Here's what happened.

It was about the middle of December, 1996, and my manager and I were closing up the seafood carry-out. My manager had received from the owner a list of names of people who were to be laid off. I mentioned a couple of names and my manager affirmed that they were indeed on the list. Then he looked at me and said, "And you." That took me by surprise. "Oh really?" I said. My manager nodded yes and choked up a bit, with a watery look in his eyes. I kind of felt sorry for him at that moment, having to be the bearer of bad news, so I said, "Okay, it's okay." Then it sort of hit me and I said, "So I'm not coming to work tomorrow am I?" My manager shook his head no.

It was not a total shock to me that I was laid off. After having worked at the owner's seafood restaurant for several years I had transferred over to the carry-out and moved into the position of kitchen manager. I was not very good at it, and after a few months I stepped aside and let someone else manage the cooking. That sort of left me in an undefined role and therefore vulnerable to these unfortunate circumstances. But still, the finality of it all was very unsettling. The idea that I would not be coming to work the next day was a bit dumbfounding. But, at the same time, it seemed liberating. I felt a sense of freedom. I was now free to move on and start something new.

When I told my wife that I had been laid off, her eyes widened with a "What are we going to do now?" look. I told her, "I think everything is going to be okay. I really do. I don't know why, but I feel okay with this." She tilted her head with an "I hope you know what you're talking about" expression of doubt on her face, and though I had no honest words of reassurance for her, I gave her a smile and a reaffirming nod of my head. The timing was less than ideal because we were living paycheck to paycheck and Christmas was coming fast. My wife, myself, and our three daughters were living together in a two bedroom apartment that was due to be leveled to make room for a shopping center. We had eleven months to find a new place to live. Now, with the lay off, the noose was tightening, but for some reason I believed everything was going to be okay. I really did. The next day I filed for unemployment and started to look for a new job.

A week or so later my brother called. "I hear you didn't survive the great purge at the carry-out," he said. My brother was a friend of the owner of the seafood carry-out and restaurant. In fact, he served as manager of the restaurant for a couple of years and it was he who brought me into the seafood business. At first he had me come into the restaurant after dinner hours and clean the grease off of the ovens and the grill. Then I hired on as a full time dish washer, then became a line cook, and then settled in as a stockman, prep cook, fish cutter, and crab steamer until I transferred over to the carry-out. Anyway, on this phone call, he told me he had an idea. The seafood owner had developed a frozen crab cake and my brother was involved in marketing the product. I knew about the crab cakes because I was working in the restaurant at the same time the owner was creating them. I was a taste tester, sampling the crab cakes as the owner searched for the ideal recipe. I knew the crab cakes were good. My brother's idea was to market the crabcakes through the schools as a fundraiser, like they do with pizzas and candies. He broke it down for me as far as the cost of the crab cakes to me, what we would sell them for, and how we would package them. The numbers sounded fair to the consumer, good for the school, and good for me. It sounded like a good idea and I agreed to give it a go.

I put together a presentation and decided my first pitch would be to the director of the Head Start program where we were taking our four-year old daughter. I felt more comfortable starting with someone I already knew. The director heard my pitch, liked what he heard, but said he would need to present the idea to the school board before any action could be taken. His report from the school board was not good. "They made me feel this small," he said, holding his thumb and index finger closely together. "They were totally opposed to the idea of using the crab cakes as a fundraiser."

It was a poor start for the new venture. I felt bad that the idea had been so poorly received by the school board. I felt bad for the director, and I felt responsible for having put him in a conflicted position with his school board. The whole crab cake fundraiser scheme seemed doomed at the start. Then the director's secretary spoke up. She and been listening to our conversation and after the director left the office she said, "You know, you might want to try the churches with your crab cake fundraiser. There is one right up the street from here." That sounded like a good idea.

That Saturday I called the office of the Park Avenue Baptist church and asked to speak to the pastor. I was told the pastor was in a meeting, but if I left my name and number he would call me back after the meeting. I gave my information and waited by the phone for the return call. An hour or so passed and as I sat by the phone a thought occurred to me. In my past I had tried my hand at various sales efforts. I had tried selling frozen food plans, designer fragrances, paintings, and cemetary plots. I had never had any success as a salesman, but I had learned one thing from the experience, people did not return phone calls to salesmen. I knew I was wasting time sitting there by the phone. I got my presentation together and drove down to the Park Avenue Baptist church. I pulled up to the curb outside the church and sat there for a minute, working up some courage and deciding at which of two doors I was going to knock. I then got out of the car and began assembling my presentation papers on the hood. A man wearing a sweat suit and sneakers approached me.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I was going to knock on the door of the church," I replied, pointing toward the church building. "I want to see if the pastor is in."

"Well, I'm the pastor of the church," he said. "I'm on my way to take my son to his basketball game. How can I help you?"

I introduced myself and gave him a quick explanation of the crab cake fundraiser. He seemed interested and said, "Call the church office on Monday and make an appointment with the secretary so we have more time to discuss the matter." We shook hands and he went on his way.

To me, that was a victory, a cold call resulting in an appointment. I was happy. I climbed back into my car and started for home. A bit further down the road, on the right, I saw another church and I decided to pull over to the curb. The confidence instilled in me from my first stop encouraged me to try again. There was a chain and lock on the front door and I did not see anyone around. There was a marquis with service times, the pastor's name and phone number, and the name of the church, the Bible Deliverance Church. I could not clearly read the marquis from my car, so I got out of the car and walked up to the church with pen and paper in hand. I was writing down the pastor's name and phone number when a tall slender man approached.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm just writing down the pastor's name and phone number," I replied. "I hope to be able to discuss some business with him in the near future."

"Well, that man is no longer the pastor of this church," he said.

"Oh, I see," I said, lowering my pen and paper. I was disappointed to see the opportunity slipping away.

"I am the new pastor here," he said. "I normally would not be here on a Saturday, but I am meeting a member of the congregation to assist them with the purchase of a new car. How can I help you?"

I introduced myself and gave him a quick explanation of the carb cake fundraiser. He handed me his business card and said, "I don't have time to discuss this right now, but give me a call and we can arrange a time when we can talk."

How about that, two cold calls and two appointments set. That right there was more success than I had ever experienced in all of my previous sales efforts. In both instances, the person I needed to speak with walked right up to me and asked how THEY could help ME. I was feeling very good about this crab cake fundraiser business. I decided to try and ride this wave of good fortune, and rather than heading for home I began searching the neighborhood for another opportunity. I turned up Eutaw street and I noticed one of the rowhouses to my right had been converted to a church. I pulled over to the curb in front of the Love Crowd Christian Light Church. The door to the church stood open, and for a moment I debated whether or not I should go in. "Of course I should go in," I chided myself. "What else am I going to do, just go home?"

I walked into the church and I saw standing at the front of the church, in the altar area, a well-dressed woman with several young children. They appeared to be rehearsing a song or a skit. To their right, seated on a chair, was a man in work clothes who looked as though he was probably the janitor, and he appeared to be taking a break from his work and watching the children rehearse. I stood there inside the door looking at them, they stopped what they were doing and looked at me, and for a few awkward moments we all just stood and looked at each other. The the janitor came over to me.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I am hoping to speak with the pastor," I replied. "I wanted to share a fund raising opportunity with him."

"I am the pastor," he said, smiling. "I was out working this morning before I came by the church, that's why I am wearing these work clothes. Normally I would not be here on a Saturday, but I was in the neighborhood and I decided to stop by and see how the children were coming along. Have a seat," he said, motioning with his hand. We sat down in one of the pews.

I introduced myself and explained the crab cake fund raiser to him. He seemed interested.

"I can work the crab cake thing for you," he said, "but I don't think that's the only reason you're here." He smiled. "I think you're here because you need to get with Jesus." I had no idea what he meant by that, but I sensed a sale, smiled and nodded, and listened as he continued.

"I used to be out in the streets, you know, running all kinds of games," he said. "I was into it all, just always up to no good. Then I was finally arrested and thrown in jail. While I was in jail I got sick, and they told me I was going to die, so they let me out. They let me out of jail to die, but I didn't die. I was healed. Jesus healed me. You see, I know it was Jesus who healed me. That was twenty years ago and I have been out here ever since telling people about how I was released from jail to die but Jesus healed me. Now I'm telling you, I'll sell your crab cakes, but what you really need is to get with Jesus."

