Welcome!
This testimony covers the first
26 years of my life, the time when I was running from God, living in
sin, enslaved by feelings of low self esteem, insecurity, guilt, hopelessness,
and shame. Trying to grow up to find happiness and peace but being driven
by the need for acceptance, love, and a sense of identity from those
around me. I experienced tragedy and the loss of my childhood
due to family circumstances and my adolescent years robbed by a cruel
and abusive stepfather. My growth stages between the adolescence and
adulthood years were robbed by the trauma of being in the Vietnam War
conflict followed by a marriage born out of the need for preservation
and survival rather than love.
During this period of time, I was being driven about upon the sea of turmoil
by the winds of opposition and oppression, while carrying a heavy cargo of
selfish ambition, desires and unfulfilled dreams. I was unmercifully tossed
about to and fro by the tempest of life's storms, aimlessly wandering around
in the sea of depression, frustration and despair refusing to relinquish control
of the helm of my ship to the captain of my life, Jesus Christ. During one
of the fieriest storms of my life, just before I became shipwrecked, I turned
the helm over to my Lord who immediately spoke to the wind and said, "Peace,
be still," and the wind and the waves obeyed Him. Since then I have sailed
to many unchartered waters and regions, always arriving safely at the ports
of my destination.
The message of the gospel of Jesus is love; for God so loved the world that
He sent His son that whosoever believed in Him should not perish but have everlasting
life. Jesus came not only that we may be cleansed from sin to inherit eternal
life, but that we may be saved from sin to know Him in Spirit and in Truth
in this life. It is the desire of our heavenly Father that we know Him personally,
hear His voice and have a living relationship with Him. It is for this reason
that He sent Jesus that we may know of His love for; God is love; and he that dwells in love dwells
in God, and God in him (1 John 4:16). This was also the prayer
of Jesus that the same love the Father has for His Son may be in us; "And I have declared unto them your name,
and will declare it: that the love wherewith you have loved me may be in them,
and I in them" (John 17:26).
It is because of God and His love for the world that I not only became saved
to inherit eternal life, but became spiritually alive to know my heavenly Father
in this life. Because of His love, Jesus became our appropriation for sin when
He died on the cross; for by His stripes, I received the inner healing and
wholeness that I needed in my life. My soul went from darkness, being emotionally
dead, to awaken with resurrection life with a new heart when He took my stony
heart away and gave me a heart of flesh. He took my mind that was burned out
from drugs, stress, and the Vietnam War, to give me not only His peace of mind,
but the mind of Christ. He removed the anger, bitterness, resentment, and hardness
of my heart and gave me His own. Even though I grew up not knowing what natural
love and affection was, His love imparted to me real love which brought healing
and wholeness to my heart and mind. It is through this relationship with Him
that I came to know Him personally and His love for me which never fails; for
His love is the essence of our being. Jesus is real! He came not only to cleanse
us from sin but that we may know Him in Spirit and Truth to fellowship with
Him. Being filled with the Holy Spirit, hearing His voice, with His life filling
our very being is the wonderful saving grace of our God.
It is my joy to be able to share with you not only the painful early years
of my life, but the peace, love, and joy which I found when I met and received
Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior and the life that is ours as we walk with
Him in this life. There never has been, nor will there ever be anything so
real, so beautiful, so intimate, as knowing God.
This is the story of my early years and how I became a "runner," always
going from one conflict and crisis to another, seeking to be free from one
bondage only to enter another.
I was carrying around the same baggage only in a different suitcase. This is
especially about how the grace of God not only kept me, but lead me home to
be in the presence of my heavenly Father and His love which set me free. I
pray that as you read the testimony, God's grace and love will draw you closer
to Him.
In Jesus' name I pray,
Roy
Roden
In
the beginning
The year was 1949 and I was in my
mother's womb when my dad had his tragic accident. Dad was an aircraft mechanic
with the United States Air Force stationed in Waltham, Massachusetts. One evening after work, he was getting onto a military
bus, when three army men appeared in front of him who hit him. I don't know
all of the details why they did this as the case is sealed to the public, except
these three men became jealous of the fact that dad was being transferred to
Bermuda, which is a beautiful Island 580 miles Southeast of the coast of North
Carolina, while they were being transferred to Korea. It also appears to be
the typical "Army versus Air Force" prejudices that existed between
military forces. Dad fell backwards off the bus and landed on his back, causing
his head to hit the curb of the concrete sidewalk. Dad didn't move; he was
unconscious due to the sudden blow to his head. He went into convulsions and
swallowed his tongue. Luckily someone who saw the accident pulled his tongue
out so that he could breath properly, but by the time the ambulance arrived,
his brain was swollen and blood was also coming out of his ears. His tongue
was swollen so large, he had difficulty breathing through his mouth. Mom got
the devastating news from an Air Force representative who told her to be prepared
to attend a funeral because dad was not expected to live. I can only imagine
what mom must of felt as she heard the report of this devastating news. Dad
was the main reason for the wonderful life she had come to know, and she was
deeply in love with him. He was her American dream, being very handsome, full
of life, and one of the few persons whom she had ever known that loved her
and brought joy to her otherwise previous hard life that she had known while
growing up in the State of Maine.
Contrary to the doctors medical evaluation, dad lived; but he was never the
same. I didn't know my real dad, only the man who had permanent brain damage
who drank all night to kill the pain in his head. Because of this and his love
for late night movies, he slept most of the time during the day. He was depressed,
angry, frustrated, and bitter, as his life with the Air Force was over when
they gave him a medical discharge against his will because of his medical condition.
The result of the accident was permanent brain damage with a schizophrenic
mental disorder. According to mom, before the accident occurred, dad was a
happy and playful person, a good husband who loved their son Ernest who was
born the previous year in 1948.
Despite the fact that mom nearly had a miscarriage during these troublesome
times, she carried me to full term; and I was born in Waltham, Massachusetts in 1949. Soon to follow one year later, was my sister Dixie, who was born in Bermuda, as well as my sister Linda, who was born the following year.
Life for our family from the day of dad's accident was never easy. In the months
that followed, our family's life spiraled downward as we became well acquainted
with poverty, sorrow, and grief, suffering from the life that alcoholics live
which results in depression, lack of natural affection, love, and abuse. From
my birth it has always seemed as if the world itself was Pandora's box; within
it contained every evil and disease imaginable seeking to release its poison
throughout humanity with a deadly vengeance.
In 1953, we moved from Waltham Massachusetts to a little fishing village called Friendship located
in midcoast Maine. Mom grew up in this area so coming back home to
live near her relatives was a pleasant and welcome change in her life. Because
dad spent his money on alcohol, we were not able to rent a decent house. The
house we moved into was an old converted, two story school house that was called
by the towns folks as "the poor house." It was rather large, drafty,
and spooky looking-something like those old rickety, run down, haunted, two
story homes with dorms on the roof that you see in the old horror movies around
Halloween. Since we did not have any running water, I would daily go to the
well that was down the hill across the street. With the pail upside down attached
to a rope, I let the pail go to hit the water until it sank; at which time,
I would pull it up the 15 feet or so to the top of the well. Our bathroom was
an outhouse that was located in a barn that was attached to the house so it
was inside and accessible during adverse weather conditions. For heat, we had
an old kerosene cooking stove that would often go bad during the night; and
we would wake up with the house filled with black smoke. Since the stove was
only large enough to heat the kitchen area it was located in; during the cold
winter months, my mother would heat rocks that she placed under our mattresses
upstairs to keep our feet warm.
Because my mother loved dad so much, she stayed with him; but she also became
a victim of his mental, verbal and physical abuse. Oftentimes, while in a drunken
rage, he would beat her, and at least on one occasion, tried to burn her face
by forcing her head upon the surface of a hot burning stove. Sometimes he would
erupt in rage, accusing her of having an affair with other men behind his back.
Over time due to the overwhelming stress and abuse, she had a complete nervous
breakdown; and we were relocated to various homes with friends and relatives
for a few months until she recovered enough to take care of us again.
There was a coldness due to a lack of natural affection which ran through our
family. I can't remember one day in my life that I heard a sweet word or a
tender voice speaking to me that had any indication of acceptance and love.
Nor can I remember any tenderness or display of affection that my parents may
have had for one another but only the violence, anger, and depression which
filled our home. For me, a sense of freedom could be felt as I ran through
the meadows and down a forest trail as fast as I could. A path ran from the
house through a meadow for about a hundred yards, then turned into the forest
for a mile until it came out into a cranberry marsh. The path then followed
a course along a fresh water stream until it emptied into the ocean which lay
at the cranberry marsh front doorstep. Often I would run as fast as I could
down the path, enjoying the motion of freedom as the wind blew through my hair,
leaving all the pain and turmoil behind me. I envied the freedom of the butterflies
that lit upon the flowers in the field as they skipped lazily flirting from
one blossom to another seemingly without a care in the world.
One day, I found a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest. It was a Robin,
one of my favorite birds, whose colorful appearance always marked the beginning
of Spring. Carefully, I took the bird home and found a bird cage for it's lodging.
I loved this bird, and he became my best friend. Feelings of tenderness and
love swelled up within me allowing me to have feelings which I had not experienced
before. The bird and I conversed together, holding our own conversation as
I responded to the chirping sounds. I fed the baby Robin, and he grew. Soon,
I was able to take the Robin out of his cage where he would contently sit on
my index finger while I watched TV or moved around the house. On our first
day out together, I walked over to my neighbor's house with the bird happily
perched on my index finger. Carefully, I placed the bird on the ground near
the doorstep while I went inside to visit. A short time later, I returned but
couldn't find my Robin. Instead, I saw a baby boy in diapers squatting down.
He was bent at the knees looking down between his legs as if he was going to
the bathroom. I looked under his rear, and there was my little Robin. In horror,
I rescued my friend from this babysitter who thought he was hatching an egg.
The bird had a broken leg and couldn't walk. I took the bird home to care for
it and made a splint for his leg. I didn't sleep well that night and rose early
in the morning to check on my friend. Hastily, I ran downstairs and found that
he was dead. Being five years old, I didn't know what death was; all I knew
was that my friend would never be alive again. My first experience with love
ended in grief and a void that would forever be felt in my heart. No one in
my family said a word about my grief and loss, and life as we knew it went
on.
Soon my brother and I started school. Because we were poor, the kids at school
rejected us as outcasts of society as if we were lepers, often spitting on
us, making lewd remarks about how we stank, while making fun of the way we
dressed and the holes in our clothes and shoes. My brother Ernest especially
had a hard time as he was born with a speech impediment and was somewhat mentally
retarded, and so my brother and I often found ourselves alone to play, by ourselves.
Ernest was so lonely for companionship that he created an imaginary friend
he called "Me Me." Me Me was his best friend who could talk, play
and was someone whom he could confide in to share his thoughts, deepest secrets,
longings, and desires.
As dad's physical condition worsened and his drinking became more of a problem,
he would often go to the Veteran's Hospital for medical treatment. Sometimes,
he would stay for a few days and return back home. One day, I was in my bedroom
upstairs when I heard the sound of sirens. I looked out the dorm window which
overlooked the front yard and road and saw an ambulance, and a police car pulled
up in our front yard. Dad was put in the ambulance and they took him to the
hospital. As I watched them take my dad away, my heart broke. "Why is
this happening to us?" I wondered. "Where is dad going now?" I
didn't know, and I didn't know anyone I could talk to; and no one offered to
explain anything to me. Mom was so mentally occupied, sad and depressed to
understand what I was going through. Dad never returned home, and I never saw
him again after that. Soon Mom went to work at a fish hatchery
in Rockland to support herself and four children. In time, I learned my parents
were getting a divorce and that dad had been released from the hospital and
had moved to Texas to be near his relatives.
My need for attention and love continued to increase. Mom began to see boyfriends,
and as she often went out at night during the weekends on dates. I couldn't
understand why she didn't pay any attention to me. I tried yelling, and she
would just ignore me like I was a stone that was more of an object than a living
human being. Because of this, I suffered from rejection not understanding why
she didn't love me. Because she didn't validate my existence, I thought that
this must be my fault and that something was wrong with me. In my attempts
to find some form of communication, I even told her that I hated her; and I
didn't want to see her anymore but that didn't phase her either. I was too
young to understand what happens to those who become withdrawn from having
a nervous breakdown. One night, in desperation, while she was out on a date,
I got a brilliant idea. I found a wooden board which I tucked under my shirt
right over my chest. I took a kitchen knife and stabbed the board with it right
over my heart. With plenty of ketchup around the "wound," I laid
on my back in front of the entry door and waited for my mom to come home to
find me nearly dead, at which time she would freak out and tell me how much
she loved me, begging me not to die. And so around 11:30 at night, I laid down
on the hard, wooden floor patiently waiting for her to return, anxious for
the moment when I would be in her arms knowing that I was really loved after
all. Midnight came and went. Around one o'clock in the morning, I got tired
of waiting and decided that this wasn't really worth it after all and went
to bed.
Somewhere during this time, mom began to attend a little church near our home
called the Advent Christian Church. Her life changed when she went to the altar
and accepted Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior. One day, she told us how
an Evangelist came one Sunday and preached to the congregation about the Baptism
of the Holy Spirit. She went forward and received the free gift of the Holy
Spirit who comforted her and imparted to her the daily strength she needed
to live. Soon, on Sundays we would walk with her to church which was just up
the road from where we lived. I loved going to this church. The people were
friendly and the sermons were always given in a quiet way that ministered to
me. Plays were often produced using the kids my age in the community to illustrate
the gospel. Soon, I was attending Sunday School appreciating the bright, friendly
face of my Sunday School teacher, Kay Havener. It was here that I first learned
about Jesus and the plan of salvation. Every year, the church conducted a summer
school. This was very healthy for me as it provided a place to be with others
my own age in a warm environment while mom was working. Here we would act in
plays, play games, and cut out pictures and paste them in books that portrayed
the story of Jesus. We often sang songs like, "Jesus loves me this I know" which
ingrained in my young mind good Christian teachings about the nature and person
of Jesus. I don't remember ever making a personal commitment to the Lord during
this age, but something happened in my life as I began to be aware of the presence
of God around me. The sense of the presence of God imparted to me the awareness
there was more to life than I had known. A sense of purpose and belonging was
instilled deep within me. Although I didn't really understand, I instinctively
knew that God was in control of my destiny. I remember the times I would look
up to gaze at the stars at night and sensed His glory as the psalmist David
observed,
"The heavens declare
the glory of God: and the firmament showed his handiwork" (Psalms 19:1).
God's natural wonders often spoke to me of His sovereign power, signifying
that the universe was His and was made by Him and for Him. I can remember a
great peace during these times of fellowship with Him as I enjoyed a simple
walk and talk with the Lord. He shared His love as I saw His handiwork in the
heavens declaring His everlasting power. Nature itself revealed the glory of
God through the seasons. Throughout each day His glory could be seen through
the spectrums of colors in the rainbow, the brilliant colors of fall, the sun
light dancing upon the ocean with sparkles, the beautiful color of snow that
lights the dark night under a full moon, and the manifold colors of His creative
flowers and butterflies. The sound of rain and the fresh smell of air washed
by a recent summer storm, the awe of the display of lightning bolts, and the
sound of thunder all spoke to me of the wonderful works of God. Perhaps it
was during this time when my natural father was gone and my mother was always
working that the Lord allowed me to sense and feel His presence and love that
let me know that He was with me. It was at this very early stage in my life
that one of my favorite hymns, "How Great Thou Art," became instilled
in my soul.
I woke up suddenly early one morning unable to open my eyes. As hard as I tried,
my eyelids would not open. I saw a vision of a large fire that was burning
in a fireplace. Out of the fire, I heard a voice speaking to me telling me
that He was the Lord. He went on to say that He would be with me in life and
something about a visitation and being used in my latter years. "Mom" I
cried, "help me." Mom was awake and told me that I was just having
a bad dream. I never told anyone of the vision; and so with time, it faded
from my memory until the time of my next visitation.
New
Beginnings?
One day, a tall stranger came to the house with my mother. He was introduced
to me as my mom's boyfriend. Apparently, they had been seeing each other for
awhile as they seemed to know each other quite well. I first met him when he
came upstairs, entered my bedroom and simply said, "My name is Howard
and Roy, you're not a good boy; and I am going to see that you do not get away
with anything! From now on, things are going to change." I was stunned
by his first initial conversation and couldn't say anything. Intuitively, I
knew that he was not a good person, even though mom said that he was a fine
Christian who didn't smoke or drink. She was impressed by the fact that he
had a nice small home, worked steadily, and was a Christian who would make
a good husband. This held for my mother the promise of a new life with new
beginnings. I was ten years old at the time. Soon my mother married this man
who had three children of his own that were close to the same age as my brother
and sisters. With mom's four children, we now became a large family of nine.
We moved from the poor house in Friendship to Howard's tiny little house located
in the country near Waldoboro, another little fishing village on the ocean
a few miles from Friendship.
My need for love and acceptance had taken on such proportions that I daily
felt the pain and emptiness of loneliness. The loss of my father and the need
for a loving contact with humanity caused me to reach out to my step-father.
One day, shortly after our family moved into our step-father's home, he and
I were walking across the yard side by side when he looked down at me from
his tall frame of six-foot-three and said, "Roy, I am not your father
so don't expect me to act like one." I stopped dead in my tracks, feeling
numb as he continued to walk on. Frozen by the ice of rejection, I couldn't
move. It was at that point that I felt a distinct departure from having any
feelings of self-worth and acceptance to that of total rejection and isolation.
Like a child dropped off at an orphanage, I felt abandoned and lost. I had,
without knowing it in that moment built up a defensive wall to protect myself
from being hurt. I was becoming just like my stepfather, cold and uncaring,
bearing an image which had been transferred to him from his abusive background.
