How God has blessed me

My Testimony, by Ed Lyons

Note:

With small groups, I have shared the experiences God has led me through, but this is the first time I have put them in print. Circumstances have changed sufficiently where it now seem appropriate. Still, I mention few names for the sake of privacy.

Lessons from childhood

I am continually in awe at the grace of God's providence. Through the prophet Isaiah God said, I will bring the blind by a way that they know not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them. I can testify with 100% conviction that God has been fulfilling that promise in my life. I, who once was 100% convinced that God was dead, am now made His beloved son through His beloved Son. I consider myself the luckiest person on the face of the planet. Let me explain.

A month before President Kennedy was assassinated I was born. I grew up in Chicago during the tumultous times of the civil rights demonstrations and the Vietnam war protests. I was five when Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot. I was too young to be aware of the news in the country, but I was aware of the changes around me.

My twin brother and I were the oldest of six children. My mom was a nurse. My dad was a journalist and community organizer. We lived on the west side of Chicago in the Austin neighborhood, near the Eisenhower expressway.

Our community was mixed black and white, but there was no tension that I was aware of. Once or twice a year we would empty the wide alley of cars and close it off for a block party. We would clean and fix the townhomes during the day, then we would eat and play games together later that afternoon and evening. My memories are fleeting, but they are happy ones.

The happiness ended with the riots following Martin Luther King's murder. Within months all the whites left the neighborhood except for us and an elderly lady at the end of the row of homes across from us. I only saw her once or twice.

Entering school in first grade was an interesting experience. All the teachers were white, but all the administration was black. Of all the 500 students the only ones not black were my brothers and me. My twin and I were placed in separate classrooms, and the following year my next youngest brother was placed in another one. It didn't feel like it, but we stuck out like sore thumbs. I have a copy of my first grade picture and it is not at all hard to tell which one is me!

I don't remember having enemies among my peers, but racial tensions were charging the atmosphere. I remember large groups of older kids (grades 3 to 5?) chasing my twin for the slightest excuse. I remember my younger brother and I being surrounded by even older kids while they taunted us and through firecrackers at us. The neighborhood had become unsafe to the point where even my parents had to finally admit they could no longer bring about positive change and keep their own family safe. They finally moved us over the line to the suburb of Oak Park.

The experience taught me that prejudice is not the sole possession of the "whiteys." It is human nature that whenever a majority realizes and relishes its power, it will use it against the minority. We were refused admission or service to certain black-owned stores. We were avoided or harassed based simply on the color of our skin. I watched as a small gang of black boys mugged my dad at the train station. (To be fair, they probably robbed black people also.) Prejudice is in the heart of most people, and will be exercised when the power is available.

"How good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!" For God has "made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth." (Psalm 133:1; Acts 17:26)

We attended the Resurrection Catholic Church every Sunday. (From what I can tell on Google maps, it is no longer around.) I remember watching my dad ascend the stairs into an elevated pulpit to once in a while deliver the "homily." He was pretty big back then in the Chicago-area church as a book writer, columnist, and assistant in the development of the new missalet in English. This was shortly after Vatican II.

Many times I remember coming home from church and sitting next to my mom and singing hymns with her. In my childhood I liked church. I liked God. Spiritual things appealed to me and later I would seriously consider becoming a priest when I grew up. But that was my childhood. Things would change.

*****

For a period of a few months during 2nd or 3rd grade I would cry myself to sleep because of all the horrible things the people had done to Jesus. He was a perplexing story to me, but He was a very nice man. In spite of all the crucifixes and pasty-faced pictures on the walls of our home and church, I never could figure it out. His death remained an unsolved mystery.

*****

Sometime during the 5th or possibly the 6th grade, I remember staring up through the leaves of the tree in our yard at the blue sky. It was a nice warm spring day and I was feeling good. As I watched and wondered, I decided. I decided that there was a God. I made up my mind and all was right with the world.

But I guess when you decide something positive you begin thinking about more and looking for evidence. A year or two later, in the fall when the leaves crunched under my feet, I came to the opposite conclusion. I had been making observations at church, at school, at home, kind of everywhere. What I saw puzzled me. Nothing lined up with the impressions I got when I read the little New Testament I had been given at a Baptist Vacation Bible School during the summer. A question kept coming back to my mind that I couldn't answer. Where are the prophets and apostles?

My dad was my role model of a strong and intelligent man, but he had become increasingly stressed and angry with the difficulties of starting a business. My views of religion and life had become quite negative and frustrating. Catechism class was dry and abstract. I made up sins whenever I went to confession. (Do you think I would confess what I really did?!) I didn't see Christianity in the students or teachers I went to church with. Everything and everyone had become one huge disconnect.

As I walked around in the leaves one afternoon after church, it hit me. Everything I had been thinking came together. My conclusion was firm because it was based on simple, clear logic. God was dead. Perhaps He was off in another universe, but as far as this world was concerned, He had died 2000 years ago. The end.