I left the Love Crowd Christian Light Church feeling really good about how things were going. I tell you, I was walking on air. Something special was happening. Again the person I wanted to see walked right up to me and asked if he could help me. Though I never really gave God much thought before, but at that moment I considered the possibility that God was up there somewhere and he liked this crab cake fundraiser idea. I thought about what the pastor had said, that I needed to "get with Jesus", and I wondered what he meant by that. How does somebody "get with Jesus"?

I was about to head for home when I noticed a church steeple a little further up North Avenue. "Why not," I thought, and I pulled up along the curb in front of the Union Temple Baptist Church. There was a large wooden door at the front of the church and it was bolted shut. I pressed the doorbell to the left, the opened a crack, and a gray haired gentleman peeked out. Smiling, he asked, "Can I help you?"

I told him I was hoping to speak with the pastor and he replied, "That would be me." He opened the door and invited me back to his office. I explained the crab cake fundraiser to him. He thought it over for a couple of minutes and said, "We can make a lot of money with this." I quietly nodded in agreement. He called for his secretary. When she came into the office, he introduced me and said, "Mr. Rook has an idea here that I think will work very well for us. I want you to work with him and come up with a plan as to how to proceed." He stood and turned towards me. "It has been a pleasure meeting you Mr. Rook, but I have other matters I must attend to. I look forward to meeting with you." His secretary and I spent a half hour or so discussing the crab cake fund raiser and how we might move forward. I then returned to my car and headed for home.

What a marvelous three hours or so! I had set out hoping to talk with one person. I ended up making four stops and at each stop the person I needed to speak with came right to me and asked if they could help. Up until this day, my sales experience had been one of people running in the opposite direction of me, as fast as they could. The ground work was laid and I could not wait to get started. When I got home I excitedly told my wife everything that had happened. She couldn't quite grasp my elation over four people willing to listen to what I had to say, but she was happy that I was happy. I decided the best thing to do would be to start attending services at these churches. That way, I could get to know the people and that would be good for business. My church attendance over the previous thirty years or so was limited to weddings and funerals, but what could go wrong?

I spent the rest of December and most of January attending services at all four churches. They welcomed me and I did my best to fit in. I rose and sang with them when they sang. I listened attentively to the pastor's preaching. I bowed my head and pretended to pray when they prayed. I did not feel any spiritual connection with the services. Whenever I left one of the services, my answer to the question, "Is God real, and is Jesus Christ real?" was still, "I don't know." I did not understand why they believed it was the truth. But that was not important to me. I was not concerned with understanding them or discerning what was true and what was not true. I just wanted them to buy my crab cakes.

Then everything changed. I was attending a service at the Love Crowd Christian Light Church. At the beginning of the service, the congregation was invited to give their testimonies. An elderly gray-haired woman stood and in an old, grandmotherly voice, began thanking God. She thanked God for waking her up that morning. She thanked God for looking after her loved ones. She thanked God for all of the good things in her life. Looking at the woman in her modest dress and humble manner, I imagined she had endured many a hardship in her life, but there she stood, speaking sweetly and thankfully to God. And something happened as I was listening to her. Something happened within me. It was a bit of a weepy response to the old woman, but it was more than just emotion. I felt it physically, as though someone had elbowed me to get my attention. I had never before felt anything quite like it. It was a sensation that lasted until a few minutes after the old woman finished speaking. Once it had passed I knew, I just knew, that I needed to find out what it was.

I decided to start attending services at New Exodus Fellowship. New Exodus was much closer to home than the four churches I was visiting with the crab cakes, and I had a brief and recent history with New Exodus. Three years prior to all of these events, my wife came to me and told me that our oldest daughter wanted to go to a nearby church. She had a friend in the neighborhood whose family attended New Exodus and she wanted to go too. I was not thrilled with the idea of going to church, but if our daughter wanted to see what church was about, fine, we could go to church. I didn't think it would do any harm. We attended a few services and the pastor visited our apartment a couple of times. He and I spent a good three hours or so on each of his visits, discussing our philosophical differences. He shared his bible based beliefs with me but was unable to convince me and I remained steadfast in my "I don't see how anyone can say what the truth is" stance. I liked the people at New Exodus, I just could not relate to the message or their arm waving enthusiasm. But now, because of what I felt at the Love Crowd, I was willing to give it all a second chance.

In late January of 1997 I had lunch with the pastor of New Exodus and told him that my family and I would be returning to services. I pitched the crab cake fundraiser to him, but he politely dismissed the idea. He did not think there would be much enthusiasm from the congegration for a fundraiser. He was happy to hear that my family and I would be returning to New Exodus, and he gave me one piece of advice. "Just soak it all in, Curtis," he said, "just soak it all in like a sponge."

I took the pastor's advice and, for the most part, sat and listened and soaked it all in. I enjoyed listening to the singing, and I learned from the preaching, but what really caught my attention was when people spoke about their relationship with God. Either as testimonies at the beginning of services, or in casual converation after the services, I often heard people speak about what God was doing in their life, or what He had said to them. Said to them? I thought if someone believed God was speaking to them, then their mental faculties would be questioned. But these people seemed rational enough, at least not crazy.

Near the end of every service people were invited to come up front to the kneelers where someone would pray with them. After a couple of weeks I began to kneel and people began to pray with me, and for me. Sometimes they would ask me what I wanted to pray about and they would then speak with God on my behalf. Sometimes they would come to me at the kneeler and just start praying gibberish, "tongues" they called it, and then they would share with me what they believed God wanted to say to me.

Prayer was new to me, purposeful prayer. There were plenty of times in my past when I may have said something like, "God, please get me out of this mess," but I did not seriously thing I was talking to God. This purposeful prayer, however, was intended to speak directly to God, and actually anticipate an answer. I began to silently pray along with my prayer partners. I tried to establish my own connection with God. I wanted to hear for myself what God had to say to me, but it was not happening. When I prayed, it seemed as though as I was only talking to myself. I could not make the connection, but I was determined to keep trying.

I continued to sell the crab cakes through January and February of 1997. The Bible Deliverance Church never got involved with the fundraiser, the Union Temple Baptist Church purchased one order of crab cakes, the Park Avenue Baptist Church purchased a couple dozen orders, and the Love Crowd Christian Light Church bought about forty orders. On March 1, 1997, I visited the three churches that had bought some crab cakes and there were no more orders. I had some crab cake samples with me and I tried to pitch my presentation to other churches, but to no avail. What had been so promising and exciting just a few weeks earlier, was now quiet and dormant. I returned home that day feeling dejected but not hopeless. I still believed the crab cake fundraiser would take hold and flourish.

As I walked through the door to my apartment on my return home that day, a thought came to me, a thought not of my own thinking. "The crab cake business is dead," it said. "No, no," I thought in reply, "the crab cake business is not dead. Today was just a bad day. It will get better." Then another thought came to me, again a thought not of my own thinking, "Finish your research." "Finish my research?" I thought in reply. "No, that's a bad idea. I don't have time for that. If the crab cake business is going to be slow to develop, then I need to find a job." "Finish your research," the thought repeated itself, this time a little firmer and stronger. "No, no. It's a bad idea," I insisted. "I need to find a job." For a third time the thought returned, "Finish your research." This time it was so strong and firm that I knew I was not going to be able to resist it any further, so I compromised. "Okay, I still don't think this is a good idea, but here is what I will do," I thought in reply. "I will work on my research, but only until my birthday on May 16th. Then I need to focus on finding a job." So, I let go of the crab cake fundraiser and started spending my time in the library and in the state and county courthouses, working on my research.

The research was something I had gotten involved with for my own amusement. There were quarry pits in our area that were filled with water and used as recreational swimming parks. I learned that a fine grade of marble, Cockeysville marble, was quaried from those pits back in the late 1800's and the early 1900's. The marble was considered the finest building stone available at the time and was shipped to construction sites throughout the east coast. I was curious as to why such a high grade of marble existed in our little neck of the woods. I researched the geological history of the area and learned that during an earlier geologic period, the area was once a shallow tropical sea. The disintegrating shells of the sea life that lived in that sea created calcium deposits on the sea floor. Over time, the collecting calcium deposits became large banks of limestone. The limestone banks metamorphosed into marble when exposed to tremendous heat and pressure resulting from tectonic plate collision. Glacial retreat, along with wind and rain, gradually eroded the top soil to the extent that the marble was closer to the surface. And there it was, waiting to be discovered by the settlers who came along and began to dig. I researched the arrival of the settlers dating back to the 1700's by tracing land deeds to the original land grants and then folowing the sales of the land through the years.

