I was born to a 15 year old girl in 1964. As she was too young to take care of me I lived with my grandmother until I was 4 years old when she was hospitalized for the long term effects of diabetes and eventually died. I went to live with one of my biological mother’s sisters along with her husband and two children (both older). I was never adopted officially because my dad didn’t feel like my mom let him be a father to me – she was probably protecting me because of my rough past. Subsequently, I grew up rather independent and didn’t open myself up – though I was often loud and disruptive. I guess I was afraid to get too close to people – fearing they might hurt me like I was hurt by my grandmother leaving me.

While I was in high school my mom was saved and began praying for me and sharing the gospel with me. As a typical teenager, I resisted and went about my way. Our school had chapel once a week and I enjoyed it, but didn’t fully understand why, I mean, I believed in God, that was all that mattered – right? I worked full time through most of my high school years, played sports and spent a lot of time with my sweetheart – not really paying much attention to my family. Still, I felt the tug, like a knot in my stomach whenever my mom would speak to me about salvation. I couldn’t trust anyone, I even feared that Jesus would let me down, hurt me. I remember my mom telling my girlfriend (now my wife) that I wouldn’t let anyone get close to me, and thinking that she was crazy. Truth be known, she was right. Still she (my girlfriend) stood by me.

College; I continued to work almost full time, played on the soccer team and was active in my fraternity. Through all of the partying, hard work and sports I actually managed to make my way through college, never really reaching my potential, just getting by. My senior year I even got involved a bit with the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. I didn’t go to church in college, or afterwards for that matter.

Right out of college we were married and settled down to middle class life. We attended church from time to time with friends or family, but never really hooked up anywhere. It wasn’t until after our daughter was born that the knot in my stomach came back again. It was while she was in preschool at a local Baptist church that we went to church a couple of times on Sundays. On more than one occasion I was burning up inside to answer the “alter call”, only to look at my wife and wonder what she would think, would she reject me, would she leave me like my grandmother did. So, I sat there and did nothing. You see, we didn’t communicate very well, I wouldn’t let anyone get close enough to me to really open up to them – even my wife.

Fast forward a number of years, our daughter was in fifth grade and we were invited by one of our daughter’s friends mother to come to this “new church” that her husband was part of founding (Wendi and Dwight Irvin). It was Mother’s Day that weekend and my wife said she would like to check it out – so we did. Inside I was feeling different, excited, and anxious, like this was something good. We went (a little overdressed I guess – I mean, the pastor was wearing flip flops!) and enjoyed ourselves. The next Sunday, I was up early, making breakfast and getting cleaned up when my wife asked me what I was doing, I told her “getting ready for church”. She gave me a perplexed look and started to get ready as well.

Over the next year we attended church regularly, I joined a small group and dug deeper into the Word and felt a change coming over me. About a year to the date that we had begun attending Bridgepoint I gave my life to Christ. The knot was gone, now I just had to tell my wife. I let her know by telling her I was meeting with Dwight to talk about baptism. She was a bit shocked, asked why I hadn’t talked to her about it, I just told her “it was a personal decision”, which she understood. My life was beginning to change, I was becoming more open about my inner feelings, and I was feeling like I might be finally able to trust people.

Two things happened at my baptism that will forever be burned into my memory. First off, my mother, who sat at the edge of the pool in her wheelchair while I was baptized – gave me a pewter dangle of a cross for my keychain. She said she had bought three of them when she first was saved, one for each of her children – this was the last one she had been holding on to. As I write this I just picked up my keys and looked at it again. Sorry it took so long, Mom. The second thing was totally unexpected. I was standing there, dripping wet, looking out over the bay when my wife, out of the blue, came up from behind me and gave me a rib cracking bear hug. No words, she just grabbed me and held on. For the first time in my life with her I think she sensed that things really were going to get better, I was really going to be the man she deserved.

Long story, short – in the months following my salvation both my wife and daughter followed me in accepting Christ. They were baptized together – first time in my entire life that I was at a loss for words. I continue to grow in Christ every day, still exercising demons from my past and battling the knucklehead that I am. But I’m walking with Christ, hand in hand with my spouse and child and with the family of believers that we share our lives with.

I finally let someone get close to me…Thank you, Jesus for getting close to me.

