.     "You go off, come back as the epitome of what we think someone should be, build a fun place, bring national acts to our hometown . . . and suddenly you're leaving?  Are you loony?" he exclaimed.     I've found out that when you follow the Lord, the world will always think you're nuts.  But His call was the only thing that concerned me, and within six months I became pastor of the church I attended.     Not all my problems were over.  I still had pride in my life, so the Lord began to work on it.  Since our small, rural congregation paid a meager salary, I had to find a second job.  Becoming a manual laborer on the grounds of a local mill proved to be a very humbling experience.  I then located a position that enabled me to resume my schooling and start a gospel radio program.  The Harris Cement Company became a sponsor, and eventually I met the owner, "Papa Frank" Harris, father of our current governor.     Once, he explained that employees had to attend a Monday morning devotional because for some, it was the only gospel they ever heard.  For the first time, I realized the salvation message wasn't reserved just for the church.  It needed to be out in the world.     That's what impressed me about my first Full Gospel Business Men's meeting.  Not only were laymen giving stirring testimonies, I was amazed at the turnout of 1,000 people.  In contrast, our church was free and we couldn't attract over 100 folks.     I needed what those people had, so I opened myself up to the baptism in the Holy Spirit.  I received it in a powerful way, and received the gift of tongues.  But even with this gift, it took years to develop true spiritual discernment.
     In late 1981 I was asked to emcee a fund-raiser for Joe Frank Harris. But instead of asking God what to do, I fretted over my image.  How would people look at a pastor participating in a "worldly" political rally?     Then I had to deal with my misgiving about all politicians being corrupt.  I even wondered about Harris, despite our families' longstanding relationship.     God took care of that with His direct instruction to help. Nevertheless, I went and carefully searched Harris' closet for skeletons from his 18 years as a state representative... and couldn't find any!  I realized my image of corrupt politicians was as misguided as the negative stereotypes of blacks.     Six months before election day, Governor Harris ranked fifth in the polls with 2 percent name recognition, but on election day he won by a large margin.     So I became the governor's Executive Assistant in charge of Minority Affairs.  But I also serve as a  liason with small business and the religious community and as chairman of the state's crisis intervention taskforce.
     The latter responsibility entails some important duties.  When the KKK held its well-publicized marches in Fulton County last year, I was the governor's liason for security arrangements, and beforehand did a "Joshua march" around the state capitol where the Klan met.  You thank the Lord for the peace that prevailed.     I constantly praise the Lord for the opportunities He has given me to share the gospel in the statehouse.  If someone doesn't want to hear it, I don't cram it down their throats, but neither can anyone prevent me from speaking my beliefs.     As I mentioned before, my preconceived notions of politicians were off base.  But even good, moral leaders are lost without a biblical rudder. Thus, I've been able to steer legislators to numerous scriptures that explain such issues as why abortion is wrong, or the undesirable consequences of gambling.     The past eight years have really opened my eyes to the realities of politics, and how they can function for good as well as bad.  I realize now that God wants politicians to be ministers of His for good works.     For example, since Governor Harris took office, 850,000 new jobs have been created in a state of just 6.2 million people.  This business growth has enabled the state budget to increase from $3 billion to $8 billion.     Harris also spearheaded Quality Based Education, which requires students to pass skill tests to graduate, teacher competency exams and equal funding for all school districts.  QBE passed the House and Senate unanimously, an unbelievable feat in politics.     To my dismay, I have also seen how the church has allowed the political arena to usurp its power.  God's people used to be perceived as dynamic spiritual leaders, but now we're so busy fighting among ourselves our base has eroded.     Unity?  Observe politicians in action.  As Democrats and Republicans, they may divide on the issues but they exhort each other when under attack.      If there's another lesson the church can learn from politics, it's tenacity.  Christians are famous for attending big rallies - such as this year's Pro-Life Day - but doing little else.     "Fine, you turned out in record numbers," I told a group of preachers after Pat Robertson spoke.  "But what are you going to do tomorrow when these guys are passing legislation?"     There have been many bills proposed in recent years that would harm Georgia, like legalized gambling, prohibiting parents from spanking their children and special rights for homosexuals.     But who has appeared to pray and lobby our legislators when such bills were considered?  A group of eight to ten ladies, who believed in God strongly enough to stand in the gap and not care whether their faces appeared on television.     Besides apathy, the other enemy of Christian involvement is the well-worn saying about never mixing religion and politics.  That's nothing more than an old wives' tale that Satan uses to keep good people out of government.     I first heard it from elderly members of my congregation when I used my influence with local politicians to help the black community.  I finally shut them up by saying, "If I shouldn't be involved in politics then we need to take Daniel and Joseph out of the Bible and never talk about them again."     On November 6, you will have the opportunity to select the leaders of your city, state and nation.  Maybe this passage from Proverbs 29:2 will give some incentive to get out and vote:  "When the righteous are in authority, the people rejoice."