Live in Freedom
Not Fenced in by Legalism
The Quest for Glory
by Randy Meulman
Live in Freedom Not Fenced in by Legalism
The Quest for Glory
by Randy Meulman
Published by:
John Meulman
Dallas, Texas 75225
ISBN 0-9774730-0-7
This book, The Quest for Glory, is available
through booksellers and directly from the publisher.
To contact the publisher send an email:
mailto:publisher@TheQuestForGlory.com
Or go to the Web site for The Quest for Glory:
Copyright © 2005 by Randy Meulman
The material in this book, including any electronic version, may be used and copied freely for any educational or personal use. All rights to material in this book, including any electronic version, are retained by copyright holder. The material in this book, including any electronic version, may not be copied or reproduced in any way except as specified in this copyright notice. The material in this book, including any electronic version, may not be used at all for commercial use or for the purpose of receiving profit or remuneration of any kind without the express written consent of the copyright holder.
Chapter 2: The Spirit of Death
Chapter 3: A Miraculous Glimpse behind the Curtain
Chapter 5: The Holy Spirit’s Purpose
Chapter 8: Born into Freedom—Sold into Slavery
Chapter 9: Looking for a Few Good Men
Chapter 10: My Eternal Break with Religion
Chapter 11: Broken in the Wilderness
There is something inside each of us that yearns for more. A starving person can, of course, only think of a morsel of food, and a thirsty one, a cup of water. But, take a person who has been given everything he ever desired, with all of his dreams fulfilled—and you will find that individual searching for more.
I believe at the core of much of our searching lies an aching heart that knows it was created for more. Have you noticed there is a “Hall of Fame” for just about everything imaginable? We crave some form of recognition or purpose to validate our lives. We grasp for some measure of meaning, some aspect of immortality, to say we were here. I believe this yearning in our hearts is the longing for lost glory. It is a glory we possessed in the Garden of Eden that was lost in mankind’s separation from God. We were created for so much more than what exists in this fallen world, but our search for satisfaction forever eludes us. I’m reminded of the words spoken by General George Patton: “All glory is fleeting.”
Yet I have seen a glory that does not fade. I have seen a glory that does not leave you wanting for more. I have seen a glory that is greater than anything one can imagine. I have been in the presence of this unspeakable glory and I know for certain that this glory is available to each one of us just for the asking. You can know for yourself what I am saying is true.
The Holy Spirit
My wife and editor, Deborah
Terry Constant, God's man and my friend
Alli who captured the spirit in her art
and
Would someone please tell Malcolm Smith
that I was one of his researchers?
A few years back, I determined I would never write another book. Though I enjoy writing, it’s been all work with little reward. I have spent thousands of hours analyzing and documenting the events in my life in order to grasp “the Truth,” all with the idea in mind that “the Truth would set me free.” If I could grasp it and package it, I would be able to point me, and others, in the right direction. I figured if I worked hard and long enough I would receive the keys to the kingdom—I would possess “the Truth.” Then, just as I would find the pieces of the puzzle coming together—the Truth at my fingertips—life’s circumstances would send my puzzle crashing to the floor, thus shattering my picture in dozens of directions.
The philosophy of working hard and long has achieved results in my business, a sales organization in which I have established hundreds of clients. Most of my clients buy from me because they think I know what I’m talking about. Maybe I do or maybe I don’t, I’m really not sure, but one thing I know for certain—when it comes to my personal and intimate relationship with the Lord God Almighty, I really don’t have a clue where He is going to lead me tomorrow. I only know from where I came and where I stand today. Grasping and packaging God just doesn’t work.
Looking back over my life, I stand in utter awe and amazement. If ever there was a man who was transformed from a life of death and bondage to a life of freedom and joy, it is I. Without a doubt, I have looked up more dead hogs’ asses (Please pardon the expression, but it is an apt analogy!) than anyone you will ever meet. I have pursued more dead ends (and with zeal, I might add) only to come up empty. Yet my life as I know it now is full of grace and purpose, and I possess a true sense of well-being. That’s the good news. The bad news is I’m not sure how I got here other than God’s mysterious and wonderful grace.
It simply boggles my mind how life is so full of twists and turns. When I finally gave up trying to put the pieces together, I found the piece—that piece being a truly intimate relationship with the living God. If there’s one thing I have learned, it’s that although you can’t package or grasp God, you can know Him intimately. Anyone who truly knows God knows He is a God of love. Not only does God love us, He absolutely wants the very best for us. If you currently do not know that God loves you, I have good news for you! If you are sincere in your desire to really know who God is, you can come to know the love of God. I can also tell you with certainty that God will never impose His will on you in any way that is a violation to you. He won’t force you to do anything. Love never violates another person. With God, you will have to choose, and that choice is essentially a choice for life.
I cannot tell you specifically what your relationship with
God will look like, as this is between you and God. You cannot
attain an intimate relationship with God if you rely on someone
else to do it for you. We can never do it for someone else. When it
comes to my personal relationship with the living God, I stand
alone before God and so do you. We think we should be afraid of
our nakedness, when in reality we are all naked before God.
Standing alone and naked makes us nervous, however, so we
construct idols in our lives to keep us from facing this truth. We
fight over our belief systems while gripping our Bibles
tenaciously, as though we are gaining some special favor with
God. We think, “If I can prove myself right, I must be 'right' with
God.” Jesus addressed the futility of such behavior when He spoke
these very harsh words about our self-important activities: “So you
also outwardly appear righteous to men, but within you are full of
hypocrisy and iniquity.”
Although I cannot define your relationship, I can tell you with certainty what will not work in this quest for an intimate relationship with God. Religion, for example, will not work. Religion did not work for the Pharisees when Jesus came on the scene, and things haven’t changed one bit since then. Mixing up our roles won’t work either. I have to be me, and God will be God. I don’t know why this has been so hard for me to get, but it has.
Well, maybe I have an idea. I like being in control, and I’m not talking about self-control, one of the fruits of the spirit. I’m talking about being in control of my world, which of course isn’t my world at all. Having to trust God when everything around me is crumbling or not going my way is not my idea of happiness. Looking back over my history, I have spent far more time trying to help God do His job than I have working on me and doing mine. Mixing up our roles simply won’t work.
Denial also will not promote an intimate relationship with God—claiming all is right with the Lord or with our lives, when in fact one is living on the edge of despair. It’s like being in a bad marriage and pretending everything’s fine. There are activities, niceties, and idle conversation, but there’s no passion, growth, or intimacy, and inside we feel the pain of loneliness and hopelessness. Filling our lives with church activities and quoting “positive” verses from the Bible to mask our pain and spiritual disconnection may fool others (and even ourselves for awhile), but God always knows the true nature of our hearts and the pain that we bear.
This book is about retracing my steps and looking at the miraculous ways in which God has healed me and given me new life. This book is also about hope. I’m going to share with you events in my life that may be hard for you to believe. They are hard for me to believe, and they happened to me! The real miracle of my life, however, does not lie in the arena of the sensational, but rather in the overwhelming sense of well-being that I now possess. For a good portion of my life I did not know that God loved me; as a matter of fact, I fought with God for more years than I care to remember. I felt I was on a bicycle peddling into a 50 mile-an-hour head wind. Now I feel like I’m on that same bike, but I have the wind at my back. I now know that I am utterly and completely loved and accepted by God.
