Step13 Ebook

Step 13
Overcoming Addiction and Joyless Religion

© 2017 by Jim Brissey
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-1-62020-609-6
eISBN: 978-1-62020-682-9
Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are taken from

the Holy Bible, English Standard Version. ESV® Permanent Text
Edition® (2016). Copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing
ministry of Good News Publishers.
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Step 13 is dedicated to the pretty girl in the yellow bikini
who stole my heart July 5, 1976.
CONTENTS
FOREWORD 7
DO YOU WANT TO GET WELL? 9
MY NAME IS JIM, AND I’M AN ALCOHOLIC 13
THE THING I HATE I DO 35
THEY THAT WAIT 47
DE COLORES 61
GO M AKE THE COFFEE 69
THE SUNSHINE STATE 81
TRUE SUCCESS 97
ONWARD AND UPWARD 111
WHAT’S IN YOUR CONTAINER? 123
DID ANYBODY SEE A BUCKET AROUND HERE? 135
CAN I HAVE FIVE DOLLARS FOR A HAMBURGER? 149
A REVIVAL TO REMEMBER 163
A SIGN AND A WONDER 179
THE DOME YEARS 191
LOOK WHAT THE LORD HAS DONE 199
BIBLIOGR APHY 221
DISCOGR APHY 223
FOREWORD
I have been blessed to know Pastor Jim Brissey and his family for
almost twenty years. We have served together, worshipped together,
prayed together, laughed together, and cried together. Along with my
father, Norris Morgan, and my dear departed friend, Jay Clarke, Jim’s
influence on my life has indelibly marked me as a person, as a man, and
as a believer. I will be forever blessed by his friendship, his ministry,
and his counsel.
As a practicing physician, I personally have treated and witnessed
the inescapable suffering brought on by addiction and have seen
dreams shattered, families destroyed, and loved ones lost to this terrible
disease—a disease whose prognosis leads only to jail, death, or recovery.
Whether it is exhibited through gambling, work, alcohol, drugs, or
another avenue, addiction is a disease that does not discriminate and
that will separate you from your community, your job, your family,
and even from yourself!
Through his hopeless story of addiction, recovery, and relapse, Jim
takes us on a riveting journey that will grip your soul and, undoubtedly,
make you cry, make you laugh, and make you eternally thankful that
we have a Savior in Christ Jesus. His struggles with bills he couldn’t
pay, habits he couldn’t break, and failures he couldn’t forget led Jim
to a future of physical, mental, and spiritual bankruptcy, to a future
he couldn’t face, and to a place none of us wish to go. Thankfully,
through the grace of God and through Jim’s ability to forgive others
and to forgive himself, his story ends victoriously with “the pastor in
the pokey.” And, yes, even there, God is good!
7
Through his walk, his faith, and his ministry, Pastor Jim inspires
us and reminds us “that for those who love God, all things work
together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose”
(Rom. 8:28). It has been only through God’s grace that I have been
given the opportunity to write this foreword, and I am honored to
do so—not just for Jim, but also for those for whom I believe Step 13
has been anointed.
William Tyre Morgan, MD
Internal Medicine Physician
DO YOU WANT TO GET WELL?
IN THE HEBREW CULTURE, YOU can tell more about a person
by the questions they ask than by the answers they give. In the
fifth chapter of John’s gospel, we tune in to an interesting exchange
between Jesus and a man at a pool called Bethesda. He has been
paralyzed with illness for thirty-eight years. There are many other
sick individuals around this man, but, for some reason, Jesus singles
this man out. Perhaps it was “his time.” Perhaps it was simply the
mystery of God’s grace.
In His earthly ministry, Jesus was notorious for cutting right
through all the nonsense (denial, dysfunction, enablement, etc.) with
a single question or comment. As we tune in to John chapter five, we
see Him at it again. He walks past many other sick people, right up
to this ill man, and says, “Do you want to get well?” (Jn. 5:6—NIV).1
BOOM! Jesus’ question must have exploded in the man’s heart like a
hollow-point bullet.
The man’s response to a simple, honest question is classic: “I have
no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred” (Jn. 5:7a—
NIV).2 In the same breath, the man fires a second “excuse” at Jesus:
“While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me” (Jn.
5:7b—NIV). He never did answer Jesus’ simple question.
I can only imagine the look Jesus must have given this man—a
look which must have said, “Oh, I get it, Pal, your sickness is really
somebody else’s fault, eh? You want Me to believe you are in this condi-
tion because of something someone else was supposed to do, but, they
1 The Holy Bible, New International Version. Grand Rapids: Zondervan

Publishing House, 1984.
2 Ibid.
9
10 STEP 13
dropped the ball, huh? Sorry, Mac, I don’t buy it, and I don’t buy your
second excuse about somebody always cutting in front of you. Poor
you! I guess life just ain’t fair, is it?” Do I think one glance from Jesus
could have said all of that? You bet your bippy I do! Jesus saw the man’s
true condition. He saw that his excuses were even lamer than he was.
Jesus ripped right through all the “duh-lusion” by rifling a one-liner
action plan: “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk” (Jn. 5:8—NIV).3
Many today are lying around paralyzed on a bed of addic-
tion, shrouded in denial and empowered by well-meaning enablers.
Addiction is running rampant throughout our land. Addiction and
dysfunction come in a variety of flavors. Alcoholism, drug addiction,
sex addiction, food addiction, gambling, and workaholism continue
to crush families and individuals by the millions. The situation is
epidemic. Chances are, either you or someone near and dear to you is
an addict. Regardless of what “brand” of dysfunctional, addictive be-
havior is paralyzing you or someone
you love, the cure for this condition
is the same—truth.
For years, I heard about Israel
and the Holy Land. I read about it.
I even saw many pictures of what
it looked like. However, it wasn’t
until I went there that I really un-
derstood what it was like. In 2000,
my wife and I spent eight incred-
ible days in Israel.
We wa l ked a lon g t he Vi a
Dolorosa; we rode in a boat on the
Sea of Galilee; we stood inside the
empty tomb; and much more. Now
Jim & Jean in Israel confirm- when I hear or read about the Holy
ing - the tomb is empty! Land, I have a completely different
3 Ibid.
Do You Want to Get Well? 11
perspective. Because I have walked there, the sights and sounds and
smells are indelibly etched in my soul. So it is with addictive, com-
pulsive disorders. You can hear about them and read about them, but
unless you have walked there, you don’t “really” understand.
I once had a coffee mug that said, “Denial is not a river in Egypt.”
How true! I know because I have walked there. I used to live there. It is
a tough neighborhood, full of thieves and liars. It is a dangerous place,
and many people get hurt there. Some die there. The crazy thing about
denial is that most of the people who live there don’t even realize it.
Remember our friend by the pool of Bethesda? He didn’t have a
clue. He really believed he was there in that condition for thirty-eight
years because somebody didn’t “do right” by him. In his mind, he
was paralyzed waiting for someone else to do for him what only he
could do. “I have no one to help me into the pool . . . ” Without too
much editorial license, you could paraphrase his response to say, “It’s
somebody else’s fault. I’m like this because of them!”
It has been said that a good definition of insanity is “to do the
same thing over and over again and expect a different result.” Such was
this man’s dilemma. He was immobilized by his own denial. He was
paralyzed by his own bad attitude. He was suffering with a chronic
case of “poor me.” “Someone else goes down ahead of me,” he com-
plained. Life stinks. It ain’t fair. Murphy was right: “Whatever can go
wrong will go wrong.” On and on he goes, running off at the mouth,
oblivious to his real condition.
Denial is a real condition. Many live for years and years in chronic
denial of their real condition. Some remain in denial for their whole
life. Or would it be better to say, “for their hole life” because a life in
denial is not a “whole life”; it is a “hole” life. It’s a low life that spirals
downward, never seeming to find its bottom.
Consider our friend at the pool of Bethesda. His chronic condition
persisted for thirty-eight long, sick, paralyzing years. His illness is
perpetuated by wrong-thinking, misguided focus, and a seriously bad
attitude. He can’t even hear a simple question being asked by someone
12 STEP 13
who truly wants to help him. He’s so used to lying on the bed of his
excuses, his situation appears to be hopeless. Yet hope springs eternal
when the light of truth breaks through the dark cloud of denial.
His only answer was found on the other end of a simple, hon-
est question: “Do you want to get well?” Whether you call it sobriety,
deliverance, or wholeness, it’s the same thing. It is “freedom” that our
souls hunger for—freedom from destructive, life-controlling behav-
iors that maim, cripple, and torment our lives. Where do we find true
victory and freedom? Our only true answer is found in the One who
asks this simple, honest question that echoes through the centuries:
“Do you want to get well?” (Picture Jesus looking at you.)
MY NAME IS JIM, AND
I’M AN ALCOHOLIC
I REALLY DIDN’T SEE ANYBODY drinking when I was growing up.
Nobody, that is, except Mom. She would drink on occasion, like when
Dad didn’t come home. When I was a kid, those occasions seemed
to happen more and more frequently. By the time I was in the third
grade, I would often come home from school to find my mom passed
out drunk on the floor. I got so used to it that I would come home, put
a pillow under her head, and go out to play (talk about enabling!). In
spite of being afflicted by alcoholism, my mom was a great and kind
person. She gained victory over alcohol during the last several years of
her life. She went to be with the Lord in 1994. I miss her tremendously
and look forward, one day, to seeing her again.
I didn’t have my first beer until I was seventeen years old. My par-
ents had finally gotten a divorce, and I went to live with my mom and
my sister in North Carolina. When I moved in with Mom and Roxie,
we had a kind of “victory toast” to celebrate my newfound freedom
from Dad. By the time I had downed half of that beer, I was catching
a buzz, and I liked it. Looking back, I knew I was enjoying that buzz
way too much. It seemed to numb something way down inside that
felt like it needed numbing.
Over time, “Buzz” became my new weekend pal. We would al-
ways find reasons to spend time together. It didn’t take much to get
us started. A football game, a baseball game, or simply “because it was
the weekend” were enough reasons to celebrate. Weekend activities
were always centered around another six-pack. I seemed to naturally
13
14 STEP 13
hang with people who also had a special friend in “Buzz.” Any friend
of “Buzz” was a friend of mine!
During the week, I was the serious student-athlete. I was very
serious about becoming an optometrist. However, we had no money.
I learned the City University of New York charged no tuition for
New York City residents. Mom wanted to help, so we moved to New
York. I finished high school in New York and was accepted to the City
University of New York at Brooklyn College. When I began my studies
at Brooklyn College, Mom moved back to North Carolina, and I was
on my own in the Big Apple.
The next three years were filled with college courses that were too
hard for me—courses like calculus, physics, and organic chemistry. Not
only were these courses over my head, there were too many of them. In
my classic compulsive, over-doer style, I registered for nineteen credit
hours in my first semester. Without even knowing it, I was suffering
from a bad case of “duh-lusion.”
I had bitten off more (of the Big Apple) than I could chew. I was
driving a yellow cab in Manhattan and teaching karate in Forest Hills.
It was too much. Along with my two jobs, I gave my studies my best
shot. I was a virtual bookworm during the week, but making good
grades was quickly becoming a distant, high school memory. “Buzz”
was always there for me on the weekends. He seemed to take the edge
off the frustrations and the busyness of the week.
There were two things you were sure to come across at Brooklyn
College in the mid-seventies—streakers and marijuana. The pot was
really no big deal at the time.
It just seemed to give us something else to do while we were cel-
ebrating with “Buzz” on the weekends. My friend and drinking buddy,
Jerry, and I logged many hours over at the Rats Keller at St. John’s
University. The beer there was cold and cheap, and there was plenty of
it. Many weekends became a blur with beer blasts that often ended up
in a drunken brawl. Somehow, by the grace of God, we survived the
weekend and made it back to class on Monday morning.
My Name is Jim, and I’m an Alcoholic 15
By the end of my junior year at Brooklyn College, it became clearer

and clearer that my dream of becoming an optometrist was just that—a
dream. I felt foolish, ashamed, and alone. My ambition and determina-
tion were being eaten away by a gnawing sense of failure and despair.
The reality that my grades were not good enough was setting in as we
reached the summer break. I had come to believe it was I, not my grades,
that were not good enough. “Buzz” was there to help kill the pain and
numb my growing sense of worthlessness and low self-esteem. Besides,
it was summer break, so why not “let the good times roll”?
Jerry and I took off on our motorcycles for Hampton Beach, Long
Island, during the Fourth of July weekend in 1976. We were hoping
to meet some girls and, of course, we knew “Buzz” would be there to
party with us. After all, it was Independence Day. What better reason
do you need to celebrate than that?
We had a lousy weekend. We got lost. We didn’t meet any girls, and
the weather was terrible for riding our motorcycles.
On the morning of July 5th, we decided to have breakfast at The
Hampton Diner before heading back to the city. As we were paying
our checks, we bumped into three girls. Two of the girls were okay-
looking, and one of them was drop-dead gorgeous. I remember trying
to be friendly but saying something stupid and walking out of the
diner feeling like an idiot. We were getting on our motorcycles at the
same time they were getting in their car.
“Look,” one of them said. “They have motorcycles. Maybe they’ll
give us a ride.”
We were happy to oblige. The least attractive one of the bunch
got on the back of my motorcycle. I remember thinking, “Well, this
is typical.” The other okay-looking one got on the back of Jerry’s mo-
torcycle, and off they went. The beautiful girl was left sitting alone
in the parking lot!
I rode my homely passenger about fifty yards past the end of the
parking lot and turned around. I scooted my motorcycle back to the
16 STEP 13
pretty girl and said, “It’s your turn.” I was so glad Jerry didn’t have the
same idea I did, or we may have had a tussle!
We ended up spending the day together at the beach. It was a great
day. Things were really looking up. This beautiful girl had a yellow
bikini, and I had a blue Kawasaki. It was a match made in heaven. Her
name was Jean, and she rode all the way back to the city on the back
of my motorcycle.
Soon after we got back home, we started to see a lot of each other
(both literally and figuratively). Jean was a disco queen and loved to
dance. I would take her and her girlfriend to the dance clubs. They
would dance, and I would drink. “Buzz” was no stranger to our whirl-
wind romance.
We fell in love; and five months
and twelve days later, we were mar-
ried at the First Reformed Church
of Kew Gardens. Jean was three
months pregnant, and most of our
family didn’t come to our wedding.
Jean wore a borrowed wedding gown,
and I didn’t have a job. None of that
seemed to matter. I think I had lis-
tened to one too many Beatle songs
and believed, “All You Need is Love”!
We did love each other, but Jean was Jim and Jean on their
nineteen-going-on-fifteen, and I was wedding day
twenty-two-going-on-sixteen. To say we
were not ready to get married and start a family was the understate-
ment of the century.
On our wedding night, Jean and I insisted Mom and Roxie share
the single bed in my one-room studio apartment. They had traveled
all the way from North Carolina to be with us on our special day. We
wouldn’t have it any other way. My bride and I spent our wedding
night on the floor. The subtle sense of shame from being pregnant
before we got married convinced me that we deserved no better. After

all, as many said, we had already had our honeymoon. Yes, indeed, the
honeymoon was over.
Jean was working as a secretary on Wall Street. I dropped out of
school and began looking for a job. Our first months as husband and
wife were hard and were soon to get even harder. My tiny, one-room
studio apartment with the bathroom outside and down the hall was
fine for a delusional, on-his-way-to-becoming-a-full-blown-alcoholic
bachelor. However, for a nineteen-year-old-newlywed-expectant-
mother-bride, it was not too cool.
It gets cold in New York in February, and our little apartment was
often freezing. The landlord rarely answered her door when I would
go down to complain. Looking back on those days, I see a shadow
over my thinking that half-convinced me we really didn’t deserve to
have a warm home. I was an unemployed, dropout screw-up, whose
low self-esteem was hitting new bottoms. “Buzz” would help me kill
the pain and take some of the chill out of the air. One day, I tried to
heat our apartment by situating the blow dryer at just the right angle
on our ironing board to blow against a hot iron. Boy, all the physics
and thermodynamic courses I had taken were really paying off now!
We were miserable. Jean was getting bigger by the month, and I
was getting smaller and smaller in my own eyes. The springs in our
single bed were coming through the mattress, and we often greeted
each new day with cursing, complaining, and fighting. I don’t know
how we didn’t kill each other. We sold the motorcycle to pay the rent
and buy food (and beer). When Jean was seven and eight months preg-
nant, she would walk about a mile in the snow to catch the subway
to work. I would hear the reports on how the perverts on the train
would “goose” her all the way to Wall Street. Somehow, even that felt
like it was my fault. I felt like a complete and utter failure. “Buzz” was
always close by to try and help.
My half-hearted attempts to find a full-time job surprisingly paid
off. I landed a job selling life and health insurance for Metropolitan
18 STEP 13
Life in Bayside, New York. It was a great company, and it would have
been a great job for the right person, but it wasn’t for me. I felt like
a fish out of water from day one. However, it seemed like the thing
to do at the time, so I gave it my best effort. I took classes on how to
counsel people in financial planning, life insurance, and tax-sheltered
annuities; and then I went home to try to figure out how we were
going to get our lights switched back on. I had one brown corduroy
sports coat to my name, which I wore to work every day for a year. It
seemed to be like a silent billboard to my managers and coworkers to
let them know I was “different.” I was the oddball.
Just before our precious daughter Connie was born, we somehow
put enough coins together to move next door to a modest, two-bed-
room apartment. Without Jean knowing it, I rented the apartment and
moved what little stuff we had next door. She came home from work
that night to find the Brisseys had “moved uptown.” It wasn’t anything
new or fancy, but the bathroom was inside the apartment, and it had a
small room we could call Connie’s room. It was one of the few times
I felt I did something good as a husband.
Connie came into our world on June 2, 1977. I was so glad that her
first moments didn’t take place in the old, broken down Volvo we had
gotten. They almost did. Jean was eight centimeters dilated by the time
we got to Mineola Hospital. The day Connie was born was a happy
day. On the day she was born, I sat for a long time just looking at her
tiny hand clenching my pinky finger. I was a daddy now. This was my
little girl, and she was counting on me.
Even though I was the oddball fish-out-of-water with my brown
corduroy sports coat, I gave MetLife my very best. From 8:30 a.m. to
5:00 p.m., I would be on the telephone setting up appointments; and
in the evening, I would go to them. It was usually around 10 p.m. or 11
p.m. by the time I would get home. I would drink some beers on the
way home to take the edge off. When I got home, I would drink a few
more beers to “relax” with my new, little Connie girl.
Jean had every confidence in me that I was going to make it. I

knew I wasn’t. Deep down, I knew I was a failure. I hated my job, and
I wasn’t very good at it. I hated talking to people about their finances. I
felt like such a hypocrite. I was supposed to be the financial consultant,
and we were struggling to buy diapers. It seemed like this feeling of
being a square peg in a round hole was following me. I couldn’t shake
it. I just didn’t fit. Something just wasn’t right. I always seemed to be
coping with the stress of trying to be someone I wasn’t. I always felt
like I was doing something I didn’t like, but I was supposed to like
doing it, so I pretended I did.
When Connie was a month old, I came home to learn Jean had had
an argument with her dad. Like a dummy, I had gone to my father-
in-law after Jean and I had one of our fights. My seeking his counsel
had lit a fire under him, and he and Jean really blew up. My solution
was swift and simple. We’d move. We’d move tomorrow. And that’s
what we did.
It seemed like a sure cure. Early the next morning, I called and
left a message for my boss that I wouldn’t be coming in—ever again.
I rented a U-Haul, loaded it up, yelled at my landlord for never giving
us any heat in the winter, and moved my family to North Carolina. It
just seemed like a “fresh start” was all we needed. The only problem
with my solution was that we were bringing our biggest problem with
us—namely, me!
We broke down in the middle of the night on the Jersey Turnpike.
As it turned out, the U-Haul I had rented had a faulty gas gauge, and we
ran out of gas—even though the gas gauge said we had three-quarters
of a tank. “No fair! How could those idiots at U-Haul do such a thing?”
I complained.
After being stuck in the middle of nowhere for a couple of hours
with our one-month-old daughter, we were back on the road. For the
remainder of the trip, I could not let it go. In my mind, the entire
U-Haul organization was comprised of only complete incompetents,
and they needed to pay. As soon as we landed at my sister’s house in
20 STEP 13
North Carolina, I sat down and wrote an angry letter of complaint to

the president of U-Haul. I was livid. “Buzz” was there for me. He helped
me calm down. About two weeks later, we received an apology letter
and a full refund from the president of U-Haul. “Buzz” was there to
help me celebrate. I guess I showed them!
After getting unpacked in a duplex apartment (with a great heating
system) across the street from my sister, I thought about a job. I knew I
needed one, but I really hadn’t thought that through during my “escape
from New York.” I put on my brown corduroy sports coat and marched
in, unannounced, to the local sales manager for Metropolitan Life.
Somehow, I had convinced myself that he owed me a job. After all, I
was working at MetLife when I left New York! He offered me $125 a
week, and I grabbed it, thinking I would be earning big commissions
in no time. But if selling life insurance in New York was tough, this
was a hundred times harder.
Each day, I would put on my brown corduroy sports coat and
spend the day in the office on the telephone, setting up appointments
for the evening sales calls. I totally did not fit with the whole North
Carolina selling style. From my no-nonsense, fast-talking sales pitch
to my large-heeled, New-York-styled shoes and extra-long trousers, I
was again “the oddball.” I often sipped iced tea on the front porch with
tobacco tycoons and wondered where I was going to get the money I
needed to pick up diapers on the way home. Funny thing was, I always
found money for my nightly six-pack of beer.
My nightly six-pack was becoming more than a routine. It was
becoming a ritual. It seemed to help dampen the familiar feeling of
failure and hopelessness that was again backing up in my soul like a
faulty toilet. Little Connie was such a doll and such a great baby, how
was she going to go to college? Was she going to go to school every
day with the same brown corduroy skirt? I wanted so much more for
her, but again my best efforts were failing.
For the next year, I tried to “make it” in life insurance sales in
North Carolina. Many of the policies I had written in New York were
being cancelled as previous coworkers were going to my old customers

and rewriting them. “No fair!”
My nightly six-pack soon became a six-pack of “tall boys” (sixteen-
ounce beers). It was becoming harder and harder to take the edge off
the growing sense of shame and frustration that followed me like a
black cloud over my head. Jean and I fought a great deal. “Buzz” intro-
duced me to a good friend of his—“Binge.” We started to spend every
weekend together. Like the downward spiral of a toilet bowl being
flushed, I continued to find new lows.
Amid the growing pain of addiction, I often found solace in the
hugs of my baby girl. Connie was such a light in the midst of my dark
despair. We were struggling in every way, including our finances. Our
rent was always late, so we always had to pay an additional $35 late fee,
which we didn’t have. Our telephone service was often disconnected.
We were bouncing checks at the grocery store so frequently, we were
getting to know the manager on a first-name basis. Our electric and
heat were cut off several times. I remember going home from work
one Friday night to find our heat cut off. It was a cold weekend filled
with hot arguments between Jean and me. I was a failure. I knew it. She
knew it. The whole world knew it. “Binge” was there to numb the pain.
Something had to give. Somehow, we had to find a way to pay
the bills. With the suave of a public relations expert, my sales man-
ager introduced me (unloaded me) to a friend of his who managed a
5,000-watt radio station in town. In the blink of an eye, my less than
two-year “career” with Metropolitan Life was over, and I was now
selling radio advertising for WGTM Radio in Wilson, North Carolina.
Yahoo! My evenings were free—“Buzz” liked that—and my salary was
now $150 a week plus commission. “Binge” helped me celebrate our
big breakthrough.
I became the hard-working, hard-drinking sales hotshot. Even
though I was often the leading sales guy, the commission checks were
small, and I was drinking more. We were still always behind the eight
ball with our bills. Jean and I fought like cats and dogs, but, somehow
22 STEP 13
between all my drinking and all our fighting, Jean became pregnant
with our second child. An opportunity opened up for me to work for
a larger, 100,000-watt FM country radio station. With our second child
on the way, I was all the more desperate to make money.
My sales manager at my new station, WFMA Radio in Rocky Mount,
was also from New York. His name was Tim Horton. Tim and I hit it off
like peas and carrots. Tim was loud, funny, and the best radio profes-
sional I ever knew. Tim was quick-witted and had a terrific personality.
We became friends in no time.
It didn’t take long to notice there was something different about
Tim. For one thing, he was a “Jesus freak”—or at least that’s how I
labeled him. He was always talking about “Jesus this” or “Jesus that.”
He wasn’t religious or anything; he was just always talking about Jesus.
It really didn’t bother me. I had known a lot of “freaks” in New York;
rock and roll freaks, disco freaks, and acid freaks were all a part of
the culture there. I just figured he was freaked out about Jesus. Other
than that, Tim was a heck of a nice guy. However, there was something
more to Tim than just being a nice guy. I just couldn’t put my finger
on it. He genuinely seemed to care.
My life and my drinking were continuing to become more and
more unmanageable. The stress of not having enough money to pay
the bills haunted me day and night. Like wearing an ugly shirt, I always
felt clothed in a sick sense of failure. No matter where I went or what
I did, I felt as if there was a neon light over my head that screamed at
everyone I knew and met, “Failure!”
One night, Tim and his wife, Debbie, invited us over to their house
for dinner and a Bible study. I wasn’t too keen on the Bible study part,
but a free dinner out sounded like a treat. Besides, Tim really had be-
come a friend, and I knew he had that “Jesus thing” going on. Jean and
I went and had a great meal and a great time. Jean was big and pregnant,
and Tim made jokes about her big belly all night. I was surprised how
short and painless the Bible study was. Tim didn’t push his religion
on us. We simply read one short scripture from the Bible. It was John
14:6: “Jesus said to him, ‘I am the Way and the Truth, and the Life’ . . . ”
Then Tim asked, “So who do you think Jesus is?” I thought I had a very
good (and very spiritual) answer. “Jesus is the goodness in the heart of
all mankind,” I said. Tim and Debbie simply smiled and said, “Would
you like some more cake?”
When we left Tim and Debbie’s that evening, we literally could
hardly get into our car. Somehow, during the course of the evening,
they had snuck out and packed our car full of groceries and things
we needed for our Connie and our soon-to-arrive Jimmy. Jean and
I were deeply touched by their kindness. We had such fun poking
around, exploring the goodies on the way home. This was cause for
celebration! I stopped and picked up a bottle of Wild Irish Rose and
drank it on our ride home.
Not long after that, our son Jimmy was born. Jean was having
what we thought were labor pains, so we rushed to the hospital. For
the next thirty-six hours, surgeons poked and prodded her, but they
insisted she was not in labor. Jean was in terrible pain. Tim had come
to visit and gave me a little New Testament and Psalms before he left.
I sat for hours by Jean’s bedside, feeling so distraught and helpless. In
desperation, as Jean lay in teeth-chattering pain, I reached in my back
pocket for Tim’s Bible. I randomly opened it to Psalm 18 and began to
read out loud, “The Lord is my Rock, my Fortress, and MY DELIVERER”
(v. 2—emphasis mine). “What a coincidence,” I thought. Here we were
hoping for our baby to be delivered, and I happened to open to a verse
like that. I looked up from reading that one verse and, to my amaze-
ment, Jean was fast asleep.
The head surgeon called me outside. He was pretty alarming. “It
may be her appendix; we must operate right away,” he said. I paced
the floor and worried every minute Jean was in surgery. On her way
to the recovery room, her water broke. “We’re going to have a baby,”
the nurse nonchalantly announced. They wheeled Jean back into the
operating room, and this time I was invited. With a fresh, seven-inch
incision in her side, Jean gave birth to a healthy baby boy. We named
24 STEP 13
him James Alton, III. I was so proud. I had a son. He had my name.
What kind of life and opportunity would Jean and I offer him? He
deserved the very best. We had so very little. Still, this was cause for
celebration. “Buzz” agreed, and so that’s just what I did.
Jean slowly recovered while handling all that goes with mothering
two little ones. I worked and drank even harder. We returned to the
hospital several times over the next few months. Ear infections, club
feet, bouts with asthma, and other illnesses were hitting our babies. As
we would enter the hospital, Jean would bring the kids to the doctor
for medical treatment, and the hospital’s collection agent would drag
me into her office and work me over. We had no insurance, and the
hospital wanted their money. This collection “Gestapo” was one of the
meanest people I had ever encountered. Often after a hospital visit, I
would stay up all night drinking and worrying about how the heck I
was going to pay these thousands of dollars I owed this hospital. Poor
me, poor me—pour me another drink!
On January 21, 1979, Tim picked me up in his car to go and make a
sales call. As I got in the car, Tim looked at me and said, “What’s wrong
with you?” His question hit me like a brick. Did I have some sign over
my head saying, “What’s wrong with this guy?” Were my hands shak-
ing? I’m still not sure why he asked; but when he did, I just didn’t know
what to say. “Tim, I don’t know how to begin to tell you what’s really
wrong,” I said. He handed me a piece of paper and said, “Why don’t
you make a list of the things that are bothering you?”
Tim drove, and I wrote my list. Number one, Jean and I are fighting.
Number two, we have no money, and the electric bill is due. Number
three, our kids are sick. And on and on my list went. As I looked up
from making my list, Tim was pulling into the parking lot of a big,
empty Baptist church in Rocky Mount. “Do you mind if I pray for you?”
he asked. I told him I wouldn’t mind at all. I had prayed growing up.
My mom taught me to pray, “Now I lay me down to sleep . . . ” when I
went to bed. And sometimes, when Dad was home, we would say grace
before our meals. Tim ran next door to the parsonage and got the key
to the church, opened it, and took me inside. Now this was different.
I had never been in a church when nobody else was there. “Come on,”
Tim said, and we walked up to the altar.
“Let me see your list,” Tim said. When I handed Tim my list, he
began talking out loud. “Lord, I’m bringing my friend Jim to You today.
Lord, he’s got some problems, and he needs Your help.” Wow! Did I
ever have some problems, and did I ever need some help! I fell to my
knees and began to weep. My prayer that day was simply: “God, if
You’re there, please help me.” As Tim and I prayed, I felt like a large,
warm blanket came down and wrapped me in a strange, powerful love.
I had experienced a similar thing once before when I was nine and
had learned my mom was in a mental hospital. It was God. It was real.
Being a tough guy from New York, I had never cried in front of
anyone before. This was different than anything I had ever experienced
before. This was more powerful than any drink or drug I had ever had.
The Presence that was at the altar that day was so real and so intense
that words fail in trying to describe what it was like. I cried like a
baby. I felt like a two-hundred-pound weight had been lifted off my
shoulders. I walked out of that church feeling completely weightless,
and the tears wouldn’t stop coming.
As we walked outside, the sky looked bluer than I had ever seen
it, and the trees and the grass looked greener than green. This was
really strange. I heard the birds singing for the first time in I-don’t-
know-when. There was a deep, warm glow within me, and I knew that
somehow things were going to be all right. When I got home, Jean took
one look at me, and without a word being spoken, she knew I had been
in the presence of Jesus. She knew I had been born again.
The funny thing was, it was Jean who had been watching Billy
Graham on television and asking people questions about being born
again and becoming a Christian. I wasn’t the least bit interested in
any of it. I had been baptized as a baby in the Lutheran church. My
grandfather was a Lutheran pastor. I was convinced we were already
Christians. After all, we weren’t Jewish or Muslim or Hindu. Of course,
26 STEP 13
we were Christians, I had thought. This was different. This was real.
I was changed, and Jean knew it. I began telling everyone what had
happened to me. I’m sure many of them thought I had gotten a hold of
some bad weed or something. Two weeks to the day later, we were in
a church service, and Jean went forward and asked the Lord to forgive
her sins and come into her life.
The next several weeks were like the honeymoon we never had.
From the very moment Tim and I had prayed together, I had absolutely
no desire to drink or smoke. (I had been smoking a pack of Marlboro
a day.) Jean and I had a joy and excitement we had never known. We
were like kids in a candy shop as we read the Bible out loud and prayed
together. We told lots of people what had happened to us. Some be-
lieved us. Most thought we were nuts. We didn’t care. We had a new
life and we knew Jesus was alive.
The guy who lived across the street invited us to visit his church.
I had heard he went to a Pentecostal church. At the time, I thought
all Pentecostal churches were given over to a bunch of emotionalism
and hype. Besides, I was raised in church as a kid, and I just thought
most churches were full of hypocrites. I wasn’t real keen on going,
but we went.
The service was actually pretty good, and we enjoyed the music.
Toward the end of the service, the preacher asked anyone who wanted
prayer to come forward and kneel at the altar. Jean and I went forward
and knelt at the altar rail. The pastor came over and quietly asked,
“Have you two asked Jesus into your hearts?” I assured him we both
had done so. He acted as if he didn’t hear a word I said, and he started
to yell to the rest of the church, “These two people are inviting Jesus
into their hearts here tonight!” The place erupted, and people started
running up and down the aisles. We couldn’t believe our eyes or ears.
This Pentecostal preacher man just flat out lied, and the whole church
exploded. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. We left as soon as we
could. It was years before I darkened the doors of a church again. Just
as I thought, the church is full of hypocrites and liars.
Jesus, however, was a whole different story. Jean and I shared many
wonderful times reading the Bible and studying the life of Christ.
We talked about little else. We would get so excited when one of us
would learn something new about this new life we had found. One
night, after reading aloud a small book called The Lord is Still in Business,
Jean and I prayed and sent our last $5 to this ministry. We just knew
somehow the Lord was going to provide for us.
The next day, I went to work without a penny in my pocket. On
the way to work, I prayed, “Okay, Lord, You say in Your Word that
You will provide our needs. I don’t have a penny on me, Lord, and I’m
going to trust You to provide lunch. But I’m not going to ask anybody
for anything.” That day, Tim asked me to make sales calls with him.
About noon, we walked into a dress shop I had never been in before. As
soon as we walked in, a lady I had never seen before came right up to
me and said, “We have more spaghetti back here than we can possibly
eat. Would you fellas join us for lunch?” I could not wait to get home
to tell Jean what the Lord had done!
A few days later, Jean had a similar experience. She was home
with the kids, and there was very little food in the house. She prayed,
“Lord, I don’t know how You’re going to do it, but I’m believing You
will provide something good for lunch.” That day around lunchtime,
the next-door neighbor (who had never been to our house) showed
up at the door with a complete fish dinner in her hands. “We just had
so much left over, we thought you might enjoy a fish dinner!” Wow!
The Lord really was still in business, and He was letting us know it.
There were so many little things that were happening all the time. We
were experiencing bank errors in our favor, unusual sales at my work,
fevers and headaches leaving our children when we prayed for them,
and more. This new life was quite the adventure.
It wasn’t long before we were being deluged with well-meaning
legalistic Christians who had learned of our new faith. They descended
upon us like mosquitoes. “Now that you’re Christians,” they would
say, “you shouldn’t go to the movies or wear make-up or wear shorts
28 STEP 13
or drink.” The lists of do’s and don’ts seemed to be endless. The life
they were talking about was very different from what I was reading
about in the Bible.
I was reading about Jesus’ first miracle of turning about 150 gallons
of water into wine. I was reading about how the legalistic, religious
people in Jesus’ day were telling Him that He shouldn’t drink. They
called him names like “glutton” and “winebibber.” Even the apostle
Paul told Timothy to “use a little wine for the sake of your stomach
and your frequent ailments” (1Tim. 5:23).
It wasn’t long before I started telling all these teetotaling religious
people to take a hike, and I bought some beer. I had remembered stories
about how my grandfather, the Rev. Fred Lineberger, would sit on his
front porch and drink beer after preaching his Sunday sermon. We
would all snicker about how upset it would make the Baptists. I seemed
to be following suit. I would sit for hours studying Paul’s letter to the
Romans—and drink my beer. Before you know it, an old friend was
joining me in my Bible studies. “Buzz” was back in town.
The next several months were a hybrid of old habits and new ex-
periences. The financial woes and challenges continued to plague us,
but now we had hope. We were hoping for some miraculous exodus
from the tyranny of lack. “Buzz” and the Bible helped me cope with
the reoccurring frustrations and sense of failure from not having
enough money to provide for my family. How I prayed for some Divine
guidance out of the land of lack.
One day while I was in prayer, I felt like the Lord told me we were
to live in Florida. The very moment I felt I had heard this word, I called
my aunt and uncle in Tampa and asked them if it would be all right if
I stayed with them for a few weeks. They said okay, so I stood up and
started for the front door. Jean said, “Where are you going?” Without
missing a step, I said, “I’m going to Winn Dixie to get some cardboard
boxes.” “Why do we need those?” Jean asked. “Because the Lord said
we’re going to live in Florida. We need to pack up the house because I
need to go today. I’ll go down and get a job and a place for us to stay.”
Jean was floored, but I was convinced this was God’s direction. I
was sure if we could just get to Florida, things would be better for us.
We would have a fresh start. There would be more opportunity for us
there. I just knew it. We packed up our belongings and packed them
all in my mom’s two-bedroom apartment. Surely she doesn’t mind.
Besides, it won’t be for long, I thought. Jean and the kids can stay
with her for a few weeks while I get us set up in Florida. We packed
the house all afternoon and half the evening. I left for Florida about
11:00 p.m. and drove the next twelve hours straight. The excitement of
our new and better life in Florida and lots of coffee kept me awake. I
arrived in Tampa about lunchtime. My aunt had a great lunch and a
cold beer waiting for me. Praise the Lord, I thought. Now we’re going
to make it for sure.
Within a couple of days, I got a job at 84 Lumber in Saint Petersburg.
It was July. It was hot. The days were long, and the work was hard. We
would unload truckloads and train car loads of lumber and fiberglass
insulation for hours and hours at a time. The next seven weeks were
the loneliest I had ever known. I missed Jean and the kids so much,
but I was convinced this move was the answer we were waiting for.
My nightly six-pack of beer was back. It was part thirst-quencher and
part Novocain for the day’s pains.
For weeks, I continued to nurse my “duh-lusion” that this was
going to work. I worked seventy to eighty hours each week and saved
everything except my beer money. One night I got home from work
and learned my grandmother had died and had already been buried!
Evidently, my family knew I was too busy “chasing my windmills” to
attend Grandmother’s funeral. I thought it was very odd that nobody
told me until after the funeral. I wondered what their problem was.
During week number seven, I called around looking for an apart-
ment. They all wanted the first and last month’s rent and a month’s
security deposit. There were deposits required for electric and so
forth. It became clear that this wasn’t working. My dream of a fresh
start in Florida came crashing down. “Buzz” helped me deal with the
30 STEP 13
disappointment. I was confused. I was sure I had heard from the Lord.
Where do I go from here, Lord?
My sister, Tica, and her husband had pity on us. They invited us
to come to South Carolina and move in with them. We accepted their
invitation. They were so successful. Surely if we move in with them,
we will become successful, too, I thought. Jean and the kids met me
in North Carolina. It was so good being reunited with my family. I
had missed them so. Yet, again, I had failed. I knew it. Jean knew it.
The world knew it. We packed up a U-Haul truck and moved to South
Carolina. This was it. This time was going to be different. Tica and
Larry were going to help us. That’s all we need, I thought, just a little
help to get on our feet. We used their entire garage for storage.
I got a job as a carpenter’s assistant, and my hopes of a “South
Carolina breakthrough” seemed to dim with every week of banging
nails for little pay. I would sneak a couple beers on the way home. Tica
and Larry didn’t drink, so “Buzz” wasn’t invited to this party. One day
I called in sick and drank beer all day. When “Buzz” and I got home, I
lied about where I had been. Tica had talked with my boss that day and
knew I was lying. They were trying to help us, and there I was lying to
them. I felt like a real slimeball.
It wasn’t long after that, it was time for us to go. We needed to find
a place to stay right away for whatever we could afford. We rented a
dilapidated, old house in an African American neighborhood. With all
my problems, prejudice wasn’t one of them. However, being the only
“white folk” for miles around confirmed what I already knew—I was
an “oddball.” I was so much of an “oddball” now that my whole family
was the “oddball family.”
Jean and I had been praying for God to somehow make things right.
We had our first time of “prayer and fasting” while we lived in this
broken-down house with squirrels running around inside the walls.
We prayed and prayed for God to make a way for us. I broke my first
fast with a cold six-pack of Heineken and got quite a buzz. No matter
how much I drank, I couldn’t drown the despair and sense of failure
that filled my soul.
Jean’s dad knew we were struggling. He invited us to come to New
York and live with them until we could get on our feet. I never thought
I would move back to New York. Nevertheless, I was so low, I had to
look up to see down, so we moved back to New York. Five years earlier,
we had left New York in a huff. Now we were back, with a family of
four and without a penny. We moved in with Jean’s parents and brother
in their Queens apartment. Seven people living in a two-and-a-half-
bedroom apartment was a challenge.
Jean’s dad helped me get a job as a busboy at Eduardo’s Restaurant
in Manhattan on Fifty-Ninth Street and First. I had one pair of dress
shoes that killed my feet every night. Yet, my feet did not hurt as much
as my severely bruised ego. The waiters would curse me in Italian, and
I pretended it didn’t bother me. I would spend half of my tips on shots
and beers on the way home. Before long, I was getting drunk every
night. It was only by the grace of God that Jean’s dad (a 300-pound
New York City fireman) never caught me staggering in drunk.
Another friend of my father-in-law was a waiter at Oggi Restaurant
on Eighty-third Street and Third. He convinced the manager to let me
work there for two weeks, without pay, to see if I could learn the job. I
jumped at the chance and caught on pretty fast. There were ten waiters
on staff. I was the only one who wasn’t Italian. Only one of the other
waiters was born in America. Yet again, I was the oddball; but it was
a big step up from being a busboy, so I counted my blessings, kind of.
The manager of Oggi’s was a man named Ennio. He was, without
question, possessed by many devils. His favorite phrase was, Dio porko,
which means “God is a pig” in Italian. When I told him God was not
a pig, I learned he had many other colorful phrases with which he
cursed God and almost everyone around him. He was a vile man, who
received a sadistic thrill by verbally humiliating some of the waiters
every night when the restaurant was good and full. I was one of his
favorite targets. I needed the job, and he knew it. Besides, he enjoyed
32 STEP 13
making sport of my faith in Christ. He would call me an “ignorant

