In the Fall of that year, I came crawling back to my parent’s house to talk about where I might stay. I had attempted moving out 5 times that year, but within two weeks of moving out each time, I came back home, defeated. I was not yet born again, andlacked the social and LIFE skills most folks take for granted. I didn’t know how to cook, manage money, have true friends, communicate honestly, and live with integrity. I tried to hide my pride, but it was engraved upon every square inch of my being. Addicted to alcohol and marijuana at age nineteen, God opened a door for me to move into Memphis House, at that time a group home for those seeking permanent sobriety through self-help, group therapy, and change of association.
Earlier that day, I had an hour-long session with Bill Breshears, a chaplain with Prison Fellowship Ministries. He had been discipling me by having me memorize and meditate on all of the Romans Road verses that speak of salvation: Romans 3:23, 6:23, 5:8, 10:13,17. Of course, John 3:16 was at the forefront of my mind. I went into my bedroom that night, and all I could think about was how quickly I could fall to my knees, say my evening prayers at the rehab center and then bury myself under the covers. I didn’t have a personal relationship with Jesus—honestly, I wasn’t even sure He existed—but I kneeled by my bedside that night and went through the motions of prayer out of respect for the center’s suggestions for spiritual growth, and in my heart, I knew I needed a breakthrough.
Earlier that day as I reflected on my weekly session. I had met that day with Bill, so I reflected on some of the things that had transpired recently, and how at the tender age of eighteen, God had intervened on several occasions to save me and keep me alive. At age seven, I had run ahead of my family while hiking in the Smoky Mountains, gotten lost, and spent two hours away from my family, which was a big deal for a seven-year-old. Thankfully, a family saw me lost and wandering down those Park roads and took me to the nearest trailhead and waited until my family showed up in that old Rambler Station wagon. I thought about the time at age seventeen, I had been drinking with a friend (Jeff Buckner) and had driven my car down an off-ramp at the intersection of Get-well Road and Winchester, skidded into the intersection, and landed on top of a three-foot high medium strip, miraculously being spared from a major accident with other vehicles. And just one year ago, while riding my bicycle west on Poplar Ave, one of the busiest streets in Memphis, I had swerved into traffic and was rear-ended by a car traveling at fifty miles per hour, the bike suspended vertically until the tire popped, the driver hit the brakes, and I rolled onto the pavement without being run over by that 3,000 lbautomobile. God was sparing me, but why? How could He love me?
I found myself kneeling by my bedside that night at 10:00pm in the tiny bedroom with two other men trying to sleep, snoring really. Then, slowly, I sank to my knees, my heart pounding. I took a deep breath and whispered, “God, I don’t know what this aching pain is, but I am asking You to please take it from me, as it feels awful.” As I prayed, repressed memories from childhood flooded back into my conscious thoughts, of some of the spankings I had received as a child that left me in tears, not sure if my parents even loved me. I had built up huge walls of offense in my heart, hatred for them and for the isolation that I felt. As I prayed, the line from the Lord’s prayer surfaced, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” I asked Him, “Do you really expect me to forgive them after how I’d been hurt so much?” In that instant, I had a vision of Christ, the crown of thorns smashed onto His head, blood running down His face. I cried out, “Jesus, save me!” Instantly, I felt the guilt and shame lift off my shoulders, and His forgiveness and love come flooding into my heart as I encountered Jesus. On that cold, January night in a second-floor bedroom, I met Jesus, and that meeting changed the course of my life, both then and for all eternity!
The icy Memphis winter didn’t matter anymore; I was enveloped by a warmth that could only be described as the overwhelming love of Jesus. The Holy Spirit flooded the room, revealing to me a love so deep, so pure, that it washed away every doubt, every fear, and every piece of my shattered past.
In that sacred moment, my spirit knew—I had found something, Someone, extraordinary. For the first time in my life, I felt I belonged, that I was loved unconditionally. It didn’t matter that I was a broken pot addict; in His presence, all my wrongs were being made right. What felt like mere seconds turned out to be two hours of deep, transformative worship. When I finally stumbled out of that bedroom, my eyes were swollen with tears, but my heart was renewed. I had met the King of Kings. I had met the one who took away all my sins. I had met the one who gave me hope: Jesus.
From that day forward, my life was never the same. The Holy Spirit ignited a hunger in my heart—a burning desire to know God and immerse myself in His word. I spent countless hours praying, seeking, and uncovering revelation after revelation of how deeply Jesus loves us. He showed me that my life has meaning, and that there is purpose in my existence. Yes, I’ve stumbled. There have been times when I’ve let go of His hand, but God, in His boundless mercy, has never let go of me. He has brought amazing, godly people into my life, and even those who have hurt me have been instruments of valuable life lessons.
I found Jesus in a cold bedroom in a Group home, where He opened the eyes of my heart. I didn’t need to walk down an aisle or have any hands laid on me; I didn’t need any rituals to gain access to Him. Jesus was already there, waiting, ready to reveal Himself—all I had to do was ask.