City boy to country boy

During that time of my decisions about God, two other things were happening. My parents wanted to move out of Chicago entirely to a little town in the country. We drove all over the Illinois River valley, down to southern Illinois, and even to Missouri. No matter where we drove, I hated it. The country was dull and quiet. I literally viewed it as the empty space that had to be endured to get to the next town. I actually got nervous and trembled at the thought. I determined to run away before any moving day came. I was a city boy through and through. Lights. Noise. Action. That was my life. That was the only life.

At the same, however, God (the one I thought was dead) was working on me. My dad signed up three of us boys for Cub Scouts and then Boy Scouts. Our scout troop went on weekend campouts 2 or 3 times a year in some of the park reserves on the far west side. They were a lot of fun. Even more fun then when we would ride our bikes 5 miles or so to the nature preserve.

In the summer before my 7th grade year my parents sent us up to Wisconsin for one week to the big Boy Scout camp there. It was way out in the middle of the aromatic pine trees without a hint of civilization around. I enjoyed that, too. I enjoyed it so much, in fact, that I saved up all my allowance for the next year so that I could buy a second week. After my brothers left to go home on the bus, I remained and I was happy. I was a scout. I was an Indian. I was a pioneer. I was my hero, Daniel Boone. I was being changed in my attitude towards nature.

About Christmas time during my 8th grade year, my parents found the place they were looking for. A small town in the sandstone bluffs of southern Illinois had a large house on the edge of town built by Mr. Gore himself. Ten acres descending down towards the bottom of Ferne Clyffe state park was to be our new home.

For three months that spring, we owned two homes. My dad moved down first and came back up every other weekend. On his first return trip I moved down there, also. I was now sick of the city and wanted the freedom of wide open places. On my first return trip, I actually felt a little claustrophobic. Amazing how God and Boy Scouts can completely change an attitude in a few years!

I would need that new attitude and a love for the peace and quiet of the forest to help me deal with the next several years of stress.

"The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows his handiwork. Day unto day utters speech, and night unto night shows knowledge. There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard." "It is of the LORD's mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is Your faithfulness. The LORD is my portion, says my soul; therefore will I hope in Him. The LORD is good unto them that wait for Him, to the soul that seeks Him. It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the LORD. It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth. He sits alone and keeps silence, because he has borne it upon him." (Psalms 19:1-3; Lamentations 3:22-28)

From psychics to prophecy

My favorite teacher during high school was my English teacher. She would get us thinking and discussing all sorts of topics. Her classes were interesting and challenging. She also made us write a research paper every year.

Launched by a classroom discussion, the topic for my 9th grade paper was on psychics. The main subject was a psychic named Edgar Cayce (1877-1945). He would lie down, go into a trance, then answer questions, diagnose illnesses, and explain a variety of topics. He was always concerned with helping people. He also read the whole Bible every year of his life and taught a Sunday school class.

This combination of helping people and being a religious Bible believer impressed me. It re-opened a place in my mind that had been closed for a long time. When I concluded God was dead, I had also thrown out the Bible as a useless relic. Now, I began to have second thoughts. I became curious about Bible prophecy.

I started my research by asking my dad if he had any books that explained the prophecies of Revelation. His reply was that I could not understand. No one could understand it. It was a sealed book and not even the church could explain it. Well, I was not one to give up so easily. I scoured his many bookshelves (he had amassed a huge collection from his days as a book reviewer) and came up with The Late Great Planet Earth by Hal Lindsey.

That book really excited me because it presented a complete scenario with modern players such as Russia and Israel. I found other related books at the library and a local Christian bookstore. I drew battle maps with my military-minded brother. I read scriptures that told of Jesus' glorious return after a great tribulation after a secret rapture. It all seemed so fantastically real and good.

Then I would close the books and pamphlets I had and try to find the scenario in the Bible for myself. I never could. I saw bits and pieces, then I let the mental images made by the books fill in the gaps. But after a while I realized I was not fulfilling my original goal. I wanted to understand Revelation for myself. So, while I liked the end-time scenarios and they seemed correct, I couldn't be sure. My only hope was to figure out Revelation, if possible.

I went back to square one, returned to the card catalog, and looked up the obvious word, revelation. One book I found was called Daniel and the Revelation by a 19th century author named, Uriah Smith. This book literally went verse by verse through the two prophetic books of the Bible. Details of history were compared to details of scripture. There is much to recommend in that book and if you have the time to read and re-read and re-study its almost 800 pages, then you will learn a lot.

Of course, Smith's book led me to other books with a similar line of thought. I now had read books belonging to three basic groups. The first group where books that were scattered in their theories and had few if any other books to support them. The second was the light-on-history-heavy-on-the-future group led by Lindsey's book. The third was the heavy-on-history-heavy-on-the-future group led by Smith's book. I was leaning towards this last group because when I closed their books and read Revelation for myself I could see the big picture, although much of the detail was historical and I was not studied enough to decide one way or the other. I felt good about my progress, but still had some big questions.

From prophecy to God

One thing that Smith mentioned several times was the Sabbath. He was not talking about Sunday. He was talking about Saturday, the seventh day. I was aware the Jews kept Sabbath on the seventh day, but that was all I knew. I was really puzzled why a Christian writer would repeatedly mention the seventh day Sabbath. I was too ignorant to be prejudiced or resistant. I just thought it was weird.