This icy feeling of rejection was solidified as my soul detached itself from
the natural flow of humanity. Shortly thereafter, I received the news that
my natural father had died. He returned home one night from a bar under the
influence of alcohol and laid down upon his bed and fell asleep with a cigarette
lit in his hand. Someone saw the smoke coming from his house and called the
fire department, but it was too late. The fire department got him out of the
burning house, but he died of smoke inhalation at the young age of 33. I was
twelve years old at the time and didn't know how to react. I suppose my emotions
and young mind was unable to accept what had really happened. I rode my bike
to the school grounds and played basketball that day, believing that one day
dad would come home.
True to his word, my step-father did not act like a father to me, nor to any
of his own children. I couldn't understand this aspect about him. In public,
he was completely different as he would often laugh and jest with people in
a warm, friendly way, especially with the customers who came into the grocery
store where he worked as a butcher. At church, he acted like a Christian who
believed in and followed God; but at home, he was completely different. He
was cold and uncaring, often staring at us with looks that showed contempt
and dislike, making cold and cruel remarks to each of us. He was also a peeping
Tom, often sneaking quietly up the stairs to watch the girls undress for bed.
One of the most difficult times we had as a family was at the kitchen table.
As soon as we sat down to eat, he would glare at me and my sisters as we tried
to eat our supper. This imparted to us the sense that we didn't deserve the
food that we were eating. This made us feel like lowly worms, the scum of the
earth. I guess we were suppose to appreciate and be thankful for what he was
providing for us even though he was getting a monthly income from each of us.
Dad had left an insurance policy which paid 50 dollars a month for each of
his children until we reached the age of 18. Howard collected this each month
for our room and board.
Ernie was conveniently placed in an institution call Pine Land shortly after
mom married. Pineland was a State institution which cared for the mentally
and emotionally ill, grouping them together with those who were mentally retarded
at all levels. I remember visiting him there once and seeing the young adults
running around screaming and throwing fits. These were children who were severely
retarded and mentally ill. I was frightened by their behavior and couldn't
understand why Ernest was placed in this environment as his problem was a speech
impediment. He could talk fluently but not clearly. Even though he was somewhat
slow in his thinking process, he was gifted and talented otherwise and was
not a problem child while we were growing up. I found out later that Howard
had tried to have me committed there as well, except that Pineland refuse to
allow him to do so.
Mom was not allowed to pay attention to any of her children as she was to wait
upon Howard for his personal needs, then his own children. I believe this affected
my sister Linda the most, as she was the youngest, the gentlest and the most
loved starved of all. Complicating her life was the fact that she had a severe
case of diabetes.
Howard promised mom before they were married that he would build a bedroom
for her boys. The four girls occupied the two small bedrooms upstairs. For
my step-brother and I, he framed in a partition in the corner of the basement
with an open doorway that became our bedroom.. We were given a large pot to
urinate in. Needless to say, I never invited anyone over to visit.
I spent most of my time at home downstairs in the basement in order to avoid
the mental harassment whenever I was near my step-father. At times, he would
make personal remarks directed at my person, constantly assuring me that I
was a nobody who would never become anything. If I said anything at all, he
would hit me on the back of my head or slap my face and say, "turn the
other cheek" so that he could hit me again on the other side. For the
life of me, I never figured out why he was hitting me, except that he claimed
that I was "talking back." Quite often, as he sat on the couch, he
would glare at me with a disapproving, hateful look; then suddenly jump up
and grab me by the neck stating that I had given him a "dirty look." One
day, I knew I would have to make a stand. I was big for my age; at 16, I was
nearly six feet tall and weighed 160 pounds. One day, when he came up behind
me to hit me, I wheeled around with my fist clinched and said, "If you
try to touch me, I will defend myself." He never tried to hit me again
after that. Mentally, yes-that increased, but physically no.
Not only did his physical actions isolate me from his heart, but his words
gave me reasons why. Words which stated I was hopeless, a nobody who would
never amount to anything. These words of prophecy were verbal ideas implanted
in my heart that formed and shaped my thinking and self image. In time, after
repeatedly hearing these words, I believed them! For many years afterwards,
I strived to prove myself as being equal to others around me. Feelings of being
inferior caused me to take on negative behavioral patterns reflected in my
speech and mannerisms. My self worth became so dependent on what others thought
that I became afraid of any form of criticism because of the fear of rejection.
This bondage placed me in a position of co-dependence, relying upon someone
else's approval for my own sense of self worth and esteem. If someone disagreed
with my opinion or viewpoint, I felt rejected, taking it personally. Because
of this sensitivity, I found it hard at times to distinguish between conversations
that were natural, verbal sparring from that of abusive battering with the
intent to control and manipulate. Bondage to fear had taken hold. At times,
even as an adult, I found myself trying to convince others that my opinion
was valid, inwardly seeking for their approval. Naturally, this dysfunction
led to rejection which validated my fears, leading to depression until I recovered
to try again. This led to anxiety attacks from social phobia whenever I felt
situations were out of my control due to fear of rejection, feeling inferior,
or stupid.
Repent
or go to hell
I didn't want to be anything like my step-father or those "Christians" who
picked me up to take me to church. Each Sunday, our step-father forced us to
go even though most of the time, he stayed at home. Another Christian family
picked us up at the house and very quietly, without any conversation, took
us to church. On the way, the family rode quietly as the father, his wife,
daughter and two sons, stared silently straight ahead with hands folded on
their laps. Their clothes were very plain and simple. I couldn't fathom why
God would mold these people into clones without motion or movement. It seemed
that if any one of them spoke other than to glorify the Lord, they would be
punished for being "in the flesh." It was taught by this church that
being in the flesh was a sin which could send a person to hell. So with a sober
attitude, we rode the 15 miles to church, determined to arrive with a purity
and holiness that only these people could imagine. I rode with them in the
private silence of loneliness, painfully aware of my need for understanding
and love.
At church, each person took their familiar seat in the pew, waiting in silence,
soberly, and reverently for the service to begin. Suddenly, the pastor who
had been quietly sitting, would jump to his feet and begin the service with
loud shouts of "hallelujah" and "amen." I could not always
hear what was being said because his voice was so loud that my ears would hurt.
When I did understand, it was basically the same fearful message about the
consequences of sin with the treat that we had better "Repent or go to
Hell!" Each Sunday, it was usually the same song, just a different verse.
If I died, I didn't want to go to hell, but I couldn't see living a life of
hell on earth either! At the age of sixteen, I wanted to live. All I had known
all of my life was pain, turmoil and anxiety, going from one loss to another.
I asked myself, "Why can't God allow us to have some liberty and fun?" I
can't see living a life bound up as these people were, just to come alive during
a church service. "What in the world did these people do during the rest
of the week?" Suddenly, the man who had brought me to church came alive.
With a loud shout, he jumped out of his seat; and with his eyes closed and
his hands lifted up towards heaven, he "danced in the spirit." He
moved his large overweight torso, with ease as he moved down the isle, jumping
up and down, spinning like a top. He moved back and forth and all around until
he returned back again to his seat; at which time, he retired to his former
disciplined self. How could God ask me to become a stiff board, occasionally
coming to life as His Spirit willed, just to retreat back again into a form
of life without character and substance? It was hard enough to understand my
step-father who was a hypocrite, but I could not understand how God fearing
people could act like this! I was young and full of life. There was no way
I was going to become a prisoner to live the rest of my life in confinement,
unable to move with liberty to freely express my own character and personality.
During this time, I formed the opinion that these people accepted God because
they were weak and needed a crutch.
One Sunday morning, I sat in the pew firing paper clips with a rubber band
at a very old lady who was blind. She was singing a special song with all of
her heart. She sang with a voice that would make a scratched record sound good,
but she obviously loved the Lord. All of a sudden, the Spirit of the Lord came
upon me. His presence was so strong I felt I was going to be lifted off the
pew and be carried down to the altar. I knew I was being drawn by the Holy
Spirit to come to the altar to receive Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior.
As I sat in the pew under the conviction of the Holy Spirit, I became afraid.
Questions plagued my mind such as, "What will God do to me if I give myself
to Him? Will He force me to become something which I cannot be?" I had
known men who were in positions of authority that used heavy-handed policies
to direct the will and actions of others. Here in this church, tactics were
used to instill fear such as "repent or go to hell." Too often, out
of fear or desperation, people would respond to the altar call in a high, emotional
state. Others, because they couldn't stand to hear the preacher talk any more,
would come forward just for the peace of mind. If I was going to give my life
to God, it would be because I wanted to respond freely. My mind had to line
up with my will to make a total surrender. I was already in bondage to fear
and didn't care for authority, especially those who wanted to place limits
upon me like bars in a prison cell, confining my life to their thoughts and
expectations. Instead, I had in my heart the desire to fly like the eagles
soaring on the wings of freedom. Since I had been born, the circumstances and
situations around my life were out of my control. This instilled a sense of
feeling helpless, defenseless, as I was unable to do anything about it; and
that was pretty scary to me. I would at least have the freedom to keep my own
will to maintain control over my own life. In my heart, I could feel the pain
and rebellion lodged in my heart toward Christians and God. I decided that
it would be better to lead my own life with freedom than to surrender to God
and be in bondage under the control of others and God. I was determined not
to be manipulated and controlled.