By the way, we haven’t missed a Sunday at Church when were in town since that first one, it’s the least we can do to show our thanks for all He has done for us!

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Sunday after church our family had a fun time with the one to one cards. We had purchased bottled water and chips to give out to people in the waiting room of a hospital as Tim had suggested, but ended up doing something different. On the way to church we always pass many people selling newspapers at the corners. Our new plan was to cruise through the city looking for newspaper vendors. Our daughter brought a friend along with her and they were on the lookout for the bright yellow t-shirts of the vendors. They took turns handing out the water and snacks. At first the girls seemed a little timid but quickly jumped into the spirit of our drive-by blessings. They enjoyed the confused look we got when we handed out our gifts. As we drove away they would watch to see the response that we got. Most of the time the card was read and they would look up and smile and wave at us. When we exhausted the supply of vendors we took the rest of our water and chips and handed them out to the people hanging out at Williams Park. What an awesome way to spend a Sunday!

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My story is simple and sweet-I received a letter in the mail that was addressed to same street #,different street. I wrote “Return to Sender” and was ready to slip this letter back in the box when it hit me-perfect opportunity to use one of those cards!!!!! I was really excited for the chance to use these cards. I jumped in the car and ventured to this address. I than walked up to the mailbox and dropped the letter in along with the card -I left feeling so proud!!!!!

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About a year ago, I began to take bagged lunches to Mirror Lake each weekday at lunchtime. It was hot and I carried everything in my hands and on my back. I live in downtown, my direct neighbors include millionaires to homeless. This one to one moment was not one that I gave to someone else, but how I was affected.

I began to get to know the residents of Mirror Lake, I knew their names and where they usually lived. I soon ran out of resources and felt useless. I stopped going because I didn’t have anything to give.

A few months ago, while walking, I was recognized by one of the gentleman I used to talk to at the lake. He told me that he had been worried since he hadn’t seen me in quite a while. Feeling guilty for sacrificing more, I told him I had lost my job and just wasn’t able. I lied, I forgotten to trust that God would provide and simply stopped buying food and got back to life as I knew it.

I think this man knew that. He told me that he saw love in me and missed me, not the food I brought. I have still not been back to lake. Mainly out of fear, I still feel that I don’t have enough to give. This man that gave me a one to one moment, showed me the love of God. This man didn’t care what I could or could not give him, it was all about one person, spending one moment of time listening to and loving him just because.

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It was a difficult couple of months, our apartment was broken into and we were robbed, then someone stole money out of our bank account, then my car went in for routine maintenance which ended up becoming a major and majorly expensive repair. All this right before I was supposed to go on vacation for the first time in 3 years. I was angry, disappointed, and feeling a bit selfish. Luckily, it was Thursday, I look forward to this day because I get to volunteer, it’s the highlight of my week, I wasn’t about to get in something positive for me this week.

With no vehicle and running too late to walk, I called a taxi. With the money being lost for all sorts of reasons, I knew this may not be wise. I was picked up in a red car and off to the office to cut out stars. Thinking about this one to one stuff Time has been talking about, but not knowing how to start a conversation, I asked the driver if he went to church anywhere. What I got was the most incredible taxi ride and encouragement I had ever gotten. This gentleman told me that his wife had left when their children were young (5 of them) and he had to raise them all. There were times that he more than contemplated suicide. The stories I was told about his struggle made mine seem like an ant hill next to Killimanjaro. Among the struggles he shared with his children, he had battled cancer and was facing the possibility of having an ear removed due to cancer. I reached into the money I had pulled out to pay my mechanic and gave more of a tip than I usually do.

I was energized and encouraged and ran into the office to tell Tim about right away! I think this one to one did more for me than it did for him. Sorry it took so long to share it with everyone else.

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Psalm 139:13-16 You formed my inmost being; you knit me in my mother’s womb. I praise you, so wonderfully you made me; wonderful are your works! My very self you knew; my bones were not hidden from you. When I was being made in secret, fashioned as in the depths of the earth. Your eyes foresaw my action: in your book all are written down; my days were shaped before one came to be. I was a cradle catholic from birth. Going to church Sunday mornings were a normal part of my life. When we couldn’t afford the gas, we would walk the mile and a half to and from church.