I enjoyed doing the research and learning so much about the history of the area where I lived, but after a few weeks, it all seemed very impractical. I needed to get a job. I had agreed, in my own mind, to work on the research until my birthday on May 16th. It was only April, but I could not put off looking for work any longer. I set aside the research, picked up the classified ads, and started looking for a job. I found an opportunity with a convenience store chain. I interviewed for a store management postition and about a week or so later I was called for a second interview. The second interview went well and I was told that I would be contacted for a third interview. After the third interview I would be assigned to a store and would begin my management training. It sounded good, but I was not thrilled with the opportunity. There were aspects of the job that did not appeal to me, but I had to start somewhere.

My third interview was scheduled for a Wednesday. On Monday of that week I took one more look at the employment section of the newspaper classifieds, as if I would actually find anything new in the Monday classifieds. I was surprised to find, right there in the Monday job ads, a postition that seemed perfect for me, assistant manager of a seafood carryout market. I was still friends with the staff at the seafood market from which I had been laid off, and I immediately went to them and they allowed me to use their fax machine to send off a copy of my resume. I then went home and waited for the phone to ring, as if whoever was responsible for placing the ad was going to see my resume and call me right away. An hour later the phone rang and the seafood market wanted to interview me on Tuesday, the next day. I felt like I was home when I walked into the seafood restaurant for the interview. I was hired on the spot, at a pay slightly higher than what I had been making at the previous seafood market when I was laid off. I was to start that Friday, May 16th, my birthday.

I could not help but recognize the coincidence of having agreed in my own mind to work on the research until my birthday. However, my financial situation due to my unemployed staus caused me to back out of that commitment. I stopped working on my research a full month before my birthday so I could find a job. Now, I was starting a new job on my birthday after all, and not just any job, but a job that was perfectly suited to me. From being laid off, to pitching the crab cake fundraiser, to researching local history, to pursuing a job opportunity that did not thrill me, to ending up here, in a better seafood market position, it almost seemed as though it was all planned and waiting for me.

By the spring of 1997 the crab cake business was over, I was working at my new job in the seafood market, and my family and I were regular attendees at New Exodus Fellowship services. I was still searching for my own connection with God. One Sunday the pastor, at the end of his sermon, suggested we test the Holy Spirit, to see if He is there. As soon as he made the suggestion I thought, "Okay, I can do that." That night, as I laid in bed, I thought about how I might test for the presence of the Holy Spirit. I thought about my wife, who was ill at the time. Perhaps if she were to fully recover, then I may have reason to believe. I knew, however, that I expected her to recover, so the reality of her recovery would not prove anything to me.

I then thought about a friend of mine. He had invited me to play a round of golf later that week. I was reluctant to accept the invitation because I had not played any golf in a couple of years. I was never a very good golfer, and after a couple of years of not playing I was certain I would be wasting everyone's time. Then I began to think that maybe the round of golf would be a way to test the presence of the Holy Spirit. I said this prayer, "Holy Spirit, if you are there, then guide the flight of my golf ball when I play this week," and I left it at that. I don't know why I didn't just pray, "Let me have a great score," or, "Let me play the best round of my life." Based on what was to happen, I believe I was to led to pray for the Holy Spirit to guide the flight of my gplf ball.

I played golf that week. We were a foursome. My friend and another friend of his rode in one cart. I rode in a cart with an older man I had never met before. They all had been playing fairly regularly over the years. I had not played in two years. My first shot from the first tee looked as though I had not played in two years. It was a big slice deep into the weeds along the right side of the fairway. My riding partner said, "Let's go take a look for your ball." I didn't see much point in looking because the odds of finding the ball were not good, but I didn't argue with him. We rode over to the area where the ball had flown into the weeds and there in the midst of all those weeds was a small open area and in the center of that open area was my ball. "THere you go partner, you got a lucky break," my riding partner said, "you're ball landed in a perfect spot."

I then hit another poor shot that barely cleared the weeds and never made it more than a foot or so off of the ground. Its low trajectory, however, enabled the ball to scoot beneath the low hanging limbs of some pine trees. Once beyond the pine trees the ball managed to make it to the crest of a hill. From there, the ball rolled down the hill and up the other side to within twenty yards of the green. I scored a bogey five on the hole. It was nothing short of a miracle that I did not need at least eight shots to complete the hole. As we were all leaving the green, my riding partner said, "I like this guy. He's a player. He hits some bad shots but still comes up with good results." I dared not mention the possibility of the Holy Spirit being involved, thinking it would be best to keep that to myself, but I could not help but wonder if the Holy Spirit indeed had something to do with the fortunate results of my bad shots.

On the next hole I again hit a big slice off the tee. This time the ball bounded down a steep hill and into some thick waist-high grass. This ball was surely lost. My riding partner agian suggested we look for the ball, but this time there were no open areas providing relief for my ball. "Well, let's go back up the hill so you can drop another ball and hit your second shot from up there," he said. He drove the cart up the hill and parked next to a small bush just to the right of the fairway.

I got another ball from my bag and stepped out of the cart. I noticed a ball on the ground near the small bush. I picked it up, took a look at it, and much to my surprise saw that it was my ball, the one I had hit from the tee. "No way," I thought. Somehow, when my shot from the tee started slicing across the fairway, it must have struck this little bush and stopped, without any of us seeing it happen, even though it was right there in front of us. I hit my second shot and we went on from there.

On the third hole I again hit my tee shot into the tall weeds to the right of the fairway. I needed to hit my second shot out of ,the weeds and over a line of trees. I did not hit the shot as I had planned and the ball came down right in the thick of the trees. I trudged around looking for my ball, certain it was lost because there was no way of telling which way it may have bounced off of the trees. I saw a ball lying just a few feet from the green and I supposed it belonged to one of my playing partners. They all seemed to be at their balls, however, so I walked up to the mystery ball and sure enough, it was my ball. I looked back at the tree line and I could not picture a scenario where my ball could have rattled around in the tree limbs and ended up where it did. Nevertheless, there it was.

That happened on almost every hole on the front nine. I would hit a bad shot, but it would turn out okay. I shot a 48 on the front nine. Not a great score by any means, but it could have been much worse. It could have easily been a 60. Then, on the back nine, I actually played some decent golf. My shots were much straighter and they all stayed within the fairways from tee to green. I shot a respectable 42 on the back nine for an 18 hole total of 90. Not too bad for not having swung a club for two years. It was actually the low round for the foursome. I did not mention to any of my playing partners that I had prayed for the Holy Spirit to guide the flight of my golf ball as a test of His presence, but I knew what I had prayed and I saw what happened. I saw bad shot after bad shot end with good results, and I pondered what it might mean. Did I witness the presence of the Holy Spirit? I could not dismiss it all as mere coincidence, but neither could I embrace it as a new awareness. It had me thinking.

Near the end of June I decided it was time to look for a new place to live. We were suppsed to be out of our apartment by November, so it was time to start looking. I found the rental section of the Sunday classifieds and began searching. I skipped over the large ads at the top of the page for apartment comunities, and my attention was drawn to a small ad at the bottom of the page. It was for the rental of the first floor of a house. The house was in a neighborhood closer to my job, which was good. From what I read in the ad, it sounded like a nice place, maybe even too nice. I thought it would probably be out of my financial reach. We had to start somewhere though, and I thought we might as well start there. My wife and I arranged to see the place later that week.

The landlord and his wife showed us around. The place was nicer than I had imagined. It was a beautiful home in a lovely old neighborhood. The whole first floor was one apartment, the second floor another apartment, and there was a loft apartment on the third floor. The first floor apartment, the one available, had three bedrooms, two full baths, big kitchen, big dining room, elegant living room, a sun room, a deck, and lots of yard space with a swing and sandbox included. It was a beautiful old place with hardwood floors and stylish architectural features and trims.

The rental price was a stretch for our budget, but not entirely out of reach, and we told the landlord we were interested. He said they had others waiting to see the place and would let us know of their decision by the end of the following week. After we left the house my wife expressed her desire to make it our new home. I agreed, but I tempered our expectations by saying, "I don't think they will rent to us. I think they want a professional couple to rent that place, someone they can better rely on to pay the rent. I don't think we are in the running for this place. We should keep looking."

