He Had Something In Mind for Me... Part 1

by Thomas Miles
Published May 28, 2005

When I was seven or eight a family moved in across the street from us. The father of this rather large family was a minister. Now, he wasn't just your ordinary minister, this fellow was a Spirit filled Pentecostal. He and his family were soon to become our pastor and very good friends.

Grandma, a devout Christian woman, always taught us about God and the Bible. She told me the family moving in "was good people." Grandma always shared the love of God with us and she said this family would share God with us also. She thought we might go to their church, but we already had a church and we liked it. (We really liked it on Saturdays, 'cause Rick and I folded bulletins and got cookies and ice cream.)

Mom took us out of the Methodist Church when I was around eleven. She said we were going to the Country Mission Church.

Why, it wasn't even a church, it was an old brick schoolhouse in the country. We had to drive on gravel roads to get there. Our neighbor was the Pastor, but I wasn't going to like this church, I was sure of that.

I was wrong; I liked it almost immediately. I love to sing and they sang songs with some real upbeat melodies. They sang quite a bit also. Don't get me wrong now, I'm not saying the Methodist Church didn't sing. They sang, but not like this Pentecostal church. These folks were "exuberant" and ate dinner on the grounds after church. We called the pastor "Papa Lamb". He was very friendly and loving. He had the Holy Spirit flowing through him and he was not afraid to move in the Spirit.

Something happened to me at that church. Grandma had talked about Jesus before but not like this. I didn't quite understand what was happening to me. Papa Lamb stood up front and asked who wanted to receive Jesus as their savior. He explained a few things and all of a sudden I realized what Grandma had been saying. I realized that this Jesus was someone who would be a friend to me when I needed one, and believe me I needed one most of the time. I was not very well liked by the kids in my class at school because we were poor folks.

I received Jesus as my savior that first year at the Country Mission. During the next five years, I was baptized in water five or six times. I rededicated my life to God a number of times also. Something was still missing, 'cause that river water wasn't always warm!

During my teen years life became even more difficult for me. I was lonely and Dad was no longer home. I needed something I wasn’t quite able to grasp and so the search began. I was in and out of trouble and beer was becoming my passion. It gave me courage. Before I was 18 I had been in jail three or four times. And I had decided what I was going to do with the rest of my life. I was going to be a rock-n-roll singer! I was also going to be married and have children and make sure they always had a Dad around. Before I was 21, I was married and had two kids and had lived in Iowa, Minnesota, Texas, New Mexico, and Rhode Island. I had sung in bars, nightclubs, and on street corners. I was also divorced and alone before age 22.

Life had called me and I had run to it. With life came failures, fears, and fallacies. I struggled for years looking for something to ease my pain, ease my burden, but nothing filled the void. This is not the way life explained itself to me. I was supposed to be full of joy and happiness. I was full of pain and hurt. I believed in God, I prayed, I cried, I bowed before Him. I still struggled and hurt.

I drifted in and out of Christianity. I traveled the country singing in nightclubs. I worked odd jobs and slept under bridges and in cornfields at times. I walked with the Lord and without the Lord. I studied the Word and I walked away from the Word. I was in and out of jail. I used drugs, alcohol, and sex. Nothing seemed to fill the void. I tried everything. You name it I was into it. I was in the middle of riots. I was shot at numerous times. I was doused with tear gas in 1969 during a rally in New Haven, Connecticut. I was stabbed in a gang fight in Rhode Island. I was sprayed with gunfire in Sacramento, California during a riot between two gangs.

No serious physical harm had come to me through any of it. God had something in store for me; I just didn't want to accept it.

Finally, in 1984, tired and defeated, I sat on the steps of my mobile home with a .45 in hand fully loaded and safety off. I had lived the last 5 years in misery beyond compare. I would wake up along side the road in my car with no idea where I was. I would wake up in a field not knowing where I was. I would wake up hundreds of miles from home not knowing how I got there. So there I sat with gun in hand and tears flowing. I screamed, "Oh God, I can't do it anymore, something has got to change. God are you even listening, are you even there? Do you hear me, GOD! You have to help me. I don't know where to go or what to do. I can't go on anymore."

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