It was 1945, after serving a six year stint in the U. S. Army Signal Corp, my father returned to a position he had held prior to the War. He, my mother and sister moved to the quaint little community of Lawrence, Kansas, surrounding the University, and sitting on the banks of the Kaw River. Father resumed a position as a radio broadcast engineer at the old Jenny WREN station located between Lawrence and Topeka, Kansas.
Not long after, the calender turned to 1948. It was during the spring of that year, that I was born into the world. My sister, had proceeded me by four year. Later that year, father would take a position building the first commercial television transmitter at WDAF Television Station in Kansas City, Missouri. Within a couple of years we moved to our new home in Overland Park, Kansas. Overland Park was one of the many small rural communities that had grown up along the old Santa Fe Trail, near the Shawnee Indian Mission in Johnson County.
My life was typical of a small town, middle class family, of the 1950′s. Besides working in radio and television broadcasting, father was a member of the IBEW, American Legion and the AF & AM, Blue Lodge. Mother was a secretary in the Shawnee Mission School District, and belonged to the Business and Professional Women’s Organization. I remember some of the neighbors. There was a policemen, a dentist, an Oscar Meyer salesmen, and a single middle aged lady, who had a pair of little Scottie dogs. Overland Park was where I recorded my first childhood memories. We lived in a little two bedroom house on a corner lot across the street from a horse farm. My sister and I used to ride our bicycles to down town Overland Park, just a few short blocks away from the house. Life was pleasant and peaceful after the War. I had no early recollections of the turmoil of the time. The early 1950′s were the Korean War and McCarthy era.
Both my parents were products of the great depression, though from somewhat different cultural backgrounds. My mother’s family were common dirt or rather rock farmers from southern Missouri who moved to the fertile black soil of the Eastern Kansas prairie, in 1917. My mother’s paternal grandfather, had been a prominent farmer in his community. Her family lost most everything during the great depression. My father’s family were bankers, businessmen and tradesmen. They were descendants of a first purchaser of land from William Penn, a Francis (the Immigrant) Fincher, a Quaker who immigrated from Worcester, England aboard the Bristol Comfort in 1684. Great grandfather, having served in the 12th Pennsylvania Cavalry, emigrated to Kansas from eastern Pennsylvania after the Civil War to work on the construction of the Kansas Pacific Railroad.
One of my earliest recollections, was when my Father built a room addition on the house where we lived in Overland Park. Upon finishing the addition, he brought his father to live with us. I loved grandpa, but was afraid of him because having been born in 1868 he looked very old and kind of scary to me. Grandpa had been a watchmaker, luthier, jeweler, furniture maker and all around handy man. He liked the solitude of his new room, where he would tinker for hours with watches and guns. Every day, grandpa would take long 5 mile trek, where he would collect every little treasure that caught his eye along the way. He was a great walker having scaled the Barr Trail to the summit of Pikes Peak at ripe age of 50. Sometimes grandpa would get lonely and would sneak off to visit some of his friends. While on his walk, he would just stop and hop on the bus out of town. Since my parents were away at work, they would not find out he was gone until evening when he did not come home. Usually one of his old neighbors in Tonganoxie would call and we would go fetch him back home.
On the week ends we would often travel to see my mother’s parents in the little town of Basehor about 35 miles away. My mothers dad, worked as a fireman at the DuPont Sunflower Ordinance plant in DeSoto, Kansas. All of my mother’s family would gather at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s house on the weekends. Grandma would behead some chickens on the old stump out back and we would feast on the best fried chicken I have ever eaten, with all of the fixin’s.
My family attended the Presbyterian Church, where my mother was a Sunday School teacher. I thought, at the time church was pretty boring, and really did not get much out of the services. I remember coming home from church pretending I was the preacher. I always felt like God had something special for my life.