Researching the word, sabbath, led to nothing. I was stumped and went off at a tangent on other topics. Then, just before school was out for the summer I was in the car with the family and overheard my parents talking. My mom asked my dad to stop at the Seventh-day Adventist health food store to pick up a couple of items. When I heard that name a light bulb switched on in my brain. I thought to myself, Maybe I should look up Seventh-day Adventists the next time I am at the library?!

The next library I entered was a long distance from my hometown. I was dropped off there to wait while my brother's broken arm received some special attention because it wasn't healing properly. I went to the card catalog and looked up, Seventh-day Adventist.

I was surprised. There was at least a quarter-inch thick stack of cards all relating to the topic. Almost all them had really similar Dewey decimal numbers. I went over to the shelf where they sat and "randomly" picked one out. It was called The Great Controversy by someone named E.G. White. Since I did not have a library card there, I only had time to read part of the first chapter that day, but that was all I needed. I read the following paragraph (commenting on Jesus overlooking Jerusalem during His entrance on Palm Sunday) and time stood still.

"The Majesty of heaven in tears! the Son of the infinite God troubled in spirit, bowed down with anguish! The scene filled all heaven with wonder. That scene reveals to us the exceeding sinfulness of sin; it shows how hard a task it is, even for Infinite Power, to save the guilty from the consequences of transgressing the law of God. Jesus, looking down to the last generation, saw the world involved in a deception similar to that which caused the destruction of Jerusalem. The great sin of the Jews was their rejection of Christ; the great sin of the Christian world would be their rejection of the law of God, the foundation of His government in heaven and earth. The precepts of Jehovah would be despised and set at nought. Millions in bondage to sin, slaves of Satan, doomed to suffer the second death, would refuse to listen to the words of truth in their day of visitation. Terrible blindness! strange infatuation!" (p. 22)

Everything in my life came together for me in that moment. Now I understood why I had thought that God was dead, but now I saw that He was far from dead. In fact, He was alive and working in our world in our time. The problem was choice! The solution was choice! We choose to go our own way and do our own thing, rejecting God's wisdom, will, and laws. Naturally we suffer the consequences of suffering and separation, then blame God and question why He "abandoned" us. God never left us! God never died! He is working and teaching and choosing to help us choose better!

My eyes were filled with tears as I looked up from my book to sense the presence of Jesus standing right across the table from me. I didn't see anyone, but I felt Him. I knew He was there as a living, breathing Person caring about me, leading me, teaching me. I thought God was dead because I thought He was cold and heartless, but now I saw Him as He really is. God is a warm, compassionate, wise Person doing everything possible within the limits our bad choices place upon Him.

I do not know how to fully convey the impact of that revelation upon me. I was open to it, but I did not seek it out. I was curious about prophecy, nothing more. Yet, Christ chose that moment to open my eyes to spiritual truth which goes way beyond historical truth. Along with my other Catholic church members I had been waiting 2000 years for Jesus to return. Now I knew why. Now I knew Him.

From that time forward, my quest was no longer mere prophecy. I wanted to know God. I wanted to knew who that Good Man really was that I had cried for when I was younger. A doorway had opened into the spiritual universe and I stepped through it to find the spiritual God.

"And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them." (Isaiah 42:16)

From eager excitement to complete confusion

One does not move from a lifestyle that centers on selfish pleasure and pride to a life worthy of heaven without making severe changes. Those changes do not take place over night nor do they take place easily and naturally. Conscious decisions must be made in cooperation with Christ to turn from the old to the new, from the evil to the good. Before one can make a decided change, he/she must be made aware of the changes that are needed. That was the point to which God was bringing me.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." (Matthew 5:3)

I read about heaven and the future and God with eager excitement. Heaven now became real to me. Previously, all I could picture was a white God in a white place surrounded by white angels floating on white clouds eating white marshmallows. The only things that were not white were the golden harps. Now I saw "a new heaven and a new earth" covered with green grass, everlasting flowers, and majestic mountains. Grateful people roamed those hills and talked happily with each other. Angels mingled with humans as natural friends and fellow worshipers of God. Heaven became a happy, progressive, real place to me.

My brothers and sisters were not interested in what I was learning. They said I was becoming religious, but all I was doing was discovering new truth and the reasons behind that truth. My dad said I couldn't understand what I was reading. Sure, there was a lot of deep stuff that went right over my head, but I got the basic points that the world is coming to some great final, testing issues, after which Jesus would come and take His people home.

My mom seemed to take a more neutral and gentle approach. She even casually commented one day to a friend of hers that I was studying the Seventh-day Adventist religion. The friend asked me a bunch of questions that I was unable to answer. I told her that I would research and write the answers for her, but she ended her visit at our house before I could complete the paper.

Because I now had no deadline, I kept researching and even added questions of my own. By the time I was done I had compiled a small set of beliefs and reasons. I let the paper sit for a while, but all the time I was thinking about whether or not I should take those beliefs seriously. I questioned why I wrote the paper. Was it to simply inform someone else of a different church's beliefs or was it a collection of my beliefs?

