Exploring Faith and Spirituality:

Before Jesus:

	When I was barely five years old, I started to pray to God. I didn't have any traditional upbringing in the church, but I knew that God was the only one who could help me. I suffered from extreme anxiety about death and what comes after life, and I went to my father for answers. I used to tell him, "I had a scary thought, what if we die and there is nothing, and we are just gone?"

	When I say scary, I mean absolute terror. I couldn't sleep, and the pit in my stomach over this issue was the kind of feeling you get when you lose someone you really love and feel like you will never see them again. My father, understandably, didn't have a lot of guidance. What do you tell a five-year-old child who wrestles with mortality and the afterlife? His best answer was this: "You can curl up in a little ball and hide from death, or you can live your life. Either way, death will find you." I'm paraphrasing from memory, of course, but that is what stuck, and it made sense—though it did not help with the gut-wrenching fear I had over the thought.

	So, I went to the source. I made up a prayer:

"Dear God, please forgive me for all the bad things I've done. Thank you for Logan and Brandy and me and Mommy and Daddy. Please let Aaron be able to come stay the night at his house, or me be able to stay the night at his house. Please don't let anything bad happen tonight like fires or earthquakes or bad guys coming to the house. Please take away all my scary thoughts. Amen."

	As I finished that prayer, I felt the terror instantly lift from my soul, and I never felt it again. I have said a form of that prayer every night before bed since. Even when I was furthest from God, I still prayed my prayer. I have talked with Him every day, and I know, and have always known without a doubt, that God exists, He knows me, and He loves me.

What We Don't Know:

	Looking back on my childhood and young adult years, it seems strange to me now that I didn't know, or even bother to get to know, Jesus. I believed then, as I do now, that God took care of all my needs, He loved me, and I was one of His favorites. I used to tell people, "Don't worry, I am taken care of," and I meant it. I still believe it, though I boast it less. I find that in some company it comes across a little over the top. I try not to care what people think about my faith, but sometimes it's hard to justify and easier to appease. As I write this, I think maybe it's time to go back to a more boastful faith. Expect to hear me say it more.  

	What I didn't know back then was the significance of Jesus Christ. I still struggle with the concept of His sacrifice, but I know now without a doubt that He was always there, too. He and God and the Holy Spirit have this connection I can't articulate, but I see it clearly: the Holy Spirit guided a young, suffering child to Jesus; Jesus listened to his pain and suffering and carried it to God; and God, through Jesus, healed my suffering mind and left the Holy Spirit to guide me the rest of my life.

The Fall:

	Before my son was born, I was a mess. I moved out to Colorado looking for something new. I still believed in God, but I ignored Him. I got into cocaine and other drugs. I was face-down into the bottle, drinking several gallons of that hard stuff a week. I was strung out in the back of an Audi looking for a hit when my best friend called: his mother had died, and I could not be there for him. A few weeks later, I packed up and moved back to Oregon. I didn't make it for the funeral, but I knew I had narrowly escaped mine.

	Despite all my sin, I have never been without a guide, I have never been without His love, and I have never felt that pain again. I remember the day I discovered that Jesus was very real and very important. I was so far from God you could have considered me to be in hell. I had a thought which turned into spoken word. The words were so frightfully sinful that as they left my mouth, I felt a dread deeper than even the scary thought of my childhood. I cannot say the words or type them. I vowed never to utter them again and spent years in a state of repentance and grief over it. It wasn't until my baptism that the weight of what I said was truly lifted.

The Climb:

	I quit that hard stuff, but the alcohol stayed for many years. I got myself a wife, had my first son, and adopted two girls. Life was hard, but it was about to get a lot harder. My mother was stricken by a terrible illness that took her mind. My father was stricken with grief, and my first wife left me and my son high and dry with two lawn chairs and a 40-inch TV set. If ever there was one set of footprints in the sand, it was these days. The void after Amber and before Tabitha was pure survival mode. Little did I know I would only be in the belly of that fish for what now feels like three days, but then felt like a lifetime.  

The Plea:

	I got my son full-time, and eventually my daughters, too. That was all that mattered to me after the divorce, but I was down and out. I couldn't hold it together, and worst of all, my children were suffering without a mother. I broke down hard, fell to the bed sobbing, and asked with every fiber of humility in me for everything I would need to be sure I never let my children down like this again. When I say I begged, I mean you couldn't find an unhumbled hair on my broken soul. I didn't just kneel, I fell to the ground and wept—not for me, as I have never held myself in that high of regard, but for my children, and especially my three-year-old heartbroken son. I couldn't bring myself low enough.  

The Answer:

	It was maybe the next day that I met Tabitha Shepherd, now Tabitha Cherry. My reward from God for the very little good I've done with my life. My proof I'm taken care of, my proof God loves me, my proof He provides what I need, and my proof that I am one of His favorites. She became the mother my children needed, the wife and best friend I needed, my guarantee that I would never let my children down, and ultimately my path to Jesus Christ.  

The Christian Life Abides:
	
	I was baptized at the Hamby Church of Christ in July of 2018 by Coy D. Roper, grandfather of my wife and blessed teacher of God's word. Sadly, though Coy lived to marry my wife and I, he was not well enough in January of 2023 to baptize my son. My son was baptized by Jon Schwiethale, the preacher at Hamby Church and a dear friend.

	Coy died June 17th, 2023. He is dearly missed. I am proud to be the last person he baptized. I only wish we would have had more time to talk, and talked more.

	If you want to know more about my life as a Christian, follow my blogs in the "His Words" section. If you want to know more about my past life, head over to "His Old Life."