I was also seeking to be validated as a person. Throughout the years, my personal
thoughts, feelings, likes and dislikes, were never recognized by anyone; nor
were my natural talents and abilities recognized, much less developed. I did
not know my relatives very well, nor was there a sense of belonging with roots.
As a "non person," I found myself always on the outside, feeling
alone, even in the midst of a crowd.
High school for me was a painful process of getting through each day because
of the isolation and feelings of being remote and different. Because of my
inability to communicate effectively and form bonds and relationships with
my peers, I learned to walk alone. I leaned upon my own understanding and thought
processes to guide me through the maze and complications of life. I did well
in sports, especially in basketball, and always made the team; but it was difficult
to make the practice sessions as I had a hard time getting transportation.
I either rode my bicycle the 12 miles to town or would hitchhike, as my step-father
or mother never supported our school activities or hobbies. I learned to drive
by taking the drivers education course provided by the High School. Since I
was not allowed to drive my step-father's vehicles, if I wanted a car I had
to buy my own. During my freshman year, I saved enough money from raking blue
berries during the summer months to buy my first vehicle. For eighty five dollars,
I became the proud owner of a blue, 1957 Chevrolet station wagon. What a piece
of junk that was! For the most part, you could see through the metal because
of the rust; but the engine ran OK. The only major problem it had was that
it used a quart of oil just going to town and back. I made fifteen dollars
when I sold it for a hundred dollars to my stepfather. However, it was embarrassing
to ride in as you could see a cloud of blue smoke bellowing upward from behind
it for miles around. It was a wonder the fire department never showed up thinking
they had a wild fire to put out!
Exodus
After graduation from high school,
I knew I couldn't live at home anymore because I was not welcomed! I was now
18 years old and of age. The monthly income which the insurance policy provided
to Howard would soon stop. I knew when this happened, I would be asked to leave.
The inner constant need for love and self-fulfillment was drawing me to seek
for greener pastures. One day as I stood looking out the window into the distant
horizon looking for something beyond my reach, (I frequently did this) I knew
I had to answer the call to move on. One day, I just simply walked out of the
house. Without saying a word to anyone and without any money or a change of
clothes, I left the little sleepy town of Waldoboro, Maine. The only baggage
I had was what I carried on the inside, accumulated from a lifetime exposure
to pain, sorrow, and dysfunctional relationships. There was nothing good that
tied me to the miserable existence I knew living at home, and I was free to
depart from those who had adversely affected my life to choose my own destiny.
For the first time in my life, I felt that I was in control.
I hitchhiked to Texas to live with my Aunt Mildred to find my destiny. I was
fortunate to have an Aunt like Mildred. She enrolled me in a technical school
operated by a large aircraft manufacturing company calling Ling Temco Vaught
which trained its own employees. After three months of training, I went to
work for the company operating rivet guns to attach the aircraft's smooth,
aluminum skin onto the metal framework. The pay was very good as I was earning
high wages for a young man of 18.
In September of 1968, I received a draft notice from the US Army. Immediately,
I went to the Air Force Recruiting Station and took the entrance exam to qualify
for flight training as I had always wanted to be a pilot. Flying was in my
blood, and I knew this as a child, but never followed through with my inclinations.
The score on the exam was high, but I was notified that my vision was not 20/20,
a requirement I had to meet in order to fly. My cousin Floyd was a proud, ex
Marine who convinced me that the Marine Corps was a branch of service for "men," that
was far better than the Army. He was also an insurance salesman who tried to
sell me a life insurance policy. So for the honor of fighting for my country,
knowing that I would be going to Vietnam, I joined the Marine Corps! At the
medical center, it was found that I had a crooked spine, medically called,
scoliosis. I was asked if I my back ever bothered me; and I replied, "No" as
I had the patriotic notion of going to war to defend my country against communism.
I was also a "sole surviving son" which qualified me to be exempt
from hazardous duty, as my brother Ernest was not considered to be one who
would ever have children. I never told this to them either as I was going to
go to war! Soon, I was in boot Camp at Camp Pendelton in San Diego, California.
The physical training was vigorous and hard, but I enjoyed this as it put me
in top, physical shape. Mentally, I was reprogrammed to "kill," and
my traditional values with boundaries were neatly replaced with survival skills.
I was trained for jungle warfare with the knowledge of how to kill a man in
three seconds with my bare hands as well as how to use weapons commonly used
in warfare. I completed boot camp, and in March of 1969 flew with my outfit
from San Diego, California to the battlefields of Vietnam. After 18 hours of
flying time, we landed at the Army air strip in Long Bingh, Vietnam, 50 miles
North of DA Nang.
Long Bingh lay in a large flat valley at the slopes of a large mountain range.
I was walking from my tent to the mess hall when I heard a sound in the air
like that of a whistle. I searched the sky for its source and I didn't see
any aircraft which was puzzling. Suddenly, I saw numerous, long, black missiles
sailing through the air coming from the mountains which surrounded the air
base. They landed mostly on the tents and exploded with a large deafening sound,
spewing dirt and debris high up into the air. The mortars exploded killing
many of the men who had just arrived with me from the United States. Body parts
were flying everywhere as the deadly missiles hit their targets. I fell to
the ground laying on my stomach until the mortars subsided. I then threw up.
It was my first day in Vietnam and already, I felt emotionally and mentally
numb. Somehow, I was so numb on the inside that I didn't seem to care about
my life anymore, whether I lived or died, killed or was killed. At the age
of 19, before even fighting my first battle, I had became a casualty of war.
I had been assigned to the 5th Marines, 1st Division and was appointed to walk
as the point man for my squadron which consisted of 12 to 13 men. Whenever
we walked out into the bush, I was the first person in line to lead the way.
It was during the Tet offensive, and we were conducting an all out sweep of
the country side by air and by foot to root out and destroy the enemy. The
Viet Cong wisely dug deep tunnels and hid themselves. For nine long months,
I walked point searching to find them before they could find us, to ambush
them before being ambushed while avoiding the many booby traps. Booby traps
took more American lives than wounds suffered from actual combat. It was a
psychological warfare which we lost daily, and it cost us dearly. Because of
the extreme pressure and tension which was inherent to this job, no Marine
was required to walk point for more than three months at a time before being
relieved by the most recent newcomer from the States. Since I didn't trust
anyone else with my life, and I had a very keen sense of knowing where to walk
to avoid booby traps and ambushes, I remained as point man for the duration
of my tour.
God's hand was upon me. The day before my arrival in Vietnam, three men in
the squad I was assigned to were killed by booby traps while out on patrol.
After my arrival and taking the position of point man, there was not one casualty
in my squadron during the entire nine months. God had graciously opened my
eyes to discern where I was to walk thus avoiding ambushes and booby traps.
After walking point for three months, my reputation began to precede me. During
maneuvers which involved the entire division, I was always selected as the
leading point man. Once on a night maneuver, I walked point for an entire battalion
without incurring any injuries or casualties. The price of walking point in
order to preserve my own life, psychologically took its toll. I became overly
tired and fatigued due to the continuos tension and stress. I was also shell
shocked from the incoming mortars and missiles which were launched at us. If
a cave needed to be explored, I was the one who went in. If an area or island
needed to be looked over first to see if it was safe from Viet Cong and booby
traps before the troops moved in, I was the one to explore it by foot. One
night while we were out in the bush, I thought I had died. After standing watch
for two hours in a fox hole, I was relieved from duty and retired for the night.
I was sleeping soundly on the ground when I awoke suddenly to see two men crawling
on their hands and knees past my bed roll. Any Marine who had some combat experience
knew that when he changed his location at night he was to move in a crouched
position walking partly upright until he reached his destination. These two
men were moving slowly on their hands and knees crawling like the Viet Cong.
When I awoke, quickly my mind said, "Gooks." (meaning the enemy)
I responded quickly and jumped up in a flash and fell upon the two men and
tried to kill them with my bare hands. Somehow they managed to wrestle me to
the ground and pin me down. Lying on the ground on my back with two men over
me, I thought I was going to die! Expecting the death blow to come I screamed.
It was the scream of horror from someone who knew they had just taken their
last breath and was about to die. I heard the scream of death echo loudly through
the camp and even though it was my own voice, it made my blood chill. "Roden," one
of the Marines said. "Roden, it's us." Immediately, I recognized
these two men as new recruits who had just arrived the day before. They were
on their way to take their night position along the perimeter when I jumped
them.
