How Jesus Saved Me

A mistake I made in my early years of Christianity was to think that I was the one to have to save people. That’s not true. The truth is that I can’t save anyone. That’s between them and Jesus. What I can do is tell my story. My story will be mine and mine alone. This is the story I’ve lived through and can tell, to some degree, with certainty. This is what I will do, and I must understand that the reactions are not mine to control or manipulate. I can speak the words of Christ (or write them) and leave the reaction to those around me and Jesus.

Quick Timeline of Events:

When I was young, elementary school age years, my parents would randomly visit a church for a short while. My parents were random church goers who weren’t saved, but that’s where I began. The church was usually the same one, we’d go for a couple weeks, but always, we’d stop. So my first lesson in Jesus was coloring sheets, some talk about Jesus that I don’t remember, and then nothing for several months. No one in the family got saved in this time, and I certainly had no idea what it meant to be saved at that time.

Snake in the face. Bullet In the wall.

I’ve had a few experiences in life that were something to remember. I’m legally blind without my glasses on, so there I was face to face with a cotton mouth (venomous snake) and it didn’t strike. That was nice. Later in the teen years my friend (thinking he’d unloaded the revolver) pointed a gun at me. He pulled the trigger several times, and then, without reason, turned away from me for one more pull. The gun thundered a shot off in our ears and put a hole through my parents’ bedroom wall. I should have died that day for sure, but here I am.

Runaway, Car started, Kent’s Mom Found Me.

I was a . . . brat of a teen with some struggles for sure, but to say I went without would be wrong in so many ways. My parents were unhappy, my mother was an alcoholic, and my dad didn’t know how to express love outside of paying bills and giving gifts. (Again, I was a brat.) But they took care of me the best they could, I thank God for them a little more each time I realize just how bad some people’s parents really were. I was blessed to have my parents.

However, the home was a little crazy, times were a little rough, and I got the brilliant idea to runaway from home. I’d like to say this ended in some great story involving little people with leathery feet and a grand wizard. No, it started with me and a tent and some groceries. I quickly realized that wasn’t going to work and changed plans.

Next attempt was a trunk full of can goods I stole from my parents over a few months. After gathering my food and putting my swords in the car for “protection” (the small one did end up working as a decent can opener), I left. I made it just outside of my tiny town when my car broke down. This was going to be embarrassing, if my dad had to come get me and my broke down car full of food that looked a lot like our pantry supplies.

So I prayed there in the car with my hands on the keys after several attempts, for God, “if there is a God, please let me leave.” I was emotionally falling apart at this stage in my life, and I had been toying with the idea of suicide. I went as far as to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger, some, but stopped. The image of dad coming home and finding his son’s head blown into pieces across his bedroom, body cold and dead on the floor, stopped me. I love my dad, and it was that image, and his broken heart, that stopped me.

The car started, and I left. I spent a few nights sleeping in my car, eating cold can food I’d opened with a short sword. Note, if you’re putting a few things together, you’ll have noticed I brought a bunch of CAN food and no CAN opener. Yep, that was me and my grand plan.

Three days of this life on the road, and I decided to stop somewhere in north Ga at a Walmart. I went to the payphone (they existed back then) and used it to call home. I needed to let my dad know I was alive. He was thankful I was alive, crying, and wanting me to come home. I wasn’t ready to come home, but I was glad I’d called to tell him I was alive. Then the strangest thing happened. An old childhood friend’s mom walked up out of the parking lot and recognized me. Her son, Kent, was my best friend for all of my elementary years, but they’d moved and we’d moved, and in those days that meant a friend lost. But there she was, she took the phone from me, found out what was happening, and promised my dad she’d take me to her home.

In my old car I followed Mrs. K all the way to her home. Here’s the extra kicker to this story. Mrs. K lived over an hour away and had only been at that Walmart per chance thanks to a friend she’d been riding with. Doubters be doubters, but that’s some puzzling work right there.