Things were peaceful and normal the first 7 years of my life. Little did I know the life I had known was about to be turned upside down. I was about to experience a side of life that would forever change me. The year was 1955 and I had already started second grade, when I was told my father had accepted a position in Hollywood, California. We left the peaceful familiar surrounding of eastern Kansas plains for Hawthorne, California near Los Angeles. I did not like California, as the Los Angeles area seemed to be stark and desolate. It was either dry and dusty, or muddy and flooding when the rains came. I remember trying to walk to school and being afraid to cross the streets that were running curb full with rushing rivers of water. They say, “It never rains in southern California; it only pours.” When I stepped off of the curb, the water would rush over the tops of my little rubber boots. Hawthorne was an ugly place compared to eastern Kansas, with it’s beautiful rolling forested hills, broad winding rivers, lush grassy pastures, and elegantly cultivated farm land.
We were only there a few months before my mother left my father in California and returned to live with her parents in Basehor. Basehor was a small farming community in eastern Leavenworth, County with a population of about 200 people. We transitioned from the modern conveniences of urban life in the 50′s, to no indoor plumbing, chamber pots, crank telephones, ice boxes, Saturday night baths in a wash tub, coal oil space heaters, etc. It seemed like I was suddenly thrust back into the 1930′s.
I’ll never forget the old feather bed mattress where my teenage aunt, sister and I slept. My aunt would fuss at me if I got too close to her. Since she was bigger then I, she made a deep depression in the center of the bed. I had to hang on to the edge of the bed for dear life to keep from rolling down the steep incline next to my aunt.
While in Basehor, we attended the Methodist, Church with my Grandparents. I frequently used to play with the Baptist preachers children who lived next door, because they had indoor plumbing. I can remember some really cold winter nights, when grandma and grandpa used to let me sleep with them. Still, all this was kind of an adventure for a little guy.
I finished the second grade in Basehor, however my mother held me back a year in school because of my poor scholastic performance. It was while I was in school at Basehor, I also learned that I needed to wear glasses. That seemed a devastating blow to the fragile ego of a eight year old boy in the 1950′s. Few of my classmates wore glasses in those days. There was all of the typical ribbing that comes with being different. As if I had not had enough trauma, my mother told my sister and I, she had returned to Kansas to divorce my father. What a year, It almost seemed like more than I could deal with. I coped with the situation, by withdrawing into my own little make believe world. The impact of 1955-56 school year would affect the rest of my life.
That summer, mother, sis, and I moved back to Overland Park. It was during this time of my life, I began to find myself without any adult supervision. Little did I know, at the time, that my mother had left my father for another man, whom she had developed a relationship with, prior to our moving to California. She began spending a lot of time away from home. My mother would soon marry the man who would become my stepfather for the next 5 years.
My new stepfather was in the Navy and also worked at the American Legion Post in Overland Park. It was not long before a new half brother joined our family in the winter of 1958. In the fall of that year, the news came that my stepfather was being transferred to Japan. In order for my sister and I to leave the country, we had to go to court. My sister and I had to undergo interrogation by the court as to why we should go with our mother and stepfather. This event hurt my father deeply. I later found out that mother had told my father that our new stepfather was going to adopt my sister and I. He never did, but that spelled the end of my relationship with my father for many years after.
We again packed up and moved to Calexico, California, a border town opposite Mexicali in the Mojave Desert. We stayed there while waiting for our turn to go to Japan. My stepfather’s parents managed an apartment on the main street of Calexico. We rented an apartment from them. It was just two blocks from the border crossing check point into Mexicali.
My time in Calexico was miserable. We were there about six months and I suffered from dysentery the entire time. A border town, it was a wild place, filled with all kinds evil influences. I remember the daily gatherings of my step-grandfather friends as they would place their bets on the daily races at Caliente Park. There wasn’t a lot to do for a youngster, except go to the movies or run around down town, getting into trouble.
We finally got clearance to fly to Japan in 1959. What a flight. The plane was an old twin engine Military Air Transport that flew at about 10,000 feet elevation. The trip was flown in three 12 hours segments, with another 12 hours on the ground between each segment for refueling and servicing. We stopped at Hawaii and Wake Island. I remember starting to get air sick the last couple of hours of each leg of the trip. Finally after about 2-1/2 days we landed in Tachikawa Air Force Base in Japan. I do not know what happened, but my step father was several hours late in picking us up from the air base. I remember mother crying in the air port, wondering where he was.