Because of this experience, something changed inside of me. Emotionally, I
had died; psychologically, I had shut down when I had accepted my fate by letting
out a blood chilling scream before departing. Though mentally I was still functioning,
rigor mortis had set into my heart and soul. I couldn't laugh, cry or feel
relaxed enough to participate with others or exchange mutual thoughts and feelings.
Friendship and love evaded me. Again, I was emotionless and cold as a stone,
a walking epitaph which spoke of the tragedy of war, a victim of man's inhumanity
to man. The Roy I had once known was buried deep below the surface, chilled
by the circumstances of war. This is known by some as a "sleeping spirit." Like
a coma that occurs when the body shuts down to protect its life while repairing
itself, or like an accident when the body goes numb due to the trauma, my mind
and emotions went into a state of hibernation. Our field doctor asked me the
next day if I was alright. "Sure," I said, but I knew differently
and so did he. In his eyes, I was warm and alive; and as long as I could walk
and talk, I could continue to fight and walk point. During this time, Floyd
Walker, my best friend, received a transfer from North Vietnam and became a
member of our squad. Floyd and I had met in boot camp and became good friends.
I believe that the sight of Floyd and our friendship mentally kept me together
for the remainder of our tour. Finally, after 9 grueling months in Vietnam,
we were transported by the Navy on the USS Kennedy back to the United States.
The trip back took 17 days on high rough seas. The food was great, but I couldn't
eat anything as I was sea sick during the entire voyage. The sight of seeing
the port of San Diego and being back in the United States again was one of
great relief. I never thought I would ever see my homeland again.
The walkway from the dock to the transportation vehicles was lined on both
sides with people. They didn't greet us with cheery hellos or offer any "welcome
home soldier" but rather stared at us with disbelief and anger as they
studied our faces. Their eyes and facial expressions reflected the pity they
had for us. We had had left the United States as human beings and came back
home looking and acting like animals. I felt like a freak in a side show because
of their unwelcome observations. From there we were transported to our headquarters
in Camp Pendelton to a place reserved for Vietnam veterans just coming home
from the war.
Two weeks later, we were processed; we were standing in formation on the parade
ground. One by one our names were called out to appear front and center to
shake the hand of the officer who would hand us our discharge papers. My name
was called, and I went forward. I will never forget the look on the officer's
face that showed the unbelief and a sense of repulsion at what he saw. I was
a living reflection of the horror and trauma of war. He handed me my papers.
As I left the parade ground crossing the football length field back to my barracks,
I began to peel off my uniform. Removing one piece at a time, I cast each layer
of fabric to the ground, grinding it into the dust with my feet. By the time
I reached the barracks, I was completely naked. I put on my civilian clothes
and left the military base with only a two-week indoctrination into civilian
life in the United States. In the Spring of 1970, I found myself thrust back
into society with an honorable discharge.
The
party life
My friend Floyd Walker is a Mono Indian
who was born and raised on an Indian Reservation in Friant, California. I stayed
with him for two years, living in his parent's old, abandoned cabin located
just below their new home. During this time Floyd and I bought two motorcycles
with the little money we saved while we were in Vietnam. (Our pay in Nam was
about 25 cents per hour.) The bikes were modified into show bikes called street
choppers, and for a number of months, we toured the countryside enjoying our
liberty. Often, we ended up in jail for possession of drugs, disturbing the
peace, and for minor traffic violations. After taking numerous trips on LSD
and the use of marijuana, my mental state became affected even further. Not
only had I died emotionally on the inside, but now my mind became fried from
the use of drugs. The most predominate effect was my loss of memory and inability
to concentrate for any substantial length of time. I found that I could barely
hold a conversation, and it wasn't for very long as my mind would either wander
or short out; and I would lose my train of thought.
The act of sex had for me a temporary sense of fulfillment. By giving, I was
able to receive some attention and affection in return. This fed my ego, allowing
me to believe that I was a "man." In reality I was a male prostitute
trying to fulfil the personal needs of my inner man by substituting sex for
love. The drive for natural love, affection, and attention was always present.
Often, I would ride my motorcycle to the lake or cruise the strip downtown
to pick up a chick, just to take her to my cabin to engage in sexual pleasure,
then take her back home. This helped to quench my need for attention and love
which would temporary subside, just to return again later after the act of
having sex. Society frowns upon a woman who freely gives herself to a man,
labeling her as a whore. However, there are many males who indulge in having
sex with various women that are applauded for their strong male sexuality.
However, it is not different as the pureness and intent of love is substituted
by the spirit of lust and self gratification. This leads further into other
areas of perversion and self gratification. One of the greatest strongholds
Satan is able to procure is the human mind when its thought process is led
astray into darkness through deception, areas where Satan loves to dwell. If
Satan can control the thoughts of a person, he has the power to influence their
thinking and behavior, thus substituting darkness for truth- always promising
life and fulfillment, but whose end is always the wages of death and despair.
It was the same with drugs. The promise of a good high from the use of Marijuana
only enhanced and heightened my awareness of my emptiness and low self-esteem.
Instead of feeling good and natural, I would feel weird and act rather strange.
The use of any drug which contained "speed" only made me more emotionally
unstable. I would often hallucinate, seeing spiders crawling over the ground
and the walls of buildings. LSD held the promise of enlightening the mind to
liberate the soul, but under the influence of this drug, I saw my own faults
and shortcomings more clearly as well as those of others around me. Not to
speak of the mind blowing hallucinations. Alcohol would give me a temporary
high, followed by a corresponding low only to leave me more depressed. Because
of this, I never became addicted to drugs.
Nothing was working in my life and I knew it was time for a change. Instinctively,
I knew that it was time to move on, to close one chapter of my life to start
another. One evening, while peeling potatoes for supper, I heard a large
bang on the side of the cabin. Being shell-shocked from the experiences in
Vietnam, I was startled and jumped out of my skin. I recovered soon enough
to peer through the cabin window to see a number of Indian children running
as fast as they could for home. "At last," I thought, "I have
the culprits who have been throwing rocks at my cabin during the night breaking
the windows." If I was quick enough, I could catch them before they reached
their house next door. I ran out the door and across the yard quickly closing
the gap between me and them. I was nearly close enough to grab one of them
when they escaped into the house. Not one to be daunted, I continued my pursuit.
I stopped inside the entryway and looked into the kitchen area, and there sitting
at the kitchen table was a very old Indian. His blank gaze told me I had taken
him completely by surprise. Suddenly, I remembered that in my haste to catch
these kids, I forgot to leave the long knife I was using to peel potatoes on
the counter at home. I noticed that it was still in my hand waving in front
of me as I was expressing my feelings to this Indian. "These kids have
got to stop throwing rocks at my cabin," I said. The old Indian stared
at me as I held the knife behind my back now, trying to conceal its presence.
Feeling awkward, I was attempting to try to hide the knife. I had absolutely
no intention of using it except on my potatoes back at the cabin. "What
have I done to deserve this kind of treatment?" I demanded. The old Indian
spoke with a burst of words in his native Indian language. I realized that
he didn't know a word of English; and so not knowing what else to do, I walked
out of the house. I then walked up the hill to talk to Mr. Bill Walker, Floyd's
dad.
Bill was sitting on the front lawn which faced the street. The old cabin where
I lived in was down the hill to the right of his new home in full view of where
he was sitting. I sat down next to him and explained what had just happened.
A short time later, a number of police cars rolled quickly to a stop in front
of the cabin. An officer got out of his car, kneeled behind the door, and began
to speak through his bullhorn. "Come out with your hands up," he
demanded. "We have the cabin surrounded." As we watched this taking
place from our vantage point, Bill laughed. Again, they demanded for me to
come out before they took action. "I'm up here," I yelled. Quietly
and cautiously they approached us, explaining that they had received a report
of a wild white man attempting to kill Indian children with a knife. The police
officers went over to talk to the old Indian and came back later and said, "He
doesn't speak English and we can't find the knife, so we have no evidence to
arrest you. It looks like you're free to go."
Call it circumstances or the providence of God, I was asked to leave the Indian
Reservation at a time when my life was in need of a change. With only the clothes
on my back, I started to hitchhike on the highways once again to find my place
in life.
The call to be free was beckoning me to move on, to close another chapter of
my life to enter into another. Once again, I had the chance to change my life
and write a different story. I left with the same baggage but in a different
suitcase, only this time my suitcase was larger than ever.
Renewed
vision for a new life
I left the Indian Reservation in Friant, California at the end of the Summer
of 1971. Again, as when I had left home at the age of 18, I had no clothes,
no money, and no place to go. I decided to do what most folks do; get a job,
marry and settle down. I started to hitchhike on Highway 99 just outside of
Fresno in search of my destination. I was soon picked up by a young gentlemen
who was traveling to Modesto, a large city in the San Jouquin Valley located
about a hundred miles North of Fresno. During our conversation, I mentioned
that I always had the desire to be a pilot. Since I had to wear glasses, I
was discounted by the Air Force even though I had scored extremely high on
the entrance exam. "We have an aviation school here in the City of Modesto
at Modesto Junior College," he said. Once we were in town, he gave me
a complete tour of the campus!
