Damascus Road

It was an early September night, and the young man was walking down the long dark road near his home. He was actually not high on this night, which was no small miracle. For reasons, he would never understand, but never forget, he walked with an eye toward the stars. He had no particular destination in mind. Perhaps, he might find the right place to get high.

He never fit in anywhere. Always feeling like the outcast, until he discovered the drug culture & free love of subsequent lost souls. He had entered the party life early. Drinking before he was fifteen. Soon afterwards, he discovered his God, in the form of marijuana. In time, every drug of that time he would abuse but strangely never have any addiction problems.

He came to the end of the road that he lived on and turned left. To this day he can show you exactly where he was when it all changed dramatically. The moment when life would never be the same, even in the years that followed, when he tried in vain to forget the reality of that night.

He would never forget the intricate details of that night. First came a whoosh. It was an incredible sensation that ran from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Then the words. Words that were never thought about or formed in his mind. Strangely, one lone tear ran down his left cheek. He always thought that odd.

"Come & admit you're wrong. Come & sing My glorious song."

He never ceased walking the entire time. It is a few steps later, when he strains to look to the Heavens & ask a question that he already knows the answer to.

"God, is that You?" 

The realization sets in.

"Oh, my God. You are real. All my life I heard You were but You are actually real. Oh, my God."  

He was very naive. He began to tell people of the event, thinking they would know it was true, but eyes began to roll & few wanted to hear it. Surely, the good people at church will love to hear this. Sadly, that was for the most part another dead end. They did not believe in that night, or that his transformation was real. Maybe they thought he was beyond redemption.

He had assumed that what occurred that night was something that happened often.  So, he did not run up an aisle at Church. Does that make it less real?

The dramatic transformation was too much and the frustrations & subsequent horrible decisions he made eventually drove him to curse that night. "Why, did You not just leave me alone?" The biggest lie he began to believe was that that night was little to do with him. It was merely answered prayers for his mom. He knew God loved her enough to answer her prayers about her wayward son, but he did not believe in God's love for him.

It took many years for him to return to God. He still searches for answers concerning that night. Some answers he realizes now. A dear friend, who upon hearing the story for the first time nearly forty years later said about the treatment he received from the people of the church. "I think their behavior says more about them than it ever did about you."

Very recently it dawned on him about these words he heard that night. Sing My glorious song. He grew up in church, where it was more about what you should or should not do. It was not so much about worship. He realized that was what God was saying that night. Worship Me. God wanted him free to worship. Not bogged down in religion.

He thought of something recently about that time of transformation that had not had cross his mind in decades. He was on probation at the time of the Damascus Road. It was several months later when his probation officer called and demanded he be in the office the next day.

He thought it strange but he was not worried & he knew for the first time in years if it was about a drug test he would pass.

The young man entered the office the next day as ordered. The man got right to the point. He had the most spiritual dream. A vision. He wanted to discuss it with the criminal that sat in front of him. Someone that might not think that he was crazy.

Papa Jack

"Good & bad in all. Good & bad in Black...Good & bad in White."

The above quote is attributed to the man in the photo. He was my Grandad, Jack Rogers. Many people referred to him as Papa Jack and that was not limited to family members. The dog in his lap, Tootsie, was my dog but make no mistake she loved Papa Jack more than anyone. I was not even a close second.

Papa Jack wore a white shirt & tie daily as he is in the photo. This was even after he retired in the early sixties from running the Fish Market on Oleander Drive in the community of Sea Gate. He & my Grandmother, Ruth Rogers owned the store together. Those of you that have read The River Hideaway might recall I based the character of Vicky on my Grandmother.    

Papa Jack had little in the way of education and he was a simple man in many ways. Look at the photo again and look at his right hand. That is a Tampa Nugget Cigar. It was also part of his daily routine to enjoy a few of them each day.

There was much racial conflict in this area when I was a boy. Wilmington was in the national news for being placed on curfew after a riot broke out. If memory serves me correctly I believe the National Guard was brought in just as it has been this week in Baltimore.

I lived right across the field from my Grandparents and I often sprinted to spend time with my Grandmother. She was my hero. She still is. 

On this particular night my grandparents were watching the news and I recall seeing fires and racial conflict play out on the little black and white screen. I can't say for certain what event this was. But I do recall with clarity that my Grandad, as he was watching, very simply stated,  "Good & bad in all. Good & bad in Black...Good & bad in White."

I have never forgotten that statement. Very simply stated, true, & full of wisdom. That was how he viewed things. I wish everyone might have seen things that simply.


As a little boy, I don't think I was aware & even if I was I don't know if I would have grasped the magnitude of something my Grandad routinely did as part of his business. He delivered fish to black neighborhoods. He often sat and shared coffee, or a meal.

My sister Kay, the family historian, added another part to this story. Grandad treated all of his customers fairly and that included extending credit regardless of race. 

Mom often remarked that she believed that Grandad truly did not see color. I think considering the times, it is easy to say that is remarkable but I also just believe that it is right.

I was a young man when Grandad passed away. My Grandmother, preceded him in death. One particular memory that brings a smile to me was during my early years as the Park Supervisor for the Town of Wrightsville Beach. I was enjoying a conversation with an older black man, who worked for the Public Works Dept. He was from the area as most of us were back then. We swapped stories of where we grew up and I asked him about the fish market. I don't recall much of the conversation but I do recall what he said when he discovered that I was the grandson of Jack Rogers. "Mr. Jack was your Granddaddy! He was a fine man."

I wish I could write that in my youth I saw no color-that I never joined in nor spoke some of those horrible words that flowed so freely and sadly still do. Deep down I did not hate because of a difference in color but I also was prone to believe some of the stereotypes expressed by those around me.

I have shared liberally that I had a powerful Damascus Road moment as a young man. In the blink of an eye I encountered God, or more likely He encountered me. As I began my often failed walk with Him-from that moment the light went on in my heart I knew without anyone telling me that God did not see color. His love shared equally and gracefully. Nothing else could possibly make sense.

One of the greatest blessings for me is hearing comments from people-even Christians that I know & respect, who have read The River Hideaway. They have said things like it made them question whether they truly believed that hearts have no color.  Were they without prejudice in the eyes of God?

I spoke to a group recently about my novel and I was approached by a man afterwards. He was nice-not contentious in the least. He said he grew up here just as I did but he still believed in separate but equal. He was not angry. He was just sharing and he did so quite cordially.

Later that night my wife, Julie and I discussed this encounter. She had witnessed the entire conversation. I wondered why he felt the need to share his views. Julie looked at it far differently. Jule's viewpoint was yes the man & I grew up here during similar times & obviously we viewed things differently. But maybe, just maybe, the man went  home and thought about the conversation.

Papa Jack did that for me once. He said something that made a little boy think and I have never forgotten it.

Raw Honesty

 Mark 9:24 "I do believe; help my unbelief."

This is a portion of one of my favorite scriptures. The man is requesting of Jesus to help his son. Imagine that for a moment. You want your faith to be strong but in that moment he is real, vulnerable, desperate, & most importantly, he is brutally honest. In one moment, he says he believes & then quickly contradicts that statement.

One word comes to mind for me when I read this passage. Raw. The man displays raw honesty to Jesus. Did he get criticized for a lack of faith?  Is there anything in the scriptures to show Jesus was even mildly disappointed in him? No, and Jesus delivered his son.

I believe that being honest with God, even if we are weak, angry, disillusioned- take your pick is what he desires of us. Besides, can any of us fool God? Can we hide where he can't see?

Anger has been such a part of my life for so long that while I have made strides there are times when I go back to what I know.Last week, our lives were interrupted with a Sunday, 3:31 a.m. phone call telling us Sydny, our beloved little black, chihuahua mix, had passed away after what was deemed a successful surgery. My wife, Julie, and I cried, we prayed, we sought answers, we grieved.  We still are grieving.

I had prayed so diligently over that little guy. I even anointed his little head with oil. Many others joined us in prayers. I spent a significant amount of money trying to ensure he would be with us a few more years. Just that morning he was chasing the annoying neighbor's cat off the porch. It was so hard to accept how quickly he went. We blamed ourselves. What if I would have taken him to the vet the first sign of him throwing up? Julie, was doing a side job for a friend. She blamed herself for not coming home sooner. In the end I believe there were other things going on with him that were not so evident at the time. In short, there was nothing we could have done.

It was around Day 3 that I became angry. I was angry at God for not hearing me. My wife needed me to console her. I tried but the problem is for so many years when pain comes I crawl inside of my pain and in my anger I shut the world out. It pains me to say this is who I am. As long as life is moving forward with the normal ups and downs I am pretty good. I keep my faith, my hope, but when I hurt deeply I revert back to what I know. 

It is not as if the anger fixes anything but it seems to pull me through. Lashing out at God both in loud and silent ways. The silent way was to forget morning devotion. Forget praying because my faith was spent. 

It has been both a blessing and a curse that I met Jesus on a dark road one night. He showed up unannounced & spoke. The blessing in that is that regardless of how far I ran away from him at times, I knew him to be real. There was no escaping what transpired that September night, in 1976. The curse is my life with him that began with such a powerful, supernatural moment, is I know there to be no limit to his power. So, I want him to use it more frequently.

One thing I am certain about in all this is that God is not angry at me because I was mad with him. I believe he would rather hear our raw honesty above all else. Now, he certainly wants me to break this behavior pattern and I do as well. But so far I have not been able to live the Casting Crowns song, Praise You in the Storm. 

"Praise You In This Storm"

I was sure by now
God You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say "Amen", and it's still raining

As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
"I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away 

Pain will surely come again to me. You can't protect yourself from it. I know because I have tried. I have a dug a grave for three dogs in my life and each time I feel like a part of me went down that hole with them. This was the first one in almost twenty years. My choice would be to never do it again. I made that decision when I buried Pete, my black lab mix, on Christmas Eve night, in 1994.


My hope one day in this walk is that when pain & heartache come that the first thing I will do is to praise him in the midst of it. I will press into him. I surely have a long way to go as evident by the last week.

Many of you have referenced the Rainbow Bridge, of our beloved pets crossing over. I sure hope that is the case. I can't be certain but I want to believe that Pete & Sydny are playing together, and I will see them again, this time forever.

What Is Holding You Back Dad?

My son, Micah has an amazing recall of the events of his childhood. Truthfully, considering the mistakes I made I sometimes wish this were not true. Often he says, "Dad remember when..." and I would think no way this happened. He keeps providing details and eventually I would recall the event. Many times I would joke with him that if he continually held on to every thought, every event, that his head would run out of room and a mass explosion might occur.

It was early 2002 and I was mired in a deep black hole. Often I have referred to depression as the devil's own disease. Those of you who have suffered with it know the hell I speak of. This particular bout was brought on by emotional exhaustion. During a six month stretch the previous year I had watched a Father I battled with all of my life slowly die. I had surgery on each knee within four months. Between the surgeries according to the doctor I either had a strange bacterial infection in my sinuses or a chemical reaction. I lost fourteen pounds in two weeks. I was sicker than I have ever been in my life. I had a whirlwind relationship that began at the time of my father's death and came to a crashing finality on my son's birthday. The sight of my son with dark welts under his eyes on his fourteenth birthday because of my breakup with a woman he loved brought guilt to me that I could not forgive myself for.

I was hurting, lost, lonely, and could not find a moment of peace. Remember Lt. Dan in Forrest Gump in the storm cursing at God? I did that daily but I was far angrier than Lt. Dan. I begged God to take me from this world. Each morning I was angry to find I was still alive.

It was Saturday night and Micah and I attended a church service. The theme of the minister's message was  "What is it that you hold on to that is keeping you from fullness with the Father?" At one point my son turned and looked at me and with clarity and a weariness in his voice and said, "What's holding you back, Dad?" The boy that remembers everything has no memory of this event. He takes comfort in the fact that he knows I have had supernatural moments with God. I tell him that he has experienced this as well. I thought it a strange thing for him to say that night and as time went by I realized God was speaking through Micah but I was to angry and to set on what I thought I needed in my life to listen.


Fast forward a few years later at Passion 2012 where I asked God to break off whatever else I was holding on to that kept me from intimacy with him. Moments later I was weeping, exhausted, and broken. A few days after that I recall driving down the road and saying "Father, I have made a mess out of doing it my way. I am so tired. You take the wheel. I will go where you say." He knew I meant it. Life has not been the same. The things I thought I needed I don't. What he has granted me has exceeded my dreams.

Why is it we insist on doing it our way? The results at least in my case were not good. Still, we cling to old habits, our achievements, and what we think we need to be happy.Is it a certain relationship we think we need? Is it financial security? Pride? Religious behavior, a certain lifestyle? Do we really trust God to give us what we  need? That was a big stumbling block for me. I did not trust.

He is a jealous God and he will not accept the idols we place in front of him. But he is the consummate gentleman and it will always be our choice.



What's keeping you? 

“I will make you young again.”

It was December 30, 2011, and Peter Mattis was home for the holidays and leading an informal worship service in the fellowship hall. Two weeks prior I kept sensing that I was to write about my spiritual journey. It was four pages of brutal honesty beginning with a dramatic Damascus Road experience to subsequently falling away and having an anger towards God and life that festered for decades. As I look back at the urging to write a paper that I have shared with very few people it is as if God wanted me to understand where I had been before he took me to the next phase.

It was early in the night when as I worshiped freely that I heard with unmistakable clarity, “I will make you young again.” It was so apparent that I looked around at the people nearby perhaps to see if they had heard the same voice. It was that clear. My thoughts drifted to a few months back when I had asked God a simple question. Is it too late for me to dream?

Three days later I was in Atlanta surrounded by 45,000 people, most of whom were college students. The event was Passion 2012 and I had never heard of it until it was mentioned in church the previous day. My friend Jim in his easy going manner suggested I attend the meeting with him after church and listen with no pressure. There were openings to go but I had to decide soon as we would leave very early the next morning. Jim made it easier by saying that I could ride with him. I don’t like crowds and am such a homebody that my life would be deemed boring by most, but in my spirit I knew I was supposed to get out of my comfort zone and attend. 

God used Passion to break lose the last chains that bound me and to show me what I lacked. It was the last evening service that looking  back set me free. I looked around as thousands worshipped. Their faces so peaceful, so joyful, so in love with God. I knew they had something I did not. I left early and walked back to the hotel, confused, lost, and in a city of millions I was alone.

The next morning was the final session. The music was flowing & I said, "God, I don't even know what I am still clinging too. My hopes, dreams, failures. Whatever it is, break it off. In the next moment I was crying, broken, and I no longer was out of place. 

As time passed, I assumed that Passion was the fulfillment of that whisper and I was grateful. But in the summer as I had coffee with Jim, he said, “I think about you hearing God say that he would make you young again. You are much younger.” He paused searching for the right words and then he nodded, “You are so much lighter.”

As this year draws to a close I have had more ongoing confirmations that the whisper, though not yet fulfilled, keeps growing. I get puzzled looks as people search for their words to describe the difference they see. Last week a long time friend said, “I have never seen you this happy and calm.”

This year has proven to be a year of unprecedented spiritual growth. What magical thing did I do? Did I pray more, fast more, strive harder, and follow more laws. No. I simply asked God to to set up shop in my heart. More of  him and less of me. It really is that simple.

Six little words that keep growing and I am excited for I am young again.