My runaway trip ended about a month later with my dad riding up to come get me. I followed him home in that old car, an empty trunk, and a few great memories with my childhood best friend. This is in no way at all permission to run away or do something stupid. I’ve also lost friends to guns, had family run away and not come back, and so I don’t condone what I did. I simply state that for some great blessing God had my back even when I wasn’t sure how I felt about him.

Dropped out of school, teenager foolishness, dad gave up on me and put a Bible in my hand.

Before and after running away from home I was rotten. There wasn’t much I wasn’t doing, and plenty of foolishness I was getting into just because I could. My dad was by no means a weak man and could have killed me with his bare hands. He instead, on the day I told him I was dropping out of high school, he just looked at me for what I felt was years. I thought he was going to hit me with a kitchen chair, but he walked away. When he came back, he looked broken and tired.

With nothing of rage or love in his eyes, my dad looked right at me and told me “I give up on you.” For a son that loved his father more than himself, I broke inside in a way I didn’t know was possible. Dad then handed me a bible, nothing unique about it, just a black binder Holy Bible written in KJV (very annoying text to try and read; when you’re 16 and not much of a reader to begin with.) He told me, “I can’t help you. I’ve tried. Maybe this can.” Then he just walked off to do something in the garage.

I’m a father now, and I don’t recommend what my dad did, but for me, at that point in my life, it worked. I didn’t change my ways, I didn’t suddenly become some better human. I drank harder, I dropped out of high school as I planned to, I got lost at nights with friends and parties, but I also somehow found time to read that bible. The more I read that bible, the more I thought of my dad handing me over to a book that was starting to seem more like handing me over to God. The more I read about God and Jesus and who they are, the more I began to change on the inside. Change starts on the inside long before it starts on the outside.

19, I asked Jesus to forgive me, and received my hug.

Remember me being a brat, well, I was. I got just about anything I wanted, material wise. What my family lacked was emotion and showing love. My dad loved me, he still loves me with all his heart, but neither one of us were good at showing it. We didn’t say “I love you,” we didn’t give hugs, and we didn’t share emotions with each other. This is context for what I’m about to share.

I was 19, in my bed one night, and I needed, NEEDED Jesus to forgive me. I needed to be forgiven, to be able to move forward away from my old life and my sinful ways. I wanted Jesus’ love, I wanted his Hope, and I was desperately trying to find the Faith to get me there. Contrary to some Christian’s opinions, you only need your desire for Christ, your willingness to accept his sacrifice as a gift of grace, to be saved. You don’t need a church, you don’t need a pastor or priest, and you don’t need another Christian like some witness to sign you off. You just need you and Jesus. That night, I accepted that Jesus Christ is the son of God, I accepted that Jesus died for me as a gift (grace, nothing I could do to pay for or earn), and I became his.

That’s when I got my hug, a hug I would randomly feel for years and years on this journey called life. For a child that grew up without physical touch in a home that didn’t know how to share their love openly, I got something I didn’t even know how to ask for. Jesus’ hands, God’s Holy spirit, take your pick, wrapped around me in a hug that collapsed every wall we like to build up around our hearts. That hug, God’s hug, embraced around me tightly, heart stopped, breath caught, and for several seconds, I was embraced in a hug that has never been matched. God’s hug comes sometimes randomly, sometimes during a difficult or highly emotional moment, but they are wonderful embraces.

At 19, I was saved by Jesus, and that can never be taken from me. Like I said in the beginning, I can’t save you. It’s not in my power or even my right. I can only tell you my story, and then you decide from there.

At the very least, find a way to put a bible in your hand, and just start reading it. No one comes to Jesus already sinless, not even Christians can claim such righteousness. I came to Jesus with an alcohol problem, lust in my heart, sinning every day, and a history of sins that I’m thankful didn’t land me in jail. I came to Jesus as a sinner, that’s how it works. I started getting better, as I grew closer to Jesus. I am better, not perfect or blameless, just better, with Jesus. Don’t wait until you’ve turned from your ways or your doubts. Pick up a bible and start reading it. Something wonderful might just happen later down the road of life.

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