My father was a lector or as I used to think of him “God’s helper,” at the masses. After the second reading, I would quietly walk up the aisle to meet him, hug him, and whisper “Good Job Daddy!” He would pick me up and take me back to our pew. I had my care bear heart shaped wallet always full of coins from my piggy bank to give to God for the “poor and needy” people. I never realized we were one of those people. Matthew 18: 4-5 “Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me.” Growing up it seemed normal to fish with my Dad, clean and fry them up for dinner or do odd jobs with him. At 2 and 3 years of age, I was a great landscaper and accompanied him on many jobs. Life was great. Our one bedroom farmhouse on 2 acres seemed like a castle to the little me.

When I was three and a half my maternal uncle, Uncle Matt, committed suicide. I only knew that he went to live with God, and my cousin, Cathy couldn’t go see him. I kept looking for him in church, but didn’t fully understand why he wasn’t at the house of God. At this same time, my mother was pregnant with my sister. Uncle Matt was supposed to be the Godfather but my mother decided to have Uncle John take his place. After knowing of his death, my mother had gone outside to get some firewood for the wood-burning stove while I was napping, to heat the house. There, by the wood pile, wearing his army uniform, Uncle Matt looked at her and said “Everything is going to be all right,” Then floated up and was gone. This was my first confirmation God answered prayers. My mother had been so distressed over his death that many thought she would lose the baby. She seemed to be replaced by calmness. At 3 years of age, I knew my prayers were being listened to and answered. 1 Corinthians 1:6-8 as the testimony to Christ was confirmed among you, so that you are not lacking in any spiritual gift as you wait for the revelation of our Lord Jesus Christ. He will keep you firm to the end, irreproachable on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.

My sister was born. I got to visit her at the hospital, at almost 4 years of age, and felt proud. When she came home, my mother wouldn’t allow anyone to hold the baby but herself, resulting in the baby screaming anytime anyone tried to pick her up. A new baby meant a new job for Dad. Landscaping 6 days a week paid the bills and left nothing left over. He picked up any odd jobs offered to provide for us. One winter, he had picked up a job cutting down some trees but the chainsaw slipped on icy bark and hit his left triceps area of his arm. I prayed and prayed for Daddy to be ok. He came home from the hospital with stitches and 2 immobile fingers. He was bedridden for a while due to a cut tendon. Six months later he became an insurance salesman and worked six days a week to save. Matthew 25:35-36 For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me. One afternoon the 4 year old version of me decided to play Mom. My mother was watching “As the World Turns,” like usual, and I learned at a young age not to talk to her, or be in the room with her when her soap operas were on. For 2 hours a day, I needed to be invisible, and if I wasn’t a slap on the face or a good shaking reminded me of this. This particular afternoon the baby was crying, and Mom was into her soaps. I vaguely remember praying “God help me make baby happy,” then let down the safety bar on the crib and climbed into her crib, picked her up and carefully climbed out of the crib with her in my arms. Mom must have heard the cries get closer; she came into the kitchen, saw me holding the baby, snatched her out of my arms, and broke a wooden spoon on my behind. This was one of many broken utensils.

With the baby in the picture, the next 4 years I was my Dad’s little buddy. My mom seemed to have a one child limit and had pushed me aside in order to fully devote herself to the baby. My father was working 6 days a week to make up for my mother not working at all; I was put into daycare and then elementary school. I rode the school bus home so Mom wouldn’t miss her soaps, since school let out right in the middle of “As the World Turns.” When I was in the middle of first grade, my life changed quickly. We were listening to my teacher read, when we heard loud sirens; this was a first, because all though we lived in a small country town, the fire truck usually never passed our school. My paternal grandmother had taught me to always pray for whoever is in need of the sirens because someone obviously is in need and extra prayers help. My prayer was simple “Please be with the person the sirens are going to.” I don’t remember much of the sequence of events that morning, just that a good family friend came into my classroom, spoke with my teacher, then took me out of class. She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, I just remember praying “Please let Mommy and Baby be ok.” Psalm 91: 14-16 Whoever clings to me I will deliver; whoever knows my name I will set on high. All who call upon me I will answer; I will be with them in distress; I will deliver them and give them honor. With length of days I will satisfy them and show them my saving power. My mom told me the house burned down and nothing was left. With everyone safe, no bruises or cuts, I knew yet again that God answered my prayers. That night, our “Family” the community, opened their arms. We spent a few nights at my best friend’s house, and then a few more at a hotel before a friend of a friend found us a rental house. The two bedrooms, one bath and extra dining room made my “castle” look small. Our garage even had 2 automatic doors and a mud room which became a playroom. A few nights later we watched the firemen knock down the rest of my fortress and bury it. Isaiah 26:5 He humbles those in high places and the lofty city he brings down; he tumbles it to the ground, levels it with the dust.

