Today, July 6th, marks a monumental day in the life of our family. We celebrate 95 incredible years of my grandfather, Charles W. Wilson—a man whose quiet strength, deep faith, and unwavering love have shaped generations.
Born in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania in 1930, my grandfather was the youngest of four children. Even as a boy, he displayed remarkable grit and determination, qualities that would carry him throughout his life. At Lower Merion High School, he wasn’t just a student—he was a standout multi-sport athlete, even winning a state championship in football. Those early days on the field taught him discipline, teamwork, and the value of perseverance—traits he carried into every chapter of his story.
After high school, he answered a different kind of call, one of duty and service, enlisting in the United States Air Force. For 20 years, he served our nation with honor, dedicating himself to a life bigger than his own ambitions. His military service not only strengthened his character but became a profound testimony of sacrifice, commitment, and steadfastness.
But perhaps the most enduring aspect of his life has been his faith. My grandfather served for many years as a deacon in multiple churches, standing alongside pastors, uplifting congregations, and always seeking to build up the body of Christ. He never craved the spotlight—his ministry was rooted in service, prayer, and humble devotion. I can’t count the number of pastors who were sustained by his intercession, or the countless people who experienced the love of God through his giving spirit.
Of course, long before I knew any of these stories, he was simply my grandpa. He was the man who took me camping, who showed me how to build a fire, who taught me to marvel at the stars. Those trips into nature were more than adventures—they were lessons in wonder, patience, and appreciating God’s creation.
When I felt the pull toward ministry, it was my grandfather who gave me some of the most profound counsel I’ve ever received. He told me plainly:
“The most effective thing you can do to prepare for the preaching ministry is to face the crucible of teaching Sunday School.”
He was right. There is something about teaching that sharpens your understanding, deepens your compassion, and roots you in the Word in ways that the pulpit alone never could. That wisdom has guided me throughout my journey.
My grandfather also taught me resilience, not through grand speeches, but by living it. I have watched him face physical challenges, weather heartbreak, and navigate seasons of difficulty with a grace that can only come from knowing God for real. Even now, at 95, he is one of the most giving, praying people I know. His life has been a tapestry woven with acts of kindness, steadfast prayers, and deep, abiding faith.
He has always prayed for our family. His prayers have covered my life in ways I may never fully grasp. I would not have finished school without his encouragement and support. I would not be standing in my calling today if it weren’t for his sacrifices. I am not the man I am without the example he set.
This year also marks another remarkable testament to his life: he was married to my grandmother, Cleona W. Wilson, for an astounding 72 years. Together, they built a legacy of love, partnership, and faithfulness that continues to ripple through our family. Their story is one of quiet, enduring devotion—proof that true love is not found in grand gestures alone, but in the everyday choice to stand together through every season.
So today, we don’t just celebrate a birthday. We honor a life—a life that has touched so many, shaped so much, and pointed all of us closer to Christ.
Grandpa, I thank God for your laughter, your stories, your tears. I thank Him for every lesson you taught me by simply living out your faith day by day. Your prayers still uphold me. Your sacrifices still pave the way for me. Your love still anchors me.
Happy 95th birthday, Grandpa. May you feel the deep gratitude and boundless love of all of us who are so blessed to call you ours. I love you more than words can say.
Dr. Charles W. Ferguson 