American” and publicly ridicule me for professing Christ. “Buzz” helped
me deal with it. I was making $70 to $100 a night and drinking almost
half of it on the way home.
This routine continued for months as we continued to manage
with the seven of us in a two-and-a-half-bedroom apartment. I would
go to work, stagger home drunk, wake up with a hangover, and go
to work again. Jean and I were at each other’s throats again, and my
drinking was keeping me from spending any quality time with the
kids. “Daddy’s got another headache,” they would say. Their words
would echo in my mind as I cried in the shower getting ready for work.
Jean’s mom saw what was going on and told Jean she thought I was an
alcoholic, and I needed to get some help. That sounded like the most
ridiculous thing I had ever heard in my life. Me, an alcoholic? That’s
ridiculous! I just like my beer, I thought. To disprove these unfair accu-
sations, I agreed to attend one alcoholics anonymous (A.A.) meeting.
The meeting convinced me all the more that I was in no way an alco-
holic. The people in this meeting were sick. Many had attempted suicide;
most were divorced; some drank a fifth of vodka or bourbon every day.
I walked away from that meeting certain that I was not an alcoholic.
On the way out the door, I picked up a brochure on alcoholism.
One of the articles in this brochure said, “If you can’t go thirty days
without drinking, you’re probably an alcoholic.” That’s just the kind
of proof I needed. Perfect, I thought. I’ll show Jean this article, go thirty
days without drinking, and get everybody off my back. I lasted six days and
then got drunk. It was ugly. I made some excuse for getting drunk and
announced again that I was going to go thirty days without drinking
and prove I wasn’t an alcoholic. I lasted four days and got absolutely
blasted on the way home from work.
My life was out of control, and I knew it. I went back to the A.A.
meeting I had scoffed. The crowded room was filled with smoke and
people drinking coffee. The leader had everyone sit in a circle. They
were taking turns discussing Step #1 of Alcoholics Anonymous: “We
admitted we were powerless over alcohol, that our lives had become
unmanageable.” Some shared success stories; some shared sordid war
stories about the pain their drinking was causing them and the people
they loved. Some simply passed when it was their turn to speak. My
hands were sweating something terrible when my turn came to say
something. My voice shook as I introduced myself to the group. “Um,
hello, my name is Jim, and I’m an alcoholic,” was all I could get out.
Funny thing was, everybody in the room already knew something I
was just learning. I wanted to get well.
STEP 1:
We admitted we were powerless
over alcohol, that our lives had
become unmanageable.
THE THING I HATE I DO
LIKE ANY OTHER GROUP, THE people of Alcoholics Anonymous came
in all shapes and sizes. Some were nice, and some were nasty. Some
were smart, and some were not so smart. Some were blabbermouths,
and some said very little. However, there was a certain tenacity they
all seemed to share. It was a leather-like toughness that seemed to
come from battling the fierce winds of addiction. Most of their lives
seemed permanently scarred by the ravages of their disease. Me? I
was the new kid, the rookie. Some of the older “hard butts,” as they
called themselves, tried to take me under their wing. “Take it one day
at a time,” they would tell me. “Easy does it” and “Ninety meetings
in ninety days” were their marching orders. They gave me a Big Book
and told me to learn the “Twelve Steps.” If reading this book and going
to meetings were going to help me not to drink, then so be it. I was
willing to do almost anything. I wanted to get well.
I went to meetings before work. I went to meetings after work.
I went to meetings in Queens. I went to meetings in Manhattan. In
most of the meetings, I just listened. Sometimes I shared. There was
one thing I wasn’t doing, at least for weeks at a time, and that was
drinking. Things seemed to improve dramatically with Jean and the
kids as soon as I started attending A.A. meetings. Daddy didn’t have
those terrible headaches every morning. Jean and I were beginning
to pray together again.
Not long after I began going to A.A., Jean, the kids, and I moved
into our own, two-bedroom apartment in Flushing, Queens. It was a
big day. The kids shared their own bedroom; and for the first time in
several months, Jean and I had some much-needed privacy. We read
35
36 STEP 13
the Bible together, memorized scripture, and prayed together every

day. Things were finally looking up.
I was working hard at Oggi’s and going to A.A. meetings every
chance I could. Ennio was still verbally abusing me at every turn. He
learned I was going to A.A. meetings and added that to his arsenal of
insults. I tried to take it in stride, but he really made me angry.
One Friday night after being severely ostracized, I was fit to be tied.
I felt I had to get to a meeting, or I was going to do something stupid
like punch Ennio in the nose or get drunk. I rode the bus down to
catch the midnight meeting at the Bowery Mission. It was a hardcore
meeting, and several of the participants were passed out drunk in the
back of the room. They were bums who were just there to escape the
brutal, New York City winter cold for a couple of hours. The leader
was talking about Step #2: “came to believe that a Power greater than
ourselves could restore us to sanity.” As he stood in the front of the
room, he was standing directly in front of a life-size painting of Christ
standing with His hands outstretched towards us.
STEP 2:
Came to believe that a Power
greater than ourselves could
restore us to sanity.
When it came my turn, I began to share how I had come to know

Jesus. I told them how I had prayed with a man named Tim Horton
in Rocky Mount, North Carolina, and how the Holy Spirit fell on me
like a warm blanket. I began to tell them how Jesus was much more
than a man, that He was the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and
the end. I told them that Jesus loved them, and He didn’t want any of
them to perish and go to hell, sober or not.
It was right around the time I started quoting Matthew 11:28, where
Jesus said, “Come to Me, all who labor and are heavy laden . . . ”, that a
man standing in front of the life-size painting of Christ got very upset
The Thing I Hate I Do 37
with me. “No preaching! No preaching!” he shouted. “This is an A.A.

meeting, not a ‘blankity-blank’ church service.” He continued to tear
into me with some sharp correction about A.A. protocol and etiquette.
Before he finished speaking, I got up and stormed out of the meeting.
I hit the first pub I found.
I stood at the bar of this old Irish pub, drinking shots and beers as
fast as I could throw them down. More than thirty A.A. meetings and
almost thirty days of sobriety went down the drain. After drinking
several shots and beers in less than an hour, I was feeling no pain. I
was quite drunk. The guy standing next to me started a conversa-
tion with me as he nursed his beer at a snail’s pace. I asked him if he
ever went to church. He said he was a Lutheran. “A Loo-tha-ruuun!”
I slurred with excitement. “My grandfather and three of my uncles
were Loo-tha-ruuun ministers,” I exclaimed with my speech slurring
so badly, I could hardly speak. “Do you ba-leeeve dat Jeeesus rose from
da dead?” I garbled. My new friend thought about my question for
a moment and then quietly said, “No.” I was enraged. “And you call
yourself a Loo-tha-ruuun,” I scolded at the top of my lungs. “What kind
a ‘blankity-blank’ Loo-tha-ruuun are you?” I slammed my beer on the
counter and almost punched the man before staggering out of the bar
and falling face down on the sidewalk. I guess I told him, I thought as
I stumbled to the subway.
Jean was waiting up for me when I got home. She was as broken-
hearted as she was angry, and boy was she ever angry. I woke up the
next morning with one of the worst hangovers I had ever had. I still
don’t know if it really was worse than the others or if I had forgotten
the pain during my (almost) month of sobriety. For whatever reason,
it was bad, and Jean and I screaming at each other didn’t help it a bit.
Again, I was the failure. I knew it. Jean knew it. I felt like the whole
world knew it. I felt so hopeless, alone, and afraid.
This pattern continued like a recurring nightmare. I went to A.A.
meetings and then went to work. I read the Big Book and memorized
scripture just about every day and prayed almost all the time. After
38 STEP 13
about thirty days of sobriety, something would pull my trigger, and

I would get blasted. After a binge, I would feel so ashamed; I couldn’t
believe it. Not only that, but my binges were getting worse. It was
often daylight by the time I staggered in. I felt like the biggest failure
in the entire world. I started to think that perhaps I really was insane.
During one lucid moment, I ran across a scripture passage that gave
me a spark of hope. Romans 7:15 says, “For I do not understand my own
actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” The
thing I hated (getting drunk), I kept on doing; and the thing I wanted to
do (be sober and live for God), I couldn’t find the power to do. I could
really relate to what Paul was saying in Romans 7:24: “Wretched man
that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?”
In an effort to make peace with Jean, I agreed to go to church. I still
thought church people were all phonies and hypocrites, but I agreed
to go. Besides, my wife was gorgeous, and I didn’t want any of the
“brethren” getting too friendly with the missus, so I went. The church
was called Bellrose Assembly of God. The music was great, and I really
liked the senior pastor. His name was Pastor Burgess. He was in his
eighties and from Scotland. He would often get excited and kick his leg
up in the air when he preached. I got a real charge out of that. There
was little else I enjoyed about church. I found most of the people to
be very plastic and phony. They all seemed to look down their noses
at me and made me feel like they were holier than I was. Again, I felt
like a complete misfit.
When some of the elders learned that I called myself “an alcoholic”
and that I was attending A.A. meetings, they took issue with me. They
told me I should not call myself an alcoholic. They said that was a “bad
confession.” They insisted my problem was that I didn’t know who I
was in Christ. They insisted I was a “new creation,” and this overrode
any such alcoholic talk. They also discouraged me from going to A.A.
and encouraged me to rely only on my Bible and the Holy Spirit. I was
confused. Jesus seemed to be getting me into trouble at A.A., and A.A.
was getting me in trouble at church. I didn’t fit in either.
I continued to read my Bible and my A.A. Big Book, memorize scrip-

ture, go to church, go to meetings, and then fall. Almost like clockwork,
I would live sober “one day at a time” for about thirty days and then
get drunk out of my mind. The true insanity was in my convincing
myself that I really wasn’t an alcoholic. “After all, I am a ‘new creation,’”
I would tell myself. “Certainly, I can drink just one beer.” So I would
stop on the way home to drink one beer. After drinking one beer, I
would think, I didn’t turn into a werewolf or anything. I’ll have one
more and then go. By the time that second beer was down, the pump
was primed, and I was off to the races.
Now, when I would get drunk, I would stay drunk or almost drunk
for three or four days at a time. While I worked as a waiter at Oggi’s,
I started throwing down wine like lemonade to keep my hands from
shaking. After a binge, my hands would shake so badly, the coffee
cups would chatter on the saucer as I served it. It was a hellish merry-
go-round that lasted for more than the next year. I did believe “that a
Power greater than myself could restore me to sanity” (A.A. Step #2),
but when and how and why not now?
Many times, I woke up with a terrible hangover only to find our
associate pastor in my living room waiting to talk to me. His name
was Pastor Phillips. I found him to be quite unkind and arrogant. I
dreaded my every conversation with him. I do believe he was trying
to help, but his self-righteous demeanor and know-it-all attitude was
like salt in an open wound. One bright morning, he wanted to discuss
what my wife and kids were supposed to do after I drank myself to
death. I thought about punching him right in his squeaky-clean nose.
Somehow, by the grace of God, that never happened. When he would
finally leave, Jean would run into the bedroom and cry. I would go
take my shower and get ready for work. I would cry in that shower
like a schoolgirl and beg God to forgive me for being such a disgrace
to Him and to my family.
I was often encouraged by God’s Word during my three and four
week stretches of sobriety. I pursued God and His Word like a drowning
40 STEP 13
man after a life raft. I had so many incredible moments with God dur-
ing those times. One day, while riding the F-train to work, I ran across
1 Peter 1:13, “Therefore, preparing your minds for action, and being
sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to
you at the revelation of Jesus Christ.” This good word and the strange
warmth of His presence brought me to tears on that crowded train.
Oh, the revelation of Jesus Christ, I thought. How awesome that day will be
when He comes back and takes me out of this pain and failure. I must have
repeated that verse a thousand times in my mind over the next weeks.
Another blockbuster verse came to me some weeks later. It was New
Year’s Eve. I found it in Paul’s letter to the Romans, chapter eight, verse
twenty-eight. It says, “And we know that in all things God works for the
good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His
purpose.” Wow! I felt like I hit the lottery or struck gold or something.
I sure loved God, even if my life appeared to deny and disgrace Him.
This verse was for me, and, somehow, I just knew God was going to
bring good out of my messed-up life. I repeated that verse over and
over again for the next several hours as I was waiting tables at Oggi’s.
About 11:00 p.m. that evening, Ennio called all the waiters together
and instructed us to pour free champagne to all the customers at the
stroke of midnight. No problem. I was strong. I had been to an A.A.
meeting that day. I had memorized my scripture. I was going to stay
away from that first drink. I was going to be fine; I just knew it. At 11:30
p.m., I was still strong. No problem here. At 11:45 and 11:50 and 11:55, I
was still like a rock. As midnight came, the sound of noisemakers filled
the restaurant. The champagne began to flow like water. I was fine.
“Easy does it,” I told myself. “Stay away from that first drink. ‘I can do
all things through Him who strengthens me’” (Phil. 4:13). About 12:30,
one of the waiters handed me a glass of champagne and proposed a
toast. “Well,” I reasoned, “One glass won’t hurt me.”
I woke up the next morning about 8 a.m. in my own urine and
vomit on the F-train. I staggered off that train and shook my fist at
heaven. “So, You’re going to work ALL things together for my good,
are You?” I yelled at heaven. “How are You going to bring good out of
this?” My first blackout marked a new all-time low for me . . . and for
my family. Jean and I did not have a happy New Year.
The merry-go-round continued. The thing I hated, I continued to
do. The thing I wanted to do, I couldn’t find the power to do. Countless
times, I cried out to God. Countless times, I failed. I would go forward
at church for prayer every chance I could and then go to A.A. meetings
all over the place. Regardless of all my efforts, I could not manage to
stay sober for even a month. With each blackout and every hang-over,
a piece of me seemed to die, and our family was in serious trouble.
Jean had started to attend Al-Anon meetings in an effort to learn how
to cope with a chronic alcoholic husband. She also read her Bible a
great deal and prayed often. One morning, during one of my sober
weeks, I was lying on the bed with Jean and moaned, “What am I
going to do with my life?” Jean immediately responded by saying,
“The Lord just told me you will be a minister.” That sounded like the
most ridiculous thing in the whole wide world. Me, a minister? That’s
just hilarious, I thought.
We continued to go to Bellrose Assembly of God on Sunday morn-
ings and some Sunday nights—if I was sober and wasn’t working. I
continued to enjoy the music, but still found it difficult to feel a part
with all the “church people.” Most of them seemed so judgmental and
condescending that I wanted nothing to do with them. Sometimes
during the worship time, I would hear a humming sound that seemed
to invade the singing. It sounded like someone had released a thousand
bumble bees in the room. When I asked some of the elders what that
sound was, they told me it was “singing in the Spirit.” They talked to
me about the “Baptism in the Holy Spirit.” I was convinced that this
was some teaching unique to this denomination. It sounded to me
like it was probably just emotionalism, but I was open to anything
that might help me stop drinking.
I began to ask people about this “Baptism in the Holy Spirit” and
to do some research. I read everything I could find on the subject in
my Bible, and I prayed, “Lord, if this is for real, I want it. If it’s just
42 STEP 13
emotionalism, please keep it far from me.” The last thing I wanted to
do was become like one of those phony holier-than-thou Christians
at church.
I began to study church history and church doctrine. I read about
Martin Luther and my Lutheran roots. Luther’s hymn “A Mighty
Fortress Is Our God” was my grandmother’s favorite and our family
anthem as I was growing up. It contains the words, “the Spirit and the
gifts are ours . . . ” What was Luther trying to say?
I desperately wanted to know if the “Baptism of the Holy Spirit”
was for today. I began my own personal crusade to find out. I was
asking everybody. Was this “Baptism in the Holy Spirit” something
that could help me stop drinking, or was it a bunch of religious hype
and gibberish? I was determined to find out. I was equally determined
not to be duped by any of these religious clowns at church. When I
raised the question at my next A.A. meeting, I was almost laughed
out of the room.
When I asked Pastor Burgess about it, he said I needed to “tarry
at the altar.” I asked him what it meant to “tarry.” He said I needed to
“wait on the Lord.” He said God was not in a hurry. Jean and I went
forward for prayer at church almost every Sunday. There at the altar I
would “wait.” The only problem was I didn’t know what the heck I was
waiting for! I would kneel there at the altar with my mouth slightly
open, waiting for some supernatural force to descend on me and start
moving my tongue around. It still seemed pretty crazy to me, but if
it would help me stop drinking, I was ready to do almost anything.
Many times, I remembered when Tim and I had prayed in that
church in Rocky Mount, North Carolina, and how the presence of God
came on me like a warm blanket. Many times, I waited and waited
for that to happen again. No dice. Sometimes the elders would come
and put their hands on my head and speak what sounded to me like
gobbledygook. I didn’t feel a thing, except an added awkwardness
from their putting their hands on me. I remember listening to their
rambling and wondering if there was anything real about this or if

these guys were simply full of baloney.
One night, I came home from work and found Jean all excited.
“I received my prayer language!” she said. “I can speak in tongues!” I
remember thinking how I should be happy for her, but I wasn’t. I felt
left out. I felt like I had somehow failed yet again. I felt like she was
now “one of them,” and I was left out in the cold. I felt like I was the
one who needed any “extra help” that might be available. I was the
one who was on this personal crusade to find out if this stuff was
real. I still didn’t know if this “yabba-dabba-doo” stuff was real or if
Jean had fallen into some kind of cult. My resolve to stand firm was
strengthened a hundredfold. If this stuff was real, I needed to know. If
it wasn’t, I needed to rescue Jean from what might be a cult. I continued
to pray every single night, “Lord if this is of You, I want it. If it’s not,
please keep it away from me.”
I continued to work hard at Oggi’s and put up with my demoniac
boss, Ennio. I also took on a second job delivering Tartufo ice cream
desserts throughout the five boroughs of New York. We were doing a
little better financially. At least we were paying our bills on time. That,
in itself, was like a badge of honor.
We also started to have a little extra money to buy our kids clothes.
Up until that point in our marriage, our kids wore only hand-me-
downs or clothes from Goodwill. What joy would flood my soul as Jean,
the kids, and I would ride the bus downtown on my day off. We would
buy the kids sneakers, a jacket, and maybe a toy. We’d go to McDonald’s
as a family and sometimes catch a movie. Connie and Jimmy were so
precious. I wanted so much to be a dad they could look up to. I wanted
to be a role model for them. I wanted to teach them how to grow up
and live for the Lord, but I kept getting drunk.
Like clockwork, I would go three or four weeks sober and then
get smashed. After a binge, the shame, guilt, and deep sense of failure
seemed almost unbearable. There was a sick hopelessness in the pit of
my stomach. Amid the head banging that comes with a bad hangover,
44 STEP 13
my mind would hear whispers of you’ll never change; this is the way you
are; it’s hopeless. Many other people seemed to agree. Church people
distanced themselves from me. Some talked about sin and repentance.
My A.A. compatriots spoke of abstinence, sobriety, and serenity. Jean
talked about deliverance and the kids. Voices swirled in my head like
a class-five tornado. There had to be a way out of this nightmare.
I continued to pray and read my Bible and my Big Book. I went to
many A.A. meetings and church services. Yet, somehow, I seemed to
forget all about the pain my drinking caused, and within four weeks’
time, I would drink again. It was crazy. I really started to wonder if
the answer was simply that I was crazy. However, some of the closest
moments I’ve ever had with Christ came to me during those times
of my greatest failures. He met me in my brokenness in such real
and tangible ways. If I tried to mention a word of these encounters
to anyone, they would quickly shoot me down. “If you’re so close to
God, how come you can’t stop drinking?” That was a good question,
and for the life of me, I could not find the answer.
I prayed to God every day about this “Baptism in the Holy Spirit”
thing and read anything I could find on the subject. “Lord, if this is of
You, I want it. If it’s not, please keep it from me,” I would pray. I also
prayed the Serenity prayer about a million times: “God grant me the
serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change
the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” While I was
reading Alcoholics Anonymous Comes of Age: A Brief History of A.A., I read
on page 63 about an encounter the founder of A.A. had with God. His
name was Bill Wilson. In November of 1934, Bill was in the hospital
being treated for alcoholism. Bill described his experience this way:
My depression deepened unbearably and finally it seemed to
me as though I was at the very bottom of the pit. I still gagged
badly at the notion of a Power greater than myself, but finally,
just for the moment, the last vestige of my proud obstinacy
was crushed. All at once I found myself crying out, “If there
is a God, let Him show Himself! I am ready to do anything,
anything!” Suddenly, the room lit up with a great white light.

I was caught up into an ecstasy which there are no words
to describe. It seemed to me, in the mind’s eye, that I was
on a mountain and that a wind not of air but of Spirit was
blowing. And then it burst upon me that I was a free man.
Slowly the ecstasy subsided. I lay on the bed, but now for a
time I was in another world, a new world of consciousness.
All about me and through me there was a wonderful feeling
of Presence, and I thought to myself, “So this is the God of
the preachers!” A great peace stole over me and I thought, “No
matter how wrong things seem to be they are still all right.
Things are all right with God and His world.”4
You would think I would have been happy for ol’ Bill, but I wasn’t.
All night at work, nagging questions festered in my mind like a bad
infection. Why was this guy on a mountain with the wind blowing, and I
was out here struggling to decide if I was even sane! After all, he was in the
hospital being treated for chronic alcoholism at the time. He was way sicker
than me, I thought. I wasn’t hospitalized. I was a working man, trying to
provide for my family. That’s just not fair, I thought. I’m out here chasing
after God twenty-eight days out of the month, and God’s not blowing any
Spirit wind through my life. It’s just not right. Poor me. Poor me. Pour me
another drink! Drunk again.
Like a bad movie that always has the same sad ending, my binge
again brought me to the pit with more pain and shame as I staggered
home to face Jean. More utter failure as I tried, through the haze of
my hangover, to rightly discern if I was even “really” a Christian. I
grabbed more Tylenol for my banging head and camouflaged my tears
in a hot shower. Yet again, I had failed.
4 Alcoholics Anonymous World Services. “As Bill Sees It.” Chap. 5 in Alcoholics
Anonymous Comes of Age: A Brief History of A.A. A.A.: New York, 1975. 63.
THEY THAT WAIT
IN MY DESPAIR, I PAUSED from getting ready for work and reached
for my Bible. My heart ached so much that I couldn’t begin to describe
it. I opened the Bible with some remote hope that God might help me.
I happened to open to a passage of scripture I had never read before.
It was Isaiah 40:30: “Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young
men shall fall exhausted.” The words seemed to be jumping off the
page at me. They seemed to be written just for me.
I didn’t hear an audible voice. Yet I knew God was speaking directly
to me in that very moment. The scripture continues in verse thirty-one:
“But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall
mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary;
they shall walk and not faint.” BOOM! Those words hit my heart and
head like a Copperhead missile. God was speaking to me! God was
really speaking to me!
Moments before, my head was banging with a terrible hangover,
and my soul was filled with a deep, indescribable hopelessness. Now,
in the twinkling of an eye, my head was clear, and my answer was
here. I felt like a rocket taking off from a launch pad. It didn’t make
sense in the natural, but I knew this was my breakthrough. Oh, how
weary I was. Oh, how tired I was of stumbling and falling! How I
simply wanted to “walk and not faint.” God knew this. His words
penetrated deep in my soul, and I experienced a strange warmth of His
presence, much like I had at that church in Rocky Mount years before.
In that moment, I knew God really did understand. He had heard all
my prayers. He had seen all my tears. He had forgiven me and was
47
48 STEP 13
giving me hope. He was with me. He cared. It was going to be okay. I

just knew it. I didn’t understand it, but I just knew it.
I started jumping and singing and dancing around the house as I
finished getting ready for work. I felt like a freshly popped bottle of
champagne that was bubbling over. He did it! God did it! He heard my
prayers! He touched me! I’m going to be okay! From this day forward,
I’m going to be all right! My thoughts and words and songs seemed
ridiculous. It made no sense at all. Yet I could not contain myself. There
was a joy I had never known flooding my soul like a river of assurance.
He was going to make it okay. Somehow, some way, He was going to
make it okay. My family was going to be okay. We are going to make it,
I thought. We are going to be okay. God did it! I don’t know how, but God is
going to make things right.
Less than an hour later, I was at the gas station on my way to work.
As I was putting air in one of my tires, I started thinking, Maybe I’m
making too much of this. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I’m exaggerating
what’s happening here. Maybe I need to calm down. Easy does it, Jim. Don’t
get too carried away here. Doubt was already sneaking into my heart.
Was the encounter I had just had for real? Did the God Who created
the universe really speak to little ol’ me? After all, it was just a Bible
verse. Perhaps I’m just giving in to emotionalism. Perhaps it was the
shots and beers from the night before, I continued to reason.
I finished my business at the gas station, got back in my car, and
started it up. As usual, my radio dial was tuned in to the Christian
station, WWDJ. The very second I started my car, a song I had never
heard before came on the radio. A woman started singing, “Even youth
grow weary . . . ” Her voice caught my ear and stopped me in my tracks.
The song continued, “And young men stumble and fall . . . ” I almost
couldn’t believe my ears. “But they that wait upon the Lord will renew
their strength . . . ” Tears of joy began flooding my face. The strange
warmth of His presence came back to me. I drove away from that gas
station boo-hooing so badly that people driving by stared at me as if
to say, “What’s up with that guy?”
They That Wait 49
It’s about a fifteen or twenty-minute drive on the Grand Central

Parkway from Flushing, Queens, to the Triborough Bridge in New York.
I laughed and cried the whole way. That entire song, which I had never
heard before, had not one word less nor one word more than the two
Bible verses I had read an hour earlier. This was no coincidence. This
was no apparition. God was with me. He really, really was with me,
and I could not fully take it in. It wasn’t my imagination or the booze
from the night before. Now I knew that God was speaking to me. He
was letting me know that He was going to help me.
As I drove over the Triborough Bridge into Manhattan, which I
had done a thousand times before, I looked out over the New York
City skyline. It was not an unfamiliar sight to me. I had looked at it
every time I went to work. This day was different. The tears started to
flow uncontrollably again as I saw something I had never seen before.
There, amid the grays and the haze of the skyline, a factory smokestack
seemed to standout as if it was highlighted in some way. It had the
word “Eagle” painted on it in a bold, vertical fashion. I began sobbing
with joy all over again. As silly as it may sound, that was yet another
confirmation to me. I had been over that bridge and looked at that
very building countless times, but it had no significance. This day it
displayed the fingerprints of God.
It was my day to set up all the place settings at Oggi’s before it
opened. That meant that, other than Ennio, I was alone in this large
restaurant for more than an hour. By the time I finally got to Oggi’s, I
was a mess. Like that day in Rocky Mount with Tim Horton, I could
not turn off the tears. They just kept running down my face. The
“sloppy agape” love of God was supersaturating my soul, and I could
not stop crying for joy. The strong presence of God was not lifting off
of me, even as I walked into the restaurant to begin work. I remember
thinking how Ennio was going to make sport of me and not caring
the least bit. As grace would have it, he was in the basement the entire
time I set up the restaurant.
50 STEP 13
I couldn’t help but thank God out loud again and again for touch-
ing me. I kept waiting for this heavy presence to lift off of me as I
went about the restaurant laying down the napkins and silverware,
but it would not leave. I kept thanking and praising God out loud. The
tears wouldn’t stop. I was in such a state, I was surprised I was able
to continue setting up. I was laughing and crying at the same time. I
was thanking God in a loud voice. I was shouting, “Praise God!” and
singing different songs that would come to mind. “There is power,
power, wonder-working power . . . in the blood . . . ” I couldn’t help
but sing for the joy that welled up and overflowed from deep within
my soul. I was free!
“Lift Jesus higher . . . ” I started singing. “Lift Jesus higher . . . ” I
sang even louder. “Lift Him up for ran-dan-do-le.” It didn’t make sense
but it didn’t matter. “He said if I be lifted up from the earth, I will
ko-dan-re-sey-to-la.” What is up with this song? I thought, not really
caring what it sounded like. “Lift Jesus higher, lan-dan-don-so-te-
lay,” I sang all the louder. “He said if I kay-rey-sho-na-pa-low-se, can-
dan-do-ne-sho-to-sey,” I continued singing and laughing and crying
while I set up the restaurant. “Kay-ray-sho-dan-do, kay-ray-sho-dan-do,
ku-rey-son-do-le-sey-no-com-bay.”
I kept singing the melody of this familiar song but like a baby
saying “Daddy” for the first time, I kept singing these silly syllables
that kept bubbling up in my mind as I sang them out. “Kay-ray-sho-
na-na, kay-ray-sho-na-na, ca-la-so-po-na-lo-sey-sey.” As I was singing,
I started to wonder, Could this actually be the “song of the bumble bees”
that I had heard at church so many times? Was this the “Baptism in the Holy
Spirit” that I had read and prayed about? It didn’t matter what it was. It
was right. It was fun. It was real. “He said if I kan-dan-so-lo-la-so-mey,”
I continued. I sang and cried and laughed all over that restaurant for
the better part of an hour. The heavy presence resting on me like a
hundred warm blankets slowly lifted. I was changed. I just knew it.
Everyone and everything around me was the same. Ennio was
his nasty old demon-possessed self. Evano, the head chef, was still
They That Wait 51
pushing the food out of the kitchen like a food Nazi. Luciano and Gino
were still cursing up a storm in Italian. As usual, the customers were
all clamoring for service right away. Nothing had changed. Nothing,
that is, except me. There was a difference deep down inside. I couldn’t
explain it, but I knew it was so. I felt giddy the entire night. It was
almost as if I had been drinking, but I hadn’t been drinking—at least
not any earthly drink. This was new wine!
As I schlepped the food and drink to and from the tables, I contin-
ued to sing my silly-sounding new songs under my breath. I had not
even been sober for twenty-four hours, yet there was a chord of victory
in those new songs and syllables I knew was for real. These songs I was
singing were somehow transcending any intelligible English words.
They made no sense to my natural mind. I could sing them or not sing
them at will. When I was singing these new songs, I sensed the focus
of my heart turn to God. There was an awareness that there was more
going on than “goobley-gosh,” but only God really knew whatever that
was, and that was okay. As foolish as it sounded or seemed, if God was
somehow communing with me in and through this apparent gibberish,
then praise God!
That’s exactly what Jean did when I got home and told her what
had happened to me. “Praise God!” she shouted. She was thrilled and
completely understood. As I was soon to learn, she was one of the very
few people (except for some of the church people) who did understand.
As I tried to explain what was going on with me to my fellow A.A.
recovery friends, well, let’s just say they didn’t understand. As a matter
of fact, they seemed to be even more concerned about my wellbeing.
I’m sure many of them thought I had really flipped out. They encour-
aged me to continue going to meetings, to “live and let live,” and to
take it “one day at a time.” It sounded like a plan to me! “Live and let
live, cu-ran-do-ko-shantey! One day at a rum-bo-sen-te-le time!” I not
only didn’t care if they thought I had flipped out, I also didn’t care
if I had! I wasn’t going back! I was determined that if this was being
flipped out, then I would live flipped out—sober and full of joy!
52 STEP 13
We continued to go to Bellrose Assembly of God on Sundays. I

was joining right in with the “bumble bee songs,” as I called them. I
continued to find most of the people self-righteous and judgmental, but
they didn’t bother me as much as they used to. I was even beginning
to look past the associate pastor’s arrogance and get something out
of his sermons sometimes. Most of the brethren at church continued
to condemn me for going to A.A., and I continued to engage in lively
debate when they would tell me I didn’t know “who I was in Christ.”
I did connect with a new friend at church who had been reach-
ing out to me. His name was Dominick. He was a successful plumber
from Howard Beach. On our days off, we would take long rides out
to Orient Point, Long Island, to go flounder fishing. We would listen
to Hal Lindsey tapes and talk about the Bible all the way there and
back. He and his wife, Barbara, had our family as guests in their home
several times. They were very kind to us during my first few months
of sobriety, and I will forever be thankful for their friendship and
prayers. Having come out of drug abuse themselves, they seemed to
have an extra measure of grace and understanding for where I was
coming from and many of the attitude problems (or “character defects,”
as A.A. called them) I was still wrestling with.
STEP 3:
Made a decision to turn our will
and our lives over to the care of
God as we understood Him.
Even though Dominick was about ten years older than me and was
a plumber, we had a lot in common. We both had “made a decision to
turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood
Him” (which is Step #3 in A.A.) We were both working men with fami-
lies, who went to the same church and were in about the same place
in our journey as new Christians. We had many honest talks during
those long rides out to Long Island and back. Without consciously
They That Wait 53
trying to, we worked through A.A. Steps #4 and #5 together. Step #4

is “Make a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.” Step
#5 is “Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being
the exact nature of our wrongs.” I had admitted my many wrongs to
God and to myself a thousand times or more. However, sharing my
embarrassing wrongs with another individual was a new experience
for me. Without setting any agenda, Dominick and I always engaged
in what the program called “rigorous honesty.” He was always so down
to earth and open about his moral failings. It helped me be truthful as
well. The truth was setting us free. When I hit my six-month marker
for being sober, I felt like the first man to break the sound barrier!
STEP 4:
Make a searching and fearless
moral inventory of ourselves.
STEP 5:
Admitted to God, to ourselves,
and to another human being the
exact nature of our wrongs.
To say things were better at home would be the understatement of

the year. It was as if our family was reborn. The ugly arguments were
gone. The horrendous disappoints of me staggering in at daybreak were
missing like a freshly pulled abscessed tooth. The money I had been
squandering on my monthly binges was helping buy school supplies
and sneakers. Jean and I even started to hire a babysitter once in a
while and go on dates.
We still had our problems, but it was nothing compared to the
nightmares we had somehow endured.
We continued to go to Bellrose Assembly of God on Sundays, and
I kept going to A.A. meetings as often as I could. Jean and I read the
54 STEP 13
Bible together and prayed often. I kept reading the A.A. Big Book and
working the twelve steps. The church people always seemed to bring
to light my bad attitudes and character defects. Whenever someone at
church got one of those “holier-than-thou” attitudes, my blood would
boil, and I would want to deck ‘em. That would usually spark at least
a lively discussion between Jean and me. We would go home from
church and argue about it. It was very hard for me to forgive after an
argument. I would often smolder inside for several days before I could
truly let it go, regardless of what “it” was.
I was sober, but my sobriety was often hanging by a burning thread.
“Let go and let God” was more of a slogan to me than a way of life.
When Jean, a co-worker, or a complete stranger said or did something
that hurt or offended me, I held onto it like someone sucking an ach-
ing tooth. I almost drank on three separate occasions during my first
eight months of sobriety. Somehow, by the grace of God, I stayed away
from that first drink.
I was still working twelve to fourteen hours a day, delivering
Tartufo in the mornings, and waiting tables at Oggi’s in the evening.
My days off were like Christmas. We had so much fun as a family, it
was unforgettable. Many times, we spent the day at Flushing Meadow
Park. The kids would ride bikes and roller skate. We flew kites together.
We picnicked together. We prayed together. We were becoming the
closest of families. It was all by God’s grace, and I knew it. I was living
“one day at a time,” and it was working. We would start our day with me
saying, “This is the day that the Lord has made.” And the kids would
finish by saying, “Let us rejoice and be glad in it” (Ps. 118:24).
Many times, I would take one of the kids with me on my Tartufo
deliveries. We had grand times together. We would talk and sing and
laugh together as we drove all over the Big Apple. They were my little
helpers, and I treasured every moment with them. Sometimes on our
way to the Bronx, we would stop under the “L” train in Astoria and
get a souvlaki from one of the street vendors. They were so delicious;
I can still taste them.
They That Wait 55
Every special time we shared was like a victory celebration. With

every family outing, I had a growing awareness of how much my
sobriety meant to Jean and the kids. Alcoholism is such a selfish dis-
ease. I had been oblivious to many of the ways my drunkenness was
robbing Jean and the kids. Now, with each day of sobriety, a victory
was being won. God was turning my sorrows into joys, and how I
thanked Him for that.
It was always so hard for me to say good-bye to my kids as I would
leave in the afternoons to go wait tables at Oggi’s. They would wave
good-bye to me from the window of our third-story apartment. I would
wave good-bye on my way to the car, often with a tear in my eye and
a prayer on my lips. The joys we shared as a family were gifts from
heaven, but I knew they were as fragile as my first drink. I hoped
and prayed to return home after work sober and in my right mind.
Somehow, by the grace of God and living one day at a time, I was
doing just that.
My one-year anniversary arrived without fireworks or fanfare. It
was almost anticlimactic. I don’t know what I was expecting—perhaps
a marching band singing, “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.” Instead, I took
Jean and the kids for ice cream. I had a banana split. We said a quiet
prayer, and I went to work.
Throughout that day, there was an almost surrealistic sense about
me. Could this actually be true? I thought to myself, Have I really been
sober for an entire year? Like Peter walking on the water, there was a
measure of disbelief in my thinking. Can I really do this? Can I really live
sober? I was learning that I could live sober as long as I lived one day
at a time. I wasn’t sober because 365 days before I made a decision not
to drink. I was sober because of 365 decisions I had made not to drink
that day. I quickly got my focus off of the one-year sobriety marker
and got it back on today.
A few months later we were in downtown Flushing on one of our
family outings. As I was poking around in the Christian bookstore, a
man walked up to me and said, “Don’t I know you?” I didn’t recognize
56 STEP 13
this guy. Besides, New York is home to all kinds of weirdos and wackos,
even in the Christian bookstores. “Nope, sorry, pal,” I responded. A few
minutes later, he walked up to me again. “Sorry for bothering you. I
just feel like we’ve met. Do you go to church around here?” I told him
we went to church out in Bellrose and asked him where he went to
church. He said he went to the First Reformed Church of Kew Gardens.
I asked him if he knew Pastor Bill Sanford (the pastor who married Jean
and me at that church five years earlier). “I am Bill Sanford,” he said!
This guy had given us a beautiful wedding when we literally walked
in off the street and told him our situation way back when. We went
to his church three Sundays in a row after we got married, but I didn’t
even recognize him. He invited us to visit his church. So, the next
Sunday we did.
First Church, as it was called, was very different from Bellrose
Assembly of God. When Jean, the kids, and I visited, we were the only
young family in the church. There were only about thirty people in
the church, and most of them were older, single women. Bellrose had
about 300 people and an incredible choir and praise team. In spite of
the obvious differences from what we were used to, Jean and I both
had a strong “knowing” that we were supposed to be a part of this
church. We joined the church and began a three-year journey that
would shape our character and destiny more than we could imagine.
Even though Pastor Bill was ten years older than me, we quickly
became the best of friends. Bill was not a great preacher but was a
gifted teacher. He was working on his doctorate from Fuller Theological
Seminary and had incredible insights into the scriptures. The Thursday
night Bible study in the fellowship hall at First Church was usually bet-
ter attended than the Sunday morning service. Probably more than any
other individual, Pastor Bill was instrumental in helping us understand
the Bible. Although we didn’t realize it at the time, the truths we were
learning were being imparted deep in our hearts.
There was another group that met regularly in the fellowship
hall. It was A.A. My schedule didn’t allow me to crash many of their
They That Wait 57
meetings. I did attend several of their meetings and really enjoyed

them. However, it was refreshing to learn Pastor Bill had quite a
different view of alcoholism than the elders at Bellrose Assembly
of God. Bill wasn’t an alcoholic, but he did understand addiction.
He shared the same conviction that Christians are “new creations,”
but he also understood that we battle different devils. For the first
time in my journey of faith, I was beginning to no longer feel like a
“second-class Christian.”
New people began coming to First Church. Some were young
people. Some were couples with small children. Louis and Yvonne
came with their two precious daughters, Chris and Michelle. Our kids
were about the same age, and we hit it off right away. They were the
first couple Jean and I had as friends since we were married. We shared
many family times together and remain friends to this day.
STEP 6:
Were entirely ready to have
God remove all these defects of
character.
Bob Greene was a Jewish drug addict who had a powerful en-
counter with the Lord and was set free. Bob and I had many meetings
together. We read the scriptures together and attended A.A. and N.A.
(Narcotics Anonymous) meetings together. We also engaged in many
candid conversations about “defects of character.” As iron sharpens iron,
so Bob and I often sharpened each other. Step #6 in A.A. states, “Were
entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.” Bob
was a Godsend in helping me see many character defects and attitude
problems I didn’t even know I had. Together we “humbly asked God
to remove our shortcomings” (A.A. step #7). With each confession of
weakness and failing, we seemed to grow in our relationship with
God and each other.
58 STEP 13
STEP 7:
Humbly asked Him to remove
our shortcomings.
Bob got involved with a zealous bunch of Christians known as

