- Alcohol
- Drugs
- Faith
I was angry as far back as I can remember. Our father left when I was only two years old and my sister was four. That is when I earned the title of man of the house. I remember feeling afraid, alone and somewhat marred as a small boy and I was embarrassed that I had no dad. In time, I found myself in the company of other boys from single parent homes and began drinking and smoking dope by the time I was twelve years old. A charismatic personality and good looks helped my popularity and caused the girls to like me. Fighting, drinking, and using gave me notoriety and respect with the guys. Dyslexia already presented serious obstacles for me at school, but fighting took my educational difficulties to another level. Any day the school did not call my house to report a fight, my family considered it a good day.
Eventually, my junior high principal, Mr. Ship, suggested I be put on voluntary probation which gave my mother a backup system and provided male role models. These men took me under their wings and in a short time, my fighting earned even their respect because I never lost a fight. At least these men knew me by name and realized I was good at something men value and they seemed to like me. One of them helped me get involved in boxing in an honest effort to help me capitalize on my strength.
My first assault charges caused the court to order me into the probation system and at least nine more followed in which someone was truly injured. Numerous times we were required to pay restitution for broken teeth, bones, etc. On one of those occasions my mom and I were waiting to go into a restitution hearing at JDC when we noticed not only the victim and his mother enter the room, but also a dad. I saw my mother’s countenance drop because she was not only outnumbered but outranked. All I could think of at the time was to try to make her laugh so I told her, “hey don’t worry about it, we have a membership here!” She did laugh and we stepped up to take care of business as best we could and that one line joke became a regular saying in my family.
With the last injured party being taken from high school in an ambulance, I was forced to leave school permanently. Once I was in the system, there seemed to be a never-ending cycle of cops, handcuffs, probation officers and restitution. Alcohol and recreational drugs accelerated my journey down the wrong path. At seventeen, I entered adult probation and was in the juvenile/adult system for a total of ten years.
My second DWI earned me a jail stay in Longview, Texas; a fight in general population further landed me in solitary confident for 31 of my 45 days of incarceration. I was living in a cold 10 x 7 cell where lights stayed on 24/7– day and night could only be determined by the rotation of chow. At times, the roar of voices from outside my cinder block/steel walls was grating. At other times, there was piercing, unnerving silence that magnified the steps of guards, the opening and closing of metal doors/bars and the slamming of locks. Then there were the haunting cries of grown men weeping as the hounds of hell tormented during the wee hours of the night.
Oppressive spirits seemed to smother and mock me, ravaging my memory and scratching at my soul. Inmates are issued faded, torn black and whites, a short wool blanket and a Bible. The book of psalms came alive in what seemed to be the end of my miserable existence. Scriptures and old hymns committed to memory from childhood would ring aloud in my soul. Songs like Amazing Grace, Leaning on the Everlasting Arms, etc. took on new meaning in the hell that had become my reality. Making up my mind to encourage myself in the Lord, I read, I prayed, I sang aloud and I wrote graffiti on the freshly painted cinder block walls from those scriptures and songs so I could see them and maybe some unlucky chump might come in there after I left and find hope and faith.
I am here to tell you my friend, if you make your bed in hell, God will be with you! If you are isolated or going through what seems to be a never-ending cycle of hell on earth, my God will bring you out or He will bring you through! I am thankful for a praying mother that took us to church every time the church doors were open.
I didn’t realize at the time but this is what saved my life many times. There comes a point in every man’s life that he has to choose whom he will serve. We can no longer lean on momma’s or grandma’s prayers; we have to reach out and have a relationship of our own. God is waiting on us… we are not waiting on Him!
I still had my ups and downs. To tell the truth, I was up and down like a kid on a seesaw for a great many years: in church and out of church, in and out of the bars, in and out of jail. Each and every time I would get back to church, repent and try to turn my life around, my life would get exceptionally better. It is amazing what a sober man can accomplish.
By the grace of God, I managed to get my GED the same year my classmates graduated high school. But every time I went back to drugs/alcohol, my life would go to the dogs. This cycle repeated itself countless times over the next dozen years or more, with a greater dependency on about every drug imaginable. With a thousand times down and a thousand and one times back up, a man can still win. During some of my clean living, I enrolled in junior college and was required to take developmental classes which brought what I lacked in high school up to par. With pure grit and determination, I have now earned over 100 college credits and hope to return to college in the fall to complete 10 more classes and earn a BA in History with a minor in Psychology.
By the mercy of God, I am clean and go to church, attend AA/NA meetings and have a rapport with my natural father. It is amazing what God has forgiven me of and what He is doing with my life. I have learned that our greatest glory is not found in “never falling” but in rising every time we fall.