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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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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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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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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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.

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I was so excited when Tim said he had cards for us and that we were to go out and spread the word, one 2 one… You see, I’ve always been that person in the drive through who pays for the person behind me. When I go to Fort DeSoto or Sarasota, I take extra money with me to pay for at least the guy behind me, sometimes 2 or three behind me. My father, because he’s seen me do this, has now started doing this in Michigan (it’s hard to say, maybe I learned from him and then he re-learned the generosity from me). The only message I’ve ever asked the people at the drive through and in the toll booths to pass on is “God Bless You!” How cool is this!!! Now I have a card to go along with it!
I’m so excited to go out and leave fun, secret, little messages for those who may need God in their lives. I’m offering it up to God, that he will direct me to the places and people who need him the most right now
Thanks Tim!

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My1Story is proof that God has a plan for us and it is “HIS” timing and not ours. Even though I went to church as a young boy with the family, I never really could grasp the concept that Jesus, a person that lived thousands of years ago could know me or care for me. I learned at a very young age of 5 that it was much less painful on my body to lie to my parents than to tell the truth. I never felt very good about myself and lacked self esteem through most of my life. Most of my problems I blamed on my three older sisters for many years because of how they treated me and my Mother never knew what was going on behind her back. I always felt alone and that nobody really cared about me or even loved me. As typical my Father worked a lot, but there were a few times he would take me to work with him on Saturdays which became treasured moments. When I was to start High School, my parents decide to move closer to where my Father worked. This was devastating to my low self esteem, because what few friends I did I have, I lost. Starting High School in a new school, and a new environment, as we moved from a small rural community to the city, was overwhelming on me. I became angry at my folks and withdrew even more. Then my Father died suddenly when I was in my sophomore year just before Christmas.

Well I pretty much lost it as this was the only person in my life I had any kind of relationship with. Even though I respected my Mother, I don’t really think I had any understanding of how to love anyone. I cursed GOD and could not understand why he could take my Father from me and I completely turned my life away from anything remotely associated with GOD. Needless to say my life from that point went in the toilet, especially when I was introduced to alcohol. I was a terrible student and barely made it through school. I got into trouble many times with drinking, such as driving my mother’s car into a house almost killing two people sleeping in their bedroom. Another time I got out of a situation involving DUI and concealed weapon charge because my Brother-in-law had a good crooked lawyer.

Well then I grew up, I thought because I got married and figured I would settle down. Ha –, the problem was I still drank very heavily and this caused this marriage to dissolve after three kids and 7 years of unhappiness. Then a second marriage that started out with the same problem of drinking and this ended after 7 years of marriage and 1 child. At least I was starting to understand my problem with drinking, that nobody understood me and drinking was not really the problem. Another Ha –
Well I then met the Woman of my dreams and a soul mate. Just with that statement I guess you can tell where that went, because I have been single for 20 years now.

While I was involved with this woman, I still had my drinking problem which got to its worse point. I had been in and out of the Alcohol Anonymous program several times and I just did not relate to those people that found a GOD in their lives. I just was not one of those people and I continued to believe I could fix myself! I did not need anyone to help me!
Through a chain of too many events to list now, I came to a day when I could not face life anymore. I was sitting at my kitchen table after a week of not drinking with a terrible case of the shakes. I had a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and my 38 Police special laying on the table in front of me. The thoughts running through my head gave me the option of drinking myself to death OR just put a bullet in my head and get it over with! I was at my end —–

At that very moment a calm came over me and a soft quiet voice said – Give AA one more try, there are people who Love you as I do —
I followed that advice and that is why I am writing this letter today, sober, without a drink in 14 years and Jesus in my Heart!
The best part of the story is that three years into my sobriety, at a AA meeting on December 16th we were discussing “Good Christmas / Bad Christmas” and typical stories were that of how drinking ruined the Holidays. But my thoughts were that of the year my Father died just before Christmas. The thought came to me – He died on December 16th – today is December 16th! That was the day I turned my back on GOD! THEN it came to me – that day I sat with the gun and bottle as my choices for life or death WAS December 16th! From that day I turned from GOD to the day I finally listened to him and invited HIM back into my life was 33 years to the day! Only GOD has that kind of patience and Love for each of us to never give up!

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Door Number 3

Death has always been difficult for me. The loss of a friend or a loved one has been a source of intense emotional pain. 9/11 left me with a sense of emptiness that I just can’t put into words. Even Easter Sunday brings a flow of tears as I imagine the suffering and sense of being so alone that our Christ experienced.