Daily I went to the spot of ruins to feed my cat, who I was told had run away. Later, as I was reading the newspaper, I found out she had perished in the fire. I didn’t tell my parents I knew this until much later in life. We build a house over the old one’s remains and enjoyed the 3 bedroom 2 bath upgrade.

That August my second baby sister was born. Sister 1 was now my responsibility since Sister 2 was the newest baby. That summer we moved to Racine, Wisconsin to be closer to my mother’s family. It was made pretty apparent that we were the black sheep and they didn’t really want us around. We went to family functions but anytime something was broken our out of place it was always my sister’s or my fault. I went to a Catholic school and attended mass every Sunday, but the ten year old version of me didn’t feel the friendliness or the home feeling of my old community.

One night, the summer before I started my new school, my Dad didn’t come home. He had a golf outing an hour away. I remember sitting on the couch looking out the front window praying for God to have the next truck be Dad’s. It wasn’t until the next morning we got the news. Dad was on his way home, got sleepy, drifted off the road, and hit a telephone pole. His bumper and hood of his car was crinkled like an accordion. We were dropped off at our maternal grandparent’s house while my mother and Uncle went to go get Dad from the hospital. I didn’t find out until later that alcohol was the main factor.

I started school and was chastised, teased and bullied throughout fourth through eighth grade. I internalized it, and never told anyone. Sister 1 was getting it too and I did everything I could to help her and take the bullying away. At home it was worse, and I knew I had to have sister 1′s back. Sister 2, all though starting kindergarten, was still the baby and perfect in every way. Sister 1 turned to me, and I turned to my diary. It helped to write out what I couldn’t talk out. In a way, my daily entries were prayers to God. Our mother became more and more aggressive with us. The threat of “If you tell your father, he will spank you and punish you worse,” kept us from talking to our father. I was called ugly, stupid, fat, and every name under the sun by my mother. She told me I would never get married and never amount to anything. The teasing at school worsened and there was no break at home. I refused to let her see me cry and it was hard, but I trained myself not to cry. Thoughts of suicide frequented my mind, always with the thought of what would happen to my sisters if I weren’t here?

One night my mother dragged Sister 1 down the hallway by her hair, picked her up by her neck, and threw her into her bed (the top of a bunk bed). This was all because sister 1 took a toy that sister 2 had wanted. Another time sister 1 and I were playing Barbies. She wanted them to be ballerina dancers and I wanted them to be cheerleaders. We began to argue and were called to the kitchen. I will never forget the words spoken by our mother, or the wild look in her eyes, as she handed us both sharp steak knives. She told us “Go back downstairs and fight it out with these, whoever comes back upstairs alive will be my daughter.” Of course we ran to our rooms and cried. We were held under water in our pool until we nearly passed out, and once in winter I was locked out of the house wearing just a thin night gown, only to be yelled at for crouching under the window to stay warm in the cold wind and snow. We were threatened enough to know not to tell. I think my Dad maybe had an idea things weren’t okay at home, as he began having “late nights at work.” He would get us girls up early, and we would pray and read the bible together and then watch an episode of Flipper. Then we’d get ready and go to school, but at nights he was rarely home. When he came home early, we three, Sister 1, Dad and I, would camp out in the basement until bedtimes. Many times Dad and I would just talk. These were the moments that I felt normal.

