More than one person has asked me what the name of my blog, 96toLife, means. The name has no secret meaning and it is not a cryptic message needing to be decoded. Rather, it is a representation of the circumstances surrounding my coming to know Jesus Christ as my Savior. Like many people, I grew up in a Catholic home. It wasn't a staunch or devout Catholic type of environment like most Catholics have grown up in. And my experience wasn't as involved as was that of my older brothers and sisters. I didn't go to Catholic school like they did, nor did I have the stories to tell about encounters with nuns and school leadership. For me, attending Mass was more of a response to the direction of my parents than it was any sense of obligation or duty to Catholicism. I did, however, go through communion and confirmation classes as a young adult. I still remember the books I had to study and some of the prayers I was expected to memorize. To this day, my prayer life is somewhat effected by what I learned over twenty years ago.
When I was 11 years old my father suffered a massive stroke that nearly took his life. If I recall correctly, he survived one of the most severe strokes any of the doctors, who attended to him, had seen. The key to his surviving the stroke was that he had it while he was in the hospital and was able to receive immediate medical attention. Shortly before the stroke, my dad was walking home from the park across the street from where I was playing football. The way it was told to me is that while in the ditch, separating our home from the park, he nearly collapsed. He was able to make it home and lie down. Somewhere between that time and the stroke he was admitted to the hospital. I have a few memories of seeing my dad unable to speak which to me was weird because I was used to a man well over 6 feet tall and 200 pounds who had this booming voice. As time went on my dad started rehabilitation and even was able to go back to work for a short time before retiring in 1984. It may not have happened exactly as I recall, but I seem to remember that it was about this time that my family, especially my parents, became more involved with their Catholic faith. To me, it seemed to be more of a response to the fear and uncertainty surrounding my fathers predicament rather than a heartfelt conviction leading anyone to that particular faith. Most of us tend to seek comfort during times of stress in that which is the most familiar to us. That is no different than when it comes to religion and God.
It was during this time that I was attending church with my family. To be honest with you, church was absolutely boring and I got nothing out of it. The choir was okay, but I didn't understand the Catholic format of bowing, kneeling, making the sign of the cross and repeating the same responses over and over. I don't think most other people in attendance knew it all either. Add to that the fact that Mass always started later than scheduled, and that the priest seemed to be whispering when delivering his message, and it made for a long 60 to 90 minutes. I would go to Mass to simply to please my parents and avoid any wrath from them for not going. My older brother, sensing my frustration, would try and encourage me to go to church by saying things like, "Come to church so you can see the pretty girls." My response was one of "Oh great, now I will just burn up right in the pew because I will staring at the girls in attendance." One time my grandfather, who was in his 90s, at the time, tried to set me up on a date with a young lady in the choir. I think we went out once, but nothing ever came of it. And when I wasn't looking at the girls, I was daydreaming about the football games I was missing on television. Eventually, I got to the point where I was old enough that my parents stopped making me go to church and there was nothing motivating me to attend anymore.
It was around this time, during my mid to late teens, that I uttered what is probably the most sincere prayer that ever came out of my mouth. I was sitting in bed, bouncing prayers off the ceiling, when I exclaimed, "God, if this is getting to know you then I will never know you." But, of course, in my fear and ignorance, I put a stipulation on my statement by saying something to the effect of "But, if I do get to know you I don't want it to be as the result of nearly dying like my dad or suffering some other traumatizing even in my life." After all, I was under the impression that fear was behind my family's venture into the church. For the next ten years or so, I was just like any other young adult, I graduated high school went to college and experienced the usual things kids those ages experience; namely alcohol and young ladies. Oh yeah, I also tried my hand at some spiritual experimentation as well. I would occasionally attend Mass for various reasons, only to find out nothing had changed. I even went to the other end of the spectrum and started reading things like The Final Call, a news publication of the Nation of Islam. This is the organization of Louis Farrakhan. I also listened to old tape recordings of Malcolm X. I guess being an African-American made me search for an identity within the confines of my racial identity. None of it took root in my life, however. A friend of mine, on a similar spiritual journey, invited me to a Seventh Day Adventist church. That was an experience similar to Catholic Mass and turned me off immediately. The funny thing is that I would still identify myself as a Christian. Although, from the outside you'd never know it. I would later come to realize that I wasn't a Christian at all!