I encourage you to come along on the ride with me. Be prepared to be challenged by what you read from time to time. Facing our true nature head-on is never easy. This book is for those people who are struggling and want to be set free. Free to be the person the Lord created you to be. Facing who you are with all your flaws and imperfections and knowing that God absolutely loves and accepts you is complete freedom. Before I take you on this journey, I want you to know my prayer for you is this:
“Lord Jesus, I am so thankful for the miraculous healing You have performed in my life. Give me the words, Lord, to share that healing grace with all my brothers and sisters who are in need of a word from You. I know apart from the Holy Spirit, nothing is made straight. True love and joy come from You alone. I ask You, Father, to touch each person who longs for an intimate connection with You. And may the mystery of Your healing power be manifest in their lives as it has been in mine.”
We have to get something straight right from the
beginning: It is impossible to intimately know the love of God
apart from the Person of the Holy Spirit. Notice I said “Person”;
not doctrine, creed, or belief system. Before Jesus went to the
cross, He prepared His disciples for His departure with these
words: “I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away.
For if I do not go, the counselor will not come to you.”
Of course,
Jesus was talking about the presence of the Holy Spirit, which He
had clarified earlier, saying: “The Holy Spirit will teach you all
things.”
Notice Jesus did not say, “Don’t worry guys—after I leave, I’m going to leave you several copies of the Torah so you can get together and study the Old Testament, and then you’ll know what to do.” Nor did He say, “You’re going to be lost for a time until Paul comes on the scene and writes a good portion of the New Testament. Then you can get together and study his work so you’ll know what to do.” No, Jesus was very emphatic: it’s better that I go so the Father will send to you the Holy Spirit.
Yet who is the Holy Spirit? I don’t mean intellectually who is the Holy Spirit—I am talking about truly understanding the purpose and nature and Person of the Holy Spirit. When an individual accepts Jesus Christ as the Lord and Savior of his life, he is promised that he will receive the Holy Spirit. Jesus came to deliver us from the bondage of sin and death, which was accomplished by His death and resurrection. Mel Gibson’s movie The Passion of the Christ illustrates Jesus’ purpose in coming as well as anything I have ever seen. In essence, Jesus came to create a new race of people, reconnected to the love of God, with the seal of that relationship being the Holy Spirit. We are taught and comforted by the Holy Spirit, and our intimate connection with God is manifested through His Spirit. The Holy Spirit is our personal counselor who guides us in this new life.
In one true sense, trying to explain the Holy Spirit is like trying to explain the mystery of God, but I can illustrate how He has worked in my life. I am madly and passionately in love with my wife, and she is truly the love of my life. We are intimate soul mates, and she is God’s choice for me, but still there is a problem. On occasion, an issue will present itself and we just don’t agree. Neither one of us is good at submitting to people in general. As for myself, I won’t submit to any person unless I understand what’s going on. Neither will she. My wife has her own company, employing over 90 people—she likes being the boss. I also have my own company—and I like being the boss. She likes things her way, and I like things my way. Most importantly, each of us thinks we’re right when it comes to a disagreement.
The sad truth of the matter is this: we wouldn’t make it together for a week if we weren’t submitted to Jesus Christ. I’m not talking about the idea of being submitted—I’m talking about fully submitting our wills to Jesus—desiring His will more than our own.
When we really lock horns to a point where neither one of us will give an inch, we know we’re in trouble. All kinds of emotions usually come to the surface. My anger and withdrawal and her fragile sensitivity will flood us, so we find ourselves turning to the Lord. We find a quiet place, get down on our knees, and pray. It’s not that we want to pray, because we don’t. Actually, it’s the last thing in the world I want to do, but we both know if God doesn’t show up, the peace in our marriage will be destroyed and our marriage ultimately will not survive. Every time we have done this, and I mean every time (without any exceptions), God has shown up and answered us. Usually it’s immediate, sometimes after an hour or two, and on rare occasions it may take an evening, but He always shows up.
Sometimes I discover I’m the bad guy. Sometimes she’s the bad guy. Both of us absolutely hate being the bad guy, because the bad guy is “wrong” and we like being right. Personally, I would rather eat dirt than be the bad guy in an argument with my wife. It’s so easy to be sweet and forgiving when the other person is wrong, but when you find yourself at fault, acknowledging the problem is not so effortless. However, when I am the bad guy and the Holy Spirit points out my problem, all I can really say is I’m sorry because I just couldn’t see my mistake without His help. Sometimes it’s a bit disorienting—thinking you are right when, in fact, you are wrong. It’s like the Holy Spirit shines a light into a darkened room of my life.
I am always amazed when I see a spiritual transformation take place within myself. Basically the process looks like this: first of all, I’m absolutely convinced I’m right, and I can defend my position like a trial attorney. Sometimes I quote verses from the Bible to prove my point. The next step is the frustrating realization that I am getting nowhere with my argument. As a matter of fact, things are getting worse! Enter in the feelings of anger, isolation and separation—all feelings of death. It is the pain of this downward spiral that causes me to turn to the Lord. Getting on my knees is an act of submission, and in this state I truly submit my will to the Lord. He comes in and shows me the error of my thinking, which usually reflects a self-righteous attitude that has nothing to do with love. At this point, my perspective completely changes. Several hours after this takes place, my original position, which caused the problem in the first place, now looks completely absurd. The best way I can describe the transformation is that the spirit which was disconnected from God’s love is put to death and is replaced by a spirit of love and life. Simply amazing! God is actually creating something new in me, and that newness is connected to His Spirit.
Keep in mind, you don’t need much information in order to communicate with the living God. The Holy Spirit will be your best friend once you get to know Him. There are, however, two things that are essential if you truly want to be intimate with God. First, you have to be honest, and by that I mean you have to be yourself, just as God made you. Second, you have to be willing to accept God’s very best for you. In reality, He is your Father and absolutely loves you.
Chapter 2: The Spirit of Death
Just as you cannot know the love of God apart from the Holy Spirit, it is imperative to know there are spirits in this world that are not united with God. Like it or not, we are involved in spiritual warfare. Satan and demonic forces do exist. Often Satan will appear to us as an angel of light, and it is easy to be deceived by his power. The love of God is undeniable, however, and it is essential that His presence be distinguished from unholy beings.
I’m going to share an experience from my life that underscores the importance of this point. The narrative of events reads more like a novel because it’s written from the perspective of how I saw the events unfolding at the time—how they actually appeared to me. There will undoubtedly be those who will not believe my story, although every word is true. Before the Lord, I swear everything I have written is accurate, with no embellishment. At this time in my life, I did not believe in a place called Hell. I was a Christian—I knew Jesus was Lord and I believed in the resurrection—but I was so disillusioned with religion that I had thrown out the entire package of Christian dogma and doctrine. The implications of what took place have had a profound impact on my life. I hope this story will touch your life as well.