While in Japan we lived on a small isolated military installation known as Camp Fuchinobe in the majestic shadow of an extinct volcano, Mt. Fujiyama. Camp Fuchinobe was was a very obscure place, surrounded by trees planted next to the perimeter fence. There were about 50 other families of officers and senior enlisted men on the base. My back yard was a few hundred acres. All of the youngsters would get together after school and play baseball or football. During the summer we would go swimming a the camp swimming pool.
While we were there, the military built what would become, the Headquarters for the NSA Pacific theater of operations. At first we were upset by the antenna towers that were part of the giant rhombic array that was inconveniently erected across our favorite football and baseball fields. As youngsters though, we became intrigued by the stories of spies operating out of the old two story brick headquarters building. Little did I know, the role the NSA would play, in my life, years later, when I would enter the military.
My stepfather was the senior Non-Commissioned Officer responsible for the Ground Contol Approach Radar facility in the middle of the top secret flight line at Atsugi Naval Air Station. Atsugi was one of the platforms, from which the U2 reconnaissance flights were launched. My mother, worked as a secretary to some doctors, who were doing medical research on blood flukes in South Korea.
I was quite confused and continued to be left to my own devices during the time we spent in Japan. I sought refuge from the turmoil of my family life in church. It was sometime during 1959 when I first heard the gospel of Jesus Christ taught. A now, long forgotten evangelical chaplain, preached on repentance. He explained that if we would come forward to the alter, repent of our sins, turning our lives to God, Jesus would do something very special in our life. I remember coming forward, at eleven years of age on that day and telling the Lord I wanted to give my life to him. Though, desiring what the Lord had for me, I missed receiving the promise that day. There was much I still did not understand, but I believed from an early age, the Lord had put his hand upon my life. I also felt like he did something special that day.
As a result of my conversion, I began carrying that old Bible that belonged to my mother that I had pretended, as a little guy, to preach from. From time to time I would attempt to read with great difficulty the king’s English. Not having access to current modern translations and lacking any spiritual guidance from within my family, I struggled with every attempt to walk with the Lord. It seemed to me as though I was still bound by sin.
When I was in the sixth grade, I came under severe persecution from my teacher. She set me in front of her desk and used to torment me continually. She used to make fun of the fact I carried a Bible to school. The teacher was the wife of a Navy Lt. Commander, so my complaints went pretty much unheaded, since the military chain of command rendered my parents helpless to help me. After all my step father was only an enlisted man. She would stand next to me and reprimand other children, while pulling my hair. I spent pretty much the entire year in the class room during recesses, copying pages from Webster’s Dictionary as punishment for some misdeed, I had allegedly done, but never fully understand.
I remember one rainy day around Easter when all of my class mates were inside the classroom decorating the room. I was busily copying my pages from Webster’s and the class was quite boisterous. The teacher shouted her favorite saying when things got out of hand. She said, “This place sounds like Grand Central Station.” I quickly responded, “I wished it was, I’d catch the first train out.’ The children all burst out in laughter. Poor lady, she could not even contain her own laughter, as she tried to rebuke me and send me to the principles office for being insolent.
When my parents were not working, they were out living the night life of club scene in nearby Tokyo. My life did not settle down any, as the turmoil seemed to follow me. Both my mother and stepfather were heavy drinkers. My stepfather would disappear for days at a time. Little did I know that he was a sporting man. No matter how much my mother adored him, she could not tame his wild side. I remember the fights, one of which resulted in my mother sustaining a broken nose. My mother complained, as a result of her injury to his commanding officer, which got us all sent home. There seemed no escaping the unrest of our home.