the Jews for Jesus.
He spent an entire summer out of state with this group to be
trained in street evangelism. When he returned, Bob was eager to dem-
onstrate what he had learned, so he and I grabbed our “swords” (Bibles)
and went down to the streets of the Bowery. We ended up in front of
the Bowery Mission. This was the same place where I had stormed
out of an A.A. meeting a couple years earlier. I had to chuckle. God
certainly seemed to have a great sense of humor.
I was a bit taken aback when Bob started to raise his voice and
loudly started telling anyone who would listen that Jesus loved them
and had a plan for their life. As Bob stood on that street corner preach-
ing his head off, I walked up to a tall, black, homeless man wearing
dark glasses and asked him if he believed in God. He seemed to be of-
fended and began walking away rather briskly. “Where are you going?”
I asked him. “Do you have an appointment?” He turned, walked up to
me, and took off his glasses. His left eye was hideously mangled in its
socket. With his one good eye, he looked right at me and said, “I have
an appointment in hell,” and growled as he marched away. I believed
him. That was the extent of my first attempt at street witnessing! I was
kind of quiet as we rode the subway back to Queens.
A few Sunday mornings after our Bowery expedition, a man by the
name of Stanley Hauser visited First Church. We were quite amazed
to learn how he had come to visit us from the Bowery! He had heard
nothing of our recent trip there. For years, Stanley had been a “Bowery
Bum.” He lived on the streets and panhandled money to buy booze. His
life had been more than unmanageable. It was one big, drunken mess.
Stanley told us he had been a staunch atheist all of his life and had no
They That Wait 59
interest in Christ or His Church. As a chronic alcoholic, Stanley’s life

consisted of going in and out of detox facilities.
Just days before he came to visit us at First Church, Stanley woke
up in a Bowery detox and came to believe. He said he himself didn’t
understand it; he just believed. He said he just woke up and knew the
Bible was true and that he needed to find a church. Without under-
standing quite why, Stanley took the subways from the Bowery in
South Manhattan to First Church in Kew Gardens that Sunday morning.
He had never even been to Kew Gardens before. He “just happened”
to get off of the subway at the Kew Gardens stop and stumbled upon
First Church. We knew the Lord had brought him to us.
The first few weeks Stanley visited, we drove him back “home” to
a Bowery flophouse. The homeless shelters in the Bowery are bleak
and brutal places. Stanley had nothing except the clothes on his back,
his sobriety, and his newfound faith. Although he had nothing, he
had everything. He was sober for the first time in many years. He
immediately started attending A.A. meetings and came to church as
often as he could.
We earnestly prayed for a door to open for Stanley to find a better
place to live. Before we knew it, a room opened up in the house where
Bob Greene was living. The church helped him with his initial expenses,
and Stanley now lived in a beautiful Kew Gardens neighborhood.
For the next couple of years, our lives were enriched by Stanley
Hauser. Although he smoked more than any human being I have ever
known, he had a joy and a depth of gratitude for his sobriety that was
as contagious as the bubonic plague. Stanley, Bob, and I had many rigor-
ously honest talks together. We attended A.A. meetings together. We
shared truths from the Big Book and the Bible. We had long talks about
attitude. We prayed honest prayers. Slowly, we grew in our sobriety and
in our faith. As we had opportunity, we reached out to fellow addicts
and alcoholics with few successes.
First Church marked an incredible season in our family’s life. It was
the first time Jean, the kids, and I felt a part of a loving community. It
60 STEP 13
wasn’t perfect, for sure. We all would laugh as Pastor Bill would come
out of an elder’s meeting so frustrated he would throw a handful of
papers in the air and stomp out of the church like a child having a hissy
fit. Even so, it was one big family, and we were a part of it.
After Sunday service, many of us would migrate downstairs to the
fellowship hall, where Jean and I had our humble wedding reception
five years earlier. We would eat cookies, drink coffee, and talk to one
another for hours. Our church home had become the center of our
life. One Sunday morning, we awoke to find there had been a great
snowstorm, and everybody was snowed in. We didn’t even think about
missing church. We bundled the kids up like mummies and joyfully
trudged through three miles of freshly fallen snow together. It was
a blast. When we finally got there, Pastor Bill said, “I knew you guys
would come.” There were only a few of us there that morning, but we
had a wonderful time together and just as much fun walking home.
DE COLORES
ONE OF THE MOST SIGNIFICANT things that happened to us at First
Church was attending a Tres Dias weekend. We didn’t know much about
it. We knew it was a retreat weekend for men, and then the women
made the same retreat on a subsequent weekend. All we knew was two-
thirds of the folks at First Church had made one of these weekends,
and they were all excited about us making one as well. So, we went!
Our weekend was called Tres Dias #10. It was held at a Catholic
monastery in Huntington, Long Island. The year was 1982. Louis, Bob,
and I were the three participants (or “candidates,” as they called us)
from First Church to attend the weekend. Pastor Bill was one of three
spiritual directors who helped oversee the entire weekend. We didn’t
know Pastor Bill was making the weekend, so we were all pretty proud
to learn our pastor was one of the top people that was in charge of
the whole weekend.
The Tres Dias weekend began on a Thursday evening and ran
through Sunday night. Shortly after arriving at the monastery, we all
knew this was going to be quite different from some relaxed retreat
weekend like we all had imagined. I almost chuckled during the in-
troduction ceremony of the weekend. There were more than eighty
men in the room, and almost everybody was from a different church
and different denomination. Some guys attended the Roman Catholic
church. Some were from the Baptist church. Some were from Lutheran
backgrounds. Some were Episcopal. Some were Presbyterian. And
some were Pentecostal.
I remember thinking, Boy, the sparks are going to fly here this weekend.
From my background, I knew that Christians from different denomina-
tions were prone to heated debate over doctrinal differences. Much to
61
62 STEP 13
my surprise, there was not one argument over any church differences
throughout the entire weekend. As a matter of fact, the diversity in the
room gave the entire weekend a unique feel and flavor. “De Colores”
(“all in color”) celebrated the many forms and colors of God’s grace. I
had heard of God’s grace before, but I had never experienced it as we
did on that weekend. The theme of the weekend was, “His banner over
me is love” (Song of Songs 2:4). Indeed, it was for the entire weekend.
Along with quite a few well-planned surprises, the Tres Dias week-
end hinged on fifteen talks given over the three-day weekend. Five
talks were given by clergy and ten by laypeople. After each talk, there
was opportunity to discuss what was said in a small group setting,
as we had all broken into individual family tables of about seven per
table. My family table was known as the Tribe of Judah. I remember
commenting on some of the supplies on the table, “Hey, what’s up with
the tissues?” It was hard for me to believe, but before the weekend
was up, I found out.
You see, these “talks” were not just simple surface talks, where
somebody gets up and fires off a couple of message points and sits
down. With each talk, the speaker shared deep and honest truths about
great failings, pains, and shortcomings they had experienced. Each
speaker had their own story about how, ultimately, God redeemed
their lives. Some of the stuff these guys shared hit you right in the
heart. Some of the speakers had lost spouses. Some had tragically lost
children. Some had attempted suicide. A few of them were alcoholics
and addicts at various stages of recovery. Before the weekend was
over, everyone, even the biggest and toughest guys in the room, had
reached for the tissues.
For obvious reasons, I immediately connected with those who
shared about alcoholism and addiction. They shared how their drink-
ing and drugging had robbed and almost killed them and devastated
their loved ones. Some had endured divorces and bankruptcies and
suicide attempts but now were leaders in their church. One of the guys
De Colores 63
who had been the biggest drunk was now a pastor! How could this be?
I wondered. Was God’s grace really that big?
This was not an A.A. weekend. As a matter of fact, only one or two
of the speakers had even mentioned A.A. Yet, I couldn’t help but see so
many parallels. All of the speakers had come to a place of powerless-
ness. All had come to believe in God. All had made a decision to turn
their wills and lives over to the care of God. All had obviously made
searching and fearless moral inventories, and there they were standing
up admitting the exact nature of their wrongs in technicolor. If this
weekend was anything it was rigorously honest. It was quite intense
and not without effect on everyone who attended. I knew I was in the
right place at the right time. “But, why me, Lord?”
During some of the chapel visits, I had what could only be de-
scribed as “close moments” with Christ. The first involved the crucifix.
Growing up with mostly Lutheran roots, I always found the crucifix
repugnant. Why would anyone want to showcase a dead Jesus? In spite
of having gone to four years of Catholic school—including a full year
of Catholic boarding school—I just didn’t understand the crucifix. As
we sat in the chapel and sang “Have You Seen Jesus My Lord?” it seemed
as if the crucifix in chapel became illuminated. I heard the Spirit of
God whisper, “Remember the price that was paid.” The crucifix has
never appeared the same to me from that moment.
STEP 8:
Made a list of all persons we had
harmed, and became willing to
make amends to them all.
Before making the weekend, I had been working on A.A. steps #8

and #9. Step #8 states, “Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and
became willing to make amends to them all.” Step #9 is “made direct
amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would
injure them or others.” So that’s what I had been doing, as best I could.
64 STEP 13
I had written letters of apology to my dad and other family members

I was sure I had hurt or offended. I repaid debts I owed and tried to
make amends with friends. However, during one of those close mo-
ments with Christ, I became aware of someone I hadn’t yet forgiven
or made amends with—me!
STEP 9:
Made direct amends to such
people wherever possible, ex-
cept when to do so would injure
them or others.
I was in prayer, and as I prayed, I saw what was like a moving pic-
ture in my mind’s eye. It was a picture of Jesus being crucified on the
cross. He was in agony on the cross but was still alive. As this picture
slowly zoomed in from a distance, I saw a man standing in front of
the cross spitting on Jesus. As this picture panned in from behind the
man, I saw that this man was me! Lord, I would never spit on You or Your
cross, I exclaimed. The Lord said, Every time you do not forgive yourself,
that’s exactly what you are doing.
It was only then that I began to realize how much bitterness and
unforgiveness I had been harboring in my heart towards me. With
God’s help, I forgave the one who was hardest of all for me to forgive.
That day, I forgave me. I had been trying to “love my neighbor as myself”
(Mk. 12:31), but I had a little problem. I didn’t love myself! That began
to change on the day I forgave myself for Christ’s sake.
All in all, it was an exceptional and significant weekend. So much
had taken place in such a short period of time. It was the first time I
really began to see that God uses ordinary, flawed, sinful people in
extraordinary and glorious ways. I began to see more clearly than
ever before that it wasn’t about belonging to this church or that. It
was about having a personal relationship with God through His Son
Jesus and His Church. Up until that point in my life, my relationship
with God was only vertical. God was up there, and I was down here;
De Colores 65
and sometimes the God that was up there touched the me that was
down here. My life was radically changed as I began to see that, like
the cross, God designed our relationship with Him to be vertical and
horizontal. I was beginning to see Christ in others—in spite of their
warts, flaws, and failings.
At the weekend’s closing ceremony, there was opportunity for
different individuals to share their thoughts. Some gushed for several
minutes about what they had experienced during those three grace-
filled days. When I got up to the microphone to share, I could only get
out five words: “Perfect love casts out fear.”
What had I been so afraid of? All my life, I had felt like the prover-
bial square peg trying to fit in the round hole. Even in recent years, I
didn’t fit around most born-again Christians because I was an alcoholic,
and I didn’t fit around most alcoholics because I was a born-again
Christian. It was during my Tres Dias weekend that I began to see God
was bigger than square pegs and round holes. He loved diversity and
obviously had a special fondness for broken vessels. I came to believe
God had a unique plan for my life.
I went home from Tres Dias with a passion to be a better husband
and father. I returned to First Church with a greater respect for my pas-
tor-friend and a determination to help him in his ministry. Along with
our Thursday evening Bible studies and Sunday services and marathon
fellowship hours, I had many long talks with Pastor Bill. I began helping
more around the church and started filling in to teach Bible study from
time to time. As he did with several of the folks at First Church, Pastor
Bill insisted Jean and I had a call on our life. We were totally clueless
as to what that really meant. We just tried to do what we could to be of
help. We were active in prayer and praise meetings, in street witnessing,
and in helping around the church where and when we could.
Pastor Bill sat in on one of my Bible studies and said I was called to
preach. He asked me to prepare a message and deliver it at church. I was
flattered and terrified at the same time. Public speaking, in my book, was
right up there with having your teeth extracted. I prepared a message
66 STEP 13
and gave it my best effort. I preached on the conversion of Paul. In my

message, I mentioned how Saul of Tarsus (soon to be called Paul) was
knocked off his horse by a great light on the road to Damascus. After
the sermon, several people came up to me and said how wonderful they
thought the message was. I was starting to get puffed up and feel pretty
good about myself. Just then Pastor Bill walked up to me and said, “Where
did you get the idea Saul had a horse?” Then he walked away. I was a little
dumbfounded. Was he jealous of the attention the congregation was
pouring on me, a rookie preacher? I went home and reread Acts chapter
nine. I was humbled to find no mention of a horse.
After serving at First Church for more than two years, Pastor Bill
nominated me as an elder apprentice, and the congregation voted me
in. This was quite an honor because in the Reformed Church, the elders
govern the affairs of the church. After serving as an elder apprentice
for one year at First Church, one automatically would become a “rul-
ing elder.” I never was installed as a ruling elder. The Proverbs tell us
that “pride goes before destruction” (Prov. 16:18). So it went with me.
I was teaching Bible studies regularly and preaching on occasion.
Pastor Bill had asked me to fill in for him one Sunday morning. For
several days prior to this speaking engagement, there had been some ar-
guments and infighting going on among some of the church members.
I seized my preaching opportunity to speak words of correction to the
congregation. Quoting from Paul’s letter to the Galatians, I charged the
people to “quit biting each other, or they would devour one another”
(Gal. 5:15). My message was over the top and out of line for a young
elder apprentice, but I was too ignorant and prideful to see it. After the
message, several people, including Pastor Bill’s parents, came forward
and told me the message was wonderful. Pastor Bill was livid. I had
never seen him so angry, and I had seen him pretty angry several times
before! “You had no right to spank my children,” he shouted. “You were
out of order; you must apologize to the congregation,” he insisted.
Step #10 in A.A. states, “Continued to take personal inventory and
when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.” Ironically, that was the
De Colores 67
step I was working on when this debacle unfolded. I just couldn’t see
my wrongdoing. I was blinded by my need to be right and by spiritual
pride. In the scriptures, First Timothy chapter three gives qualifications
for overseers in the church. In verse six of that chapter, Paul warns
that overseers should not be “recent converts” because they will “fall
into the condemnation of the devil.”
STEP 10:
Continued to take personal
inventory and when we were
wrong promptly admitted it.
“He must not be a recent convert, or he may become puffed up with

conceit and fall into the condemnation of the devil.” That was me, but
I couldn’t see it. After all, I wasn’t “a recent convert,” I thought. I had
been born again a whole four years by this time!
For three years, Pastor Bill had been more than a big brother and
friend to me. He had been my spiritual Papa and mentor. He was more
than the one who sponsored me to go on Tres Dias. He had invested
hours counseling me and teaching me to be a disciple.
He was the pastor of the church which had become the center of
our very lives. Now, in one inflamed conversation, he had become
my enemy. At least that is how I perceived it. I dug in my heels and
told him I had done no wrong. I stormed out of the church, much in
the same way I had stormed out of that A.A. meeting at the Bowery
Mission when the leader tried to bring correction to me. How dare he
raise his voice at me, I thought.
A pastor is not supposed to talk to his people like that, I reasoned. I felt
victimized and unfairly treated. I refused to go back to church. Some
“elder apprentice” I was turning out to be!
The next several weeks brought more pain and disillusionment.
Because of my refusal to go before the congregation and apologize,
Pastor Bill had let the other leaders in the church know that we were
68 STEP 13
“off-limits.” We had, in effect, been “blacklisted.” The people we had

become closest to in the whole world now shunned us. The people to
whom I had been learning to serve communion now looked at us as
lepers. It was devastating. Amazing, isn’t it, how sin and sorry attitudes
hurt our loved ones? Jean and the kid’s only crime was being related to
me. Yet, they were disfellowshipped right along with me. That unfair-
ness really pushed me to the brink. I went to A.A. meetings and argued
with the Lord, but it was years before those spiritual wounds healed.
A few months after my last sermon at First Church, I called a meet-
ing with Pastor Bill. I so hoped we would be able to make amends and be
restored to the church we had come to love so very much. Pastor Bill was
more formal and cordial than I expected. He seemed distant, disconnected,
and extra polite. Our conversation was shorter than I had hoped and didn’t
result in any meeting of the minds. Pastor Bill never raised his voice.
As a matter of fact, to my surprise, he spoke in almost hushed tones.
He calmly reiterated his conviction that I had been out of order by
“spanking his children” and needed to go before the congregation and
apologize. Like the rich young ruler who was asked by the Lord to give
more than he could, I walked away from our meeting sad and dejected.
Rejection and anger are a terrible pair. They can result in the most
unexpected actions. The next week, while waiting tables at Oggi’s,
Ennio got on my case about some insignificant something. He began
to verbally assault me in the dining room with a diabolical mixture
of Italian and English cursing, as was his custom. I had had enough
of it. As Gino, my waiter friend from Naples, had often said, “When
the basket is full, the basket is full.” Much to Ennio’s great surprise, he
barely had half a dozen profanities out of his mouth before I was in
his face like Billy Martin to a home plate umpire. I had to bend over a
little to get nose-to-nose with this little Mussolini, as I was about five
inches and fifty pounds bigger than he was. I let him have it, took off
my apron, and stormed out. Perhaps as evidence to the fact that I am
still in recovery, that is one “outburst” I still, to this day, do not regret!
GO MAKE THE COFFEE
IT HAS BEEN SAID THAT alcoholism is a “disease of the attitudes.”
How very true that is! Much like cancer, our recovery does not re-
main the same. It is either progressing or in remission. Don’t get me
wrong—if an alcoholic is sober for ten years and then drinks, he
will most certainly pick up exactly where he left off. However, with
regards to our attitudes, we who are in recovery are either gaining
ground or losing ground.
So it is with Christians. We don’t stay on the same spiritual plateau
for long. We either press forward to higher ground, or we backslide. I
have found that, in a sense, we Christians are all stumbling to glory.
None of us have arrived. God created us from clay, and clay pots we
remain. In 2 Corinthians 4:7, Paul says, “But we have this treasure in
jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not
to us.” We are all “jars of clay.” That’s just a fancy way for saying “clay
pots.” Furthermore, we all leak. So, one can rightly conclude that we
are all “cracked pots”! We are but dust fused to glory.
It has been said that Christians are the only ones who “shoot their
own wounded.” I would change that statement to say, “Religious people
shoot their own wounded.” I’m finding there is a big difference be-
tween true Christians and “religious people.” A wise pastor friend once
told me, “Remember, Jim, the church is always found within the mob.”
When Jesus rode triumphantly into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, the
church greeted Him with cries of, “Hosanna.” Within days, they turned
into an angry mob and yelled, “Crucify Him!” Not much has changed.
As alcoholism is a “disease of the attitudes,” so legalistic religion
is a “disease of the heart.” The spiritual arteries that once carried the
love and compassion of Christ become hardened. There is a growing
69
70 STEP 13
insensitivity to the spiritual, physical, and emotional needs of others.

Self takes the throne, and a severe stiffness in the neck develops. How
things appear and the approval of men begin to govern the thinking.
Before long, a condition I refer to as “sepulcher-itis” sets in. Everything
looks nice and tidy on the outside, but on the inside, there is nothing
but “dead people’s bones” (Matt. 23:27)!
After leaving First Church, we went through a period of mourning.
It was as if a dear family member had died. In a sense, it was as if we
had died. Still blinded by my own pride and ignorance, I was not aware
that it really was more of a suicide than a homicide. I don’t know if I
ever felt more wronged in my entire life. I would like to say we healed
quickly and found a new church right away, but that was hardly the
case. If anything, we missed the fellowship of our church family even
more as we began to visit other churches. All the churches we visited
seemed so formal and cold. Most of the people were unfriendly and
seemed perfectly content to remain in their little clique. So many
people we encountered were eaten up with the dreaded “sepulcher-itis.”
Spiritually, we were like a nomad family in the wilderness wandering
around in search of water.
After leaving Oggi’s with a bang, I applied for a waiter position at
Ernesto’s Restaurant. Ernesto’s was a Bayside restaurant much closer
to our apartment in Queens. As I filled out my application at Ernesto’s,
there were four or five other out-of-work waiters also applying for the
job. As the applicants finished filling out their applications, they turned
them in, and Ernesto replied, “Thank you. We’ll give you a call if we
need you.” He said the same thing to me as I turned my application in.
As I was walking to the door to leave, Ernesto stopped me in my
tracks. “Excuse me,” he said. “It says here you worked at Oggi’s on
Eighty-third and First, is that right?” “Yes, Sir,” I replied. With a half-
unbelieving grin, Ernie asked, “You worked for Ennio?”
“Yes, Sir,” I answered.
“You mean to tell me you worked for Ennio for more than two years?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Go Make the Coffee 71
He didn’t miss a beat. “Go make the coffee! You’re hired!”

We both had a good laugh and shook hands. Years earlier, he had
worked for Ennio . . . for two weeks! As we discussed the particulars
of the job, I explained there was one condition to me accepting the
position. “What is it?” he asked, wondering if it was going to be a
deal-breaker.
“I’m a Christian and I don’t work on Sundays. I take my family to
church on Sundays,” I replied.
“That’s fine. Be here tomorrow at 4:00 p.m.,” he said, without miss-
ing a beat.
The crazy thing was that, like a man without a country, I was with-
out a church at the time. We had no home church to go to on Sundays.
As a matter of fact, the whole subject of church was one big, raw nerve
to me. However, deep down inside, I knew we needed to find one. My
family deserved it. My recovery required it. Telling Ernie I didn’t work
on Sundays was one of the best things I ever did in my life. Without
knowing it, I immediately earned his respect. It was the beginning
of a great friendship that always included a healthy, mutual respect.
It was also a big step in my gaining someone else’s respect—mine!
It was quite different from my start at Oggi’s, where I was cursed out
without pay! In the years I worked for Ernie, he never uttered a dis-
respectful word in my direction. Not once. I guess we have to respect
ourselves before others will as well.
The next thirty months or so marked an interesting season in
recovery in many ways. With every Sunday off, Jean and I were able
to spend regular quality time with each other and the kids. I was still
delivering Tartufo four or five mornings a week and waiting tables
five evenings a week. Connie and Jimmy would wave good-bye to me
from the window of our third-story apartment as I went off to work
at Ernesto’s. I missed them so much and wanted to be with them, but
working the two jobs was providing enough money for us to pay our
bills, buy clothes, and purchase other things we needed. For the first
time in our family’s life, we were able to buy a good, dependable car.
72 STEP 13
It was a blue Ford Fairmont that had 35,000 miles on it. It may as well
have been a Rolls Royce.
We opened a saving account, and I began a ritual of going to the
bank each week and depositing $50. My hope was one day to move
our family to Florida. With each bank deposit, I prayed God would
somehow multiply that money and make our dream a reality. I was still
working twelve to fourteen hours most days; but we had our Sundays
together, and we so looked forward to them. On Sunday afternoons,
we would often go over to Jean’s parents for Sunday dinner. Jean’s
mom is an incredible cook and made some of the most delicious Italian
dinners I’ve ever eaten. A phrase you often hear at A.A. is, “Be good
to yourself.” We did a lot of that around Mama Connie’s dinner table
on Sunday afternoon!
Our Sunday mornings were always committed to the Lord. For
some months after leaving First Church, we spent time with the Lord
at home. Along with licking our spiritual wounds somewhat, we prayed
and read the Bible together. Sometimes we would get a bunch of Gospel
tracks and hand them out on the streets of Forest Hills and downtown
Flushing. Forest Hills is mostly an upscale and predominantly Jewish
neighborhood. Some people we handed Gospel tracks to were so of-
fended that they spat on us. We didn’t care. We were having the time
of our lives.
Little Connie and Jimmy were about four and five years old at the
time. They were the cutest little missionaries Forest Hills and Flushing
had ever seen. During one such outreach in Flushing, two teenage boys
walked up to us and said, “Are you guys born-again Christians?” I was
so excited that we had a couple of customers. I started to “machine
gun” them with Bible verses for several minutes. Eventually, when I
paused long enough to take a breath, they casually asked, “Can we
pray and be born again right now?” After Jean finished laughing at my
long-windedness, our little family joined hands with those two young
men. We bowed our heads on that street corner, and they sincerely
prayed and invited Christ into their hearts. I think it was then, in that
moment, that I knew what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Live
sober and win people to Christ “one day at a time”!
As you can imagine, being the only waiter at Ernesto’s that didn’t
work on Sundays was quite the buzz at the restaurant. I was immedi-
ately targeted by some as thinking I was better than everybody else.
Some, however, were intrigued by my conviction and asked questions.
It was a royal opportunity to share my faith, so I did. I was careful to
do so only when it did not affect our work. I tried to demonstrate my
faith in action by being the best waiter I could be. During down times,
however, I had many conversations with all my coworkers. During
the first several months at Ernesto’s, I spoke with everybody in the
restaurant about my God and His Bible with very mixed reactions.
Keeping such conversations short was not difficult because we were
busy serving customers most of the time.
I shared my faith with the other waiters, the busboys, the chefs,
the salad men, the bartenders, and the dish washers and had many
wonderful conversations with Ernie as well. In one of my favorite
prayers in all the scriptures, “Jesus declared, ‘I thank You, Father, Lord
of heaven and earth, that You have hidden these things from the wise
and understanding, and revealed them to little children’” (Matt. 11:25).
So it was at Ernesto’s.
One of the waiters had a master’s degree in education. Yet, he
mocked the Gospel and me every chance he could. The bartender at
Ernesto’s was a member of Mensa, an organization whose membership
is reserved for those who have an I.Q. of 140 or more. Although this
man was a genius, he was a boisterous atheist, who would curse God
and mock the Gospel regularly. However, the busboys and salad men
and dishwashers were getting saved left and right. First, one busboy
came to faith. Then the dishwasher got born again. Then the salad
man gave his heart to the Lord. Within the first year, six different
individuals had their lives transformed by the love of God and the
Good News of Jesus and His cross.
74 STEP 13
One night about 2:30 a.m., Jean and I got a call at home. I woke up,
ran to the phone, and asked who it was. It was Michael Vukobrotovich.
Michael was a busboy at Ernesto’s who was just graduating high school.
During our conversations at work, I had learned he was a big Bruce
Springsteen fan. I made him some tapes of some upbeat Christian
artists including Petra, Carman, Dion, and Keith Green. I told Michael
that God was the One who created music and that the music in heaven
is going to be far more incredible than any music on earth has ever
been. That piqued his interest in the Lord.
Still, when I got his call, I thought he was playing some kind of
prank on me after partying a little too much. “Jim, this is Michael,”
he said.
“Michael, it’s 2:30 in the morning. What’s going on?” I asked him.
“Jim, it happened. I got born again. I cried out to God, and He heard
my prayer. Jim, the moon and stars look so bright. I know Jesus is alive.
I know He loves me. I know He died for me.”
He was rambling a hundred miles an hour. I really thought he was
playing some kind of joke on me. I played along for a little while and
then rushed him off the phone.
The following days, weeks, and months after proved he wasn’t
kidding at all. Michael had been touched and changed by the love of
God. We got him a Bible, which he read diligently. He was so excited
to learn about God. He would often come to work very excited and
greet me by saying, “Jim, check it out. Last night, I was reading my
Bible and . . . ” He became convinced that God had a plan for Him and
decided to go to college as a result. Michael’s parents had been on the
verge of a divorce. Now, instead of belligerently wanting to move out
of the house as soon as he could, he was going to church and praying
for peace in his home.
Jean, the kids, and I had found a Spirit-filled Lutheran church in
College Point that we were attending regularly. We had such a hoot
picking up a carload of guys from Ernesto’s to go with us. Some of
the guys were Hispanic; one was black; and one was Polish. After the
service, we would often get something to eat and talk to these young
men about the things of the Lord. It was so exciting to see people
come to know Jesus.
Just before Easter that year, the Lord gave me a poem. It went like this:
Many colors make the rainbow,
All shining in one accord.
United by His promise
Is the rainbow of the Lord.
They say it takes not only rain

But also bright sunshine
Before we all can clearly see
His ribbon so divine.
Without all its bright colors,

The rainbow’s incomplete.
Before He went to Calvary,
He washed His good friends’ feet.
He took our sin at Calvary.

We know He despised the shame
But for full joy endured the cross
And said, “I’ll rise again.”
Like Joseph’s coat of colors,

Once new but now was torn,
So did the Son of Man become
As He wore His crown of thorns.
The promise of the Father

The Son gave all He could
Angels standing ready
As the spikes went in the wood.
76 STEP 13
“Father, please forgive them,

For they know not what they do.”
If I could be so bold, my friend,
Has He forgiven you?
Oh, blessed be His rainbow,

The rainbow of the King!
Colored with joy and victory,
He died to steal death’s sting.
He rose again as He said He would.

I’m sure you know the story.
But do you know the mystery
Of Christ in you, the hope of glory?
There’s forgiveness in no other;

The price He paid was great.
So seek the man from Galilee
Before it is too late.
“To err is human,” said the poet.

“Forgiveness is divine.”
He’ll turn your sorrow into joy,
So receive the Son and shine.
Oh, blessed be His rainbow,

Made of all those born again.
Oh, blessed be His rainbow;
His rainbow’s made of men!
I went to a printer and had the poem professionally typeset and

printed in gold ink on some attractive parchment paper that was
slightly shaded by a rainbow. I sent it to everyone we knew, including
all the employees at Ernesto’s. Some of the waiters and the bartender
mockingly made up their own perverted versions of the poem and
made sport of me. Their ridicule was silenced when Ernie hung his
copy of the poem in a prominent spot in the restaurant, right under

a light near the hostess station. He displayed the poem in such a
way that it was impossible to be seated in the restaurant without
first having that poem in your face! I always knew he was a believer.
I just knew it!
One of the waiters who made the most fun of me was a waiter
named Willie. He was the biggest “coke-head” in the place. His mother
developed brain cancer and was soon hospitalized with a death sen-
tence. Jean and I anonymously went to the hospital and prayed with
her. His mom told him about the visit, and he figured out that it was
we who visited her. He never made fun of me again.
The years I worked at Ernesto’s were good ones. Jean, the kids,
and I were growing as a family. We were growing in our faith and
commitment to Christ. Jean also was sharing her faith every chance
she could. I came home from work one night to learn Jean had led
a sixteen-year-old girl named Lisa to the Lord. The very next day,
Lisa died in a car accident. We were so thankful Jean had obeyed
the Lord.
I was also growing, one day at a time, in my recovery. I was finding
a balance between our walk with Christ and the teachings, steps, and
principles of Alcoholics Anonymous. I was finding the teachings of
Christ more than consistent with the principles of A.A. I was learn-
ing that, like so many other forms of prejudice, the prejudice of A.A.
members toward the Christian faith and the prejudice of Christians
to A.A. were rooted in sheer ignorance.
In tracing the history and evolution of A.A., one learns Alcoholics
Anonymous was born out of a group known as The Oxford Group.
It was a member of The Oxford Group, Mr. Ebby Thatcher, who in
November of 1934, visited A.A. founder Bill Wilson in the hospital just
before Bill’s dramatic conversion. Bill W.’s first three years of sobriety
were accomplished as a member of The Oxford Group. The Oxford
Group (originally known as “A First Century Christian Fellowship”)
78 STEP 13
reached out to hurting people by way of small house meetings. It was

an evangelical Christian group with a six-fold emphasis:
1. Complete deflation (of false pride)
2. Dependence and guidance from a Higher Power
3. Moral inventory
4. Confession
5. Restitution
6. Continued work with suffering people
The Oxford Group was founded in 1908 by Dr. Frank Buchman, a

Lutheran minister. While attending the 1908 Keswick Convention in
England, Rev. Buchman had a powerful encounter with Christ during a
woman’s talk about the power of Christ’s redemption. He surrendered
his life and had what he described as a “life-changing, spiritual conver-
sion.” After his spiritual rebirth, the Reverend Doctor Buchman held
a series of revivals at Princeton, Yale, Harvard, Williams, Smith and
Vassar. Kindred groups arose in Oxford, England.
Going back even further in time, the roots to A.A. become even
more interesting. Before Rev. Buchman founded The Oxford Group in
1908, there was an entire movement in the Christian faith known as
The Oxford Movement. The Oxford Movement was a spiritual awaken-
ing that took place in the 1800s.5
After participating for three years, Bill Wilson broke away from
The Oxford Group in August of 1937 because certain alcoholics had
trouble with its aggressive evangelism methods. A large percentage of
them were Catholics and were prohibited by Canon Law from being
affiliated with religious movements outside of their church. As a result,
Alcoholics Anonymous was formed. Today, in America, approximately
fifteen million people are actively involved in more than 500,000
5 Bell, I.M. “The Oxford Movement Explanatory.” “Chapter 1” in Project Can-

terbury—Before and After the Oxford Movement. London: The Catholic Lit-
erature Association, 1933.
twelve-step recovery groups, such as Alcoholics Anonymous, Al-Anon,

Gamblers Anonymous, and Overeaters Anonymous. Praise God!6
In Flushing, Queens, parking was hard to come by. Coming home
from work, I usually ended up parking a half-mile or more from our
apartment. As I walked home from my car each night, I always prayed
that the Lord would make a way for our little family to realize our
dream and move to Florida. Even though I made a mess of trying to
move to Florida years earlier, I always held on to the word I felt the Lord
spoke to me about our family living in Florida one day. Connie and
Jimmy were now in kindergarten and first grade, and we so wanted them
to have a better school experience than the rough and tough New York
City public schools offered. However, saving a whopping $50 a week
was not exactly the fast track to relocating our family. It was going to
take a miracle. But, as we soon found out, miracles still happen!
As Jean, the kids, and I were returning home one afternoon
from one of our family outings, a grouchy neighbor who hadn’t said
“boo” to us in the four years we lived in that apartment, greeted us
at the doorway.
“So, are you’s gonna move?” she barked at us.
We were a little taken aback. “Well, we hope to move to Florida one
day, but that may be quite a long time from now,” I answered. “What
makes you ask us such a question?”
Again, she barked at us with a half sneer, “If you’d read your
book, you’d know.” That was all she said and walked away. It was
really quite unusual.
Everyone living in the apartment building had been given a large
telephone book-sized manual which was left on everyone’s doorstep.
I had glanced at our book closely enough to see it had to do with our
apartment going co-op. The owner was offering all the tenants an
opportunity to buy their apartment. Not having the money to even
consider buying the apartment, I had closed the book and read no
6 Lean, Garth. “The First Chapter.” in Frank Buchman—A Life. London:

Constable, 1985. 3.
80 STEP 13
further. Now with my curiosity aroused by our sourpuss neighbor, I

read the book more closely. It said if we were willing to sign away our
right to renew our lease and agreed to move, the landlord would pay
us $8,333! That was a lot of money in 1985, especially to us. The Lord
had heard my prayers and was miraculously multiplying our savings.
That miracle money, combined with what we had saved over the last
four years, gave us more than $13,000. God was making a way for us
where there seemed to be no way. We were moving to Florida!
I sold my Tartufo route and turned in my two-week notice to Ernie.
He was happy for our family and me but said they were going to miss
me around there. The feeling was mutual. Ernie had been more than a
consummate professional and a good boss; he had been a friend. I never
was 100 percent sure where Ernie really stood with the Lord; but when
I left Ernesto’s that July, my “Rainbow” poem was still hanging in its
place of honor by the hostess station. I believe we will see Ernie again!
THE SUNSHINE STATE
STEP #11 IN A.A. STATES, “Sought through prayer and meditation
to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him,
praying only for the knowledge of His will for us and the power to
carry that out.” That one step sums up most of what we had been
doing for the four years we lived in our two-bedroom, third-floor
apartment in Flushing, New York. We had improved our contact and
relationship with God, in spite of my First Church calamity. We had
been earnestly praying for the knowledge of His will for us. We were
convinced it was God’s will for us to move to Florida. I really had heard
from the Lord concerning our moving to Florida just five years earlier.
However, without any spiritual covering or counsel, my timing was
just a little off!
STEP 11:
Sought through prayer and med-
itation to improve our conscious
contact with God as we under-
stood Him, praying only for the
knowledge of His will for us and
the power to carry that out.
Jean and I had prayed and prayed about moving to Florida. Jean
wasn’t crazy about warm weather, but she was willing to follow what
I was convinced was the Lord’s direction. Now God miraculously was
giving us the power to carry out that plan. What an awesome God!
The kids were out of school for the summer, so the timing was perfect
to make a move in time to get them registered for school. This time,
81
82 STEP 13
we moved from New York without acting like the police were after
us. We had money in our pocket. I had a few years sobriety under my
belt. Jean and I were both excited about our new lives. We just didn’t
know where in Florida we should move!
We had some family on the West Coast in Tampa and some on the
East Coast in Deltona. We even looked at a map of Florida and saw a
city between Tampa and Deltona named Kissimmee. We thought we
might end up there. It really didn’t matter to us. This was no “geo-
graphical cure” this time. We were convinced it was God’s plan and
that He would let us know where to hang our hat when we got there.
In Romans, Paul says, “For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons
of God” (Rom. 8:14). That was good enough for us. We just knew that
He would lead and guide us.
We first went to Tampa and unloaded our stuff in storage. The
next couple of weeks, we prayed continuously for God’s will to be
revealed to us. We drove from Tampa through Kissimmee to Deltona
and visited our family there. We had a great visit but just didn’t feel the
nudge of the Spirit to move to Kissimmee or Deltona. We drove around
Tampa and saw several successful-looking restaurants. I thought for
sure I could find work there. They also had some great houses for rent.
Imagine that—the Brisseys living in a private house!
We came across a little three-bedroom, one-bathroom house on
Wallace Circle in Tampa. Bingo! It was perfect for us. It was on a circle,
so the kids could play without dealing with through traffic, and the
rent was only $400 a month. That was less than we paid for our third-
floor, two-bedroom apartment in Flushing. We moved in and felt like
we were moving in to the Taj Mahal.
The kids each had their own room and didn’t have to worry about
walking softly on the floor. (Our downstairs neighbor in Flushing used
to bang her broom on her ceiling to quiet down our running kids.) Jean
no longer had to run up and down three flights of stairs every time
she went to the store or did the laundry. Our new home had a shed
right outside the house for a washer and dryer. We even had our own
The Sunshine State 83
backyard. Jimmy wasted no time building a tree house, and I planted

a row of tomato plants. Connie immediately made friends with three
girls who lived next door and across the street. It didn’t matter that this
old house was less than 900 square feet and had one main window unit
to cool off the whole house. Our new home was like a bit of heaven.
We registered the kids for school and I began looking diligently
for a good waiter job. It wasn’t long before I was hired at a restaurant
in the Carollwood area of Tampa. The only problem was that I was
taking home only $6 a night! I soon found another waiter job at a large,
upscale restaurant in downtown Tampa known as the Claiborne. I
was still only making $30 or so a night; but it was July in Florida, and
everyone at the restaurant assured me we would make five times that
when “the Snowbird season” came. So, I hung in there.
I soon learned that out of the ten or so waiters working at this
restaurant only Michael, Angie, and I were heterosexual. The rest of
the waiters were gay. They would slap each other on the butt and call
each other “girl.” I had been working on my “live and let live” attitude
and recognized this was quite a unique mission field. I was delighted
to learn that my new friend Michael was not only straight, but he
was also a solid, Spirit-filled Christian, who loved to talk about the
scriptures. We had many great conversations about the Lord during
our slow times, and there certainly seemed to be quite a few of those.
After working at the Claiborne for a few months, a new waiter
came on board. His name was John. He was a pretty big, rough-looking
fellow who was the captain of his football team in high school. Michael
and I were delighted to learn John was a Christian. He didn’t miss a
beat in joining in with our faith talks. John was a dyed-in-the-wool
Baptist and didn’t go along with some of our charismatic convictions,
but that was no big deal. We got along splendidly. Our conversations
were a little louder and a little more intense.
One Saturday night in November, John’s car wouldn’t start, and he
asked to borrow my jumper cables. As we were hooking the cables up
to our cars, John said, “Jim, I’m going to have to leave the restaurant.”
84 STEP 13
I knew John was a little on the legalistic side theologically, so I

asked, “Is it a problem for you to be working with homosexuals?”
“Yes,” he said. “But not for the reason you think.” Now he had
me stumped.
“What do you mean, John?” I inquired.
He paused, looked at me, and said, “Jim, it’s because I am one.”
I was floored. I shared emphatically how God’s grace was sufficient,
and, regardless of what he had done, the Lord would forgive him. I told
John how I had been a hopeless drunk and how the Lord had rescued
me. I told him how I had gained victory over my demon by going to
meetings and church, reading the Bible, and working the twelve steps.
I urged John to come to church with Jean, the kids, and me the next
morning. He said he hadn’t been to church in years and didn’t know
if he could do it. We talked and prayed, and he was with us in church
the next morning.
He stayed at our home for a few days after coming to church with
us. John, Jean, and I had some great talks and prayer times. I drove
him to his old church in Lakeland and stood by him as he shared his
situation with his old pastor. John recommitted himself to the Lord
and left his gay lifestyle. Months later, he gave our family a beautiful
Magnolia tree as a token of his thanks. He then left to go preach the
Gospel in the homosexual community in San Francisco. We never saw
John again. The Magnolia tree he gave us took root and blossomed
beautifully. I believe John did too.
All of our family who lived in Tampa attended Holy Trinity
Lutheran Church. That’s where we worshipped for our first year in
Tampa. The first Sunday we attended, my cousin, Rick, was ordained as
a Lutheran minister. My Uncle Ted, who was the only of four brothers
who did not become a Lutheran minister, was the happiest man in the
church. Somehow, he seemed vindicated from possibly missing his
calling through his son’s ordination. Uncle Ted befriended our fam-
ily. He never missed an opportunity to make his way over to us every
Sunday morning and give all of us a big hug and a warm welcome.
Most of the other members of this large, affluent church were ice
cold and quite unfriendly to us. Another one of my uncles was one
of the elders in the church. He had been a colonel in the Air Force
in World War II and a prisoner of war. He was an alcoholic who had
been sober for many years but had as much joy as the president of the
“United Lemon Suckers of America.” In short, he was a “dry drunk.” He
was a living letter to the fact that there is much more to true sobriety
than not drinking. He was a miserable soul and had spread the word
that we were “charismatic.” We were, again, considered “the oddballs.”
My Uncle Ted was quite a character. The two of us would sit and
fish on his dock and talk about the things of God. Often, he would
say, “Jimmy, could you hold my line for a minute? I have to run inside.”
No sooner would he hand me his pole and start for the house then
I would realize there was a fish biting on his line. I later learned he
would walk into his house, pour himself a shot of Scotch whiskey, and
watch from the window as I reeled in the fish! (I always said, whenever
you get three or four Lutherans together, you usually find a fifth!) He
would finish his drink just in time to meander out on the dock and
net my (his) fish.
Uncle Ted knew of our passion to win people to Christ and en-
couraged me to go into the ministry with the Lutheran church. That
was no more possible than me walking on the moon. I was a college
drop-out and a waiter. We did not have any way to afford four years of
Lutheran seminary, even if I did finish my college studies. The thought
of me ever becoming a minister seemed impossible. Besides, because of
our charismatic stigma, we were feeling less and less welcome by our
church “family.” The pastor was coming out with more and more anti-
charismatic “shots” from the pulpit that could only have been directed
at Jean and me. Hey, you’re not paranoid if they’re really after you!
Jean and I served where we could at Holy Trinity Lutheran. The
pastor was skeptical of Jean’s and my charismatic ways. Why, we even
lifted our hands during praise and worship! Pretty radical, huh? I guess
86 STEP 13
it did look a little conspicuous as we were the only ones of the 300 or
so on Sunday morning doing so!
In spite of whatever fears and doubts the pastor had, he appointed
me the head of the evangelism committee, and Jean was appointed
president of the women’s guild! Jean was mortified. She was the shiest
little flower you ever could imagine. The thought of leading those reli-
gious women in Bible study caused her many sleepless nights. However,
she wanted to serve the Lord, and this seemed like the Lord’s doing.
During her first meeting as president, she instructed all the women
to bring their Bibles to the next meeting. One elderly woman (who was
mean as a snake) sounded off big time. “We don’t do that here in this
church. We just want to have tea,” she balked. Jean held her ground
and reiterated her instructions. The very next week, that woman died!
After that, most of the other women brought their Bibles!
One Sunday morning, after attending Holy Trinity for about six
months, we were surprised as our Connie was called to the front of
the church and awarded a special honor. She was presented a beauti-
ful Bible with her name inscribed on it and a $50 savings bond for
bringing the most visitors to the children’s church. There had been
a contest going on as to who could bring the most people to church.
The funny thing was, none of us knew anything about the contest!
Connie was just bringing her friends to church because she wanted
them to meet Jesus!
Jimmy was active in the Cub Scouts while we were at Trinity
Lutheran. He and I had a great time together building a car for their
annual soap box derby. That year, the winning car was Brissey’s Blue
Thunder #7! It was a great moment for us both.
A few of the church leaders were invited by the pastor to go with
him and attend the “Florida-Georgia Lutheran Convocation” in Davies,
Florida. I didn’t have a clue what a convocation was; but I thought that
during the eight-hour round trip in the car with the pastor, I might
strike up a friendship with him. He wasn’t the least bit interested
or friendly. The ride there and back was as strained and awkward
as it could be. If it had been any colder in that car, I’m convinced it
would have snowed. It was clear. I had the “charismatic cooties,” and
he wanted no part of that . . . or me.
God has such an incredible way of making lemonade out of lem-
ons. So it was at this miserable, over-sized conference of intellectual,
religious dead-heads. I was standing there in the greeting hall (which
was anything but) when a guy by the name of Lew Hagerman came up
and introduced himself. He was lit up like a Christmas tree with the
joy of the Lord. At first, I wondered if he was at the right conference!
During the course of our conversation, he mentioned that he was
getting ready to serve as the rector of a Cursillo weekend.
“Is that anything like Tres Dias?” I asked.
“It’s the same thing, just with a different name,” he answered. “If
you weren’t so far away, I’d ask you to serve with me,” he said.
“Where do you live?” I asked.
“I live in St. Petersburg!”
I almost couldn’t believe it. I drove 300 miles to meet a lifelong
friend, who lived fifteen miles from me. Lew gave me a hug and signed
me up on his team right on the spot.
Serving with Lew and the team on Sonbeam Cursillo #8 in 1986
was the beginning of an incredible God-thing that continues to bless
our life even to this day. I have since served on dozens of weekends
and have had a blast on each one. Even now, I am preparing to serve
on both a Via de Cristo and a Kairos weekend, which I will explain
later. I have learned, as a Christian, the best way to maintain our joy
is to serve someone else. Jesus said, “ . . . The Son of man came not to
be served but to serve . . . ” (Matt. 20:28). Christian, have you lost your
joy? Check your servanthood. There is a secret wellspring of joy that
streams from seemingly small acts of love and kindness to others.
Those who learn this key in the kingdom will never run dry.
The same is true with those of us in recovery. We can silence the
“screaming me-me’s” that haunt our mind and infect our souls with self-
pity by finding someone in worse condition than we are and helping
88 STEP 13
them. Yes, we must be “true to ourselves” and “be good to ourselves.”

