I was born outside the church—very far outside. Neither of my parents were Christians when I was a kid. We were a military family, my dad a Marine, and we bounced around several military bases, mostly in North Carolina. My dad was made of stone, a chiseled, highly decorated Marine who had served in the Vietnam War era. And while he was an excellent Marine, he was better at holding weapons and dodging bullets than he was at engaging with his family.
When I was 12 years old, my dad decided that domestic life was not for him. He abruptly left our family, never to return. Frankly, it is hard to describe the emotional trauma our family experienced when the strongest, most respectable man any of us had known simply walked away. With four kids to feed, my mom worked her tail off, and my siblings and I spent most of our time running the streets.
The same year my dad left, I started doing drugs and drinking alcohol. By age 18, I had been selling and using all kinds of drugs for years. During my senior year of high school, my friends and I showed up drunk to a basketball game against a local rival. I threw up on the other school’s principal, which promptly got me suspended. The days I missed pushed me over the limit for allowable absences, forcing me to repeat senior year.
Then something unexpected happened. My oldest sister, who lived in California, was taking me to the bus station to say goodbye. We had never been a churchgoing family, but she was exploring Christianity at the time. She offered me her Bible, which I politely turned down. But she insisted, and I realized I was about to be stuck on a bus for a week with nothing but a guitar, a backpack, and a little weed. So I took her Bible.
A few days into this bus trip, my fingers were getting tired from constantly playing the guitar. Bored, with nothing to do but people watch, I took out the Bible somewhat disdainfully. Since I’d grown up in the South, the people I perceived as churchgoers were often people I also perceived as racists. It would be hard to overstate how little interest I had in going to church.
But I had never read the Bible, never considered Jesus apart from the people I associated with him. So there, in the back of a Greyhound bus, I opened God’s Word for the first time.
Many people get offended by being told they are sinners. I was not. As I read the gospel story, it was painfully obvious that I had mastered nearly every form of sin under the sun. I was deeply convicted.
But the same Bible that showed me how great my sin was also showed me how much greater the Savior Jesus is. The gospel was beautiful to me. That Jesus had done for me what I could never do for myself—perfectly obey God’s law yet die to satisfy the wages of my sin—was the most liberating news I had ever heard. I was startled when I realized I was crying, overcome by the thought that such a well-practiced sinner could be washed clean, made whole, and given purpose in life.
I had climbed aboard that bus a long-haired, stinking Deadhead (bathing was not a high priority back then). I got off a week later with longer hair, smelling even worse, but saved. I had been washed in the blood of the Lamb and saved by the grace of God.
Before my bus trip was over, I decided to take a detour and go see my dad. We had not spoken in years. But the anger I felt toward him had just been bested by the grace of God. In fact, I felt compassion for him. He was the first person I wanted to know that I had become a Christian. Even so, I had no idea if he would be willing to talk.
He welcomed me. It turned out that my dad had become a Christian that same year and was praying for a way to reconcile with our family. One of the most precious moments of my life was the day, a few years later, when my dad drove down to our family reunion. I watched in amazement as this man of stone—a man of few words—got down on his knees before his adult kids and grandkids and begged through tears for forgiveness. He then sang a Christian song called “Watch the Lamb.” It was his way of saying, “Don’t look to me; look to Christ.”
In God’s providence, I went on to finish that recreation degree. From there, I completed four theological degrees. I have been a full-time pastor and church planter for 22 years while teaching at numerous seminaries.
Also Read:
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Nehemiah’s Leadership Playbook: Discretion
Inspirational
Just A Box of Crayons
Testimonies
When I Opened My Bible, God Gave Me a Magnifying Glass
