Beautiful Testimony

Looking back on my life, and on many stories from others, I never cease to be amazed by the intricate steps that God plans for us. He does not merely have a goal or wish for us, but He orchestrates the details so carefully, so craftily, that we are gradually led to embrace that which we previously avoided. My story starts in my freshman year, when I was about 14.

My English teacher assigned a research paper, so I chose Edgar Cayce, a 1940’s psychic, as my topic. Long after the paper was turned in, a strange thing he said at the end of one of his books stuck with me, “Go to church and read the Bible.” That puzzled me, but awakened an old curiosity to understand Revelation, with all of its symbols and cryptic wording. I still had no thoughts of God, but I wanted to solve the puzzle.

I asked my dad if he had anything on his many shelves from his days of book reviewing. He said, “No. Revelation is a sealed book. Not even the church can understand it."

I interpreted that to mean, I’m on my own. However, I did find Late Great Planet Earth by Hal Lindsey on one of his shelves and that led me to more books at the library where I learned about the secret rapture and the seven years of tribulation that would follow. (I would later learn these were mistaken.) My war gaming brother and I drew many maps of how Russia might invade Israel. I seemed to understand.

However, I had a major problem. When I was reading the books, everything seemed to make sense. When I closed the books (literally) and opened the Bible, I just could not see it anymore. The hop, skip, and jump method of Bible interpretation was not working. So back to the library I went.

This time the card catalog led me to a book by Uriah Smith, a Victorian age author who detailed the history of Daniel and Revelation verse by verse. He obviously had some now outdated views, but there was one very odd thing that mystified me. I could tell the author was a Christian, but he wrote about a seventh day Sabbath. I kind of knew that the Jews had one, but I could not figure out why a Christian was talking about it.

Yet another trip to the library led me to a book from which I quoted earlier:

“Christ saw in Jerusalem a symbol of the world hardened in unbelief and rebellion, and hastening on to meet the retributive judgments of God. The woes of a fallen race, pressing upon His soul, forced from His lips that exceeding bitter cry. He saw the record of sin traced in human misery, tears, and blood; His heart was moved with infinite pity for the afflicted and suffering ones of earth; He yearned to relieve them all. But even His hand might not turn back the tide of human woe; few would seek their only Source of help. He was willing to pour out His soul unto death, to bring salvation within their reach; but few would come to Him that they might have life.

“The Majesty of heaven in tears! the Son of the infinite God troubled in spirit, bowed down with anguish! The scene filled all heaven with wonder. That scene reveals to us the exceeding sinfulness of sin; it shows how hard a task it is, even for Infinite Power, to save the guilty from the consequences of transgressing the law of God.” (White, Great Controversy, p.22)

The scales dropped off my eyes. In a split second, everything came together for me. Years of frustration, observations, and failed thinking all merged into one clarifying concept—choice. The world does not see God because the world rejects God. Every choice we make opens a door and closes all others.

Choice! Independent choice. That element of freedom I valued so much in myself I now saw in other people, in history, and most of all, in God. Omnipotence was not toying with tiny creatures, He was treating us with nobility and respect. He was letting us choose, and letting us learn to choose by experiencing consequences. Evil and suffering was not God’s fault. It was caused by selfish, short sighted choices.

In a flash I saw the heart of God. I saw that He was a Person. I saw that He was alive and active after all. He was choosing us, but we were not choosing Him.

Then I saw Jesus! He was standing before me on the other side of the table where I was sitting. I connected. I understood. For a minute I caught the vision or, at least, the kernel of the vision. Now I wanted to study God. I wanted to know who He really was. I wanted to know if He really was.

Prophecy was no longer my goal. God was my goal. Prophecy was now just a tool. In the months to come, I read voraciously. For the first time, I was developing a worldview, a cosmic view of God, life, and eternity. And I wanted it in all of its beauty and power.

From abandoning God to wanting God, I had done a 180. The motivation of my research was no longer mere curiosity, but a real spiritual desire to know the Person of the universe.