However, if we consume ourselves twenty-four/seven with those toxic,
self-centered thought patterns, we will surely fall back into the drink,
drug, or other life-controlling behavior that shipwrecked our lives
in the first place. Zig Zigler once said, “Most people need a checkup
from the neck up to get rid of their stinkin’ thinkin’.” I need such a
checkup several times daily.
As we got into November, the “snowbirds” did begin to migrate
south, and the Claiborne restaurant was full every night. However,
because the owner simply hired more waiters, we still were making
only $30 to $40 a night. Although our savings were slowly dwindling
since our move to Florida, we just knew God was going to make a way
for us somehow. Jean and I had watched our savings go from almost
$14,000 to less than $200. However, we were about to learn a valu-
able lesson. Namely, God is never late. He is always “right on time”!
I prepared a résumé and turned it in to all the radio and TV stations
in the area. It was a long shot as I had been out of broadcasting sales
for several years.
As Christmas drew near that year, the Claiborne’s owner put up a
Christmas tree in the restaurant. All the “girls” wrapped presents for
each other and put them under the tree. I seized the opportunity to get
all the waiters gifts, wrap them, label them, and place them under the
tree as well. The gay waiters especially were wondering just what the
heck I was up to. On Christmas Eve, as they opened their gifts, they
certainly were surprised to find I had gotten each of them a brand-new
Bible! They were a bit dumbfounded, but not one of them joked about it.
For months, we had planted seeds in their direction without judg-
ing or condemning them. They thanked me for thinking of them and
took their Bible home with them. I encouraged them to start by reading
the Gospel of John. Some days later, I learned that some of them had
done just that. Some even started to join in our faith talks during the
slow times in the restaurant.
That very same evening (Christmas Eve, 1985), I received a telephone

call from the vice president of WEDU-TV, the largest PBS station in
Florida. He was calling to tell me I had been hired as WEDU’s new
underwriting representative. Jean and I felt like we had just inherited
a million dollars. At long last, I was going to be home with my family
in the evenings! I was so excited, I sent my dad a telegram. It simply
said: “I got the job. Hallelujah!” Receiving that great news on Christmas
Eve made it extra special. I knew God had surrounded us with His
heavenly hosts. In my ecstatic joy, I sat down and wrote this poem in
about ten minutes:
Chariots of angelic fire
Encamped all about the town,
Created before earth’s creation
For a king without a crown.
Shadowed by a painful cross,

The humble stable proudly stood
As a lighthouse for the blind,
Birthing hope through a manger of wood.
God so loved, He sent His Son

To show us once He was grown
Let you who be without a sin
Be the first to cast a stone.
The grace-filled Lamb of God,

The embodiment of love said,
“I’ve come to do not My will
But that of my Father above.”
Chariots of angelic fire

Encamped all about the town,
Chosen before earth’s creation
For a king with a thorny crown.
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“Abba, Father, please forgive them,”

Cried our Lord, the Prince of Peace.
“This day you’ll be in Paradise,”
He promised a common thief.
In joyful, heavenly splendor,

It was finished; it was done.
The precious babe of Bethlehem
Over sin the battle won.
Rejoice, oh earth, this Christmas Day.

Not by works, but by His grace,
God has chariots of angelic fire
For all who seek His face.
This Christmas news was far more than the announcement of a

new job. It was the answer of a thousand prayers Jean and I had prayed.
Countless times, just before Jean and I went to sleep at night, we would
lay in bed, join hands, and pray out loud to the Lord. Sometimes, in
discouragement and with tears of despair, we would pray for God’s help.
Sometimes, with tears of joy, we would pray prayers of thanksgiving.
We always prayed the Lord would “bless us to be a blessing.” God had
heard our prayers. The news of my new position at WEDU may as
well have been delivered by angels on chariots of fire. Perhaps it was.
The initial contract I had with WEDU was nothing to brag about.
My gross annual salary was $20,000. There were no benefits, health
insurance, sick days, or vacation days. I was even responsible for with-
holding my own taxes, social security income, etc. None of that mat-
tered in the least! For the first time in our married life, I was going to
be home in the evenings with Jean and the kids, and that was worth
more than a million dollars. We had a very Merry Christmas that year.
We just knew God was going to bless the work of my hands.
After going through orientation at WEDU, I was shown my work
area. It was a small cubicle with a desk, chair, telephone, and the most
putrid orange walls you ever wanted to see. Yet, it was a long way
from the waiter’s station at the Claiborne! It may as well have been
a penthouse suite. On my second day at work, I put up several large,
Christian posters on my cubicle walls. One said, “Come, follow Me,
and I will make you a fisher of men.”
My blatant confession of faith caused some passersby to snicker.
I heard one new coworker whisper in a condescending tone, “Oh,
he’s one of those.” Unfortunately, my immediate supervisor who
shared the cubicle adjacent to mine was one such scoffer. As a result,
she did everything in her power for the next year to discourage and
ridicule me.
As the new kid on the block eager to make his mark with WEDU,
I generated a tremendous amount of outgoing mail for soliciting
sales appointments. My zealous efforts for new business, combined
with poor spellings skills (in the pre-spellcheck days) yielded some
typographical errors in my correspondence. My supervisor rewarded
my spelling errors (and more so my profession of Christ) by regularly
placing a Steve-Martin-like arrow on my head during our department
meetings, which I alone was required to wear for the duration of
the meeting. As the butt of her joke, I once again found myself to
be the oddball. However, by this time, I was strong enough in the
Lord and in my recovery “not to sweat the small stuff.” Compared
to what I had put up with from Ennio at Oggi’s Restaurant, this was
small stuff indeed. Little did she know, those foolish arrows she put
on my head to humiliate me were pointing me in a direction she
least expected—her job!
God’s promises are true. Even what the enemy intends for evil,
God will turn around for the good. In my first year, with God’s help,
I sold more than $300,000 in underwriting sales for WEDU and was
promoted to underwriting coordinator. God took the arrows of humili-
ation off of my head and gave me a crown of honor. My sister, Tica,
congratulated me with the biggest bunch of balloons I’d ever seen. The
day I received those balloons, I marched into the president’s office and
negotiated an unheard-of twenty-five percent raise, complete with
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paid health insurance, vacation and sick days, and a larger cubicle. I
never heard another snicker directed at my Christian posters on my
cubicle wall.
Another great blessing came to me during my first year at WEDU
in the form of a friend I will refer to only as Paul D. Paul was WEDU’s
planned giving coordinator, so we were equally yoked in WEDU’s
organizational flow chart. He was the only individual in the history
of PBS to win five consecutive national PBS development awards for
planned giving. To win one such award is a tremendous accomplish-
ment. There are more than 300 PBS stations in the U.S., and only one
individual from all the stations in each of three market sizes is awarded
this great honor each year.
Paul was a brilliant and funny man with a slightly sick sense of
humor, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Hands down, he possessed one of
the most positive, mental attitudes of anyone I have ever known. He
also was a grateful, recovering alcoholic. At the time of our meeting,
we were both enjoying our fifth year of sobriety together. Paul had
been a very successful practicing attorney, who had only one drink
of Scotch a day. The only problem was, it was poured in a 32-ounce
tumbler! He was remarkably successful at getting drunk drivers acquit-
ted, usually while he himself was about three-sheets to the wind! His
alcohol abuse caused his life and legal practice to become so unman-
ageable, he divorced and was disbarred from practicing law. Hitting
his “bottom” saved his life.
Paul was incredibly active in A.A. He worked the twelve steps and
practiced the principles of A.A. in all his dealings, both professionally
and personally. He belonged to a few different A.A. groups, includ-
ing one that met in his home each week. He was also very active as a
speaker at dozens of A.A. groups within a 100-mile radius.
Paul was not a Christian and didn’t go to church. I, on the other
hand, had gotten so involved in church, I wasn’t going to many A.A.
meetings any more. We made quite an interesting pair. For five years or
more, we made a point to have lunch together three times a week. We
crashed a few A.A. meetings together now and then, but most of our
recovery together took place over grouper sandwiches at a hamburger
joint in Tampa by the name of Jimmy Mac’s. “As iron sharpens iron,”
so Paul and I sharpened each other.
Paul was ten years my senior and had a good deal of wisdom that
comes from experience. He also had many battle scars from his addic-
tion, which I had been spared. In A.A., we call them “yets.” I had not
experienced some of his pains and failures “yet.” He often reminded
me, if I picked up a first drink, those same disasters would be waiting
for me as well. God and addiction have one thing in common: They
are both no respecter of persons. What they do for one, they will
surely do for another!
In the founding days of Alcoholics Anonymous, Bill Wilson and
Dr. Bob found they were unable to stay sober unless they stayed to-
gether. That’s how A.A. meetings originated. Alone and isolated, they
were doomed to miserable lives of defeat and disgrace. As long as they
met together and shared each other’s successes, failures, joys, and sor-
rows, they were able to stay sober. This powerful principle of strength
through synergy did not originate in the Big Book of A.A., but rather
in the big, big book of the Bible!
When Jesus sent out the disciples, He sent them out two by two.
The Bible says, “How could one man have chased a thousand, and
two have put ten thousand to flight . . . ” (Deut. 32:30a). We are not
twice as strong as we partner with another believer; we are ten times
stronger! Solomon said, “A three-fold cord is not quickly broken” (Eccl.
4:12b). He also said, “Two are better than one because they have a
good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow.
But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to
lift him up” (Eccl. 4:9-10). Why, even Jesus needed help from Simon
of Cyrene to carry His cross to Golgotha. He was the Son of God,
and He needed help carrying His cross. Who do we think we are to
try and walk our Via Dolorosa alone. Are we greater than He? Two
thieves were crucified alongside Jesus that day. One cried out to Jesus
94 STEP 13
for help and was saved. The other “went it alone” and was damned.
Which thief are you?
Alcoholic or not, our pride prods us to walk alone. Our arrogance,
fear, and denial lead us to isolation. An isolated Christian is a paralyzed
Christian. An isolated addict is a dead man walking. Many of our
churches are filled with the frozen, fearful faithful. Camouflaged in
liturgies and songs of the redeemed are many broken, addicted, abused,
and abusing souls, crying inwardly in pain. Many hide behind their
church faces and surface platitudes. According to a recent report in
Charisma Magazine, one-third of all pastors are addicted to pornography.
Sixty-five Catholic churches just closed in Boston last month. And the
Catholic diocese in Portland, Oregon, recently declared bankruptcy
after paying out more than fifty-five million dollars in legal settlements
to altar boys who were raped and sexually abused by their trusted
priests. These atrocities happen because sin-sick souls become trapped
in the lonely prison of self.
What a sad and sobering commentary to note that there is often
more truth in A.A. meetings with a bunch of drunks smoking cigarettes
and drinking too much coffee than there is in the church of the living
God. Why? Perhaps history gives us the answer. Bill Wilson had Doctor
Bob. Moses had Aaron. Elisha had Elijah. David had Jonathan. Paul
had Silas. Mary had Elizabeth. Priscilla had Aquila. Peter had Andrew.
James had John. Who do you have? Addict or not, we have not been
created to walk this walk alone.
If you do not have a friend to whom you can confess your weak-
nesses and sins, you are not fully alive. You are living a substandard
life. If you are an addict or alcoholic in that condition, you will soon
fall. If you are a Christian hiding in the nameless multitude of your
mega-church, you are only kidding yourself. That’s not Christianity.
That is “churchianity,” and it’s a joke. If we are to grow in our recovery
or our faith, we must hold ourselves accountable. Without account-
ability, there is no responsibility.
My friend Paul and I regularly held each other accountable, in our

recovery and in our development work at WEDU. The Proverbs tell us,
“Faithful are the wounds of a friend” (Prov. 27:6). Paul often said things
I didn’t want to hear, but I was better for hearing them. In turn, I often
spoke truth to him from the scriptures he did not want to hear. “One
day at a time,” Paul and I celebrated our sobriety and our professional
accomplishments at WEDU.
In 1991, Paul was once again honored at the annual PBS develop-
ment conference in Tucson, Arizona. There were more than a thousand
development professionals from 300 PBS stations from all over the
country at the final evening’s award banquet. Attendees included the
president of the Federal Communications Commission (FCC), several
celebrities, and a bunch of political bigwigs from Washington. The
annual development conference is the PBS equivalent to the “Emmys”
or “Oscars.” It’s a big deal within the PBS culture. Paul’s name was
called out as that year’s winner of the national PBS award in the area
of planned giving. He almost routinely took his familiar long walk to
the podium to receive his prestigious award and eloquently gave his
acceptance speech.
After the applause subsided, the next award was presented. It
was for the nation’s top award in the area of PBS corporate support.
A large lump in my throat grew as the master of ceremonies an-
nounced, “This year’s national PBS award for excellence in the area
of corporate support is presented to James Brissey from WEDU-TV
in Tampa.”
It was one of the few times in my life I was truly speechless. It was
expected for me to say something as the award was presented. I was
unable to utter a single word. The lump in my throat felt the size of
an apple. On the way back to my table, under my breath, I whispered,
“Thank you, Jesus.” He had taken me from my subway blackouts, pain-
ful busboy shoes, through Ennio’s vile cursing, and the humiliating
arrows on my head to the greatest honor PBS could bestow. All glory
to God. In Matthew 6:33, Jesus says, “But seek first the kingdom of
96 STEP 13
God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.”
How true! How very, very true.
After the awards were all presented, the celebrations kicked into
high gear. The beers and mixed drinks flowed like an unstopped fire
hydrant in a New York City slum on a hot summer afternoon. Paul
and I had another cup of coffee and another piece of cake and turned
in for the evening. We were both winners that day—not because of
the prestigious PBS awards, but because we went to bed sober for yet
another day.
TRUE SUCCESS
MY NINETEEN-YEAR WORK HISTORY AT WEDU-TV read like some-
thing out of a storybook. The first couple chapters were somewhat
shaky and humiliating with all the anti-Christ jokes and few friends.
However, I did have a good friend who was close to me each and every
day. He was a friend that stuck closer than a brother. His name is Jesus,
and He is my CEO. Before I started my work each day, I would meet
with Him. Each morning before starting my day’s work, I read a passage
of scripture and a page from A.A.’s One Day at a Time daily devotional.
I looked at my family pictures on my desk and went to work.
I prayed to the Lord before and after every sales call. I met with
bank presidents, attorneys, accountants, doctors, advertising profes-
sionals, yacht designers, and small business owners. I loved my job. I
loved people. In my job, I was calling on an incredible cross-section of
people each and every day and loved it. I had the incredible privilege of
spending an hour or so with people from various backgrounds and get-
ting a snapshot of their life’s mis-
sion and goals. It was great fun and
quite an education to learn just a
bit as to what made these industry
leaders tick.
Because of my job, Jean and I
were able to meet and spend time
with the Reverend Billy Graham.
Overjoyed to meet with Dr. Graham is a true, humble
God’s humble general, Rev. gentleman. Yet, in speaking with
Billy Graham at WEDU-TV him, I could not escape the feeling I
in Tampa in 1991. was in the presence of one of God’s
97
98 STEP 13
generals. I regularly called on a renowned eye surgeon by the name of

Dr. Jim Gills. Dr. Gills invented stitch-less cataract eye surgery. Along
with performing an average of thirty-nine cataract surgeries a day, Dr.
Gills was one of only two people in the world to complete five Double
Iron Man triathalons. To complete a single Iron Man, one must bike 112
miles, swim two-and-a-half miles, and then run twenty-six miles. For
the Double Iron Man, you just double the distances! Dr. Gills enjoyed
the Iron Man so much, he bought it! It seemed with every sales call
I made to Dr. Gills, I learned of some other incredible achievement
he had accomplished. Dr. Gills was also a very committed Christian
gentleman and always gave God all the praise for his seemingly impos-
sible accomplishments. All he did was done with excellence and love.
I spent the day with Noel Paul Stookey (of Peter, Paul and Mary
fame). I always loved his music growing up, especially “The Wedding
Song.” I spent an evening with the Amazing Krezgen. I met Mister
Rogers from “Mister Roger’s Neighborhood” and had a great chat with
him. Many didn’t know that Fred Rogers was a person of deep and
genuine Christian faith and was an ordained Presbyterian minister. I
had lunch with the original Captain Kangaroo, Cookie Monster, and a
number of other notable characters. One day, after making a presenta-
tion atop the mahogany desk of the Northern Trust Bank president in
Sarasota, I drove across town and met with a feed store owner who
sold saddles and animal feed. I had to pace my sales pitch in sync with
the timing of his spitting his tobacco chew. I loved my job!
Someone once said, “Find something in life you love doing, and
you will never have to work another day in your life.” Aside from some
of the stresses that came with the territory, such was my life. I loved
my job, and most of the people I was working with were like family.
My income also climbed each year. In my first year at WEDU, I earned
$20,000 without any benefits. I believe only the maintenance man
made less than I did that year.
Year two, I pushed for a $25,000 salary with full benefits. Year
three, as underwriting coordinator, I successfully implemented an
True Success 99
incentive compensation plan that bolstered the earnings of my en-

tire department. Those first commission checks seemed as unreal as
Monopoly money! The Lord then blessed me with another promotion.
As underwriting manager, I earned $38,000. The years that followed,
the Lord continued to bless the work of my hands. My income steadily
rose each year. My annual earnings climbed from $54,000 to $68,000,
then $72,000, then $86,000, then $92,000, and then $99,000.
The last six years I worked for WEDU as Director of Corporate
Support, my income was in excess of $100,000. I supervised seven de-
velopment professionals and managed a million-dollar annual budget.
I earned $118,000 during my last year and came and went as I pleased. I
took clients to play golf, with the company’s full blessing, on a regular
basis. For ten consecutive years, I coordinated our annual WEDU golf
classic at some of the most exclusive golf and country clubs in Florida.
On two separate occasions, I earned a $9,000 commission with a single
telephone call. The only person earning more than me at WEDU was
the president.
During my last year at WEDU, I was flown to Buffalo, New York,
by WNED-TV’s president. He offered me the position of vice president
of the station. Quite a journey for a college dropout who once tried to
beg quarters on the F-train to buy diapers for his kids! I had known
this gentleman since I had gone to work for PBS and always had great
respect for him. As far as career opportunities went, the offer he made
me was really very tempting. However, I just knew in my heart it wasn’t
God’s will for me to take the job. Jean and I had a nagging sense in our
hearts that the Lord had other plans for us.
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart . . . and He will make straight
your paths” (Prov. 3:5-6). While with WEDU, I was awarded three na-
tional PBS awards, exceeded every goal put before me, and was elected
by my peers as employee of the month on four separate occasions. I
was given my own parking space, was president of the speaker’s bureau,
and often called upon to go live on the air to speak to audiences in
excess of 100,000 viewers during our membership drives. By every
100 STEP 13
worldly standard, my career was a huge success. I literally had one of

the very best jobs in the city of Tampa.
We built a new home in Brandon. Jean and I drove new cars, often
enjoyed dining out, belonged to the local spa, and bought clothes
without really looking at the price tags. I played golf with my son
almost every week and never missed one of my Connie’s cross-country
meets. When I would return home from work, my kids would fly out
of the house and hug my neck almost before I could get halfway out
of the car. Jean would always have a tasty, healthy dinner for us. Life
was good. God had blessed us. He had blessed us indeed.
Each night we would come together as a family around the din-
ner table. As we bowed our heads in prayer, time, for me, always
seemed to stand still. There was a liberty to pray out loud or not to,
but there was always a pregnant expectancy as to just what one of our
little “Bobbins” (as I called them) would come out with. One evening,
Connie’s prayer came forth in the form of a scripture I had never heard
before. “Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, al-
ways abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your
labor is not in vain” (1 Cor. 15:58). Upon my first hearing of the verse,
it was eternally etched in my heart. To this day, it remains to be the
battle cry of my heart. I know of no better definition of true success.
The great irony of my God-breathed success and accomplishment
with PBS was that each new benchmark and accolade seemed to satisfy
less and less. John the Baptist once prayed, “He [Jesus] must increase,
but I must decrease” (Jn. 3:30). Such was happening with the Brissey
family. We continued to serve the Lord in church and outside of church.
We hooked up with a group that fed the homeless under a bridge in
Tampa. With every single meal we served, I knew that, but for the
grace of God, I would be one of the homeless on the receiving end of
one of these free meals.
Jesus spoke the truth, “It is more blessed to give than to receive”
(Acts 20:35b). I was so deeply proud of the way our kids loved the un-
lovely and joined with us in praying for them. 3 John 4 says, “I have no
True Success 101
greater joy than to hear my children are walking in the truth.” God’s
goodness and kindness does, indeed, lead us to repentance. Therein,
the miracle continued, and I found the wherewithal to accomplish yet
another secret victory—another day of sobriety.
STEP 12:
Having had a spiritual awaken-
ing as the result of these steps,
we tried to carry this message to
alcoholics, and to practice these
principles in all our affairs.
A.A. Step #12 states: “Having had a spiritual awakening as a result

of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics and to
practice these principles in all our affairs.” St. Francis was right, “It is
in the giving we receive.”
“Others, Lord, yes others. Let that my motto be. That in my serving
others, I might be serving thee.”7 The joy we were receiving in serving
the Lord was so far beyond any joy words could describe. I remember
driving home from my work at WEDU one rainy afternoon. As I sat
in my car at a red light in downtown Tampa, I saw a homeless man
sifting through a dumpster looking for food. I sat there in my dry, air-
conditioned car with the praise music playing and prayed, “Lord, do
you want me to get out and help him?” The Lord answered me, but in
a way I didn’t expect. In my heart, I clearly heard the Lord say yes. But
in His yes, He wasn’t talking about this one man or even my getting
out of my car. In His yes, He was telling me that I would be getting out
of my cushy lifestyle and helping many like this one man.
We continued to serve often within our “Via de Cristo” community
and shared as we could during those grace-filled weekend encounters
with Christ. I lost count long ago as to how many weekends we actually
served on. They all seem to run together like some colorful blur of
7 Meigs, Charles D. “Others.” Hymns for Worship. Wilberton, OK: R.J. Ste-
vens Music, 1995.
102 STEP 13
holy hilarity that one must experience before beginning to understand.

In 1991, I was honored to lead Sonbeam Via de Cristo #18 as rector for
the weekend.
I met many of my life heroes on those weekends. None stood taller
than Larry B., who was one of the candidates on “my” weekend. Larry had
been a hopeless alcoholic for his entire life. As if that weren’t bad enough,
he also was a wise guy (back in the day) who was loosely associated
with some infamous mobsters in New York. Though he never “whacked”
anybody, he did hold up, at gunpoint, a movie theatre in Flushing where
our family used to go. Sure am glad we missed that matinee!
I’m still not quite sure how Larry even got on this Christ-centered
weekend. It must have been the prayers of his precious wife, “Sam.”
Larry had achieved some sense of sobriety through A.A. but was still
a sorry, sour dry drunk without an ounce of joy in his life. Larry later
said, during the first marathon of Christian songs, he wondered just
“what he was doing there”! Larry died that weekend. That is, the “old”
Larry died. A new one was born. Right before our eyes, this tattered
and tortured old soul was born-again, and he has never been the same.
The theme of the weekend was “On the Wings of Eagles,” and Isaiah
40:31 was our banner verse. It is a verse that, for Larry and me, will
forever be more precious than the air we breathe.
There are too many champions of faith from Via de Cristo who
have impacted my life and recovery to begin to do justice in describing.
Bill G. would pray heaven down in one sentence. Lew H. would assault
us with his confetti and contagious laugh. Tom F. did the work of five
men without making a sound. Dave M., Dan B., and Ron N. would
rival the angels with their heartfelt praises to King Jesus. Chuck O.
sounded like Gabriel with his trumpet, playing “Amazing Grace” to
stir the candidates during some awful pre-dawn wake-up calls. Bert
H. made me cry as he washed our feet. Ted H.’s deer hunting joke still
makes me laugh. Pastor Rhett T. almost choked us on God’s grace with
his “big bread communion,” and the Rev. Terry C. will never seem so
reverent again to me, after his diaper skit and the chocolate kisses he
True Success 103
used as . . . well, never mind! My good friend Dan L. will never let me
forget that “the Lord will provide” (sorry, private joke!). The entire McC.
family warmed my heart with their tears of joy that fell at the drop of
a hat. I believe that family must cry at TV commercials! Pastor John
B. became something far more important than a spiritual director
and inspiration to me. He became my friend. There are too many to
mention. Far too many.
Perhaps one of the greatest attitude adjustments I ever received
took place on one of these Via de Cristo weekends. It came through
one of the most heroic gentleman I have ever had the privilege to know.
His name was Ron M. Ron had been a brilliant, hot-shot editor for the
St. Petersburg Times. Before I met Ron, he had been struck by MS and
was reduced to a life of slurred speech, pungently poor hygiene, and
the limited mobility of a motorized wheel chair. None of that seemed
to bother Ron. The saliva that drooled uncontrollably from the side of
his mouth didn’t slow his smile one little bit. When I first met him, he
slurred and slobbered his words so profusely, the only thing I could
discern from our entire conversation was that he was a die-hard Tampa
Bay Buccaneer fan. Ron was crazy about the Bucs.
I served on a dozen or more weekends with Ron; but with a hun-
dred or so guys on each weekend, you don’t get to “really” know but
a few people on each weekend. On one particular weekend, Ron and
I were assigned to the same cabin for the first time. Watching Ron
putter around would strike pity in the hardest of hearts. The guy was
in bad shape physically. Now, being in the same cabin with him, I
wondered just how he was going to take care of the basics of dressing
and undressing, getting in and out of bed, and the like. I didn’t want
to risk belittling him by offering to help him dress and so forth, yet
I didn’t want to miss serving a brother in need either. My prayers of
what to do were nothing but a puzzle to me.
After our first day’s activities, it took Ron the better part of a half
an hour to undress and make his way into the bottom bunk just across
the small cabin from me. I awoke early the next morning to Ron’s
104 STEP 13
uncomfortable groaning. I thought at first that he may be in some

real trouble. I almost jumped out of my bunk to run to his aid, but
something stopped me. I laid there studying Ron to see just what was
up with him. His groaning continued as he slowly forced his mostly
disabled body in the direction of his wheelchair. About ten minutes
into witnessing this struggle, I started to hear something that was
causing my mind to hit “tilt.”
There was something in Ron’s groaning. There seemed to be a
pattern to it. These painful-sounding grunts and groans were more
and more resembling a rhythm of some kind. “Um-um-um-hum-a-
hum-a-hum-hum-hum,” he croaked as he wrestled his way into his
wheelchair. Like the gradual dawning of a morning sun, the groaning
and moaning I was audience to became more and more distinguishable
as nothing other than Luther’s hymn, “A Mighty Fortress is Our God”!
This was not some cripple groaning in pain to reach his wheelchair.
It was a soldier greeting a new day with a battle hymn of praise in his
heart! I have known many courageous souls in my sixty-plus years.
However, none have been more courageous or gracious as Ron M. He
was truly a champion of faith.
Ron has since gone on to his reward. I often think of my friend
as I read Isaiah 35:6a, “Then shall the lame man leap like a deer, and
the tongue of the mute sing for joy.” Perhaps Luther greeted him as he
danced and leaped through the pearly gates. Without a doubt, our Jesus
did. Just a few months after Ron went to be with the Lord, the Tampa
Bay Buccaneers won the Super Bowl. Coincidence, you say? I think not.
My work experience at WEDU continued to be blessed. One such
blessing came to me in the form of a five-foot firecracker named Shirley.
To say Shirley was a pistol is quite the understatement. She was much
more than my secretary; she became a life-long friend. She was older
than a big sister and younger than a mother to me. What she lacked
in height, she more than made up with in a delightful blend of humor
and chutzpah. With her quick wit, Shirley was the only person in the
building that could outgun my ex-attorney cohort, Paul. I liked that
True Success 105
a whole lot! She also was the best thing since sliced bread to hit my
department—or PBS, for that matter. Behind her quit-witted, “can-do”
attitude was a heavy heart authored by her struggling alcoholic son,
Lane. Shirley and her husband, Bob, did all that could be done for Lane.
Lane was a brilliant, well-read, and gifted heartbreaker.
Grabbing at straws and knowing of my history, Bob and Shirley set
up a lunch for me to meet with Lane. Lane and I hit it off like peas and
carrots. Like so many addicts and alcoholics, he truly was a great guy.
He was one of the most avid readers I’ve ever known. He enjoyed music
and going to his pistol range. He seemed unusually unselfish for some-
one whose alcoholism had wrought his life to total unmanageability.
He agreed to go with me to an A.A. meeting at the Veteran’s Hospital.
Lane seemed to get more out of his first A.A. meeting than most do in
a month of meetings. He took to sobriety like a duck to water.
We checked in from time to time, and he was doing splendidly.
He seemed to breeze through his first ninety days of recovery, got a
good job, and found a decent place of his own to live. Lane and I soon
celebrated his first year of sobriety. We talked about Christ, A.A. Step #3
(turning our wills and lives over to the care of God), and the promise
of eternal life. I gave Lane a Bible, and we prayed together. He sincerely
appreciated both and promised to read his Bible. I encouraged him to
start with the Gospel of John. He promised he would.
Within a month, I received an unexpected Saturday telephone call
from Shirley. “Jim, I’m standing here in my kitchen, and Lane has just
dropped dead.” What could I say? We cried and prayed and said we’ll
talk again soon. There were no drugs or alcohol involved. Lane was
clean. Lane was forgiven. Lane was victorious in life. Now Lane was
home. That same year, my mom went to heaven. Shirley lost her son,
and I lost my mom within months of each other. Not that either could
ever be replaced, but our friendship was deepened by our shared loss!
Jean and I continued to feel an increasing tug to full-time ministry.
Such joy would flood our souls when someone would come to know
the Lord. We just knew our true purpose on this earth was to introduce
106 STEP 13
people to our best friend, Jesus. This “call’ on our lives was confirmed
time and again by people around us. We would often attend church
services or conferences where preachers would call us out of a large
gathering and say something to the affect, “The Lord is calling you
to preach the Gospel.” Well, we thought that meant right then. We
thought some big door somewhere was going to miraculously open,
and “poof!” we’re in full-time ministry.
“We’re ready, Lord,” I would pray. “We’ll go where You tell us to go.
We’ll do what You tell us to do. Show us where, and we’ll go, Lord.” The
Lord would speak to my heart so clearly, “You’re not ready.” I would
argue with the Lord, “Oh, yes, Lord, we’re ready.” Again, He would tell
me, “You’re not ready.” Over the next several years, the Lord and I had
this very same conversation probably a dozen times.
We continued to serve the Lord in any way we could in church
and outside of our church. We continued serving on Via de Cristo
weekends and feeding the homeless in Tampa. We would visit people
who visited our church and encourage them to come back. We would
witness our faith on the streets, to our neighbors, and in the malls.
Over a period of about seven years, Jean and I headed up the children’s
ministries in two different churches. We learned more in teaching
children’s church than we have in seminary!
We always encouraged the children to pray out loud. Some were
quiet and shy at first, but in time, they opened up. For about a year,
little seven-year-old Arthur would pray, “Dear Jesus, please send my
daddy home.” He would always break our hearts with his heartfelt
prayers. Arthur’s father was in the Air Force and had run off with
another woman. He had left his family and for many months was
making a new life for himself living with this other woman. Their
situation had “divorce” written all over it.
The scriptures teach, “The prayer of a righteous person has great
power as it is working” (Jas. 5:16). I guess little Arthur didn’t know of
any age or height restrictions to that promise because he continued
to storm heaven with his plea. Having grown up as a child of divorce
True Success 107
myself, my heart always went out to little Arthur. I hoped I could, in

some small way, be a comfort to this little guy as his family went
through the pains of divorce. Oh, me of little faith!
One Sunday morning, during our prayer time, Arthur’s prayer
was quite different from the one he prayed so many times before.
“Oh Jesus, thank You for sending my daddy home!” Little Arthur came
up after children’s church and told us his daddy and his mommy
and sister wanted to come over to our house that night. There wasn’t
a dry eye in our living room that night as we joined hands, and
Arthur lead us all in prayer. His dad committed his life to Christ
and, at last, that family was healed and firmly established on the
Rock, Christ Jesus.
There was another season in the same children’s church where
the kids started praying for their parents to stop smoking. How cute it
sounded as the kids would ask God to help their mommies and daddies
to quit smoking. Cute or not, parents were kicking the habit as their
kids were kicking in the gates of hell in prayer! As a direct result of
those prayers, Jean and I saw three sets of parents quit smoking in a
period of a month or so! God is no respecter of persons. No matter
how tall or how small we are, prayer works.
Those precious kids raised money through car washes and cake
auctions for us to buy two large, quality puppets. Jean had a bear pup-
pet known as “Bible Bear,” and I had a dog puppet known as “Bark-
thalomew.” We had such a blast with those puppets during children’s
church that we started to take them to the hospital. One time, Jean
and I walked into a crowded emergency room to find a little boy about
three years old on a stretcher in the hall. He was just wailing in pain.
He was so startled when he looked around and found “Bible Bear”
and “Barktholomew” staring at him that he completely forgot about
his painful condition. For the next ten minutes or so, Jean and I were
completely invisible. All the little boy saw was the puppets. All we
could see was the favor of Jesus.
108 STEP 13
There were very few opportunities to preach in those days. One

evening, the man heading up the homeless ministry let me preach.
Not being a natural public speaker, I was terrified. Jean and I prayed
with several of the homeless men and women after my message. I
don’t remember half of what I said, but the Lord had used us, and
that was exhilarating.
Another time, an opportunity presented itself for us to minister
to a group of real hardship cases at an AID’s hospital in St. Petersburg.
We jumped at the chance. We were crammed in a small lunchroom
so tightly that while I was preaching, the old woman sitting next to
where I was standing kept grabbing my hand and sticking it in her
mouth. Thankfully, she didn’t have any teeth! I finally just let her suck
on my left hand as I held my Bible on my make-shift pulpit (a large
Tupperware garbage can). Some poor souls invited Jesus as Savior and
made that disgusting room as holy as the grandest cathedral on earth.
The Holy Spirit moved, and that was all that mattered!
Time and time again, we would go to different conferences or
church services we had never been to, and the preacher would call
Jean and me out and “give us a word.” It was always basically the same
word, “My anointing is on you two to preach the Gospel,” or “I’m call-
ing you to the nations as a team ministry.” One would think that such
words, if they were indeed from the Lord and not from the preacher
having too much pizza the night before, would be a blessing. Yet it
became maddening. Over time it really started to get to me. We were
clearly hearing our marching orders, but there was no open door for
full-time ministry. It became as annoying as a woman in her tenth
month of pregnancy.
Again, I would cry out to the Lord, “Lord, we’re ready. Lord, tell us
where, and we’ll go.” Again and again, I would hear the Lord give me
the same disappointing response, “No. You’re not ready.” It was like a
broken record that would get played every year or so. I really started
to become a little skittish about even going to meetings where even
the possibility of us receiving a word existed.
True Success 109
After one such meeting where Jean and I had again gotten “the
same word” from yet another well-respected preacher, we took a walk
along Bayshore Boulevard. I was literally so frustrated I actually started
preaching to the fish in Tampa Bay. I joke today about how three fish
got saved that night and became holy mackerel, but at the time, it
wasn’t funny at all. It really started to seem like heaven was playing
some cruel trick on us. It felt like the Lord would dangle this carrot
in front of us, and as soon as we would reach for it, He would snatch
it away from us.
I finally became so disgusted, I told the Lord to just forget the
whole thing (referring to full-time ministry). Out of real anger and
a deep sense of disgust, I told the Lord, in no uncertain terms, that
“the deal was off” and that “He could find somebody else.” As crazy as
it may sound, I told the Lord, “I quit.” To my surprise, He said, “Now
you’re ready!” I continued to tell Him to forget it, that I no longer was
interested in even thinking about full-time ministry. Again, He told
me, “Now you’re ready!”
Well, I just didn’t know what to make of that. I couldn’t figure Him
or the call on our life out at all. There was a breaking that took place
that day on the inside of me. Proverbs 3:5-6 says, “Trust in the Lord
with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all
your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.” In
A.A., we say, “Let go, and let God.” I was going through a fresh baptism
of “letting go and letting God.”
That day, somehow deep down inside, I “let go” of trying to figure
so many things out about this “call” on our lives and recommitted my
life to the simple principle of “living one day at a time.” That simple
truth helped me achieve and maintain my sobriety. That simple
truth was going to help us walk into this “call.” As someone once
said, “Rule number one is ‘don’t sweat the small stuff’; rule number
two is ‘it’s all small stuff.’” With yet another “attitude adjustment,”
I was now okay with whatever the Lord wanted us to do, whenever
He wanted to do it. I was determined to be diligent and faithful
110 STEP 13
with whatever He put in front of us and leave the rest of the details
for Him to figure out.
ONWARD AND UPWARD
THE 1980S CAME TO A close with Jean and me continuing to raise our
kids and serve the Lord. Along with the report cards, track meets, and
school activities, we made sure we were in church as a family every
Sunday. Every night, we gathered as a family around the dinner table
and prayed. Like every family, we had our bumps in the road, but we
shared so many great times together in prayer and around God’s Word.
One Friday night, my cousin invited us to join him at a “School of
the Holy Spirit” meeting at a church by the name of Shiloh Covenant
Fellowship in Winter Haven.
The pastors were Randy & Kathy. Kathy has now authored several best-
selling Christian books and has ministered internationally on television
programs, including Benny Hinn and TBN. Randy is also now traveling
the globe as a prophet to the nations. Back then, there were only a few
dozen people in their meetings, and we were blessed to be some of them.
It was an hour’s drive to Shiloh from Brandon and another hour’s
drive back home. That didn’t hinder us one little bit. We had some great
family times in the car together during our trips out to Shiloh and back.
For more than a year, we traveled out to the “School of the Holy Spirit”
every Friday night and back again for church on Sunday mornings. The
meetings with Pastors Randy and Kathy were more special than words
can describe. To say they were “anointed” by the Holy Spirit is a great
understatement. The Friday night meetings began at 7:00 p.m. sharp and
never closed before midnight. Perhaps one of the greatest evidences as to
how anointed these meetings were is that, in spite of Jimmy and Connie
being twelve and thirteen years old, they never once complained about
being in these long services every single Friday night!
111
112 STEP 13
One night during worship at Shiloh, I noticed an unmistakable