One night, my mother woke me up out of a deep sleep. I’m not sure what time it was, but I do know it was late. She had heard a noise at the back door and wanted me to investigate it. I opened the door to a windy ice rainstorm. My father lay at the foot of the back porch, asleep with a small line of blood trickling down his nose. Apparently he had tried to get inside, stumbled on the steps, fell forward, scraped his nose, and passed out. My mother called the cops while I was outside trying to get my Dad up. The ambulance came and helped him inside. My prayers started sounding like this “Please Lord, bless my sisters and me. Get my Dad home safe and help my Mom learn to love us.” Revelations 21:4 He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there shall be no more death or mourning, wailing or pain, for the old order has passed away.

Midway through eighth grade my Dad was transferred to Lansing, Michigan. We were split up for six months, but visited Dad every other weekend. I always looked forward to these weekends. We moved after I graduated eighth grade. A new start, a new home. We lived in a one bedroom apartment that summer while our house was being built and everything seemed to be getting better. God truly answered my prayers. My Mom still wouldn’t hug or kiss anyone of us, but she was being nicer. It was the calm before the storm. Shortly before we moved into our new home, my father came up missing again. He was due home around 6pm and was still gone by noon the next day. My mother was no help, and made us believe he was dead on the side of the road, causing a panic among my sisters. I had to try to soothe them. He came home that evening after spending all night and day in the hospital, as we were told, sobering up. He turned to a Christian Counselor and an AA group and to this day has not smoked or drank, 13 years and counting. As my father got better, my mother got worse. Every few nights she would take off, telling us she was going to drive over a bridge. She even spent a weekend in her truck in below zero weather one time to prove to us that she was dead. She told us girls that the three mistakes she ever made in life were us three girls, and resorted to repeatedly hitting and smacking sister 2, as sister 2 was now in fourth grade and didn’t want to hold her mom’s hand at school anymore. By this time I was making most dinners, doing the laundry and cleaning and taking care of my sisters. Every time she went after a sister, I would intervene. It seemed like sister 1 was often her target, and I jumped in the middle more times than I can remember. Jeremiah 15:18 Why is my pain continuous, my wound incurable, refusing to be healed? You have indeed become for me a treacherous brook, whose waters do not abide. We went through therapy and counseling, I finally told my Dad what was going on. My Dad became my rock. He listened, and hugged, and was great. Each time a therapist mentioned bipolar or manic depression, my mother found a reason to not continue with that therapist. The fifth therapist told my parents they needed to make a decision. My mother had moved into an apartment and wanted back in the house. We were experiencing a calm atmosphere and didn’t want her home. My parents were divorced, sole custody granted to my father. This was a relief to us, but a shock to all of our neighbors and friends. We were the perfect “Leave it to Beaver” family, by appearance. We lost a lot of friends due to the divorce, but were finally at peace. My mother and her entire family refused all contacts with my sisters and I since then, because they feel that it was my sister’s and my fault that all of this happened. Lamentations 5:22 For now you have indeed rejected us and in full measure turned your wrath against us.

A year later I was married to my boyfriend of five years. He was with me through the roughest parts of my life, and I figured I owed him that. Plus I was proving my mother wrong. I COULD get married, and I WAS attractive. Repeated use of drugs, alcohol, 3 credit cards maxed out in my name, and multiple girls came in between our marriage. He didn’t believe in God and disapproved of my church going. I stopped and my prayers were offered less and less. I felt incomplete. We were divorced a year later. I was a failure again. Matthew 5:4 Blessed are those mourn, for they will be comforted.

I moved back in with my Dad, started going back to church again and was feeling better. Isaiah 40:31 They that hope in the Lord will renew their strength, they will soar as with eagles’ wings; They will run and not grow weary, walk and not grow faint. I met a guy and we were engaged. He was Methodist but said he would convert to catholic to me. Because this meant (and still does) mean a lot to my grandparents, I was excited. He just never got around to it. Drugs, alcohol, and an empty savings account broke us up again. I decided to move to Florida after graduating college. My sister and I had a plan. She would follow in 2 years once I was established. I began praying every night and going to mass weekly. God helped my transition to Florida run smoothly, making sure I was safe and blessing me with shelter and a job. Colossians 3:9-11 Since you have taken off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed, for knowledge, in the image of its creator. Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. I got a full time and two part time jobs and went to church every Sunday with my paternal grandparents. Mass seemed like a drive through service, we got there 5 minutes before mass started, and walked out after communion (all of this before 8:30AM!)I still felt something was missing. I met another guy, got engaged and went to his church. His band was great, but it was still the “boring routine” to me… stand up, sit down, kneel, repeat… I didn’t feel like I was truly hearing God’s word, and why couldn’t I listen to God myself, why did I have to hear his word through someone else? I didn’t get it. I decided to shop around. My relationship was rocky; my fiancé was controlling and slowly leaning towards degrading. He had a son through a different marriage, but found it unfair that I expected him to raise him just as much as I had to. We recently broke up, and I moved out. I have been doing my own bible study every day that my sister and I are doing at the same time, one with friends once a week, and ironically the One 2 One series at mass at Bridgepoint is reinforcing what I’m doing on my own.

