"Those who sat in darkness and
in the shadow of death, Bound in affliction and irons; {11} Because they rebelled against
the words of God, And despised the counsel of the Most High, {12} Therefore He brought
down their heart with labor; They fell down, and there was none to help. {13} Then they
cried out to the LORD in their trouble, And He saved them out of their distresses. {14} He
brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death, And broke their chains in
pieces. {15} Oh, that men would give thanks to the LORD for His goodness, And for His
wonderful works to the children of men! {16} For He has broken the gates of bronze, And
cut the bars of iron in two."(Psalm
107:10-16 NKJV)
I was born poor, dirt poor, as they say where I came from. Born in Dallas, Texas
the third son of Samuel and Christine Fisher, I didn't stay long enough to get Texas in my
blood. We moved shortly thereafter to Arkansas to live with my Grandparents. A few months
later, my Dad went on to his hometown of Checotah, Oklahoma to find us a place to live
there. When he sent for us, he didn't send the money to go by bus. Mom didn't have a car or
know how to drive, so she gathered up us boys and took off walking in the direction of
Oklahoma. Fiercely loyal, she was determined to stick with my Dad although he was a
wanderer and totally irresponsible.
Several days later we arrived in Checotah. Mom begin asking
people for directions to the
house my Dad had rented. I'll never forget that chance meeting with him as he came
Dad
was an very talented singer, songwriter and musician. He loved to hang out in the bars and
nightclubs where he was the life of the party, singing and entertaining people with his
jokes and fun-loving nature. We moved into a house in what people called "colored town," which was a poor section of mostly
blacks across the railroad tracks on the east side of the city. We had
barely settled in when Mom and Dad began fighting over his being gone all the time, his taking the food
money to buy booze and cigarettes, his womanizing, and not holding down a steady job. I can still remember her standing over the sink washing
whiskey bottles, singing as the tears flowed, "Further along we'll know all about
it. Further along we'll understand why. Cheer up my brother, walk in the sunshine. We'll
understand it all by and by." A few years later, Mom filed for divorce. She had
had enough of washing whisky bottles for Dad to sell to the bootleggers to support his
partying spirit. He moved to California and I wouldn't see him again for 23 years.
Although the divorce wasn't yet final, Dad left us before the youngest girl was born.
Mom then had six children—three boys and three girls—but no money and no job
skills. She had no car and didn't
know how to drive anyway. Most of the government agencies said we hadn't lived in Oklahoma
long enough for their assistance. So Mom found a job working in a slaughter house where they
slaughtered animals the old fashioned way. That left us kids to practically raise
ourselves.
We were as wild as unsupervised children could be. As a result, when Mom came
home from work so tired she could barely move, and we got on her nerves, she made us pay the
price. She especially took Dad's rejection and hurt out on us boys.
I eventually found a measure of peace in music. Also, it was something I could find a sense of accomplishment
in. I learned to make music by singing and playing along with the radio. My brothers and I would sing together.
I guess we inherited our musical
talents from Dad. My next to the oldest
brother and I made musical instruments. They were crude things—short pieces of
boards with a few bailing wires strung down the middle and tightened with
screws. We made melodic noises by sliding the metal handle of a case
knife up and down the strings.
In spite of Mom's frequent beatings, we still had a some good times together
during her calm moments. In fact, the
summers were really good times. Those were the good years—that is, the years before I started to school.
School turned out to be a type of hell. My brother would come home
from school after being tormented by the school kids. I did not understand his pain,
but I knew it hurt deep. He would
seclude himself in the room we three boys shared. When I started to school, I understood why they
tormented him. We walked across the field and caught the school bus at the entrance of the
city dump. That was not the way to start building peer acceptance. It was like a cold
slap in the face when I got on the bus for the first time and heard the songs they made up
about us. They called us the "trash kids." Mom didn't understand what it was
doing to us, and I do not know what she could have done about it had she known.
Consequently, we really never had a chance from day one to become accepted in the
school.
We moved into the country when I was about twelve years old. It was like being
released from a prison as far as I was concerned. I loved the country, the wild animals,
the deep woods, and just being away from the city—although the stigma of being the
"trash kids" still stuck with us at school. Yet when school was out at the end of the day, and
especially when summer came, I was able to push it all out of my mind. I played games making believe I
was a hero and every one liked me. It was all fine and good until I reached adolescence.