I had been retained by members of a Dallas firm to negotiate a business settlement with a former partner (whom I had never met), who lived in Kauai, Hawaii. For purposes of this narrative, I’ll call this man “Alf.” The Dallas firm wanted Alf out of their organization. The legal papers had been drawn up and the settlement seemed equitable, even generous, from my perspective. When they spoke of Alf, they were apprehensive, exhibiting uneasiness about the negotiations. They were skittish and evasive, emanating a sense of fear. But it was more than that—something I couldn’t put my finger on; I just sensed it. One of the partners who hired me later confessed that he had felt I would not come back alive.
As the events of my trip began to unfold, I came to understand the reason for the fear and uneasiness. After boarding the DC-10 at the Los Angeles airport for my flight to Hawaii, I reviewed the events of the day. I had encountered trouble with my connecting flight from Houston, which delayed me getting into Los Angeles and caused me to miss my original flight to Honolulu. Then, there was that unsettling moment in the Los Angeles terminal when Alf, who was supposed to pick me up at the airport in Kauai, was paged over the airport paging system. “Strange,” I thought. I was relieved to be on a nearly empty plane, but as the engines roared and we headed down the runway, I felt an uneasiness I could not explain. I tried to dismiss it. “Nonsense,” I thought and rested my head against the seat. I had been a Sergeant in the Marine Corps and spent 14 months in Vietnam. I worked my way through college as a police officer. I was also highly trained in the art of self-defense and skilled in various forms of weaponry. I did not believe in intimidating anyone, and others did not intimidate me. I would soon discover how completely wrong I was.
After landing in Honolulu, I caught a shuttle jumper to Kauai. When I landed on the small island, it was dark and raining. It had been arranged for me to stay with the mysterious Alf, and I wondered what he looked like. I sensed his power from the attitude of those who hired me and knew from what they said that he was wealthy. Would he arrive in a limousine? Was his home perched on some hillside overlooking the beautiful blue Pacific? I played with the speculations, and then drove them away. I had a job to do, and his being a powerful man meant little to me.
I placed a call to Alf’s residence. He was on his way. I stacked my luggage neatly under the protection of the rain-soaked canopy and waited for his arrival. Calmly placing a cigarette in my mouth, I watched the raindrops as they splattered against the pavement.
Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, Alf appeared in front of me. We shook hands, and Alf introduced himself. He was small in stature with a pleasant, attractive face. His manner was unobtrusive. I smiled to myself as we walked across the parking lot. What could my employers possibly have feared? Alf seemed nice enough and certainly harmless. It didn’t make sense. We chatted and exchanged the usual niceties. When we reached his vehicle, I stopped dead in my tracks. The limo I had half expected turned out to be a gutted VW van that was totally stripped down. “Strange,” I thought and climbed in.
On the way to Alf’s place, I asked if he drank. It had been a long day for me, and a drink sounded good. When he informed me he did not, I asked him to stop at a liquor store. I purchased a fifth of bourbon, and once again we were on our way. The narrow streets flew by quickly under the tires of his speeding van. He was forging his way into the winding hills, and I was consciously recording the directions. But soon, the odd twists and turns he made on the back roads became impossible to track. It became obvious that Alf was taking some course that would be impossible to recall. Tall sugar cane lined the road, blocking my view. The van finally stopped and before me, in a small clearing surrounded by sugar cane, stood a shack. I briefly pondered the situation and then unloaded my bags.
The shack looked vacant from the outside and appeared to be under construction. The interior had concrete floors with sawdust scattered about. A central room contained a hot plate, a sink, a few chairs, and a makeshift shower.
Alf immediately started to talk business. “Please, not tonight,” I said apologetically. “It’s been a long day.” “And now this mess,” I thought.
We chatted briefly. I drank some healthy shots of bourbon and went to bed on a cot that was hidden behind a curtain.
In the morning, I awoke fresh and alert. I went outside to smoke a cigarette and get a sense of where I was on the island. The shack was completely surrounded by sugar cane fields. Junk was strewn around the small yard. A chicken coop stood close by. In the distance was a mountain scattered with homes. There was a distinctive yellow house on the side of the mountain. I took my bearings and planted them deeply in my mind. I could get out if necessary and I could get back. It might take a helicopter, but I could return to the shack if things turned bad.
We ate a tasteless breakfast that Alf prepared. “What’s with the rooster in the paper bag?” I inquired, pointing to a wounded rooster that was confined in a bag. “Sick,” was the extent of his reply. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, I now believe that the wounded rooster was to be used as a sacrifice in some occult ritual. During a subsequent vacation in Kauai over the Christmas holidays, my friends and I found it was impossible to order chicken at the local restaurants. I was informed by one of the locals (who, I might add, was very reluctant to speak) that Christmas was a time for sacrifice to the demons of darkness. You won’t find that information in any tour guide. But, I digress; so let’s get back to my story.
We started to talk about the state of affairs in the world. The discussion went on for hours on end. There was a kind of disturbing arrogance and brilliance in much of his thinking. Many things he voiced sounded “true” on the surface, steeped in correctness and self-righteousness, but left me with a growing sense of frustration and discomfort. He had formulated answers to many of the world’s problems. A world monetary system was one of his pet theories. He thought meaningless paperwork and consumerism were at the heart of America’s problems, along with a lack of morality. People were liars and thieves. “There’s no productivity,” he declared. The answer, he thought, called for sacrifice. On and on we talked, but his ideology seemed to run in large, complex circles and always looped back to himself. People were mere objects to Alf—human machines to implement his grandiose plans. “People are like ants,” he theorized. “We all live in one big ant mound. Of course there are drones, workers who scurry about, and every mound has its queen.”
Intermittently he would rage about the business partners who had sent me. “Thieves, liars, all of them…” he would rant. They had taken what was his. He had trusted them, and they had betrayed him. How I wondered? I tried a different tactic. I asked him if he wanted it all back, and he looked stunned.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Do you want it all back?” I inquired rhetorically, and then continued. “Yes, there are hundreds of thousands of dollars in inventory, but you are ignoring the fact that there are also hundreds of thousands of dollars in liabilities.” I was bluffing and simply looking for some way to move forward with the negotiations.
“I don’t want to be involved in running any of the business,” he said. “I just want my rightful share.” The problem with this was there was no “rightful share” that didn’t include a tremendous amount of work, restructuring and liability and Alf wanted none of these. Alf wanted easy cash.
“Like the queen in the ant hill,” I thought, but said nothing.
It was growing dark, and we had been talking since breakfast, with no attempt on his part to extend human graciousness. He finally asked what I would like for dinner, yet the tone of his question was cold and hollow. I could feel my resentment growing. Everything appeared to be something it wasn’t. I told him it wasn’t important what we ate, and I meant it. We had sparred with countless words and ideas, but I was really never a part of the conversation. He was like a robot that could answer his own questions. The questions and answers ran in circles—always back to him. Eating together would not be any different. I would be eating alone even if we shared the same table.
I was tiring of the empty games, even though a battle of words can be of great interest to me. My interest turned into contempt. He was void of any real substance, and he exhibited no compassion. “What sustains you?” I finally asked him, point-blank.
“What do you mean?” he replied with surprise.
“I have always been fascinated by human motivation,” I said. “Why people do what they do. When I look at you, listen to you, I wonder what keeps you from blowing your brains out.” I meant every word of this.