For me, Door Number 1, was the passing of my Father-in-Law. To be honest, our relationship was a struggle at the beginning. He didn’t see me as the ideal choice for his daughter, in fact our early years were full of conflict and misunderstanding. As the years passed, I mellowed and he grew to accept me. At least as a loving husband and solid provider for his daughter. He was one of those guys that had “The List.” When he retired he was going to… see “The List.” But, that wasn’t to be, they found he had stomach cancer and he suffered to the end. His wife, his daughters and I were all at a loss.

Door Number 2, was the loss of my Father. He had been struggling with heart disease for several years. His heart surgeon told him he was a great candidate for Open Heart and that he could expect 10 years of pain free life after the by-pass was completed. He didn’t survive the day. They told us to go home after the surgery was completed, he was resting comfortably, there was nothing for us to do and to come back later in the day. Something went dreadfully wrong and he was gone before we could get back to the hospital. I was crushed. For months I had a huge hole in my heart. Where were his 10 years? I’d never talk to him again…laugh with him…hug him.

Then came Door Number 3. My Mother’s health had been on a downward side for several years. Her issues seemed to mount as the years passed. It became so common for her to tell me she had some new issue that one Sunday we were talking and she told me “Well, you know I have Wrens!” “Wrens” I said…What’s that! What did your doctors say? I asked? She laughed and said “No you silly…wrens..the little birds! They’re nesting right next to the kitchen window.” But, the trips to the E.R. became more frequent and with each visit her recovery would be not quite as complete as the previous visit. But, something has changed, something within me, something was growing, a strength that I never could have known without Jesus. I was reading John Eldredge’s book “Desire” during her final month. One evening I read the chapter titled “The Great Restoration” and a sense of wonder overcame me. The image of renewal was so strong, I just can’t explain it. The next morning my brother called and told me I must come home…Mom is dying. I arrived at her bedside a day later…she woke and asked “Oh, what are you doing here?” I explained to her that this time she was going to go home. I asked her “ Mom, do you believe that Jesus was the Son of God?” and she said “Yes.” Those were her final words with me. She passed away 4 days later as I whispered in her ear “Mom, it’s okay…Gary and I will be fine, it’s time for you to let go, to be with our Dad, to be with your Dad and our heavenly Father.” She took one more breath and she was gone. But, something had changed. I knew she was free of pain, I knew she was restored to the beautiful young woman she had been, I knew that she had new work to do for our Master…and I knew I wasn’t alone, that I hadn’t been alone all along. That I was in the same hands my mother and father were in. The caring hands of our God. He knew what was going to happen and he provided me with the tools to deal with my grief. And, I am in his caring hands…I always was.

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Paul talks about his thorn (2 Cor 12:7) and the fact that that it will not be removed from him. Wow, can I relate. After being baptized in 1994, I moved my wife and son from Chicago to Denver in search for the next best job. God had impacted my life, and I needed to get the “rest” of it in line with the joy I was feeling. While in Denver, my daughter was born, and God placed me in the midst of a phenomenal group of brothers and sisters in Christ. I grew in ways that I am only now beginning to realize, but during this enormous blessing my “thorn” continued to remind me it was still there. Over the ten years in Denver, my job situation changed seven times, some I initiated and some I did not, but each time showed me that I did not have the control I thought I did. God blessed me over and over allowing each new chapter of my life to be a way to get closer to Him.

Then the “thorn” drew blood. The sixth company I worked for went bankrupt, and I had a choice to make, either open my own business or take a corporate job. I spent weeks and weeks in prayer and counsel on this decision because I knew I did not have a safety net financially. If my business failed, we had no way to pay the bills. Every person I received counsel from said opening my own business was the right thing but at that time I could only see the need for security for my family. The day came that I had to make the decision, and my wife and I were discussing what we should do. I told her that the corporate job would provide us the security we needed. She looked at me and told me that she did not feel that was the right thing to do. God had laid it upon her that we were to step out in faith and trust Him. Well, I was shocked because I thought the other decision was right for her. Now everything was pointing me to trust Him. So we did, and He blessed us financially for six months like I could never have imagined. I did not plan for the rainy day; I believed that this would last forever. Then September 11th happened, and I was half way across the country from my family and could not imagine how my life was going to change.

