*This is a true story based on real events. Names and places have been changed to protect the author, and to protect the privacy of others mentioned in this story.
It was the summer 1971, and I was enjoying another perfectly gorgeous day. The skies were turquoise blue with fluffy lamb clouds trotting in the breeze. The temperatures were in the low 80’s and life near the beach was superb! Living in Florida had been a life long dream, and I pinched myself to prove I was finally away from the painful memories of my Wisconsin heritage. My eighteenth birthday brought a trip across country and dropped me in heaven. A scholarship in art awaited me, with only one-piece missing – to graduate from a high school in Florida. Seemed easy enough to arrange!
It was just three short blocks to walk to work, and one more day of skipping out of the last few days of High School. It wasn’t easy making ends meet, but Michael promised to give me a raise soon. I bounced into the store – “The Waterbed Factory” and began painting swirls and dots imitating the waves in the ocean on the frame of a waterbed.
It was a perfect job for me! Being irrepressibly drawn to art since a small child,
I spent my time painting psychedelic images on custom made water bed frames.
Michael was the owner. He built the frames and schmoozed the clients. Most were wealthy Snow Birds excited to get in on the newest rage – waterbeds. He was quite the charmer, and thoroughly enjoyed the thrill of a sale. He did not suffer from low-esteem, to be sure. I have to give the guy credit though, for he had worked hard to start the business from scratch, and grew it enough to afford to hire me. At 25 years old, he was constantly on the prowl for his next female conquest. Fortunately, I was much too young! I saw the cad in him, but he was great to work with. And I got to paint!
The waves on the headboard were taking shape nicely, and I found just the right hue of cerulean blue to balance the viridian green of the water. The door chime sounded, forcing me from the flow. I looked up and to my astonishment, saw five men who looked misplaced from a 1940’s mafia flick. What a kick! Do people in Florida really dress this way? White Panama suits, black shirts, white tie and a white fedora, with Pat Boone white buckskin shoes for the finishing touch.
The men spread out across the room, opened the suits and flashed a collection pistols and even a machine gun! I didn’t know if I should laugh or run.
A short, trimly built, middle aged, Italian looking man, who appeared to model himself after the ‘Godfather’ movie, strutted toward Michael. This ‘Godfather’, who appeared to be in charge, pointed his pistol at Michael’s temple.
With staged calmness he stated,
“I’ve been watching you steal customers away from me. (pause)
I am not pleased with this. (longer pause)
I am offering a solution.” (even longer pause)
“You got 24 hours to go back to New York.
If you want to stay here, your new home will be, shall we say – wet?
“You’ll be found in the bay. Not movin’. Not breathin’.”
Michael turned white. Gazing at the serious manner the mob members handled their guns, he didn’t even have to think about giving up his hard earned business. He stuttered, “ahhh… no problem, I’ll go now!”
Michael grabbed a briefcase and ran through the front doors, looking back every few steps to see if he was going to be shot.
I stared in disbelief. He just left me! Here I am alone, in a room full of thugs! No place to run or hide. How could Michael have left me?
The men asked their leader, “Hey Boss, what should we do with the girl”? My heart was in my throat and I could hardly breathe.
With a sickening grin he motioned to me and said, “Come over here girlie”!
The Boss continued. “You got the looks of a girl next door, sweet and innocent like. I’ve decided. You’re going to work for Me now. I got a store about five miles from here and you’re going to run it”!
He added, “Well, the legitimate side of my waterbed store anyway, while we deal with the real business in the back.” The men all snickered.
I felt a shiver run down my back. What does he mean by the real business? I’ve never felt as naïve’ as I felt at that moment, and was sure I wanted to remain so as long as possible. I was usually adept at talking my way out of sticky situations, but was not prepared for this.
“I don’t have a car, or any way to get there. Thanks so much for the offer of a job, but I’ll find one closer to home”, I stated with a cautious smile.
He responded with the same smooth, calm reply he gave Michael.
“I’m giving you the same choice as your partner. You’ll work for me, or you’ll end up in the bay. “
Chapter two –
I like to say I grew up in Wisconsin – but in reality lived for a short spell in California and Minnesota as well. The truth is, we were never in any one place for more than 2 years. Dad was never content, always on the move for the next bigger and better house and job. He was talented and intelligent, a most gifted salesman. Dad briskly moved to the top of any pile, able to sell ice to an Eskimo. He’d also get bored and would jump from one company to the next, always challenging himself to make more and be larger than life.
Dad worked hard, and played even harder. He was well suited to be the life of the party. Tall and handsome, he oozed charm and charisma. Picture a young James Garner. That was Dad. He sang Broadway tunes with bravado, and could dance any dance with flair and perfect rhythm. That is, until he became drunk. The humor became rank and the singing obnoxious. It was a short trip for him to become wicked, mean and violent. Many parties erupted in fist fights. But he loved it all! A true legend in his own mind.