He smiled at me, a sly and knowing look. The words slid smoothly from his mouth. “I have a symbiotic relationship with the higher spiritual powers, and they are not good; they are not human.” His eyes narrowed, “They serve me, and I serve them. We have a relationship based on mutual respect.”
When he spoke there was an extraordinary force of energy in the room that I couldn’t understand nor define. But I knew what he was saying was true, as crazy as it seemed. (I later learned some interesting background information on Alf. Alf’s father, an SS officer in Germany during World War II, had been deeply involved in the occult. His mother, a Catholic, was part of the Dutch resistance. When Alf was six years old, he followed in his father’s footsteps and renounced Christianity.)
“Our business is terminated,” I immediately informed him.
“What?”
“I’m out of here right now.”
“You have failed in the negotiations,” Alf sneered mockingly.
“Yes I have. And I will take full responsibility for that failure. Take me to the airport now, or I am walking my way out of here.”
As he drove me toward the airport he interrupted the silence. “Don’t be too hasty in your decision,” he remarked in a quiet tone of voice. “Sleep on it tonight and consider giving me a call in the morning.” Alf dropped me off at the airport, quickly reiterating, “Sleep on it,” and sped away. I felt better just from the release of his presence, but my mental wheels were spinning.
I couldn’t begin to grasp the overwhelming mental and emotional grind I’d been through. I was physically and emotionally worn out. There had been something so inhuman in all of it. There was an unreality in my consciousness about what I had experienced—like a nightmare from which you can’t awake. It was terrifying in a way that words can’t adequately describe. With further thought, it seemed real and unreal at the same time. I had no mental category to shed light on what I had experienced.
As I recall this incident, I do not know exactly why I chose to stay, but I decided to spend the night in Kauai and start fresh in the morning. Perhaps I was just exhausted. Perhaps, in part, I was ashamed of failing in the negotiations. There was nothing to report that didn’t sound like voodoo. No one would believe me. Also, I was not the kind of man to run from anything. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I would ultimately flee in the face of terror that I had never known before.
I rented a car at the airport and asked the agent to recommend the best hotel in the area. She was very helpful and provided maps and directions to the nearby Hilton Hotel, which was located on the water. I wanted to hug her, but, of course, I didn’t. She was just so human, so normal, so real.
Arriving at the hotel, I cheerfully asked the lady at the front desk for the best room they had. Surprisingly, money didn’t matter to me that night. I say surprisingly, as I am usually very frugal with money. This is particularly true when it comes to other people’s money, even when I am given an open-ended expense account. I ate an expensive, delicious dinner and then walked down to the beach to clear my mind. The night sky was clear and the stars and moon were shining brightly. I walked along the surf and lost track of time.
Back in my room, the sickening sense of paranoia returned. I wanted to talk to someone, but I didn’t know what to say. I am usually willing to talk about anything, but I sounded nuts, even to myself. I decided to call my wife (my second wife), but the moment I heard her voice I knew something was wrong.
She said she didn’t know what was happening to her. I tried to calm her. There was panic in her voice. She relayed the events of the previous night. She had been so scared, totally paralyzed by fear. She had locked herself in the bedroom and had huddled by the side of the bed with my revolver, a .357 Magnum. When I asked her what she was afraid of she couldn’t explain it. Like me, she’d been caught in a strange and frightening void. She said she’d been worried sick about me, but didn’t know why.
I relayed only part of my story, not wanting to cause her more anxiety, and then spoke some reassuring words. I hung up and agonized over the conversation and events of my trip, trying to pull the pieces of the puzzle together.
The next morning, feeling disoriented and leery, I phoned Alf and he agreed to meet at the restaurant in the airport terminal to discuss further the negotiations. He inquired about my flight arrangements, but I avoided the question, not wanting to share any more information than was absolutely necessary with this man that I had come to loathe. He continued to show an unusual preoccupation with my flight plans, asking more than once during the phone conversation. I finally told him with sincerity that I would be flying on “Haloalu Airlines,” naming a fictitious airline. He repeated “Haloalu” casually without hesitation or comment.
I packed my bags and checked out of the room. After returning the rental car, I checked my luggage, confirmed my flight, and proceeded to the restaurant where Alf and I had agreed to meet. It was a gorgeous day, without a cloud in the sky, but the beautiful weather did not buoy my dark mood. Not since my days in Vietnam or my hair-raising experiences as a police officer had I felt such a sense of uneasiness—every nerve and muscle in my body was on alert. It was like going to war with an unseen enemy.
Alf was late and I smoked one cigarette after another, trying to summon a sense of calmness and control that continued to elude me. I had picked a corner table, with my back to the wall, so I could clearly see both entrances to the restaurant.
When Alf finally appeared, he asked pleasantly enough, “Where did you stay last night?”
“The Hilton,” I responded without enthusiasm. I was in no mood for small talk.
He smiled an accusing smile. “Consumerism. Do you like to spend money?” he taunted.
“I enjoy nice things.” I answered flatly. He started to take off on this topic but I interrupted and said, “Let’s get down to business.”
He smiled. “O.K. You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”
I pulled the legal documents from the small attaché case I was carrying. Briefly, I ran down all the details of the settlement.
“This was all planned before you arrived,” he said in a caustic manner.
“Of course,” I replied. “Yesterday I said you could have all of the business; but, you didn’t want any of it. The individuals I represent only want one-fourth, and they don’t want to do business with you any more.”
He then showed me his proposal. It was completely unworkable and he knew it.
He knew I wouldn’t buy any of it. Upon receiving my negative answer, he abruptly stood and left without another word. I felt numb and a sense of unreality washed over me. Then I noticed, or rather became aware of, a man standing some distance from me. Although he was not looking directly at me, I knew that he was completely focused on me. He continued to move closer to me, his outward manner casual, but a dark power emanated from him that filled me with an unexplainable dread.
Terror hit me with full force. The very marrow of my bones seemed to melt. Fear clawed at me. I stumbled from the table and moved into the corridor outside the restaurant. Two security guards stood by their station, but as I moved toward them, I didn’t know what to say. There was an insane, irrational and paralyzing edge to my terror.
I fled down the corridor, jumped the guardrails, and slowed my pace. My fear began to abate enough for me to think rationally again. I instinctively knew that Alf and this man watching me were aware of my flight plans. I had to get on a different plane than the one on which I was scheduled, but I wanted to avoid the ticket counters. I caught sight of Alf moving quickly down the hall, looking for me. I pressed my back against a pillar and went in the opposite direction. I felt as though I was caught in the middle of some unreal horror movie. I didn’t believe in evil spirits, but the only way to describe the spirit coming out of Alf and this other man was evil.
At the end of the long hallway, one of the planes was boarding for the main island. It was not my flight. “Please stand back,” an attendant was pleading. “We have overbooked this flight. We need volunteers to take the next flight.” I eased to the side of the crowd of people, slipped behind the attendant, and walked onto the plane. I spied an empty seat and quickly grabbed it. A harried flight attendant was insistent. “Some of you will have to reschedule,” she said, waving tickets. “There are not enough seats……” I said nothing and didn’t move. People were quarreling, demanding their places. When the plane took off, I was miraculously still on it.