It was 1961, when the orders came transferring my stepfather to Lemore Naval Air Station, in California. We again packed up and prepared to move. I was preparing for another exciting adventure, as I was to spend two weeks at sea aboard the Military Sea Transport Service ship, SS General Sultan crossing the Pacific from Yokohama to San Francisco. I was at the height of my glory as a youngster, sailing across the Pacific. I would spend hours on deck watching through my binoculars for other vessels, ocean life, and land. First we sailed south past the Mariana’s and Saipan. I remember the small Island of Rota. The Merchent Marine steward told me it was a leper colony. Finally we stopped a Guam to discharge and board passengers. Then we steamed north passing near Midway, Island on into San Francisco.
I remember some fierce storms with, 60 foot swells as we passed the middle of our trip. We dined near the center of the dining room. As the ship would roll, we would see nothing but ocean to one side and grey sky to the other side. The front of our vessel would lunge through the waves, with water covering the bough, as in the movies. All too soon, the adventure of a lifetime was over as we sailed under the Golden Gate bridge. It was back to the dysfunctional family life and a broken home.
We initially took up residence in Richmond, California near San Francisco, then we moved to Ontario, California in the San Bernardino Valley, where we spent the summer. It was in Ontario that I first heard about the holy rollers down the street. They would gather in a long narrow meeting house about four doors down from where we were living. My sister would tell me stories about these strange people, shouting and rolling on the floor. The funny thing was, I never saw any of them. I kind of wish now, that I had been a little more inquisitive.
Finally we moved to Fresno, California in the heart of the San Juaquin Valley. Fresno was an agricultural community, surronded by grape vinyards, fig and olive orchards. The summers were hot and dry and the winters were socked in with fog and rain for months at a time.
While in Fresno, my sister and I joined the Episcopal Church. We studied church history and completed confirmation classes. Later, I became an alter boy, assisting in the performance of the rights of the church. I remember praying sincerely during services, seeking the face of God. No matter how hard I tried, I just could not seem to connect with God. I knew in my heart, he was real and there had to be more to God than what I was experiencing.
Life at this point seemed pretty settled, however, it was not long before my stepfather left my mother. The grief they went through in Japan, finally spelled the end of their marriage. I was caught totally unaware, as the end of another era of my life was at hand. I remember feelings of guilt as I began to think that somehow my behavior had been the cause of their separation, as well as all of the trouble in my life. I begged God to not let my stepfather leave, I promised him I would change if he would only intervene. It was not to be.
After the divorce, mother could not afford to stay in the home we were renting, so we moved to another less expensive neighborhood. It must have been 1962, because it was that spring when my sister quickly got married and moved out. She had become desperate to get away from our family situation. I would spend my summers baby sitting my brother who was 10 years younger, while mom worked. Just prior to the beginning of the school year, we moved again to the Fig Garden Village area in Fresno.
From 1962 to 1966 my mother had a number of men friends. Some I liked and some I did not. The ones I liked the best, she seemed least interested in. My mother had fallen into a life of total despair, having lost the man she had adored. She spent most of her free time, submersing her life in alcohol and entertainment. I really think, when she lost him, I lost the mother I had loved for so many years. She never seemed the same person again.
She finally settled on seeing a man of Italian descent of very dubious character. I had strong convictions he was tied to drugs and prostitution in Fresno. He owned a car lot, night club, natural gas well. He made a lot of money as a professional gambler, playing poker and hustling golf. What little dealings I had with him, he seemed to be of questionable character.
He told me once , if I would wash all of the cars on his lot, he would give me ten dollars. When I was done, he tried to pay me considerably less. I refused to take any of his money, so he ended up paying me the ten dollars. He did not like me though, probably because he could not manipulate me.
He would put his arm around me and tell me, “Just stick with me and I’ll teach you everything you need to know.” He would tell me, “Only chumps worked” and he would show me a better way. There was a self righteous indignation that used to rise up in me, when he would talk that way. I never could bring myself to fall for his line. He already had a son serving time in Folsom State Penitentiary.
During this period, my brother and I lived alone, while I was attending junior high school and high school. I would only see my mother on weekends. She would give me money for food and the car to do some shopping. When I was older, she let me buy a 1955 Pontiac from her friends car lot. It was a beast, but it ran good. One day one of our neighbors called the police and reported that my brother and I were living alone. An officer came, checked out the house and interviewed me. I covered for my mother. Later mother told me that the county had investigated us and determined everything was OK.