Like the woman at the well, once I desired the gift, I needed to be tested and examined and revealed to myself. One does not simply waltz into the kingdom. One is prepared. And who better to help in the refinement and appreciation process than my own fearsome father.

I wrote a paper about my fledgling beliefs. I also felt convicted to stop working in my dad’s office on Saturdays. I gave that paper to my parents.

I soon discovered that I had accidentally unleashed a missile aimed at destroying my dad’s entire lifework. Did I know that beforehand? Of course not, but I did by the time our talk—interrogation, lecture, threatening session—was over. To my dad, I was not an eager student in awe of new truths learned. I was a threat. Grand horizons and hopeful vistas are upsetting to those who must have micromanaged control of their fiefdoms. But at that time, I did not understand that.

I was too naive.

That day my tyrant dad did more for me than he ever realized. With three simple questions he turned my world upside down and inside out. It would take years for me to recover, but in the end I would emerge stronger—strong enough to endure being disowned from my own family. He asked me, 1) Do you think you are right and your father is wrong? 2) Do you think you are right and the whole church is wrong? 3) Do you think you are right and the whole world is wrong?

I was speechless. I could not think. My thoughts spun off in all directions at once. I had no answers. I never considered it that way before. To say something is right implies all other options are wrong. In three short questions, my dad set the world against me and me against the world. For the next few years I was in a tiny psychological corner, unsure, intimidated, alone, unwilling and undaring to share my thoughts with anyone.

Back then, I could not have explained to you what being poor in spirit meant, but I felt it. I was inadequate and exposed, in need of help and in need of truth.

I researched and I studied and I read entire library book shelves on history, religion, science, psychology, philosophy. Whatever connection my brain made with my reading I followed it. I tore down my tiny belief system to the ground and started from scratch. I questioned everything. I had seen something beautiful and inspiring and I had to know if it was real or if it was me deceiving myself. I was not prepared to live or die for a fantasy, nor did I want to hurt or mislead others, but if what I had seen was true, then I wanted it with all I was worth. I did not trust my dad, myself, or anyone else. I was intimidated by my own questions. I could only trust strong, solid evidence, and that is what I had to find.

Evidence can be tricky. How much is enough? What is high quality and what is low quality? Facts can be twisted and re-arranged depending on who is doing the reporting. Anyone can preach. Anyone can write a book. Anyone can now post on the internet. What is truly trustworthy and what is not? One must research the evidence behind the evidence. Digging down to bedrock is really the only option. Courage is the only proper response when the shovel can dig no further.

I have been through a mini time of trouble and my goal in this book is to supply the intellectual and spiritual foundation to keep the reader from being washed away, not only by every wind of doctrine, but by the storm that rages inside the mind when the soul finally comes face to face with overwhelming trial and persecution. The first step in preparation is realizing our need, our inadequacy, our ignorance, our laziness and false confidence.

This means knowing the truth, knowing that I know the truth, and knowing that I know it because I got it from God, not other people. The poor in spirit are given the kingdom of heaven because they know nothing on earth can solve their heart and mind problem.

Proof that will force everyone to believe and agree on everything, or just one thing, does not exist. I cannot depend on someone else’s conviction. I must understand, trust, and practice truth so well for myself that I can be convinced even when no one else is. Even more than conviction, I need to see, know, and touch the reality of truth, the solidness of truth, so that I am actually believing the truth, not trusting in the power of my own convictions. I trust only truth, not my faith in the truth.

I sit alone in the prison of my mind.

Today they asked me questions

that I couldn’t answer,

not even to myself.

That is the most scariest of all.

I thought I knew.

Now I’m not sure.

In the easy times

I assumed God was on my side,

but where is He now?

I know I’m supposed to be faithful,

but I’m not full of faith.

I really don’t know how to trust.

O Lord help me!

I have no oil in my lamp.

I am cold and empty.

I wish I could do things over.

“The harvest is past,

the summer is ended,

and I am not saved.“

There is still one more point that must be made here. It is vital to know the truth, yet it is not enough. We also need the Power to live and proclaim the truth.