I finally concluded that I really believed what was in that paper and added a note to the bottom that I wanted to switch from being Catholic to Seventh-day Adventist. I gave the paper to my parents. They read it. Then the fireworks began.

My dad called me into his basement office, and after a long "discussion" where he did almost all the talking, he asked me three questions that totally pulled the rug out from under me. Who are you tell your father he is all wrong? Who are you to tell the oldest and largest Christian church that it is all wrong? Who are you to tell the world that it is all wrong?

I had never looked at things that way. I never thought that my joyful path of discovery had such a stark, black and white destination. I never imagined that my religious fantasy had such real consequences.

It is impossible to say that something is right without saying that all contradicting beliefs are wrong. Sometimes our dreams result in the destruction of other dreams. As Jesus said, No man can serve two masters, either he must love the one and hate the other or hate the one and love the other. It is impossible to go two directions at once. We cannot travel two roads at the same time.

Over the next days, months, and years, those three questions sank deep into my mind with irresistable force. I knew less than I did before. I was sure of nothing-- not myself, not my dad, not any church, not even God.

My dad wanted me to read a big, thick catechism and report back to him regularly, but he wouldn't help me think. He only wanted to tell me what to think. He was only making matters worse. I needed time and space to figure things out. Answering him was the least of my worries. I said the right words at the right time, but meanwhile I secretly carried on my research with a depth and intensity as my life depended on it.

And I felt my life did depend on it. If eternity and God was real, if the Presence I had felt earlier in the library was real, then I wanted to know. I wanted to make up my own mind for myself. If it wasn't real, then I wanted to know that also, so I could then decide my next course of action. I did not so much care what the truth was as much wanting to know what the truth was. I had to know that the truth was the Truth, not my fantasy or someone else's fiction.

After all the movies stop playing, after all the books have been written and been read, after all the lectures and sermons have been preached, there will be only truth, there will be only reality. All the words and prophecies in the world cannot make or bend the future. What will be will be. In the end, whether that be at the end of my life or the end of my world, truth will win, reality will be. Events of universal proportion, for good or for evil, will unfold without our permission. Truth is an unstoppable steamroller rolling from the future to the present. Nothing stops it. The best we can do is figure out its direction and speed and get out of the way or ride on top of it.

For two years I lived in the school library at lunch time. I read encyclopedias, history books, philosophies, and religious tomes. Point by point I compared what others had to say with each other and with what I believed. After my dad found some of my books in my room, I checked out books from the library in town and kept them in plastic bags under a tree down in the woods. For about two years my life came to a standstill while I debated what direction I should go.

From confusion to despair

I drew my research to a close with some fairly simple conclusions.

First, while I found some very good things in many of the non-Christian religions, I could also find those same good things in Christianity. Good morals, happy ending to the universe, peaceful afterlife, pretty much everybody teaches those doctrines. Some of the more fantastic teachings I found to be unprovable, and I don't believe what I can't prove. What Christianity has that the others do not have is a Savior. Christ, who is God, came down from heaven to earth to not only teach us but also help us. To offer up His soul in the place of ours was a sacrifice beyond description. I can explain this long running battle between good and evil in no other way except as the interaction between human choice, time to learn, and Divine love. See Soul Sacrifice.

That was the objective, bookish part of my first conclusion. There is a very personal, subjective half. Sitting at that table in that library, Someone reached out to me. I was not looking for God, because I was convinced He had died a long time ago. I was only curious about Bible prophecy and future events, much like studying a map before starting on a journey. I was planning on taking that trip by myself when a Friend appeared. Granted, that is not proof for you, but that was an issue I could not lightly throw away. A Savior was seeking me and now I knew I needed a Savior. Where else, who else, but Jesus Christ?

Second, I was now convinced that the Bible was trustworthy. It was still all a theory to me, but nevertheless I found Scripture to be very consistent in its teachings. The prophets and apostles knew God and told the truth about God and demonstrated it in unmistakable ways. Sure, there are typos and small translation errors in a tiny fraction of a percent of its more than 30,000 verses, but the writers wrote in human language which is itself subject to error and misunderstanding. When you take all passages on any topic and use all possible interpretations within the limits of language, you end up with a harmonious picture of God and the universe. Admittedly, it is not mainstream, but there is nothing unreasonable or contradictory. The Bible is a complete system of truth. It is God's Word. (Would it, would He, work for me in my life was still an enormous question I was struggling with.)

Third, my goal was not church. My goal was, and still is, God. Plain and simple. Church is supposed to help us find God, and sometimes it does, but often it does not. However, everyone seems to use church (or non-church) as a way of identifying themselves and setting a direction for themselves. I think that was the mode I was in. So, as I looked around at all the Christian churches my options narrowed down fairly rapidly.