I didn’t discover how utterly pathetic his behavior became until I was in sixth grade. I came home from school a bit early one day, and found him standing in the front hall punching Mom and ripping off her clothes. He was stone-cold drunk! I started screaming for him to stop, wedging myself between him and Mom. I tried to make my fists hit him, but was too terrified. I was so afraid his wrath would turn on me. So I ran to the dining room, which was high above the yard. The only thing I could think to do was to open the windows and scream at the top of my lungs for help. It worked!
Dad was all about the image. Big house, new cars, airplanes, perfect family. The scream to the neighbors instantly brought him back to reality. Jekyll to Hyde, Hyde to Jekyll, he transformed. Dad stopped beating Mom, and his face softened. He caressed Mom and helped clean and bandage her wounds – as if she had been attacked by some unknown monster. I suddenly knew that all those years of thinking Mom was clumsy –having bruises and cuts all the time, was really a reflection of the monster she was married to.
Discipline for my siblings and I was another interesting event. I had an older brother, a younger brother and the youngest, a sister. When Dad disciplined, it was with a vengeance. If any of us got out of line, the belt would slam us back in place. My brothers got most of the beatings, but I had my share. I seriously desired to be good, but was a creative and curious kid.
One of my earliest memories was as a three year old. It was Christmas day, and my favorite gift was my first bottle of nail polish. I just couldn’t wait for Mom to help me open it, as Dad had told me to. Being an impatient little girl, I had to get the bottle opened, and promptly spilled a good amount on the coffee table just as Dad walked in the room. I don’t remember his words, just being dragged into my bedroom, and the intense pain as welts formed up and down my back from his belt. He closed the door and left me weeping in the dark. Five minutes later, the beating scene repeated itself as he found the polish had also dripped on the rug. And there began my battle with nighttime terror. Again, I was three.
I would be remiss if I didn’t share some more insights into Dad. He had the IQ of a genius, and could figure out how to build or fix just about anything. His words ring through my head even today, “If you are going to do something, do it right, or don’t do it at all!” His work ethic made me strive for excellence. Of course, if I didn’t perform well enough to be the best, I would have to face his taunting. Then again, my artistic and musical abilities came from his genes.
I believe he could have succeeded at anything he set his mind to. But Dad came out of an alcoholic home. Both of his parents were guilty, and repulsive behavior was the norm. Dad left home on his own at fourteen years old and found much the same in the world as he experienced at home.
Mom was the opposite of Dad. She was a beautiful woman, inside and out. She loved being with all kinds of people, and they all loved her too! She was giving and kind, a proper lady who set a beautiful table, was a fantastic cook, and actually loved numbers. She taught me to cook dinners and even sew my own clothes by fifth grade. We could go to expensive stores with a notepad and a tape measure and come home and make our own fashion creations! My friends were all envious of my mother. I loved her so very much!
And Mom was a softy; I think to balance out Dad’s harshness. She was also, I came to find out years later, a very battered wife. She tried to leave him several times, but the threats were too real, too physical, and she didn’t have the strength of will to fight him. Mom was the eternal optimist, always thinking life was wonderful, or could be if you just had the right outlook. She would simply pick herself up, and brush herself off. Mind over matter. It will be better next week.
Funny thing. Everyone thought we had such a wonderful family. Successful, intelligent, talented, loving.
In fourth grade we moved to southern California for about 6 months. Another job, another opportunity. I was home from school one day with a cold. Mom was away at work, and Dad stayed home to watch me. During a forced “nap”, I was sexually molested by him, and told to keep it a secret. For the next several nights I woke up screaming with horrible nightmares. In each dream, Mom had been killed, and I was left alone with some kind of a monster. By the fourth day, I couldn’t handle the fear alone anymore. I finally got the courage to tell Mom what had happened. She hugged me so tight and assured me it would never happen again. I could not understand her bravery at the time, but she confronted Dad. He explained he was drunk and didn’t remember doing it. But he apologized and said he’d never touch me again. He didn’t, at least not for many years. But the fears remained. Would the monster come and beat me again? Would the monster come and molest me again? I hoped the kiss from Mom at night would protect me.
My childhood contained many happy and hard memories mixed together. With great joy, I spent a lot of time with my Grandparents and cousins – feeling loved and special. Because we moved so often, it was hard for me to develop deep friendships with peers. But my cousins meant the world to me, especially Susan. We spent as many weekends together as possible, and our love stands strong even today. Grandma and Grandpa, were my heart’s place of safety and love. We would argue to see which grandchild would get to spend the weekend with them. I spent hours reading or drawing to my heart’s content in their parlor.
On many Sundays Mom or Grandma took us to church. Church was an important place of fellowship, Sunday school classes, choir and sermons dealing with social issues. For many years, I heard the words of great hymns and scriptures, but did not understand their mysteries. I remember attending one Good Friday service, being moved to tears, yet not knowing how to find God, and feeling no hope. I was trapped in a lost world where nothing was what the TV families showed life should be like.
Once my Mom got the courage to divorce Dad, it took 3 more years before we escaped from his hold. Many police visits later, and after going into hiding for days on end, we were finally, legally protected from Dad. But he didn’t give up.