There are still times I feel very lost, over my head, and insecure, but God truly listens to my conversations and answer my prayers on a daily basis. My mother is still convinced my sisters and I ruined her relationship with my father and once a year sends a letter that is half positive and half degrading. I’m finally happy with my church and with the direction my life is going. I’m very much so my father’s daughter, a workaholic but happy with life. I know that God has been with me every step of the way in my life, and has only given me what he knew I could handle. 1 John 4:7-12 Beloved, let us love one another, because love is of God; for God is love. In this way the love of God was revealed to us: God sent his only son into the world so that we might have life through him. In this is love: not that we have loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as expiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also must love one another. No one has ever seen God. Yet, if we love one another, God remains in us, and his love is brought to perfection in us.

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Today I got to share a one2one. I ran out at lunch to the McDonalds on 4th Street and 38th. I pulled in the parking lot and the line for the drive thru was long and going both ways. As approached to turn in the truck going the other way let me in front of them. I said, “that’s the one I am supposed to bless.” So after I ordered and paid I told the lady at the window I wanted to pay for the truck behind me. She rang it up and asked, “do you want the receipt?” I said yes and then she asked, “do you want their food?” I laughed and said no I just want the receipt and please give them this card. I handed her a one2one card. She looked at me and then the card and said again, “are you sure you don’t want the food?” It was so funny. It made my day. I can’t wait for the next opportunity.

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My 1 Story involves a family that my wife and I met 1 day in the parking lot of a local McDonalds.
As we pulled in my wife noticed a man under the hood of his van, looking as if he needed help. She said to me, “You should go see if he needs help.” And of course, I sighed and hesitated to get out of our van. Finally as I approached the man I noticed four people inside their van, his wife and three children. I asked him if he needed a jump start. Confused he said, “I don’t know, I don’t know what’s wrong with it.” And one thing I can tell you about myself is, I am not a mechanic, I know very little about motors if anything at all. So I got my cables and said, “Let’s try to jump start it.” No luck. It would start but then die.
Then out of my mouth came,” It must be the alternator.” What!? How did I know that was the problem? I didn’t. Then I knew it must be God, not me, so I just followed God like I knew what I was doing.
By this time my wife had introduced herself and was telling his wife and children about the church we were attending at that time. Then God says, through me, “I have my tools in my van (which was also not normal, these are tools that I never use) let me get them and I will remove the alternator so we can have it checked out.” What!? I remember my wife even looking stunned, asking me as I got my tools, “Do you really know what your doing?” My reply being, “Uhh.., I guess so.”
After about ten to fifteen minutes I had this mans alternator in my hands. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I couldn’t believe what I was doing. Then God said through me, again, “Ok, let’s go to the parts store to have it checked.” You can have alternators checked? What!? How did I know this? When we got there I walked in, and with all the confidence God had put in me I said, “I need to have this checked.” The man behind the counter said, “No problem.” Taking it into the back room, he soon returned saying it was dead and needed to be replaced. He offered a new one for $ 140 dollars or a rebuilt one for $90 dollars. My mouth dropped open and about that time, the man I was helping (whose name was Greg) said, “I don’t have that kind of money.” And at the same time I could hear God telling me, “Buy it for him .Buy it for him.” So, out of my mouth came, “That’s o.k. I got it.” What!? I knew then for sure it was, most certainly, without a doubt, God doing this because that was just not like me. I had always been on a tight budget. I would help people from time to time but $90 dollars was part of our rent money. But I was also smart enough to know God must have a bigger plan.
When we got back from the parts store, my wife, his wife and children were all eating ice cream and acting like old friends. I proceeded to act as the mechanic, putting the alternator back on without any knowledge, then we jumped it again and the van cranked right up and stayed running. Praise God!! I knew it had to be God. So we all gathered together to pray and thank God and give him all the praise.
The next week Greg and his whole family came to church and committed their life to Jesus. At that time I thought, ok God, I now see why you used me and gave me this knowledge because you wanted to make this connection to Greg and his family through my wife and I. Wow. God is a good God. It all still amazes me.
End of story, right. Not quite.
Greg and his family kept coming to church off and on until about a year after we met them, Greg became ill due to diabetes complications and quickly passed and went home to be with the Lord. What!? It all happened so fast and then it all became so clear to me that God really is the Alpha and Omega. He already knew what he had planned for Greg before my wife and I ever met him and his family.
I want to thank you Father God for using my wife and I, for giving us the knowledge to help you help Greg. In Jesus name, Amen
We still remain friends with Greg’s wife and kids to this day.
I just want to end this story by saying,” Please never pass up that chance God is placing in front of you. This might be your 1 day to be his mechanic.”