It had to a Bible-only church. That ruled out Catholicism, Greek Orthodox, and the other "old-line" churches. That left Protestantism and its horde of infighting denominations. However, that quickly narrowed down as well. The church I would join had to be a Sabbath keeping church, and there were only three that I had found with that teaching-- Seventh-day Baptist, Church of God (Seventh-day), and Seventh-day Adventist.

Why was it so important to me? It wasn't the only thing, but it was a matter of consistency that most seem to have forgotten. At the very beginning of the Bible God rested on the seventh day and blessed that day by resting, not by mere commanding. Nowhere in Scripture is that blessing removed and nowhere in Scripture is Sunday blessed.

Yes, I am aware of the texts that say the law was nailed to the cross (Ephesians 2:13-17; Colossians 2:13-17; 2 Corinthians 3; Romans 14:5), but I do not keep the Sabbath because of law. I rest with God and in Christ because of reverence and gratitude. After all, it is the Lord's day! (Mark 2:27-28)

I know lots of people have questions and answers on that subject, but now you know why I was down to three churches. The church I was looking for did not have to have all the truth, but all it taught had to be truth. The Church of God taught truth but it also taught some things that just didn't make Scriptural sense. It doesn't matter now. They fell apart years ago. I did not find much with which to disagree with the Baptists, but they seemed to skip over much of the Bible as unimportant. They certainly did not have the complete view of God, good and evil, and prophecy that the Adventists have. (To be fair, I have not paid attention to the Seventh-day Baptists for years and do not know where they stand today.) Therefore, I concluded I was going to be an Adventist. All of their official 28 fundamental beliefs are consistent with each other and with the Bible. (What many of the people actually believe and practice is a different story for another time.)

So, putting it all together, Savior, Scripture, Sabbath and all the other teachings like prophecy, were the reasons I decided to join the Seventh-day Adventist church.

But there was one huge problem. I couldn't find one to join.

In my long bike rides around the area I had sometimes gone through Marion. I had found the address of an Adventist church in a phone book, but found no church at the address.

It was a weird feeling. I had read all these books written by Adventists but the latest copyright date was in the 1950's. Now I couldn't find one of their churches. It was like the whole church had died and become extinct. (Although, in a way, that was a familiar feeling!) Now I felt like I was the only Adventist in the whole world and I wasn't even Adventist!

A later edition of a phone book solved my problem. Apparently, the church had moved because it had a new address and a new number. I called it. I ended up speaking with the pastor and making an appointment to meet him in the state park early Sunday morning.

I met with him for an hour or two each time and was greatly encouraged. I was also scared. He kept wanting to talk to my dad because he thought he could persuade him to let me attend church and maybe even boarding school. I knew better. I knew I wouldn't even see the pastor again. I was right.

Later, in the middle of that second week, I knew the phone call had taken place when I got home from work. The fireworks were unmistakable. The phone call had lasted less than 60 seconds.

This time a family meeting was called. My siblings were irritated by the whole thing, but I guess my dad thought there was strength in numbers. In a way, he was right.

I don't remember anything anyone said that night except for the question my dad demanded an answer to. Would I or would I not give up this crazy Adventist stuff?

I sweated and I agonized. I thought of all the bad things that would happen. I knew it was a very real possibility that I would get kicked out of the house if I stuck to my beliefs. I feared and I twisted. I did everything but trust.

In the end, I lied. I said I would back off because I wasn't sure about the Adventists and the Bible. But I was sure. To this day I have yet to find an argument to overthrow even one Biblical teaching. Two years before I honestly wasn't sure, but thorough research changed that. This time I clearly knew the truth and I lied. I denied Christ.

That was the summer before my senior year. You know, the last year of high school is supposed to be your best, right? Not for me. Now I was more isolated than ever. I had displeased my parents and I had displeased God. I found comfort nowhere. I had broken my conscience once and I found it easier and easier to break it again. I began sliding downhill with nothing to slow me down except my miserable regrets.

I seriously considered suicide at least three times, but I had already discovered what the Bible really teaches about death and I knew that was not a good option. I was stuck. I was depressed. I was torn apart turmoil and guilt. I cannot over exaggerate my horrible feelings during that dark time. It took a toll on me physically but I had nowhere to turn for safety or peace.

Someone else put my experience into words: The earth was iron under my fee and the sky was brass over my head. And I could add, There was not a ray of light. That was the most miserable year of my life and I wish never to repeat it.

"Watch and pray, that you enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak." "For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh,) dwells no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not. For the good that I would, I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do. Now if I do that I would not, it is no more I that do it, but sin that dwells in me. I find then a law, that, when I would do good, evil is present with me. For I delight in the law of God after the inward man: But I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members. O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?" "Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted." (Matthew 26:41; Romans 7:18-24; Matthew 5:4)

The clouds break

I was at SIU, Southern Illinois University, sitting on the hillside at the Arena. It was a crisp October day with a clear blue sky. I will never forget that day or that moment as long as I live.

I had just turned 18. I now had "legal" permission to do what I wanted to, think what I wanted to think, and talk to who I wanted to talk to. My dad said I had to think and do what he told me as long as I was in house and under 18. Now I was "of age" and my twin brother and I commuted 30 miles everyday to college so we were gone early and arrived late. The next semester we would move into a trailer on the north side of town and make our permanent move out of the house.