A few days later, while my wife was at a prayer meeting and I was home, the phone rang and it was the landlord. "My wife and I have decided that we would like to rent the apartment to you and your family," he said. "We like the thought of you and your children living in the home." He asked if we were still interested in renting the apartment, and I assured him that we were, in fact, still interested. He said he would be in touch with me n the next few days.

My wife returned home from the prayer meeting and she was quite excited. "We claimed a house!" she shouted. "We claimed a house!"

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"While we were praying," she said, half out of breath, "I was praying that we would get the house. Just then, someone else in the group said, 'Oh, someone just received the answer to their prayer,' and I knew it was me, I felt it so strong, I felt it so strong that we got the house."

"Well, as a matter of fact," I said, "the landlord called and did say he and his wife decided to rent the apartment to us. They liked the idea of a family living in the apartment."

"Oh!" my wife cried out, "thank you Jesus, we claimed a house!"

"Now, hold on," I cautioned. "They are going to want a deposit and the first month's rent before we can move in. We don't have that much money available. I don't know how that is going to work out."

"It doesn't matter," she exclaimed. "We have a house!"

"An apartment," I reminded her. "And we don't have it yet."

"When did he call?" she asked.

"Around six," I said.

"That's when I felt my prayer answered," she said, and she went on her way, dancing and singing, "We claimed a house! Thank you Jesus! We claimed a house!"

The landlord called a few days later and said there was a problem. "It's an older house," he said, "and some of the paint in the house contains lead. Since you have children, we have to remove the lead paint from the house and repaint. I am afraid we won't be ready for you to take over the apartment for three monthe or so. I hope that doesn't present too big of a problem for you."

"That will be okay with us," I assured him. It gave us three months to save up the deposit and the first month's rent, but I did not mention that to him. I did say to him, "Your ad was the first and only ad I looked at in the paper." "That was the only ad I ran," he replied.

Everything seemed to be going my way. I thought about everything that had happened in the previous six or seven months. I was laid off from my job, but I was at peace with a pretty desperate situation. The crab cake business presented itself and led me back into the church. I sat in the Love Crowd Christian Light Church and felt a strange stirring within me that I could not ignore. I began spending time around people who spoke of God as though they knew him personally. Two thoughts, from out of nowhere, popped into my head, telling me the crab cake business was dead and I needed to finish my research. I did not honor my commitment to work on the research until my birthday, but the commitment still ended up being honored. I tested the presence of the Holy Spirit, and the Holy Spirit passed the test by guiding the flight of my golf ball. I needed to find a new home for my family and a beautiful new place seemed to be waiting for me.

It was too much to write it all off as mere coincidence. I was no longer a nonbeliever in the Lord just minding my own business. I believed the stirring I felt in the Love Crowd was God getting my attention. I believed God was doing things in my life to draw me closer to Him, but He was still distant from me. I still had not made that connection with Him. I did not have a relationship with Him like so many other people in the church had with Him, but I wanted it. With all my heart I wanted to break through and make that connection with God. I wanted Him in my life, but I could not figure out how to make it happen.

One night, somewhere near the end of June or the beginning of July, I had a talk with God. When I say I had a talk with God, I mean I just talked as if He were there and listening. I said, "Look God, I do not believe these things that are happening are coincidences, but at the same time, I cannot say for sure what it all means. I believe you are there and making your presence known to me, but still, it is not enough. It is not enough to make me start waving my hands in the air and shouting hallelujah. I still have reservations, I still have doubt. I do, however, want to believe more deeply. I want to know that you are real and that you are in my life. I want you to prove it to me. I need you to prove it to me on the same level that my heart knows to beat and my lungs know to breathe. I need you to prove it to me deeper than my logical objections can reach. I want to know you in spite of myself."

I then added, "But I can't wait forever. I am not going to wait my whole life for you to reply. I'll give you six months. For those six months I will do all I can to grow closer to you. I'll go to church, I'll listen to what is preached, and I will try my best to make sense of those things in my life. I will go to the group meetings, I will study my bible, and I will listen and try to learn. But after six months, if nothing has happened, if I don't know you to be the truth on the same level that my heart knows to beat and my lungs know to breathe, then I am walking away. I am not going to live in-between like this for my whole life. It is going to have to be all or nothing. Six months."

I made one other concession, that I would not smoke any marijuana during the six months. Smoking marijuana was something I had started during my sophmore year of college and I had continued off and on, but mostly on, for twenty years. They say marijuana is not addictive, but I was addicted. I wanted to stop, fearing its affect on my health, but every time I tried to quit I would end up giving in to the desire for the high. I knew, however, that I could not be smoking marijuana for the six months while I was waiting to hear from God. I was expecting nothing to happen, that I was not going to hear from God. If at the end of the six months nothing had happened and I had not heard from God, but I had been smoking marijuana, then I would have some doubt. I would not be certain if in fact God had not answered, or if He had answered but I missed it because I was stoned. I wanted no doubt in my mind at the end of the six months. If I did not hear from God, then I wanted to be able to move on without hesitation. I put down the marijuana.

A few weeks went by and I grew more and more anxious for God to answer my request, to prove to me beyond all doubt that He was real. I wanted it so badly my heart ached. I prayed for it and asked God for it until I was at the point of tears, and sometimes tears fell. I wanted to believe, I wanted to know that God was truly there and that I could have a relationship with Him, but I wasn't going to pretend, and I wasn't going to settle. I went to church, I listened to what was said and preached, and I searched with all my heart and mind.

On August 17, 1997, I was sitting in church at New Exodus Fellowship, and I was listening to the congregation sing worship songs. I was not standing with them and I was not singing with them. I was simply sitting in my seat, with my eyes closed, listening to them worship. I was tired, Saturday nights in August being long, hard nights for crab steamers. I just sat and listened, and as I was sitting there, from out of nowhere, I felt a cool breeze drift through my hair. Then I felt my shoulders being massaged, easing my tired muscles, though I was certain no one had their hands on my shoulders. I became very relaxed and very comfortable. With my eyes still closed, I began to have a vision in my mind.

I saw some clouds, white clouds, and they were active, billowing out and receding in a eurbulent manner. The clouds became long folds of white cloth, like the bottom of a robe, and the robe was coming nearer, descending toward me. Then I saw a face right before me, recognizable as a face because it had eyes, and a nose, and a mouth, but not a face of flesh, not a face like yours and mine. It seemed to be made of light, sort of transparent, hard to describe exactly. It was staring at me. I had a sense that some spiritual being had been given the opportunity to behold first hand one of God's creations.

I thought, "What about my wife?" The vision raised an arm and beneath that arm I saw my wife in a golden light. Then I thought, "What about my children?" The vision raised the other arm and beneath that arm I saw my children in a golden light. The vision then looked me right in the eyes, as if to say, "That is not important right now." I felt hands caressing my face and the vision was looking at me as one would look upon a baby, with love and adoration. The vision conveyed to me without speaking, "What is important is that you understand how much God loves you." The vision kissed me on the lips, and it was over.

I opened my eyes and looked around and everyone was still standing and worshipping. No one seemed to notice that something had been going on with me. I looked at my wife and she looked back with no trace of concern or alarm. Everything around me was normal. I did not know how much time had passed, but apparently not much. Since no one seemed to be wise to what I had just experienced, I decided I would just keep it to myself. It had happened, there was no doubt in my mind about that, but I was not sure why it had happened nor what it meant. I thought I would keep it to myself until I had a better grasp of what it was all about.

I went through the rest of the service and the ride home without mentioning that something extraordinary had happened. After we had been home for a while I walked into the bedroom and saw my bible laying on the bed. I picked it up, opened it, and read one word. Startled by what I read, I immediately closed the bible and dropped it back on the bed. I read the word, "We." I was startled because it was speaking directly to me. I was part of the "We." It was as though the apostle Paul, who had written the word, were standing in the room with me, along with the people to whom he was speaking. They were not there to persuade or convince me of anything. They were simply there with me. I was part of the group. I was one of them. The word in the bible had become a living word to me, speaking to me, and including me in its conversation. I stood there looking down at the bible on my bed, stunned. At that moment I said to God, "Okay, God, I'm in. What do you want me to do?" I was convinced. The vision in church and His living word were proof to me that God was real, and I knew it as surely as my heart knew to beat and my lungs knew to breathe. I did not just believe, I knew.