By this time I was not regularly attending church. The Lord, however, had his hand on my life and protected me from a lot of bad influences. I continually dealt with loneliness and bouts of depression. I would feel like I was trapped inside of a body, my eyes were looking through long tunnels from the inside of an outer shell. It was similar to being in a tank and looking through a periscope. Sometimes, I would feel so hurt by life’s circumstances, I just wanted to end it all. Regardless, I held on and continued in hopes of escaping someday. My teachers could never quite figure out why this young man, who they thought was a relatively bright kid, did not seem to care much about his education.
I was pretty well withdrawn into my own little world, just trying to survive my circumstances. I managed to stay out of any kind of serious trouble and kept a low profile. During this period of my life, I learned to be thankful for the basics of food, clothing and shelter. I was also thankful, that my mother was not around, as it usually meant trouble for me when she was there.
In 1965, my mother decided we were going to move in with her boy friend. He loaned me an 1946 Chevrolet pickup off his car lot. I sometimes wish I had that tuck today, as I always liked that vintage. My brother and I spent the day moving the furniture to what was supposed to be our new home. That night my mother became intoxicated, and her and her friend had a verbal altercation. He threw my brother and I out of the house and we spent the night sleeping in the car. The next morning, entire family was evicted from our new abode. We moved across town, to another friend of my mother’s, who gave us a temporary dwelling until we could find a perminent place to live. Then we had to move all of the furniture a couple weeks later, as we were able to move back to our original residence in Fig Garden Village. I was thankful to return to my old school district, as I was not looking forward to changing schools and making friends again. I vowed that, if my mother ever moved in with her boy friend again, I would leave.
A year later in the winter of 1966, it happened again. My mother decided to move back with her friend. I found the supper time stories about the prostitutes hanging around the car lot and the FBI seizing a car, on his lot, with the trunk full of heroine, repulsive. I could not figure out, why, they did not arrest him. He laughingly claimed, he told the Feds, he had purchased the car from a couple of Mexicans, and had no idea what was in the trunk. It bewildered me as why my mother’s boy friend was not incarcerated. Even though I hated school, I unsuccessfully tried to withdraw to my school work as an escape mechanism. I was not permitted this luxury, as I was immediately put to work as the family gardener. I gave the new arrangements about two weeks, then I told my mother, I could not deal with her living arrangements anymore. I had decided to try to move back to Kansas to live with my long estranged father and stepmother.
Things did not go well with my father either, as I had not had a relationship with him for 11 years. My stay did not last long. I found myself back on the street with my father wanting to ship me back to California. I have no doubt that I came with a lot of baggage, at that point in my life. I had also grown up unsupervised for a long period of time. The only real discipline I had was from the Lord and/or my conscience, having managed my own affairs for most of 8 years.
I had cried so much by this point in my life, I could not cry anymore. I had become hardened and fiercely independent. I did not need anyone and the only one I could depend on was myself. The Lord had a solution to my dilemma though, as I do not believe he was going to allow me to go back to my old environment. My maternal grandfather quickly came to my rescue. He convinced my favorite uncle to take me in. They long knew that things were not right with my mother in California. I flourished living with my aunt and uncle gaining 20 pounds in a few short months. By the grace of God, I was able to finish high school.
Upon graduation in 1967, I immediately opted to go into the military. It was the height of the draft for the Viet Nam conflict and at 19, I was guaranteed to be drafted. I had enlisted on a delayed enlistment while still in High School. I decided to try to enlist in the Military Police. After completing a battery of test, I was directed to the Army Security Agency recruiter, Sargent First Class, Hill, who was working out of a tiny corner office at the Kansas City, Missouri, Induction Center. His office was decorated with photographs of giant geodesic domes and parabolic dish antennas.