Chapter 3: A Miraculous Glimpse behind the Curtain
As miraculous as it was for me to be on that plane, God was about to perform a miracle that was incomparable in magnitude and clarity to anything I had previously experienced, other than, perhaps, the miracle of my original conversion. At some point during my trip from Kauai to the main island of Hawaii there was a break—a moment, or moments—when time stood still. I cannot define this experience in terms of time; I can only say that in those moments, I was ushered into another dimension. God momentarily drew back the curtain that separates our physical world from the spiritual world. What I saw and experienced in this spiritual world was crystal clear: I was shown light and darkness and I began to understand, with amazement, the absolute reality of good and evil, of Heaven and Hell.
In a moment of suspended time I saw a place of darkness—a black hole of inexhaustible depth. Cavernous, endless expressions of appetite existed with nothing to dull the monstrous desires. Unlike our human existence where Satan is able to empower those who have submitted to him to feed off of the pain and suffering of others—such as the Nazi war movement or the psychopathic mind that feels sexual excitement when mutilating its victim—there was nothing to feed or empower the vast dark desires of the souls that existed in this place. Nothing of God or goodness was found there. Love, compassion, and hope did not exist. It was absolutely empty of joy, with a sense of unspeakable horror. Yet there was a consciousness of death, oozing pain with nothing to diminish the terror. There was no escape of any kind. Although the experience was surreal, one thing I know for certain: To be separated from the love of God is absolute and unspeakable death. This revelation of Hell posed no personal threat to me, as I was fully aware that I belong to God, but the revulsion and disgust I felt at this pervasive darkness seemed more than my soul could bear. For months later, I earnestly prayed that God would erase the memories from my mind forever.
On the heels of darkness, I was suddenly surrounded with inexpressible Light and Love. Words cannot begin to express the Glory that surrounded me. The magnitude and intensity of the Glory of this Love was unfathomable. It was not so much what I saw—as human eyes have no comparable experience—but what I felt. I experienced an infusion of unimaginable joy and jubilation. It was a vision of radiant beauty, a magnificent splendor, surpassing all dimension or comprehension. Peace was triumphal and celebration all encompassing. All I can do is babble around what I saw and felt.
This was a place of Everlasting Life—Life beyond our human understanding; Life beyond our wildest hopes or dreams of what Heaven may be. People here were made gloriously whole. There was no judgment, no sin, and no religious morality. A pure and constant Love existed in perfect harmony in a place of perfect splendor. Those suspended moments, bathed in the Light of Heaven, left me with an abiding sense of hope and joy about the home that God has prepared for us.
As the engines slowed for our descent to Honolulu, I was totally focused on getting home as quickly as possible. After landing, I headed for the main terminal and reviewed the departure schedule. I was delighted to see there was a flight to Dallas-Fort Worth in less than two hours. I waited in line, excited with the thought of getting out of there. The lady behind the counter gave me a friendly smile, checked the computer, and confirmed that she could get me on the flight. I exhaled with relief and handed her my credit card. After a few moments she informed me that she could not accept my card, which made no sense, as I knew I had plenty of credit remaining. I handed her another credit card. This credit card also mysteriously failed to pass clearance, yet it was also far below its limit. The same happened with all my credit cards—the agent said she was unable to accept any of them.
Flustered, and somewhat embarrassed, I started to pay by check, but the ticket agent declined to accept this method of payment, also. I then asked to see her supervisor, but the supervisor also refused to help. Neither woman would offer any rational explanation for the denial—just the statement that they couldn’t accept my credit cards or my check. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It made absolutely no sense. Satan was still in pursuit, but the love of Jesus continued to sustain me. I remained calm and searched my mind for a solution.
“Give me an hour,” I told the agent. “Keep my name on the reservation list.” I hurried to a phone booth and called my wife. “Are you all right?” she asked, with a desperate tone in her voice. “I don’t have time to explain anything,” I said. “I need you to go to DFW and prepay a ticket for me. Now.” My wife did as I asked and purchased my ticket with a check. The ticket agent in Dallas also checked and verified that there was no problem with the limit on our credit cards. The woman could give no explanation for my disheartening and irritating experience with the same airline in Honolulu. Just a few minutes before the final boarding call, I was given clearance to board the plane that would take me home.
The plane took off and I leaned back in my seat and relaxed for the first time since I’d left home. If the captain had informed us that he needed to ditch the plane into the sea, I would have felt no fear. Terror such as I had never known before was behind me. Satan and the demonic forces that had come against me were defeated. The Spirit of God’s love returned to me and I could feel it infuse every cell of my being, erasing all sense of shame or doubt. I felt truly free for the first time in my life. I sensed people’s needs. I wanted to get out of my seat and go up to people on that plane and ask them specific questions and let them know they are loved by their Creator. “Are you a drug addict?” I would have asked one. “A homosexual?” to another. There were people on that flight who had pain and rejection etched into their faces. I wanted to throw my arms around them and tell them how much God truly loved them.
***************************
My final contact with Alf came shortly after I safely returned to Dallas. Within a week of my return, I received an unsolicited phone call from Alf. I had already determined that if Alf ever pursued me, one of us was going to die. I could have killed Alf if he threatened me or any member of my family and would have felt no more remorse than one would feel after killing a rabid rat. I informed him on the phone that I never wanted to speak to him again. At that point, he said something interesting to me: “You’re just one of those purists who don’t approve of my tactics. I guess you are one of God’s elect.” I have not heard from Alf since.
Frankly, his words are still confusing, but they hit at the heart of the issue. First of all, I am far more profane than I am pure, so my personal purity has nothing to do with being one of “God’s elect.” Second, the idea of being one of God’s elect is a theological concept that no one I know really understands. Maybe Alf did, or does, I don’t know. But this I do know—the spirit empowering and controlling Alf was real and hideously evil. Personally, I believe Alf was amazed that I didn’t submit to this evil authority. He himself was a weak shell of a man and possessed no power or authority in and of himself. Man to man, I could have kicked his ass all over the island. But this wasn’t man to man. Maybe nothing really is, I don’t know. I am convinced that in and of myself, this malevolent force would have crushed me.
Like it or not, we are all involved in spiritual warfare. If it had not been for the Spirit of life, which dwells within me, I would have been destroyed by the powerful force of evil that had devoured Alf. The same holds true for me today. It was the reality of Jesus that sustained me then and it is the reality of Jesus that sustains me now.
**********************
It has been 18 years since that fateful trip to Kauai. The events of that trip began a transformation in me that continues to this day, providing a path of profound healing and growth. Prior to making that trip, I had come to believe that Hell did not exist. I had thrown religious dogma, ideas and formulas out the door and I didn’t believe much of anything, although I was still connected to Jesus. After that trip and God’s miraculous enlightening of my mind, I knew Hell existed. My worst nightmares were a walk in the park compared to what I had seen. It was like viewing unimaginable and endless death.
The vision of Heaven, on the other hand, was unimaginable Glory and I cling to the memory with a sense of wonderment and awe. I still remember how I became overwhelmed by the Glory of God I witnessed. His Glory is unspeakable majesty and splendor that fills me with a sense of peace and joy and purpose.
Since that trip in 1987, I have never questioned the goodness and righteousness of God. The world we live in knows little to nothing of God’s Glory. The best of this world looks like a burned out junkyard in comparison to the Heaven that awaits us. Ironically, for most of my life, I held God responsible for countless perceived injustices. If God really is God, I previously reasoned, how could He allow all the pain and suffering in this world? I used to think about my own suffering. In my mind, God had a lot to answer for. I can’t count the number of times I railed at God for everything bad in this world. Somehow, miraculously, as a result of the events of that trip, I have been silenced. It’s not that everything makes sense to me now, because it doesn’t. I don’t suddenly have all the answers. I don’t posses the “truth” in the way that I tried so desperately to possess at one time. But once you have been in the presence of God, you will never again question His loving kindness.
Chapter 5: The Holy Spirit’s Purpose
We have a natural tendency to divide people between good guys and bad guys, sinners and saints. When a man tells me he has a symbiotic relationship with what he calls “higher powers—and they’re not good,” it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know he is intimate with evil. And if one is intimate with evil, one is intimate with Satan and demons. I know that such people will reap their “just reward.”
But what about me? What about my tendencies and bents that can be harmful? When the Holy Spirit reveals a particular attitude of non-love in my life, I never see a pretty picture of myself. Though I no longer measure myself or others using a standard of goodness or badness, if I had to choose a label for myself, I would say I am bad. I know my wife would agree. The fact remains, I am a “sinner” and I often make mistakes.
I find there is more confusion in the Christian community
over the topic of sin than any other issue, and the only way I know
to deal with sin is to address it head-on. First of all, let me say that
the Holy Spirit was not given to us to make us feel guilty.
Guilt is about condemnation, but in Christ, there is no
condemnation
. Satan is called “the accuser of the brethren” and
sometimes these relentless accusations can be debilitating. People
who have not known genuine love or have been abused and those
who have been trapped in legalism seem especially susceptible to
these attacks of Satan. Know with absolute certainty that these
attacks are not from the Lord, although Satan will present them as
such. If you are plagued with guilt and can’t seem to shake these
feelings, get a loving friend to pray over you, as these accusations
are not from God. My sin and your sin were taken care of at the
cross, and when Jesus rose from the dead, it was over. Finished.
End of conversation!
Many people do not truly understand the resurrected new life we have in Christ. Resurrection for Christians starts the day they accept Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior. We then have a lifetime of choices to make which bring about spiritual health or sickness, and one of the Holy Spirit’s purposes is to help us understand those choices. Some of the most miserable people I know are born-again Christians who have either made destructive choices, ignoring the prompting of the Holy Spirit, or who truly do not understand what their choices are, often because they have not experienced a healthy concept of love. God’s loving kindness through the work of the Holy Spirit is opening my eyes to the true meaning of being a Christian. The Christian life is all about choices.
Though the Holy Spirit will never make us feel guilty, the issue of Godly sorrow certainly exists. Godly sorrow, which leads to repentance, is totally connected to love, unlike guilt, which leaves you feeling condemned and without any choices. In another respect, guilt is also all about “me and my feelings,” which may partially come about because of my unwillingness to accept God’s grace in absolving my guilt. Focusing on me rather than on grace then creates a deeper hole, as “me,” separated from God, is basically the problem. Godly sorrow, on the other hand, points us to repentance and is always a path to life, freedom and joy. Repentance means I am turning away from the harm I have caused. This includes harm I have done to myself, as God created us to love ourselves. Repentance is about changing and accepting the new spirit Jesus has for me. Repentance is about love.
The Holy Spirit for a Christian is really all about love, but God’s love is much, much broader than our limited, romantic notions of love. God’s love changes us from the inside out—which is the essence of the resurrected new life. For me, it looks something like this: I have ceased thinking of myself as being good or bad. I am simply me and God is God. God is truly my best friend and my Father. He knows me better than anyone, including myself, and He loves me. I am not afraid of Him. He won’t give in to my occasional tantrums, but I throw them anyway. For the most part, what people think of me really doesn’t matter because I am completely accepted by the One who does matter. I’m glad I’m me, and when I think about the God who loves me, I get those feelings of Glory—and I have seen the Glory which awaits us. Your relationship may look completely different because we are all unique before God.
Believe me when I say I understand how confusing this concept of good and bad, of sinner and saint, can get—especially after some of the sermons I have heard. Legalism, which is characteristic of religion, is all about guilt, and legalism was (and is) conceived in the pit of hell. Take the apostle Paul, for example, who wrote a good portion of the New Testament. Paul certainly thought in terms of good guys and bad guys. Before Paul met Jesus on the road to Damascus, he was a Pharisee. In fact, by his own admission, he was the chief of Pharisees. Numero uno! In today’s language, Paul would claim to be the most religious and righteous man alive. The Pharisees were all about keeping laws, commandments, and rules. Not just the Ten Commandments, mind you, but hundreds of other laws as well. The Pharisees performed these tasks at great sacrifice to themselves, all out of what appeared to be their dedication and devotion to God.
When Jesus showed up on the scene, however, He threw down the gauntlet and took on the religious leaders of His time. Jesus was not kind in his appraisal of those people—not kind at all. Jesus was clear in His distinction between faithfully following God and the deceptive rhetoric and activities of organized and self-imposed religion. He left little room for argument that the self-righteous practices of the Pharisees were, in fact, not holy at all. Most Pharisees hated Jesus for the words He spoke, and in the end they crucified Him. Not just crucified, but beat, humiliated, and tortured Him.
In his zeal as a religious man of his day, Paul continued
trying to destroy the sect of people who called themselves
Christians. This destruction was especially true concerning the
Jewish Christians. Paul rightly understood that this new group led
by the Holy Spirit was destroying his religious traditions. He
thought he was killing Christians in the name of God, a necessary
precaution to protect the sanctity of his religion. Of course, when
Paul met the resurrected Jesus on the road to Damascus, this
meeting threw a monkey wrench into his thinking. Personally, I
laugh every time I think about this event. Can you imagine it? Paul
is struck down by a blinding light and he knows the Glory
surrounding him is the Glory of God. He cries out, “Who are you
Lord?” And the answer comes back to him, “I am Jesus.”
“I am
Jesus!” Think about it! Paul thought he was God’s number one
religious servant, obediently killing Christians in the name of God.
Now he has come face to face with the Lord of the Universe and
the Lord answers him by simply saying, “I am Jesus.” Believe me
friends; Paul was not having a good day.
Paul was certainly a committed man; a man on fire—first
as a Pharisee, then as a Christian. It is interesting to note how Paul
viewed himself over the course of his life. At the beginning of
Paul’s Christian ministry, he called himself the least of the
apostles
. He viewed himself as falling from number one out of
thousands of Pharisees to dead last as an apostle. In the middle of
his life and ministry, he called himself the least of all Christians
.
Historians put the number of Christians at that time around 5,000.
Notice the way Paul’s view of himself was dropping fast. At the
end of his life, Paul called himself the chief of sinners
. That
means Paul saw himself as the worst person who had ever
lived—number one bad guy. Don’t you find this interesting? Over
the course of Paul’s life, he went from seeing himself as being one
of the most righteous men on earth as a chief religious leader of his
time to the worst person who ever lived. So it is with every
person who compares himself or herself to others in the light of
the grace of God. Ironically, many people today portray Paul as
one of the greatest Christians of all time because he was
responsible for writing much of the New Testament. Paul,
however, viewed himself as the least of all Christians. As
Christians, we often see ourselves as good guys or bad guys, but
God sees us through eyes of perfect love and wants us to become
who He created us to be.