I sat down with my wife and told her what happened, first the vision in the church, and then what had just happened in the bedroom. She was not sure what to make of what I was telling her, but she was happy for me. She too had been waiting for the day would I could confess a belief in God. I called my pastor and arranged to have lunch with him a couple of days later. I told him everything that had happened and as I shared my story I felt a great relief to finally feel free to acknowledge the truth in God. It was wonderful. The pastor said I should officially join the church and become baptized. The following Sunday I stood before the congregation and shared my story and I was so thankful to have such a story to share.

Two weeks later I was baptized at the annual New Exodus baptism ceremony. When the pastor lifted me out of the water I felt covered with a sense of peace and freedom. I walked to the shore of the little lake where I had been baptized, and members of the congregation were standing there to greet me. In their congratulatory hugs I felt the love of God wash over me. I knew on that day I had truly become a member of the body of Christ. This was my new family, my brothers and sisters in Christ, who had been praying with me and for me, praying for my day of salvation. Oh, I was happy, and oh so thankful that God had brought me to that day.

I was a Christian, a believer, though I think knower is more correct, because I don't think you can believe until you know, and I knew. I was not a brainwashed member of some mystical cult. I still had a mind of my own. During my first Sunday in church after having officially become a member, some of the men in the congregation began talking to me about a rally they were planning to attend in the upcoming weeks. They were encouraging me to go with them. The idea did not capture my interest so I gave them the excuse that it would be difficult for me to take off from work on that day and I tried to distance myself from the subject. The following week I heard some more about the rally. They were talking about getting on a bus and travelling down to Washington DC where there was going to be some big rally. Still, I had no interest. The following week, my third week as a member of the church, one of the men was standing before the congregation and talking about the rally. As he spoke, a thought came to me from out of the blue, "Maybe I will go to the rally." Just as that thought crossed my mind, at that very moment, a woman sitting behind me handed me a note over my shoulder. The note read, "If the Lord moves you to go, I will support you." My wife, sitting beside me, also read the note. She looked at me and waved her hand as if to say good-bye. I was going to the rally.

It was the Promise Keepers rally that took place on the National Mall in Washington DC on October 4, 1997. We rode down to Washington DC on a school bus which parked on a lot about a mile from the event. We had a bit of a walk and one of the men in our group had a foot issue and was having trouble walking. The group would walk ahead of him and then stop and wait for him to catch up. There were about five such stops along the way. When we arrived at the rally grounds we gathered around a statue and one of the Elders of our church addressed the group.

"After the rally," he said, "we will all meet back here at this statue." Everyone nodded and mumbled their agreement. "We won't head back to the bus until everyone is here, so please be sure to come directly to this statue after the rally." Again we all nodded our heads and mumbled in agreement. "And when we walk back to the bus," he continued, "instead of walking ahead of our brother, and then waiting for him to catch up, we are all going to walk with him and behind him all the way back to the bus." Again we all nodded and mumbled our agreement. Then we headed into the massive gathering of men, a crowd estimated to be near a million, and it wasn't long before we were splintering off into separate groups.

I headed off in my own direction. I had it in my mind that I might actually leave the rally and go visit some old friends. Twelve years earlier I worked at a dry cleaning store not far from the Mall. I planned on skipping the rally, visit with my old friends who I had not seen in quite a while, and be back in time to meet the group at the statue. As I began to plot my escape route, I noticed another member of our group walking with me, just over my left shoulder. I turned to him and said, "I really don't know where I'm going. You would probably be better off joining some of the others who know what they're doing." "Oh, that's okay," he said with a shrug, "I'm sure we'll find our way," and he continued to walk with me. That put an end to my plans of escape. I stayed for the rally.

We found a nice grassy spot near one of the big screens that were scattered throughout the Mall where we could sit down and stretch out our legs. There was a main stage near where we had entered the rally grounds, and that was where the speakers stood. We watched and listened to the guest speakers on the big screen.

The event was about three hours long, and a couple of the speakers managed totouch my heart with some of the things they had to say. They spoke about our responsibilities as men to our families, to our church families, and to our communities. They spoke of how we owed apologies to our daughters and sons and our wives for the times we did not lead our families in a godly manner. I felt conviction, and I felt humbled.

The closing speaker gave a rousing speech about how, if our pastors asked us to jump, we needded to ask how high. He spoke of how, if we would rededicate ourselves to serving God, we would be able to make a difference in our churches. From our churches, we would be able to make a difference in our communities. From our communities, we would be able to make a difference in our counties, and then our state. Then we would be able to make a difference in our country,and then the world. It was very exciting and uplifting. I was quite moved.

The rally ended and we walked back to the statue where the group gathered. Once we were certain everyone was present and accounted for, we headed back toward the bus. Just after passing through the entrance to the Mall grounds, after I had walked about fifty feet, I remembered that we had all agreed to walk with or behind our brother with the bad foot. I turned to see that I had already walked past him and so I returned to walk with him back to the bus. It did not seem like a big deal and I was of no particular assistance to him, but I stayed with him until we made it back to the bus, where everyone else was already seated and waiting.

That night, as I was getting ready for bed, I thought about what the closing speaker had said at the rally. I thought about making a difference in my church, in my community, in the county, in the state, in the country, and in the world. I was full of hope and encouragement. I felt as though I could accomplish anything. Then another thought came to me, "What are you doing?" Just like the thoughts about the crab cake business being dead and needing to finish my research, this thought was not of my own thinking. This time, however, I knew it was the Lord speaking to me through my thoughts. I now had my connection with God and was able to recognize the voice of my Lord. My Lord and I then had a conversation.

"I was just thinking about the rally and what was said about changing things, you know, changing the world for the better," I answered.

Then my Lord said, "Okay, tell me what happened today."

"Well," I said, "I attended the Promise Keepers rally today."

"How long did that last?" He asked.

"About three hours," I said.

"And when the rally ended, what did you do?" He asked.

"I met the others at the statue where we had agreed to meet," I said.

"You agreed to meet them there, and you did meet them there, so that was a promise you kept, wouldn't you say?" He asked.

"Yes, that was a promise I kept," I boastfully replied.

"Then what?" my Lord asked, a litle more pointedly.

"Then we started to walk back to the bus," I hesitantly answered. I was begining to feel a bit anxious about the direction in which our conversation was heading.

"Did you not agree to walk with or behind your hurting brother back to the bus?" He asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Did you do that?" He asked.

"Well, not exactly," I said. "I forgot about it at first, but then I remembered and I went back and walked with him."

"How far along were you when you remembered your brother and your agreement to walk with him?" He asked.

"About fifty feet or so, not far," I said softly, sensing I was in trouble.

"You agree that meeting at the statue was a promise you kept, then don't you also agree that walking with your brother was a promise you failed to keep when you started back to the bus?" my Lord asked.

"Well, yes," I said.

"After three hours of attending a Promise Keepers rally, within seconds of leaving, you failed to keep a promise to your brother, to walk with him," He said, pointedly.

"Yes," I meekly replied.

"You failed to keep your promise because you couldn't control what your own two feet were doing. All you had to do was walk with him, but you failed to do so," He said, even more pointedly.

"Yes," I humbly admitted.

"Here you are, thinking of all the great changes you want to make in the world, when you can't even control your own two feet. I don't need you to make great changes in the world. I will be the one to make great changes in the world. All I need you to do is to control your own two feet. I need you to control each footstep. One foot in front of the other, making sure each foot falls where it is supposed to fall. Learn to do that, and then you will see me make great changes in the world. Understood?" He concluded.

"Yes," I said, now on my knees, my head bowed down to the floor, and my hands covering my head.

Just a few weeks earlier I experienced a remarkable revelation and became certain of the reality of God. At that moment, I asked God what He wanted me to do. Since then, I had been continuing to ask that question of God. Now, I had my answer. He answered me by sending me to the Promise Keepers rally, allowing me my folly of forgetting my brother, and then clearly pointing out what He wants from me. He wants me to pay attention to what I am doing. He wants me to take responsibility for my actions and thoughts. He wants me to watch my own two feet, and trust Him for everything else. He wants me to walk in faith. It seems like a reasonable request, easy enough to fulfill. His expectaions of me were not nearly as grandiose as I had supposed. I was to learn, however, that walking in the Lord's path, instead of my own, was not as easy as I had presumed.