Sargent Hill asked me if I wanted to join the ASA for a four year enlistment. Everything he explained was a little vague and intriguing, as if insinuating, ‘If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.’ Later on, I found out that was not a joke. The ASA had it’s own military police, who, were under orders to execute us, rather than let us fall into enemy hands. ASA was the U. S. Army branch of National Security Agency. Wow, I had an opportunity to get an inside look at what was happening at Camp Fuchinobe, so I took the bait. Upon finishing basic training, I went to Fort Devens, Massachusetts, where I was trained in morse code and as a non-morse intercept. Upon graduation, in the spring of 1968, I was promoted to E4 and given my choice of duty stations. I volunteered to go to East Africa.
Dawning civilian attire, I boarded a TWA flight to Athens, Greece, where I overnighted at a little seaside hotel by the Mediteranian. The next morning, I transferred to an Ethiopian Airline 707 bound for Asmara, Eritrea. I was posted to the Fourth United States Army Security Agency Field Station, known as Kagnew station. There I spent the next 18 months involved in operations targeting the French military traffic, the Egyptian/Israeli conflict and various covert operations in the Sudan. Our operations building was located on a large compound known as Tract C, surrounded by triple row of 10 foot high cyclone fences set about 10 feet apart. Inside were various rooms full of the most sophisticated electronic communications equipment available. One room contained banks of 1040 lb four drawer safes with 4 tumbler Sargent Greenleaf Locks, wired for thermite grenades that could melt the safe and it’s contents in a matter of moments.
The surveillance activities were relatively routine and boring. Every now and then, we would have some exciting days. Especially when the Egyptians would launch an attack against Israel. In 1969, it got very intense, when the CIA failed an attempted coup-d’etat in the Sudan.
The area around Asmera was mostly peaceful and quiet. There was some guerilla activity from time to time in the area. Mostly blowing up Ethiopian airliners and gasoline tankers traveling the highway to Messawa. More intense problems occurred to the northwest, toward the town of Karen, where the communist backed, Eritrean Liberation Front waged a guerilla war against the Ethiopian Army’s crack Second Division. I ventured down to Karen once, but later it was closed to Americans, because of growing hostilities.
The insurgents kidnaped a group of military personnel on a University of Maryland Extension, archeological tour to Axum. After detaining and interrogating them, the were released, unharmed.
Another time they attacked the Ethopian Army, Second Division Headquarters. Bullets from the ensuing fire fight struck our operations building at Tract X, known as Stonehouse, which was located about two kilometers to the north east of Tract C. It was during that incident, I was placed on the roof of the operations building to defend our facility with a starlight scope, M60 Machine Gun and no ammunition. When I inquired about the ammunition, the Duty Sargent simply pointed to the rocks on the flat roof of the building as my only defense. Fortunately after a couple of hours, I was ordered to stand down, as we were not the intended targets of the raid.
While in Ethiopia, we wore civilian atire most of the time. We were only allowed to wear our uniforms while on duty in the operations buildings. We were advised, the U. S. Government had a no show of force treaty with Ethiopia. We were not allowed to take up arms, unless we were being over run by a hostile force.
In 1972 the ASA vacated Kagnew Station as it was known, leaving it to the Naval Security Group. In 1974, Ethiopia and it’s northern most province of Eritrea fell to the communists. Kagnew Station was abandoned, and His Emperial Majesty Haile Selassie I, the Lion of Judah, was imprisoned where he eventually died.
On completion of my tour in East Africa, I volunteered to go to Viet Nam. It was November of 1969 and the Army was beginning to withdraw units from Southeast Asia. They had other plans and sent me to Fort Carson, Colorado instead. Again, I think Jesus intervened to save me from myself. Anyway, I was not a big enough fool to turn down Colorado. I decided to keep a low profile and try to finish my enlistment there.
During my time in the military I began to really make some wrong choices in my life. I found my behavior beginning to model that of some of the more unsavory influences in my life. Yet it seemed I could only go so far, then the Lord would check me and I would have to recalculate my course. It was almost as if God would only allow me so much leash, then he would put me in check. I would straighten up for awhile.
