During the early days of my incarceration, shortly after I re-committed my life to the Lord and received His forgiveness, I wrote out my story. It was in very rough form and was certainly nothing of admirable content or talent, but I felt the need to get it out. I sent this draft to my Dad. Of all the people in the world, he had the ability to truly empathize with me. He had already proven his love by driving a thousand miles to pray for and hug me in those first horrific days. He had already expressed his forgiveness as we wept and prayed that day in the visiting room of the jail. Now he would know the whole story – the only one so far. I received this letter in return. |
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July 22, 2001 My Dear Son, I received the manuscript late Wednesday eve… What a story! And what courage it took to write it! No greater relief than to get totally honest – with yourself – others and God! I, too, have been down every rocky, dead-end road and am acquainted with total failure and shipwreck. I’m sure my reaction to this is much different than your mother’s. I have thought of her through this and can only imagine her shock. I have prayed for her and Jerry everyday – also the others….. According to your brother, your wife and children seem to be holding up, but they are all suffering a pain that will not go away for the rest of their lives. I know your feelings of isolation, desolation and desperation. Five lockups in treatment centers and general hospitals, halfway houses, and rescue missions for periods of from 30 days to 6 months. Six months in Rick’s church basement. Six months in a boarding house, etc. After staying in the Hyatts and Hiltons and Embassy Suites over the years and driving plush cars and wearing new clothes and eating the best food – what a disaster! I felt like filthy, greasy rags on the floor of an old abandoned garage, forgotten and worthless. But someone was there all the time. I just didn’t know. The Lord had me surrounded by His special instruments. “God works in mysterious ways His wonders to perform.” I was bottomed out in an intensive care unit in Nashville Veterans Hospital – borderline brain convulsions – tubes, wires, etc. I kept thinking of you boys – how I had hurt and disappointed you. My pillow was soaked with tears and I was all alone. I started quoting the words (out loud): “God uses best the broken things The contrite heart – the battered wings Of our poor selfish pride – Ah, yes, and even scars we hide, He blesses for His own. If in the breaking I might be A better vessel Lord for Thee Then crush my stubborn will, And all of self that lingers still; Anoint my eyes that I may see A vision of Your plan for me ‘Til Thou shalt call me home.” (one of Mother’s poems) A nurse was standing nearby and heard me – she rushed to my side and asked me to quote those words again. She got a piece of paper and wrote them down and exclaimed, “It’s just what I needed.” And left the room. I’m thankful He led me into AA with people with my problem that could identify. God used those people and I was not alone. Five years at the Harbor and four years teaching at the hospital enabled me to help others which helped me stay on track. September 8th will be 11 years of freedom from that addiction that destroyed my ministry, my marriage and the trust of all who have ever known me. I owe it all to God’s love working though people. I’ll write you again. I have been very sick. I love you….always! Always! Always! Dad |
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He had been there and he knew. By God’s power working through him, he had overcome his addiction and had lived to help others and further the Kingdom of God through his work. That was my father’s prayer for me over the next seven years and was one of the last things on his mind as he died. He is in Heaven and my prayer is now that his prayer will be answered – that I be used of God and that this ordeal through which I have come will not be in vain but be beneficial to those who need to find their way to their Savior. |