But that was later. I was still dealing with now. I sat on the grass looking south, into the distance over the trees. I wanted to be somewhere else, but I did not know where. I felt like an old man. I wasn't sure if I even cared anymore. I could now make up my own mind, but I had been so stressed and so compromised that I really had to first decide if I even wanted to make a decision. The jail door was finally open, and all I felt like doing was rolling off the bunk and dropping to the floor.

Bible. God. Churches. Truth. Error. Good. Evil. Independence. Pleasure. Selfishness. Service. It all bubbled and boiled around in my mind like a storm brewing on the horizon and gradually covering the whole landscape with its muddy shadows. I became engulfed in my memories, but nothing was clear. Thoughts filled me, but I didn't seem to be thinking. I seemed to be observing. I was inside me watching what was going on inside me, but I was without purpose.

Then all the turbulent mess began to separate. Dark stuff went on one side and light stuff went on the other. It finally became clear. There was heaven or there was hell. When I die, there will be good or there will be bad. Simple.

Then I reasoned backwards and made a decision. Whichever direction I was going to go I was going to go full speed. Being stuck in the middle with confusion and doubt and weakness and fear and guilt was a living death. I was not going to be in the middle anymore. I was going to go to hell and "grab all the gusto" I could get, just like the beer commercial of the time said. Or, I was going to pay any price and make any sacrifice to go to heaven.

I thought about what my parents wanted. I thought about what "normal" people expected. I thought about what would please God. But then, at that moment, God did something that I did not fully understand or was fully aware of until much later. He backed off. He withdrew. He gave me space.

It was my decision. I was alone with my options. God applied absolutely no pressure. I was alone in the throneroom of my mind with the door shut. Yes, the Holy Spirit was there to empower me, but He was invisible and silent awaiting my command, if I even had a command to give! I felt no pull from anyone or anything. Nothing was in that moment with me except my two options and my desire.

What did I want to do? What did I, me, Ed, really want to do? I don't know if I was in that private place for moments or minutes. But I do know one thing, it was my time.

I still marvel at how we make decisions and why people choose similarly or differently. Nothing made me choose. Peer pressure was absent. My feelings didn't overwhelm and force me. Guilt from God or the devil played no role. I felt nothing pulling at my heartstrings. I didn't toss a lucky penny. I just made a decision because it was my decision to make.

I chose heaven and God because I wanted to choose Him. I have no other explanation.

I got up from that grassy hillside, walked to a pay phone, found an Adventist pastor in the phone book, and made an appointment.

"How long halt you between two opinions?" "Choose you this day whom you will serve." (1 Kings 18:21; Joshua 24:15)

The peace that commitment brings

I was put in touch with a graduate student there at SIU. Lester Morrow became my big brother. To this day, he and his wife are my dear friends and I am forever indebted to them. They gave me what I needed most.

Our weekly study sessions together were much more than doctrinal discussions of Scripture. Sitting in their apartment was like sitting in the lobby of heaven. One more door and I would be in God's throneroom itself. The atmosphere was spiritual, personal, warm, safe. At least I could see Christianity demonstrated with flesh and blood, brain and heart. I knew the theories already, but what I craved was a practical, living demonstration. I really did not know if it was possible to live a genuine Christian life in this world. In Lester I found my answer, and that answer was a clear and unequivocal, Yes.

In the next few months I soaked up the Spirit of Scripture as a parched desert begins to bloom following the spring rains. A supportive environment is far more conducive to real growth than fear, force, and regulation.

That winter there was an evangelistic series in a neighboring town and near the end of it I decided that it was time to be baptized. Lester was concerned that after that I would not want to come over anymore for Bible studies, but I immediately assured him I had no intention of quitting. Any excuse to go to his place was good enough for me.

Friday night, February 12, 1982, I was baptized. I was the first one. After coming up out of the water I went back to the dressing room to change, but first I knelt down to pray. With a sincerity and commitment I had never before experienced, I dedicated my life to Christ. I told Him I was done compromising and living only half a life. I asked for His help to keep me from compromising in the future. I wanted the past behind and only a perfect future ahead. The waters of that baptism and the power of that commitment washed me of my double-mindedness. Finally, I was at peace.

And what a peace it was! As Lester drove us home, he asked me how I felt. I had no words to fully describe it. I told him I felt really, really good. I said, "I feel like I am a son of God."

"But as many as received Him, to them gave He power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on His name: Which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God." "And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." "Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth." (John 1:12-13; Philippians 4:7; Matthew 5:5)

Finally feeling forgiven

I need to back up a little before going forward, because there are two items of background needed here.

During those years of intense research for the truth, there was something more than doctrinal truth that bothered me. A little book called, Steps to Christ, laid open my soul raw and fearful. While I had never been one of those wild and rebellious kids, nevertheless I was confronted with the sinfulness of my own heart. I realized I was not prepared to stand in the presence of God. Every night during those three and a half years I prayed that God would not let me die, because I knew I was not ready.

