Rob’s Story

Just a quick note:  I am a United States Marine Corps veteran and recovery chaplain who has victory over post-traumatic stress disorder as well as addiction and other mental health issues. As I have progressed through my recovery, my memory is slowly getting clearer in many ways, and I would like to share this updated testimony.

I’m a grateful follower of Jesus Christ and my name is Rob, although folks call me “Chap” (short for “chaplain”).  My struggle, as you’ll soon find out, is complicated. But in Christ, there is victory.  I was born in 1957 to my parents Rich and Kathryn in Illinois. I am the youngest of seven children. My dad Rich was a man of many talents. One of them was auto body repair. He owned and operated a body shop in our town for over 30 years. My mom Kathryn was both a housewife and the shop secretary. The shop and house were on the same property. One of my earliest recollections is of my dad opening the kitchen door from time to time, popping his head in and asking for Kathryn join him for a minute. That always meant that there was an estimate to write.

My dad worked hard from early morning until late at night. I remember him coming in the house in the evening and saying it was bed time. My sisters and my brother would head off. I, not being in school yet, would sometimes be allowed to stay up and lay in front of the television with my dad’s arm around me and watch episodes of Maverick or Lawman, whichever western show was on at the time.  It seemed like life was ideal. But there was family dysfunction as well.

My father began a lifelong struggle with alcohol. This led to many arguments, which at times brought pastor visits. In turn, dad would swear off drinking. Sadly, those works would only become broken promises. The alcohol, I believe, covered a lifetime of pain that he had no idea how to heal from. This also masked his deep love for his family. My mother became the model of a co-dependent, ever-protective, ever-loving and self-sacrificing wife.  She was the model Christian that all of us, her children, would yearn to emulate. And we did, as all of us became Christians.

Now that you have an idea of my background, let me share my journey with you.  Growing up as the youngest, I honestly will confess that I was spoiled. I got things that the others didn’t. I can’t say I was completely sheltered because I was witness to teen marriage, unwed mothers and unfit mothers, in addition to my dad’s alcoholism and the related baggage. I think the bleak side of reality set in when I was in first grade and JFK was assassinated. There was too often a back story unfolding as I progressed through childhood. But mom and dad, with all their faults, did show me that I was loved. I wasn’t a good student but I was not too often in trouble. I tended to be more sensitive than most kids. I was a shy kid, especially in junior high. I was afraid to talk to girls and felt that I didn’t belong.

Whether dad was drinking or sober, he could be verbally abusive. He called us names and put us down a lot. I had some Christian influence from regular church and Sunday school attendance, as well as family and a few older friends. On a weekend the late fall of 1971, our church had a “lay witness mission.” This was an event in which young people and adults came from churches throughout the surrounding states and witnessed to various age groups. It began with the standard spaghetti dinner and then broke off into different age groups afterward. The weekend’s festivities ended with an altar call on Sunday night. I, along with a few other kids, took Jesus as my savior that night. That was my freshman year of high school. I would love to say that everything was rosy after that but I’d be lying. You see, I had thought that being a Christian meant molding myself into a squeaky clean cookie cutter image of Jesus. If I did or said the wrong thing, I would be a failure and unworthy of being a Christian. I had no idea what grace is. I think legalism and hypocrisy confused me in my childhood and my early walk with Christ because shame abounded. We weren’t allowed to mention dad’s drinking in front of people in the church. One of the things my mother told me was, “If you even look at a girl with the wrong intentions, it’s a sin.”

In my sophomore year, things began to change. A few kids who I’d convinced to attend Campus Life (Youth for Christ) meetings told me about a bowling league that they were involved in. I joined and soon I confronted my shyness for the first and only time. I had my first intensely serious relationship, which lasted a week. I found that I had this extreme need for acceptance, especially from girls. I jumped into another relationship. It lasted a month. It was made evident to me by the girl I had fallen for that my idiosyncrasies were just plain abnormal. I didn’t know what they were but I knew she had to be right because she said so and she was a goddess on my pedestal.

To backtrack just a bit, my friend Bob lived with his dad, who was a widower. His father would go out for the night on weekends, and Bob would have parties at his house with beer. I would have maybe one or two beers. I wasn’t big on drinking at that time. Little by little, however, I strayed more and more from my faith. My idea of faith was too constraining. By the end of summer 1973, I was well into my romance with alcohol. It was a feeling that I never experienced before. And, wow, I wasn’t shy when I was inebriated. How could this have been so wrong? This was a tool that tweaked my personality to a point that made me functionally uninhibited.

That summer while at a park district teen dance, I connected with a girl who I was slightly acquainted with.  She was very drunk, and I watched over her that night and made sure she made it home, but not before a make out session. Romance was once again in the air. It was during this relationship that I was introduced to marijuana. I soon help found my garage band, Mannequin Glow.  It’s funny that when you change lifestyle, you trade playmates and playgrounds. Weed became part of my daily routine. It was also during that same time in 1974 that my 23 year old sister Cherie suddenly died, leaving a husband and two little kids. I believe that this event hastened my downward spiral.