I was elated! For the first time in years, I was beginning to feel a sense
of hope and direction with purpose in my life. I did not know there were civilian
schools where a student could major in and obtain a degree in aviation. I applied
and passed the entrance exam and was accepted by the college. With no money
or source of income, in the Fall of 1971, I slept in the nearby fields close
to the college campus, getting up each morning walking the short distance to
school. Without a shave or shower, change of clothes or any underwear, I faithfully
attended my classes getting high grades for my effort. As far as my living
conditions, I was used to this because this was how I had lived in Vietnam
when I spent 9 months out in the bush. After a few months, my VA benefits began
to arrive, and I was eventually able to rent a cheap hotel room. In the evening,
I would walk to the nearest mission for food. I patiently sat with the alcoholics
and other homeless listening to the old familiar sermons on "Repent or
go to Hell" in order to get a free meal afterwards. Sometimes, I would
spend the evenings asking for spare change on the sidewalks near the fast food
stores in order to buy a meal, or walk the back alleys in search for food.
The first Thanksgiving day I celebrated in college was in a hotel room. Although
alone, I felt very fortunate to find a loaf of bread for my meal. I was especially
grateful to find, one fine day, a whole cake in the alley at the back of a
bakery. It was white with lemon frosting, I can still taste it today.
For the first time in my academic life, I did very well in school, earning
top grades. I loved the field of aviation and found science to be quite natural
as well. Because I had a hope and a desire for the future to become something,
a somebody who had talents and skills that could earn a living, I found a new
found zeal and hope for the future which motivated me despite my financial
situation and adverse conditions.
During my second semester in college, I met Shirly who was a petite, little
woman of about 90 pounds who had two children from her first marriage and was
recently separated from her second husband. It was not long after we met that
we decided to live together, and so I moved into her apartment with her. Our
relationship was one of convenience. I protected her from her first husband
who was sadistic and lived nearby and wanted to rape her and abuse his own
children. (Despite the court order, he was trying to find ways to molest and
abuse her and her two children.) In return for this protection, she provided
a place for me to stay while I was in college which kept me off the streets
and somewhat out of trouble. So, we conveniently lived together living a rather
very dysfunctional life for two years until I was convinced by a friend that
we should do the "honorable" thing and make it right by getting married.
We were not in love with each other and I knew it as she hated men which was
often displayed by her bitterness and fits of anger. Her whole interest was
that of herself and her children. However, the common sense and boundaries
I once knew was taken away by the military during training that was designed
to desensitize young men to go into combat to kill the adversary, as well as
my war experiences in Vietnam and subsequent drug abuse. I was living to survive
and surviving to live and so was she. I'll never forget the feeling of despair
and doom the day I got married. Seconds right after the wedding an ill feeling
sank deep into the pit of my stomach which was despair and a sense of hopelessness.
I couldn't identify it at the time, but deep down, I knew all my hopes, dreams,
and expectations of having a life with a loving, equal partner was gone out
the window. I had married the wrong person for the wrong reasons, a marriage
which God did not put together. Shirly had a history of pain and trauma as
bad, if not worse, than mine. I was an introvert and she was as extrovert and
hated men. Because of my passiveness, I constantly suffered immensely from
the verbal abuse, confusion, strife, opposition, and turmoil which often led
to despair and depression. I had become her living scapegoat, taking the brunt
of her emotional and mental disorders, anger, resentment, and bitterness, paying
for the abuse that others had inflicted upon her from her father and two husbands
prior to our marriage. But in all fairness, we both brought our dysfunction's
into the marriage with us and so we both suffered as a result of the dysfunction's
of each other.
In the second year of college, I began to take flight lessons at the local
airport where I found a natural talent to fly and soloed in ten hours and rapidly
progressed to earn my commercial pilot, instrument rating, and multi-engine
rating within two years. Flying was easy for me and fun and it was my connection
back to life. There is something about flying that cannot be described; like
love, it has to be experienced to understand the joy and liberty of the sense
of feeling free. For me, it always occurs at the moment the wheels leave the
ground and a sensation of the liberty of flight fills my inner most being.
Like an eagle soaring on the current of the winds, a sense of weightlessness
occurs in your soul as you rise upwards towards the heavens being free from
the boundaries of gravity and the limitations of the earth. At that very moment,
a sense of freedom occurs in the soul; and it seems as if you touch the very
hand of God.
I graduate from Modesto Junior College with an AS Degree in Science in the
Spring of 1974. I enrolled in San Jose State University to major in Aeronautics;
and in the Fall, we moved to the suburbs of San Jose. To supplement our income,
I got a part-time job selling ice cream out of the back of an ice cream truck
and worked after school. At the local airport, I received flying lessons and
obtained my flight instructor's license and became employed part time as a
flight instructor at Reid Hillview Airport. I also joined the Air Force Reserves
as a flight mechanic working on C-5A and C-141 transports at Travis Air Force
Base. This provided extra income and would allow me the opportunity, with time,
to get enough rank to enroll into the Flight Engineer Program with the Air
Force. With my combined civilian flight time and military jet time as a flight
engineer, I could qualify for a job to fly with the airlines.
The
emptiness of success
Although my life seemed to be straightening out, my soul cried out in anguish
despite the fact that I had earned all my flight ratings and was employed as
a flight instructor teaching students to fly. I found my work to be exciting
and fulfilling, but there was still an emptiness which resided in the pit of
my stomach. A loneliness continued to linger within me. My failed marriage
never improved due to the consistent tension and turmoil of a strained relationship
that was based more on fear than trust and love. Our fighting continued day
in and day out, week after week month after month. Due to the stress and strain
of our problems, I was unable to find the time or energy to concentrate on
my college studies. Eventually, I was disqualified and dismissed from campus
due to poor grades. Unable to earn my bachelor's degree in Aeronautics, I felt
like a failure, a nobody who would amount to anything. (My step-father's words)
Fortunately, I was able to become employed full time as a flight instructor
and charter pilot at Reid Hillview Airport in San Jose, California, thus beginning
my career as a professional pilot.
It was during this period that the Spirit of the Lord began to deal with me
about my personal salvation. Everywhere I went, it seemed as if someone was
either witnessing to me or trying to hand me a gospel track. Daily the Spirit
of God was upon me, dealing with me about the issue of salvation. Suddenly
one day, the Lord opened my eyes. I could see the souls of people, their innermost
being became obvious to me. I saw many people like myself who were dead and
empty on the inside from the traumas and trials of life. Some were filled with
anger and bitterness as their hatred for others showed through the glare in
their eyes, while others had demonic spirits living within them gazing at the
world through the human eyes of the person whom they possessed. Everywhere
I looked, I saw souls that were dying, lost in the evil stench which prevails
in humanity. There were those who were seeking fulfillment by seeking their
fortune. Others were looking to drugs and sex for fulfillment. Wherever I looked
I saw devices that Satan was using like bait on a hook dangling before that
particular individual saying, "This is the truth, the way to meet and
fulfill your innermost needs. Once you have this, you will be like God, satisfied
and happy." (Just as Satan was subtle and deceived Eve through temptation
in the garden of Eden). I did not see anywhere a face which reflected a life
of contentment, joy, and peace. Instead, I saw wounded souls whose minds were
filled with anxiety, their hearts with hatred, bitterness, and a contempt for
life in general.
I saw the Spirit of the Lord striving to draw people out of darkness to come
to know His saving grace. There was a spiritual conflict taking place in the
air, a battle between the forces of God and the demonic forces of Satan for
the souls of men. I realized that Satan is the prince of the air seeking to
destroy and devour humankind. Not one person is exempt from this angelic conflict.
You are either under the influence of God or that of Satan. You are either
under the power and Lordship of the Holy Spirit, or Satan's spirit. I became
keenly aware that I was trying to walk the middle road under my own power as
my own person without realizing how much my life had been affected by the influences
of Satan. Now that I was shown the spiritual reality of God and Satan, a decision
would have to be made. Serve God or Satan? No longer could I try to walk the
middle road. The choice became clear, I would commit my life to the Lord.
I heard a knock on our door. It's strange how Satan knows when he is about
to lose one of his captives. Unsuspectingly, I opened the door to see a short,
thin, middle-aged Asian. "May I come in?" he asked. He introduced
himself as the "neighbor next-door" and made himself comfortable
on the sofa. It wasn't long before he started to make statements with uncanny
accuracy about my past. I was intrigued and asked him to tell me more. "I
have cards at home," he stated, "which I often use as an aid to help
me see the past as well as the future. If you like, we can go there and continue."