I knew I was not ready because I did not hear the angels sing and did not feel that floaty feeling like I was walking a foot above the floor. If I did not feel that feeling then I knew I did not have faith and therefore I was not ready to die. This was my dark secret that ate away at me the whole time.

This was brought to the forefront of my mind at the second Bible study I had with Lester. At the conclusion of that study, he said that he was not sure what to teach me next because He had already quizzed me on all the major doctrines. So therefore he had a special question for me. He asked, Ed, if you were to die tonight would you end up in heaven or hell?

To ask that question of me was no different than hitting me in the head with a baseball bat. I reeled. I was shocked. I was also angry. Years of frustration welled up within me and threatened to explode. I replied, I don't know, and then left to complete my "homework assignment." I was to have an answer the next time we met.

I walked back to the center of campus with a load of bricks on my shoulders. My mind was racing 90mph in many directions at once as the weight of memories came flooding in and the old frustrations returned. What was I to do? How could I answer it? This was the answer I sought above all others for so long and I thought he could answer it for me. Instead, he put it back on me.

There was a small grove of trees and I knelt there for a while, but found no comfort and certainly no answers. I was really hungry, so I decided to go into the student center and get something to eat. As I idly perused the student paper the question faintly occurred to me, Maybe God has already forgiven me? I thought, hmmm, that's kind of nice, but doesn't seem realistic. I brushed it aside and returned to reading the newspaper.

A month or two later, while up on the sixth floor of the library overlooking the town and all the trees, my mind was carried away and memories began to return. Then it gripped hard and fast. When would I feel forgiven? When would God assure me that He loved me? When would I be right and right with Him and all this doubt and frustration be over? I don't remember exactly how that situation resolved itself, but it was not positive. The old stresses stayed in their place of permanent residence.

All this happened before I was baptized, but the third and final confrontation came about a month after my baptism.

It was a warm Saturday night in March and I was reading on the couch. My brother was gone and everything was quiet. Suddenly, more than any of the other times, the sense of distance and disconnect from God welled up within me. I did not have that feeling of forgiveness that I was looking for. I was not at all sure that God loved me and claimed me as His own.

I slammed my book shut and made a decision. I was going to leave the trailer, find a quiet spot to pray, and not come back until this issue was settled once and for all.

There was a set of abandoned railroad tracks behind the trailer park and I took off down them. I did not know how far I needed to go but I would go far enough. After a while, I saw a cemetery off to the left. Perfect, I thought, no one will bother me. The back half was still an empty field and I went there and collapsed.

I prayed and I cried. I walked around and I yelled. I knelt down and prayed some more. I sat quiet among the tombstones and monuments wondering how long it would take for God to answer me. I don't know how many of those cycles I went through. I was there for hours. Years of frustration and discouragement vented themselves through my mouth and through my heart.

It was about 2:00 in the morning and still I did not feel anything different. I know I was discouraged and tempted to leave, because I found myself walking near the corner from which I entered. Yet, I did not want to leave a failure. I felt that if I failed here I would probably give it all up once and for all.

With that whole mess tumbling around in my mind I kept walking in circles. Watching. Waiting. Wondering.

That is when God "appeared" to me for the second time in my life. Similar to the experience in the library, I did not see or hear anyone, but I sensed Jesus walking with me at my right side as if I was walking with any person alive today. My head jerked in that direction because the sensation was so strong. At the same time a Scripture lit up in my brain. "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do." And then Jesus simply said, Ed, I forgave you 2000 years ago. Then that was it. He was gone, but not entirely.

I was dumbfounded. All this time Christ had been with me? I was already forgiven even before I asked? even before I was born?! It seemed so simple, too simple, but it was the truth. I was not one to argue with truth. Instead, I accepted it, immediately.

Everything now became plain as day. I wondered why I had not seen it before. I was stunned, but I was happy! The problem was solved! God had been my helper and forgiver through all those painful years, even though I was too blind to see it. I was waiting for a feeling, but what I really needed to do was accept the facts. And the facts were that God was my Savior from before the beginning, and though the feeling that He was physically at my side was gone, yet I knew that He was with me, "even unto the end of the world." God was always here. It was me who had been looking far and wide, high and low, anywhere but here and near.

To say that a burden had been lifted off my shoulders was an understatement. I was now incredibly happy. I felt like I could jump to the top of the trees. I began singing. I stayed out another hour at a nearby creek because I was so thankful and way too energetic to go back home. I staggered into that cemetery a dead man, but I bounced out of there with all the energy and peace of eternal life.

That lesson is one I have never forgotten. I have sinned many times, but I know now to go to God in repentance and confession and then thank Him for His forgiveness. Sometimes a good feeling comes right away and sometimes I have to go to Him more than once. But I never worry about the feeling anymore. I thank Jesus, trust Him, and then go forward and obey Him.

