My federal parole officer dropped in to let me know that my two years special parole was being revoked, but he also told me that by some mighty strange circumstances, he was not going to be able to charge me with the 27 weapons that were found in my room. Each weapon would have been a sentence of "life without parole" all on its own.
Sapulpa County jail cells were under ground, and the two main cells were designed to hold 18 prisoners each. It seems like the whole time I was there, there were never fewer than 20 to 25 prisoners in each cell. After about a week of being conscious, I started noticing a young black guy who was just different than the rest of the prisoners. He wasn't running back and forth to the phone, checking on bond or a lawyer. He wasn't freaked out and he wasn't stressed, and I had to know how he kept this peaceful attitude.
After I introduced myself to him and told him what was on my mind, he asked me if I had ever read the Bible. I told him that I had, but couldn't make heads or tails of all those "thees" and "thous" and all that weird language.
He just laughed and asked me if I would like to read the Bible with him. God has such a sense of humor. Here I am, raised in the South and brought up very much prejudice, and He has sent me a black man to both disciple me and to teach me humility. The young black man's name was Kenneth, and he started me out in Matthew, and we read all the way through to Acts. Word for word, and verse by verse, he led me through the gospels, answering all the questions I had.
In the mean time, Pastor Jerry Murphin and his wife Judy, would come every Thursday night to bring the Word of God ....and milk and cookies! You'd be surprised at how many grown, locked up men, would be quiet and listen to God's word, at the promise of milk and cookies afterward.
Between the discipleship I received from Kenneth, and Pastor Murphin bringing the anointed Word of God into that cell, I learned for the first time in my life that there was one that truly loved me, and His name was Jesus. In that cell ... I surrendered to Him. I sold out for Him, and I knew in my heart that I would serve Him all the days of my life.
That Thursday night, in November of 1994, I felt God wrap me up in His arms and tell me, "Welcome home. I've been waiting on you for some time now".
I Felt The Weight Of The World Lift Off Of My Shoulders, And I Felt A Peace Come Over Me That I had Never Known Before.
I felt the weight of the world lift off of my shoulders, and I felt a peace come over me that I had never known before. After that night, I knew that no matter what my future was to be, I had been set free. Free from drugs and alcohol, free from all the bonds of this earth, Praise God!
I ended up spending almost eight months in that cell. After my born again salvation conversion, I stopped worrying about what they were going to do to me. I knew I would serve God no matter what. As it turns out, God knew that too.
After about my sixth month in there, a court appointed attorney came to see me and said, "Here's the deal. The court has agreed to drop the felon in possession of a firearm charge, give you 10 years apiece on the other two charges, then run them concurrent (which meant that they became one 10 year sentence) and suspend 5 years of the 10 year sentence."
You could have fanned me over with a feather. No one gets that kind of a deal with a court appointed attorney, or without snitching on all of your crime partners. But God knew my heart, and He knew that what I had received from Him had nothing to do with "jailhouse religion".
They put me on a bus and my first stop was McAlister -- Oklahoma's maximum security penitentiary. I was only scheduled to stay there as a hold over, but my holdover status lasted three months. I see clearly now, how even that was a part of God's plan. In those three months at McAlister, I worked in "H" unit, which is where they housed all the "lifers" and the "death row" inmates. God allowed me to see the end of my path, had I not received His truth.
Next they moved me to Ft. Supply, Oklahoma, where I would spend the next two or so years immersed in the Word of God. The Ft. Supply Chapel had the best Christian audio-visual-and book library I had ever seen. And Chaplain Ron Grant, who eventually took over the Chapel, was one of the greatest mentors I have ever met. (It was at Ft. Supply that my roots were sunk deep, to hold in God's word.) There were 6 - 7 church ministries from the surrounding area of Woodward, Oklahoma that would come in and minister to us, and they told us about one of the biggest needs the Church had at that time. The need was for men to take their God given position in the Church and in the family.
There was another Pastor there named Victor Gains. He was an inmate, but still a Pastor, none the less. God had given Victor a vision of raising up godly men, to send back out into society. I caught that vision from Victor, and with God's help, will carry it on. From Ft. Supply they sent me to Texarkana Federal Prison, to finish up my federal parole. Texarkana wasn't a time of real growth, but it was a time of clinging to what was true and real ... Jesus.
I was released November 10th of 1998. My mom and dad, and Clay and Mona, (who I mentioned earlier in this testimony), were there to pick me up. I went back to Wagoner, Oklahoma with Clay and Mona and was in Church that very night. Before I left prison, I had prayed that the Lord would send me to a Church where the people loved God and they loved each other. That Church turned out to be the First Assembly of God, right there in Wagoner, Oklahoma. Pastor Scott Ballard was the Sheppard of that flock, and he is one of the most devoted men of God that I have ever met.
After a little over a year, Pastor came and asked if I would take over the men's ministry there. I guess I looked kind of funny to him, because he said to me, "Don't look at me like I'm crazy. Don't you think I've prayed about this and heard from God?". I told Pastor that I would think and pray about it, but I didn't think I loved these men enough to minister to them.
In the year that I had been there, most of what I had seen of the men were what I called: SMO's (Sunday Morning Only Christians). For the most part, they didn't show up for prayer nights; they didn't teach Sunday school; they didn't raise their hands or even look alive during praise and worship; none were in the choir, and hardly any were reaching outside the four walls of the Church to help anyone ... except themselves.