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The other day I was out with the staff for lunch. We were celebrating Randy’s birthday. He wanted to go to Outback on 4th St. We noticed the thin crowd when we went in and asked the server if it was always like that for lunch. She said sometimes it wasn’t that busy. I was reminded of the story I shared in my last message about working the afternoon shift of a restaurant. No tips!

We had a great meal and throughout carried on a conversation with our server. We shared with her about our church and what we did and learned a little about her journey. As lunch was winding down we knew we had a great one2one opportunity. We decided to bless this young lady with an extra good tip. Not a huge amount of money but enough to make an impact. After she took the bill and just before we were leaving she came by the table with a huge smile and said “you guys are awesome, you made my lunch.”

Wow! The smile on her face and that response were priceless. It didn’t cost us but a few dollars. But, for her it made a real impact. Maybe she’ll join us at BP one day but more important she saw a group of people who really cared about her.

I hope you all go one2one sometime this week. I look forward to reading your stories right here.

No similar stories.

I’m not sure where to start my story. Growing up we went to church occasionally. I do remember a few days at Sunday school, but not many. As a family, we did a lot of things on the weekends and church was set aside. At school we had chapel service, but it seemed to be a ritual that never meant a lot to me.

I wasn’t until years later, when my husband and I had a daughter that thoughts of God came back to mind. We both knew we wanted to find a church where we could feel comfortable and our daughter could grow up knowing about God. At that point I didn’t realize how much I was looking for God also.

When our daughter was in second grade they were talking about Sunday school and church and she asked her teacher, “Am I a bad person if I don’t go to church?” Her teacher assured her that, no, she wasn’t a bad person. It wasn’t a decision that she had to make; it was for her parents to decide. Wow! That really hit us.

After having tried out one church and talking to people around us we found Bridgepoint and have made our home there. Since then all three of us have been baptized and have begun a wonderful journey.

Part of that journey was a trip to the Dominican Republic with members of the church. It was during that trip where I really saw God at work. The theme for the week seemed to be that it all happens in His time. This was evident from the very beginning of our trip. We were supposed to travel from Tampa to Miami to the DR. Due to bad weather in Miami, our new path was Tampa to Miami to New York (yes, New York!) to the DR. By the time we were in the DR, our group had bonded through this experience together and was better prepared for the week ahead of us.

Part of our task for the week was to paint murals on the walls of Casa de Luz, a home for orphaned and disabled children. One of the gifts that I felt I had was to paint. I was looking forward to helping with this project. On the day we were starting to paint, I found myself watching. You see, a young boy, one of the residents, was with me. I could not communicate with him, as I don’t speak much Spanish, and I don’t think he speaks due to his disability. Even with this limitation, we were communicating. After holding my hands and swaying back and forth very happily, we sat on the sofa to watch. He enjoyed the soft touch of my hands on his and was comforted. It was then when I could hear God loud and clear. This was what He wanted me to be doing at that time. Instead of being frustrated, I was amazingly calmed. Before going to the DR I would never have imagined that this was something that I could do. Later on during the week, I was finally able to work on the mural, but what I will always remember is what God showed me through that one little boy.

No similar stories.