… the thoughts from a life in the Son-shine State

I woke up, and something was different.
Could I really explain how I felt? No.

It was the morning after a night like I had never experienced before.
It sounds like I got wasted at the night club, doesn’t it? The difference is I remembered everything that had happened.

My world got rocked.
I laid there on the floor Wednesday night and poured my heart out to God, confessing how much of a sinner I was and that I needed Him to change my life.

This wasn’t some hyped, confused, over-emotional, mislead decision. I said a moment ago that I couldn’t really explain how I felt, but it doesn’t mean that I didn’t know what happened and the consequences that were to follow.

I got saved!

Saved from the drugs!
Saved from the alcohol!
Saved from the stealing!
Saved from all the other addictions, short-comings, insecurities and lies that I was living!

I was saved from my sin!

My life was on a new course now… a different path.

As I spent our second full day waiting in line, just like the previous day, I suddenly had a different perspective. Whereas I really didn’t understand why people would wait all day in line, now I understood.

Something was happening here…
There was something different… more different than I had ever experienced before…
Something so powerful that I was moved beyond words to a place of desperation…
… and I was wanted more.

To be continued

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[This entry was written on location, and the photo was taken at the time this post is being written. The photos being held in the shot are of the line outside at Brownsville Assembly of God, and was taken by myself the year following my first trip (1998)]

First full day was spent waiting in a line on the sidewalk.

Yup. I didn’t stutter, or mistype if you will. We waited in line, all day, from about 8:30 AM to when the doors opened in the evening.

Crazy? Maybe.
Did I know why we were waiting in line? I only knew that a lot of people were coming to this thing, and we didn’t drive 1,400 miles to sit in one of the other rooms.

The day was filled with throwing a football, lunch at Barnhills, naps, and sun bathing. (Yes, it was February; but remember that we came down from the frozen north. This was like April weather to us!)

As the time approached for us to enter the building, we put away our chairs, blankets, coolers, etc and began to tighten-up the line. An older gentleman was on a white megaphone, and was saying “Single file line. Single file line. No drinks, bags, coolers, umbrellas allowed inside.” (The last part may not be exactly the order.)

We were fortunate enough to get front row seats.
I was front row, middle isle, inside seat.
Yeah… in the bulls-eye. The spit flying from the mouth of Steve Hill, the evangelist preaching in the service, was flying over me. That’s how close we were.

Worship time.
I did what I knew to do: stand and seem interested.
All I remember is staring at the cross inlaid in the wall behind the stage, and being brought to tears.

The rest of the service was kind of a blur, until the end…

We were ushered to the back of the room because the seats we were in were only temporary seating, and they were making room at the front by removing those seats.

As I stood in the back of the room, Steve Hill made the call to those who needed to respond to the Gospel. I don’t really know why, but I knew that I just needed to respond, so I ran down to the front and threw myself on the floor, and began to weep.

Something was happening to me that had never happened before.

To be continued

We travelled down the highway all day long.
Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, then Florida…

By this time, I already had some arguments with the teenage son of one of the pastors on the trip, listened to my “Devil music” over and over, complained about the dude that stunk up the on-board bathroom, and had a great meal at Shoney’s.

So far so good (as good as my god-hating state could be in).

When we finally arrived in Pensacola, FL it was already getting dark. Apparently there was a Tuesday night prayer meeting already in progress, which we joined, of course.

I wasn’t sure what to make of all the commotion I voluntarily walked into. I had never witnessed this kind of prayer meeting… people pacing, walking all over, loudly praying over everything… yes, even the bathrooms. I know this because I quickly made my way to the men’s room to relieve myself after our long, arduous trip, only to be creeped out by the dude mumbling some prayer at the urinal next to me. I slowly and slightly angled my body, as a precaution (you know what I mean), and as not to draw attention to myself or make the other guy feel bad. It was just… a little creepy for me…

Anyway…

The sanctuary was packed with people walking, sitting, kneeling, laying down, worshiping, and praying. There were banners on tall poles stationed around the room, and people were gathered around these banners praying for the different subjects/categories on them. There were banners representing the government, family, schools, revival, etc. I wasn’t really sure what to do, and I didn’t want to simply sit in protest in the corner (at this point I’m not really sure what would have happened if I did), so I knelt in front of the “schools” banner and pretended to pray. In fact, I think I remember kneeling next to my friend Elizabeth and trying to hold her hand… I know what you are thinking, pretty slick maneuver… I know.

Once the night was over it all seemed pretty harmless. I wasn’t sure what the rest of the week was going to hold, but I was enjoying the short-sleeve weather and a great game of hotel “manhunt” (until I collided with one of the other kids on the trip and hurt my leg… but that’s neither here nor there).

To be continued…

15 years ago…

This time 15 years ago, right at the moment I am typing these words, I was seated in the back of a charter bus which was passing through New York City.

In the middle of a snow storm, that charter bus pulled out of the Living Hope Assembly of God parking lot in Pawtucket, RI at 5:30 AM.

It’s destination? Pensacola, FL.

With headphones on, Nine Inch Nails blaring, and feeling a rising frustration (because I’m tired, and these happy-go-lucky church people are annoyingly chattering away), I nestled into the back corner seat awaiting our arrival in Florida; which wouldn’t happen until tomorrow evening.

Why was I on this bus?
All I knew is that there was some church thing going on in Brownsville, Florida (which I learned is a neighborhood in Pensacola).

What was I anticipating?
Beaches and babes. I was reveling in the fact that I would be on the beach, while all my friends froze their butts off in the now snowed-in New England in mid February.

This two-day journey to the panhandle of Florida was the beginning of an amazing week, which was the turning point of the life of a fifteen-year old living in Massachusetts.

To be continued…

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