Then I started
noticing the girls and became self-conscious. At that point in my life I wanted to be
accepted so much that I joined various sports programs, but Mom wouldn't let me play. Even
though I made most of the teams she wouldn't pay the insurance and wouldn't let me go to
the games. My hatred for her grew stronger and stronger. I transferred all my feelings of
hatred for the people who made fun of me, rejected me, and who tormented me, to her.
"If only you would let me play sports everything would be okay," I
reasoned. I begged her to give me permission and even threatened to leave home.
However, she was
relentless in refusing me permission and whipped me for talking back to her. That made me
hate her even more and become more rebellious.
Mom's refusal to allow me to play sports caused something to break in
me. I reached the point to where I just didn't care about anything or
anyone. I hate people and did not make friends easily. One of my friends and I begin to break into houses and steal things. On one
occasion we stole some beer and wine and got so drunk we passed out in the woods. By the
time I was fourteen I was drinking heavily, taking speed, and was completely out of control
by the time I was sixteen. I spent my sixteenth and seventeenth birthdays in jail. I had
gotten on the road that I was to travel for many years as hard as I could run.
I went to school hung-over and most of the time didn't go at all. Mom
told me all the time that I was no good. Other adults treated me the same
way.
Everything was going along fine until I
After basic training and tech school, I came home on leave and
immediately went on a week-long drunk. Actually, I didn't come home at all, but came into the general
vicinity. By then, I had developed a fierce hatred for my Mom and blamed her for
everything wrong in my life. I wanted to reject her, and hurt her
like I had been rejected and hurt. I thought of ways to make her feel some pain.
Getting drunk instead of coming home was
nothing more than a spiteful decision. After days of drinking, I met a guy who introduced me to pot. We smoked pot and drank—while going from
party to party—until we ended up at a trailer house behind a gas station. It was there that
I got into a terrible fight, and had my face slashed open with a broken glass. I lost a lot
of blood and stayed in the hospital for several days. Mom never came to see me. She was
just as
stubborn about not seeing me as I was about rejecting her. Yet her not coming just made me
hate her more.
After I got out of the hospital, I decided not to go back to the Air Force.
Instead I decided to play music and party until they caught me. After six months they
hadn't caught me, and I was tired of running and hiding, so I turned myself in. I was court martialed and stripped of my rank, but
they felt sorry for me because of the slashing I took. I played it for all it was worth
realizing I had nothing else to defend my actions with.
I found out in the Air Force that I could have a good time as well. It wasn't
the same as in tech school. There was more liberty. It wasn't long before I was playing in
a band on the week ends and drinking all the beer I wanted.
I was discharged early because Mom had a heart attack during an automobile accident.
I applied for the hardship discharge for the purpose of coming home to help my Mom.
However, I never
intended to help her at all. As soon as I got out of the Air Force, I began playing in the nightclubs,
staying out all night, and doing exactly as I pleased. I formed my own band and began going around the
area playing nightclubs, staying gone for weeks at a time.
About this time, I took my first hit of acid. From that point on I
seemed to cut all ties to my family. I entered a world they knew nothing about and I
didn't want them in it. It was my world and the only people I wanted in it were
the ones I had
invited.
One of the guys in the band had been to Nashville. He decided to go back there and try to
get into a road band. He invited me to go with him
and I jumped at the chance. I didn't tell anyone where I was going—I just disappeared. When we
arrived in Nashville, I was completely enamored by the night
life. I felt alive, excited, as if anything could happen and I had it all in my
control. We
went from bar to bar listening to bands—the worst of which were far better than anything I
had ever heard. My friend immediately began asking around if anyone needed a bass player
and a guitar player. We didn't have much luck that first night and our cash was
getting low. A few days later and we were out of money. The last day we spend in the hotel, we
only had crackers
and potted meat to eat. It looked bad for us, but I was not discouraged. I didn't know how I was going to make it
into a band, but I was not going to give up until I did.
The next night we found a band leader needing a guitar player and a drummer.
Although we accepted the gig, there was one hitch—I was a bass player, not a
drummer. We were supposed to meet the guy at his house for an
audition the next night.
Although I had only played drums a few times in the past, and that was just clowning around, I hocked my bass and amp in a pawn
shop and bought a set of drums. When we arrived at the audition, it was a good thing they already had
a set of drums because I didn't even know how to set them up. The band played a slow country
song and I just hit a rim shot and kicked the bass drum on time. The
bandleader was impressed. He
said he didn't really want a fancy drummer, just one who would keep time and not do a lot
of rolls. It's a good thing he didn't ask me to do any rolls since I didn't know how to
anyway.