After almost two years of intense and exhaustive study, I came to the conclusion that the Bible is the best explanation and guidebook for life. A series of events led to a family council to decide my fate. I had not expected this move. Everybody was irritated with me, thought I was crazy, and blamed me for all the conflict. At the end of it, my dad asked me if I was still going to persist with my strange Biblical views.

I knew in my heart I should. I wanted to do. There was no other better or even equal option. Yet, I was cornered and powerless. I felt myself slip backwards inside myself, as if retreating. It was almost like someone else operated my mouth and said something like, “I don’t know. I’m not sure. I guess I give up."

Whatever I said, it was a lie. And I knew it. I knew it then and I know it now. I simply did not have the power nor the courage to tell the truth.

I dropped into total depression and discouragement. I could not please God nor my parents, but somehow I was supposed to. I began developing ulcers and spent long hours in the woods crying. I contemplated suicide three times but knew too much about death and judgment to consider that as a serious option. My morals degraded as I sank lower and lower in despair. I prayed every night, God don’t let me die; I know I’m not ready.

To fail to live up to what you know plunges you farther downhill than you ever thought possible. That was a period of my life that I never want to relive and don’t want any of my readers to ever experience. Better to test yourself, even if you fail, in the easy times so you can learn and recover, because if you fail in the hard times it is almost impossible to come back—not because God closes the door but because our own panic, confusion, and discouragement closes the door.

It was a crisp fall day under a deep blue sky at the Southern Illinois University arena. I sat on the hill looking south into the sun and wondered what I wanted to do. I had just turned 18 but I felt like an old man with no energy or desire. My pit was so deep that I really didn’t know if I wanted to climb out of it. My dad said as long as I was under 18 and lived in his house, I would do and think as I was told. I was old enough to be free, but I honestly wondered if I even cared.

Then a marvelous thing happened. I felt God near on my right and Satan near on my left. Then God pushed Satan back and God Himself stepped back. I was left all alone in my own empty space in the middle. No pressure or influence from anyone, it was my decision.

I first decided that I wanted out of the middle. I was going full speed in one direction or the other. I would grab all the gusto I could get (according to a popular beer commercial at the time) on my way to hell, or I would suffer whatever it took to get to heaven. Which did I really want to do?

It took a while. I’m not sure how long. I got up from the grass, walked across a parking lot, and made a call on the pay phone. A contact of a contact put me in contact with a graduate student and his wife, Lester and Anne Morrow. We started Bible studies together. I wanted God and I wanted to experience the real Christian life. Somewhere God had found an ember and began slowly fanning it to life.

Les quickly realized that he did not need to teach me any doctrines, but he and Anne gave me what I wanted most—a sincere, consistent Christian example. I felt like I was stepping back into Bible times when I entered their apartment. I was mourning. My desire had been awakened, and they provided comfort.

One day, he asked me, “If you died tonight, in which resurrection would you awake?” Of all the questions, Les found the only one that caused guilt and despair to well up in me almost like a volcano. I wrestled with it that night. Even in the pain he caused me, Les provided comfort. I had found only a partial answer, but he continued to encourage me.

I was baptized on Friday night, February 12, 1982. I was the first one of the males and so the dressing room was empty when I returned. I knelt down and committed myself to God like never before. With all my sincerity I told God, “No more compromise.” With all my desperation I pleaded, “Help me, Lord.”

I experienced peace that evening that I never imagined possible. Lester asked me how I felt and I simply replied with a beaming smile, “Like a son of God!” I had felt my need. I had sincerely repented. My dedication was wholehearted. My peace was full. I felt like I was finally in sync with Christ.

Yet, there was still the next step that I must struggle through. It was something that had been bothering me for years. It was that nightly prayer for forgiveness. Even after my amazing baptism, I still wrestled with this issue for months.

It was almost 10pm on a warm Saturday night. My twin brother and I were renting a mobile home near the university. As I lay on the couch reading, the doubt and fear gripped me like it had many times before. This time, however, I decided it was time to deal with it.