Mom finally went out on a date, the first one since being divorced. I, now 14, had been to a basketball game with friends, and came home to a dark house around nine o’clock in the evening. I checked on my siblings who were already in bed, having colds. I came back to the living room, and there stood a massive shadow of a man, my drunken father. He vacillated between trying to get me to make mom come home so he could kill her, and then the next moment thinking I was his girlfriend “Judy”, and trying to rape me. I was able to fight him off, or hide from him, or keep refilling his glass with liquor to get him to fall asleep, if only for a few moments at a time. He did finally fall asleep just as Mom pulled in the driveway, and I was able to warn her to go to the police. The rest of the night repeated the process of Dad waking and doing his best to be a monster, or sleeping in a drunken stupor. At one point, he had just fallen asleep again, I carefully took the gun and hunting knife out of his hands. I pointed the gun at the back of his head, and put my finger on the trigger. I wanted to end this man’s life!
I was so sick of the nightmares and always worrying that I’d come home and find Mom dead. I tried to pull the trigger, but couldn’t do it. The thought of actually taking a life was beyond my heart, and I believe God and His grace must have protected me from taking permanent action against him.
By dawn, Dad was pretty much awake and talked mom, by phone, into coming to the street in front of our house to at least say good-bye to him. She didn’t know that he had kidnapped me at gunpoint, forcing me into his car to lure mom closer to him. Mom pulled her car next to Dad’s. He sat talking to her with the gun just out of sight, finger on the trigger. I prayed and prayed that God would help us. Then, for some reason, Dad let me go and Mom was safe. He was arrested and held for a few hours. Since he really didn’t hurt anyone, he was set free.
We had a couple months of peace that ended that spring, when he again forced his way into the house. Assuring us that everything was fine, he sent us kids to our room, so he could talk to Mom. We had no choice. Moments after arriving in my lower level bedroom, a loud scream and crash pierced the quiet. I ran upstairs to see Mom and Lyle running across the street, the glass door shattered behind them. Dad had just slit his wrists and was systematically squirting blood all over the walls and furniture, wanting to make a dramatic exit. I felt only disdain, hoping Dad would expire quickly. He made me write his last words and testament, filled with self-pity. Soon the police surrounded the house while Dad held us remaining kids captive, with news crews recording the drama. Dad made a grand entrance for the cameras outside, waving a gun and shouting threats to the cops. I thought that our younger sister had escaped some time ago, but later learned she was hiding in a closet. My younger brother and I, ran out the side door, into the arms of a policeman. We were positioned on the floor of the patrol car, then heard sirens whiz by. “Did Dad die?” we hoped.
“No, I believe that was your Mother who is being taken to the hospital”
“Oh no, I bet Mom got hurt on the broken glass.”
The policeman offered, “We’ll take you to the hospital to see your Mother as soon as the situation is contained.”
It didn’t take much longer for Dad to collapse on the sidewalk, and we raced to the hospital.
Mom was already in surgery, when we learned the awful truth. Dad had stabbed Mom three times with his hunting knife before slitting his own wrists. Once in the hand, almost removing her thumb, once in the liver, and once right next to her heart. The doctors didn’t know if she would survive. As we waited for the surgeries to be completed, Dad had been revived. A policeman brought me to him. I was filled to overflowing with hate, and couldn’t even speak. He started mumbling apologies, but the hate overcame my fear, and I spit in his face.
Mom survived, thanks to the bravery of my older brother, Lyle. He was standing right by the door of his room, and upon hearing the scream, ran to the living room, knocked over Dad, grabbed Mom, and ran out the door to a neighbor’s house. The first house saw the blood and refused to help, so he had to carry her to the next. If it weren’t for my older brother, Mom wouldn’t have survived. But she did.
Dad went to prison. For attempted man-slaughter. For all of three years. Got out early for “good” behavior. Mom spent much needed time in healing – both physically and mentally. She still lived in fear as well.
From that point on, I vowed I would not be a victim like my Mother. I determined to be strong and independent. I didn’t want to need anyone, and in public, I lived as if nothing had happened; while singing and dancing and painting my way through high school. I had developed a deep distrust for all men, and believed they were not capable of true love. The few friends I had never really knew what was really going on in my heart. In a real way, I was doing just what my Dad did by pretending life was wonderful, yet holding terrible secrets.
I threw myself into art, and got a job as an apprentice to a well known sculptor. He saw my abilities, and was a great encouragement to me, especially during this time. The job lasted almost three years, when he let it be known he didn’t think of me as the surrogate daughter I thought I was. He too tried to molest me, and I left his shop in horror and tears. His actions proved yet again how disgusting men could be. That was when I set out to move. I worked for a few months as an under-aged cocktail waitress, and made arrangements to get into a high school in Florida.
I wanted out of Wisconsin. Florida’s sunshine and oceans were calling me to a place for a fresh start, a new life.
Chapter Three
How does one get ready for work, when your job is working for the mafia?