So we left the following night to go on a road tour covering several states ending
up in Rapid City, South Dakota. The first night of our very first stop, I played so
terrible the band leader wanted to fire me. My friend and I got up
Toward the end of the week a friend of the band leader—who was in town playing
at a state fair—came by the night
club . He was a famous recording artist and a regular
on the Grand Old Opry, a historic Nashville country music show. He kept bragging on my
drumming. He said it was hard to find a drummer that would just keep a simple, solid, beat
and not do anything fancy. The man told me that if I ever needed a job to
look him up.
After the tour was over, we went back to Nashville and were out of a job again. Yet we had some money and
experience playing with a road band. A few nights later, I ran into the famous recording artist in a
night club. He said he was looking for a drummer and wanted to know if I was available.
Of course I said "Yes." After only a month in Nashville, I was
working with a Country Music legend and playing on
the Grand Old Opry. That opened up many opportunities to get high. I entered an endless
river of drugs and alcohol that I didn't want to get out of. In fact, I didn't care if I drowned in
that river as long as I didn't have to go back to my old life of poverty and
rejection. One week,
during the D. J. Convention, I stayed up the entire week taking speed and drinking beer.
I only ate once during that week. I bought a hamburger, opened it up, crumbled some speed all over the
meat, and forced myself to eat it.
Even though a drum company had given me a
set of drums because I was playing for a major recording
artist
Along with the drunkenness and drugs came the fits of rage. I had a lot of
hatred stored up inside of me and it usually came rushing out when I got high. This
caused constant friction
between me and other band members. I was a perfectionist and everyone was cursed
when they didn't play to suit me. I kept going from group to group trying to get more in the
spotlight, trying to get in a better band. But I was not
going to be satisfied until I
was the star—until I had it all.
I decided to go to Chattanooga with my own group where I could play the bass and
be the lead singer and band leader. I figured I would stay there until the band was honed to perfection.
Then I would bring the group back to Nashville and trying
After a period of playing solo gigs, I became very discouraged that I hadn't
been "discovered." I had no band and
it looked as if I would have to go back to Nashville and work for other people. I
entered
a state of deep and dark depression and the feeling of worthlessness
and rejection returned. This
time, it brought along another feeling—a scared feeling.
I began to be tormented by the fear that I wasn't good enough to make it big. I drank more
often starting early in the day and continuing through the night until I feel
asleep in a drunken stupor. One night, I decided to commit
suicide. I put a 38 caliber stub-nosed
pistol to my head and my finger began to tighten on the trigger. I don't know
why I didn't go through with it, except maybe the thought that someone might not recognize me and I would die
unknown.
Instead, I got in my car and headed for some mountain roads. I figured I could just drive
as fast as possible around some of the mountain curves. When I lost control it would
be over. Eventually, I did lose control flipping the car and rolling it down a mountain.
Somehow I got out of it alive. About the only injuries were some deep bruises. The nightclub
owner felt sorry for me and asked me if I wanted to go to Florida and spend the winter
playing a solo gig in his other club. I said "yes" to the
possibility of sunny beaches and easy times. However, Florida wasn't the best place for me. Panama City
had a reputation as a party town for people who came from nearby states. I met many people
who were thought of as dignified individuals in their home town, but who went wild
in Panama City. I found myself back in the cycle of getting drunk every night until the
late morning hours. The
depression and fear didn't go away but got worse. I tried to commit suicide two more times by
vehicle and once I even went into a nightclub with my pistol and tried to start a fight. I
didn't care what happened to me since I believed I was a failure and a loser doomed to
die young.
Somehow, I came to my senses long
Later that week, the hometown friend I had been partying with came by and I left
with him to get high. Several days later we formed a band, and I started helping him deal
drugs. We bought pot by the kilos and speed by 50,000 lots. We even grew pot and sold it.
For the next three years I stayed high non-stop on one type of drug or the other mixed with alcohol. My friend
was into the occult, reincarnation and witchcraft. I didn't really know much about the
devil at that time or his various religions. Although I was raised in a Baptist church and
said the Lord's Prayer every night I could think of it, I didn't know anything about God
either. All I knew was that we would get high and discuss spiritual things that eventually
led to experimenting with spirits, reincarnation, and magic. I found myself involved in Ye Ching, ancient
Chinese Divinity.