In his home, we sat with a deck of tarot cards on the table. One by one, my
Asian neighbor would take the top card, turn it over, and with great accuracy,
read the card. His statements about my personal background was told with uncanny
accuracy, often referring to events and times of trouble which had occurred
in my personal and family life that no one else knew. He then drew a card which
displayed a black ace. The black ace was upside-down, pointing towards the
floor. At the sight of this card, he sucked in a breath of air. I sensed fear
as he placed the card on the table and stated, "This card is not good." I
inquired, "What does it mean?" He stood up and walked away from the
table and stood about ten feet from me, then turned around toward me. Slowly,
a vision appeared where he was standing. Flames of fire danced up from the
floor to the ceiling. In the middle of the flames where the Asian stood, was
a vision of myself standing in those flames. Fear went through my soul. My
father had died in a house fire when he was 33 years old. Secretly, I was afraid
that I would die in a fire at the same age as my father had. I was 26 and dreading
the time I would turn 33. Earlier in life, I had experienced two close calls
with death due to being caught in two separate structure fires. I was afraid
of burning to death. "Is this going to happen to me?" I asked. "Yes," he
replied. The vision had now passed and my Asian neighbor had now returned to
his seat at the table. "But I can help you," he said. "I am
a high priest of Satan and belong to an occult organization in San Francisco.
If you stick close to me, I may be able to help you avert this disaster." I
had lived on the streets during the days when I was a biker to know that there
are those who take, and those who are taken. There are many who prey on the
weaknesses of others who become victims of their abuse. "What is it that
you want in return?" I asked him. He replied, "I once slept with
a man while I was in college, and you remind me of him." Shocked I said, "No
thanks" and excused myself from the table and went home. His request that
I enter into a homosexual relationship with him to win his favor made me sick
to my stomach.
Jubilee
I laid in bed that night unable
to sleep. I realized the trap this servant of Satan tried to set by
enticing me with his knowledge and abilities in the spiritual realm.
He was using his evil powers from Satan to entice me until I became
co-dependent upon him for my personal safety and well being. This is
a trap which captures millions in its web of deceit and lies. Believing
their salvation and well being depends upon the approval and power
of another, they become victims through manipulation and control. An
evil spirit followed me home to my apartment after I left the Asian.
As I laid in bed, the satanic presence lingered over the apartment
like a black cloud which overshadows the earth. It was because of my
negligence that this spirit was here. I allowed the door to be open
for this evil spirit to take up residence by permitting the Asian to
practice his demonic religion on me. I could not tell it to go because
I did not have the authority, I was lost and separated from God. I
got up early the next morning determined to go to church to accept
Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior.
Hastily I got out of bed and quickly put on my clothes. Not wanting my wife
to notice I was leaving, I quickly and silently headed for the door. "Where
are you going?" Shirly asked. Unknowingly, she had gotten out of bed and
followed me to the door. "To church!" I proclaimed. Her mouth dropped
wide open as she stared at me in disbelief. "You are going to church?" I
know that sounded absurd as my character was more of a street gang member than
that of a professing Christian. "Yep," I replied, as I tried to get
out the door. "Whatever for?" she asked. "Today, I replied,
I am going to receive Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior." At this her
mouth closed and her lips gripped tightly together. Anger flashed in her eyes. "If
you do, she snarled, I'll divorce you." With that threat, I exited out
the door.
I drove up the steep hill that led from our apartment to the First Baptist
Church on the Hill. I was anxious to get to church to follow through with my
decision. The threat of a divorce didn't bother me much as I heard that threat
often. What really bothered me was the inner pain I was in. I was so miserable,
frustrated, and angry inside. I felt like a puppy, lonely and lost, not knowing
where I belonged. Oh, how many mistakes I had made in my life. For the first
time, I knew that I knew I was making the right decision by coming to Christ.
I felt like the prodigal son; I was coming home.
I sat patiently in church as Rev. Pastor Sanders spoke on his message that
morning. Thoughts kept flooding my mind with doubt and fear about what I was
about to do. After what seemed like an eternity, he closed his message with
the invitation to pray for those who would like to come forward. Determined
to follow through with my decision, I quickly got up and walked down the isle.
With my arms waving towards God in the air, I was ready to receive not only
the Lord but the Baptism of the Holy Spirit. I think my Pentecostal concepts
must of showed because they quickly and quietly ushered me to a back room.
I sat down in a chair to pray the prayer of Salvation for I knew John 3:16
by heart as well as Romans 10:9,10 &11:
For God so loved
the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth
in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
That if you shall confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus, and shall
believe in your heart that God has raised him from the dead, you shall
be saved. For with the heart man believes unto righteousness; and with
the mouth confession is made unto salvation. For whosoever shall call upon
the name of the Lord shall be saved.
The words came out of my heart as a natural cry. "Jesus," I pleaded, "Forgive
me of my sins. I believe that you are the Son of God and died for me. Now risen
from the dead you sit at the right hand of the Father with authority over all
heaven and earth. Please forgive me and come into my heart as both Lord and
Savior." As I opened my heart to the Lord, I began to sob. Slowly at first,
then uncontrollably as my soul emptied itself of its burdens. A sense of peace
came over my soul. With each sob I felt my sins being washed away. Like a spring
fresh rain, I became born again with a sense of clean innocence and emotional
freedom as I have never known. All the guilt and burdens of my life rolled
off my shoulders as the blood of Jesus was applied to my life. I remembered
the words of Jesus who said;
Ask, and it shall
be given to you; seek, and you shall find; knock, and it shall be open
unto you (Mt. 7:7).
It was that simple, ask and it shall be given to you. Believe to receive for
grace is a free gift of God. And so at the age of 26 in the month
of April 1976, I received Jesus Christ into my heart as my Lord and Savior.
I felt as light as a feather, and I knew that something significant had happened
to me. Before asking Jesus to come into my heart, I felt like a man who had
been drudged through the mud, caked all over with dirt, carrying a heavy weight.
An uncomfortable feeling of being dirty and grubby always persisted whereas
now I felt as though I had taken a nice, long, hot shower. I felt clean as
a whistle on the inside through and through. My heart and mind felt so pure
and peaceful. My past was completely forgiven by the blood of Jesus and I was
experiencing great peace. The peace which Jesus said He would give.
"Peace I leave
with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world gives, give I
unto you..." (John 14:27)
We are all aware of the physical realm outside of ourselves, and the mental
and emotional realm within ourselves, but there is another dimension that has
a life and world all of it's own, the spiritual realm! Because I was cleansed
by the blood of Jesus and my sins were forgiven, my eyes were open to see and
my mind to perceive the presence and voice of God. I was elated to discover
that the Lord who created all that is in heaven and earth desired my fellowship.
This forever changed my concept of God. As I sensed His presence, I raised
my hand toward heaven and His hand reached down and held mine. The thought
came to me very strongly that "I will never leave you nor forsake you." I
felt His love fill my entire being. I knew without a doubt that God was my
heavenly Father who loved and adopted me as His own son. In response, I cried
out, "Oh, Dad!"
For you have not
received the spirit of bondage to fear; but you have received the Spirit
of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba Father. The Spirit itself bears witness
with our Spirit, that we are the children of God" (Ro. 8:15-16).
The word "Abba" means in the Greek language, Dear Daddy. It is a
very personal expression of intimacy. A relationship that is so profound and
close, that it can only be understood through the actual experience of knowing
our heavenly Father in Spirit.
As I drove home from church that day, I was aware that I had a problem. I didn't
know how to act! All of my life, I had put on a front, always trying to portray
the person I would like to be or that which I wanted others to see. For this
reason, life for me was a real challenge, because I didn't know how to be who
I was created by God to be. I was something else; let me tell you. Now that
the mask of pretense was gone, the vail was rent; and I was free.
I was later to learn as I read the bible that the Holy Spirit was present with
me to teach me the truth that would help me to understand who I was in Christ.
Truth that would allow me to be free from fear, condemnation, quilt, shame,
my own self, (carnal nature) deception, and condemnation, being enslaved to
the opinions and acceptance of others as well as the power to overcome evil.
As I listened to the voice of the Holy Spirit, He revealed to me the Lord and
His Holiness as well as His divine nature. It is His Truth through His Word
which enlightened me with His wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of Him
which set me free, and it is His Holy Spirit who transformed me more and more
into His image and likeness.
I arrived home and parked the car. As soon as I started to walk towards the
door of my apartment, I was met by my Asian neighbor. I found a new found strength
to look him right in the eye as I said, "I know what you are up to, and
you don't have any power over me." "Why?", he asked. I responded. "Because
I just received Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior; He is Lord of Lords and
King of Kings." He gazed intently at me. He knew I was right. Satan does
not have power over God's children for;
"Who has delivered
us form the power of darkness, and has translated us into the kingdom
of His dear Son, In whom we have redemption through His blood. Even
the forgiveness of sins." (Colossians 1:13-14)
The day I received Jesus
Christ into my heart, because Jesus died for me on the cross and rose
from the dead, Satan no longer had power to control me; and I was free.
(unless I gave it to him) My relationship with God had changed as I
was no longer separated by sin, walking in darkness under the influence
of Satan, but rather as a son of God walking in His light in fellowship
with Him. Now I wanted nothing to do with the works of Satan.