I left the trailer and walked down the abandoned railroad tracks behind the trailer court. I had no plan except that I was not coming back until this issue was resolved. My desperation was my prayer.

After a quarter mile I noticed the cemetery on the left. Perfect, I thought, no one will bother me there. After all, I knew the unconscious state of the dead!

For the next several hours I prayed, cried, shouted, sat down, walked around, knelt in silence, and brooded in frustration. When will you forgive me, God? What must I do? I don’t feel any forgiveness!

I was determined not to leave, but I was also discouraged. I was wandering near the corner where I had entered. It was so tempting to leave, to just give up. It was two in the morning and I was locked in limbo. That is when, for the second time, I sensed Jesus’ presence as if He was right next me. And He was. He was standing at my right side with a look of compassion and understanding. He put His hand around my shoulders and simply said, “I already did, a long time ago.”

I was shocked. Jesus already forgave me? When? I tumbled around in my mind searching my memories. What did I miss? When did Jesus forgive me?

Then it came to the forefront. When being nailed to the cross, Jesus prayed, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” That prayer was for me! 2,000 years ago, Jesus forgave me! I’ve been forgiven since before I was born! Although I was holding on to nothing that was keeping God and me apart, I was not holding onto Him. Just believe! That was the step now. I needed to accept His free gift.

I took it! I opened my heart and let His forgiveness flood my soul! O, what peace and joy! I walked into that cemetery a dead man and walked out alive!

I found a little stream and sat down by it and sang praises to God for the next couple of hours. When I returned to my bed shortly before dawn, I was the happiest person alive. I had learned a lesson in simple, straightforward faith that I have never forgotten. Whenever I have prayed the prayer of repentance—which has been often—I do not then search my feelings to find out if God has forgiven me. I commit myself in full sincerity, then believe His word, feelings or no feelings. Sooner or later the feelings come, but faith in Jesus always comes first. I have never, never been disappointed.

Forgiveness is not only peace and confidence. Forgiveness is power. He who I thought was against me was for me. I was on God’s side and God was on mine. I could now face life, not in my own weakness, but together with Omnipotence.

The last of the major events that severed my past from my future took place a few years later. After being disowned and cutoff from family communication, I had still tried and tried to reconnect with my dad. However, after a certain phone call, things changed radically and permanently.

My dad had always been a control freak and demanded total submission from wife and children. He had grown increasingly harsh and violent. Our family was raised in abject fear. Yet, all that did not prepare me for the relentless insanity, even demonic, rage he yelled at me relentlessly for an hour straight. Finally, it was time for me leave to drive back to school.

A few minutes down the road, I snapped. I turned to my fiancee (who had listened to the call) and said, felt, and thought it all at the same time, “He is not my father anymore.” I neither planned nor premeditated it. I didn’t so much choose it as I realized and admitted it. “He is not my father anymore."

Then in the next moment, I felt a Presence from above that musically and softly whispered in my head, “I will be your Father.” Light and peace filled my soul. I relaxed. The tension of years drained away and I knew everything would be all right. I no longer felt fear and intimidation, only pity.

Ever since that time, I have never wondered what dad (who is now passed away) would think. I have never asked myself, How would my dad do this? That day, he ceased to be my reference point. For better and for worse, I was a bit like a newborn baby needing to learn about life all over again. Family, love, child rearing, social relationships, I needed to start all over again and learn from Father how to be a man.

These experiences I had in my youth, both set me behind and ahead of others. For a long time I wrestled with this. Not any more. I have accepted the truth that our Father guides us each individually and places us in church and community to help each other with our unique experiences. This book could not have been born anywhere else except out of the pain and joy of my personal history. My tendency to connect and to look for patterns has caused me lots of trouble, but has also helped many people in their spiritual walk.

All I can conclude is, Let us grow in the faith, hope, and love of Christ together and may we meet one day around the throne of our great heavenly Father!