Having no car or bus line available, I was forced to hitchhike to my new prison the following day. I was afraid to hitchhike but even more afraid of not showing up. I shuttered while remembering the mafia’s threat. If I didn’t show up for work, I would be hunted down and killed. They had taken my wallet, and had my address. The threat was real, and I was petrified.
Arriving at the store, my new duties were explained. They consisted of running the front end of the store selling cheap waterbeds and all the paraphernalia required for doing drugs. I had never smoked pot or taken illegal drugs, and had no idea what anything in the store was for, and no curiosity for learning. I was instructed how to recognize the narcs – undercover narcotic police officers – and send an alert to the back room.
Now there was a scary place! Suitcases were filled with all different colored pills, little bags of white powder and horrendous pornography. I was only taken back there once, exposed to the visual horrors, then told I would be arrested just like any of them would, because now I was an accessory to their crimes.
I believed them. Can’t go to the cops. Can’t quit. Can’t run away.
My dream of heaven in Florida turned into yet another hell. The mob guys followed me where ever I went, leaving me in constant fear. I’d lay away at night listening for someone to break into my room. Sleep, when it did come, brought vivid nightmares. The morning brought more fears. I could only hope to get a ride from someone who wouldn’t try to hurt me as I hitch-hiked to my new prison.
I had always thought I was someone who could rise above my problems. But I couldn’t find any hope. This year had one horrible event after another. More than anyone needs to know. Depression began to overpower intelligent thinking. One week into my new position, and all I could think about was taking my life, and trying to decide what was the best way. I knew my Mother would be devastated, but she’s been through enough without dealing with my problems. Mom had sent my 14 year old sister for a visit, I’m sure to check on me. But by this time I had been acting for years for the public, and was well adept at putting on a happy face. It only meant a short delay, and I enjoyed my sister through the wait.
I was raised to do things right or not at all, so I translated that goal into a quiet and clean final escape. Nothing messy, just a sweet escape – like in the movies. I had met a young man who was a dealer, and placed an order for a deadly drug that was supposed to give a wonderful ride into a quiet death. Some kind of Angel Dust it was called. Steve* was actually the son of a sheriff, and had access to the confiscated drugs from the sheriff’s department.
Steve was due to return on Saturday with the order. I found him smiling at my door, but empty-handed.
I demanded, “Where are the drugs? Where is my money?”
Steve responded, “I don’t have them. I couldn’t get them.”
I thought, “I can’t believe it. Do I have a sign on my forehead inviting every known means of abuse? He’s taken my money, and I can’t even try to kill myself right!” My anger never released physically, but my words could cut pretty deep if I let them. I was ready to let him have it.
Still smiling, Steve continued, “I met someone this week who told me that he loved you, and didn’t want you hurt.”
I answered, “What are you talking about? Who would you know that knows me?” I hardly knew anyone yet, only meeting a few people at the beach. Certainly no one who would know my name, let alone, love me!
Steve said simply, “He said His name was Jesus.”
I truly didn’t expect to hear that name. I had called out to God so many times, through so many heartaches, through so many years, never to hear His answer. On Good Friday, just before leaving for Florida, I went to my church and was devastated to hear in detail how Jesus had died on the cross. I wanted to know God, but He seemed to be so far away, unreachable and untouchable. Why would He tell Steve that He loved me, and how did he hear God’s voice anyway?
Steve tried to explain what had happened, but wasn’t making any sense. Something about Jesus coming into his heart and being born again. He was so excited and jubilant that I wondered if he was high on something himself. He finally pleaded with me to go to church with him that following evening, as he was to be baptized. This guy was six foot four and had to weigh 240 pounds! How do you baptize a guy that size?
“Come on, Linda, it will be a great show!”
Well, Steve was pretty funny, so Sis and I agreed to go.
Sunday evening was picture perfect. It was balmy and warm. The sun was lowering in the skies, getting ready to dip into the turquoise waters. The church was built along a hill overlooking the ocean, with benches in a semi-circle focusing on a small crystal clear pool and stage just above it. There were no walls, no ceiling. Just palm trees, water and sky. It took my breath away.
The service began with the pastor standing in the pool! He invited Steve to join him, said a few words I didn’t catch, then thrust Steve completely under water! Steve jumped up and shook off the water, reminding me of a big puppy getting out of the water, and yelled “Hallelujah” really loud! Sis and I cracked up in laughter as all the people around us clapped their hands and began to sing. We stood up, and began to leave, when a sweet elderly lady placed her hand on my arm and said, “Dear, it’s not over yet. There’s still more to come!”
She had that same sweet twinkle in her eyes that my Grandmother has. How could I say no?
More singing continued, then the dried off and changed Pastor returned to give a message. His sermon was different than anything I had ever heard before. He spoke of God who loved me so much that He sent His son Jesus to come to earth and live a sinless life, then die to cover all my sins and make the way for me to have a life with Him. He said I didn’t have to fix anything in my life first, but to come just as I am, to believe in Him, and ask Jesus into my heart. I needed to confess my sins, and ask for forgiveness. He said God loved me even in the midst of my sin and that he would erase my past and I could be born again.