"Say not in your heart, Who shall ascend into heaven? (that is, to bring Christ down from above:) Or, Who shall descend into the deep? (that is, to bring up Christ again from the dead.) But what says it? The word is near you, even in your mouth, and in your heart: that is, the word of faith, which we preach; That if you shall confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus, and shall believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you shalt be saved." "Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled." (Romans 10:6-9; Matthew 5:6)

From father to Father

"Take heed lest there shall be any one that makes spoil of you through his philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ." "Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ has made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage." (Colossians 2:8, ASV; Galatians 5:1)

Our honest, sincere, but non-Bible-believing parents can pull on our heart strings and make life difficult for us. They are visible and close to us. We have known them from birth and they have raised us. In spite of their mistakes, and in some cases their abuse, we still feel indebted to them. We are fearful of leaving the familiar nest to face the big unknown on our own.

Yet, they are not God. They are not our Savior. With or without them, we must grow up and go up into Christ. To Him alone do we owe our heart's allegiance.

"Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right. Honor your father and mother; which is the first commandment with promise; that it may be well with you, and you may live long on the earth. And, you fathers, provoke not your children to wrath: but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." (Ephesians 6:1-4)

When parents ask us to do something outside of God's will, then we should respectfully disobey. To obey them and disobey God will only enable and empower them further in a course of wrongdoing and a false sense of power over us. The eternally best thing we can ever do for anyone is to follow Jesus just when and where He leads us. The Holy Spirit works on our parents just as He works on us. We can trust Him to do a better job than we can do.

This lesson I wish I understood when my dad through the Bible on the floor and stomped on it. He declared it was no more inspired than one of his own books or of any other author. I should have detected that his anger was not inspired by the Spirit, but I was too fearful. In my heart I knew that he could not be right, but I was too afraid to admit just how wrong he was. After all, he was my father. But a couple years after my baptism I was brought face to face with his true character.

At my mom's request, my wife-to-be and I stopped at the phone booth in town and called my dad. He answered and I greeted him and said that mom asked me to call. Immediately he launched into one of his usual tirades. I was expecting that, that is why I could see no wisdom in my mother's request, but she thought somehow it would be good if I called. Simply for her sake, I called.

This phone call, however, turned much worse than normal. Usually, after several minutes he would calm down, we would exchange trivial news, then we would say goodbye. Not this time. He went on and on and on. During the course of an hour long phone call, Rhonda and I sat in the booth with the phone pointed upward between our ears so we could both hear. It was not hard. I shut the door because he was so loud.

Sometimes he would pause to catch his breath and then ask into the silence, Eddie (he always called me by my boyhood name to remind me of my "immaturity and disobedience"), are you still there? I would reply, Yes Dad. Then he would take off again. I am not exaggerating when I say I talked less than 3 minutes during that whole hour. It was non-stop anger, shouting, commanding, and ordering, but it was at a level I had never seen before. After a while, I questioned within myself, Is this what demon possession looks like?

An hour later he paused again and took my opportunity. I told I really needed to be going because it was late afternoon and I had a six hour drive in front of me. Then, in a calm voice he said he loved me and we said goodbye and hung up the phone.

Rhonda and I looked at each other and I don't remember saying much. We got in the car and headed south out of town. We were not more than a minute or two on the highway when it hit me. I looked at Rhonda and said it and felt it all in the same instant. "He's not my father."

It just happened. There was an involuntary snap inside me. I guess reality overpowered my fears and even my hopes that somehow he would get better and admit his mistakes. The break was as complete as it was sudden. "He's not my father."

But it did not end there. In the next instant. My fear of my dad was replaced by pity for him. My big dad had just revealed himself as being very small and I did not try to argue with it. I accepted it for the reality it was. I just very sincerely pitied him for small, angry life.

And in the next instant my mind's eye was drawn upward and I sensed God on His throne. "You are my Father!" In three moments of time I was unbonded from my biological father and bonded to my heavenly Father.

* * * * *

I still have respect and gratitude for the good things my biological father did for me in all those years of raising me. Of course, I put them in a different perspective now than I did then. What is different is that I am no longer a slave to his every whim and wish. Obedience and trust in my Father trumps obedience and trust in my father every time.

In all the years of raising my two girls to young adulthood, I never once asked myself, What would my dad do? How did my mom do it? What did dad say to me in this or that type of situation? After the "great snap" they ceased to be a point of reference for me. The only question I asked and the only answers I sought were my Father's examples in Holy Scripture. There is no one else, there is nothing else I can trust with perfect assurance. This has simplified my life and I have no regrets, no bitterness, no dark emptiness. Jesus is my Elder Brother and my Father.

Having said that, Let me complete it by saying that it is nice to have godly parents. It makes for a sense of earthly completeness and they can help us younger ones to the right way sooner. It also makes for a more fulfilling experience for the grandkids. In their efforts to keep my away from their home, my parents don't know their only grandkids. I just think that is very sad.

About 15 years later I was able to get together with my brothers for the first time. They told me the stories of what happened after I left home. To say that things went from bad to worse would be putting it mildly. They told me of their trips to the counsellors and psychologists as they tried to put things in perspective and learn to forgive their parents. As I listened, I became more and more thankful that I was kicked out.

"When my father and my mother forsake me, then the LORD will take me up." (Psalms 27:10)