When I was 23, in 1971, I was getting out of the Army and found the U. S. was in the middle of a revival. Pat Boone was baptizing people in his swimming pools. A friend gave me a copy of the Good News, New Testament which I began to read in earnest. I began attending a Dutch Reformed Church in Colorado Springs. It was during this time I first became aware of and interested in end time Bible prophecy. The popular authors of the day never quite answered all my questions. Again, I found, I still was not satisfied that I had found God. It seemed like my efforts did not bear the fruit of my expectations.
At the age of 27, I began courting my future wife. Having experienced numerous failed relationships in my life, I somehow got the idea to seek the Lord’s guidance. I had come from several broken homes and dysfunctional relationships. My father was twice married and my mother was eventually married four times. Because of the turmoil I grew up with, I developed a firm belief in marriage was an eternal institution. I never wanted my family or myself to go through what I had endured as a child. The Lord blessed me through the union of marriage, with my wife of now 35 years. Next to the Holy Ghost, she is the most precious gifts God has ever given me.
During the early years of our marriage, I was working nights and had lots of spare time. I began reading books from the library on free masonry, witchcraft, UFO’s, Mormonism, spiritualism, and other occult subjects. One night while sleeping, I was awakened by a very real dream. In the dream the devil was coming for me. I saw his face clearly as he got closer and closer. He came right up to my face as if trying to enter my being. I awoke in a sweat, shaking like a leaf. The dream was so real, it frightened me. The Lord told me it was the books I was reading, and that I had opened myself up to attack of the enemy. I immediately burned all of the occult literature I had accumulated and turned to the Lord for help.
This time I ended up in a Full Gospel, Charismatic Church in Overland Park, Kansas, The Full Faith Church of Love, with Brother Ernie as the Pastor. The Lord was building my faith and doing some miracles in my life. It was a rather large impersonal congregation. I was amazed to see 2000 worshipers standing and speaking in tongues in unison. I began to doubt, though, the truthfulness of this movement. Everything came across as being too orchestrated. A friend of mine, whom I worked with, also attended the church, and was trying to convince me to be baptized. Then one service, the pastor pointed in my direction and said there is a man sitting about half way back in the congregation, with a mustache and glasses who needs to be water baptized. I looked around and I was the only one who fit the description. I was terrified that it was a set up and never went back.
Again, over time, I began to fall away, deciding no one really understood or knew the truth. For awhile, my wife and I attended a Congregational Church. Mainly because they did not seem to much care what we believed. They called it the thinking man’s church. My perception at that stage of my life was, the only people who really lived for God were the Amish. Their lives appeared far too distant and hard for the uninitiated to break into. I eventually gave up hope and withdrew from all religious activity. I reckoned, I would be no worse off with God, if I avoided the hypocrisy and apostasy of the organized Christianity altogether. I had drifted from denomination to denomination, throughout the ensuing years, seeking the one true God and that experience the evangelist had promised in my youth. I spent time in the Presbyterian, Episcopal, Methodist, Baptist, Christian Reformed, Church of Christ, Charismatic, and Congregational churches by this time of my life. They all came across as dead, Godless institutions. My favorite uncle, who ran a trash service, used to joke about having to dump the empty booze bottles out of the Methodist and Baptist trash cans in our community. I pretty much figured, ‘You’ve seen one, you’ve seen em all.’
It was around 1998 when my eldest daughter informed Patricia and I that she had discovered Jesus. As all who are new in the Lord, she was very excited, and began to explain how close we were to the coming of the Lord. When I told her, I knew all about that, she wanted to know why I had never taught her about it. Her explanations sparked my interest, causing me to study, as I wanted to become conversant with her newly found belief. I really needed to get a better understanding of what was going on in the world. As I studied, I began to realize, I had fallen asleep after the Lord did not return in 1988 and now the Day of the Lord was drawing very near in earnest. The Lord opened my eyes to the immense supernatural conspiracy that was drawing our world into a One World system of Politics, Economics and Religion.