Soon, I began taking the occasional mescaline or LSD trip. By the summer of 1974, I was smoking weed, dropping acid, doing downers huffing and snorting whatever came along, including PCP. I drank more heavily as well. I ran away from home a couple times, stole a car and had trouble with the police on a few occasions. I was doing things very differently from when I was a quiet Christian boy just a year earlier.

Then, while at a girl’s house for a makeshift party, I got beaten and robbed by some guys there. Something told me that my lifestyle had to change. The next day, after giving some thought to a pamphlet I received from the United States Marine Corps, I came home and asked my dad to bring me to the recruiter the following morning.  My folks signed the papers a few days later, and I had a month before reporting for duty. In that month, I buried what was left of any semblance of good in my reputation.

In December of 1974, I reported for duty at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in Parris Island, SC for boot camp. You may not believe this but the corps was a rude awakening for me. Too many drugs and no exercise had left me a marshmallow.  I failed the initial physical fitness test and was sent to the physical conditioning platoon (PCP). My three month boot camp cycle had been extended.  I spent two months in PCP, including a week in the dispensary with severe bronchitis. I prayed every day that God would give me the strength to make it to graduation. I promised to never again drink or drug.

In May of 1975, I had officially earned the title United States Marine.  I was so proud. My daily prayers had been answered. I was part of the world’s finest fighting force. I was drug-free too. My dad and mom were as proud as I was and attended my graduation. I came home to a fanfare that I couldn’t believe.  I went with some friends to my favorite haunt, Burger King. Within minutes, we were sitting in the alley and passing a joint around. Drug-free no more! I returned to drinking and smoked pot regularly. Drugs were even easier to get a hold of in the service. After graduating from the Naval Air Station in Memphis, TN, I reported to the Marine Corps Air Station in El Toro, CA.  At El Toro, trainees were assigned their military occupational specialty. Three of us were sent to the Naval Air Station at Whidbey Island, WA. Once there, my buddies and I were busted for weed. I was back in a downward spiral.

I met a woman who was older than me. She was what’s known as a “WESPAC widow,” a navy wife whose husband is serving in the Western Pacific. These women often frequented the enlisted club to attract young service members, who quite often accept their advances. I was one of them. She told me she wanted to marry me. That was it! If I only had a woman in my life, I thought my waywardness would be history. The fact that I had gotten her pregnant made marriage not only a good idea, but my moral duty. The courtship was tumultuous at best. We’d fight over the phone, and I would take off up to Washington to make peace. By May, she divorced her husband and came down to California where we were married. In that same space in time, news of my roommates and my detainment made it down to our command at El Toro and the commanding officer wanted our hides.  Can I work a deal? I was already awaiting court martial for desertion when I was called into the C.O.’s office. He told me that he would throw out the court martial and give me a lower form of punishment if I agreed to testify against the other two Marines involved.  With a new wife and a baby on the way, I felt I had no choice but to agree. I was given a suspended sentence.  The suspension was vacated when I missed roll call a couple times.

Since they were sick of me at my unit in California, they transferred me to the Marine Corps Air Station in Cherry Point, NC. I got into trouble there too. I skipped a couple days of work, and my new C.O. had me court martialed.  The “convening authority,” or judge, had compassion on me, and I was given three weeks of extra-military instruction. By the way, my son Rob, Jr. was born in September of 1976.  I soon turned around 180 degrees. I got promoted and then I got certified to sign-off work done on the airplanes. I got promoted again meritoriously.  My squadron went overseas in 1978. I extended my enlistment for six months so I would be able to go along. During this time, though, I continued to smoke marijuana, drink and drug. As a sex addict, I was an unfaithful husband as well. In May of 1979, the squadron returned to Cherry Point. I had made it to the rank of corporal by then and in August of 1979 I reenlisted for the first time and was promoted to sergeant. My mom, dad, wife and three-year-old son watched proudly.  I spent the next couple of years at Cherry Point.  My daughter Riana was born in September of 1980.

Although I had outwardly cleaned myself up, I still drugged and drank constantly.  I went overseas again in 1981 and my extreme drinking behavior made me the leader of the pack. Upon returning in 1982, I got legally separated from my wife (unfaithfulness sometimes goes both ways). With custody of my children, I reenlisted for my third hitch. I transferred in January of 1983. This time, I was heading back to Whidbey Island to teach. My wife suddenly wanted to make up and work on our marriage. Surprisingly, I was selected to be a staff sergeant my first time up. I was promoted in June.  But y wife had a gambling problem, and I still had a roving eye. We divorced in 1984 and my spiral restarted. I became known as a wild womanizer, when actually I was afraid of being old and alone at the ripe old age of 27.  I got arrested for drunk driving. Ironically, I had eased up on taking illegal drugs due to the military’s more stringent drug policy which began in 1982. I lost my license for a year and my ex-wife signed over custody of our two kids to me.