haze hovering over the altar area. I looked around at the ceiling to
study the air conditioning setup, figuring there was some kind of
condensation problem in the air conditioning system. The Holy Spirit
spoke to me and said, “There’s nothing wrong with the air conditioner.”
Suddenly, a great sense of awe overtook me, and I bowed my head and
said, “Whoa!” It was the first time I had ever seen the glory cloud of
God with my natural eyes. It was as real and tangible as a morning fog
on a mountain road. Just like the prophet Isaiah, I felt a great sense of
“Woe is me” (Isa. 6:5) in the presence of the Lord.
For me, our season under Pastors Randy and Kathy at Shiloh was filled
with conviction and repentance. It was as if the Lord was supercharging
many of the truths I had been learning in my recovery from alcoholism.
The Holy Spirit revealed so many hidden sins, attitude problems, and
character defects. It is so easy to see the sins and character defects in
others and so difficult to see our own sins and bad attitudes. The prophet
Jeremiah said, “The heart is deceitful above all things” (Jer. 17:9a). I used
to think that meant that our heart was inclined to deceive others. I was
coming to realize that the true deceitfulness of our hearts is its uncanny
ability to deceive ourselves! Like that ol’ coffee mug says, “Denial is not
a river in Egypt.” The lights were being turned on, and the Lord was
revealing and healing many past hurts and areas of bitterness in my heart.
Someone once said, “A good definition of an optimist is someone
who is in a rut and thinks they’re in a groove.” The Holy Spirit was
using Pastors Randy and Kathy to expose many of those “ruts” I was
in. God used them like a scalpel in a surgeon’s hand.
The Holy Spirit (through Pastors Randy and Kathy) cut away many
deep-rooted, ungodly attitudes in my heart concerning worship, giving,
tithing, spiritual authority, spiritual gifts, and more. For our entire fam-
ily, it was a tremendous season of learning and impartation from the
Holy Spirit. For all of us, it was an incredible season of encountering
the presence of the Holy Spirit. We even began holding our own “Holy
Spirit Parties” (as we called them). We would put praise and worship
Onward and Upward 113
music on in our living room and just praise and worship the Lord so
intensely, we would just get lost in His glorious presence.
After going to Shiloh Covenant Fellowship for more than a year
(and having our socks blessed right off our feet), a visitor came with
us one Friday night. All the way home from the meeting, he told us
how what Pastors Randy and Kathy were teaching was in error. He said
their teaching was clearly “Kingdom Now Theology,” and we should
be careful not to get sucked into a cult. He confused me just enough
to cause me to question some of these teachings. I went to Pastor
Randy’s secretary and asked if Jean and I could set a time to meet with
him. She looked at his schedule and picked a date about three months
in the future! I agreed to meet with him then but never honored our
meeting date. Instead, I really started to question some of his teaching
and started looking elsewhere to get some of my questions answered.
I prayed and prayed to the Lord for help and direction. One day
on the way to work, I heard an announcement on the Christian radio
station for a new church that had just opened in Tampa by the name
of Eagles Wings Fellowship. The verse of scripture they used in their
radio spot was Isaiah 40:31, “But they who wait for the Lord shall renew
their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall
run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” The Lord had
used that one verse as a “rhema” word to break me free from alcohol
addiction. Perhaps He would honor it again, I thought. I jotted down
the telephone number of the church and then called and set an ap-
pointment to speak with the pastor. His name was Pastor Tom.
Pastor Tom met Jean and me at a nearby restaurant in Tampa. He
was about twenty years my senior and a very bright and personable
gentleman. During his impressive ministry experience, Pastor Tom had
been a district overseer in the Church of God for more than twenty
years. After we got through the usual introductions, Pastor Tom asked
me what was on my mind. I explained to him how the Lord had been
blessing and teaching us out at this church in Winter Haven and how
a friend of ours had warned us that our pastor was teaching “Kingdom
114 STEP 13
Now” doctrine. I told Pastor Tom how I had heard his announcement
on the radio, told him about the Isaiah 40:31 connection, and asked
him if he knew anything about “Kingdom Now” doctrine.
I was floored when he reached in his pocket and took out a business
card that had the Shiloh Covenant Fellowship name and logo on it, along
with his name and the title “pastor.” I really didn’t understand what was
going on at first. Pastor Tom explained that he had served under Pastors
Randy and Kathy as pastor of Shiloh, with them as his senior pastors,
until the Lord had instructed him to leave and prepare for his own church.
Pastor Tom had left Shiloh to prepare for his own church with Pastor
Randy’s full blessing, just weeks before we had started attending!
There are a great number of churches between Tampa and Winter
Haven. The odds of our meeting being simple happenstance were incred-
ible. After praying for the Lord to give me direction about this whole
“Shiloh-Kingdom Now” thing, the Lord brought me to the one person, out
of a population of more than a million people, who was best suited to
answer all my questions and help me! Pastor Tom assured me that Pastors
Randy & Kathy were “kosher” and, as members of Christian International,
were very well-respected internationally by prominent believers worldwide.
Jean and I joined Eagles Wings Fellowship and, in a regrettably
cowardly fashion, wrote a letter of resignation to Pastors Randy and
Kathy. We jumped in at Eagles Wings with both feet. Pastor Tom also
had an anointed “School of the Holy Spirit” each Friday night and
services on Sunday morning. The same prophetic anointing we enjoyed
so much at Shiloh Covenant Fellowship was also on Eagles Wings. Like
Randy and Kathy, Pastor Tom was much more of a prophet-teacher
than a pastor. Jean and I served in any way we could. We set up chairs,
served as greeters, and, for more than three years, we headed up their
children’s ministries. Connie and Jimmy were just as faithful as they
could be. They were right there with us in every meeting. Connie
became a great help to us in the children’s ministries. Connie and
Jimmy were not only faithful with the youth group, but also, in the
early days, they were the youth group!
We continued to serve on Via de Cristo and to reach out to the

homeless of Tampa. We also began going into the local jails in an ef-
fort to carry the message of liberty to the captives. We grew in many
ways during our three years at Eagles Wings. It was a time of training
we wouldn’t exchange for the world. We learned how to flow in the
Holy Spirit and grew in our knowledge of God’s Word. We also grew
in the areas of servanthood and giving.
One of the songs we used to sing was “More Precious Than Silver.”
One of the verses of that song says, “Lord, you are more beautiful than
diamonds.” One night, after singing that song, Jean leaned over to me
and said she felt like the Lord was telling her to put her diamond ring
into the offering. I told her to wait. After all, this was her Grandma
Jean’s diamond ring (the only diamond ring she had ever owned). It
was extra special because Jean and I had prayed with Grandma Jean on
her deathbed. Now, the Lord was telling Jean to give this ring away?
We talked more about it after church. Jean really felt like that was
what the Holy Spirit was telling her to do. We prayed, and I told her
that if she felt the Holy Spirit prompt her to give it in the next offering,
it would be with my blessing. It was with mixed emotions I watched
as Jean secretly slipped the diamond ring off her finger and put it into
the offering plate the next time we were in church. I accepted that it
really was the Lord’s dealings with Jean that prompted her to give the
ring, but I just wasn’t at peace about it.
Over the next couple of weeks, I continued to pray about it. Our
anniversary was coming up, and I was praying about what to get Jean. I
thought, Why don’t I see if I can buy Grandma Jean’s ring back? I called Pastor
Tom and explained what was happening. He had already sold the ring to
a neighborhood jeweler. I contacted the jeweler and found he had already
removed the stone from the ring. I had the stone put in a new setting
and gave it to Jean for our anniversary. I often look at the ring on Jean’s
hand and am reminded, “Lord, you are more beautiful than diamonds!”
There was another lesson in giving the Lord taught us during our
season of service at Eagles Wings Fellowship. We were having a Christian
116 STEP 13
International prophet, Glen M., come to Eagles Wings as a guest speaker.

The leadership was called to a special meeting that took place the Saturday
night before Brother Glen spoke. In that meeting, Brother Glen explained
that we were going to be receiving an offering for a new building fund
in the morning and, as leaders in the church, we were expected to lead in
the area of giving. He encouraged us to pray and seek the Lord regarding
the best offering we could bring in in the morning.
I was a little skeptical as to whether his tactics were of the Lord or
just good marketing. I earnestly prayed and asked the Lord if this man
was of Him or if this was some form of religious manipulation. The Lord
spoke to me so clearly that I almost drove off the road. He said, “He is of
Me, and I want you to give $1,000 and your car.” You have to understand
that, first of all, $1,000 was a lot of money to us. Secondly, I loved my car.
It was a 280ZX in perfect condition! Not only that, but at the time, my
mom was living with us, and we needed two cars so Jean could take my
mom on all her doctor’s appointments. I said, “Lord I hear what You’re
saying, but I’m having difficulty accepting this. Lord, if you will tell Jean
exactly the same thing as You just told me, then we will obey You.”
After we got home, I asked Jean to get alone with the Lord and
pray for the Lord to speak with her concerning what our gift should
be. Jean went into the bedroom and prayed for about twenty minutes.
She came out and said, “The Lord said $1,000.” I asked her to go and
pray some more. Jean went back into the bedroom and prayed for about
ten more minutes. She came out and said, “And your car!”
I wish I could tell you that we danced all the way down the aisle the
next morning and gave our $1,000 and my 280ZX with great joy, but I
would be lying. We somberly obeyed the Lord and walked together to
the front of the church and put our $1,000 and the keys to my car in
the offering plate. We just didn’t understand how we were going to get
Mom to the doctors. Literally before we could sit back down, the lady
sitting next to Jean handed us a set of car keys and said, “My husband
is in prison, and his car is just sitting in my driveway. Please use this
car for as long as you like”! Wow! We were more excited about this
unexpected loaner than we would have been had we just won a new car.
The Lord was with us! He was providing for us! That was worth more
than all the money in the world. There were about thirty-five people who
participated in the offering that morning. Ours was one of three good
cars that were given away that day, along with boats, jewelry, and other
such items. The Lord had one lady give the deed to her burial plot! With
about three dozen people present, the offering was more than $40,000!
Every year, Tampa has a 15K distance run called the Gasparilla Run.
Connie asked me if I would run it with her. When she first asked me,
I was so out of shape, I couldn’t run around the block, much less run
9.3 miles! However, if Connie had asked me to stop Niagara Falls, I
would have tried. I started to jog and walk around the block “one day
at a time.” Each day, I tried to jog a little more and walk a little less.
Before I knew it, I was jogging around the block. Soon I was jogging
five miles a day. When the Gasparilla Run came, Connie and I ran in
it together. Connie finished way ahead of me, but I was thrilled to fin-
ish the race in seventy-eight minutes. The next year, Jimmy and Jean
joined Connie and me, and we all ran the Gasparilla Run together. I
knocked ten minutes off my previous time, but the real joy was all
the time we spent together practicing and preparing for the big day.
In January of 1993, I was out running with my headphones tuned
in to WCIE Radio, the Christian station in Lakeland. As I jogged along
my five miles, I was intrigued by what I was hearing. There was some
kind of live meeting going on at the Carpenter’s Home Church, but it
just sounded like a bunch of people laughing. Every once in a while, the
peculiar sound of thousands of people laughing was interrupted by the
preacher saying, “Fill!” or “Let it bubble out your belly.” It was the most
unusual church service I had ever heard. When I got home, I told Jean
about it, and we decided to go to the Carpenter’s Church the next evening.
We had been to the Carpenter’s Church in Lakeland for concerts
and stuff, but never for a church service. It was a massive church that
seated 10,000 people. We went to the next evening’s service as planned.
It was different all right. There were about 6,000 people sitting there,
118 STEP 13
listening to this preacher from South Africa talk about how poor he
and his wife had been in South Africa. Some of the things he said
were somewhat humorous, but nothing was so funny that you would
grab your belly and fall out of your seat. Yet that is exactly what was
happening all around us. That would have been unusual enough if
those falling on the floor inebriated with joy were teenagers in jeans
and t-shirts. However, most of those who were laughing their heads
off uncontrollably were the most dignified-looking adults you’d ever
want to see. Older ladies with their Cameo pins and hair in a bun
were falling out like drunks at a beer blast! I’m not talking about one
or two people, but hundreds were either slouched over in their chairs
or in some various stage of falling on the floor.
Many were out rolling in the aisles. I had heard the term “Holy
Roller” before, but I had never seen anything like this before. It was
incredible. What was even more amazing to me was that the preacher
never preached! He just walked around the room saying, “Fill!” and
people fell on the floor laughing their heads off for hours. Finally,
without ever opening a Bible or preaching a sermon, he said, “If you
need Jesus as your Savior, come down here right now,” and literally
hundreds of people ran to the front of the church where he led them
in a prayer to invite Jesus into their hearts.
As we drove home that first night, I couldn’t really get my mind
around what we had just witnessed. What in the world had we just seen?
As I prayed and asked the Lord what was up with this, I remembered the
words of Jesus, “You will recognize them by their fruits” (Matt. 7:16a).
In spite of all the craziness of people falling out on the floor, I couldn’t
get the faces of all the people who went forward to receive Jesus off
of my mind. The preacher never preached a sermon, yet these people
were crying out for God. Many of the people who came forward were
in tears as they earnestly prayed and asked Jesus into their hearts.
We went back the next night. It was just like the night before.
After a time of lively worship, the visiting preacher invited each of
the dignitaries to come forward and share what the Lord had done
in his or her life. These well-dressed, dignified-looking people stood
there at the microphone, unable to say a word. Some tried really hard
to speak, but they couldn’t utter a syllable. Eventually, they just passed
out and fell to the ground. I had seen a lot of people pass out before, but
not like this! It did make you chuckle to see such prestigious-looking
people become so undignified right before your eyes.
Again, the preacher never preached! He just walked around say-
ing, “Fill!” and people would fall to the ground in uncontrollable
laughter. Sometimes, the preacher would ask entire rows of people
to come out into the aisle. An entire row of people would line up,
and he would wave his hand and say, “Fill!” They would fall out like
dominoes. Sometimes, the preacher would walk up to entire sections
of the church, wave his hand and say, “Fill!” Scores of people would
slide out of their chairs like drunks. This went on for a few hours, and
then, without a sermon, he would say, “If you want to make Jesus your
Lord and Savior, come down here right now.” More than 200 people
went forward and invited Christ to be their Savior.
This revival in Lakeland lasted six weeks. Jean and I attended as
many meetings as we could. Jean would often go to the morning meet-
ing, and we would go back together for the evening meeting. It was
truly the most incredible outpouring of the Holy Spirit we had ever
seen. The kicker was, in six weeks time, we saw more than 6,000 people
go forward and ask Jesus into their lives. One night, 1,500 people were
baptized. Our Jimmy was one of them! They had a swimming pool, that
could hold about seven people, erected in front of the church and put
plastic sheets all over the carpeting. Six or seven people climbed into
the pool, and the preacher waved his hand and said, “Fill!” Everybody
in the pool fell under the water. The ushers scooped the people up like
they were bobbing for apples and stacked them on the floor like fish!
Some people we knew took great offense at these meetings. Some
even said they were “of the devil.” Well, if it was the devil, then the
devil just lost his mind in Lakeland because in six weeks, we saw with
our own eyes as 6,000 people were born again, 1,500 baptized, and
many filled with the Holy Spirit. Connie’s boyfriend had just received
120 STEP 13
Jesus into his heart. These meetings were his first experience of being
in church! One night, Brian got so drunk on the Holy Spirit, he was
unable to move. We finally had to pick him up and “pour” him into the
backseat of our car in the very same way you would transport someone
entirely inebriated on alcohol. As we drove home from Lakeland that
night, we laughed as Brian was babbling like a brook in the back seat.
“Ha-ha-gone-de-shon-do-la-so,” he said. “He-he-go-ra-te-da-done-day-
sha!” Brian had never spoken in tongues before, but he sure was now!
I know I’m getting ahead of myself; but to put things in proper
perspective, I want you to know that since those first meetings in
Lakeland with Pastors Rodney and Adonica Howard-Browne in 1993,
Jean and I have attended literally hundreds of their revival meetings.
We have experienced the most amazing and genuine moves and mani-
festations of the Holy Spirit through their ministry. I say all this to tell
you nothing I have ever experienced compares with what happened to
me on the third night we went to the Lakeland Revival in 1993.
As I mentioned, Brother Rodney is rather amusing and certainly
“different.” So, there we were at the Carpenter’s Home Church on night
number three. I was just sitting there trying to figure out just what the
heck was going on in this place. I started to chuckle at the goings-on
around me. Then I chuckled a little more. Then I began to get tickled
and started laughing. Have you ever gotten so tickled that you try to
stop laughing, but you can’t? And even in trying to stop laughing, you
laugh even harder? Well, that’s what was happening to me. Before I
knew it, I was laughing so hard that my stomach was hurting, and I was
trying to stop laughing but couldn’t. I looked up, only to see Brother
Rodney and two other gentlemen “catchers” beside him looking at me.
“Pick him up,” Brother Rodney said. I tried to wave these two guys
off, but, like bouncers in a bar, they came and grabbed me and stood
me up. Brother Rodney was about fifteen feet away from me when he
waved his hand and said, “Fill!” It felt like a mighty wave at the beach
just slapped up against my whole body and knocked me several feet
through the air onto my back. Just like the tide at the beach, the Holy
Spirit flowed from my feet to my head and back again.
So, I’m lying there on the floor with this indescribable Presence
flowing through my entire body like a warm, electrical current. I tell
you the truth when I say that I don’t know if I remained in my body
or left it. This had never happened to me before or since.
I was walking along on a sidewalk by the ocean in a blue suit with
a large, brown Bible in my left hand, and Jesus was walking alongside
of me. It was a beautiful, sunny day and, in spite of the cool breeze
that was blowing, I somehow could smell the rich leather cover on the
Bible. As we walked along, I looked out at the bluer than blue ocean. I
looked up at the blue sky, then looked at my blue suit and asked (don’t
ask me why), “Why all the blue?” Jesus just smiled and said, “I like blue.”
He then said, “You will be my preacher.”
Then there was another “blink,” and I was by myself in an inner-
city setting with that same Bible open, and I was preaching. As I was
preaching, there was another “blink,” and I was still preaching; but
my surroundings had suddenly changed to an upscale neighborhood
with a lot of red-brick buildings. Then there was another “blink,” and,
just like when I was nine years old and coming out from anesthesia
from having my tonsils out, I started to recognize some voices around
me. I recognized Jean’s voice and slowly opened my eyes. This all hap-
pened in what seemed to me to be about fifteen to twenty minutes. I
was quite surprised to learn I had been out on the floor for more than
two-and-a-half hours!
You may be reading this and thinking, “That is crazy.” Well, if you
are thinking that, I don’t blame you a bit. It really does sound crazy.
Only thing is, this really happened. Again, I know I’m getting ahead of
myself, but to help put this experience in context, consider these facts.
This trance or vision or whatever it was took place in January of 1993.
Jean and I attended Tampa Bay School of Ministry from 1994 to 1996. We
were licensed in the ministry in 1996. Just weeks after becoming a li-
censed minister, I was installed as associate pastor of Freedom Ministries
122 STEP 13
Assemblies of God in the inner city

of Tampa. Jean and I served whole-
heartedly in the ministry there
for three years. In 1999, Jean and I
founded Higher Ground Ministries
and planted our outreach-focused
church in DeLand, Florida, which
is an upscale town and home of
Joy-filled meeting with Dr. Stetson University. Jean and I just
Rodney Howard-Browne celebrated our seventeenth anniver-
sary of serving as senior pastors of Higher Ground Ministries.
In the past twenty years, Jean and I have led more than a thousand
teams of believers into prisons, jails, teen pregnancy centers, half-
way houses, children’s homes, nursing homes, city parks, and other
churches. We have seen more than 6,000 decisions for Christ. Probably
one-third of those have been first-time salvations of people who didn’t
know God loved them so much He sent His Son to die for them!
STEP 13:
Drink the New Wine of the
Holy Spirit!
You may be wondering why I am telling you all of this. In fact, I

hope and pray you are wondering what the point to all of this is. It
brings me to what I call Step #13: “Drink!” My friend, whether you are
recovering from addiction or some flavor of dead, dry religion, you
need a drink! I’m not suggesting you drink alcohol. No! I’m recom-
mending something far more refreshing. I’m saying, drink in the New
Wine of the Holy Spirit!
WHAT’S IN YOUR CONTAINER?
AT FIRST, WHAT I’M TALKING about may sound a little peculiar to
you. However, if you will consider what I’m saying, I believe your life
can be changed. Do you remember the first question I asked you? It
was, “Do you want to get well?” Well, do you? Are you ready for a great
exchange? Are you ready to exchange your old way of living for a new
way? If you feel you have arrived at the pinnacle of your life experi-
ence, and there is nothing “more” for you to experience or understand,
then you probably should toss this book in the round file right now.
If, by chance, you recognize a slight twinge of desire somewhere deep
down inside that wants to know if there’s “more,” then keep reading!
I believe there is “more” available for the addict or alcoholic than
“not drinking,” and I believe there is “more” available to the Christian
than religion. If you choose to deny that, you may be more like that
paralytic at the Pool of Bethesda than you realize. If you’re a “dry
drunk,” content with your joyless recovery meetings, and all this “re-
ligious talk” has been too much for you, then perhaps the best you can
do is light another cigarette, pour another cup of coffee, mark that
calendar, and hope for a different color chip. Maybe you’re a Christian,
and you think all this “addiction-twelve-step talk” is really for the poor
unfortunates who are bound by their sinful substance. Then perhaps
the best you can hope for is a good sermon from Pastor Hootandiddle
and a couple of “attaboys” from those in your small group who are
beginning to recognize how truly spiritual you really are. There’s more,
I tell you. There’s more available for you than that.
Perhaps, even this day, the Master will come to you with fresh,
new, life-changing instructions to “Pick up your bed and walk”! Are
you tired of your same, old excuses as to why you can’t change? It’s a
123
124 STEP 13
lie. You can change! But first you must recognize your need to change.
Remember, a good definition of an optimist is, “Someone who’s in a
rut and thinks they’re in a groove!” Why am I so sure that you need
to change? Because we all need to change! Like the air we breathe or
the water we drink, the need to change is something we all have in
common. That’s where some of the sorriest, most struggling drunks
have come to a far deeper revelation of essential truth than some
“mature and upstanding” Christians. At least many drunks and addicts
have come to recognize their need to change. How we Christians must
often be reminded of Paul’s words in Philippians 3:12: “Not that I have
already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it
my own, because Christ Jesus has made me His own.” We must press
on to higher ground. There is always higher ground in God!
To deny our need to change is to handcuff God on our behalf. “No,
that’s okay, God, I’ll take it from here. Thanks for the cross, the empty
tomb, and that thing that happened at Pentecost, but I can manage
things from here.” My friend, that is a bunch of Christian “hooey”!
You and I can no more manage our lives than the struggling alcoholic
who has been blessed with the awareness of Step #1: “We admitted we
were powerless-that our lives had become unmanageable.” You may
be wealthy, prominent, and well-educated. You may be a pastor or a
bishop with more degrees after your name than a thermometer. I don’t
care who you are; you are powerless, and your life is unmanageable!
You may think you’re in control, but you’re not. Your entire life is
subject to incredible change at a moment’s notice without your ap-
proval whatsoever. Your life may appear to be manageable; but truth
be told, if it even resembles some measure of order or manageability,
it is only by the grace of God. Can you manage an unfaithful spouse
or a child on drugs? Please, give me a Pentecostal break! Who do you
think you are kidding?
The great wonder to both the recovering addict and the Christian
(who may be in some various stage of recovery from dead and lifeless
religion) is that through our weaknesses, Christ shows Himself strong
What’s in Your Container? 125
(2 Cor. 12:9). What joy I have found in the simple recognition that “I am
just a fellow beggar that found a place to get some bread.” Jesus made it
plain at the Last Supper. He broke it down to bread and wine. He came
to give us a “KISS” from heaven: “Keep It Simple, Saints.” The simple
truth is He is our Daily Bread, and His Spirit is New Wine.
In John chapter six, Jesus blew away most of His followers with
the simple truth: “I am the Living Bread that came down from heaven”
(Jn. 6:51a). They began to murmur and complain, and most of them left.
Many are still murmuring and complaining today about “transubstan-
tiation” and “consubstantiation.” What really happens at communion
anyway? My advice is, “Shut up and eat the bread!” You can no more
figure Him out than the ignoramuses found in John chapter six, so
let’s “shut up and eat”!
Let me put it to you this way. When your stomach is growling for
food, and you order a large pepperoni pizza, do you try to analyze the
process of how one should properly consume the pizza or what the
ingredients of the pizza are, or do you just chow down? You can never
realize the purpose of a pizza with your brain. You must use your
stomach. In the very same way, we cannot figure out the mystery of
Christ’s presence with our analytical brains. We must use our spirits.
In John chapter three, Jesus said, “That which is born of the flesh is
flesh, and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit” (v. 6). We cannot
rightly discern the things of the Spirit by means of the flesh. Your
biggest obstacle to receiving this new life from Christ could be that
five pounds of flesh on your shoulders called your head!
In John chapter seven, Jesus is again being misunderstood and
misjudged by the Pharisees and Sadducees and “Wouldn’t Sees” and
“Couldn’t Sees”! They try to figure out the things of the Spirit by means
of their brains, and they have a terrible time. As a result, they come
to wrong conclusions and miss the blessing that is staring them in
the face. “If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink,” Jesus said
(Jn. 7:37b). So why didn’t they have a drink? Was Jesus just kidding?
Was there really no drink to be had? Was Jesus telling them a story,
126 STEP 13
or was there a problem with the drink He was talking about? I think
the answer lies in the fact that when Jesus said those words it was
“the last day of the great festival.” It was the last day of the Feast of
Tabernacles, and those present had been eating and drinking for days
and days. There wasn’t any problem with the drink. The people just
weren’t thirsty! They were full from their feast. They didn’t want His
drink. They had plenty of their own!
It’s the same way today. “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and
today and forever” (Heb. 13:8). His offer still stands: “If anyone thirsts,
let him come to Me and drink.” He has not run out of drink. Heaven
has no shortage of this drink He is talking about. There is no reces-
sion in Heaven. Michael and Gabriel don’t have the flu, and the Lord
is still in business. The reason why most people are not interested
in this drink is because they have plenty of their own. People are
bound with their own feasts and traditions, and they rob them of their
thirst. Whether they are the twelve steps of A.A. or the traditions of a
particular denomination, they can rob you of your greatest spiritual
weapon—your thirst! The problem is not with the drink, my friend.
The problem is with our thirst!
In the following verse in John, Jesus again throws a curve ball
past our puny little brains. He says, “He that believeth on me, as the
scripture hath said, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water”
(Jn. 7:38—KJV).8 Okay. We can use our brains to catch the symbolism
of the living water actually being the Holy Spirit, but what about the
“out of his belly” phrase? Our brains hit “tilt” or “does not compute.”
What is He talking about—“out of his belly”? He didn’t say, “out of his
tradition” or “out of his intellect” or “out of his religious pedigree.” He
said “out of his belly”! What is Jesus talking about? What is He really
saying? (Stay with me here!)
I believe the answer to our dilemma can be solved with the help
of two specific verses of scripture. In 2 Corinthians 4:7, Paul says, “But
we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that the surpassing power
8 The Holy Bible, King James Version. Chicago: J.G. Ferguson, 1960.

belongs to God and not from us.” How does this verse shed light on our
“belly” problem? It illustrates another essential truth that is so simple,
we often miss it. Paul is saying we are vessels or containers. Did you
know the name Adam actually means “red clay”? We were made from
clay and created to contain.
Secondly, in Ephesians 5:18, Paul says, “And do not get drunk with
wine, for that is debauchery, but be filled with the Spirit.” In the Greek,
Paul is actually saying, “Be being filled.” Again, we can see our nature
as containers, but here we can also see another simple essential—we
leak! The reason we must constantly “be being filled” is because we
leak! We are jars of clay or “clay pots,” but we have cracks, and we leak.
One could rightly say, therefore, we are merely “cracked pots for Jesus”!
Perhaps we can gain insight into what “flows out of our bellies”
by better understanding that we were created to contain, and what
(or Who) we contain is going to flow out of us. Jesus said, “For out of
the abundance of the heart, his mouth speaks” (Lk. 6:45). The reason
we have such difficulty with Living Water flowing out of our bellies is
the same reason the Jews at the Feast of Tabernacles had. Our “bellies”
are full of other things, like the food, traditions and values of this
world. What’s in your container? Is your spiritual appetite deadened
by the bread of tradition and religion? Have you sold out to the value
system of this world, or are you hungry and thirsty for the bread and
wine of God?
There is a story of an Irish priest who was driving home after hav-
ing a wee bit too much to drink at a St. Patty’s Day party. His erratic
driving drew the attention of a police officer. The police officer pulled
the priest over and walked to the driver’s side window. “Good evening,
Father. Have we had a little too much to drink tonight?” The police
officer asked. “Not a bit in the world,” the priest assured the officer. The
police officer noticed an opened container in the car with the good
Father. “Excuse me, Father. I couldn’t help noticing that open bottle
there. Is that wine?” The priest looked at the bottle, then back to the
police officer, and said with a slurred Irish accent, “No, it’s just me holy
128 STEP 13
water.” The police officer reached in, took the bottle, and raised it to
his nose for a sniff. “Whew! Father, this isn’t holy water. This is wine!”
The priest looked up at the police officer and gleefully shouted, “Well,
praises be! He did it again!”
Did you know that truth is always funnier than fiction? This is not
to suggest that the good Lord actually changed this clergyman’s holy
water into wine. However, we can all share in the punch line: “Well,
praises be! He did it again!” How many times has the Lord rescued us in
our lives? How many times has He brought just the right person by our
side at the exact time we needed? I can assure you of this. The answer
is far more times than we even know. If we walk in an awareness that
we are not alone, that the Lord is indeed with us, we can go through
each day and exclaim, “Well, praises be! He did it again!”
Have you ever wondered why the first miracle Jesus ever did was
change the water into wine? I mean, why not go right for raising some-
one from the dead or healing a blind man? Instead, as we study the
second chapter of John’s gospel, we find Jesus doing His first miracle
at a wedding party. Furthermore, it’s not like they didn’t already have
plenty to drink. The Jews back then knew how to throw a party. There
was no rapid or mass transportation in those days, so people often
traveled for several days to attend a wedding. So, it’s not surprising
that these weddings, like so many of the Jewish feasts and celebrations,
actually lasted for several days.
So, there’s Jesus with His mom and some friends. The party is
rolling on, and they run out of wine. It’s not like they didn’t already
have plenty to drink because at the conclusion of the miracle, one
onlooker says, “Everyone serves the good wine first, and when people
have drunk freely, then the poor wine. But you have kept the good
wine until now” (Jn. 2:10).
We also know they weren’t talking about a few glasses or bottles
of wine. Per Jesus’ instructions, they filled six stone jars (clay pots!)
with water. Each container held twenty to thirty gallons. We’re talking
about more than 150 gallons of wine here. That’s quite a six-pack, isn’t
it? Isn’t it peculiar that Jesus would choose this venue to kick off His
miracle ministry?
I certainly don’t understand all of the reasons why Jesus would do
such a thing. However, in my thirty-eight years of walking with Jesus,
I can tell you something I have come to learn: His ways are different
than our ways (Isa. 55:8). We have this American mindset that only big
events are important, like the Super Bowl and the World Series and
the Daytona 500. Jesus is concerned with the little things! He wants
our every day to be a big event. The scriptures tell us, “I [Jesus] came
that they may have life and have it abundantly” (Jn. 10:10b). He is the
life of the party! To Him, every day
is a party.
On my office wa l l hangs
my favorite picture of Jesus. It is
called, The Laughing Christ.9 He
is the Almighty Joy-Bringer. My
friend, I dare say, if you have not
heard His laughter, I question if
you know Him. I mean really know
Him. He is not some stuffy, Bible-
thumping, religious dead-head.
He is a way-making, life-changing,
The Laughing Christ
attitude-rearranging, fear and
bondage-busting Brother-King, and He loves you and me with an ev-
erlasting love. I’m crazy enough to believe that He wants to rearrange
your attitudes. I believe He wants to change your life. I believe He
wants to turn your lack into a party. He did it at the wedding in Cana,
and He hasn’t changed a bit. I believe He wants you and me to take a
lesson from the good Father who had a wee bit too much to drink. I
believe He wants us to go through each and every day with an attitude
that says, “Well, praises be! He did it again!”
9 Willis Wheatley, The Laughing Christ, 1973, sketch, United Church of

Canada, Ontario.
130 STEP 13
So, what’s in your container—water or wine? It all depends on

who you are partying with. If you hang close with Jesus, you will be
no stranger to the New Wine of God. If all you are doing is jumping
through the world’s hoops and living by the world’s values and dictates,
then you may not even know what true joy is. Joy and happiness are
two very different things. Happiness is based on what’s happening in
your circumstances and life situation. You can have joy in the midst
of great tribulation. The truth is, the Church has always grown and
thrived most when it was under the greatest trial and persecution.
That’s what’s missing (for the time being) in the church in America. In
Acts chapter sixteen, we find Paul and Silas singing with joy after a ter-
rible beating, but we get upset if somebody sits in “our” seat at church.
We have it too easy. We have the biggest, most comfortable churches
in the world. Yet, if somebody laughs in church, we look at them as if
they have three heads on their shoulders! We can go to a football game
with our hair painted purple and wear no shirt in ten-degree weather.
We can scream our heads off for our favorite team, but we must act
pious and dignified when we come into church? What’s wrong with
us? We need the New Wine of God! We must trade our dead religion
in for a relationship with the Jesus of Cana. We need new wine!
Throughout the scriptures and throughout history (“His Story”),
God has revealed His nature and will to us again and again. Yet, as crea-
tures of habit crippled by tradition and dead religion, we cling to our
old wine skins and pet doctrines. God breathes on a Luther, a Calvin,
a Wesley, or a Spurgeon, and the church takes a sip of new wine. Then
we work feverishly to “bottle the wine” into a certain denomination,
and we forget the most important thing is “to drink”! Jesus spoke to
the scribes and the Pharisees and said, “You blind guides, straining out
a gnat and swallowing a camel” (Matt. 23:24). We are no different than
they. We put great importance on our doctrinal convictions regarding
our particular denomination and its “correct” position on issues of
baptism, communion, eternal security, and gifts of the Holy Spirit.
Yet in our “straining the gnats,” we “swallow the camel” of religion.
Our doctrine may be right, but our hearts can be wrong. We must get
back to the party at Cana!
God spoke so very plainly through His servant, Isaiah, in Isaiah 55.
In verse one He says, “Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters;
and he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and
milk without money and without price.” Don’t gloss over this verse
and miss the riddle. What am I saying? Well, take another look at the
verse and tell me if you see anything rather odd or peculiar about it. I
find it rather odd that God is telling people “without money” to “buy”
something, don’t you? How are you supposed to buy something if you
don’t have any money? Every time I go to Publix and buy milk, they
expect me to give them money! Hasn’t that been your experience, too?
Yet, God invites us (actually, He is instructing us who are thirsty) to
come buy wine without money. Do you see it yet? He is utilizing a
different currency. He is telling us that the currency with which we
will purchase this wine is our “thirst”! Nothing more and nothing
less will do.
When we went to Honduras on a mission trip, we had to have our
American currency exchanged into their currency. We were in their
country, and we had to exchange our currency for their currency. The
Kingdom of God is like that. If we want to do business with God,
we must use “His currency.” The apostle James said, “You have not
because you ask not.” When we got off the airplane in Honduras, we
were not tackled by people who forcefully exchanged our currency for
theirs. We had to seek out the place of currency exchange and initiate
the transaction. It’s the same way with God. We must exchange our
preconceived ideas for the currency He requires. It requires change.
We Americans have seen too many television commercials. We
have been duped into believing if we have enough money, we can
buy anything. It’s simply not so with God. With Him, it doesn’t mat-
ter if you are a millionaire or penniless. His currency is thirst. “Come,
everyone who thirsts, and buy wine . . . ”
132 STEP 13
One of the greatest joys I have ever known was spending eight
days among the “poorest of the poor” in Honduras. My wife and I led
a missionary team there for an eight-day, life-changing missionary
adventure. Each of the thirteen people on our team was changed for-
ever. I had the joy of putting shoes on the feet of a little five-year-old
girl named Nancy. It was her first pair of shoes. We laid brick in the
first church in the Honduran slum of El Progresso. The people in that
village of two hundred families received one hour of running water
two days a week. Yet, the joy on Pastor Jaime’s face, like Nancy’s joyful
little face, was simply indescribable. “Come, everyone who thirsts . . .
buy wine . . . without money . . . ”
While we were in Honduras, our team stayed in the poor, little
village of Canchias. The people there had nothing. The children had
no shoes and barely any clothing. However, the clothing that they had
was clean. They washed their clothes in a clear, rushing river nearby.
They lived in little hut-like houses with uncovered cut-outs for win-
dows. Many of the houses had only dirt floors, yet they were “homes.”
Families of six and seven had one small mattress, which they all slept
together on horizontally like sardines in a can. They had no electricity
and very little food. Jean, Daisy, Johanna, Peggy, and Debbie worked
in the clinic, where they provided eyeglasses to some who had walked
all day to get there and waited several hours.
I walked all over that village with the president of their commu-
nity. After the most remarkable tour, I asked this bright gentleman,
“Of all your needs here in Canchias, what is your greatest need?” He
looked deep into my eyes and said quite sincerely, “Needs? We have no
needs. The Lord provides all of our needs here.” I was floored. He then
said something I will never forget, even if I live to be a hundred. He
pointed at the beautiful watch on my wrist and said, “You Americans
have beautiful watches, but you have no time!” He may as well have hit
me with a baseball bat. That afternoon, while working on the church
in El Progresso, my watchband broke. Two years passed before I had
the heart to repair the beautiful watch my daughter Connie gave me.
Let’s face it. The little Honduran man in the remote village of
Canchias was right. We have “beautiful watches, but no time.” Is it
not a sobering truth that although Honduras is the second poorest
nation in the Western Hemisphere, the people do not want to be like
us Americans? Don’t get me wrong; I am proud to be an American and
believe that America is (was) the greatest nation in the history of the
world. Yet we have lost our way. We have sold our birthright for “stuff”
and no longer have time for God or family.
In Isaiah 40:31, God’s Word says, “But they who wait for the Lord
shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” Again,
we should take the hint. Again, Isaiah gives us insight into the currency
of God; yet in our haste, we miss it. In other words, time is another
currency God accepts in His Kingdom.
Our generation is like the seed (found in Luke 8:14) that fell among
the thorns. Our (spiritual) lives are choked by the worries, riches, and
pleasures of our culture. Did you know that the average American has
$5,700 in credit card debt?10 We want our stuff and our good times,
and we want them now! We have Roadrunner on our computers, fast
cars, and fast food restaurants, but we don’t take time for what’s re-
ally important.
When is the last time you sat for one hour in prayer? When is the
last time you read the scriptures for one hour? When is the last time
you were a part of a worship service that lasted for one hour? When is
the last time you spent one hour helping someone you don’t know? Do
you want to know why we’re not “thirsty”? We’re not thirsty because
we have exchanged our time for temporal pleasures and perceived
“needs” and have not spent time with the Lord and with those things
He values. Ouch! The little Honduran gentleman was right—we have
such “beautiful watches,” yet we “have no time”!
10 Bricker, Jesse, Lisa J. Dettling, Alice Henriques, et al., “Changes in U.S.
Family Finances from 2010 to 2013: Evidence from the Survey of Con-
sumer Finances, Federal Reserve Bulletin 100, no. 4 (2014).
DID ANYBODY SEE A
BUCKET AROUND HERE?
IN ISAIAH 12:3, THE LORD gives us another object lesson about drink-
ing. He says, “With joy you will draw water from the wells of salva-
tion.” He is comparing our joy to a bucket. So, what if you walk right
up to a perfectly good well and don’t have a bucket? Will you receive
any benefit from the well? Of course not, and it’s not because there
is something wrong with the well. Our churches are full of people
standing by the well but without a bucket. I’m waiting for someone to
walk up to me some Sunday morning and say, “Hey, did anybody see
a bucket around here?” I’m going to tell them, “Sorry, this is a B.Y.O.B.
(bring your own bucket) party!”
We underestimate the importance of joy, and we often have a
distorted idea about what true happiness is. Years ago, Herbert Hoover
ran his race for president on the platform that “Americans should have
a chicken in every pot and a car in every garage.”11 That sounds good.
Jean and I have two cars, and I love chicken soup, but it has nothing
to do with joy. My grandmother gave me the best formula for joy that
I have ever heard. She said, “You get joy by putting ‘J’esus first, then
‘O’thers, then ‘Y’ourself!” When Jesus is in His rightful place in our
hearts and homes, we won’t have to ask, “Hey, did anybody see a bucket
around here?” When Jesus is our first love, we have a bucket—we have
a joy that is “inexpressible and filled with glory” (1 Pet. 1:8)!
For more than three decades, Jean and I have been bringing evan-
gelism teams into federal and state prisons as well as county jails. By
God’s grace, we have ministered in more than a dozen different prisons
11 Republican Party. October 30, 1928. Advertisement. New York World.
135
136 STEP 13
in the U.S. and two in Honduras. Over the years, we have come to
know some very interesting characters! Take Steven W. for example.
This gentleman was a brilliant doctor, who was educated in England.
Other than the one incident of killing his wife, he was really enjoy-
ing a wonderful practice! We served with Steven on a Kairos prison
weekend at Zephyrhills Correctional Institution near Tampa.
There are a thousand stories in the prisons. Many are tragic. Many
are sad. However, some are enlightening and quite inspirational. Our
brothers and sisters in blue have taught us far more than we have
taught them. During a Kairos prison weekend twenty-plus years ago,
I met a young man named Thomas D. When I first met Thomas, he
was about thirty years old. He was very introverted and slumped his
shoulders so severely, I honestly thought he had some kind of a back
condition. During the course of the Kairos weekend, Thomas shared
his story with me. He had been driving drunk on I-75 in Bradenton and
crashed his car into a vanload of people coming back from “Night of
Joy” at Disney World. He killed five people, including a youth pastor
and a pastor’s son. Thomas was also severely injured and was in the
hospital for six months.
When Thomas became well enough to stand trial, he was convicted
of five counts of third-degree murder and sentenced to five consecutive
life sentences. Thomas met Jesus on that Kairos weekend, and it was
a beautiful thing to behold. He cried a bucket of tears, and his coun-
tenance changed right before our eyes. His shoulders straightened up,
and he now stands as straight as anyone I’ve ever known. Thomas not
only received forgiveness that weekend, he received a deep, genuine,
abiding joy that comes only from the Lord. Don’t get me wrong. He
still understands and deeply regrets that he is responsible for taking
five innocent lives. That is something he will have to live with. Yet, the
joy in Thomas’ life has not been a flash in the pan. We have known
Thomas for more than twenty years and continue to be friends with
him today. He has a joy that I rarely see among the “free” people in
Did Anybody See a Bucket Around Here? 137
church. Joy has nothing to do with our outward circumstances or

situation. It has everything to do with our relationship with Jesus.
In Nehemiah 8:10b, God’s word says, “And do not be grieved, for
the joy of the Lord is your strength.” I say that a Christian without joy
is like Samson with a bad haircut! Joy is not some nice, little, add-on
option like a Bluetooth accessory to a new automobile. It is an essential
ingredient to effective Christian living. Some Christians walk around
and act like they were baptized in lemon juice. What’s the problem?
They misplaced their bucket! It is “with joy” we “draw water from the
well of salvation.” We need the joy of the Lord!
One of the most joyful people I have ever known was also an in-
mate at Zephyrhills Correctional. His name was Larry T. Like Thomas,
Larry also had been driving drunk. Larry killed two people walking
across the street in front of Tampa Stadium. I met Larry during the
nine years he served at ZCI. Larry’s whole face just lit up the room
like a Christmas tree. He deeply regretted his crime. However, as the
scriptures teach, he who is forgiven much, loves much (see Luke 7:36-
50). That was Larry.
Larry knew he had been forgiven much! Each day for Larry was
an undeserved gift. Oh, that we could each become more like Larry
in that way! You and I have been forgiven so much, and none of us
are promised tomorrow. Larry saw something we often miss. Each day
really is an undeserved gift, and if we could catch that simple truth,
we would wake up and say, “Good morning, Lord!” instead of, “Good
grief, it’s morning!”
Larry often said his life was broken up into nine-year intervals. He
said during his first nine years, he didn’t know anything because he
was a kid. During his next nine years, he claimed he knew everything
because he was a teenager. During his next nine years, he said he didn’t
need to know anything because he was a soldier in the Army, but his
favorite nine years were those he spent in prison because that’s where
he met Jesus!
138 STEP 13
Ours was the first church Larry visited to give his testimony upon
his release. It surprised no one to see Larry fall in love and marry a
wonderful Christian woman. For several years, Larry enjoyed a rich
and loving life with his family and his local church. I once asked Larry
what he enjoyed most about being a free man after being incarcerated
for nine years. Without hesitation, he grinned his big, joyful smile and
said, “I like to get up in the middle of the night, turn on the light, go
to the refrigerator, and make a turkey sandwich.” Larry had discovered
one of life’s best-kept secrets. He found joy in the little things. Last
year, Larry got sick and died. His funeral was just the way Larry would
have wanted it. It was a celebration! The psalmist David said, “My cup
overflows” (Ps. 23:5). Larry didn’t have a “cup.” He had a “bucket”! He
had a bucket full of joy, and everybody that knew him got splashed
with the joy of the Lord.
How about you? Do you have a bucket? Do you find joy in the
little things, or are you too busy being consumed by the big things?
We often become so obsessed chasing our big, long-term goals that we
miss the little joys that are only found in the present. Eighteen per-
cent of Americans now suffer from anxiety disorder, according to the
National Institute of Mental Health, a division of the U.S. Department
of Health & Human Services. And the pharmaceutical companies are
cashing in big time with their well-produced TV commercials and
multi-billion-dollar profit margins. Three hundred ten billion dollars
of prescriptions are written each year by doctors in the U.S., accord-
ing to a report in 2013 by the International Federation of Health Plans,
which was formed in 1986 and consists of eighty member companies
in twenty-five countries.12 Today in our country, teen suicide and the
divorce rate are at an all-time high.13 What’s wrong with this picture?
12 International Federation of Health Plans. “iFHP publishes 2013 Price Re-
port.” IFHP.com. http://www.ifhp.com/1404121/ (accessed July 19, 2017).
13 National Conference of State Legislatures. “Pharmaceuticals: Facts,
Policies and NCSL Resources.” NCSL.org. http://www.ncsl.org/research/
health/pharmaceuticals-facts-policies-and-ncsl-resources.aspx (accessed
July 2, 2017).
We, as a people, have become so self-consumed, we have lost sight

of doing unsolicited, small acts of kindness for others. Want to find
some joy? Drive through Wendy’s, get a bowl of chili and a coke, and
go find a homeless guy and give it to him. It will cost you about $4 and
take about thirty minutes, and it will be the most important thing you
do all day. Sure, it will help the homeless guy, but it will help you a
lot more. You need to give more than he needs to receive! That’s why
Jesus said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35). The
word blessed means “happy” or “joyful.” He knew what he was saying!
In our church, we do something we call “drive-by blessings.” They
are an absolute blast, and if you’ve never tried it, you really should. We
put together a dozen or so bags of good groceries. We pack them with
canned meats and toiletries and all kinds of good stuff. Then we get
a half-dozen people together and say a prayer, asking God to guide us.
We head out in different directions, randomly looking for a home that
might be blessed with a knock on the door and a greeting that goes
like, “Hello, we’re Christians, and we want you to have these groceries
simply because Jesus loves you.” There’s no church membership drive
involved or “catch” of any kind—just a simple, “Be blessed because
Jesus loves you.” People are blown away.
We knocked on one lady’s door, and when she came to the door, we
greeted her just like I said. She immediately burst into tears and said,
“Less than a half an hour ago, I was in my bedroom praying. I felt like
God doesn’t love me anymore, and I asked Him if He still loves me to
please send me a sign. And here you are!”
Another time, a couple answered the door, and they, too, started
crying. It happened to be the woman’s birthday, and they had absolutely
no food at all in the house. The team was so moved, they immediately
ran to Publix and had a birthday cake made with the woman’s name
on it. They went back to the house for another surprise visit. They
said they never had so much fun singing “Happy Birthday” as they
did that day.
140 STEP 13
Have you misplaced your bucket? Have you lost your joy, and you
just don’t know how to get it back? The answer really is simpler than
you might imagine. Do something for someone else. I don’t care if
you’re a drunk who’s been sober for three months, and you’re strug-
gling to gain another day’s sobriety. Go find somebody that’s been
sober for three days, and buy them a cup of coffee. Maybe you’re a
good, upstanding church-goer. Perhaps you’re in the choir or in the
pulpit and (secretly, of course) you have lost your joy. You may be an
expert at putting on your church mask and pretending you have joy,
but deep down in your heart, you and the Lord know it’s just an act.
You know you should have joy because you know Jesus died for you,
but, somehow, you have lost the joy of your new birth. The answer
is the same. Do something for someone else and not in front of the
church so everybody can see what a good Christian you are. Go find
a bum and bless him, and then don’t tell anybody. You’ll have more
joy than you know what to do with!
Consider the woman in 1 Kings chapter seventeen. The first thing
we learn about her is that she’s a widow. That’s no small circumstance
in itself. We don’t know how long she was married, but losing people
we love can be devastating. Then we learn she is a poor widow. Being
poor is no joke. If you’ve never been poor, take my word for it. It’s no
fun. Then we learn she is a single mom. Let’s face it, this woman has
got a plate full of problems, and that is all she has on her plate.
The prophet Elijah comes along and tells the woman, “Bring me me
a little water in a vessel, that I may drink . . . Bring me a morsel of bread
in your hand” (vs. 10-11). Does he know who he’s talking to? Couldn’t he
find somebody who looked like they had a little more going for them
before he started to ask for favors? The woman’s response is a classic:
“ . . . I have nothing baked, only a handful of flour in a jar and a little
oil in a jug. And now I am gathering a couple of sticks that I may go
in and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it and die” (v.
12). Elijah knows how to pick ‘em, eh? Not only is this woman a poor
widow and a single mom, but she’s also suicidal to boot!
Elijah sticks to his guns and tells her again, “Do not fear; go and
do as you have said. But first make me a little cake of it and bring it
to me, and afterward make something for yourself and your son. For
thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, ‘The jar of flour shall not be spent,
and the jug of oil shall not be empty, until the day that the Lord sends
rain upon the earth’” (vs. 13-14).
By the grace of God, the woman did what the prophet said, even
though it made no sense in the natural. It’s not what she was plan-
ning on doing. Maybe she took the attitude of, “Hey, what do I have to
lose? I’ll give it a try.” Sure enough, just as God said, her food and oil
miraculously lasted her for many days, and she, no doubt, got a “new
lease on life.” This woman’s life was changed as soon as she started to
think of someone other than herself.
So, what do you have to lose? Maybe $4 and thirty minutes? You
may say, “Well, that’s too small. Doing something that tiny isn’t going
to change anything.” All this woman had was a handful of meal and a
little oil, and it changed everything. Most of all, it changed her outlook
on life. Suicide is a very stupid and selfish trick of the devil. My cousin’s
sixteen-year-old son lost his girlfriend, and so he went home and blew
his brains out with a shotgun. Not very long ago, a pastor by the name
of John C., who I served with at a recent Tomoka Kairos prison weekend,
blew his brains out. The families were devastated. I don’t know what
those guys were thinking immediately before they pulled the trigger,
but I can guarantee you they weren’t thinking of others.
Sometimes it seems as if all we have in our “vessel” is a little water.
Sometimes we feel like the “little bit of oil” we possess is so insignifi-
cant. Little is much when it is put to use for others. During several
of the ten consecutive Kairos weekends I served on at Zephyrhills
Correctional, I served with an inmate named Richard G. Rick was a big,
muscular guy with a tattoo on his arm that read, “The Italian Stallion.”
That was Rick. He was a big, loud, quick-witted, macho, tough guy.
It was a beautiful thing to see him fall in love with Jesus. He wrote
poems and told stories and made jokes. He was full of life and the
142 STEP 13
joy of the Lord. Rick was a committed Christian during his last three
years of incarceration and led many other inmates to Christ. There
was one other brother-in-blue, who was confined to a wheelchair. Rick
befriended this guy and became his caretaker and protector (a guy in
a wheelchair in prison can be easy prey). Rick was on fire for Christ,
but if anyone messed with his buddy, he would beat the crap out of
them and pray for them later!
I had lunch with Rick the day after his release from prison. He
already had a job lined up and had his eyes on a blue Mustang convert-
ible he wanted to buy. He was a “go-getter,” for sure. Just a few months
after his release from prison, Rick walked out in front of a car going
fifty-five miles per hour and died. He was revived back to life in the
ambulance on the way to the hospital. His family knew of our friend-
ship and called me the day the accident happened.
Jean and I rushed to St. Joseph Hospital’s intensive care unit but
were unprepared for what we found. I wouldn’t have recognized Rick.
He was strapped down to a table that slowly rotated his body about
forty degrees to the left and right. His head was swollen and shaved
and in a “halo.” He was on a respirator and in a coma. He had a big tube
coming out of the top of his head, tubes in his stomach and nose, and
all kinds of I.V. tubes connected to him everywhere. It really looked
like something out of a horror movie.
Jean and I were a little in shock. They don’t teach you what to do
in situations like this in ministry school! We quietly laid our hands
on Rick and prayed. We quoted Psalm 91 and anointed his head with
oil. We stayed only about ten minutes and then left feeling so helpless
and inadequate. I returned every day and anointed Rick’s head with
oil and prayed. Rick cheated death several times during the five weeks
he was in a coma. We were excited at first to learn he had come out of
the coma. Then after many, many tests, the doctor’s reports were very
discouraging. They said on a scale of one to 100, Rick’s brain activity
was a two. They said if he did survive, he would never be able to speak
or know his name or recognize anyone.
Over the next several weeks, we watched as this strapping 200-

pound guy withered away to less than 100 pounds. I went to the hos-
pital every day and prayed and anointed Rick’s head with oil during
each visit. The family had decided to pull the feeding tube and was in
the process of going to lawyers and taking all the legal steps needed
to make that happen. One afternoon, Jean and I were in the room
visiting Rick. Jean was on one side of the bed, and I was on the other.
All of a sudden, Rick opened his eyes, raised his head slightly off the
pillow, looked at me and said, “Got any oil?” I was so startled, I jumped
back from the bed!
I said, “What did you say?”
Again, he said, “Got any oil?”
I nervously reached into my pocket and anointed his head with
oil as I had done every day since his accident. I wish I could tell you I
rejoiced in the Lord because our prayers were answered. The truth is,
I was in such shock, I could hardly believe my eyes.
Jean said, “Rick, do you know he is?”
He said, “Yes. Jim Brissey.”
Jean asked, “Do you know who I am?”
He said, “Yes. Jean Brissey.”
Rick had recently had a birthday, and the helium balloons were
floating from the foot of his bed. I said, “Rick, do you know how old
you are?”
He said, “I’m thirty-three years old.”
Rick was back! He didn’t get up and run around the hospital right
away, but God did a miracle right before our eyes. All we had was a
little oil in our vessel. Little can be much when it is put to use for others.
Rick’s mother and family were ecstatic. They stood by him and
helped him tremendously over the next two years as he had more than
a dozen operations and hundreds of hours of rehabilitation therapy.
The last time I saw Rick, he was back up to 178 pounds and walking
and talking almost like normal. It is nothing less than a miracle that
144 STEP 13
Rick now has ninety-five percent of his normal brain functions and
is walking like he is. So, let me ask you the question Rick asked me,
“Have you got any oil?”
The widow of Zarephath had only a little oil, but when she put
it to use for others, miracles happened in her life. With Rick, all we
had was a little oil, but God honored it as we reached out to touch
someone else. If you will take just a few moments and ask the Lord
who it is in your circle of influence He would have you reach out to,
I’m quite certain you will “find your bucket,” and, before you know it,
your joy will overflow.
How is it that so many people who first come to know Christ are
filled with incredible, childlike joy and excitement about their new
life in Christ? Yet as weeks turn into months and months into years,
they lose that effervescent joy of their new birth.
The churches are full of such unfortunates. They so remind me
of dry drunks in A.A.
They have stopped doing those things they know they shouldn’t
be doing, but they have no life or joy. They are going to the “right
meetings” with incredible regularity.
However, somewhere along the way, those same meetings, which
were once a celebration, have become a dull and dreaded obligation.
The church has been compared to a football stadium, where 70,000 fans
in desperate need of exercise are sitting around watching twenty-two
people in desperate need of rest knock their heads against each other!
How did all these “players” become spectators? Where did all these
people “misplace their buckets,” lose their joy, and become pharisaical?
We can take a lesson from our three joyful inmates—Thomas, Larry,
and Rick. They may have been many things, but one thing they were
not was spectators. They were “in the game,” for sure. They all had one
thing in common. They were not ashamed of the Gospel, and they
told people about their Jesus! When is the last time you told a stranger
Jesus loves them? When is the last time you introduced someone to
your best friend? “There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother”
(Prov. 18:24b). If we are not telling people about Him, we are simply
throwing our “bucket” aside.
If you retrace your steps and remember the last time you told
a stranger about Jesus, you may find that is the very place you left
your “bucket”! In Revelation chapter two, Jesus speaks to the believ-
ers in the church at Ephesus. He commends them for their hard work,
their patience, and their perseverance. However, He says, “But I have
this against you: that you have abandoned the love you had at first.
Remember therefore from where you have fallen; repent, and do the
works you did at first. If not, I will come to you and remove your
lampstand from its place, unless you repent” (Rev. 2:4-5). When we
first come into a relationship with the living Lord Jesus, we can’t help
but tell people what the Lord has done for us. Yet, as we get older and
more mature in our faith, we write off such exuberance as childishness.
This should not be. We must return to our first love!
There is a story of a husband and wife who have been married for
fifty years. As they were driving along one day, the wife began to share
her thoughts and feelings to her husband. “Honey,” she said, “Do you
remember when we were first married? We used to always snuggle
arm-in-arm as we drove together. Why, sometimes when we stopped
at the red lights, you would lean over and give me a kiss. Now look at
us. We are so far apart, and I can’t even remember the last time you
kissed me at a red light.” The husband paused as he drove along with
both hands on the steering wheel. He then looked over at his wife and
said, “Honey, I haven’t moved. I’ve always been right here!” Isn’t that
the way we are with our Brother-King Jesus? He hasn’t moved. He’s
right where He’s always been. It’s we who slowly distance ourselves
from Him and slowly miss the warmth of His closeness. We must “draw
near to God, and He will draw near to [us]” (Jas. 4:8)!
There are a thousand ways you can communicate the Gospel. You
can send someone a card and simply close by saying, “Jesus loves you,
and so do I.” You can leave a Gospel tract with a generous tip when you
go to a restaurant to eat. You can give a bum a bowl of chili and tell
146 STEP 13
him Jesus loves him. You can visit a nursing home and pray with a
senior. You can spend ten minutes and write a prisoner a letter (using
a church address or a post office box as a return address). You can find
a child and read them a Bible story. You can go to the emergency room
at a hospital and ask someone in the waiting room if you can pray with
them. You can find out what style music people like and get them a
Christian CD in that particular style. If you can’t come up with any
ideas of your own, go find a pastor and ask him if he needs some help.
You would be surprised how rarely any people ever do that!
In Romans 1:16a, Paul says, “For I am not ashamed of the Gospel.”
Remember, this is the same guy who in Philippians 4:4 writes, “Rejoice
in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice!” As a former seminary
professor of mine used to say, “To rejoice means ‘to have joy and have
it all over again.’” So what Paul is really saying is, “Have joy, and have it
all over again, and have some more joy, and have it all over again.” Do
you think Paul’s “not being ashamed of the Gospel” had anything to do
with all this “rejoicing” he’s talking about? You bet your bippy it does!
How about you? Are you ashamed of the Gospel? Are you afraid of
what non-Christians will think of you if they find out you’re a “Jesus
person”? Many Christians are. They come into the church and sing the
right songs and may even tithe their income, but then on the job, they
become secret service Christians who have gone “undercover,” and
people around them don’t even know they are Christians. It’s usually
because of the fear of rejection or simply not knowing how to share
their faith without appearing to be a religious fanatic.
I was so very blessed years ago to see Dr. D.J. Kennedy share his
testimony concerning the birth of a tremendously effective evange-
lism movement known as Evangelism Explosion. Dr. Kennedy was
the pastor of a huge, affluent church in Coral Gables, Florida. He was
a brilliant theologian and the author of many best-selling books. Dr.
Kennedy became quite alarmed one day as one of his zealous, on-fire
elders invited him to go door to door to share the basics of the Gospel
with any that would listen. I laughed until I cried as Pastor Kennedy
shared his first experience of going with this elder to knock on the
doors for the purpose of sharing a Christian witness. Dr. Kennedy said
immediately his old back problem flared up with great intensity. He
went on to explain that the old problem he had with his back was that
it had a broad yellow stripe running down it! He was scared to death!
Many of us are afraid to tell people about Jesus. Dr. Kennedy obvi-
ously overcame his fear for personal witnessing and now Evangelism
Explosion is a worldwide, soul-winning bonanza.
Maybe you will never found a worldwide evangelism organization,
but if you purpose in your heart not to be ashamed of the Gospel, you
will find your misplaced “bucket.” It’s often found at the intersection
of fear and rejection!
Pray for God to help you with fresh ideas for how you can share
the Gospel in your own way. You will never regret it. Your life will be
rejuvenated with the joy of the Lord. John the Beloved punctuates this
simple, powerful truth in his first epistle. In 1 John 1:4 he says, “And
we are writing these things so that our joy may be complete.” Did you
catch that? He’s thinking of others. He’s communicating the story of
Jesus to others and as a by-product, his joy is made complete! St. Francis
was right. It is “in the giving, we receive.” Haven’t received any fresh
joy lately? Think of someone else. Tell someone else what Jesus has
done in your life. Before you know it, you will find your “misplaced
bucket,” and “with joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.”
CAN I HAVE FIVE DOLLARS
FOR A HAMBURGER?
AS I MENTIONED EARLIER, JEAN and I attended Tampa Bay School
of Ministry from 1994 to 1996. This hands-on ministry school was the
Bible and training school of Eagles Wings Fellowship. Pastor Tom and
his dear wife, Pat, worked diligently with CBN and Regents University
to make sure all the courses were fully accredited. During those two
years, Jean and I would go to class together at the University of Tampa
and then zoom at ungodly speeds out to the Carpenter’s Church in
Lakeland to catch as much of the Rodney Howard-Browne revival
meetings as we could. Many times, we arrived just in time to get in the
prayer line and wait patiently as Brother Rodney would lay hands and
pray individually for the 10,000 people present. It was a sight to behold.
After completing Tampa Bay School of Ministry and becoming
licensed ministers, we enjoyed a “honeymoon” of sorts at The River
of Tampa Bay (Pastors Rodney and Adonica’s church). We were like
kids in a candy store. We often had to pinch ourselves to believe we
were really a part of this church. Many times, as Joe and Becky Cruise
would be leading us in worship, we would become so ecstatically
filled with the electricity of God flowing throughout our bodies,
we honestly could hardly stand. My spirit-man, like Peter on top of
the Mount of Transfiguration, would cry out to God, “Lord, this is
sooooooo goooood that we are here!” After each service, Brother
Rodney would line us all up and lay hands on us individually. He
would quietly walk down lines and lines of people and quietly say,
“Fill!” The Spirit of God would shoot through our bodies, and we
149
150 STEP 13
would be laid out on the floor for some more “carpet time.” It was a
glorious season of impartation and blessing.
When God opened the door for me to join the ministry staff at
Freedom Ministries Assemblies of God as associate pastor, I was filled
with mixed emotions. After all, this is what we had been called to and
trained for, but I didn’t want to leave The River of Tampa Bay. Brother
Rodney was like a Moses to me. With Pastor Rodney’s blessing, we
answered the call and made the move to Freedom Ministries. To say we
experienced some culture shock is the understatement of the century.
As Jean and I were called to the front of the church at Freedom
Ministries to be installed that first Sunday, I noticed something I had not
noticed before. We were the only white people in the building! I leaned
over and whispered, “Jean, did you notice we are the only white people
here?” The Lord had blinded her eyes as well, and we just chuckled under
our breath. My chuckles turned to sobs later that day when I learned
two families left the church because they had installed a white associate
pastor. I never even met the families. Although I was forty-two years
old, it was the first time I really felt the ugly sting of prejudice.
I got alone with the Lord and cried like a toddler who had his
red wagon stolen from him. “Lord, how is this going to work? How
are we going to pastor these people? They don’t even know us, and
they already hate us. What am I to do, Lord?” I don’t know what I was
expecting Him to say. The truth is, I wasn’t really even expecting a
reply. “Wash their feet,” He said. There was no further explanation.
He did not repeat Himself. There was not even a hint of sympathy in
His voice. It was a simple, somewhat-sharp instruction, like a Captain
would give a Corporal. I cried some more, but no longer from hurt or
self-pity. Now my tears were emerging from the crushing of my hidden
pride that was surfacing like an ugly oil spill.
The next Sunday morning was my first sermon as a pastor. I
preached a short message from John 13 and then asked the congrega-
tion to please remove their shoes. Jean and I got on our knees and went
person to person and foot to foot. I washed, and Jean dried. Some of
Can I Have Five Dollars for a Hamburger? 151
the people received what we were doing. Some did not. Some cried
with us. Some snickered at us. There were big feet, small feet, clean feet,
and smelly feet, but to us, they all became Jesus’ feet. Even today when
Jean and I suffer rejection or fall to pride or self-pity, we once again
turn to our place of healing. It hasn’t moved. It is found at Jesus’ feet.
Jean and I have often said that if we weren’t called to ministry, our
three years at Freedom Ministries would have “cured” us! People laugh,
but we’re not joking. We found out in short order why it is called “the
work” of the ministry. We were on staff only a few weeks when our
senior pastor, Steve, threw us the keys to the church (including the
ministry to the two dozen homeless men who lived in the church) and
said, “I’m going to Trinidad and Jamaica on an evangelism mission for
the next seven weeks. You watch over things.” Watch over things? Was
he kidding, or was this a test of some kind? It was certainly a test, but it
was no joke for sure. He was on the next plane out of there, and there
we were, these two rookie, licensed ministers who were supposed to
know what we were doing!
I was still working full-time as director of corporate support at
WEDU-TV, managing a million-dollar annual budget and supervising
a staff of seven of the finest people I had ever known. Senior manage-
ment at the TV station knew little of my “real” full-time job, nor could
they have understood. I would check on “the men” in the morning
before going to the station, check in with them on my lunch break,
and then Jean and I would check on things at church together in the
evenings. Tuesday night was prayer. On Wednesday night, we led our
mid-week service. Jean tried to teach interpretive dance to a handful of
the most disrespectful, belligerent, young women you could imagine
every Friday night.
We held two church services each Sunday and dealt with many
unexpected episodes among our homeless men, who lived upstairs in
the church dormitory. When the men needed food, Jean and I went
to the store and bought groceries. When there was a fight or a griev-
ance—like when Calvin started chasing the men around the church
152 STEP 13
with a hatchet at 4 a.m.—we were called upon. The good Lord said He
wouldn’t give us more than we could bear, but I questioned Him on
that a hundred times.
It was great to have Pastor Steve return from his missionary expedi-
tion, but he seemed very content in delegating most of the “work of
the ministry” to Jean and me. He did not have a lazy bone in his body,
so I choose to believe it was his fatherly wisdom allowing our mettle
to be tried and tested by the many baptisms of fire we endured. This
seemingly inhuman schedule continued from December of 1996 into
September of 2000. Pastor Steve knew how hard we were working
and, on three separate occasions, tried to insist we receive a salary.
The Lord did not release us to accept a dime. Besides, I was making
plenty of money at the TV station. In many ways, these were the most
grueling months in our lives. I would sit on the front pew, waiting
to get up to “bring the Word of the Lord,” holding back tears of pure
and utter exhaustion. My tank was empty, and I had nothing to give
the people. In simple, often grudging obedience, I would stand and
begin the thirty-foot walk to the pulpit. As I would make that short
walk to the pulpit, I felt as if gasoline was poured on me and ignited
before I reached the pulpit.
This was not a rare occurrence, but rather it became a way of life
for me. As faithless as it may sound, had the Lord not empowered me
to press on in those times, I would have thrown in the towel a hundred
times. As faithful as He always was to meet me in my weakness and
emptiness, I persisted in my distress and doubted each time before
I would preach, greatly fearing that He would one day allow me to
go to the pulpit without His fire, and it would be the instant end of
our ministry.
Years later, I heard of a man who had a vision of angels who stood
beside the pulpits of godly churches. As the preacher would stand to
preach, the angels would pour oil from golden vases into the minister
before he preached. Some may dismiss such tales as fables. I am one
who knows it is true. Hebrews 1:14 says, “Are they not all ministering
spirits sent out to serve for the sake of those who are to inherit salva-
tion?” If it were not for the reality of God’s angelic hosts and their
ministry to the saints, I most assuredly would not be writing you today,
much less continue making my way to His pulpit. God is faithful. We
are not alone. Truly, in our weakness, He shows Himself strong. He
is so very, very strong.
Jean and I cried out to the Lord for help on a regular basis. We
needed wisdom, which we didn’t have. We needed strength and energy
that seemed to be on such short supply. We needed patience and love
for the poor, hurting souls in our homeless program. We needed heal-
ing from some of the vicious words
spoken to and about us by people
who didn’t even know us. We needed
help and a lot of it. Many times, we
cried in our private times of prayer,
not understanding why God would
call us to this work that was so much
bigger than us.
Other than my bride, my “right
hand” in ministry was Mickey Z.
He was the homeless guy that got
saved on the streets of YBor City
in December of 1996. When Mickey
was sober, he could do the work
One of God’s special mira-
of five men. He was sober once for
cles, Purple Heart recipient,
nineteen months. Those who didn’t
Lt. Mickey Zorne gives his
know him, during that lucid interval,
testimony on the radio.
never really got to know him. Sober
or drunk, he became one of the best friends I have ever had. To me,
he will always be both an officer and a gentleman. He had served as
a medic in Vietnam and understood sacrifice, hard work, and what
it meant to serve others. He also had a contagious laugh and a thick
Philadelphian accent that couldn’t help but evoke a smile. Because I
worked at a TV station, Mickey thought I was playing a practical joke
154 STEP 13
on him when a camera crew showed up at the door of the church in

my absence and wanted a tour of the place.
Mickey “played along” and gave them the grand tour with his
unique humor and flare as they took all kinds of video. When I got to
church that evening, Mickey was poking fun at me as if “the joke was
up.” At first, he didn’t believe me when I told him I didn’t know what
he was talking about and had nothing to do with this TV camera crew.
As it turned out, the Los Angeles Mission was looking for a location
to start a Tampa City Mission, and they just happened to drive by our
church and “randomly” stopped in to check it out.
I met with their executive director and another wonderful
Christian minister by the name of Armando T. and listened to their
proposal. They wanted to pay us several hundred dollars a month to
rent a section of our large, old church that wasn’t being used, split the
cost of the church’s utilities, and take over the homeless men’s program!
I believe they interpreted my silence, which was prompted by pure
shock, as a negotiating ploy, so in addition, they promised to bring
in commercial freezers, redesign the kitchen, and cover all the food
expenses. God had answered our prayers and did “more abundantly
than all that we ask or think” (Eph. 3:20). Again, Jean and I cried in
prayer—this time with tears of joy!
Brother Armando and the folks from the Los Angeles Mission were
true to their word. The men’s program was reborn with excellence. State
of the art kitchen equipment was installed. Excellent, healthy food was
prepared, and the law was laid down like a military operation. Each
man was given responsibilities and held accountable to the letter. Our
friends, Mike and Debbie, were hired by the Tampa City Mission as the
full-time chaplain and on-staff nurse. The men were receiving regular,
godly counseling sessions by Mike and proper medical care by Debbie.
Ministry to addicts and alcoholics takes place in days, not semesters.
Progress is marked in inches, not miles. My prayers covered the work
Armando, Mike, and Debbie did with these broken alcoholics. Partly,
I believe, because I was one of them.
One Sunday morning, as I was preaching my heart out at Freedom

Ministries Assemblies of God in the inner-city of Tampa, a man in the
congregation caught my eye. It didn’t take a word of knowledge to
figure this fellow was probably homeless. He was a mess. His clothes
were filthy and tattered. His hair was matted, and from the distance
other people were sitting away from him, I concluded his hygiene
wasn’t all too good either. However, it wasn’t any of those things that
drew my attention to him. It was something else entirely. Sometimes
when I preach, the Lord highlights certain individuals with a slight
light that doesn’t make any real, earthly sense. It is as if they are sitting
close to a window and catching a soft ray of sunshine, only they’re
not near a window! Such was the case with this guy.
I delivered the mail, as I call it, as best I could. However, every time
I looked in this guy’s direction, it was as if a spotlight was on him. It
wasn’t as if this guy stood out like a sore thumb because of his appear-
ance. We had two dozen homeless men that lived in our church at the
time, so it wasn’t as if he was grossly out of place or anything. Yet, I
knew something was going on with him. I just didn’t know what. As
I was preaching, I would ask the Lord time and again, “What’s up with
this guy, Lord? Is there something specific you want me to speak to
this man?” I heard nothing from the Lord. At one point, I remember
becoming quite annoyed at the Lord (sorry, just being honest). Why
the Lord would highlight this guy to me and give me no instructions
whatsoever was beyond me.
As soon as the service was over, this fellow made a beeline straight
to me. He walked right up to me and said, “Preacher, can you give me
$5 for a hamburger at McDonald’s? I’ve got to walk to Sarasota today,
and I need to get something to eat before I go.” Sarasota is about fifty
miles from Tampa. That’s not exactly a Sunday stroll!
I explained to our visitor, “Sir, it’s not our policy here to give away
cash, but if you walk right through that door over there to our fellow-
ship hall, there are some people who will be happy to fix you a meal.”
156 STEP 13
He looked at me as if he didn’t hear a word I said and repeated,

“Can you give me $5 for a hamburger before I walk to Sarasota?”
I spoke a little louder and pointed to the door to the fellowship
hall. “Sir, if you will simply walk through that door over there, there
are people who are cooking food right now. You can sit down and
enjoy a meal. We even have showers and bunks upstairs, where you
can get cleaned up, get some clean clothes, and even take a rest before
your long journey.”
A third time, he asked me the same question. A third time, I invited
him to our fellowship hall. He sneered at me in disgust, turned on
his heels, and walked in a huff right out of the church. I stood there,
somewhat dumbfounded, as I watched him walk away.
Crazy things like this happen all the time in ministry, especially if
your church is housing a couple dozen homeless guys. However, this
was different. It seemed to haunt me. For weeks, I couldn’t get that
guy’s face off my mind. During my times of prayer, his face would
come to mind. A few times, I woke up in the middle of the night
from a dream where this guy was standing there asking me for $5 for
a hamburger. A hundred times or more I questioned the Lord. “Did I
miss it, Lord?” I asked again and again. “Should I have just given the
man the $5? Was I just being legalistic? Should I have bent the rules
for this poor soul?” A day didn’t go by when I wasn’t deeply troubled
by this one-time visitor.
Hebrews 13:2 says, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strang-
ers, for by so doing some people to show hospitality to strangers, for
thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” Could this have
been an angelic test, and I failed? Why was this haunting me so? We
had all kinds of serious needs pressing against us every day. Why was
this grubby guy and his Sarasota hamburger story troubling me so?
For the life of me I could not get released from this.
After searching my heart and seeking the Lord for weeks on this
matter, the Lord finally spoke to me as casually as you would ask some-
one to, “Please pass the salt.” He said, “That’s what My church is like.”
I didn’t understand. “What do you mean, Lord? I don’t get it.”