Simultaneously, Patricia and I were going through some difficult adjustments, as a result of my being transferred to Illinois from Colorado. Being a dyed in the wool westerner, vowing never to step foot east of the Mississippi River, you can imagine my trauma. We had gone from the wide open spaces of Colorado, with over 300 days a year of sunshine, and dry desert climate to the crowded, overcast, dampness of the Midwest. After a while I expressed my desire to Patricia, to try to find a Church. Patricia, having her own struggles, promptly agreed, having had the same thoughts. Isn’t it amazing how the Lord works?
We started with a non-denominational church in our community, since I was convinced the denominal world was lost. I had real trouble, finding anyone at that church, with the enthusiasm that was developing in me for God. Even the most devout souls in church seemed too busy with worldly activities to fellowship in the Lord. I began to earnestly ask the Lord if he had a church, show me where it was. If he would only show me the truth, I promised to follow him no matter where it lead.
My wife and I had joined a small Bible Study group at the church. We were going through the book of Revelation. An elderly man in our group had an aneurism. Because he had extensive blockage in his arteries, the doctors were afraid to operate on him. They were making him wait until his condition was critical. Finally the time came, when the aneurism became large enough, they were fearful of it bursting and had to operate. I’ll never forget the night his wife, who was a nurse, tearfully explained his situation. She said his chances of surviving the operation were marginal because of the blockage. We all held hands and I was given the honor to pray for his situation. A month later, we returned to our Bible study, to learn that upon examination and testing, prior to his operation, the Lord had completely removed all of the blockage in his arteries. The operation was performed safely, without incident, and the man fully recovered.
Jesus, arranged an encounter with a young man at my place of employment. This fellow boldly proclaimed the Gospel of the One True God and Jesus Christ. He introduced me to the Baptism in Jesus Name and offered a Bible study. Not being feasible because of the distance separating our homes, he offered to find someone close to me. Agreeing, it was not long before I received call from a local Pastor. After a short 5 weeks in Search for Truth, on June 13, 1999, I was baptized in the wonderful name of Jesus Christ, and I was filled with the Holy Ghost, with evidence of speaking in other tongues as God gives the utterance.
On that night, at the age of 51, I new I had received what the Lord had promised me at the age of 11. I knew, I had finally found, what I had searched so many years for. Just like the Moses and later the Children of Israel, I had spent 40 long years in a wilderness of sin searching for the promise of God.
During the 2006 Summons to Sacrifice prayer conference in Saint Louis, Doctor Gerald Jeffers began to prophesy. As he spoke, I heard the Lord speaking directly to me about my life. He told me that he was the one who kept me from having a relationship with my natural mother and father. He wanted to protect me from the occult influences of my father. He finished his prophetic utterances by saying, the Lord wanted to be my father. This was all confirmation of what was impressed upon me by the Lord in prayer, long before I came to the prayer conference. The Lord was to be the Father I never had. I have truly found a real family in the church. The Lord has restored all that I missed out on when I was growing up. Little did I know at the time, that God had used the many years I had spent away from traditional denominal religions, to cleanse my mind, and open the door for me to receive His truth. In retrospect, I can now see all of the times, throughout my life, when the right hand of Jesus delivered me. No one will ever convince me, that the events of my life are a coincidence, for he had his hand on me every step of my life’s journey.
There’s not enough paper or time to tell about all the blessings the Lord has bestowed on my family and I, since our coming to the Lord. God has forgiven my sins and restored His relationship with me. He has shown my two daughters this truth, he healed my body on numerous occasions, he has healed my marriage, healed my family, healed my mind, healed my finances and he has allowed me to participate in serving him. Hardly a day goes by, when I do not feel His awesome presence with me.
The closest experience I can equate the presence of God to, is standing in an electromagnetically charged energy field and feeling the tingling presence of an enormous power source surrounding your being. Basking in His presence, whether in church, at home, or on the road, is better than any high that can be gotten through artificial worldly means. There is a great sense of peace that comes from the understanding, direction, and meaning he has given my life. The things that used to define me, such as my occupation, hobbies, and recreation no longer hold, the place of importance, they once did. Knowing Jesus and serving Him only, is the now the most important goal in my life. The lyrics of one gospel song goes something like: ‘You don’t know like I know, what the Lord has done for me.
