My Journey Home

My Journey Home

I’ve heard a lot of people give their testimony during my life. And I don’t mean this in a bad way, but if you were a non-believer sitting there listening to them, it might seem like a bragging competition to see who was the worst person before they found God. I suppose all this proves is that Jesus didn’t come to save saints and that we all fall short of the Glory of God. I’ve had this on my mind for some time, but I wasn’t sure anyone wanted to hear my testimony and I do not enjoy making this about me. But then I realized, it’s not about me, it’s telling God’s story of what he did for me. I do however want to warn you, I was the worst of the worst before finding God!  (Ok that’s my attempt at humor, so laugh).

            I was raised in a Christian home with a loving family. I was baptized at the age of 8 and always questioned if I really understood and knew what I was doing because it never affected me the way the preachers and Mom told me it would. (Pretty rough so far, right, I warned you.) My dad was sick and lived in a hospital, he moved out of our home when I was five and passed away when I was eleven, so I honestly never knew my father. But I had an exceptional mother who devoted her entire life to us children. Not only did she take care of my physical needs and those of my five siblings, who were still at home, but she taught us about God and was a great role model in living a Christian life.

            Even though I had all that going for me, I still managed to make my life a nightmare. I must have been born with a restless rebellious spirit because from a very young age, probably about age 11, I remember having this itch that the only thing that seemed to satisfy it, were things I knew were wrong. I remember my life feeling like a constant tug-of-war. On one hand, I had all the things Mom had taught me about God, but on the other hand, there was an exciting, intoxicating desire, that always enticed me to be different and not listen to those old wives tells. Those taboo whispered thoughts crept into my mind and told me God was just this made-up story to get me to do what I was told. He was just like Santa and you better be good because he’s watching you! That voice kept telling me, I was too smart to believe in all that nonsense, but that pull from inside my being, never gave up on me and never let go. If it had, I truly can’t imagine where my life may have ended up, but I know, it would have been extremely bad.

The year was 1971 and at least the area I grew up in, was greatly influenced by the Hippy Era.  The Hippy generation, my older brothers and my sisters’ boyfriends influenced me with the long hair, drinking and yes, I was smoking pot regularly by age 13. Like other kids, I had a burning desire to act older than my age. I dreamed of the day I turned 16 and could drive.  I was involved with The Boy Scouts which was a very positive experience in my life. My soon-to-be Brother-In-Law talked my mother into buying me a dirt bike, a motorcycle designed for off-road use. I became very skilled in motorcross-type riding and even by their standards, was completely insane. Not seeing fear or danger, clearly it was a miracle I wasn’t severely injured. However, it kept me busy and most likely helped prevent me from finding and getting into other types of trouble.

            At age 16 my mother agreed to help me buy a car. And not knowing what she was doing, helped me get a lime green 1971 Mustang Mach I, which had a 351 Clevland engine in it. Straight from the factory, that car was a beast, and I was a 16-year-old idiot. As you might imagine, the two were not a good match. If there are Guardian Angels, and I personally believe that there are, then mine surely had to retire after watching over me! I doubt there was ever a bigger fool than me when I got behind the steering wheel of that car. I know it was the mercy of God that kept me from getting killed or killing others! I did have a couple of wrecks. One I never should have walked away from, where a 16-ton dump truck hauling a full load of steel, was traveling 50 mph., and hit me square in the driver’s door.

