My Spiritual Journey — Part 3: The Rescue

Part 3 is about how God rescued me from the pit and set my feet onto a pathway of ever-brightening light.

Apr 22, 2025

legs and feet of a person taking a step with sunlight shining through their legs — Photo by NEOM on Unsplash

The following is an adaptation of my story, Growing Up Baptist — Part 3: The Rescue, published on 3/22/2024 in The Dove on Medium.

Welcome to Part 3 of my spiritual journey. Before I pick up where I left off, here’s a brief recap:

In Part 1, I talked about growing up on a dairy farm in a small community in Texas, being born again at the age of eight, and four years later, having a life-altering, dramatic experience with the Holy Spirit.

In Part 2, I chronicled my descent from my spiritual mountaintop to a miserable place, mostly of my own making.

The descent, which began in 1973, bottomed out five years later, leading to a prayer I prayed one day in early 1978 while on my way to work:

“Okay! I’ll come back if You put me with people who really know You and aren’t simply playing church. Otherwise, forget it. I’ll just keep living the miserable life I’ve been living. ’Cause I’m done with church like what I left!”

Did God answer my rather irreverent request?

Yep, He sure did. I was in my midnight moment when I prayed that prayer, and from that point on, God was masterfully at work, guiding me onto a pathway of ever-brightening light—except His rescue plan was hidden from me, much like a new day, which begins at 12:01 AM and is hidden in the pervasive darkness of night until dawn.

The road the righteous travel is like the sunrise, getting brighter and brighter until daylight has come. (Proverbs 4:18, GNT)

But before the first glimpses of daylight dawned, my life got even darker in some ways.

It is always darkest just before the day dawneth. — Thomas Fuller

My crazy cousin Karen to the rescue

Sometimes, God uses the most unlikely humans for His divine purposes.

And there was no one more unlikely than my crazy cousin Karen. Half pot-smoking hippie, half God-fearing, family-loving conservative, she epitomized the rebellious nature of many baby boomers in the South during the ‘60s and ‘70s.

Nine years my senior, I had grown up admiring her adventurous, free spirit and even her radical, question-all-authority stance to a degree. Because underneath her not-so-subtle, defiant exterior was a loyal, caring, do-anything-necessary person I adored.

And the feeling was mutual.

Me with Karen on the back of my Yamaha 350. She and her boyfriend had dropped by for a visit after returning from Alaska.

By the spring of 1978, as my relationship with Linda and Craig deteriorated, I spent more and more time with Karen and Pat, her boyfriend. They lived in a 2-bedroom apartment in Arlington — about a 20-minute drive from where we lived.

In early May, I went to work at Roach Paint Company near downtown Dallas, setting the stage for my drama-filled rescue, which occurred on May 14th — the day Karen and Pat helped me pack all my belongings, including the bed Linda and Craig had been sleeping on, and move in with them.

While I am eternally grateful for their intervention, the environment that Karen and Pat brought me into was far from healthy. Along with a constant stream of suppliers and users, I learned firsthand what it's like to live with daily drug and alcohol use.

Two things saved me during the nine months I lived with them: I was terrified of taking drugs and petrified of getting pregnant. But I was perfectly fine with smoking cigarettes, drinking alcohol, and frequenting local discos — often by myself.

I still shudder when I think about situations I got myself into during that time where short of God's mercy, I could have been raped, landed in jail, or even lost my life.

Yep, these were my young and dumb days. And if you’re laughing (or grimacing), it’s because you’ve got stories, too, don’t you? 😊

Time for a change!

By early 1979, I had had enough. Deep down, I realized that the person I had become wasn’t who I wanted to be.

Who did I want to be? I didn’t know, but what I did know was that this wasn’t me.

And I'm not even talking about the hangovers or the growing loneliness I felt despite having a good relationship with Karen and Pat.

I didn't fit in their world!

Where did I fit? I didn’t know that either, but instinctively I understood there was only one way to find out: I had to go.

Even after being promoted to computer programmer at Roach Paint, I only made about $6/hour — roughly $1,000/month. So, living by myself was barely feasible. Yet, I was determined. It was past time for a change!

A smart move — finally!

In late February, I learned I could buy a new 2-bedroom, 14'x64' mobile home for around $10k and a 50'x100' lot for $3k in a small subdivision called Marshall Creek in the tiny community of Roanoke, TX.

My monthly payments would be

$200 — mobile home
$40 — lot
$180 — car

Thank God I didn't yet have any credit cards. I did, however, have a couple of small loans, which left me roughly $500 per month to live on after taxes. Yes, things would be tight, but not impossible, especially with Mom and Dad backing me up on what they saw as a smart move. Their daughter was finally getting her head on straight!

I signed the papers in March and, at the age of 21, became a first-time homeowner. Never mind that it was a mobile home and it wouldn’t appreciate. It was mine, and that’s all that mattered.

Thankfully, it came partially furnished with a couch and matching chair, refrigerator, stove, and a small dinette set. But that was enough because I already had a bed, TV, and my most treasured possession: a nice stereo system with a 250-watt receiver and giant 3-way speakers!

I was all set, baby! Let the rockin’ and rollin’ begin!

All that remained, then, was to move in.

God met me in the parking lot!

From the time when I was a child watching W. A. Criswell, pastor of the First Baptist Church in Dallas, on their Sunday morning TV program with my grandparents, I wanted to go to a church with an orchestra.

The most direct route from Arlington to my new home in Roanoke was to turn north off US Highway 183 in Euless onto US Highway 157. And on the northeast corner of that intersection sat the 2000+ member First Baptist Church of Euless.

As I drove past it, I thought, “I’ll bet they’ve got an orchestra,” and without hesitation, decided to visit the church.

I can't read Jesus' parable of the story of the prodigal son in the Bible without thinking of my own story. There are many places in those scriptures (Luke 15:11-32, NLT) that I can relate to, but none more than verse 20:

"So he returned home to his father. And while he was still a long way off, his father saw him coming. Filled with love and compassion, he ran to his son, embraced him, and kissed him. (Luke 15:20, NLT)

I don’t remember the exact date, but I remember the event as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.

Growing up Baptist, I always went to Sunday School. Never mind that I hadn’t set foot in a church in years. Going meant you got up in time to go to Sunday School, too. That was the rule!

On the morning I arrived, they were expanding their parking lot and had not yet paved some of it. So, the church had volunteers helping folks park in the unmarked areas. When I drove up, a young man named Dave Stephens directed me to a spot.

While exiting my car, I asked him which building and class I should be in. When he learned how old I was and that I was single, he said,

“Oh, hey, you’re in my class. I’ll show you where to go.”

He then walked me to the room and introduced me to several others already there.

Through the years since, whenever I recount this scene to others, I always say God didn’t wait to greet me once I was in the building. He sent someone to meet me in the parking lot!

Defining moments shape us

As it turned out, FBC Euless didn’t have an orchestra that morning. What they did have, however, was something much more important to me: a group of singles living out a growing, vital, life-giving relationship with Jesus in community with one another. Finally, eight years after being dramatically doused with the Holy Spirit, I found what I had been looking for.

And that changed everything!

Did I walk the aisle that Sunday morning and re-dedicate my life to the Lord? No. It didn’t happen like that. Giving all of my heart to Him again was a process that took time. I had a lot to sort out.

But that morning was when the process began. Instead of walking in darkness, my feet were now on an ever-brightening pathway of light.

I believe we all have defining moments that shape us. This was one of mine.

The following two years in that Singles One group at FBC Euless were unlike any other time in my life and set the stage for everything that’s happened since. But not just for me; for many privileged to be a part of it, too.

Click below to continue with Part 4: