Good evening. My name is Keith and I am a believer in Jesus Christ who suffers from drug addiction, anger management, and control.
I was raised in a small town in Michigan called, Warren, a suburb of Detroit. In my young life I was a spoiled kid. I was given all that I ever wanted by a father working a high end job for General Dynamics and a mother who worked for the local police department. Dad would drink socially, however, it was never a negative, and I never suffered abuse at his hands because of it. All in all, my life was a great one and there were no issues with my family.
My one challenge stemmed from my inability to learn. School was always my challenge, no matter what the subject was. I was shoved around from class to class to the extent that I failed second grade. I didn’t learn to read, I didn’t learn to write, however, I became very adept at lying, and found that most situations that would challenge me could be bypassed, by stating what others wanted to hear. This would plague me well into my adult life. By the time I was in sixth grade, I had overcome, by deceit, any obstacles that should have kept me behind my peers.
It was around this time that I started experimenting with marijuana. In it I found acceptance from people my age because there was no judgment from them. They didn’t care if I could spell, they didn’t care if I could write, they only cared that I would get wasted, and in so doing, hide from my problems. This continued through the remainder of my high school career, which ended my junior year, when I joined the military. I was 17 and the Vietnam war was winding down. That lasted seven-and-a-half months.
At 18 I came home in shame. The military had determined that I was incapable of service, due to my educational handicap. I came home and buried myself in partying. At any given moment, I could be on acid, pcp, mescaline, thc, or any other various drug that I could get my hands on. I met a nice young lady whose parents would insist that she was home on time, which was fine by me, as I could stay out until all hours with my drugs. At 17, while she was still in school, she became pregnant. As it would simply not fit my lifestyle, while she was in the hospital having just delivered my son, I found another lady friend and decided she was more appropriate. I subtly explained to the mother of my child that an extra burden wouldn’t suit my particular interests, and forced her to put the baby up for adoption.
At 21 I married the girl that I had cheated with. By that time I had convinced her that pot was not the best high, and had introduced her to the harder drugs that I was used to. We enjoyed a 70’s lifestyle in the early 80’s, filled with adulterous liaisons and party drugs. Meanwhile, her neighbor, who was the hiring manager for the Chevrolet corporation, took a chance on us, and we suddenly found ourselves gainfully employed, making more money than either of us knew what to do with. That is when we were introduced to cocaine. It became our drug of choice, and we were never without an ounce for any emergency.
After four and a half years of this, a sudden occurrence impacted our lives in a way we never would have imagined. The job that had supplied our habits for years, laid us off. I would like to say that it concerned me, however, the extremely generous severance package offered to both of us, gave us enough money to invest in product, rather than savings.
At 25 a second incident occurred that was to shape my future. While delivering product to a friend of mine, to the tune of 2 ounces, I was informed of my Miranda rights, as said friend decided that it was the appropriate time to mention his real career -- under cover narcotics officer. I went to jail on 13 counts of delivering cocaine to a police officer. To add insult to injury, my wife of 4.5 years decided that it was the best time to divorce me. Finally, for two years, I was a guest of the Mccomb county department of corrections.
Upon release, I found myself wandering and moved back into my parents home. After a few jobs lost because of the return of my habit, I wound up at 30 opening my own print shop based out of my parent’s garage. My father gave me the four thousand dollars needed for the equipment, and I quickly found myself and my shop self-sustaining. I initially was more than capable of earning in the 40 thousand dollar range, and quickly was making between 50-60 thousand dollars a year. More than enough for the newest drug on the market. Crack cocaine.
This was different however. I was fairly successful in the business that I had created, but I could not find enough money to keep up with the habit. Suddenly everything I had would be sold, traded, or given for the drug. I would buy a ten dollar rock, smoke it, and then 15 minutes later, need to buy another rock. When the money was gone, I would sell whatever I had. When I didn’t have anything, I would sell whatever anyone else had that I could get my hands on. The primary candidates were my family members, whom I robbed, stole from, and lied to for 5 years to sustain my high.
At 33 years old, still living at home, my parents decided to go on a 3 month sabbatical to the warmer climes of Florida. When they returned, they came home to find approximately half of all their possessions missing. Washer, dryer, antiques, tokens handed down through generations of family. All gone. All for a pittance of their value, so that I could get just one more hit. They had had enough. They turned me loose and let me know that I was no longer welcome in their home. I was devastated. Where could I find something to sell for my next rock??
I found myself at the mercy of the salvation army for a place to live. During that year I met a man who would come to be a mentor to me. He introduced me to Christ and skydiving. With the help of both, I stayed relatively clean for the next 8 years, sometimes smoking a little pot, but nothing serious, so I thought. I moved to central Florida to pursue a career in professional skydiving. I was that good. I lived in a trailer on the world’s largest drop zone, trying to become the skydiver I thought I should be, meanwhile working in a print shop to make ends meet and to provide for my past time.
Because of my disappointment in my ability, old feelings re surfaced, haunting me, from my school days. I wasn’t good enough. Along with old feelings came old habits. My old friend crack paid me a visit and my old ways came flooding back. Again, I found myself selling anything and everything I could get my hands on for my next high. It was never even a question. I didn’t ease myself back into it, it was black and white. One day I didn’t, and the next I did. It was comfort. It was friend. It was habit.
And the floor of my life, dropped deeper and wider out from under me than ever.
During this time, I found out what it meant to be truly homeless. For 7 years I lived in cardboard boxes on railroad tracks, spent time in jail, ate out of dumpsters, and for money, put my companion out on the street as a prostitute. All for the love of crack.
They say when you hit bottom, the only way you can see is up. In my case, when I hit bottom, I could only look up, and God was who I saw. Thanks to the love of a woman who had been thru hell with me, I started the process of returning to God. It was she that convinced me that my path was leading to Him, that He would eventually forgive, welcome, and shower me with grace. In prison again, I began teaching myself to read. Because of the love of this woman, the thing that caught my eye, that convinced me to try to read, turned out to be the Word of God. For the first time in my life I had something worth reading. I couldn’t stop, day or night, I could be found with a Bible in my hands. Any time that I had to myself, in a sentence span of over 2 years, was spent with a Savior that I never really knew I had.
Upon the release of my partner after her 5th time in prison, she was called by her son to move to Jacksonville. Although I had been released 3 months previous, I decided to stay where I was. This began a procession of her making regular calls to me, asking me to move up with her, at which point I would consider her offer, until I once again, realized that the drug dealer was a much shorter walk than it was to the bus station. In a final attempt to reunite, she contacted my father, who after all that had happened, he still wanted the best for me He sent her money and she sent the bus ticket.
I prayed, really prayed for the first time, with everything in me, on that bus ride to Jacksonville. A prayer for deliverance, a prayer for healing, a prayer for strength, and a prayer for a new life, one not riddled with drugs.
A prayer that was answered.
Upon my arrival, I was immediately taken in by Melissa’s son, Steve, who provided a shelter in the way of an RV behind his home. We could have some privacy there as we began our new start. For six months we grew together and gained in our walk with God. But the true miracle was about to occur.
I found a job at a printing company where I continue to work today. Because of that job, we were able to move into our own place and have since moved into a home where we expect to stay for the foreseeable future. We have grown closer, and although there are still rough times, I will always treasure her for the love that she is.
Steve started out, attending a new ministry at Christ church. Something called Celebrate Recovery. His interest drew in Melissa, who, after all that we had been through, was still hurting. Celebrate Recovery seemed to make a difference. So it was with happy heart that I drove the both of them to the church for their time with God. I was, of course, invited, but decided that spiritual fluff was not for me. The trials that I had been through, the time spent homeless, and the pain I had endured simply made me defensive and I couldn’t find my way through it.
During one of the evenings, I stopped long enough to be prayed for by a few of the more spiritual, and one that seemed a little off his rocker, but still nice enough. Their prayer and kindness touched me, however, I still remained hesitant. I decided to try attending a Sunday service. I met with a young pastor who invited me in for a brief discussion. His words reached me, not only because of his message, but in the caring way that it was delivered. He didn’t seem to care about my past. During that service, I heard Rob preach for the first time. In his sermon, a passage was discussed, that I had studied long and hard in my initial readings.
Matthew 8:20
New International Version (NIV)
Jesus replied, “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”
Here was the Savior, the Son of God, who died for me, stating that He, of all people, was homeless. It felt that Rob preached directly to my heart. It felt that I was accepted, that I was welcomed, that I was home.
In that moment I realized something. I had been afraid. Afraid of coming to a Savior, who, although he was reputed to forgive, I was still sure that the things that I had done were well beyond that redemption. I thought there was no way that my sins were pardonable. And here I was, sitting in His house, and a man of God was explaining to me, that I had been wrong all that time. That He was willing, was filled with grace, and finally, after a life of pain, and suffering, He was reaching out to yet another sin-filled soul, that had never dreamt that redemption was available.
I accepted Christ, that day, truly for life.
I have been clean for 3 years. I have become a regular church family member. I continue to build a life with Melissa, and will spend the remainder of my life in humble love of her that helped guide me back to Him. I have become a volunteer at church, serving wherever and whenever I have an available moment. I co-lead a men’s group meeting on Saturday mornings. I am trusted, and loved enough that I have access to the church building, and can be held responsible for making sure that it is secure.
More than all this, however, is a miracle that no one ever saw coming. Ten days before I was released from one of my various trips to jail, my mother passed into His loving arms. She was a true believer, as was evidenced by her love for a son that had betrayed her time and time again. That wasn’t the miracle of course. The miracle is now, I KNOW, that she rests in His kingdom for the rest of eternity. And while there, she continues to check in on me from time to time. Only now she smiles. Her heart rests easily, and someday, I will stand with her, and hold her tightly to me, and let her know that her prayers were not in vain. The Lord has me now, and for the rest of my life and beyond.
Thank you, and good night.
August 19, 2011