All of my business dried up in a short period of time and left us trying to figure out what to do for money. I went into this on faith, and I knew He would do something but it was definitely not what I wanted or expected. I went from flying around the country as a software consultant to searching for any job that I could get. Through a pastor at our church I began to work for a friend flipping houses. I had never done this type of work before, but it was money. We prayed, I searched for jobs, and swung a hammer everyday for many months. As the bills continued to mount I couldn’t figure out what I was going to do because the work from 6am to 6pm and the two jobs my wife had were not making it. I could not see a way out. One morning in the shower God spoke to me, (I know that sounds strange), but I heard Him say to me to be happy with what He had provided. This peace came over me as I got a picture of God providing manna daily for His people, just what was needed when they needed it. Wow, His manna was always on time whether it was a mortgage payment or groceries or consulting work. Things began to change again and a consulting contract came in that set things back on the right path. This would be a great place to end the story, but it doesn’t end there. For almost a year, we celebrated this contract and I was an example of trusting God. I spoke and taught about my experiences, and I felt the closest to God I had ever felt. My life changed because I saw God’s word come to life in my world. That thorn, although not hurting, was still there. This new contract came to a quick end, and I again was not prepared for that, but I knew what I needed to do because I had been there before, right? Not at all, I believe Satan planted doubt in my mind and it sounded like this, “God has continued to bless you and you keep screwing it up. At some point He will not be there because you haven’t done your part. You are not a good steward.”
As I prayed, or attempted to, this thought continued to play over and over. At first very softly, and I could ignore it because I has been through this and I knew God would show up. I continued to do the things I thought were right, the situation continued to get worse than before and the thought got louder until I could not hear anything else. I could not pray, I began hiding things from my closest brothers and sisters in Christ, the pressure was building and I could not find a way out. The thought was so loud one day that I had a severe migraine; I knew that God wasn’t going to save me from this one. That night I found myself outside at about 10pm standing on my deck looking up at the night sky filled with more stars that I have ever seen before. I began to literally scream at God. I don’t know how long I was out there but I screamed, cried, and pleaded until I almost collapsed. By the morning God relieved the pressure in my head and replaced that thought with “I will never leave you and never give you anything you can’t handle with me.” I would love to say God ended this story with a happily ever after, but it didn’t. There was no easy answer this time, but only another opportunity to step toward Him in faith again. He moved us to Florida for a new job but for about two years after that night He walked with me through a lot of problems. He taught me to live with Him driving at His speed. Sometimes I try to take the wheel and sometimes He shows me how wonderful total surrender is. To live the life He has planned for me I have had to realize two things: (1) I will always have my thorn and (2) that nothing matters as long as I am walking toward Him. Nothing is too big or too small for Him as long as we let Him have it and we journey with Him.

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I was raised Catholic and really thought I understood the whole God and Jesus thing. I followed my Dad to church every Sunday and Holy day of obligation. I didn’t know what I didn’t know. I met my wife in my sophomore year of high school and things began to change. I would visit her church and youth group from time to time and began to notice it was quite a bit different than what I was used to experiencing on Sunday morning. Once married, we had to decide what to do about Sunday mornings and thought we had come up with the most practical decision possible, we would go to the Catholic church one week and the Baptist church the next week. I felt like we had come up with the best solution to the Sunday morning dilemma. That is where God started to work on me. At the end of every Baptist service the pastor would have an altar call, and every week at this time I would get butterflies in my stomach and this feeling that I needed to give in and go forward. I never did because I would come up with all of the reasons why I couldn’t, mostly around embarrassment or how my Dad would feel. We did start a change; however, we started getting more involved in the Baptist church with a Sunday school class and other weekly activities. We then moved to a small town north of Chicago and began looking for a Catholic and a Baptist church we could attend. Needless to say, it was rather easy to find a Catholic church but we could not find what we expected in a Baptist church. God then introduced us to a phenomenal person through my wife’s work. She invited us to church one week and through many hours of debating we gave in and visited. What we found was a welcoming group of people who took us in and really began to be a family to us. That became our church home, and we were now a one church family. The butterflies and feelings only got stronger. We really got involved with Sunday school, a small group, and I was in two men’s groups. I felt I was doing all the right things, but I could not get rid of those feelings that there was something else. When people would ask if I had given my life to Christ, I would say of course because I grew up in a church environment and have always gone to church. I battled with that question every time it was asked because I doubted my answer, but I could not change the picture everyone had of me. It was the issue of embarrassment again. One Sunday evening I realized that I had left my Bible at the church and planned to go pick it up during the week after work one day. On Monday morning as I was taking my son to child care, which was near the church, I decided to pick up my Bible then. As I pulled into the parking lot I made one of those promises we make with God; it went something like this. “God I will go talk to the pastor if he is there when I get my Bible.” I thought I was pretty safe because it was before 8am and he normally did not come in until 9am. I found my Bible and was about to head out of the church when I remembered the promise, so I went to the office and found he was the only person there. I had to keep my promise, so I went in and started to relay this story to him and found myself praying for my salvation. The butterflies were replaced with an appetite to learn and know Him more. This chapter of my story ended with God crushing another belief I had from my childhood about baptism. The Sunday before my family moved to Colorado I found myself being baptized in front of this family where God turned my religion into a relationship.

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