There is no doubt that one of the purposes of the Holy Spirit is to help us grow—and that growth is all about love. God loves us as a father loves his child. Love is always about relationship. Growing up in our relationship with God is about growing in love. There are Christians today who are afraid of God because they feel they are not good enough. No matter how hard they try, they don’t measure up to God’s standards. If you are one of these people, you simply do not know who you are in Christ. You really do not understand God’s perfect love for you and the new life you have in Christ.
I am a dad, and some of the best relationships I have are with my grown children. However, I have a daughter with whom I have not spoken in over a year. There are problems in our relationship, but I completely love her and I like her. I couldn’t love her any more than I already do, regardless of the state of our relationship or the choices she makes in life. Currently, she doesn’t want to relate to me, and that’s OK, although I miss her. If there is one thing of which I am absolutely positive, it is this: even though I love my daughter fully, God’s love infinitely transcends my capacity for love. His love reigns on an unfathomable scale.
We have all heard the story of Adam and Eve and of our exile from the Garden. For many, it’s just a story and we take it lightly. In reality, however, it is not light at all. All fear and death originate from this event, and it’s not just about apples. Let me briefly recap what took place.
In the Garden of Eden, Satan promised that if we ate from
the Tree of Knowledge we would be just like God, knowing good
and evil. God knew that being independent from Him was death.
God said that we would die and warned us not to eat from the Tree.
When Adam and Eve chose to disobey God and ate of the
forbidden fruit, mankind made the choice for independence. “You
will be like God knowing good and evil.”
After eating the fruit,
their eyes were opened and they knew they were naked, so they hid
in the garden. When God called out to them and asked why they
were hiding, Adam responded with, “I was afraid.”
Fear had been
born in man! In its essence, fear is simply the result of being
separated from God who is love.
This is where all the good guy and bad guy stuff comes from. We have bought into the lie. Satan promises that we will be like God, knowing good and evil. And many people, millions actually, still believe the lie today. “I’m not good enough.” “I’m not living up to the standards God has for me in the Bible.” “Poor pitiful me.” On the other hand, there are those who point out all they do for God to stay in His good favor. All of it is death, just as God promised.
I tell you my friends, if we want to be free, we are going to have to get naked before God, clothed only in the love of Jesus. The Holy Spirit will guide you and you will learn how to intimately relate with your Father. For example, I personally never talk to God about guilt because I know guilt is a tool of Satan. Satan wants you and me to feel condemned. I may say a word or two to the demonic forces who try to torment me from time to time. I tell them where they can stick it and I remind them that their time is short—God has already prevailed. Believe me when I tell you demons know Jesus was resurrected and that this spiritual war is already over. Anyway, I don’t talk to my Father about guilt because He doesn’t make me feel guilty. I do talk to Him about my sex life, business, fishing, relationships, and everything else that is pertinent to my life. Sometimes I just chitchat and ramble.
As for your intimate conversations with God, I don’t have a clue what the two of you will discuss. Maybe you will have to talk about your feelings of guilt. I have no idea whatsoever where the Holy Spirit is going to lead you because you are different from me. We are each unique in the eyes of God. For example, although my wife and I are truly one in many ways, in many respects we are completely opposite personalities. Almost from the day I first met her to the present, I have known that we possess the same spirit when it comes to the Lord, yet she relates to God completely differently from the way I do. My wife rarely approaches God casually, as one would approach a friend. God, to her, is a Holy and loving Father and she tends to be reverent in her conversations with Him. Chitchat is not her style (at least not with the Lord, though she can chitchat with the best of them when it comes to her earthly relationships). She also tends to think more in terms of performance and her petitions include seeking God’s guidance in showing her how to be a “good wife,” a “good mother,” a “good boss,” a “good friend,” a “good daughter,” and a host of other “goods.” She also frequently prays for wisdom and discernment. My wife has almost always understood her choices in life, as she was raised with real love. She says God does talk to her about obedience—not in a guilt-producing, heavy handed sort of way—but in the way a loving parent explains to a child why obedience is important. There was a time when she would pray with many words (she is good with words), asking for help and answers, giving thanks for various things, but not understanding that, even with God—most importantly with God, in fact—conversation is a two-way street. God cured her of this in a dramatic and poignant way.
Years ago she had been praying incessantly about gaining
discernment regarding a particular issue that was bothering her.
When God finally gave her clarity, she thanked Him and asked
Him why it had taken so long to answer her prayer. She swears
God answered, clearly, nearly audibly, “Because I couldn’t get a
word in edgewise!” She says she knows He was smiling when He
said it and that she laughed in response. And then God laughed!
Now, that’s intimacy! My wife has learned to sit with the Lord at
times without a prayer list or agenda. “Be still and know that I am
God,”
has taken on a special meaning for her.
Although your conversations with the Lord will be unique, I know you will find this to be true of your relationship with Him: there are things which you can freely do before God that I can’t (or shouldn’t), and there are things which I can freely do before God that you can’t (or shouldn’t). The Bible addresses the reality of this principle in 1Corinthians 8:7-9. As a couple, my wife and I have had to work this out. We are truly intimate and talk about nearly everything, but we have learned to respect each other’s boundaries. There are things we don’t share with each other out of obedience to the Lord. Rather than producing bondage, this has always promoted freedom and life.
There is also the issue of God’s timing in our lives—God is
like a loving parent who patiently encourages us to grow and turn
away from harmful behaviors. He doesn’t punish or belittle us for
being “infants” or for being slow learners. He does, however,
expect us to grow, just as a parent expects his or her child to grow
beyond certain childish behaviors. As we grow in our relationship
and love with God, He reveals more of His will to us and asks for
new levels of obedience—things that were acceptable in the past
will no longer be acceptable in light of our continuing
transformation. The process of transformation, which brings about
healing and a resurrected, abundant life, is full of ups and downs.
A good friend of mine says we grow and then there are plateaus.
More often than not, our growth is born out of suffering. In the
New Testament, Peter said this about suffering, “Beloved, do not
be surprised at the fiery ordeals which come upon you to prove
you as though something strange were happening to you. But
rejoice in so far as you share in Christ’s sufferings, that you may
also rejoice and be glad when His glory is revealed.”
Do not
confuse suffering with punishment—if you are a Christian, you are
not being punished for your sin. In the book of Hebrews it says of
Jesus, “Although He was a son, He learned obedience through
what He suffered”
and Jesus was found without sin.
God is infinitely personal with each of us and relates with us according to His intimate knowledge of us. As we grow, we begin to experience freedom from our destructive desires and habits and the freedom to love in a healthy way. How ironic that dependence leads to freedom. How reassuring that we can count on the Holy Spirit to be our best friend in guiding us into personal intimacy with the Lord.