Sis and I were moved to tears, and Sis walked down the aisle to be prayed for. It seemed too easy to be true, and I wasn’t going to make this big of a decision just because I was emotional. I talked briefly with a gentleman after the service and asked if I could come back tomorrow to ask some questions. He gave me a little booklet called the Four Spiritual Laws, and agreed to meet at one o’clock there by the pool, at the outdoor sanctuary.
We walked the few blocks back home and went to bed. Once Sis was sleeping, I quietly slipped out and walked the short distance to the beach. The moon was reflecting off the waves, and a gentle cool breeze dried the tears on my cheeks. For the first time in my life, I felt the presence of God. For hours I walked up and down the beach, talking to God, trying to figure out how I could change my life enough to get me to the point that I would be good enough for Him to accept me. I saw my sin, more clearly than I had ever seen it. The anger, the malice, using people to get what I wanted, and justifying my selfish actions. By four in the morning I simply gave up. I knew there was nothing I could do to fix myself. That was when He so clearly spoke to my heart and said “Just as you are Linda, that’s how you must come to me.”
I had peace that the decision was made. All that was left to do was to say the prayer.
I woke up the next morning, actually only a few hours later, but was so excited I almost couldn’t stand it! I knew what was coming, and the decision to be made. After pacing and trying to keep busy, I walked back to the outdoor sanctuary, right by the pool, and waited for the gentleman to meet me. I was even early! He arrived with a gentle smile and talked me through the little booklet.
“Sir, I already read the book! Lots of times! Please can’t we just pray right now? I can’t wait!”
With a giant smile, he led me in a simple prayer.
“Dear God. I know I am a sinner and I need a savior. I believe Jesus lived a perfect life and then died for my sins. Please enter my heart and forgive me. Please wipe away all my sins and give me a new life. In Jesus name, Amen”.
The poor man must have thought I was high on drugs because I let loose with crying and laughing and singing and crying some more!
“Thank you – thank you so much for meeting me, for helping me find Jesus!”
I felt like there was an overflowing fountain of water flooding my whole body. I knew, that I knew, that I knew – God was with me, and loved me! I was no longer a beaten down, hopeless girl, looking for a way out. I was now looking up, a child of the living God!
I don’t understand how my heart could change so instantly, but one of the first thoughts I remember God had given, was an immediate forgiveness for my father, and others who had mistreated me. I would find a deeper healing and forgiveness would be necessary in my future, but at this moment, it had to be a miracle, because I had built up so much anger toward them! I was filled with hope and wonder, knowing in my heart that I could accomplish anything with God at my side!
The gentleman who prayed with me, told me about a youth program where I could meet other kids like myself, who had also given their life to Jesus, and learn about what God had for me through the Bible. Shortly thereafter, following the teaching I was receiving from the Bible studies, Sis and I were baptized in the ocean. What a marvelous experience! God, my God, was so mighty-so powerful! And now I was His!
Chapter Four
The small youth group started with twelve. I was the first new Christian to join the group which grew over the summer to over 350! God gave me an appetite for the scriptures that was hard to satisfy. I attended 3 bible studies each week, went to Jesus rallies twice a week, and learned how to do street witnessing which I joyfully did as often as possible. I didn’t know much, but I knew God came into my life, and changed me from the inside out. That testimony and the few scriptures I learned, along with a battered and worn paper-back New Testament was all I had. That and of course, my God!
Sounds exciting, doesn’t it? But my life still had problems. Jesus didn’t come into my life and sweep them all away, which honestly would have been my choice! But I did sense His presence every moment of every day. I came to expect His provision and protection, as the understanding of His love grew in my heart.
On that first day of required ‘work’ after receiving Jesus, I knew that my bosses needed to know about Jesus. I mean, who could need Him more? As I learned more about how to communicate God’s love, I would quietly mention something God was doing in my life to one of the guys. I believe they all came out of a Catholic back ground, so they were mildly respectful when I talked about God. The Boss would listen for a bit here and there, but told me to do what I was supposed to do, focus on work, and watch out for narcs.
There was something happening that I didn’t realize right away… Here I am, being held captive for all intents and purposes, by one of the most ruthless mafia mobs in Southern Florida at that time. I knew they had committed heiness crimes on several occasions, because they would brag about how cool it was when a body had been found, with no clues available to solve the murder. They loved watching the news, hearing about the various investigations going on for illegal drug distribution, beatings, and who knows what else. And yet, I was never physically hurt or even touched improperly. I was certainly threatened regularly, to keep my mouth shut. But the “Boss” had strict orders for his men to leave me alone.
I believe it was my heavenly Father protecting me. I believe I was living a miracle.
So what does a young girl do when she is living two lives, diametrically opposed?
Working for the mafia during the day, and for Jesus by night. I certainly couldn’t tell anyone, and share this burden. All I could do was pray. And pray some more. I asked almost daily to be released from the mob, but a very clear no was always the answer. So I determined, as my Mother had taught, to make the best of a difficult situation.