Again, He said, “That’s what My church is like. They come to Me
filthy and in great need and ask Me for a handout before they go their
own way. If only they would come to Me. If only they would allow
Me to lead them to My banqueting hall. I have a meal prepared. There
is real food and rest for the journey.”
I wept like a baby, not for the poor unfortunate who was probably
still schlepping his way to Sarasota, but for me. How often had I been
that man? How often had I asked the Lord for a hamburger, so I could
go my own way? How often had I turned a deaf ear to His invitation to
join Him in His fellowship hall? Song of Songs 2:4 says, “He brought
me to the banqueting house, and His banner over me was love.” The
last part of Song of Songs 5:1 says, “Eat, friends, drink, and be drunk
with love!” How often have we sneered in disgust at the Lord because
we don’t get our way? How often do we turn on our heels and stomp
away from our King’s heartfelt invitation to “come to Me, all who labor
and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28)?
That Sunday morning, as I was preaching at Freedom Ministries,
I did see a light on that pitiful, misguided, homeless soul. In my ar-
rogance, I thought I was being given some special enlightenment to
minister to him. I wondered if perhaps the Lord was going to give me
a prophetic word for him or a word of wisdom tailored just for his
need. No. The light the Lord shone on that man that morning was
the light of a mirror, a mirror illuminated to help me see the poor
and wretched condition of my own poverty of soul. Perhaps he was
an angel. I don’t know. All I know is hundreds of times I have cried
out to the Lord for something I thought would meet my immediate
need, and I see that poor, hungry man’s face and hear his voice like it
was yesterday: “Preacher, can you give me $5 for a hamburger before I
walk to Sarasota?” How about you? Have you been to Sarasota lately?
Our years at Freedom Ministries were rich, painful, rewarding,
and challenging, and we wouldn’t trade them for all the tea in China.
Pastor Steve was a spiritual Papa to me, and I will always be grateful
158 STEP 13
to the Lord for using him as He did. I didn’t always agree with him,
but when we did disagree, we were able to speak openly and candidly
with each other and always closed our discussion in prayer with a
mutual peace and respect. He was always supportive and enthusiastic
with every evangelism outreach we embarked on.
Higher Ground Ministries was born as the evangelism outreach
of Freedom Ministries. We called believers from various churches and
formed teams to go door to door, to children’s homes, to teen preg-
nancy centers, to prisons, to county jails, to half-way houses, to nursing
homes, on street evangelism, and on food and clothing give-a-ways in
neighborhood parks. Some churches invited us to come and minister,
but most (like many still today) looked down their religious noses as
we were obviously called to minister to “those kinds” of people. We
also continued to serve on Via de Cristo and Kairos prison weekends
as opportunities allowed.
Every year around July or August, Pastor Steve would say, “We need
to put up the tent.” I would always groan. It’s hot in Florida in July and
August and even hotter under that tent without air circulation. It was
all part of the Lord’s training. Like good soldiers, we would suck it up
and erect a large Gospel tent across the street on Martin Luther King
Blvd. and Tenth Street. We held open-air meetings night after night
for weeks at a time. I would leave those meetings like someone had
doused me with a fire hose.
One night, the Lord had given me a message specifically for
Christians. I started my message by saying, “Tonight’s message is for
Christians, so if you don’t know Jesus, and you want to invite Him
to become your Savior, please stand up.” To my surprise, a “lady of
the evening” sitting in the back row decked out in her “work clothes”
stood to her feet in tears. We joyfully prayed with her, and she invited
Christ to become her personal Savior. It was not uncommon during
those meetings for drunks to come right off the street and kneel at
our makeshift altar and bawl their heads off in repentance. Those
meetings were hard, hot, long, and glorious. Every time a soul came
to Jesus, our sweat became a baptism of joy.
The Lord began burdening Jean and me to plant our own church.
We knew full well that “unless the Lord builds the house, the builders
labor in vain” (Ps. 127:1), and we wanted no part of that. We prayed for
months and counseled with Pastor Steve and others we respected in
the Lord about God’s will and timing. The counsel we received was not
“if” but “when, where, and how” to plant this new, outreach-focused
church. We knew “in our knowers” it was God’s will. We just did not
want to miss God’s timing. God proved Himself faithful yet again.
Pastor Steve accepted the invitation of a big-name evangelist to
come to our church. I will refer to him as W.V.G. I had heard some
things about this guy, and the thought of his coming to our church
made my skin crawl. I held back no punches in letting Pastor Steve
know just how I felt. Like a patient grandfather, Pastor Steve listened
to my every word—and then didn’t change a thing. Pastor Steve was
the senior pastor, and I felt it was my duty to submit, even if through
gritted teeth.
W.V.G. came, and the place was packed out. Our sanctuary sat 700
people, and there was literally standing room only every single night.
The crowd was “on-fire,” and the praises filled the air like a lightning
storm, but I still had a sick feeling in my stomach about the whole thing.
One night, a man threw down his crutches and started running
all over the church yelling, “I’m healed! The Lord has healed me!” The
place went crazy. People were bouncing off the walls. The next day, I
received a telephone call from a sincere new believer in our church who
worked as a mechanic. He had been in the meeting the night before.
He said he was flabbergasted when he saw that guy throw his crutches
down and start yelling about being healed. He explained the fellow
on crutches was a regular customer of his (and a non-Christian). He
knew for a fact there was nothing wrong with him before he came to
the meeting. Because he was a regular customer, our mechanic friend
was able to look this guy up and ask him just what the deal was. The
160 STEP 13
man claimed W.V.G. personally approached him, as a total stranger, and

paid him $75 to pull this stunt. Our mechanic friend even got me on
a three-way telephone conversation with this poorly-paid actor. The
“miraculously healed one” explained to me the same scenario he had
conveyed to our new Christian friend.
I was livid. I wanted to go find this W.V.G. and punch his lights
out. I made a beeline to my pastor, and we had a two-hour pow-wow
with an emphasis on “pow.” I ranted and raved and held nothing back
regarding how I felt about this evangelist. Pastor Steve remained calm
and heard me out. He encouraged me not to jump to conclusions on
hearsay and pointed out how many people were getting saved each
night, and his niece actually did get healed from an affliction he knew
was 100 percent legitimate. His said we needed to “watch and pray”
and keep our eyes open for any proof of any wrongdoings. I loved and
respected my pastor and spiritual papa, but I was not the least little
bit consoled or in agreement. My mind raced a hundred miles an hour,
and many ungodly thoughts ran through my mind as to how I would
handle it if I were the senior pastor.
I got alone with the Lord and ranted and raved some more. I needed
to hear from Him like never before. This was outrageous. I knew God
healed, but these were just the kind of shenanigans that gave us char-
ismatics a bad name, and I was fuming mad. I yelled at God, cried,
and yelled some more. How could He allow this? What was I to do?
When He finally did speak to me on the matter, it was the last thing
I wanted to hear. He said, “Don’t speak to anyone except your pastor.”
This was perhaps the hardest test I have ever faced in ministry. Through
gritted teeth, I obeyed but went a few more rounds with Pastor Steve.
Pastor Steve was not convinced this guy with the crutches was telling
the truth, and he was seeing salvations he knew were genuine. W.V.G.
continued his crusade.
As an even greater test, Pastor Steve instructed me to bring the
offering teaching one night during this revival. I wanted nothing
to do with this guy and had not been to any of the meetings since I
learned of his little masquerade. I had never disobeyed my pastor. I

didn’t always agree with him, but he was my papa in the Lord, and
I loved him and greatly respected his forty years of experience as a
pastor. I still believe to this day that much of what he did was to test
my mettle and train me for future trials.
I prayed what the Lord would have me speak on concerning this
offering teaching. The Lord and I had a good laugh as He led me to
Galatians 6:7, “Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man
reaps what he sows.”
Although there were 700 people in the room that night, I spoke to
an audience of one. When I came to my scripture text, I stretched out
my Bible as far I could reach in W.V.G.’s direction and at the top of my
lungs shouted, “Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever
one sows, that will he also reap.” As the offering was being received,
I conspicuously left the meeting in a hurry, never to lay eyes on that
charlatan again.
A couple weeks after W.V.G. left, I had lunch with Pastor Steve.
We enjoyed a good meal together and shared some ideas for future
outreaches. We had a great time of prayer, and our fellowship was fully
intact in spite of our sharp differences regarding the crusade. God
had given me peace. The storm had passed. I felt as if I had passed the
greatest test in my ministry. In spite of a volcano going off inside of me,
I had obeyed the Lord and did not breathe a word of my great disgust
to anyone except my pastor. Before our lunch was over, I expressed to
Pastor Steve that I respected him, but following his instructions regard-
ing the W.V.G. crusade was the greatest test I ever faced in ministry.
Weeks and months passed as we continued to seek the Lord about
“when, where, and how” to plant Higher Ground Ministries as a non-
traditional, outreach-focused church. Two of the godly people we had
counseled and prayed with on the subject were my brother-in-law
and sister-in-law, Scott and Theresa. They had miraculously birthed
a Christian coffeehouse called the Upper Room in DeLand, Florida,
eight years earlier. The pastor who was holding church services at
162 STEP 13
The Upper Room every Sunday just took a prominent position as an

associate pastor at a large, affluent church across town, and the Upper
Room was soon going to be available.
We met with Pastor Steve and asked for him to release us and give
us his blessing concerning this new church God had put on our heart
to plant in DeLand. He was very gracious, and the church honored
us with a special Sunday morning “send-off” service. Pastor Steve
anointed us with oil and prayed a heartfelt blessing on our new church
plant, Higher Ground Ministries. His beautiful prayer blessed me al-
most as much as the little tear I saw sneak out of the side of this old
warrior’s eye.
A REVIVAL TO REMEMBER
MY RESIGNATION AS ASSOCIATE PASTOR from Freedom Ministries
was graced with Christian love, the blessing of our senior pastor, and a
first-rate send off by the congregation we had come to love and serve
over the past three years. It was also punctuated with the excitement
and promise of a new soul-winning work soon to be born. My resigna-
tion as director of corporate support at WEDU-TV was, in many ways,
not nearly as easy.
Sixteen years earlier, I had started with WEDU as an underwriting
representative, earning an annual salary of $20,000, with no benefits
whatsoever. Over the years, God had truly blessed the work of my
hands. By God’s grace, favor, and hard work, I was earning a six-figure
income, as well as national acclaim and the respect of everyone in
my industry. With three national PBS development awards under my
belt and a reputation for surpassing local and national underwriting
goals, I came and went pretty much as I pleased. Other members of
senior management would tease me about who I was going to play
golf with that day. It was common knowledge that only the president
was earning more money than me, and he sure wasn’t enjoying his
job as much as I. The Lord had brought me a long way from begging
quarters on the F-Train in Queens. Now I was calling a meeting with
the president and general manager to tell them I was walking away
from all of that to start a church from scratch in a small town on the
East Coast of Florida that no one had ever heard of!
It was no secret to them that I had been involved in Christian
outreach work for years, but they were shocked to learn I was resign-
ing from one of the best jobs in Tampa to start a church with no
163
164 STEP 13
members or income of any kind. I explained how I wanted to leave

in a way that would honor the Lord and make it as easy as possible
for WEDU. I gave them a three-month notice and my promise to help
transition my department in any way they felt best. Although I think
it is an understatement to say they didn’t fully understand, they were
as gracious and professional as any human beings could possibly be!
Much to my surprise, before my three-month notice was completed,
WEDU offered me a modest contract as a long-distance, part-time con-
sultant for them for the coming year. “Where God guides, He provides.
Where He leads, He feeds!” God must have dropped that idea in an
angel’s heart because without that unexpected income, we would have
starved for sure. We knew in our hearts God was calling us to plant
this church, but we no more knew anything about planting a church
than flying a plane, and neither of us had ever flown a plane before!
That “God is my co-pilot” philosophy was not going to cut it on
this adventure. He was going to have to be the Pilot, or this “plane” was
going to crash and burn for sure! God had prepared our hearts for many
years to make this leap of faith. However, as the writer of Hebrews 11:1
so aptly puts it, “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the
conviction of things not seen.” Along with the full assurance of God’s
presence and leading, there was also a definite ingredient of, “Wilbur,
are you sure you said this plane is going to fly?” Well, we weren’t the
Wright brothers, but this “plane” was at full throttle, and we were
about to find out!
What was a hundred times harder than leaving Freedom Ministries
or resigning from my rags-to-riches story at WEDU was leaving our
kids. DeLand is only two hours from Tampa. Yet, because we had
always been such a close family, it felt like we were moving to China.
Jimmy had come home from the Army and married his high school
sweetheart, and our first grandbaby, Elicia, had just been born. We
loved our kids more than our own lives and moving away was tough.
For reasons only God really knows, it was by far the hardest thing I
have ever done.
A Revival to Remember 165
All my life, all I really wanted was “a happy home.” God had so
richly answered that prayer. I love my kids so much. For me, it was
like Abraham laying His Isaac on the altar. Little did I know that God
would soon bring our precious children to DeLand to serve with us
in the ministry. Truly, God does “more abundantly than all we ask or
think” (Eph. 3:20). In my wildest imagination, the thought that those
precious “bobbins” of mine would one day follow us over in this ad-
venture of faith never once crossed my mind. If I had known that, my
heart wouldn’t have broken so. Therein is one of the true mysteries of
ministry and recovery. We must be broken. The psalmist said, “The
sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, oh
God, You will not despise” (Ps. 51:17).
Our 501(c) was formally approved in September of 1999. Higher
Ground Ministries of Central Florida, Inc. was born. We had formed
an advisory board with several godly couples we had known for more
than a decade. With my brother-in-law’s help, Jean and I immediately
took occupancy of The Upper Room coffeehouse in DeLand and began
holding church services there every Sunday morning. We would drive
over on Saturday, host a live, one-hour radio program in Daytona Beach,
stay over for our Sunday service, and drive back to Tampa that night
to fulfill my three-month notice to WEDU.
We were so excited to finally be released into our own ministry,
we hardly noticed there were only five or six people there on Sunday
mornings (and four of those had driven over from Tampa!). Connie
and our spiritual daughter Leslie were so incredibly faithful to make
the drive from Tampa to DeLand and back every Sunday morning
without fail. They did it with great joy! Before long, our son, Jimmy,
his wife, Melissa, and our granddaughter, Elicia, were also making the
250-mile round-trip to church each Sunday. Our church was on the
move like a herd of turtles!
We had a blast on our live radio show. We were flying by the
seat of our pants running the sound board. Some would say we
were “operating by faith.” Trust me, we were flying by the seat of our
pants! The Lord blessed our folly, however, and we played some great
166 STEP 13
contemporary Christian music, told jokes (my wife was becoming

quite the ham), and had some dynamite live interviews with musi-
cians, bikers, ex-junkies, ex-cons, Vietnam vets, and more. One of our
prison buddies, Jamie G., had recently been released from Zephyrhills
State Prison and came on the show as our guest of honor. It was great.
I even had the joy of doing one radio show with my sister Tica. My
sisters, Roxie and Tica, have always been a couple of my heroes, so it
was one of my favorite shows.
One Saturday night, Jean and I had a commitment at Zephyrhills
Prison near Tampa, so we weren’t going to be able to do our radio
show live that night. My brother-in-law, Scott, and our son, Jimmy,
said if we would tape the program, they would sit at the radio station
and man the prayer lines we always offered. They were at their posts
as promised as the recorded radio program was being played. A man
by the name of Charlie called in on the prayer line and explained he
had just been released from Putnam Correctional Institution in East
Palatka, Florida. He was staying in a hotel room in Daytona Beach with
less than $100 to his name and a transistor radio that happened to be
tuned into this program. When he heard the invitation for prayer, he
got up out of his bed, got dressed, and walked downstairs from his
hotel room to the nearest pay phone to call in for prayer.
Scott and Jimmy prayed earnestly with Charlie and then hung up
the telephone. They wanted to kick themselves because they forgot to
ask him if there was any way to get in contact with him in the future.
As Scott and Jimmy sat in the lobby of this unmanned radio station,
they suddenly noticed the sound of one of the air conditioners in the
control room was slightly coming across the airwaves. It is a cardinal
rule in broadcasting to never leave a “live mike” when you close down
a control board, but that is exactly what someone had done. Scott and
Jimmy knew absolutely zilch about how to run a sound board, but they
were convinced this microphone had “accidentally” been left on for
this very purpose. Jimmy got volunteered by his uncle to go on the
radio and say, “Charlie, if you can hear us, please call the radio station
back. We want to talk to you.”
Charlie had just gotten back up to his hotel room, undressed, and
gone back to bed. He turned his radio back on, and the first words he
heard were, “Charlie, if you can hear us, please call the radio station.”
Charlie got back up, got dressed again, went back down to the pay
phone, and called back! Scott and Jimmy took him out for a hamburger
after the radio show, and Charlie became one of our regular visitors
of Higher Ground Ministries. Charlie also introduced us to Chaplain
David M. of Putnam Correctional. As a result, we have held more than
one hundred revival meetings at Putnam Correctional and have seen
more than 1,000 men come to Christ at that one state prison alone.
All glory to God!
We have brought teams to Putnam C.I. for the last seventeen
Christmases with incredible results. The chapel at Putnam Correctional
has a big, old sign on the wall that says, “Occupancy of more than 150
persons is unlawful.” Three Christmases ago, our mouths were agog
as 209 brothers-in-blue filed into that little chapel. That represented
almost half of the prison population in one service. Chaplain M. said
the real Christmas miracle was the lieutenant-in-charge allowed that
many inmates to break the occupancy law. They play by the book in
prisons, and it was an incredible sight.
It was the largest number of people ever assembled in the chapel
at Putnam C.I. Thirty inmates gave their lives to Christ for the first
time that night. It was the greatest meeting our ministry had ever ex-
perienced—all because an ex-con who had been released from prison
only for three days was moved enough to get out of bed (twice!), go
to a pay phone, and ask for prayer. After attending Higher Ground
Ministries off and on for a few months, Charlie found a good church
closer to his home in Daytona Beach. The last we heard of Charlie, he
was serving there wholeheartedly and was gainfully employed. We
hear from Charlie every so often, and he is doing great!
168 STEP 13
Jean and I were trained to “respect those who labor among you” (1
Thess. 5:12). So, it was in that spirit we wanted to hold an entire month
of meetings throughout the month of December and invite pastors and
Christians from the surrounding churches to come and join us for a
time of worship. We also wanted to introduce ourselves and explain
to our new community who we were and what the Lord was calling us
to do as the “new kids on the block.” As I completed my three-month
notice at WEDU, we scheduled nightly revival meetings from Tuesday
through Saturday and then, of course, our Sunday morning meeting.
We advertised this month of revival meetings several times each
week on the radio. We took out quarter-page advertisements in the local
newspaper and hung flyers all over town. As December arrived, Jean
and I moved to DeLand, leaving our precious kids and our one-month-
old grandbaby to embark on this great church-planting adventure. We
just knew this month of revival meetings was going to jumpstart our
ministry. The first night of the revival came, and as the appointed start
time of 7:00 p.m. arrived, it was just Jean and I in the Upper Room.
We figured people were running late—as people often do—so we
went ahead and started our worship CD with our overhead projecting
the words onto the brick wall. We were the only ones there that first
night, but the Holy Spirit showed up, and we ended up having a grand
ol’ time—just the three of us. The same crowd showed up the second
night. We were so thankful for the Lord’s sweet presence, or we would
have been devastatingly discouraged. The third night came, and the
same crowd came yet again! We had been fasting and praying, and
I had a message just burning in my bones. During worship, I talked
with the Lord about how it was important that I make sure my wife
is fed spiritually, so I decided I would go ahead and give the message
the Lord had given me. When the worship ended, I gathered my notes,
went to the pulpit, and looked up, only to find my wife had gone to the
restroom! There I was, standing there at the pulpit without another
soul in the room!
We continued night after night to have revival. The Holy Spirit’s

sweet presence was there every single night. By the end of the month,
our meetings swelled to seven people, and two of them weren’t even
relatives! We really did have a month of revival meetings in December
of 1999. Sometimes it was just the Holy Spirit and us, but we learned
something so valuable from those meetings. We have never forgotten
that as long as the Holy Spirit shows up, it’s a good meeting!
The very same month we moved to DeLand, our prisoner friend
Thomas D. from Zephyrhills Prison in the Tampa area had been trans-
ferred to Tomoka Correctional in Daytona Beach. Quite a coincidence,
eh? God used Thomas to open the door for us to hold meetings at
Tomoka Correctional. In the past seventeen years, we have held more
than 400 meetings at Tomoka Correctional and have seen well over
a thousand decisions for Christ. Thomas is a “Timothy” to us. He’s a
spiritual son, and God’s love is eternally alive in our heart for him. I
received a card from him last week, and I am looking forward to paying
him a surprise visit soon. Thomas is just as “on-fire” for the Lord as he
was twenty-plus years ago when he surrendered his life to King Jesus.
He’s a true friend to Jesus and to us. As we have prayed for Thomas
over these many years, we have seen his sentence reduced from five
consecutive life sentences to seventy-two years and, recently, reduced
again to twenty-eight years. He has already served twenty-five years.
We look forward to the day, God willing, when Thomas will stand in
our congregation and give his testimony as a free man.
The door also opened for us to bring ministry teams into both
the men’s and women’s facilities at Coleman Federal Prison. We have
held dozens of meetings there and are always blessed much more than
we are a blessing. The men and women at Coleman welcome us like
royalty. We are always greeted with cheers, heartfelt applause, and
hungry hearts for the Gospel. Our drama team has made them laugh
and cry. Countless times, we have seen the hand of God bring many
of those big, tough guys to tears.
170 STEP 13
One of those big, tough, tearful souls happened to be a member of

our team during one service. It was my favorite service at Coleman. Our
good friends and advisory board members, Dan and Carol Ann, came to
Coleman Federal Prison with us not too long ago. Carol Ann is a gifted
hospice nurse. Dan served as a detective on the Saint Petersburg Police
Department for more than twenty years. He served in the homicide
division for several years and has witnessed the carnage of literally
more than four hundred murders. Needless to say, even though Dan
was a strong and committed Christian, he didn’t exactly have a “soft
spot” for criminals.
It took some years and some wooing of the Holy Spirit (and, yes,
some constant badgering by his friend Jim), but Dan agreed to come
into prison with us to minister to the inmates. It was quite something
to see this big, strong, decorated homicide detective melt like snow
in the presence of the Holy Spirit. His Christ-filled tears did not go
unnoticed by our brothers-in-blue at Coleman. Many prisoners were
saved that day, and one good friend tasted firsthand James’ powerful
scripture, “Mercy triumphs over judgment” (Jas. 2:13). Dan’s testimony
hit those men like a two-by-four, and Carol Ann’s kind words and
loving tones were like the healing balm of an angel.
After ministering to the men at Coleman Federal Prison, we al-
ways went to grab a bite to eat and then went back in to minister at
the women’s facility. Ministering to the women at Coleman Federal
Prison is indescribable. You just have to be there to understand. You
can be as “tough on crime” as you want to be. However, when you see
these women worship their Jesus out of the brokenness that comes
from being separated from their babies, husbands, and families, it
breaks your heart. As the psalmist says, “The sacrifices of God are
a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, oh God, You will not
despise” (Ps. 51:17).
Those ladies don’t worship, they “war-ship” with every fiber of
their soul, and the very atmosphere is filled with the love and power
of God. Not only that, some of those dear black sisters can sing. I don’t
mean “sing”; I mean saaaaang! Two of those sisters started singing, and
I thought someone was playing a CeCe Winans CD.
One day, our own Daisy D. poured out her heart in testimony.
As Daisy shared, a tidal wave of inner-healing hit that room. Dozens
of women were touched, blessed, and healed by the love and tender-
ness of the Holy Spirit. Another time, Jean started ministering with
words of knowledge and two rude, boisterous inmates just laughed
and mocked her for about half an hour. It was quite a sight as the Holy
Spirit suddenly “rang their bell,” and they ran forward and got saved!
We continued to press forward with our weekly church services at
The Upper Room. It was actually pretty comical that the Upper Room
was in a basement. Here we were, Higher Ground Ministries, meeting
at the Upper Room in a basement! The Lord sure has a sense of humor.
Along with our outreaches, we held Tuesday night prayer meetings,
Wednesday night worship and discipleship training, and Sunday morn-
ing worship. Our most important meeting was and remains to be our
Tuesday evening prayer meeting. One thing we have learned is that
prayer changes things. Perhaps more importantly, prayer changes us!
When we planted the work, Jean and I made a solemn vow to the
Lord that we would dedicate one hour for prayer every Tuesday night,
or we would close the doors and shoot the thing in the head. We have
honored that vow, and the doors remain open. Recently, our Tuesday
night prayer meetings have been about “eighteen-knees” strong, and
the sweet Presence of the Holy Spirit always shows up in a real, tangible,
and refreshing way.
It has not always been without discouragement. We have often
been discouraged, but God is so faithful. Jean and I have rarely, if ever,
been truly discouraged at the same time. Solomon says in Ecclesiastes
4:9-10, “Two are better than one . . . if either of them falls down, one
can help the other up.” So it has been for Jean and me. God is so
faithful. He gives us just what we need, just when we need it, and
172 STEP 13
usually not a moment before! Sometimes it’s a word of encourage-

ment. Sometimes it’s a badly needed financial gift. Sometimes it’s a
much-needed wakeup call.
One such wakeup call came the day after one of our Tuesday
evening prayer meetings. We were about six months into our work
at Higher Ground. The Sunday morning meetings were attended by
about twelve people. Most of them were family, and some, I’m afraid,
were there more out of sympathy than inspiration! Our Wednesday
evening worship and discipleship training was running about five
strong (including Jean and me). The meeting the enemy was using to
discourage me most, however, was our Tuesday night prayer meeting.
Here we were, six months into this new up-and-coming, fire-filled
church, and there were usually only three or four of us at prayer. To
me that was like a punch in the stomach every week.
Soon after we opened the doors to Higher Ground Ministries, a
local crack-addict by the name of “Sister-T” happened by one of our
services. She was hungry for freedom. The Holy Spirit was present, and
that girl was set free. She was with us for more than two years and
was free as a bird since that first night we prayed. One night during
our Tuesday evening prayer meeting, it was another booming turn-
out. There were four of us. There was Sister-T, a friend she brought
by the name of Lisa, Jean, and me. I led the prayer meeting as best I
could, but inside, my heart sank to the pits of discouragement. Even
as these sincere ladies prayed, I silently contemplated just throwing in
the towel, moving back to Tampa, and resuming my life of prosperity
and prestige. I was so filled with discouragement and self-pity that I
didn’t hear half of what they were praying.
I brought the prayer meeting to a close as politely and quickly as I
could. I remember being silently annoyed that, even after I successfully
closed the prayer meeting rather swiftly, they all seemed to just linger
and yak (or “fellowship,” as we call it in “Christianese”). I couldn’t wait
for them to finally leave, so I could go home and have a well-deserved
pity party. They finally did leave. I glanced down the street as Jean and
I went to our car and noticed Sister-T and Lisa still yakking away. Um,
I mean fellowshipping, of course. After all, I am a pastor!
That was the last time I saw Lisa. Incredibly, she choked to death on
her dental space maintainer that night. Oh, how I missed God. What a
prideful fool I was to condemn our little prayer meeting when one of
its members was just hours from heaven. It was a much-needed wakeup
call to snap me out of my self-pity. Connie was right in teaching her
daddy 1 Cor. 15:58b: “Be ye stedfast, unmovable, always abounding in
the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not
in vain in the Lord.”
Gary was another semi-regular member of our prayer group. He
was a struggling fellow alcoholic, who gave his life to Christ in one of
our Wednesday night services. He was one of the most likeable souls I’d
ever met. He was so appreciative any time we had him over for dinner.
At first, we thought he was a little mentally-challenged because of his
unusual walk and slightly slowed speech. We learned Gary had been
in a terrible auto accident years earlier. He had been in a coma for six
months, in the hospital for almost a year, and in a wheelchair for five
years. He was told he would never walk again. Through prayer, grit,
and God’s grace, Gary beat the doctor’s prognosis. He walked up and
down the twelve or so stairs to The Upper Room, at his pace, always
without a groan or complaint.
Over time, we learned Gary was actually a very intelligent man
with an incredible, though somewhat dry, sense of humor. He was
always a joy to be around. He was one of those rare people you meet
who had been through so much and had come so close to death, he
had a piercing awareness that none of us were promised tomorrow. I
think Gary had more fun than anyone whenever we went to prison.
He, too, died unexpectedly a few days after one of our prayer meet-
ings. His death was “suspicious,” and many believe he was murdered
in a drunken brawl. No one knows for sure as the case of his being
found dead from severe trauma to the head was never solved. He’s in
heaven now. No more hangovers. No more shame. No more pain. He
174 STEP 13
is forever sober and free and, no doubt, running up and down those
streets of gold.
Although people stayed away from our church services by the
thousands, the Lord smiled big on every outreach we embarked on.
We were determined of heart to be “fishers of men” and not “keepers
of the aquarium.” The Lord birthed and blessed this passion in our
hearts like a fire. He would then fan this fire into flame as we saw the
elderly cry with joy as our interpretive dance team would minister at
the nursing homes. Jean and I knelt and prayed with a husband and
wife who had been a missionary team to China for more than fifty
years. They thanked us for praying for them. I felt as if we had just
laid hands on royalty. I believe, indeed, we had.
We heard the laughter of God flow like rivers out of the mouths of
orphans at children’s homes. The Spirit of God would always meet us
in a special way as we would go to our favorite children’s home, The
Carpenter’s Children’s Home in Leesburg. We would always bring who
and what we could. Sometimes it was a vanload of thirteen people
with clothing and toys and food. Sometimes it was just a few of us
with hugs and prayers and a small love gift. For the last seventeen
Christmases, we have had the joy of showering these future nation-
shakers with gifts and treats. It is we who are blessed to give to such
champions of heart.
Most of the eighteen kids’ lives were literally rescued from hellish
situations and life-threatening illnesses in Haiti. Some have very large
heads from water on their brains. Some are blind and deaf or have
Down Syndrome or serious heart and lung disorders. All have the love
of Jesus in incredible measure and worship the Lord unabashedly. We
buried one little girl, whom the Lord took home a couple of years ago.
It was the smallest casket I had ever seen but the largest faith I ever
witnessed as Mama Linda talked about how her little one now was
walking on streets of gold with Jesus.
Our “drive-by blessings” are always a blast. One night, Jean and I
did a “hit-and-run” to a dirt-poor family that had no running water.
The kids used to bathe with the water hoses of the businesses across
the street after they closed for the evening when no one was watching.
We dropped off a couple of the heaviest bags of groceries we could
carry and some toys for the kids and simply hit them with a “Jesus
loves you very much” before making a beeline back to our car. The
fifteen-year-old boy in the house chased us out to the car and said,
“Excuse me. Before you leave, could you please tell me what it means
when people say we are living in the last days?” Our hearts rejoiced
to share the good news of Jesus with this young man, and we joined
hands with him on his front lawn as he invited Christ to become his
Lord and Savior.
We have seen God’s mercy rain on addicts in halfway houses and
detox centers. We have heard poor, black children in the inner-city
Chisolm Community Center shout with glee as they would win a
new bike given in the name of the Lord. One night during a Chisolm
Community Center outreach, we held a drawing for a $50 cash prize.
After the outreach was over, the husband of this newlywed, homeless
couple, who had won the prize, came up to us and praised God that
he was going to be able to bring his bride to a hotel that night instead
of sleeping again in the woods. We witnessed thirty salvations that
night. The team had the joy of the Lord as they gave out hundreds of
hot dogs, sodas, and grocery bags filled with canned goods.
We sought the Lord to do something special to celebrate our first
Easter in DeLand. We rented the entire City Island Park in Daytona
Beach and prayed for an outreach to honor the homeless and anyone
else who would like to attend. We promoted the outreach on the radio,
handed out flyers, and sent letters of invitation to dozens of churches
in DeLand and Daytona Beach.
We hired a large, loud, contemporary band and set up enough
chairs and bleachers for hundreds. The front row seats were marked
with individual signs marked “reserved.” They were reserved for our
guests of honor, the homeless. Our team of thirty-five Christians
from several different churches and denominations started that Easter
176 STEP 13
morning with holy communion at the park. Then we rolled up our

sleeves and served. The team served more than 1,000 hot dogs, sodas,
chips, and candy bars. We gave away hundreds of items of clothing
and hygiene packs, Bibles, shoes, sneakers, hugs, and smiles. Our team
had been trained that when they spotted a homeless man or woman
to escort them to the front row and take their request as to how they
would like their hot dogs prepared. They were then served with dignity
and the love of Christ. It was quite a sight!
We had an Easter egg hunt (Easter eggs stuffed with scriptures and
dollar bills). We had a face-painting booth for the kids of all ages and a
prayer booth. Theresa and Chris painted faces of all colors, shapes, and
sizes. Jan, a professional Redken hairstylist, gave thirty-five shampoos
and haircuts to our guests of honor. Every fifteen minutes, we inter-
rupted the festivities to hand out socks, t-shirts, gift certificates, and
other items that had been donated.
We had several different musicians, and our interpretive dance
team performed a beautiful drama-dance. Before our “main event”
big band finished performing, they blew the entire sound system out.
There was not even a microphone that worked. I had prepared an Easter
message but now, without any sound equipment, I didn’t know if I
should even try to yell over this crowd. I prayed and asked the Lord if
I should still give the message He had given me. He said, “Ask them!”
There were a couple hundred people still there, and about fifty
of them were our homeless guests of honor on the front three rows.
Many of these special guests were far less than sober. I opened my Bible,
held it out to them, and said, “Gentlemen, I have prepared an Easter
message for you. But if you don’t want to hear it, then I don’t want to
give it. I’m not interested in yelling over anybody here. But if you are
willing to listen, I will give you what God has given me.”
You could have heard a pin drop in that park for the entire mes-
sage. Our homeless friends sat as quietly as school children at Sunday
School and listened with their whole hearts. It was holy ground, and
their reverence made it so. Two dozen came forward and gave their lives
to Christ that day. At least half of them were our homeless guests of
honor. I will forever remember the tears of repentance that fell from
the faces of my fellow drunks as they cried to God for mercy. Their
tears formed small streams that left clean stripes on their dirty faces.
Truly, “With His wounds we are healed” (Isa. 53:5b).
A SIGN AND A WONDER
OUR FIRST YEAR AT HIGHER Ground Ministries was spent in the
basement of The Upper Room. It was a special place to me because of
my brother-in-law’s sacrifice and the many miracles the Lord did to
open it as a Christian coffeehouse. Somewhat prophetically, I had been
honored to bring the first sermon at The Upper Room on its opening
night nine years earlier. Little did I know that almost a decade later,
we would pastor a church there.
The Upper Room was a great spot for a Christian coffeehouse. As
a matter of fact, it is still a Christian coffeehouse today. However, as
a church facility, it had some real limitations. It was in a basement.
You could reach up and touch the ceiling. Our children’s church area
consisted of a small corner down a dark hall next to a boiler. It had no
windows, a bad mildew problem, and the two air conditioner units
that were so loud they sounded like a 747 getting ready for take-off.
We cleaned it up as best we could. We held many meetings where
the New Wine of the Holy Spirit flowed so freely, I often had to hold
onto the pulpit to stay on my feet. People often fell out in laughter
or broke down in tears from the genuine sweet presence of Jesus that
filled that room. Many times, people claimed their pains or problems
would just lift right off them during our worship time. Drunks came
and felt at home. Addicts and prostitutes came, and some were set free.
We had one woman with a multiple personality (actually a legion of
demons) come for a while, but I finally had to ask “them all” to leave.
God loves humble places of new beginnings, but they are not al-
ways the best attended. Remember Bethlehem? The Lord certainly
smiled on that humble stable, but other than a couple of sheep, some
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180 STEP 13
young shepherds, and maybe an ass or two, it wasn’t exactly “standing