About a year and half after I graduated from college, and shortly after breaking up with a girlfriend of mine, I met a young lady in February of 1995. At the time I had just turned 24 and she was only 20, and had a four month old son. We hit it off pretty much immediately and became a couple shortly afterwards. Things were going good for about a year until she told me that, because of personal pursuits in her life, she couldn't give me what she felt I deserved from her in a relationship. A couple months later in May of 1996 we officially ended our relationship. It was the first time I had ever had my heart broken. Like anybody else, who has experienced a tough breakup, I ran the gamit of emotions from depression to fleshly indulgences. I found myself escaping more into alcohol, hanging out with friends and even a few encounters with the opposite sex that were difficult for me to get over. By the Fall of 1996 I was still realing from the end of the relationship, but had reached a point where I wanted the pain to stop moreso than to have the relationship restored. I remember sitting at a stop light, in tears, and screaming at the top of my lungs, "God, I just want her out of my head!" You can avoid almost anything in this life outside of your body, but you can't escape your own mind. It was around this time that an old lady friend of mine came back into my life.
I was at a point in my life where I was willing to listen to almost anything. Oddly enough, at least to me at this point in my life, she was talking to me about Jesus. Now, I don't remember the details of our conversations, but I do remember that she would pray with me. I had never experienced anything like this in my life. But, for reasons still unknown to me, I was open to it. I was at the end of my rope and didn't have any more options it seemed. Then one night, in I believe October or November of 1996, I had reached the end of my rope. No, I wasn't about to commit suicide, but I was fresh out of options. I remember being an emotional wreck, lying in tears on the basement floor of my home, and calling out to God to save me. It was that night that I found, and accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior. There were no magic bells or whistles, the memory of my ex-girlfriend did not disappear, but I found the courage to move on in my life. I, eventually, found a church home that I attended for a few years, but it was one of the Word of Faith persuasion and quite legalistic, as I look back on it. Even as a babe in Christ I was uncomfortable with some of what was going on in that fellowship. Eventually, I left that church and was without a "church home" for a few years.
Although, I did not have a church home, I still had a thirst for God's Word. I would listen to Christian radio all day at work. One day on my way home from work I had the radio on to a ministry out of Dallas, Texas, called People To People. The host, Bob George, was answering a question from a caller when he said something I will never forget. He told the caller, after answering his question, "Don't take my word for it. I could be lying to you." What? I had never heard a preacher say anything like that to anybody. I was raised to believe that ministers, priests, pastors or what have you, were the authority when it came to understanding God's Word. As time went on, I realized that although I did not have a consistent fellowship, one thing I did have was the indwelling Holy Spirit to teach me and guide me into all truth. While I didn't have a fellowship to attend, that I felt was teaching what I now know to be the finished work of Christ, God led me to a fellowship of like-minded believers on the internet who, like me, did not have a church home. Through them, my own study, resources from People to People and, of course, the Holy Spirit, I have been able to grow by leaps and bounds in the grace and knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ. I realized that I was no longer bound by the bonds of religion. The Holy Spirit taught me that I was already a member of the Church because of my faith in Jesus Christ. For the past four years, I have been blessed to have found a local fellowship of like-minded believers dedicated to understanding and proclaiming the finished work of Christ. I know now what Jesus meant when He said, "You shall know the truth and truth shall set you free (John 8:32)."
All of this leads me to the conclusion that what I wasn't being taught at church, and what I thought I would find in a relationship with a young lady, I could only find in the resurrected life of Christ. Up until the Fall of 1996, I was spiritually dead. Like all of mankind, we are born in the image of Adam; alive to the world, but dead to God. Because of the sin of Adam, God removed His life from him, and Adam died. God, in His love for mankind, desired to once again indwell mankind and have a relationship with him. But, before He could do that He had to deal with the sin that caused His life to be removed in the first place. Jesus Christ, the only man born spiritually alive, was the only man who had a life to give that would satisfy God as payment for our sins. Once Jesus died on the cross, God was able to offer His life as a free gift, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ, to all who accept Him by faith. Now, that life will never again leave a believer because there is no sin that can cause it to leave. That is why it is called an eternal life. A life that will carry you through the rest of this life and on into eternity. It is now my desire to share with the world that which has been given to me, in Christ. It all started on a Fall evening in 1996 when I died to self and came alive in Christ. Thank you Jesus!
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