At this point, the military required that I be screened for alcoholism.  My boss suggested I get honest during the interview. I did and was recommended for level two (outpatient) drug and alcohol treatment. I got completely sober for the first time in my life. I attended group support meetings regularly but remained a relationship addict. I got with every girl who would have me. One relationship included the young lady getting pregnant. I proposed and she accepted. Then within days, she broke up with me. She introduced me to my son Josh when he was 10 days old. That would be the last time I would see him for 21 years because his mom vowed to keep him away from me.

I married a girl who I met at a recovery support meeting. A terrible marriage from the start, we fought constantly. We transferred back to Cherry Point.  The marriage lasted just over two years.  After realizing I needed to once again come clean with my folks, I called them from the Philippines and reported what happened.  My older children were brought to Illinois to live with my family.  While in the Philippines, I met another girl, got her pregnant and intended to bring her to Cherry Point and marry her. But over time, I became fearful that she would get to the states and promptly start carousing as many of my friends’ foreign wives and my first wife did. I then hooked up with a friend of my niece. After she came to visit, we got engaged immediately and were married within two months. We had three children together between 1989 and 1992. During this time, I began a roller coaster ride of drinking, spending and returning to God, hoping for a miracle to get me out of financial straits. I received an honorable discharge in 1992. Coming back home to the Chicago area was harder than I had anticipated.  I had started drinking heavier than ever. I got into fights with my in-laws, neighbors and whoever else was around.  I got even angrier. I was urged to go back to support meetings. Money was scarce. My wife and I fought almost all the time. The reasons were both from influences within as well as outside of the marriage and seemed endless.  I resolved that I was cursed to pay for all my misdeeds and bad decisions by serving the rest of my life in everlasting misery.

I was hired by the U.S. Postal Service in July of 1997. In November of that year, a VA disability claim that I had submitted some years earlier came back approved at 50% service connected. I tried sobriety again in 1998. One day at the post office, I met a nice lady named Cheryl. She was easy to talk to. She listened to me and I to her. She’d been in a bad marriage and she and her husband soon divorced. She and I became buddies. I felt drawn to her, yet I wanted my marriage to survive. Admittedly, the closeness between us evolved and I left my marriage. After my divorce was final, Cheryl and I married in June of 1999. Since our nuptials, we have had some extreme ups and downs. I felt a lot of guilt, shame and cowardice because of my actions. I fell deeper into depression and found temporary solace in alcohol.  I put on the jerk suit once again and became an obnoxious fool. Then on Halloween night of 2004, I was acting so mean and out of hand that Cheryl threatened to call an ambulance to take me away. I thought she wouldn’t follow through, but she did. I darted out of the house, ran across the street and hid under a wooden porch. At that time, it occurred to me that I was 46 years old and hiding like a naughty little boy who was trying to escape a spanking. I stopped drinking immediately and I’m still sober today.

We survived the raising of our children and we both returned to Christ in the summer of 2006 when a marine buddy of mine named Larry invited me to participate in a posting of colors at his new church. Cheryl had accompanied me to take pictures and, after meeting some people, told me that she knew we had found a church. There I met a man named Al, who served as chaplain with the Palos Heights Police Department. I had just been elected as state chaplain with the Marine Corps League, a veterans’ group that I belong to, and decided that the chaplaincy was my calling. I pursued the steps toward ordination and in 2008 it came to fruition. We continued at Larry’s church. Al encouraged me to expand the chaplaincy into the community of Oak Forest and the Oak Forest Police Department. Today I serve as a chaplain at our Oak Forest campus. I have been asked to put together a curriculum to raise more chaplains throughout the church’s various locations.

I am now 100% service-connected by the VA. My depression is now known to be compounded by post-traumatic stress disorder. This has caused me to grow deeper in my dependence on God.  There are days when I function perfectly. I have other days that are not so perfect. I have dreams that terrorize me and times when it seems the world floats by me unnoticed. There are times when I experience a meltdown. It’s part of my life.  It’s not always easy. Sometimes, it’s downright hard. When it comes to hitting bottom, some holes are deeper than others. It does, however, draw me to my knees. If I may quote someone who dealt with a number of struggles, “I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go.” – Abraham Lincoln.

It also helps me realize my blessings of today. Speaking of today, I am now happily married to Cheryl, who is the girl of my dreams and my best friend. We will celebrate our 14th anniversary in June. Today, I am more than eight years sober. Recovery has showed me my absolute need for a much deeper relationship with the Lord Jesus than I ever could have imagined. I have now realized that love and relationship addictions, low self-esteem and the need to be accepted have long played a major role in my struggle. Today, I am growing in my relationship with Jesus every day. I am extremely privileged to serve with some wonderful men and women at our church. Today, I am the senior police chaplain for the Oak Forest Police Department. I now have relationships with all seven of my kids and even officiated at the wedding of my son Josh and his wife Brandi. I also dedicated both of their daughters. I am a grandfather of six (five girls and one boy).

Today, I am recovering and receiving a lot of victories, piece by piece. I am grateful to my church and most of all to the Lord Jesus Christ. I have even preached about it in front of the congregation. Because of that, I think I’ll stick around.

My chosen Bible verse for inspiration is:

“Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect.” – Romans 12:2

Thank you for your patience in letting me share my story.

God bless all of you,

“Chap”

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