| |
MY
STORY
From the very
start, the enemy has tried desperately to rob me of the closeness
of God. Since
age two, it was just my father and I—moving from town
to town every couple of months as he struggled to find better
work. My dad’s parents were Christians, and Granny would
always talk to me about God. Although neither of my parents
were Christians, my earliest childhood memories consist
of me having conversations with God.
I was, however, lacking in direction
and discipline. On the weekends I would either be with my mom,
staying with a different
guy each time, or at our cattle ranch in central California with
my dad where physical and emotional abuse was a normal occurrence.
By age five, I was stuffing my rage and blaming God for everything
that didn’t turn out perfect. By age eight, I was cursing
God with the most horrible words I could remember. By age ten,
I no longer heard God’s voice—nor did I care either
way.
When I was thirteen, my friend said he
was an atheist. I asked him what that meant. He said, "An atheist is someone who
doesn’t believe God exists." From that moment on,
I decided I was an atheist. At age 18, my best friend Mike handed
me a little book on Taoist meditations. I read it every day and
became intrigued by anything "hidden" or "secret." At
age 22 I had already lost a house to my father’s gambling
addiction, my fiancée, and three children in the womb
to miscarriage.
After quitting the band I was in after
three tours and a major label deal in its final stages, I finally
turned away from everything
I knew and went on the road. It was in that crazy beatnik hippy
culture where I was exposed to almost every religious practice
and philosophy imaginable. From Nihilism to the new age movement
to yoga to vipassanna meditation, I spent the next two years
drinking my fill of foolishness and self-worship—ironically
searching for God the whole time. I would read any book I thought
sounded "ancient and true enough." Praise God one of
these books was The Holy Bible, and though I didn’t understand
most of it, I could tell the difference between that book and
every other book I would read. While all the other books would
leave me with a feeling of heaviness and spiritual pride, the
Bible would refresh and still me every time I read it. Soon,
I put down all the other books, bought a pocket Bible and began
to read it every day. I was now getting fed, but the enemy is
cunning. I was already disillusioned by the American church’s
apathy and addiction to comfort, and through some very close
friends whom I admired, the enemy fed me the cultic, anti-church
doctrine of the Rastafarians. Soon, I had dreadlocks, smoking
marijuana as I read my Bible every day. God seemed so far away.
I was becoming desperate for this "new life" I would
read about in the book of Acts, yet no amount of giving or smiling
got me any closer. Finally I resolved to do whatever I had to
do to find the real Jesus. My friends Gina and Ian invited me
to the Rock of Roseville on January 12th, 2001. That night I
gave my heart to Jesus Christ, and it has since been a life more
breathtaking—more wondrous—than anything I could
have ever imagined. Jesus has always loved me. He had been waiting
for me all that time just to turn my heart to Him. With unbridled
passion, He loves me completely and unconditionally. I am my
beloved’s and He is mine. And nothing the enemy can throw
at me will ever change that.
|
|