I believed God wanted me to witness to the drug dealers and users that came into the shop. I would tell them, quietly I might add, that Jesus loved them and had a wonderful plan for their life. I would invite them to the One-Way house for Jesus rallies and Bible studies. If they were not interested, I might mention that a suspicious looking person was watching him through the front window, and it might be a Narc. Though it might have been a stretch to say this, I didn’t think God would mind…
Over time, business began to show signs of slowing down, and the Boss couldn’t figure out why.
My evenings were a completely different story! I had more opportunities to witness than I ever felt possible, empowered by my new found peace and joy provided through the Holy Spirit. And I knew so little! One scripture that I learned early in summer was Matthew 28:18 And Jesus came up and spoke to them, saying, “All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth. Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”
Based on that scripture, I assumed Jesus was with me everywhere, ready to protect me and help me to make disciples. I had already led a few high school age girls to the Lord and began teaching what little I knew to them in an impromptu Bible study. The Navigators had a multiple study book series that was fantastic for new believers, such as myself. As soon as I finished a book, I’d turn around and teach it to my new friends. I believed it was my duty. Of course I had only met my Savior a few weeks before at the time!
One girl, Laurie*, was especially eager to grow. So I took her downtown to teach her how to witness. We talked to several people when I spotted a Hell’s Angels gang across the street at a hamburger stand. Immediately I knew these guys needed the Lord! I mean, it didn’t take a genius to figure that one out! We had been advised for girls to witness to girls, guys to guys. But there were no guys around, and I didn’t want to let them get away! Yet, I felt a sense of responsibility to keep Laurie safe.
So I advised, “Laurie, stay on this side of the street and pray for those guys to receive Jesus, and I’ll go talk to them.”
Before she could protest, I ran across four lanes of highway, and approached a hairy and somewhat scary guy on the biggest motor cycle I had ever seen. He had a husky build, and I’m sure he could have broken me like a match. But I knew God was with me. Otherwise, why would this guy come into view on this very night?
He was chowing down a burger, not seeming to mind the sauce dripping down his beard onto his skull crested, leather vest.
I approached with my biggest smile, trying to hold back any sense of fear.
“Excuse me sir, do you have a minute?”
He looked around trying to figure out who the sir was, then smiled a bit wickedly and said, “What cha’ want pretty?”
I didn’t take it as a compliment, because he obviously had something else in mind, and stood steadfastly to my purpose.
Continuing to smile in the most innocent smile I could muster, I asked,
“Do you know Jesus? Do you know if you died tonight that you would go to heaven?”
His mood softened, and we spoke for about ten minutes. As he thanked me for talking to him, then cautioned. “You might want to be careful who you approach on a bike. We are not the friendliest guys, and you might end up having a problem you can’t handle”
I shook his hand and thanked him for listening, committing to pray for him.
And I did.
But this time, Laurie was in panic mode. She was ready to call the police, being convinced that I was in grave danger. I skipped back across the street in wonder of how awesome God is. I explained to Laurie what had happened and confided sadly, “I’m afraid that the biker had not prayed to accept Jesus in his heart yet, but I knew God loved him.”
Many of my evenings were not so exciting or newsworthy, but anytime someone prayed with me to ask Jesus in their heart, I felt that same excitement bubble over in my spirit, that I felt the first time I prayed knowing God was with me.But often, they would at least let me pray for them, as I asked God to bless them, and show them how much God loved them. I didn’t have much training, but the Holy Spirit guided my words.
I made very little money “working” for the mob. It was only enough to pay rent on my tiny one-bedroom apartment. I lived in a lower income area, where there were many crime problems, but it was also walking distance to the beach. Have I mentioned that I didn’t own a car? Mom had been sending me a check for ten dollars every few of weeks, thinking I might need a little help. I was pretty proud and didn’t want her to think I wasn’t able to make it on my own. In reality, she kept me from starving. Macaroni and cheese was a staple, though I often had to make it with water, sans butter and milk. I would have been more than happy to find another job, but my employers forbid me to do so. They were big on trust issues.
So I stayed hungry, but felt it was probably good for keeping my figure in check.
Most of the kids my age still lived at home, and had allowance money to spend on pie and milkshakes. And often, enough to treat me too. I never let anyone know how broke I was, because it might lead to questions about my work. I just forgot my empty wallet a lot. James* was a senior at the nearby Christian College, who were involved in the One-Way house ministry. He was also one of the ministry leaders. He was such a nice guy, a good preacher, and acted toward me like a protective big brother. He watched out for me, and helped to guide my choices. Of course he didn’t know about my ‘job’, but I felt safe around him. And if James was at the restaurant, I knew I would eat!
Not everyone was as nice as James. One day, I was sitting at the counter having a small fruit cup. It was forty-five cents, a big splurge, and I loved it! Just then, a very handsome man, I guessed in his early twenties, approached and asked if I would join him at a table for a meal. Now you’d think, a meal, oh I’m all over it! But, guys usually wanted more than companionship for a meal. So I would rarely accept. But I sensed God wanted me to witness to him, and agreed.
