my story

I must confess I have been a follower a times, which can be a very good thing; however, in other situations, it can lead to a downward spiral that pulls you down before you realize you’re trapped. That’s exactly what happened to me. When I look back now to this time of my life, I realize how gullable I must have been-a genuine dupe. If I could I would kick myself. The Bible teaches us that more people than we often think are watching how we behave. Granted, I didn’t fully consider spiritual truths until much later in my life, when I belatedly became convicted of my sinful nature and accepted Jesus Christ as my personal Savior and Lord.

Now, as I stand nearer the end of my life, I realize, much like Job, that I am more blessed now than I ever was before. I certainly don’t deserve the blessings I’ve received. I have often been a follower when I should have been a leader of others, but now, thank God, I am content to follow, and I see that as a good thing. As I follow Jesus, I can trust Him to never lead me astray—unlike my so-called friends and their faulty advice, reminiscent of Job’s so-called friends who misled him with their misguided counsel. That’s why I am so thankful for the gift of salvation I found in Jesus.

Oh, if youngsters of all ages truly knew the real truth of this story beforehand. Much too often I had to learn these lessons the hard way? I was most certainly a brother born for adversity and learned in the school of hard knocks. But praise God there was a friend that sticketh closer than a brother. And I’m so thankful that the Lord has brought true brotherly friends into my life!  I am so blessed! Because like a treasure in the field, and It has taken a lifetime to uncover, I know they are genuine. I am reminded of a song by Gary Sanford Paxton titled

?’A Vessel of Honor For God.”

A line in that song states, “surface relationships used me till I was done in, but oh what I missed. He’s been waiting right there all the time. 

He was there all the time, waiting patiently in line. He was there all the time. 

Never again will I search for peace in some void, now that I have the answer, my life is just starting to rise. O what I missed. He’s been waiting right there all the time.”

They are so hard to find- honest and faithful, with confidence I can be sure that my intrests are are prioritized. Never again will I be ensnared by the false influencers of this age—many of whom are far more sinister and dangerous than the social media influencers of today.

The preceding lines serve as a preamble to my story, a cautionary warning I once failed to heed, the following

A Testimony of God’s redeeming love.

After graduating from high school with no clear direction for my future, I one day blindly walked into a recruiting office, seeking purpose. This is a story in itself, but in context, it all leads to a predictable outcome because I joined the military on the advice of a close friend who vowed to enlist also and serve beside me. My commitment was based on the good faith I placed in him, although, at the last minute, my so-called “buddy” backed out, leaving me to face the challenge alone. Ho-hum! My military career is another story, but suffice it to say, it eventually gave me the grit to face my greatest challenge to date. 

One night, while on leave at home, I got involved with a group I greatly admired, a clique that I hoped would give me acceptance and belonging. Little did I know, this would lead to a near-fatal encounter. My intense desire to be accepted by this group drew me further into a dangerous world of drugs, petty crime, and risky behavior. This period marks the beginning of my big shame. The Bible instructs us that, “The wise shall inherit glory: But shame shall be the promotion of fools.” Drugs and a life of crime wrecked devastation and nearly took my life, but I survived solely by the grace of God.

Late one January night in 1975, I found myself with a group of men, a few young women, and a sense of excitement that seemed to define those days. It felt like something thrilling was always happening, and this night was no different. I was standing with my back against the kitchen counter when another so-called friend approached me, wearing a holster strapped around his waist. Without hesitation, he drew a small-caliber revolver, pressed the barrel in my face, and pulled the trigger. It was at point-blank range, and while the weapon was small, it caused maximum damage—an experience I will never forget, and it nearly ended my life. Some fifty years later, the report still echos, buzzes rings somewhere in the midst of my head and ears!

Only one misstep is all it takes to cause an unrecoverable catastrophe that changes your life permanently. After being rushed to the local hospital, the doctor on call worked to stabilize my vitals to the best of his ability. Reading the ambulance reports, which I still have in my possession, I have a predilection for retaining documentation of the highlights of my life, and the paramedics dispatched to the crime scene give a gloomy outlook. My prognosis was deemed “doubtful.” But they did the best, and despite the dubious outlook, gave a faint glimmer of hope, promising that if I survived the night, I would be transferred to the nearest trauma center in Wichita.

Well, I guess you know the rest of the story because I did survive the night. I fought hard for my life, not only that night, but for the next several months of my stay in the hospital. I fought, and somehow God gave me the faith, though I really didn’t have much faith to offer God at all. At that point, things would change, though, and the Lord was patient with me and brought me through some pretty dark valleys. It took years and years, sometimes I thought I had to give up, not only on my life, but also many times I considered that my life was not important enough to continue. I can always praise God for his patience with me through it all, and I thank God for the prayers from my family, church, and friends, because if my family had not been there for me and had such a strong faith in healing, trusting the doctors as much as they could. In the end, they can only do so much, and we must, as individuals, act on our own faith with God’s help and direction.  

Before I close the page on this chronicle, I must relate an incident that occurred when it was still questionable whether or not I would remain a vegetable the rest of my life. At this point, about the only physical function I had in my body was the use of the index finger on my right hand. My sister devised a little test to help determine my spelling aptitude. It’s important to note that at this point, I couldn’t even swallow, let alone eat. Food was always at the forefront of my mind. Hence, my sister decided that I needed to spell out the name of the food I would most like to eat when I got better, using a spelling board and pointing to the letters. So I proceeded to spell out what I wanted most. I spelled out S-P-A-G-H-E-T-T-I-O-S, SpaghettiOs, don’t you know it, in that everyone in that hospital was thoroughly convinced that my mind was pretty sharp, so I add this as a postscript to confirm that I am not simply telling you a big Fish story which denies the full truth by deliberately squeeing the facts, to fit a narrative to alleviate my guilty conscience.

But this is the total truth. So help me God!

 Preconceptions can be deceiving. Sometimes, you have to go out and prove yourself.