There were a lot of strange things that happened during that time. One night my
friend ( I'll call Kenny) and another guy, (I'll call Gary) went to a satanic party. Kenny
said that during the time they were sharing a joint of pot with some people that were
there, things begin to rise off the floor and a very strong evil spirit came into the
room. Kenny was so terrified that he tried to pray. When he started praying all the weird
stuff just ceased. After informing him that
he had spoiled the party, the satanic leader cursed him and told him to leave
"Take your _____ friend with you when you go!" he shouted.
Kenny told me that he looked at Gary and he was sitting against a wall shaking violently.
Gary was never the same. He had a distant look in his eyes as if he were always
in a day dream. Although he would communicate with me, if the talk slowed down or stopped he
would get that look and just sit there silent. One day in a local nightclub he came up to
me and said, "You've got to help me, Cid. They are tormenting me...I need
help...I can't hold out." I told him to just go drink a glass of beer. I really
didn't know what else to tell him since at that time I didn't know what was bothering him.
I now realize that he had become demon possessed.
A few nights later at Gary's apartment we were snorting some powder( angel dust,
THC, or whatever) and drinking beer when this roaring sound began in the room. Bottles
started clinking together and a chest of drawers rose off the floor. A couple of musicians
were standing in deep conversation near the chest of drawers when it rose off the floor.
They cried out, "What's going on?" No one would say anything and they
ran out the door. One of them fell down the stairs because he was in such a hurry to
leave. I shouted "No!" and the whole thing stopped. I wasn't
scared, but just angry that something was going on that I didn't know about or how to deal
with.
It wasn't long after that I had a confrontation with a man who was after Kenny
because he owed him some drug money. I took my pistol and went to a nightclub to confront
the guy. It was a dumb move. I found out later for he was a convicted murderer and was
in fact wanted for murder at the time. He was also friends with the club owner and waitresses. They put
something in my drink when I wasn't looking and it made me groggy. I left the night club
to go to my apartment because I felt I was going to fall asleep. I did fall asleep while
driving and woke up when
my car hit a huge oak tree head on. The back of the car whipped around and hit another
tree and folded the frame right up through the floor board. I crawled out of the
car bleeding,
but glad to be alive. I had slipped so deep into the underworld of drugs, booze,
and violence, that I had almost left music behind.
I left town not long after that incident to play in a nightclub in Tulsa.
I
wanted to get back into the music scene somehow. The job in Tulsa gave me the opportunity
to get away but I couldn't leave the drugs and booze behind. In Tulsa I got
For a while I lived with a practicing witch and worked in the night club.
Sometimes I would stay high for days without food or water...just beer and drugs and
occasionally some whiskey. Occasionally, I went up to a little town in northern Oklahoma
to play from time to time on Saturday night. I met a farmer there who was having some
problems with some young
After the trouble was settled, I went back to Tulsa. I was
playing a gig in Tulsa when my old friend Kenny stopped by and asked me to go with him
to Houston, Texas. He was playing in a band there and felt I could get a job.
The word was that that
Houston was hopping. It was rivaling Nashville for the top city in country music.
I knew I had to get away from Tulsa and all the drugs, booze, violence, and
musicians that were addicts. I also wanted to get back into the music business at a higher
level, so I decided to go. Not long
after I left the West Tulsa night club a couple of guys came in with sawed off shot guns
and opened fire, killing people and critically wounding several others. Again I had missed
death ever so close.
In Houston I was able to fit in quickly. The music scene was more spread out
than Nashville, but it was hot just like I heard. Most of the musicians were into
hard liquor. I started drinking whiskey like I used to drink beer. I also used my old contacts from
Oklahoma to deal drugs on the side. Most of my nights consisted of drinking at least a
quart of scotch whisky, smoking several joints of pot, and taking a handful of speed. I
would play music for about five hours each night, then drink whisky until I passed out. Usually, I woke up around 1:00 in the afternoon, smoke several joints, drink a few
beers, and start making the rounds from bar to bar to sell speed. By the end of the day I
would be nearly drunk. I would then go home, take a shower, take several more hits of speed, and head to the
nightclub where I performed, to start the whole cycle over again.