He was intelligent, well-dressed, well-mannered, and well-spoken. He had a flirty charm about him, and I felt he might warm up to hearing about my Savior. As I shared my testimony with him, his smile began to change to something I can only describe as sinister. He began telling me how I had swallowed way too many lies, and told me of the power and wealth I could have if I followed him.
“I am a warlock,” he explained. “I am head over many witches covens in the area, and can see that you have been chosen by Satan.”
If he wasn’t so serious I would have laughed. But he was.
I told him, “I am a child of God, and have given my life to Jesus. There is absolutely no way I would follow you in worshiping Satan. But I will pray for you.”
He answered with a sickening smile, “Your name will be given to everyone in my covens. You will be cursed in everything you do, and sought after until you follow us.”
The whole conversation seemed like another scene from the movies. Are there really witches and warlocks in this day? Talk about being naive!
I never saw him again, but would on occasion find a note left on my doorstep that they were watching me, and cursing me. I figured I must be doing something right if Satan was out to get me. I knew my Father had my back.
One Friday evening, I had gone to an all-night coffee shoppe restaurant with a bunch of kids from the One Way house. We often went there for pie and celebrating after another excellent night of praise and teaching. It was almost one in the morning and as we were all leaving, I noticed a guy sitting alone in a booth. He seemed very sad, and I felt like I should go talk to him about Jesus. I had this thing with Jesus. If I went into a restaurant and saw someone sitting alone, I was supposed to go and ask to sit with them. If they said yes, I knew I was supposed to witness to them. It happened all the time. David* smiled shyly and invited me to sit. He barely said a word, just listening as I shared what God had done for me, and how much God loved him. With a few tears in his eyes, he told me he had been planning to take his life that night. He went to the restaurant to get up the nerve to do it. I remembered so well how I had been in that very same place, just a short time ago. I told him about asking Steve to get me the killer drugs, and how it was Jesus who saved me. We cried together as Jesus came into his heart and saved him from despair and death. He too, was over-flowing in love, forgiveness and joy! We parted as a new brother and sister in Christ. God is awesome!
By the time I left the restaurant, it was three in the morning. I was so filled with utter excitement and joy that I skipped and twirled down the street towards home! I’m walking the dark streets, singing and praising God, filled with the His Holy Light, brightening up all of my soul!
Suddenly, a boisterous old Cadillac comes roaring down the street, jumps the curb, and comes to a screeching halt on the sidewalk a foot in front of me! A big black man peered at me through the open window and held up a gigantic hunting knife and commanded, “Get in the car, now”!
It happened so fast, I didn’t have time to think!
I leaned into the open window and with a huge grin exclaimed, “Did you know that Jesus loves you?”
His eyes turned white like saucers, and he backed away from me as fast as he could, then flew down the street! I told you, God had my back! I continued singing and praising Him all the way home!
A few days later, the police were going door to door, warning us all, that there had been several rapes in a five block area, which my apartment was located in. They showed me a sketch of the rapist, and I recognized him immediately. He was the man in the car with the hunting knife. I didn’t say anything to them, because talking to the police was a big no no according to my work ‘contract’.
The following week, I had some friends over for a little prayer meeting. God was always surprising us with miracles, and we couldn’t wait to see what He would do next. As we’re sitting on the floor, praying one by one for God to move in the lives of those we lifted up, and heard a noise in the bedroom. Steve (remember the big guy who invited us to his baptism?), thought himself as somewhat of a bodyguard to me. I never should have told him about some of my escapades. Anyway, Steve signaled for us to keep praying out loud as he tip-toed to the door of the bedroom.
All of a sudden, we heard a roar like a lion, then someone bouncing down the stairs. Steve had thought a roar would scare the guy. It did! The man tore down the stairs, tripping and falling all the way, took off running right into a police patrol car. They had caught the rapist! Yea God!!!!!
Not all of my attempts at witnessing were successful. I would have to say there was, at times, a total lack of intelligence on my part. This was one of those times.
I heard that the rock band, Black Sabbath was coming to town to do a concert.
I loved rock music, but there was no doubt that God would not approve of a band that worshipped Satan. You know what I’m thinking, right? They need to be saved!
I dragged poor Laurie with me to the back of the auditorium doors. I convinced one of the roadies (guys who handled the equipment) to let us in, so we could go to the after party, and meet the band. He tried to convince us not to go, because the parties get really raunchy, and can be dangerous. But I knew who my God is, and wasn’t afraid. We waited back stage, pacing and praying. Finally, the concert ended and we joined the entourage as we headed to a condo that had been rented for the party. Laurie and I hid out in the kitchen as the groupies flung themselves at the band members. Drugs were everywhere, music was blasting, almost naked people were doing what they do. I didn’t know how to get close to the band, so I just went into the living room, in the midst of the party, and asked to talk to one of the singers.