In October of 1997, my family and I moved into our new apartment. The lead paint was gone and we had saved up the security deposit and the first month's rent. A dozen or so people from the congregation helped us move our furniture and other belongings to the new place. We had food and fellowship and it was a great day. Over the following weeks we settled into our new apartment and began enjoying our new surroundings. There were several other children in the neighborhood about the same age as my children and they all quickly became friends. I was enjoying my work at the seafood market. My wife was actively involved in the children's school and loving the new home. Everything was wonderful. I very much liked the effect that saying yes to God was having on my life. The euphoria, however, was not ever-lasting.

In the early months of 1999, in the winter months, my wife began to struggle with issues she had dealt with in the past. It had been a couple of years since we had grappled with those problems, and it was disheartening to see them surface once again. Unexplained absences, disappearing monies, temperamental outbursts, and symptoms that medical professionals had related to words like bipolar disorder, manic-depression, and schizophrenia. A lot of words but few answers. I could not rely on her help with the children and the house. Our family structure began to disintegrate.

Near the end of May our landlord informed me that he had sold the house and we needed to be out by the end of June. It did not leave me much time to develop a plan. My wife was struggling and I knew she was not going to be able to help. Whatever we were going to do, it was up to me to decide what to do and how to do it.

I had a niece who lived near the ocean. A few years earlier I had been going through some difficulties and my niece had offered her home as a place for me to regroup. If the offer still stood, I felt that was our best option. I loved the beach, my children always enjoyed going to the beach, and I thought living near the beach would be a good idea for all of us. With my years of experience with seafood, I was confident I could find work. There was a new Walmart being built near my niece's house and I figured there would be some opportunities for me. I could go down there with the children and get settled, my wife could get her issues resolved, and when she was doing better she could rejoin us and we would again be a family. I firmly resolved to work toward relocating my family to the beach.

A few days later I was talking to my pastor and I told him about our landlord selling the house and informing me we would have to leave. I told him about my niece and my plans to relocate my family to the beach. I told him we would be leaving the church. Without hesitation, without so much as batting an eye, my pastor said to me, "I think you should go to computer school. When I pray for you, I feel like that is the direction in which the Holy Spirit is leading."

I did not like that idea. I knew nothing about computers and I had no interest in learning about computers. I knew, however, that my pastor would not have told me that he thought yhe Holy Spirit was leading in that direction unless he believed it was true. Even though I disliked the idea, I had to give it some consideration. "Well," I said, "I guess I can check it out." A member of our congregation had recently completed a computer training course as part of a layoff retraining program. My pastor and I agreed that I should look into that computer training program. I did not want to go to a computer training program. I wanted to go to the ocean.

The course was computer programmimg and it was expensive, too expensive for me, and I thought that was the end of that possibility. Then some financial backers came to my aid and made it possible for me to pay for the course. I appreciated their concern and their willingness to help me, but I was not entirely happy that they were enabling the idea of computer training to continue. The programming class ran from September of 1999 through May of 2000. It was about an hour's drive to the school, and the class ran Monday through Friday from 8:30am to 1:00pm. That meant I would have to work from about 3:00pm to 9:00pm Monday through Friday, and 9:00am until 9:00pm on Saturday in order to maintain a full-time work schedule. I would basically be gone from home from 7:00am until 9:30pm on weekdays, and then all day Saturday. Without my wife's help, I did not see how I could do that and still take care of my children.

I had to make a decision and I only had a short timeframe in which to make that decision. On the one hand, I conceded that the computer programming course probably had better long term value since I would be learning a new and useful skill. Plus, it had my pastor's blessing and apparently that of the Holy Spirit as well, and I knew they had my well-being in mind. On the other hand, moving near the ocean was a far more attractive option, mainly because it would keep my family together. Besides, there was no telling how well things might work out for me down there. I might do quite well with the skills and knowledge I already possessed.

One evening I sat down and began debating the question in my mind. First considering all of the benefits of one option, then considering all of the benefits of the other option. Back and forth, back and forth, I wrestled with the decision all through the night. When the sun began to rise I started thinking about the story of my birth as my mother had told it to me. "There was something wrong with you," she said. "I would take you to the doctor and tell him, there's something wrong with this baby, but he always said that you would outgrow it. But a mother knows when there is something wrong with her baby, and I knew there was something wrong with you. I had you in his office when you were ten months old and I was insisting that something was wrong when all of a sudden you began to turn blue. The doctor immediately called the hospital and then asked me how soon I could get you to the hospital. I told him it would take about two hours and the doctor told the hospital we would be there in half an hour. I was so angry. All this time I had been telling him that there was something wrong with you but he wasn't listening, and now he was rushing us to get something done. Your father and I got you to the hospital and were waiting for the diagnosis when the doctors came out of the examination room and they were dancing a jig. They were happy and dancing and we were wondering what on earth was going on. Then they explained that a new x-ray machine had shown them the problem. You had an artery growing around your windpipe and as you were growing, it was tightening. Without that new x-ray machine they would not have known what the problem was and would not have been able to help you."

I pondered that story as I sat there and watched the sun rise. I considered the fact that if not for that x-ray machine, I would not have lived. It also occurred to me that somepeople had the necessary training to develop that x-ray machine. I began to feel a sense of obligation. I owed my life to the people who developed the x-ray machine, as well as the doctors and nurses who had the skills and knowledge to use the information afforded by the x-ray machine to fix what was wrong and save my life. My sense of obligation made it clear to me that the computer programming course was the correct decision to make.

In early June, with just a couple of weeks to go before our move-out deadline, I took my three daughters to my niece's house near the ocean. She had graciously agreed to keep them until I could make other arrangements. I took my wife to stay where she felt she could get the help she needed and I moved into the basement of my assistant pastor's home. I spent the rest of the summer working at the seafood market, visiting my children as often as I could, and searching for an apartment. I needed to find a place that was affordable and convenient for my work and school schedules. One afternoon, after days of searching and with time running short, I was driving around trying to find a place, but I was growing weary and frustrated with the search. In desperation, I leaned my head against the steering wheel and said, "Lord, please show me where to go." A half hour later I was signing a lease to an apartment only a few minutes from the seafood market where I worked and close to the highway leading to the computer school.

I had a place to stay, but I needed to find a place for my daughters until I was finished with the computer programming course. With the help of my church family, it was decided that my children would stay with the assistant pastor and his family. I went to register my daughters at the school they would be attending, but the school system was not willing to approve the registration. They told me that the children needed to live with me and attend school in that school district. If I believed that I could have made that work, I would have been happy to do so, but I knew in my heart that it would not be a good situation. It would be better for them to stay with the assistant pastor and his family, and in order for that to happen without school system approval, I needed to sign over custody of the children to my assistant pastor and his wife. It was agreed that it would only be for the eight or nine months duration of the computer programming course, but it was still a difficult decision to make. I had to say good-bye to my wife and my children and hope that everything would work out okay and we would all be back together again.

In February of 2000 my wife came to the apartment where I was living and declared herself healed of her issues. "I felt the prayers of everyone while I was in there," she said, "and I know I am now healed." She did seem to be healed. The transformation was quite remarkable. She started working at the nearby laundromat and she worked hard, bringing home a tidy sum of cash each week for doing wash, fluff, and fold work for the customers. She was strong in spirit and confident. She once asked God to show her a sign that she was where she was supposed to be, working in the laundromat. The next day a Christian youth choir marched into the laundromat singing praise and worship songs while they did their laundry. Another time an elderly couple came into the laundromat and told her she had brought a divine order to the place. "Can you imagine that," she said to me, "that I brought a divine order to a place?"

The computer programming course concluded in May. Nineteen had started the course and twelve of us remained at the end. It was not easy, but I made it to the finish line. I was excited to see what God had planned for me and my newly acquired skills and knowledge. Our oldest daughter stayed with my niece to continue high school where she had started. Our two youngest daughters finished their school year in June and returned to us with custody fully restored. They were happy to be home. We had weathered the storm. Our troubles were behind us and we were moving forward together as a family. The future looked bright.

I started applying for computer programming positions, but by the end of the summer I had not been hired. I was somewhat concerned by my lack of success in securing a technical job. I had reduced my hours at the seafood market in order to complete the computer programming course, and I was making just enough money to pay the bills. My wife, however, was doing well at the laundromat and her income gave us extra spending money.