            At age 17, I became a father and married the woman who became the mother of my 4 boys and a daughter. Shortly after the birth of my first son, Roger Jr, I felt the need to re-dedicate my life to God, and since I had never been sure about my salvation, I chose to be baptized once again. This time I would dedicate my life to God and live up to the image of a father I held inside my head. My intentions were spot on, however, I failed miserably and it wasn’t long before I was partying and doing things I knew better than to do. I never gave up on God, and he never gave up on me, I just wasn’t living by his word. I justified my life, telling myself, I wasn’t as bad as others. I wasn’t out robbing and stealing, didn’t kill anyone, and tried to be a decent father and husband. Looking back, I can see what I was doing. And how I wanted to change and do things right, but I was never willing to let go of my former self, or former life 100%. I was a fence sitter. I tried to be both a Christian and what I had always convinced myself that a real man should be. I tried to live in both worlds and let me assure you, that doesn’t work. The Bible warns us we cannot serve two masters, and believe me, I know firsthand how true that is. The result was I never found peace or happiness in either. When I was playing “the bad boy”, I couldn’t ever commit because my convictions told me it was wrong, and when I played Christian, the Devil never stopped laughing at me and calling me a pretender. For many years, I tried walking that line and living in limbo between the two worlds, nearly drove me insane. I convinced myself that I was crazy, or at the very least, something was seriously wrong with me, I felt like I was damaged goods. I became a chameleon, becoming whatever type of a person I thought the person in front of me wanted or expected me to be. And I became so good at pretending, I completely forgot who I really was. It came to a point in my life, where I was not trying to commit suicide, however, I was taking greater risks than I had ever taken, and thinking to myself, if I die, well then, I just die, and all this will be over.

            I had given up on myself, but God didn’t give up on me. He convinced me to shut down a fairly prosperous floor-covering store, which I had built from scratch, and move my family to Tennessee where I could once again be close to my mother and her Godly influence. It wasn’t long before my whole family was attending church regularly. Within about a year I had gained the respect of our pastor and he approached me about teaching Sunday School for our teenagers. He saw something in me that I didn’t see and while the offer was flattering, deep inside, I knew I couldn’t do it. He asked me to think and pray about it, so I did. Evidently, God saw something too, because he encouraged me to try. And while having no confidence in myself whatsoever,  I did not want to say no to God.

            I accepted the position and was absolutely mortified at the thought of telling those young minds something that wasn’t true, I buckled down and began studying my Bible like I had never done. Up to that point what my mother had taught me and what I remembered from attending church on and off throughout my life, was the extent of my Bible knowledge. I would take on average five to six hours of study and preparation time each week preparing for my lessons. And I couldn’t say how many hours I spent praying to God for him not to let me fail him or the kids. Needless to say, I’m sure I learned more than any of my students. And there were other rewards as well. When one of the kids told me how much a lesson helped them or when I started allowing student volunteers to teach occasionally, and when I saw that young person tackle a job it had taken me a lifetime to prepare for, It made me feel proud, that God allowed me to be a part of that. I went on to become a Deacon for our church, and once again It was one of the proudest moments of my life, but not the vanity kind of pride, the feeling of being right with the Lord.  And now I continue to serve God in the best way I know how, by offering these stories in hopes that they may touch someone and make them realize how important a strong relationship with God is, and how it will change your life.

            I started this story by telling you how I was the worst of the worst and made light humor of it. But I was deadly serious! I was and probably to some extent still am, the worst kind of person there is, and I will back it up with Biblical proof. I was the kind of person who’s not all that bad. Yeah, I had my faults, but I believed in God, but hey there was a bunch of people who were way worse than me.

            According to God’s word, that is the worst kind of people. Read Revelation 3:15-16. I have to admit, it took me some time to figure out why God would prefer us to be cold over warm. It’s because those who consider themselves to be good and decent people are in the most danger of believing they don’t need God. Bad people know they are bad and they know they need redemption. But people who are good in their own eyes or the eyes of the world don’t feel the need for a savior. And that might bode well for them if they were the judge that decides where they will spend their eternal life, but they aren’t! God tells us that our righteousness is that of filthy rags, and without accepting Jesus as our savior, we will not enter the Gates of Heaven. But if you can’t see that and don’t believe you are one of those people, then you are in danger of Hell’s Fire.

            So, take it from someone whose hind end is full of splinters from years of fence-sitting, that is no way to live. I won’t say Limbo is as bad as Hell, but I think it might be located, near the same neighborhood. When I think back on all the trouble and pain, I caused myself and all the blessings I knocked myself out of, I have to be honest and admit, that is my one true regret in life that I can never get back. Now God has and is blessing me beyond measure and I am so thankful for what I have, but I’ll die wondering, “What if I hadn’t allowed Satan to steal all those years of my life? And if you’re dead set on winning the Who’s the Worst Contest, all you need do, is never get off that fence.