I know there are those who look back with fondness on their childhood and would like to return to those earlier days when all seemed right in the world. Just another day, just another hour or two of innocence and the freedom it brought. While I envy such people, I am not one of them. I have tried to rewrite my past, deny it, gloss over it and pretend it didn’t exist, all to no avail.
I was born into a very conservative, religious family. We resided in a small suburb called Parchment, which borders Kalamazoo, Michigan. Sunday, “The Lord’s Day” as it was known to those in our church congregation, was the worst day of the week for me. Church was our home away from home. We would start with early morning service, which was followed immediately by Sunday school. These were loathsome, boring activities for me. Often I would find myself counting the rows of bricks that lined the sanctuary walls while the congregation recited the Apostle’s Creed. The service—which was no service to me—droned on. Eventually time would pass and we would return home for Sunday dinner before heading back to church for evening services.
Meals were generally an unpleasant experience in our house—not because of the food, as my Mom was a great cook, but rather because of the amount of prayer and scripture reading that was mandatory. Grandpa would pray before and after each meal. Who could forget Grandpa praying? He would go on and on with his strong Dutch accent ringing in my ears. On more than one occasion, I got in trouble for making my brother laugh during these long appeals to God. I think Grandpa must have believed that the length of his prayers and the sound of his voice, distinctly deeper and more reverent when he prayed, were important to God!
There were always Bible readings after each meal throughout the week, but on Sunday everything seemed to drag on and on. We would all take turns reading the Sacred Word. I was somewhat of an embarrassment as I stumbled and stuttered through the readings, liberally sprinkled with “thees” and “thous.” Hardly any of it made sense to me and most of what I could understand I didn’t like.
The God in the Bible seemed a lot like Grandpa. I remember one day when Grandpa found a nest of baby rabbits hidden in his garden. He marched directly to the garage, returned with a shovel and bludgeoned the small creatures to death so they would no longer pose a threat to his garden. This cruel action seemed like God to me: all-powerful and swift and direct in measure, especially when it came to sinners.
We weren’t permitted to purchase anything from a store on The Lord’s Day. A lady from our church once saw me buying ice cream on a beautiful Sunday afternoon and called my folks to report my sin. Fishing and swimming were also forbidden on Sundays. Thankfully, my Dad loosened up in later years and allowed us to watch the Detroit Lions on Sunday afternoon—that is, as long as it didn’t interfere with Bible study. Bible study would, of course, mean another trip to the church. It would be years later before Grandpa owned a TV.
Sunday evening services were attended by only the most devout in our community, which I am sorry to say included me, not out of a sense of willingness but rather one of forced necessity. Many members felt their duty to God was adequately discharged by simply attending Sunday morning services. But not us! Escaping hell’s fire and damnation was the foundation of our existence. We needed to appease God, who “hates” sinners. Prostitutes, homosexuals, drunkards, adulterers, fornicators, liars and thieves all had a place reserved for them in the Lake of Fire. They were doomed just as the poor little rabbits that had nested in Grandpa’s garden were doomed. Godliness (which meant moral superiority in our family) was the answer to our sick and decaying world.
Ours was a world of outward perfection. Cleanliness was next to Godliness. Our house was spotless, with everything in its proper place. Our neighbors, who dared to paint their houses and mow their lawns on Sunday, were considered to be not much better off than those who drank away their pain at the local bar.
On the surface, ours was the All-American family. Yet, with all of the outward appearance of perfection, all was not well with my soul. Intense feelings of isolation and anger were growing within me. The roads we traveled that supposedly lead to the Golden Streets of Heaven were quickly crumbling. There were times, lots of times actually, when I felt totally alone. I thought there was something missing in me, some essential part of being human. I felt alienated from other people, like a member of another species. The world around me was driven by fear of a God who was terrifying to me—a God I did not want to worship. I didn’t tell myself it was good that I was different from other people; on the contrary, I assumed I was bad. Isolation is hard to understand as a child. You know you are alone, but you feel you are not supposed to be. My life was devoid of meaningful love and fear stalked my waking moments. Most of all, I feared a God who wanted to punish me.
When I was 16, I remember sitting in church knowing that I would spend eternity in hell. If I knew I was a sinner, then God (Who knows everything) also knew, right? He knew my every thought and action, so who was I kidding? Even as the preacher proclaimed God’s impending judgment concerning adulterers and fornicators, I could not stop myself from gazing at the organist with lust in my heart.
As a young teenager, I was already smoking behind my parents’ backs, and it wouldn’t be long before alcohol would become an important part of my life. By the time I was 18, I had acquired a fake driver’s license to get me into nightclubs. One night, I got into a fight with a bouncer and trounced him soundly. I felt absolutely nothing—no fear, no pain, no regret. I was becoming numb to the fear and pain of isolation. The downward spiral continued and at age 19, with James Bond as my alter-ego, I dreamed of becoming a hired assassin. As desolate as it now sounds, I wanted to be able to kill another human being without feeling anything. This desperate determination took place just a few months before I met Jesus.
Life continued for me in a disconnected and empty vacuum after graduating from high school. I had been a talented football player with mediocre grades in high school, and I squeaked into Hope College in Holland, Michigan based on my church connections. Unfortunately, Hope College held no hope for me. Although I lettered on the varsity football squad as a freshman, I seldom made it to class. The school interceded in an attempt to “save me” and made arrangements for me to room with a senior, who was supposed to get me back on track. What the administration didn’t know was that my new roommate wasn’t all that committed to helping me. Grand Rapids, with its good-looking girls and nightclubs, was just an hour away, and neither of us could resist temptation. We were ultimately both expelled.
A subsequent trip to California resulted in yet another dismal failure in my already empty life. The year was 1964 and my friend, whom I called “The Greek,” and I had packed my ’57 Ford and headed across the country to the promised land of sunshine, endless beaches, bronzed surfers, and the “cutest girls in the world,” as the Golden State was described so vividly in the popular songs of the day. The Greek was running away from a felony charge and one of the girls I was dating was naively planning our engagement party. It was clearly time to get out of Michigan. Instead of finding the promised land, I found that jobs were scarce, money was tight, the cost of living was sky high, and surfing was not my sport. A few months after arriving in California, I left my car with The Greek and hitched rides back to Kalamazoo. The Golden State turned out to be not so golden after all.
I was now going on 20 and working as a janitor in a factory near Kalamazoo. Truth be told, the janitor job wasn’t all that bad. I came in at noon and got off at eight, which made for a great nightlife. The work was easy and I made several friends. One guy in particular, Roger, befriended me. He was a “born again” Christian. He didn’t come on strong, but there were those little things, subtle innuendoes, which revealed his faith. Roger said I needed Jesus. He and a friend of his named Walt extended numerous invitations to get together with me. I resisted for quite some time, but I eventually accepted an invitation, never planning to keep the engagement. I tried to back out at the last minute, but in his kind and gentle way Roger said, “But my wife baked a pie just for you.” “What the hell,” I thought, “I’ll go spend a little time and leave as soon as possible.”
That evening Roger, his friend Walt, and I sat talking into the night. I smoked one Camel after another. Back in 1964, “real men” smoked Camels. My speech was peppered with curses. Walt was doing most of the talking, and I was becoming more and more agitated. I was dead set against the conversation we were having and was sorry that I had come. How had I allowed myself to get into this fix?
&