As summer turned into fall, my wife and I began to focus on Christmas and we started our Christmas shopping. We invested considerable time and money towards preparing for that Christmas. Our family had been through a difficult time and we wanted Christmas to be special. We spent hours shopping, planning, and imagining the joy we were going to share.

On Christmas Eve afternoon, around two o'clock or so, my wife sat down on the sofa, leaned forward a bit, and held her head in her hand as if she had a headache. Then she fell back against the sofa, her arms out to her sides, and her head tilted back as though she had fainted. I went over to see if she was okay.

"Lydia," I said, "are you alright?"

She did not answer. I pulled her into my arms and hugged her but she did not respond. I laid her down on the sofa and when I did, I felt she was wet below her waist. Something was seriously wrong. I called 911, the paramedics came, and while they worked on my wife I went into the bedroom where the children had gathered. "I'm going to miss my mommy," my eight year old cried. I started to reassure her that everything was going to be okay, but I couldn't do it. Even though the paramedics spoke encouraging words as they lifted my wife onto a stretcher, I had a feeling that my daughter's sense of what was happening may have been more likely. We could only hug each other.

The ambulance took my wife to Howard County General Hospital. I went there with my daughters and we were joined in the waiting room by an assistant pastor from our church. A nurse came and told us that the doctor would see us in the chapel. I assumed the worst at that point. The doctor explained to us that my wife had suffered a major brain aneurysm. A blood vessel had ruptured in her brain. He told she was not suffering, but the aneurysm was very extensive and there was little hope for recovery. His eyes filled with tears as he told us that they would transfer her to Johns Hopkins Hospital to see if there was anything they could do for her. My wife was held for observation overnight at Johns Hopkins Hospital.

At 10:30 am Christmas morning, the doctor on duty, accompanied by a nurse, informed me that they had examined my wife, found no brain activity, and were pronouncing her dead. Though I expected it, the news hit me hard. I sobbed, my pastor at my side trying to provide some comfort. I cried some more when it was time to remove her from the life support systems and I held her and kissed her for the last time.

There was, however, only a limited amount of time for sorrow. The doctors let me know that people needed to be notified so they could say their good-byes, and the hospital needed to know what to do with the body. I was expected to start making some decisions. My pastor was there to help me work through the details and make the necessary arrangements. It was around three in the afternoon when I left the hospital. I went to my sister-in-law's to pick up he children. On the way home I asked my children if they still wanted to have Christmas and they said they did.

We were about to start opening the presents when my daughters said, "Wait Dad, there's one more thing." They set a paper bag down in front of me. Inside the bag was a vide camera, the one gift my wife had told me she was unable to buy. She had saved it as a surprise. I watched the girls opening their gifts and I thought about how much time, thought, and effort my wife had put into preparing for that Christmas Day. I looked at the video camera and thought about how happy she would have been to be there for the surprise. "She is missing everything," I thought, and I began to feel very sad. It was a different sadness from what I had felt in the hospital. This sadness was seeping down deep into my soul, and I felt helpless to stop it. As I was sinking into despair, at that very moment, a thought came to me, a thought not of my own thinking. "Revelation 21 and 22."

I found my bible and opened it to the Book of Revelation, chapters 21 and 22. While the girls continued to explre their new gifts, I began to quietly read. I read about heaven. I read about the size and grandeur of heaven, the brilliance and glory of heaven, and the beauty of its foundations, gates, and walls. I read about the river of the water of life flowing from the throne of God, the tree of life bearing its fruit, and the healing of the nations. I read to the end of chapter 22 and as I read the very last word of the chapter, at that exact moment, another thought not of my own thinking came to me. "That is what Lydia is seeing right now."

Immediately my spirit rose within me and the pain in my heart began to ease. I realized Lydia was not missing anything. She was, in fact, part of something far greater than our little Christmas celebration. She was with Christ himself. Through God's word I was reassured of His promise of life through Jesus Christ and the fulfillment of that promise in Lydia. I felt certain that if given the choice between returning to us or staying in heaven, she would choose to stay in heaven and wait for us there. When we finished opening our gifts and I looked at the mess that needed to be cleaned up, I even felt rather envious of my wife."

When I had little or no faith in God or Jesus Christ, I still enjoyed Christmas. Christmas was a time for family and friends, for gift giving, and sharing warm smiles and warm feelings. In 1997, when I came into a knowledge of God and became aware of Him as a part of my life, Christmas truly became a celebration of the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. It bacame so much more than just a family celebration. The meaning of it reached deeper into my heart and mind and filled my soul with a greater joy than it had ever done before. Since the death of my wife on Christmas Day, Christmas has not only been a time for family and friends, not only a time to reflect on the meaning of the birth of Jesus Christ, but also a time to celebrate the resurrection power of the living Christ who came not only to give meaning to our days on earth, but to also open the door to everlasting life with our Father in heaven. I know that is true because He assured me that my wife was indeed in the presence of Glory.

I was thankful that I had not found a new job before Christmas. Having only my part time job at the seafood market had given me more time to spend with my wife during what were to be her last days with us. It was also a blessing that I did not have the pressures of a new job conflicting with stress of adjusting to life without my wife. After a couple of months, I resumed my search for a new career.

I applied to jobs requiring my newly obtained computer programming skills and I went on interviews with several different companies, but no doors opened. I expanded my job search to include any kind of job that might improve my financial situation. I sent out a steady stream of resumes. I applied to part time jobs that I could work along with my job at the seafood market, but no doors opened. My children brought home leters from school that described the school's urgent need for part time cafeteria aides. I expressed my interest in becoming a cafeteria aide, and even that door would not open. I could not even get a job as a part time cafeteria aide. I grew increasingly frustrated. I questioned God about the computer programming course and its purpose. I desparately wondered why no doors were opening for me. I worried more and more as my financial situation continued to deteriorate.

Late in the summer of 2002, the management of the apartment complex where I lived sent a letter to all of the tenants explaining their intent to improve the standards of their residences and the apartment community in general. To support their efforts they were going to increase our rents beginning with October's payment. The increase was significant. I was in real trouble. It became impossible for me to meet my financial obligations. I felt lost. I kept wondering why God did not intervene in my situation. Why didn't He open a door for me? I worked hard to make it through the computer programming course, even signed away custody of my children to get it done, and I didn't even want to take the course to begin with. Why had He abandoned me?

In November of 2002 I was leaving work after having closed the seafood market. I had some food with me I was taking home to feed the family, four crab cakes and some shrimp. The general manager stopped me on my way out and asked if I had a receipt for the food. I did not have a receipt. He took the food from me and told me he would have to give the situation some thought over the weekend. I also gave the situation some thought. It was pointless to go on. I was not making enough money at the seafood market to pay my bills, there seemed to be no hope of finding a way through the crisis, and now I was a thief. I gave up. On Monday I handed the general manager my store keys and told him I might as well just leave. I spent a good ampunt of time over the next few days crying on my sofa. I was deeply depressed. I surrenderd to the idea that God was not going to come to my rescue.

One night I raised my fist to God in anger. I said to Him, "God, if you are not going to help me find a job and work my way out of this mess, if we are in fact going to be evicted, I am going to need some packing boxes. Maybe you can at least help me with that, help me find some packing boxes." The next morning I looked out the sliding patio door of our apartment and I saw dozens of empty cardboard boxes sitting on the ground. Workers had begun the renovation of the apartments behind ours and they were tossing the boxes for the new appliances onto the ground between the apartment rows. I asked one of the men if I could use some of the boxes. He told me I could take whatever I needed.

God finally answered a prayer, though it was not the one I would have chosen to be answered. He gave me some boxes. I took that as a sign that we would be leaving our apartment. No new job was forthcoming and there was not going to be any financial miracle to save the day. Do I believe that God arranged to have those men throw those boxes on the hill the day after my prayer for boxes? No, I don't believe that. I do believe that God knew those men would be throwing those boxes out there, and He put it on my mind and in my heart to ask for boxes that night. I do believe that. The boxes were going to come in handy for packing, but more importantly, the boxes let me know that God knew what was happening. I had not fallen through the cracks or had somehow escaped God's attention. God knew what was going on with me, and He was okay with it. I felt better knowing that God knew what was happening. I did not like the situation, being unemployed and on the verge of eviction, but I now had a peace about it. I knew God was still with me and that gave me reason to believe that everything was going to be alright. I was able to let go of my anger and contempt.