On my day off, which was Sunday, I would really get crazy. I sometimes mixed up
some acid, mescaline, cocaine, and heroin along with some powered amphetamine, and snort
it up my nose. All day long I would drink beer and snort some of the mixture plus take
some speed. By the
nightfall I was really crazy. There was no telling what I would do for kicks. Sometimes I
would go into a bar and shout at the top of my voice, "I'll whip every S.O.B. in
here!" Other times I would rob convenience stores. I didn't take money. I would take
some wine or beer, sometimes kiss the female store clerk, and take off.
One Sunday evening, I was sitting in a nightclub I where I usually played
during the week. All my
friends had dates except me. I was alone for the first time in a long time.
For a long time, I had been
bothered about something, but I
I was sitting there trying to figure it out that Sunday night when I said just under my breath, "I wish what
ever this was would quit bothering me."
At that time I heard a voice speak. I scared me because I knew there was no one
near me. Besides, the voice appeared to be both in my head and in my ears. The voice
said, "If you want 'this' to quit bothering you, you must know that 'this' is My
Holy Spirit. You're approaching the place where I can't reach you. If you want 'this' to
quit bothering you, I'll never bother you again. All those times I kept you from dying. Yet
I won't be there when the next time comes. There will be no more chances to repent, to
turn to Me, if you want 'this' to quit bothering you."
I sat stunned! Was I drunk? Was I losing my mind? I believed that none of those
things was the case just yet. I knew somehow
that I was hearing the voice of God—the God I thought was just a
myth. I seemed to go back in my memories to the car accidents, the fights, the time I was shot
at leaving a nightclub and heard the bullet ricochet off a brick wall behind me. I thought about the
time a club owner shot at a man and someone hit his arm knocking it up into the
air. The bullets came zipping through the band like mad bumblebees. I remembered
that night when the same nightclub owner was shooting through the ceiling. What he failed to
consider was
that we were in the apartments above. We were getting high when pieces of woods started
exploding off of the floor, so we put our instruments under the bed, sat cross-legged
on top of it, and continued getting high. And God was there...protecting me...saving me? For what? He is
God, He doesn't need me.
All I can say is that I was profoundly moved by what I was hearing and feeling.
So I said, "I don't know who you are God, but if You want me You can have
me." I knew I was no good to myself or anyone else because of the condition I
was in. I had finally made it up the ladder and was almost to the top, but I
realized what it
had cost me. I couldn't quit the drugs and booze. I was self-destructing and didn't know
what to do. My soul was in deep bondage and on the course to
self-destruction. I was tormented constantly.
I did something I hadn't done in a long time...I went home early that night without
getting crazy drunk. The next day I rationalized it was all a dream or my imagination, so
I decided to get high again. I could feel the urge of my flesh and my mind, craving the
drugs, driving me to the lights to get absorbed in the excitement of the crowd, the music,
the atmosphere of raw sin. At first, I smoked some joints and drank some beer.
I began to feel a little
uneasy, wondering if I might hear that voice again. But after a few more
beers and a few hours, I was back in the flow of
that river.
I was hanging out with some guys from organized crime that I placed bets with
from time to time. I had bet on the Super Bowl and won a large sum. I took half in
cash and half in drugs. Kenny and I got into my Cadillac and drove down the Houston
freeway at a high rate of speed. We were so high that we didn't care what happened. We
would speed down the off ramps, and run the red lights. Then we would go back up the ramp on
the other side and get back on the freeway—never slowing down.
That night I overdosed for the umpteenth time. This time it was different. We had
gotten some bad drugs and I had taken more than everyone else. Although no one
else got very sick, I almost died. For almost three weeks I laid on a couch in one of my friends
apartment and went in and out of delirium. I sweated so much that I lost over thirty
pounds. I crawled to the kitchen, pulled myself up and drank water. They didn't want to
call an ambulance because they were afraid of being arrested.
I woke up one morning and the fever had left. I felt weak but I felt so good
that I couldn't believe it. It had been a long time since I had felt that good. I didn't
even want food at that point. No one was in the house so I got off the couch and took a
shower, changed into some fresh clothing. I plopped down on a bean bag and thought, "I
wonder where I could get some money and some drugs for tonight."
Then the voice spoke again. He said, "Now your mind is clear and your
body clean. Do you still want to surrender to Me?"