“What do you want? Come here and I’ll give it to you good!”
I shuddered and said, “Jesus loves you, and wants to give you a new life”
I swear his face twisted and turned into the face of a demon. As he stumbled to grab me, that guy who let us in to the concert, and warned us not to come, came to our rescue. He ran us out the back door and pleaded with us to run away as fast as we could. We heard the noises of footsteps and cursing behind us, but they were filled with drugs and alcohol, and staggered more than ran. I believe, I have never run faster in all my life. I learned that sometimes I needed to pray for God’s will, and then actually listen for an answer before jumping into whatever wild scheme I’ve concocted!
Chapter Five
There were people who helped me so much that summer. In addition to James I had mentioned before, the youth pastor, was a remarkable and Godly man. He taught the gospel in simple truth, always emphasizing God’s love and forgiveness. He and his wife, invited me into their family as time allowed. I babysat their kids on occasion, and watched how they handled all the trials and joys of having a marriage and family. His wife also had some serious health issues, and I saw him treat her with such tenderness and love. I saw for probably the first time, what a marriage that was pleasing to God must be like. It gave me hope that there might be men in the world who really knew how to love. Learning how to live as a Christian was made real by their example.
I wasn’t very successful in finding that kind of relationships. I had so many deep disappointments with trying to have a healthy relationship with men. I went on a date with one of the guys in the student leadership of the youth group.He tried to talk me into having sex. And yet, this guy was directly discipled by our Youth Pastor, who showed us very clearly through the scriptures that it was sin. The Senior Pastor of the church I was attending, a very well-known and respected leader in the community, treated me like a daughter through the summer. I shared my testimony when he preached on many occasions, and he gave loving counsel as I learned how to be a Christian. It was wonderful to have a godly father figure. That is until the day he grabbed me and forced a French kiss on me! I pushed him away and ran down the street listening to his laugh behind me. That anger brewed for many years because of his sin. I didn’t understand why a man so highly respected thought it was alright to try to molest a teen age girl, then preach on Sunday like nothing had happened. It’s funny because the fear of God the Father didn’t keep some of those men in line, yet the mafia guys didn’t even try to touch me – due to their own fear of their ‘godfather’.
So now August was here and summer was coming to end. I truly wanted to go to college, particularly a Christ-centered one. I had asked on several occasions for the mafia to release me, but each time they said I knew too much, and no one gets out alive. I knew I needed help but was terrified to ask for it. One day I asked James to pray for me. I told him it was a really big need, but couldn’t tell him what it was. He committed to pray for me, and I believed God would answer.
The Boss said he was going to the Bahamas for two weeks to take care of some business there. He asked if I wanted to move up in the world and become an ‘exotic dancer’. Fortunately, I wasn’t totally naïve and respectfully declined. I did ask if I could bring in some other products to his store because I thought they would sell. He smiled and verbalizing colorfully, agreed.
As soon as he left I started getting little red stickers that said ‘Jesus loves you’ on them. I put them all over the store. Then I got Jesus posters and t-shirts and added them in tasteful arrangements among the drug paraphernalia. I invited all the kids from the Bible studies and Jesus rallies to come and buy my new Jesus items, and they came in droves. The legal sales were better than they’d ever been!
When The Boss got back from his trip, I knew he wouldn’t like what I had done, but it was the only thing that came to my mind to do! He walked into the store, muttered some expletive deletes, and called me to the back room. I was hopeful, yet a bit petrified!
With great control, he slowly spoke. “Linda, it appears we can no longer do business together. We have different goals.”
I tried to read his expression to see if I’d be going for a long swim, or not, and decided to plead my case.
I offered, “Have I ever lied to you? Have I ever gone to the cops or told anyone about you? No I haven’t! You can trust me! Really you can! Please let me go. I really want to go to college and the fall classes start in just two weeks. I promise you, in the name of Jesus, I will never tell the cops about you.
Please, please let me go.”
The Boss pondered for a long time.
“No one has ever been released from my organization. They either die of natural or unnatural causes. But you don’t get out.”
“I am going to do this thing for you. I will release you. But listen to me.”
“You will be followed.”
“If you go to the grocery store, I will know.”
“If you go to the bank, I will know.”
“If you go to school, or to your home, I will know.”
“If you talk to any narcs or cops, I will know.”
“You get only one chance. If you blow it, you will be dead.”
I did what I always did when I got something I really wanted. I jumped up and gave him a big hug!
“I promise you can trust me! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!”
I ran out of the store, waving goodbye to the guys who had held me in fear all through the summer.
I’m free! Free to live my life for Jesus! What a miracle He has given! I am free!!!
The college accepted my late registration, and my new life began! I sometimes saw the mob guys watch me in the grocery store, or noticed a car following me on my newly purchased, used bike. But The Boss was true to his word. I remained free and alive!
All I want to communicate, is that God is Almighty! He is Holy! He is Just!
He is able to achieve the impossible.
He is able to protect and provide. And He loves Me! And He loves you too!
Chapter Four
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