I needed help. I needed a place for myself and my children to live. I did not go to the government for help. I did not go to my in-laws for help, nor did I go to my own mother or siblings for help. I had never even mentioned what was going on with me because I felt it was a matter between me and God. Since it was a matter between me and God, I went to my spiritual family for help. I went to the people who had been praying with me and for me for the past five years, ever since I had walked out of the baptismal waters and into their embraces. I went to my brothers and sisters in Christ.

New Exodus Fellowship had use of a rowhome in the city and there were a couple of single men living there who had need of a place to stay. The pastor offered me the opportunity to stay there until I could get back on my feet. My daughters moved in with the assistant pastor and his family, the same family who took them in while I was in computer school. Eviction day came in the middle of January 2003. My daughters went with me when I moved my belongings to the church house. The place was cluttered and needed a lot of work. My girls asked, "Daddy, are you sure you want to live here?" I told them things would fine after I did some cleaning. I was happy to have a place to stay.

Shortly after I moved into the church house, my car broke down. The transmission was shot. I called my bank to see how much money I had in my checking account and the recording informed me that I had a balance of zero dollars and zero cents. I was down to nothing, no money, no home, and no transportation. Later that same day I saw an online sermon message titled, "When you are down to nothing, God is up to something." I hoped they were right.

If God was for me, as I had come to believe, and He felt it was in my best interests to go through these struggles, then I decided I needed to get to know God better, because I was not seeing eye to eye with Him and His plan. I made a commitment to read the bible from first page to last page in the hopes of understanding Him better. I also continued to look for work. I saw a position available on a horse farm near the home where my daughters were staying. I thought it would be a good opportunity to be closer to my children and I was going to apply. That same day, as I continued reading through the bible, I read a scripture that said, "Do not rely on horses." It seemed as though it were speaking directly to me. Was it a coincidence, or was it a leading? I wasn't sure, but I decided not to apply for that job. I was determined to try and do things God's way, to walk in the path He designed for me.

A station wagon was donated to the church and the car was sent to the house where I was staying. I was given the keys with the instructions that I was to transport myself and my fellow residents to church services, bible studies, and wherever work was needed by the church and its members. I was also given the opportunity to make some money. There was a blind woman in our congregation who had earned her Doctorate's degree and worked as a counselor in two schools in the city. On certain days of the week she worked at a middle school on the east side of the city and on other days she worked at a high school on the west side of the city. She relied on taxi cabs to take her to and from the schools. I was assigned to be her driver, using the donated car. She could pay me half of what it cost her to use the taxi cabs, and I could earn some money.

The benefits of being her driver went far beyond the money I was able to put in my pocket. I saw the world from a different point of view. I saw the world as a place built for people who can walk, and talk, and hear, and see. There were some allowances made for handicapped people, but it was really the handicapped who needed to adapt and find a way to fit in. I saw in my new friend the patience required to deal with a world that showed no patience toward those who cannot keep up. She was a very independent woman who worked hard to earn her independence, teaching herself to perform everyday tasks that I took for granted.

One morning, after having dropped my friend off at the middle school, I decided, for no particular reason, to take a route home different from my usual route. I passed a large billboard advertising the Mega Millions lottery drawing. The jackpot was up to 82 million dollars. I thought about the 82 million dollars and then I shared my thoughts with God. "You know, God," I said, "there is a lot of good we could do with the 82 million dollars. The church wants to turn this house where I'm staying into a halfway house for men coming out of jail and looking to get back on their feet. 82 million would make that dream a reality. In fact, we could probably create multiple halfway houses with that much money. And I could hopefully find a job in the process." I began to get excited about the possibilities. "Come on God, what do you say? You can make this happen. Its a great idea." I bought a lottery ticket at a store near home and said, "Okay God, here are the numbers. You can do this. You can make the numbers come up that would make this a winning ticket. Let's do this." I read the numbers to God out loud and I felt very good about the chances of this being the winning ticket. The drawing was held that night, a Friday night, and the next morning I eagerly looked at the results of the lottery drawing. I did not win, and I was deeply disappointed.

The next day, Sunday, I was at church and I was at the kneeler waiting for a prayer partner. I had not spoken to anyone about the lottery or my conversation with God. The assistant pastor came to pray with me. Usually, the prayer partner would ask what I wanted to pray about, but on this occasion the pastor simply placed one hand on my shoulder, he raised his other hand in the air, and he began praying. He prayed in tongues and after a couple of minutes he stopped and gave me a word concerning my family, I don't remember exactly what he said. Then he resumed praying in tongues and after a minute or so he paused. He said, "I'm getting two words. I don't know what these two words mean, so I'll give them to you and maybe you will know what they mean." He paused for a moment then said, "the two words are," another dramatic pause, then, "not yet." Not yet? Of course I knew what not yet meant. God had not seen fit to allow me to win the 82 million dollar lottery drawing, but now He was telling me not yet. That meant that the day would eventually come and I would win the jackpot. What else could it mean? Until then, one step at a time.

In late April of 2003 I was visiting with my mother at our family home which was about an hour north of the church home. Since I had left home as a young man the family home served as an anchor for me. It brought some stability to my world as I struggled to find my own footing. My father died in 1985 and after his death my mother spent her time maintaining the family home. She not only took care of the inside of the house, she also enjoyed the yard work. The yard work had eventually become too much for her to handle on her own so the husband of one of my sisters began to help her. On the day I visited my mother, she told that my brother-in-law would no longer be helping her. She was upset because she could no longer do it all by herself and she didn't know what she was going to do. Now, I had never mentioned anything to my mother about losing my job and the apartment and having to move into the church house, because there was no point in troubling her with my problems. But because of my problems, I was able to tell her that I could help her with her yard work. She smiled. "You can?" she asked with a little shriek of joy. She was happy that I would be able to work with her, and so was I.

Before the summer was over, my mother began to tell some strange stories about things that she was seeing and hearing. She was developing senile dementia. That summer was the last she would spend working in the yard. I am thankful for the time I had with my mother, to spend the summer with her and work at her side. I was thankful to God for having made it possible.

Along with driving my blind friend to work, and helping my mother in the yard, a fellow resident in the church home taught me another way to put a little money in my pockets. He took me through the neighborhood streets collecting empty soda cans and beer cans. He showed me where to take them and be paid. A good day would yield a couple of plastic grocery bags worth of cans. After a couple of weeks, we would have about ten dollars worth of cans. One day we were getting ready to go out and collect cans when I felt led to read a little from the bible before we started. We read about Jesus feeding five thousand people rom two small fish and a loaf of bread, with baskets of food left over after everyone had eaten. When we finished reading, my housemate said he was not feeling well and no longer wanted to go out collecting cans, so I went by myself. As I was walking along the street I saw a woman sitting on her porch.

"Collecting cans?" she asked.

"Yes, I am," I replied.

"I have some cans you can have," she said.

She had two large trash cans on her porch that were filled to the top with empty cans. She went into the house and came out with two large trash bags. She held the bags open while I emptied the cans into the bags and we ended up with both trash bags stuffed full of cans. I was happy and excited to get back to the house and show off what was surely an unprecedented haul of cans. I believed there was a connection between the story we had read about the miraculous feeding of the five thousand and this treasure trove of empty cans. I believed God was showing us that He was with us. My housemate was surprised to see the quantity of cans I had, but he did not share in my belief that it was the result of God showing His faithfulness to us. "Its just a coincidence," he said, shrugging his shoulders. I was sorry he did not share in my enthusiasm, but his skepticism did nothing to diminish my faith. I knew God was in it.

As spring warmed into summer of 2003, I began to see an elderly woman sweeping behind her rowhome. Looking out the back of the church house, there was an alleyway. Across the alleyway, up towards the left where we could see the backs of the rowhomes built along an adjacent street, I would see the old woman almost daily. She would sweep her sidewalk, then her drive, and then she would sweep out into the alleyway behind her house. Some days I would see her sweeping the sidewalk that ran beside our stretch of the alleyway, and other days I would see her sweeping the sidewalks in front of the homes along both her street and our street. I never saw her up close and I never saw her when she wasn't sweeping, except once.

MORE TO COME