I was completely shocked. I hadn't had a drink or drugs in almost three weeks. I
knew I wasn't going crazy because I felt better than I ever had. I sat there for what
seemed like a long time and then I said, "Yes, God. If You still want me I will
surrender to You. Only, I don't know how to do it. I need You to show me how."
There was no answer. I sat there reflecting on what I had heard and what I said.
What was He going to do? Why didn't He answer me? I was never to hear that voice in that
way again. Yet some strange and cataclysmic things were getting ready to take place that I
will never forget.
That night my friend, Kenny—and the friend whose apartment I had been staying
in while I was sick—came in. They told me they had a gig in Lufkin, Texas and invited me
to go. Although they didn't need me they let me go along so I could get back into
the flow and
pick up some cash.
In Lufkin I had the motel room by myself. That first night I looked in the
drawers of a dresser for a Bible that I knew was in most motel rooms. I didn't
find one, so the next day I made my way to a bookstore and bought a Bible. I took it back to
the room and decided to read the end of the book first to see how it ended before I read
the whole thing. I made it to the end of the third chapter of Revelation, the scripture
that says, (Rev 3:20 KJV) Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man
hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he
with me.
It seemed as if I knew instantly what He was saying in that verse. He was trying to
get inside of me. Somehow I knew that He wanted inside of me and that I had to let Him in
just like you open a door to someone that is knocking. I don't know why I knelt down, or
why I said what I did, but I knelt by my bed and said, "I want You to come inside
of me, Lord, be my God. I give you myself and I'll do what ever You want me to do."
At that point it seemed like a huge weight just lifted off of me and I was
encased (the only way I can describe it) in a bubble of love. I couldn't believe the joy
and the peace. It was an incredible deep feeling that is so indescribable that anything I
could write here would be nothing in comparison.
The next morning the band met for breakfast and the first thing everyone noticed
was that I seemed different. One of the guys asked me, "Hey, what have you been
doing. You been holding out on us?"
I said, "It's not what you think. I believe I became a Christian last
night. I just know that I am changed somehow and it's the best thing that has ever
happened to me."
Needless to say they were completely freaked out by what I said and didn't quite
know how to approach me.
After
I started asking God what to do, how to get out of the music business, how to
get free from the life I was in. One night I had a dream. God took me to the houses and
apartments of the various people I knew and thought to be my friends. They were not happy
that I had become a Christian. Some were mocking me, others were saying they were going to
stay away from me, and one even talked about killing me to keep me quite about the drug
connection.
When I woke up, the voice talked to me again—only it seemed to be deep inside of
me. He told me that I would have to trust Him, that He would have to lead me like a
puppet. He told me that He would not again do for me what He was going to do this time.
I
seemed to know it was a special thing He was doing. I cannot not tell you how or why
I got out except to say that everything seemed to fall in place. In a rush of events, I was out of
the band, had sold my equipment, and was in my car headed toward Oklahoma. I called my Mom
the night before and told her that I had been saved and was coming home. I also told her
that I loved her for the first time in my life.
I'll never forget that night as I drove down the interstate toward home. I
remember looking back in my rearview mirror at the lights of Houston and feeling such a
great relief. I knew I was going in the right direction. I felt so free, so weightless, so
happy and secure in God. The chains of darkness are very powerful when all you
have to fight with is your own power, yet they are no match for the power of God!
There is much more to the story as you can well imagine and more that happened
after I made it into an established church. I found out that professing Christians can be
as mean and sometimes meaner than people I have met in nightclubs. One sure thing I have found...in
the twenty years since God came on the inside, I have never been sorry that I
gave my life to Him.
I could be dead and in hell...yet I'm on my way to Heaven and eternal life.
People can say they've broken old habits, come back from addictions, and etcetera, and give the
credit to their incredible will to overcome. I tell you I had no hope and was powerless to
help myself. My victory was because of God, the living God, who saved me and will save
everyone who surrenders to Him through His Son Jesus Christ. The sin I was guilty of,
and the
bondage that I had, Jesus destroyed the power of it long ago when He died in my place on a
cross. Should anyone want to be as free as I am, all they have
to do is cry out to this merciful and gracious God who alone can save them in Jesus name.
Not long after I was home my Mom got saved. I went out to California and led my
Dad to Jesus on his death bed. Can you believe it! Now they are both in Heaven having a
beautiful life together. They never remarried down here on earth but they are best friends
in heaven. No one but God can do such beautiful and wonderful things!
