Brothers, I want to share something deeply personal—not just a story, but a journey. A journey that began with denial, wandered through doubt and pain, and led me to a peace I never thought I’d find.
A few months ago at Bible study, we were all laughing about me running two miles in -24 degrees. One of you even joked I could use your treadmill—if I could clear off the laundry first. We all laughed, but the truth is, the real miracle wasn’t the cold or the run. The miracle was that I was even sitting there in that room with you.
To explain that, I need to take you back a few years.
Denial
In February of 2015, I sat in a doctor’s office and heard words I never expected: “It’s cancer,” The Urologist explained, “Prostate cancer.”
You’d think I would’ve been scared—but I wasn’t. I wasn’t even angry. The truth is, I felt… nothing.
At that point in my life, I had become more agnostic than anything. I had been struggling with faith for a long time—especially after watching so many good people suffer. One of them was my mother-in-law, a woman of unwavering faith. She had a stroke and spent fourteen years in a wheelchair, needing constant care. She died alone in the spring of 2020 due to COVID restrictions.
But even deeper than my doubt was something more familiar—anger. Anger had become my go-to emotion. It was always simmering just beneath the surface. I wore it like armor. It helped me feel in control. It helped me keep people, and maybe even God, at arm’s length.
So when I got that diagnosis, I didn’t turn to God. I didn’t ask “why me.” I just shrugged.
If This is it? So be it.
Confusion
My wife, however, had a very different response. She dropped to her knees and began praying. She called on her prayer circle. She believed.
The cancer was removed, and five years later, I was declared cancer-free. Everyone around me saw a miracle. But I saw a skilled surgeon.
A few years later, I got a call from a lifelong friend—more like a brother. He told me he had stage 4 liver cancer. The doctors said he had days to live. This was likely our last conversation.
How do you say goodbye to someone you’ve known since you were nineteen? I told him I loved him. We joked about how we had left nothing unsaid. But in the end, words failed us. We could barely say goodbye, choking back tears.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. By Monday, I hadn’t heard anything. I assumed the worst. On Wednesday, his son called. He had survived—but just barely. His kidneys were failing. His body was shutting down.
I didn’t understand any of it. Why had I lived? Why was he dying? What was I supposed to do with that?
I couldn’t make sense of it.
That’s when confusion met conviction.
I dropped to my knees and prayed a desperate prayer:
“God, if You miraculously heal my friend, I’ll do whatever You ask of me.”
A week after what I thought was our final goodbye, my phone rang. It was him.
His kidneys had started working. He was alive. Over the next month He gained enough strength to go home. He retired early, and fought to survive long enough to make his son’s Wedding in October. As I speak today, he not only made the wedding, he’s held two granddaughters from that union. I recently learned he returned to work as a deputy sheriff.
God Answered My Doubt with a Call
Almost two years later, as my friend’s health improved, something kept pulling at me. I finally asked the question I’d been avoiding:
“God… did You heal him? And if You did, what do You want from me?”
The answer came immediately. A voice—clear and unmistakable—spoke in my mind:
“Serve Me. Be My messenger.”
I turned my head, expecting someone to be standing there. But I was alone.
I didn’t hear thunder or see angels and I sure didn’t feel worthy. I questioned whether I’d imagined it. I told God He had the wrong guy. I was the last person who could be a messenger for Jesus.
But God didn’t need my qualifications. He wanted my obedience.
From that moment on, things started to change. I started praying daily hoping to get a handle on what had happened.
Sometimes during prayer, I’d feel this deep sense that someone, somewhere, needed to hear from God. Friends, acquaintances, even strangers. I’d wrestle with it—What if I’m wrong? What if they think I’m nuts? But the prompting wouldn’t go away.
And when I did reach out, the responses floored me: tears, amazement, even people saying I’d spoken the very words they needed in that exact moment.
I began running again—just a simple two-mile loop I’d walked since my surgery. At first, I could only jog up the hills. But within weeks, I was running the whole route.
My knees had been bad since my Air Force days. When the pain returned, I prayed:
“Jesus, if You want me to keep running, take this pain away.”
The next morning, the pain was gone. A month later, at age 65, I ran my first 5K.
One morning, I ran past a neighbor smoking a cigarette in his driveway. I thought to myself, That man’s had a hard life. Then I heard:
“He does not know Me.”
God’s Voice in a Storm
Another day, a storm rolled in as I was finishing a run. The wind came like a wall. Branches were crashing down all around me. I raised my hands to shield myself.
Then I heard it:
“Run!”
And I did—faster than I ever had. I felt a push from behind. Moments later, I reached safety. I looked back and saw a huge tree had fallen right where I’d been. Had I hesitated, I wouldn’t be here.
And then came the call to build a cross.
I didn’t understand why, especially since I live in a remote area. But I heard it again and again:
“Be the example. Be ready when they come.”
So I built a full-sized wooden cross and placed it in my yard. It was so big and heavy I had to enlist my brother-in-law to help me mount it. At night, it’s lit up. Visible. Present.
Even if no one sees it, it’s there—because God said to do it.
God’s Presence in My Grief
On October 17, 2024, I had to put down my dog Reagan. Fifteen years together—it was heartbreaking. As I buried him, my wife and I wept. I prayed for comfort.
And I felt it. Jesus wrapped His presence around me like a warm embrace.
The next day, still grieving, I heard Him say, “Sit with Me.” I sat on the front balcony I hadn’t used all summer. Just then, a Google Maps car drove by. In the middle of nowhere.
Later, I looked up my address on Street View—and there I was: sitting with Jesus, beside the cross I had built.
Baptized and Born Again
Not long after, I knew I needed to be baptized again. Not because of tradition, but because I finally understood what Jesus told Nicodemus in John 3: “Unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God.”
The old man in me had to die.
So I traveled to Mississippi to be baptized by my Uncle Tim, the pastor who married my wife and I. He used water from the Jordan River, and with his fingers on my forehead, he prayed. The Holy Spirit filled my heart. And I’ve never been the same.
Clarity of Purpose
It took time, but the fog started to lift.
I realized it wasn’t about me. It was about God using me.
I’m not special because I have the Holy Spirit.
I’m accountable because I do.
This isn’t a burden. It’s a blessing.
I don’t have to do anything.
I get to.
God gave me a purpose—not to build a platform, but to carry a message.
Not to impress, but to be available.
He doesn’t call the qualified.
He qualifies the called.
Peace
And finally—peace.
For most of my adult life, I didn’t know what peace even looked like. Anger had been my fallback emotion. My reflex. My companion. I didn’t even realize how much of my life had been lived under its shadow.
But today, I walk in peace.
It came through grief—like when I buried Reagan and sat alone on my balcony, only to hear Jesus whisper: “Sit with Me.”
It came through obedience—like when I looked up my home on Google Street View and saw myself sitting beside the cross I had built.
It came through surrender—like when I finally let go of needing answers and started trusting the One who is the Answer.
So brothers, if you’ve ever doubted, if you’ve ever carried anger, or wondered if God still pursues people like us—let me assure you:
He does.
I wasn’t looking for Him.
But He never stopped looking for me.
And He’s looking for you too.
Be ready.
Be open.
And when He calls—answer.