"Furthermore," I told my neighbor, "I am going to move away from
this part of town." "Where are you going to move to?", he inquired. "The
West side," I replied. "Oh, yes!" he said, "People are being
murdered in that area!" I felt a chill of fear hit me at his subtle threat
to take my life. I took a deep breath. I would not come under bondage by Satan
to be controlled by fear that would govern my actions as Jesus had saved me,
not only from going to hell to have eternal life; but I was saved now from
the works of Satan by the atonement work of Christ when he died on the cross;
"For this purpose
was the Son of God manifested, that he might destroy the works of the
devil" (1 John 3:8).
The peace of God came
over me as I calmly responded, "You don't bother me, I am under
the Lordship of Christ." He knew it, and I never saw him again
after that.
I walked into my apartment and found Shirly waiting for me, anxious to know
the outcome of my church attendance. Her face was filled with anxiety, and
her eyes were intense with fear. This made the deep lines that were on her
predominate face deepen. My heart broke as I looked at her for the first time
with new eyes upon the person whom I called my spouse. She was hurting inside
very badly, being full of anger, bitterness, resentment, and a great deal of
hatred. It was just a short time earlier that morning that I too was blind
and in the same lost condition. Instead of criticism and rejection, compassion
now filled my heart for her. I understood for the first time what it meant
to be merciful, as I had just experienced the mercy Jesus had shown me when
I was pardoned for my own sins. For the first time in our lives, I actually
felt love in my heart for her. It was the love of God I had just received that
was now a part of me, and I knew that I did not have this love within my own
self for others by nature.
And hope makes not
ashamed: because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the
Holy Spirit which is given unto us (Romans 5:5).
I stood and looked at her with compassion, as love had now become a part of
the essence of my being. I then told her of my salvation experience. In disbelief,
she turned from me and walked away. Shortly after that, she cut her hair so
short that it looked like a crewcut and was shorter than my own; and I was
mostly bald from the effects of agent orange that I was exposed to in Vietnam.
Her walk became more masculine and she became authoritative, controlling, and
manipulative, as a different spirit came upon her. This was the beginning of
a release of rebellion, indifference, stubbornness, and opposition, with bitterness,
hatred, and criticism that would reign in her heart. Soon to follow was a great
spiritual battle between life and death; that would opened the door for spiritual
oppression in our marriage, which time and time again would quench the work
of the Holy Spirit in our lives. It was the spirit of Jezebel which reigned
as I became like King Ahab, submissive and in bondage to her manipulation and
control, enduring in silence her cruel tactics, persecutions, rejection, slander,
and accusations. When the Lord strengthened me in my weakness, by His grace
in time I learned how to humble myself before Christ; put on the full armor
of God, submit unto Him, be filled with His Holy Spirit, and minister the anointing,
being led by the Word of God, (Jesus) standing on Holy ground walking in love.
As I said "No" to the spirit working through her, (for we wrestle
not against flesh and blood-Eph. 6:10-18) and "yes" to Jesus and
His ways, I began to walk in the anointing with understanding as the priest
of our home. Because she thought she was losing control of the situation, out
of fear and financial desperation, she ended up fulfilling the prophecy she
had issued, "If you accept Jesus, I will divorce you!" However, the
marriage was a complete success! It was because of my own mistakes that I had
made early in life, that God's grace enabled me and empowered me, to learn
all these hard lessons in order that
The eyes of your
understanding being enlightened; that you might know what is the hope
of His calling, and what is the riches of the glory of His inheritance
in the saints. And what is the exceeding greatness of His power to
us-ward who believe, according to the working of His mighty power.(Eph.
1:18).
It was through these hard times of trails and tribulations that forced me to
come to Christ where I found my being in Christ; to fulfil my destiny as joint
heirs with Jesus, and for this, I am eternally grateful.
The
gift of the Holy Spirit
I was baptized in water by the church shortly after my salvation one Sunday
evening. As the pastor and I stood in the water tank which in the loft which
overlooked the large congregation, I was asked to confirm that I had received
Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. "Yes" I replied, "and I
pray that I will always be led by the Holy Spirit. I became aware of a newness
which was in me and about me. I was truly born again, conscious of a spiritual
presence that imparted a sense of wholeness and love, a love for God and for
others. God had taken my heart of stone and given to me a tender heart of flesh.
I was feeling emotions of joy and peace. Happiness resounded in my soul, like
a little child happy to be alive playing in the bright sunshine. I was alive
and I was born to live!
"And I will give them
one heart, and I will put a new spirit within you; and I will take the stony
heart out of their flesh, and will give them a heart of flesh" (Ezekiel
11:19).
Very shortly after my water Baptism, I prayed, "Jesus, fill me with your
Holy Spirit. You said if I asked, you would give to me the gift of the Holy
Spirit."
"How much more shall
your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him?" (Luke
11:13)
From the inner most being of my belly arose a sensation like a water fountain
bubbling forth. Sensing this, I prayed asking God to increase this flow of
life for Jesus said; " He
that believes on me, as the scripture has said, out of his belly shall flow
rivers of living water" (John 7:38).
With each request for an increase, the Holy Spirit would arise from within
me to fill me more and more until like a geyser at the Yellowstone National
Park, living waters erupted that overflowed and filled me with a tremendous
sense of Holy peace, love, and joy. Praise erupted from my innermost being
that filled the deepest longing of my soul as the Spirit of the living God
filled me. From that day forth, I have had a natural desire to praise and worship
God with joy as the Holy Spirit not only fills me, but who prompts me to worship
our Lord in Spirit and in Truth. Again, all I had to do was just ask and believe
and by faith receive, and God filled me completely with His Holy Spirit. Like
a cup that had been empty, or a sponge that was dry which soaks up water until
it is saturated, I was filled to overflowing with the Spirit and love of the
living God, becoming alive with resurrection power with His spiritual life
that I had never known. I realized that to be filled with the Holy Spirit meant
to be filled with His Holy presence of love. God sent Jesus not just to prevent
me from going to hell to have eternal life, but so I may be saved to have fellowship with
my heavenly Father in this life.
The Holy Spirit is called by Jesus the Spirit of Truth who dwells in you and
will be with you.
And I will pray the Father,
and He shall give you another Comforter, that He may abide with you forever;
Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it sees Him
not, nor knows Him, but you know Him; for He dwells with you and shall be in
you (John 14:16-17).
The gift of the Holy Spirit within us has many purposes, the primary one is
to bring us into the presence of God to communicate and fellowship with God.
God was not only interested in giving me eternal life but an eternal relationship
starting the day I was "born again" being baptized in the Holy Spirit. " God
is love and he that dwells in love dwells in God and God in him. (1 John 4:16) I
wondered, "Why Lord, didn't anyone ever tell me before you are a God who
wants to fill us with your life, love, peace, and joy; to form a loving relationship
with your own creation?" This I soon realized, is why Jesus came to die
on the cross for our sins. I had seen so many people who respond to altar calls
out of fear because of the message of "Repent or go to hell," who
didn't have the glory of God with the evidence of the love, life, and fruit
of the Holy Spirit in their lives. We do not accept Christ out of fear but
because He loves us and sent His son to die for us that we may draw near.
Let us draw near with a
true heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled from an
evil conscience, and our bodies washed with pure water (Hebrews 10:22).
Truly, God wants us to know Him in Spirit and serve Him in Truth being full
of His grace because we love Him. " We
love Him, because he first loved us "(1 John 4:19). It
is that simple! All one has to do is open their heart to the Lord through love
for it is "with THE
HEART that man believes unto righteousness and with the mouth that confession
is made unto salvation." (Romans 10:10).
All to often our understanding of God is what our mental image is from the
information that we have been taught that becomes doctrine and our personal
beliefs. Yet our God is not a doctrine, a theology, a principle, or the scriptures,
but the "I Am" who desires that we walk with Him now as the God of
today to know Him personally in Spirit and in truth for "the father seeks such to worship Him.
God is a Spirit, and they that worship Him must worship Him in Spirit and in
truth (John 4:23).
Surely when we, " Draw near to God, He will draw near to you" (James
4:8). This is truly heaven on earth! I have not only the
rest of my natural life, but eternal life, to know Him, love Him, and be transformed
by Him to be changed into His own glory and image. I was born to live!
Copy rights
Born
to live, a testimony of salvation is copyright 2000 by Prophetic
Destiny Ministries (PDM) with all rights reserved. Written permission
must be secured from the publisher to use or reproduce any part of
this book for monetary gain, except for brief quotations in critical
reviews or articles.
The contents may be used by Christians as useful material to propagate the
gospel of Jesus Christ without written permission.
Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are from the KING JAMES VERSION
of the bible, noted as KJV. I have taken the liberty to change the language
of old English "thee" and "thou" to modern English of "you" as
this flows and sounds much better without changing the meaning of the translation.
Printed in
the United States of America
For more information about Prophetic Destiny Ministries, write to;
Prophetic Destiny Ministries
P.O. Box 711, Camden Me.
04843
Or visit our Web site at http://www.propheticdestinyministries.org
|