room only.” So it was at Higher Ground Ministries for the first year.
For me, it was like riding on the front row of the Kumba roller coaster
at Busch Gardens. We would have these wonderful, genuine moves of
the Holy Spirit during service. We all would be touched and blessed and
encouraged by the Lord. Then I would go alone to the church to pray, and
I would feel like the biggest fool and failure on earth. Oh, how the devil
would taunt me and lie to me. “You had it all; you came from nothing, and
you had it all. Now look at you. You have nothing. You’re a joke, a laugh-
ing stock, a failure, and this place will never make it.” I would wrestle in
prayer, often until the devil would pin me in my self-pity. The exhilarating
praise and laughter of Sunday morning would often deteriorate to private
tears and deep despair by Monday afternoon.
“Lord, we’ve been at this for a year and have been as faithful as we know
how. We have served You with our whole hearts, and we are a laughingstock.
We don’t even have twenty members, and half of them are family. We have
no windows. We can’t even raise our hands fully to praise You without
hitting the ceiling. I can hardly hear myself preach over those blasted air
conditioners. Many of those ‘friends’ in Tampa who said they were behind
us are so far behind us, we can’t even see them!” On and on I would cry, like
a spoiled child who had grown bored with his new ball and jacks. Self-pity
is a terrible thing. Like quicksand, it can slowly pull you under until all that
remains are bubbles in the sand. Oh, but God is faithful!
After getting back from Israel in February of 2000, we received a call
from a representative from the AEGA (Association of Evangelical Gospel
Assemblies). They had learned of our outreach activities and invited me
to consider applying for ordination with their association of more than
40,000 Full Gospel ministers worldwide. The more we learned of their
organization, the more interested we became. Jean and I agreed to attend
their annual conference in Monroe, Louisiana, meet with their president
and staff, and check them out. We were very impressed with their integ-
rity, mission, and statement of faith. They were also quite thorough in
checking us out as well! After a thorough review of my college transcripts
A Sign and a Wonder 181
from Brooklyn College and Tampa Bay School of Ministry, they solicited
several letters of reference from pastors under which we had served for
the previous decade. It was a great honor to be formally ordained by five
of the AEGA bishops from three different countries.
One morning before the conference sessions began, I was standing
in the lobby of the AEGA Worldwide Headquarters, having a cup of
coffee with a pastor from Vietnam named Pastor Jack. I casually asked
him how his ministry was going in Vietnam. Without intending to, I
hit a raw nerve. Tears immediately welled up in his eyes as he explained
how a good friend and fellow evangelist on his staff was holding an
open-air Gospel meeting in a Vietnamese rice field just weeks before. As
his friend stood preaching the Gospel with his Bible open in his hand,
a sniper’s bullet came from nowhere and took his life. The man’s three
small children were in the small, outdoor congregation, listening to their
dad preach as the shot rang out. The murderer was never apprehended.
When I got back to the Upper Room, I got on my face before God
and cried a river of repentant tears. I solemnly vowed to the Lord
to never again complain about this wonderful, safe, air-conditioned
sanctuary He had so blessed us with. Attitude is a powerful thing! My
perception of ministry was ever changed over one cup of coffee with
a quiet, humble pastor from Vietnam.
I resigned myself to serve the Lord in that basement until Jesus
came back, if He willed it. A couple days later, Jean and I drove by a
little, geodesic-domed building next to a small lake in DeLand. The
owner of the building happened to be inside doing some minor repairs,
so we stopped in and struck up a conversation with him. We fell in
love with the place. Not only was it on a beautiful little lake, but it also
had large windows that basically comprised four of its seven or eight
walls and a twenty-two-foot ceiling. I looked up at these high ceilings,
complete with skylights, and heard the Spirit of the Lord whisper,
“Let’s see you touch that, Son!” I knew the place was going to be ours.
The only problem was that this landlord was playing hardball, and
the church didn’t have enough money to cover all of his particulars.
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The $700 monthly rent was incredibly reasonable for this place, but he
brought a realtor in (who needed a fee). They wanted the first month’s rent,
the last month’s rent, and a security deposit. Those expenses, plus the
insurance, activation of the utilities, and other necessities were stretch-
ing us way past our comfort zone. I explained we were going on a trip
to visit my sister Tica in South Carolina, and we would be back in touch.
Days later, we were in South Carolina. Tica and Larry welcomed us to
their home with their rich, southern hospitality—as they always did—but
they also had a surprise guest waiting to have dinner with us. It was my
Aunt Mary, whom I had not seen in about ten years. We had such a wonder-
ful visit. Aunt Mary’s mannerisms and stories reminded me so much of
my Grandpop, it was actually a little spooky. Before we said good-bye that
night, Aunt Mary asked if we would come to her house and say good-bye
before we headed back to Florida. I told her we would love to.
Before we left her house that next day, Jean and I knelt down be-
fore her and asked her to pray for our ministry. You must understand
that this dear woman has been a committed Christian for longer than
we’ve been walking the earth. Jean and I later said we felt as if we were
in the presence of a general in God’s Army. As we got ready to leave
she said, “Jimmy, there’s something here I want you to have,” and she
casually handed me an envelope. I thanked her, tucked the envelope
into my pocket, and hugged her neck good-bye.
I don’t think we were out of the driveway before Tica, who’s always
been wiser than me, said, “Jim, open up that envelope and see what she
gave you.” Tica almost drove off the road as I began counting a fistful
of hundred dollar bills. There were fifty of them! Little did Aunt Mary
know, she had just opened our new church. I got on my cell phone
that day and called that landlord and told him we had a deal and to
get the paperwork in order. We signed a two-year lease just days after
we returned to DeLand and immediately began cleaning the place up
and moving our chairs and sound equipment.
Several weeks after we planted our church in The Upper Room, we
had a beautiful, customized sign made. It displayed our Higher Ground
Ministries logo and our service times. It cost us more than $500 to have
made, which was like $5,000 at the time! We wanted it to be first-class.
The monies for the sign came from checks from prisoners, widows,
recovering crack addicts, alcoholics, and a small handful of partners
from Tampa who were battling cancer or other chronic illnesses, single
moms, and retired correctional officers. Certainly, these were those
who would fit the description of the most unlikely supporters. It gave
the sign special meaning to me.
Because of who really purchased the sign, it was always more than
just a physical sign to me. It was a sign that often reminded me that we
were not alone and that our ministry had touched some lives, and we
were making a difference. As I would go to church and look at that sign,
I would be reminded of the prisoner serving a life sentence at Tomoka
Correctional who got saved in one of our meetings and was sending us
his $5 monthly tithe check. That was “his sign.” I would think of our
friends in St. Petersburg who, while undergoing chemo treatments, after
enduring a radical double mastectomy, faithfully sent us $50 each month.
That was “their sign.” Another such partner was a single mom working
twelve-hour shifts seven and eight days in a row as a nurse to support
her two kids. That was “her sign.” The simple truth that some people
believed in us and what we were doing enough to put their money where
their mouth was often kept me from throwing in the towel.
So, ten months later, when it was time to relocate our “stuff” to
our new church facility, there was never a question in my mind that
our sign was coming with us. During this time, a strong, young man
named Kevin had just gotten saved and joined our church. Kevin had
served in the U.S. Army for six years repairing Blackhawk helicopters.
Because he earned the distinction of sergeant while in the service, I
still call him “sergeant” to this day. While Sergeant Kevin was dutifully
removing “our” sign from the side of the building, I was across the
street talking to my brother-in-law, Scott, at his restaurant.
Much to my surprise, my wife, Jean, came running in the restau-
rant all shaken up, saying the owner of the building had just screeched
184 STEP 13
up in his car, jumped out, and was raising his fist at her, calling her
names and ranting and raving like a lunatic about us taking our sign.
At first, I was remarkably calm as I walked across the street to see what
was going on. I remember being comforted to see there was already
a uniformed police officer there on the scene talking to the building
owner. Our new convert, Kevin, was just a few feet away, leaning up
against a nearby parked car.
I walked up to the three gentlemen and said, “Good evening,
Officer.” This police officer, who looked like he had just graduated
high school, answered me with silence. I then initiated a calm, but
stern, conversation with our former landlord by saying, “I would ap-
preciate it if you would not curse at my wife or ever raise your hand
at her again. Do we understand each other?” He ignored my question
and started ranting and raving about how we were thieves, that the
sign (with our church name and logo on it) belonged to him, and that
we were stealing his property.
I was still remarkably calm at this point and assured him we were
not thieves and that the sign was obviously ours. I also reminded him
of how we had paid our rent early every month for the past twelve
months and had invested thousands of dollars into “his” building
with new commercial carpeting and floor tiles and had donated two
perfectly good air conditioners just to be a Christian witness to him. I
further reminded him of how, after giving him a month’s notice as to
our not renewing our lease, we physically brought him a new tenant.
He completely ignored my best efforts to reason with him and
changed his slanderous ranting into calling me a liar. He started sticking
his finger in my face yelling, “You’re a liar.” Then his teenage stepson
came out of the building and got shoulder-to-shoulder with his step-
father and started yelling in my face as well. He then started shouting
about how “we Christians” hid our screwdrivers and wrenches in our
Bibles, so we could steal people’s property when they weren’t looking.
Up until this point, I remained remarkably calm. I was stern and
direct but had not raised my voice or uttered one syllable I regretted.
However, like that great “theologian,” Kenny Rogers, once said, “Ya
gotta know when to fold ‘em.”14 I was getting so hot under the collar,
I was on the verge of what we Pentecostals call, “getting in the flesh.”
I knew I was about to lose my temper, so I literally turned around and
started to just walk away from the entire situation.
I got about six strides away and heard, “Go ahead. Run away, you
coward!” Much like in the old Abbott and Costello film when the
word “Niagara Falls” was mentioned, “Slowly I turned, step by step,”
got nose-to-nose with this poor judge of character, and said, “I’m right
here.” Except it wasn’t a calm, quiet assurance that I was close by for
any personal support he may be in need of. It was a “I’M RIGHT HERE”
that could be heard in the next county.
As I continued to exuberantly remind this fellow of my where-
abouts, his stepson started to bang his forehead against the side of my
head and scream his choice words. I never raised my hands or made
any body motion whatsoever. I simply stood my ground and repeated
stating my whereabouts about a half-dozen times with as much volume
as I could muster. That’s when the police officer said the first words I
heard him utter, “You’re all under arrest.”
Things quickly quieted down as the young ruffian and I were
cuffed and ushered into the back of the officer’s patrol car. I wrongly
assumed that the police officer had only two pairs of handcuffs and
the landlord, who was most assuredly included in the officer’s “You’re
all under arrest,” would soon join us as another officer would be sum-
moned to the scene. As it turns out, he never joined us.
As I was, for the first time in my life, being walked through the
humiliating process of being handcuffed; stripped of my freedom,
shoes, belt, and belongings; and having a mug shot taken, I couldn’t
help but find it all really pretty comical in a way. After escaping arrest
and surviving bar room brawls and countless shenanigans during my
active alcoholic days in New York City, I was never arrested. Now, as
14 Rogers, Kenny. The Gambler. United Artists. UA-LA934-H, 1978, LP/Album.
186 STEP 13
I was living for Christ and the leader of one of the most active prison
ministries around, I found myself to be a pastor-in-the-pokey!
I was placed in a cell that was obviously used as a drunk tank. I won’t
gross you out with all of the evidence that drew me to that conclusion. I
didn’t have any earthly idea how long I was going to be there. I assumed I
would at least be spending the night, so I laid down on my back on the cell
floor and started to sing, “Surely the Presence of the Lord is in This Place.”
He really was. In a unique way, I experienced a closeness with Christ I had
not known before. As I was locked up in this dark and disgusting place,
I thought of my brothers-in-blue who were incarcerated for decades and
lifetimes. In some minute way, I understood their plight just a bit more.
I thought of my Jesus, as He had been put in a deep dark pit, before He
took my place on Calvary’s cross. I found myself praying for the young,
punk stepson with the foul mouth. Truly, the Lord was in that cell with
me. In spite of the filth on which I was laying, it became holy ground.
I was incarcerated for only about thirty to forty minutes. Soon
after my brother-in-law, Scott, found out I was in the slammer and
let the lieutenant on duty know I was a relative (and a pastor), I was
released. I’m quite sure my early release had a great deal to do with
the fact my brother-in-law makes the best subs in town and is gener-
ous to the police officers who frequent his restaurant. My case was
investigated, and the charges of “disorderly conduct” were dropped.
The Higher Ground Ministries sign, purchased by the sacrificial
giving of many of the least likely ministry partners, was moved to our
new church building. As far as anyone ever having to wonder if I am a
thief or a liar or a coward, all I can say is, “I’m right here!” It is Jesus’ sure
promise that if we are faithful to preach the Gospel, “signs and wonders”
will follow. We have indeed found His words to be true! His sign did
follow us, and it’s a wonder I didn’t haul off and deck both of those guys!
Martin Luther had a problem with the epistle of James. Luther was
such a “justified by faith alone” kind of guy, and James banged home
the point that “faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead” (Jas.
2:17). Luther often referred to James as “the straw apostle” and his letter
as “the straw epistle”— mainly because it ran cross-grain to his call and
convictions regarding our being “saved by grace alone.” If I were to
choose a “straw verse” in the Bible, it would be found in Ephesians 4:26,
where Paul said, “Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down
on your anger.” I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. My
dad once confessed, “I haven’t lost my temper. I still have mine.” I kid
you not when I tell you I still have my temper, too. It remains to be my
greatest character defect, sin, and shortcoming.
I did deserve to be arrested that day in front of my church. I needed
to be humbled in front of my new church member. It helped me to
be utterly humiliated, smack in the middle of my new hometown. As
much as I would like to rationalize my anger because of the obvious
injustice or to justify my actions because I broke no earthly law, I broke
heaven’s law, and that is a much more serious offence. 1 John 2:6 says,
“Whoever says he abides in Him ought to walk in the same way in which
He walked.” I didn’t walk like Jesus in that confrontation. My flesh
got the best of me, and my conduct was unbecoming of a minister of
the Gospel. It really is only by the grace of God I didn’t flatten those
two heathens, and it really is hard to lead people to Christ after you
punch their lights out! That post-pubescent police officer may have
saved Higher Ground Ministries that day without me even knowing it.
Consider Moses—he, too, “was a basket case” from the time he
was a kid. He, too, was sent away from home without any vote in the
matter to go to the best private schools. Then the first thing he does
when he finally comes into some awareness of who he really is, is
punch out an Egyptian and kill the poor guy. That’s right. Moses, the
great deliverer of God’s people Israel, was a murderer. Try that one on
for size if you are one of those “tough on crime, too squeaky clean to
dirty my hands with those nasty people in prison” Christians.
I’m quite sure the “sun went down on Moses’ wrath” many a day.
Has the sun ever gone down on your wrath? How about two suns or a
week? When is the last time you got “fighting mad”? We recently coun-
seled with a couple I’m going to marry six months from now. They are
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madly in love and have been engaged for about three or four months.
I asked them how often they fight. They said, “Fight? Oh, we’ve never
had a fight!” Jean and I, who have now been married forty years, had to
hold back our laughter. Jean and I quit talking about divorce thirty-five
years ago, but we certainly discuss murder from time to time!
Not only did the sun go down on Moses’ wrath, but also on his dream
and destiny. After beating a man to death, God gave Moses forty years
of “time out.” Then the Lord appears to Moses in the burning bush and
gives him his marching orders to lead His people out of Egypt. You’ve
got to hand it to Moses. He was given a tall order, and he faithfully and
courageously did as he was told. Not one time, but ten times, he went
boldly before Pharaoh and commanded the “Big Cheese” to “let my people
go.” Then (after hail and frogs and flies, oh my!), he led a million or so of
his closest friends out of Egypt, ran into that whole Red Sea thing, and
had one heck of a time! No sooner did they get to safety, his “faithful”
started murmuring and complaining. So, they turn a four-month journey
to the Promised Land into a forty-year wilderness nightmare.
Remember those Ten Commandments? Have you ever stopped to
think there were actually Twenty Commandments? Oh, yeah. Moses got
so angry over that golden calf party, he smashed the first ten into tiny,
little pieces and had to go back to the Lord and get a new set. Have you
ever been so disappointed with people you work for, you wanted to just
sing that Johnny Paycheck song, “Take This Job and Shove It”? Have you
ever been so disappointed with your spouse that you wanted to take that
marriage covenant and smash it into tiny pieces? Have you ever been in
a traffic situation and the driving skills and courtesy of a fellow traveler
has been substandard to the point of raising your blood pressure?
Can you imagine the conversation Moses must have had with
the Lord as he tried to justify why he smashed the Holy Law God had
written on stone with His own fiery fingers? “Well, uh, Lord, they, uh,
had this golden calf party, and it really ticked me off.” What might
God’s response have been, “Uh, Moses, remember our Egyptian friend
in Egypt and the funeral you created? It seems like we’re still dealing
with a little anger problem here, Moses. I tell you what. Take these two
tablets, and call me in the morning!”
Aren’t you glad God is a God of second chances and third chances
and fourth chances and more? If He wasn’t, we wouldn’t be embroiled
in all this hoopla as to whether it is constitutional for us to display the
Ten Commandments in public. There would be none! Have you ever
totally blown it, and God has given you a second chance or a third or a
seventieth? He will if you ask Him. He told Peter he needed to forgive
his brother “seventy times seven” (Matt. 18:21-22). Surely the God who
created the stars and calls each one by name is bigger than Peter.
I’ve often wondered where in baseball we get the rule “three strikes,
and you’re out.” Maybe it came from our friend Moses. He blew it big
time with whacking that Egyptian and then again with smashing God’s
holiest handwritten letter. That’s two strikes. You would think old Moses
would have been cured of his deep-rooted anger problem after all that
manna, quail, and personal inventory in the Shekinah presence of God.
Nope! He was obviously “still in recovery” because he blew it again. “To
whom much was given, of him much will be required” (Lk. 12:48).
Moses had been given much. So, when his grumbling band of
ungratefuls whined for more water, he went again to the Lord on their
behalf. “They’re whining again, Lord. They won’t stop complaining.
They’re driving me crazy. We need water, and there’s none around
here in this wilderness.” God told Moses, “Speak to the rock, and I
will supply the water.” I’m convinced it does not require a doctorate
in theological exegesis to deduce Moses was tired, frustrated, and still
angry. Perhaps he was angry at his congregation. Perhaps he was angry
at God. Perhaps he was angry with himself. He was probably angry
with all three. In his anger, he struck the rock instead of speaking to
the rock, and it cost him his life’s dream and destiny. As a result of that
one action, God basically said, “Strike three—you’re out.” Because of
his anger getting the best of him, God said, “Moses, because of your
disobedience, you will not enter the Promise Land. You will stand
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from afar, and I will allow you a glimpse, but you will not enter in,”
and so it was (Num. 20:8-12).
When we were in Israel, we stood atop Mount Nebo, where Moses
stood and glimpsed the Promised Land he longed and labored so hard
to enter but never did. As we rode in our tour bus from Mount Nebo
into Jericho and the Promised Land Moses so strived for, I could not
help but thank God for His grace. I was thankful for the awesome
privilege and blessing of physically entering this Holy Land, but I was
also thankful for His grace by which He has helped me manage my
anger and stay away from that first drink, “one day at a time.”
Are you greater than Moses? No, let’s face it, you and I are not. Each
day is both a gift and a responsibility. Life is full of promised lands
and wildernesses. There are rocks in the wilderness, my friend. Maybe
alcoholism or addiction is not your “rock in the wilderness.” Perhaps
it’s an invisible stench of self-righteousness. If we’re not careful, we can
become so desensitized to it, we no longer even smell its stink. Believe
me when I say that chokes the nostrils of God worse than any drunkard
or druggie. Maybe that’s where the church “pew” got its name!
Perhaps your wilderness is the apathy that has slowly crept into
your marriage over many years. “Speak to the rock,” my friend. His
name is Jesus. It’s okay to be angry with others or yourself or even to
be angry with God. But be careful not to “strike the rock,” for you do
not know how many “strikes” God may allow or how many days you
have left. “‘In your anger do not sin’: Do not let the sun go down while
you are still angry”—which is just a fancy way of saying, “live one day
at a time.” If you will purpose in your heart to speak to the Rock, Christ
Jesus, each day, you will find water will flow, even in your wilderness,
and you will enter into your Promised Land. Your dream and destiny
will become your “new normal.” Look at what God has done with me
and my family. He has led us to DeLand, and, because of His Presence
and promises in our lives, our lives are flowing with milk and honey.
You could say we are living in “DeLand of milk and honey”!
THE DOME YEARS
THE NEW LOCATION FOR OUR church was a big step up for us. We
had room for fifty-five chairs in the sanctuary and on the small balcony.
There were also two small, side rooms we used for the children’s church
and nursery and a small kitchen. The building was situated by a small,
spring-fed lake, which we utilized regularly for baptisms. During the
three-and-a-half years we met there, we baptized about twenty souls
in that lake. We also caught a number of large-mouth bass, weighing
four to five pounds. We had a number of picnics, canoe races, and
youth meetings there. It was a great location for our lively little group,
and we all enjoyed the added rooms for our kids.
Our vision for outreach didn’t change at all, and we didn’t miss
a beat, leading teams to serve in Putnam Correctional, Tomoka
Correctional, Coleman Federal Prison, the Alliance Retirement Home,
the Carpenter’s Children’s Home, Drive-by Blessings, and more. Our
Wednesday evening meetings shifted to more of a hands-on outreach
ministry training night. After our lively time of worship, we shared
practical helps in ministry training and also encouraged many on
the team to come forward and share a testimony, a message, a song, a
drama or dance.
We saw many on the team go from being petrified to speak in front
of people to boldly sharing their testimony or a Gospel message. No
transformation was more dramatic than that of Daisy. She joined our
ministry early on at the Upper Room. Although Daisy was faithful to
join us every Tuesday for prayer, she was so shy she literally couldn’t
pray out loud. It wasn’t long before Daisy was sharing her powerful
testimony on Wednesday nights and then in prisons in front of 100
or more prisoners!
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If I were to summarize the most wonderful things the Lord did

during The Dome years, it would be along those lines. Many of our
thirty or so members have grown into effective preachers, teachers,
and outreach ministers. God is not a quadriplegic! He desires to move
through His entire body.
When Jesus spoke of Satan, He said he was “a liar and the father
of lies” (Jn. 8:44). Personally, I believe Satan has only two great lies.
I believe his first great lie is a lie he speaks to the hearts and minds
of non-believers. He whispers in the ears of non-believers and says,
“You don’t need all that Jesus stuff. You’re okay without all that. You’re
a good person.” Yet the scriptures make it very plain, “If we say we
have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us” (1 Jn. 1:8).
Jesus said, “I am the Way and the Truth and the Life. No one comes
to the Father except through me” (Jn. 14:6). Jesus is not some optional
religious icon. He is the living Lord of glory, and He earnestly desires
a real and personal relationship with us!
If we really “let go and let God,” then we “let God be God”! We
won’t try to turn Him into something He’s not or try to make Him fit
into our “box.” We must search out the scriptures and examine “who
He claims to be”! We must be willing to trade in our preconceived no-
tions as to “who we think He is” and exchange any misconceptions in
for truth. Jesus told the truth when He said, “Seek, and you will find”
(Matt. 7:7b). As we seek Him out in the scriptures, we find He is indeed
just who He claims to be. He is the one true God. He is the God of
Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He is the God and Father of our Lord Jesus
Christ. He is our Abba Daddy and, if we invite the Holy Spirit (the
“Spirit of Truth”) into our hearts, He will indeed lead us and guide us
by the power of His Spirit (Rom. 8:14).
I believe the second great lie of the devil is a lie he speaks to the
heart and mind of the believer. He says something like, “Just because
you have that Jesus-thing going on, don’t think you’re really okay.
You aren’t worthy to do anything for God.” That is one of the most
prevalent and powerful lies known to man. If the devil can convince
The Dome Years 193
you and me that we are not worthy, he can silence our voice before
we utter a word. The truth is none of us are worthy! That’s why Jesus
came and died on the cross! If we receive God’s free gift of salvation
through a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, then our sins (past,
present, and future) are forgiven! If we really believe that, then we
have something to shout about! Remember, a man with a testimony is
never at the mercy of a man with an argument! If we are truly forgiven,
we should find some way, somewhere, somehow to share that great
news with the world!
God was at work during those many years Jean and I felt so called
to ministry, although we had no real open door. As much as we have a
passion to see people come to Christ, we earnestly want Christians to
get off their “blessed assurance” to use their ministry gifts and callings
for God’s glory! That’s where we find the “sweet spot” of God’s grace.
It doesn’t take people long to realize if they hang around with us, we
are going to prod them out of their comfort zone and into some form
of outreach ministry activity. For many, this has been a big turn-off,
and they have run from Higher Ground Ministries just as fast as they
could. However, many others are growing in God’s grace and walking
into their calling in a mighty way.
We had several wonderful “Drive-by Blessings” (as opposed to
drive-by shootings!) during The Dome years. We would put together
a dozen or so bags of groceries stuffed with good things, pray, and
break up into four groups going in different directions. We asked
the Lord to direct us to needy families, and did He ever. One night
during a “Drive-By Blessing,” Jean and I “randomly” picked a humble
house not far from the church. When the woman answered the door,
Jean and I explained we were Christians and simply wanted to drop
these groceries off as an expression of God’s love. The woman started
to boo-hoo right there and then. She told us that she was a Christian
but was very discouraged because her two teenage daughters had left
her, and her only son had died less than a year before. She had come
to a place where she didn’t know if God still loved her. She said thirty
194 STEP 13
minutes before we arrived, she had prayed, “Oh, God, if you still love
me, please send me a sign!” She followed us back to the church, and
we had a great time of fellowship and prayer.
Business guru Tom Peters wrote a book that deals with the power
of our outlook and attitude in our daily life. Let’s face it, we all need
help in this area! Zig Zigler once said, “Most folks need a check-up
from the neck-up to get rid of their stinkin’ thinkin’!” Never have I
seen the dramatic difference in people’s attitudes more clearly than I
did one night after one of our “Drive-by Blessings.”
We surprised our Tuesday evening prayer group with a serendipi-
tous “Drive-By Blessing.” When the small group of prayer warriors
came in to lift up the needs of others, we had the grocery bags packed
and ready to be taken to the streets. The next day, the reports of what
took place started to come in. The initial response of two different
couples was classic. One couple looked at each other—as soon their
car door was closed, and they were alone—and said, “Can you believe
we get to do stuff like this!” Another couple just several feet away also
commented to each other right after their car door closed and said,
“Can you believe we have to do stuff like this?” I guess I don’t have to
ask you which couple soon left the church and which couple is still
with us! Attitude is a powerful force.
Thank God for people who are willing to combine action and
prayer. The apostle James said, “ . . . Faith by itself, if it does not have
works, is dead” (Jas. 2:17). I say, faith without action is no faith at all. We
can pray the Lord’s Prayer or the Serenity Prayer until we are blue in the
face. Until we start to do what we pray, we are just kidding ourselves.
Whether we are in recovery from sin or substance abuse, we must do
more than “talk the talk.” We must “walk the walk.”
Several young couples got married and started families during
those years at The Dome. Connie and Brian were married at a Daytona
Beach church right after our first Thanksgiving. One of the toughest
things I ever did was walk my little girl down the aisle, then turn
around and unite her and her hubby-to-be in marriage. Leslie and
The Dome Years 195
Kevin got engaged and decided to have their wedding right there in
our geodesic, little sanctuary. Our little church never looked as good
as it did after Leslie’s mom and aunt got finished fixing things up.
They had a beautiful wedding, and it was an honor joining those two
in holy matrimony.
About a year later, three of our young women (Melissa, Jennifer,
and Leslie) were all expecting babies at the same time. We named the
three of them “our church growth committee”! If we had known that
Jennifer was pregnant with twins, we would have designated her as
the committee chairperson! Our niece Christine was soon married,
and after a year or so, she and her husband, Scott, also had a baby.
They named him Dominic in honor of their uncle who went to heaven
eleven Easters before. Around that same time, our third grandchild,
James Alton IV, was born. It began to appear we were going to grow
this church the old-fashioned way—one baby at a time!
We facilitated more than 100 outreaches during our three-and-a-
half years in The Dome. In our first four years of ministry, we literally
saw more than 1,000 decisions for Christ. More than one-third of those
were first-time decisions to invite Jesus to be his or her Savior. The
others were people who had come back to Christ and recommitted
their lives to Him. Some were prisoners, some homeless, some orphans,
some addicts, and some seniors. We all need a Savior!
Jean and I took another big step of faith in October of 2002 when
we both became convinced it was time for us to trust God entirely
with our finances. Up until that time, I had been working part-time
as a consultant to PBS, and our income was guaranteed. Our little
congregation of about thirty has always been unique in many ways.
One way it is unusual is that about ninety percent of our lively flock
tithe by bringing ten percent of their income to the church. Even with
our congregation consisting of generous givers, most are not wealthy,
and it was a real stretch for Jean and me. We again felt the “nudge of
the Spirit” to step out of our comfort zone and press on to Higher
Ground in faith.
196 STEP 13
God has been so faithful. We have not lacked a thing. Yes, there
have been times of doubt and discouragement. There have been many
such times. Yet God has seen us through each valley. The simple
truths of “letting go and letting God”—trusting the Lord with all our
hearts—and “living one day at a time”—that’s what Jesus told us to
do in Matthew 6—have empowered and sustained us to continue to
“walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Cor. 5:7).
Have we arrived? By no means! However, we have discovered
that victory, just like success, is a journey and not a destination. In
many ways, our ministry is just like the bumble bee. They say that
aerodynamically speaking, the bumble bee should not be able to fly.
The only problem is nobody told the bumble bee! It really does not
seem possible that we are doing what we are doing at Higher Ground
Ministries. In the natural way of looking at things, it really doesn’t
make sense. How can a congregation of fifty people with a recovering
alcoholic pastor be impacting 1,000-plus lives each year? The answer
really is very simple—by the grace and mercy of God . . . one day at a
time, that’s how!
With all of our babies running around the church, we really needed
a better facility for the kids. We searched the area and prayed for
months. We approached a local Seventh Day Adventist church. Since
they hold their meetings on Saturdays, we offered to sublease their
building. It was not available. We considered holding our Sunday morn-
ing meetings on Saturday night and put a proposal in to a nearby
Episcopal church. They turned us down. We made them a counter
proposal with more money on the table, and they still turned us down.
One morning, while Jean and I were praying about our needing
better facilities for our kids, Jean felt like the Lord tell her, “The answer
is under your nose.” I believed the Lord did speak to her, but also felt
like, “Great. Now just what does that mean?” Within two weeks’ time,
Jean and I were swinging our granddaughters, Elicia and Gina, at a
nearby park. As we were swinging the girls, I noticed a little, white
church in the distance I had never noticed before.
The Dome Years 197
As it turned out, it was a Spanish church that worshipped Sunday

afternoons at 2:00 p.m. and didn’t use the church at all on Wednesdays!
We signed a lease with them for the same rent we were paying. We
held our Sunday morning and Wednesday evening meetings there for
more than three years.
As the Lord would have it, September 15, 2004, turned out to be
Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year). That was the date when, at fifty
years of age, I completed my bachelor’s degree in biblical studies with
Omega Bible Institute & Seminary. Earning a bachelor’s degree had
been a personal goal of mine since I was sixteen years old. Although
I was fifty years old when I realized this goal, it confirmed a promise
God makes to each and every one of us in Philippians 4:13, “I can do
all things through Him Who strengthens me.”
Someone once said, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your
plans!” Lord knows, I sure have provided heaven with more than my
share of laughter. Most of what we have accomplished has been done
“the hard way.” Most of what we have learned in ministry has been by
learning “what not to do.” One thing we can say with full assurance
is that “[God] rewards those who seek Him” (Heb. 11:6).
I have absolutely no doubt that if God can take Jean and me and
bring us from where we were and use us in ministry, He can take the
most troubled couple, alcoholic, or addict and redeem their life as
well. As a matter of fact, it seems to be God’s specialty! He delights
in taking the foolish, broken things of the world and restoring them,
filling them, and using them for His honor and glory. We are but dust
fused to Glory!
So, as I asked you long ago, “Do you want to get well?” If you do,
you can. As a matter of fact, if you call upon the Lord, it is His sure
promise you will! It may not be in the way in which you think or ac-
cording to your timeline, “But seek first the kingdom of God and His
righteousness, and all these things will be added to you” (Matt. 6:33).
If you are a struggling alcoholic or addict, today can mark a new
day for you. God is no respecter of persons. What He did for me, He
198 STEP 13
will most certainly do for you. If you have been going to A.A. or N.A.
meetings and find yourself falling and failing your way into oblivion,
why not add the Gospel of John to your arsenal? If it was good enough
for Bill W., why shouldn’t it be good enough for you?
Perhaps you are a Christian and, in spite of going to church
every time the doors are open, your joy has somehow slipped away.
Remember Step # 13: “Drink!” Drink in the New Wine of God and don’t
settle for being a hearer of God’s word—be a doer (Jas. 1:22)! Find some
fellow Christians who are reaching outside the four walls of your
church and hook up with them.
As you raise “Others” as your battle cry, you will have your joy
restored and will again find yourself where you need to be. “Where is
that?” you ask. It is right in the middle of your first love relationship
with Jesus. So, what do you say? Do you want to get well?
LOOK WHAT THE
LORD HAS DONE
I LOVE TRUE-STORY MOVIES. I especially love those little updates at
the end of true-story movies where you learn what happened to the
main characters in the film. October Sky is such a movie. It’s the true
story of a coal miner’s son who wants nothing to do with becoming a
coal miner. In spite of his father’s disapproval, the young man follows
his passion for building rockets. At the end of this touching film, we
learn that this young man’s following of his dream results in him
becoming one of the leading NASA engineers responsible for design-
ing the rocket engines utilized for the entire Apollo space program.15
It is my hope that the updates in this last chapter of Step 13 will be
received in that way. You see, I completed writing Step 13 in 2004. For
the last couple of years, the Lord has been tugging on my heart to pull
Step 13 off the shelf, update it, and send it off to our publisher.
Much has happened over the past thirteen years. Many wonderful
things! One thing which hasn’t happened is me picking up a drink.
Staying away from that first drink, one day at a time, has proven to
be a winning strategy. Paul admonishes us in 1 Corinthians 1:31, “Let
the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.” And so I rejoice and boast in
what the Lord has done. Truly, He is a way-making, life-changing,
attitude-rearranging, fear and bondage-busting God, and He loves us
with an everlasting love!
On December 17, 2016, Jean and I celebrated our fortieth wedding
anniversary in Maui, Hawaii. Imagine that! Jim and Jean celebrating
15 October Sky, directed by Joe Johnston (1999; Universal City, CA: Universal
Pictures), DVD.
199
200 STEP 13
forty years of marriage. Yes,

God has truly done immeasur-
ably more than we could ask or
imagine. Kayaking the beautiful
waters of Maui is a long, long way
from panhandling quarters on
the F-train in Queens!
But even more wonderful
than the exhilarating whale-
watching expeditions or the
many beautiful sunsets Jean and
I enjoyed in Maui is the blessing
of a happy marriage and team
ministry. Oh, we’re far from per-
fect and certainly still have our
differences. However, God truly
has worked with us, as we have
worked with Him, and, because Jim and Jean in Maui
of that, we truly do celebrate the
miracle of a happy marriage.
In Dr. Paul Hegstrom’s book, Broken Children, Grown-Up Pain,
Hegstrom says, “If you’re teachable, it is fixable.”16 How true! Eight years
ago, at a marriage conference, I discovered one small Greek word that
changed our marriage and ministry forever. The word is kephale, and
I encourage every man reading this to Google it, study it, and take it
to heart. In short, when Paul tells us husbands that Christ is the head
of the man, and the man is the head of the wife (1 Cor. 11:3), the word
he uses for “head” in this scripture is the word kephale. This is a charge
for us husbands to serve as a “fountain head” to our wives—not as a
big boss.
16 Hegstrom, Paul. Broken Children, Grown-Up Pain. Kansas City: Beacon
Hill Press, 2006.
Look What the Lord Has Done 201
This simple illumination has resulted in Jean and me having a

much happier marriage and a more balanced team ministry. Now, with
forty years of marriage and twenty-plus years of full-time ministry
in our rearview mirror, I have found the true riches of our faith and
recovery are found in having a blessed marriage.
Jesus wants all of our relationships to be blessed. That’s what the
cross is all about! God went to great lengths on Calvary’s cross to re-
store our relationship with Him and to bring wholeness to our souls,
so we could enjoy healthy relationships with others. He has blessed
Jean and me so. Truly He is our Wonderful Counselor!
John the Beloved said he
had “no greater joy than to
hear my children are walk-
ing in the truth” (3 Jn. 1:4).
Wow! Can we ever boast in
the Lord about our kids (who
are now pushing forty)!
Our son, Jimmy, and
his wife of eighteen years,
Melissa, are now our asso-
ciate pastors. After serving
faithfully as our incredible
Celebrating Jimmy & Melissa’s in- children’s ministers for fif-
stallation as Associate Pastors with teen years and graduating
Dr. Jerry Savelle our fully-accredited ministry
school, Jimmy and Melissa
were ordained and now serve diligently at Higher Ground Ministries.
They also are incredible parents to our three beautiful teenage grand-
kids—Elicia, Gina, and Jimmy IV. Jimmy and Melissa are now strong,
mature Christians who have served side-by-side with us on the mission
fields of Honduras; Bullhead, South Dakota; the streets of New York
City; and much more.
202 STEP 13
Our amazing granddaughters, Elicia and Gina, are now beautiful

and talented high school girls who sing like angels on our HGM wor-
ship team. What we are even more thankful for is that they truly love
Jesus! Our grandsons are also growing in stature and grace. Jimmy is
our avid fisherman; David is our soccer star; and Joey is our football
player and University of Central Florida enthusiast. Each one is active
in our church and called of the Lord.
I often say, it would have been enough if our kids just grew up
and loved and served the Lord somewhere. For all of us to serve King
Jesus together in the same church for these past seventeen-plus years
truly is “immeasurably more than we could ask or imagine.”
Jean and I continue to serve as senior pastors of Higher Ground
Ministries. However, we are passing the baton more and more to
Pastors Steven and Connie.
Since writing Step 13 thirteen years ago, our daughter, Connie, and
her first husband, Brian, survived a painful divorce. Connie was preg-
nant with their second son, Joey, at the time. Jean and I lost touch with
Brian for the next four years. It was difficult. We never stopped loving
Brian, but life has its way of throwing us curve balls.
Connie and Brian’s divorce impacted all of us but no one more than
our worship leader, Steven. At 420 pounds, Steven had been morbidly
obese since high school. Many times during Tuesday night prayer,
we would hear Steven stretch his faith and ask God to bring him a
wife. “Lord Jesus,” he would pray, “send me a wife. Send me a wife
like Connie.”
When Connie became single, Steven got even more serious with
the Lord and diligent in prayer. This resulted is Steven and I sharing
one of the most special times of prayer I have ever been a part of. On
this one very special and unforgettable evening, I witnessed Steven
forgive someone he had held severe bitterness toward for many, many
years—himself! In the simplicity of one heartfelt prayer, Steven forgave
Steven for something which happened decades before. The shame and
guilt which had imprisoned him in his 420-pound frame for so many
years bowed its knee to

the King of kings.
In the next year, as
Steven began courting
Connie, he lost more
than 150 pounds. When
St e v e n a n d C o n n i e
married nine years ago,
Steven had lost more
Pastors Steven & Connie Mueller or- t ha n 20 0 pou nd s. It
dained as Pastors of Higher Ground’s was a beautifu l wed-
Revival Center Community Church. ding, which I was mega-
blessed to officiate. Jean,
Connie, and Melissa made us all cry with their anointed interpretive
dance to the song, “Forever Love.” Steven has kept the weight off all
these years. I often say Steven is half the man he used to be physically
and twice the man he was spiritually.
Connie and Steven both graduated with honors from my alma
mater, Omega Bible Institute and Seminary. We had the joy of ordain-
ing them seven years ago during our first Sunday service in our new
church building. We installed Steven and Connie as pastors of Higher
Ground Ministries and share the pulpit with them on a rotating basis.
You can enjoy a beautiful video about Steven and Connie on our web-
site. You may want to have some tissues when you click on “Steve’s
Story.” Jesus still brings tears of joy. It’s the original holy water!
After ten years of wandering like nomadic Bedouins, renting five
different church buildings throughout DeLand, God graced us with the
wherewithal to purchase our own beautiful church. Through a series
of mini-miracles, with a Buddhist realtor, we successfully purchased a
Unitarian Universalist church. The Unitarians were selling their church
because they were buying the Christian Scientist’s church! There wasn’t
a Christian in sight, but Jesus orchestrated the sale like a Beethoven
symphony. For more than seven years now, we have been celebrating
204 STEP 13
the Lord in our beautiful, sixty-seat, cedar A-Frame church, launching

outreaches and missionary teams and seeing many come to Christ.
Some moments we have shared at our new Higher Ground home
will forever be etched in our hearts and history. One such cherished
moment took place when Jean’s sister, Theresa, shared her testimony.
Just a few months later, she lost her courageous battle with cancer.
Theresa had been our greatest cheerleader in ministry. We constructed
a handicap-friendly playground in Theresa’s honor, and the whole
town came out for its very special dedication. The whole town, that
is, except our dear friend, Mickey Z.
Mickey, who had been a “Timothy” to us since that fateful night
he came to Christ on the streets of YBor City, lost his life three years
ago to a different foe—alcohol. A few days before his death, Jean found
Mickey drunk on the side of the road with paramedics attending him.
The paramedics asked Jean if she knew him and if they could put him
in her car. She agreed, but she didn’t know where she would bring him.
However, this would prove to be the last farewell to their knowing
each other on the earth.
As they were driving, Jean told Mickey she loved him. Mickey said,
“I love you and Jim with all my heart.” Jean asked our old friend where
he wanted to go. He had her stop the car next to a wooded area nearby.
Mickey kissed her hand and said good-bye, and Jean watched him as he
walked into the woods. He died alone in the woods in a sleeping bag
we gave him when we couldn’t persuade him to put down the drink.
Our sanctuary was packed during Mickey’s memorial. We cel-
ebrated Lieutenant Mickey Z. with full military honors and buried his
ashes underneath a small memorial behind the cross which proudly
stands in front of our church.
Yes, God has been busy blessing us beyond what we could have
asked or imagined! God not only graced us with the blessing of pur-
chasing our own church building, but He also paid it off in full. Our
dream of one day being completely “out of debt” has been realized.
Along with our beautiful church building, our home and both cars
are also completely paid for.

We have no credit card debt
or debt of any kind. Quite
remarkable if you flip back
to the first few chapters of
this book and read about
that painfully-poor and
dysfunctional couple that
were so poor they couldn’t
pay attention! Look what
the Lord has done!
Truth be told, the rich- Higher Ground’s fully paid for, all
est breakthroughs have cedar Revival Center Church in
not even been the finan- DeLand, FL.
cial ones!
About four years after Connie and Brian divorced, there was a
knock at our front door. It was Brian. Our prodigal son came home.
For the next four hours, he poured out his heart and sincere apolo-
gies. God’s grace fell like rain during that surreal reunion, and we
were healed. It wasn’t many months later that Brian and his new wife
explored the possibilities of joining Higher Ground Ministries. Steven
and Connie and almost everyone in our lively fellowship received Brian
and Lauren and their kids with open arms and open hearts. Lauren
took to Higher Ground like a duck to water, and Brian was home again
where he belonged.
I still call this restoration “God’s miracle of grace.” Many times, the
Holy Spirit will stop me in my tracks when I see Connie and Steven
and Brian and Lauren piling into the same car on the way to an out-
reach or prison meeting. I often hear the Spirit whisper, “Look what
the Lord has done!”
Lauren is a bright and talented woman who sings beautifully on
our HGM worship team. Brian is working on his doctorate while he and
206 STEP 13
Lauren serve as deans to our Higher Ground School of Ministry. That’s

right! Higher Ground School of Ministry!
About five years ago at about 4:30 a.m, I was lying on the couch,
minding my own business, when the Holy Spirit descended on me
like a warm blanket. The Lord shut down my Bible study! I heard him
say, “Write.” I grabbed a legal pad and began to write. Like a man scrib-
bling directions from someone who is giving them way too quickly,
I scribbled sixty-seven different topics on this legal pad. I heard the
Lord say, “Out of the ashes, I will bring forth a pearl. Many pearls will
come forth and dwell close to My heart and bring Me honor.”
For the next sixty-seven Wednesdays, I taught on these topics the
Lord had impressed on my heart. Week one was on the Gospel of John.
So, all week long, I prayed, “Lord, what would You have me teach on
from John?” The next week’s topic was the New Testament, and so my
prayers would center there all week. Jean and I would share from the
scriptures and our experiences, as the Lord would prompt us, and so
were born the classes for Higher Ground School of Ministry.
This Spirit-born routine repeated itself for the next sixty-seven
weeks. At the end of this season, we found ourselves with sixty-seven
classes which, not surprisingly, had an emphasis on outreach and
training outreach ministers. The curriculum for Higher Ground School
of Ministry (HGSM) is true to form in the ecumenical spirit enjoyed
by Via de Cristo and Kairos. We took to heart St. Augustine’s charge,
“Unity in the essentials, diversity in the non-essentials, charity in all
things.” HGSM budded forth as naturally as a Florida orange tree bring-
ing oranges.
“Information, impartation, and activation” is much more than a
marketing slogan; it is the heartbeat and life’s blood of this unique
and anointed ministry training school.
I don’t say HGSM is anointed in a prideful way. It’s not our anoint-
ing; it’s His! When we go where He says, “Go,” and do when He says,
“Do,” we walk into that which He anoints. Obedience is key.
Within a couple of years, HGSM was accredited and recently re-

ceived fully accredited status by the same international accredita-
tion commission which accredits RHEMA Bible School and Kenneth
Copeland Bible College. We give all glory to God for the more than
eighty graduates and fifty current HGSM students. We marvel at what
the Lord has done as several HGSM graduates now serve as pastors,
associate pastors, chaplains, and more.
Dean Brian and I have worked closely with a local graphics com-
pany and, with much thanks to Brian’s expertise, birthed Higher
Ground School of Ministry Online with a state-of-the-art, user-friendly
website. We have watched as the Lord has birthed HGSM satellite cam-
puses in Merritt Island, Florida; Soweto, South Africa; Nairobi, Kenya;
and in Putnam Prison in East Palatka, FL.
Those HGSM graduates who are not new believers and are serving
faithfully in a Bible-believing church receive a ministerial license. A
small handful of graduates who have additional formal training and/
or significant ministry experience receive ordination.
We know full-well that ministerial credentials in themselves can
be as worthless as the paper they are printed on. However, with proper
training and the anointing, ministerial credentials can open doors of
opportunity to expand the Kingdom of God.
In 2 Timothy 2:2, Paul instructs us to teach faithful believers who
will “teach others.” What joy it gives us to see the Holy Spirit bring
good fruit from the lives and ministries of so many HGSM graduates.
Several of our licensed ministers (many of whom also have a master’s
or bachelor’s degree) now do exceptional work as online instructors
for our HGSM Online School. You can learn more with the click of a
button on your iPhone or computer at hgsmedu.org. Look what the
Lord has done!
You may remember me sharing about our Zephyrhills Kairos
brother-in-blue, Thomas D., who was originally sentenced to five con-
secutive life sentences for killing five people while driving drunk on
I-75 twenty-five years ago. Well, he is now the administrator for Higher
208 STEP 13
Ground School of Ministry at Putnam State Prison in Palatka, Florida.

Thomas become a “spiritual son” to us soon after he gave his life to
Jesus in the small chapel at Zephyrhills Prison on that very special
Kairos weekend we shared in 1995.
Well, a few years ago, the Lord put it on my heart to bring the
HGSM curriculum to Putnam Prison. However, we didn’t want to
burden Senior Chaplain Dave M. (who, along with his dear wife, Carol,
have become two of our dearest friends on the planet over the past
seventeen years). At just the right time and much to our amazement,
Thomas was transferred to Putnam Prison. Thomas, with Chaplain
Dave’s full blessing, now uses his significant administrative gifts to
facilitate two HGSM classes each week. He does so with the precision
of a Swiss watchmaker.
Thomas was surprised during our first HGSM Graduation at
Putnam Prison. While the other twelve graduates received certificates
of completion, we were released by the Lord to honor Thomas with
a well-deserved ministerial license. I said earlier the richest break-
throughs we have experienced have not been financial. So true! We
have witnessed the amazing grace of God touch and change so many
lives—far more than those two dysfunctional kids from Queens would
ever have imagined.
By God’s Grace, we have led seven mission teams to Honduras. We
have watched the Holy Spirit bring hundreds of souls to the saving
knowledge of Jesus in remote villages, on soccer fields, in schools, in
orphanages, and more. We have seen the deaf hear, the lame walk, and
many bound by demons set free right before our eyes.
One night in an open-air meeting with more than 300 hungry
Honduran souls, the power of God hit the meeting the moment Jean
and Wings of Praise began to dance. Many instantly fell out in the
Spirit, rolling on the sawdust floor. We knew many angels were present.
Many came to Christ that night.
My favorite mission field is the hell-hole called Central Prison in
San Pedro, Sula, Honduras. Built to hold 800 men, this awful place
is home to 2,200 prisoners, who live in murderous squalor with one

meal a day. Yet the light shines brightest in the darkness, and when
we minster there, the presence of God is palpable, and the men are
desperate for God.
Our team was overjoyed a couple years ago as the Lord led us to
minister to the Lakota Indians in
Bullhead, South Dakota. Our hosts
had warned us how the brutalized
and oppressed Lakota people did
not receive from the white man,
and they normally did not see
people saved when white mission
teams came. Before going to min-
ister to the Lakota Sioux tribe, God
was so good to give my beautiful
wife choreography to an interpre-
Pastors Jean & Melissa tive dance to the Newsboys song,
Brissey worship the Lord in “God’s Not Dead.”
interpretive dance. Interpretive dance has become
as natural to Jean as breathing. She has been used mightily to impart
this love and grace for dance and the arts into our daughters, our
granddaughters, and all who would come. Not many years ago, God
launched Jean and her Wings of Praise dance team on God TV with
Brownsville Revivalist John Kirkpatrick before an audience of more
than 100,000. Jean has also had the honor of dancing before thousands
at the Ocean Center in Daytona.
Another ministry God has called Jean to is inner healing—both
individually and corporately. The Lord has not wasted any of our pain.
The Lord has given us a unique ministry, and He continues to use
Jean in visiting women in jail and for special functions. One such
outreach was a special dinner, where spiritually strong women brought
in weaker women to lavish them with a delicious meal, gifts, spa treat-
ments, clothes, jewelry, and lots of love!
210 STEP 13
Being Jesus’ hands and feet to the broken has been our call from
the beginning and continues to this day. However, Jean’s marching
orders to teach interpretive dance to the Lakota Indian children
was most challenging. This proved to be a tedious, but ultimately
fruitful, assignment.
While we were in Bullhead, our team prayed every morning for the
Lord to send out angels throughout the Indian Reservation. We then
broke up into two-person teams and went house to house, sharing the
Good News of Jesus and His love. We found the Lakota people to be
broken by much alcoholism and domestic violence, yet very sensitive
spiritually. They sensed the love of God from every team member, and
many came to Christ every day.
Our son, Jimmy, gave his fourteen-year old daughter, Elicia, a spe-
cial bracelet to take with her on her first mission trip. It was inscribed
with a verse from Isaiah—”No weapon that is fashioned against you
shall succeed “ (Isa. 54:17). He told her she would know who to give it
to at the right time. Elicia, Jean, and I entered a home with a grieving
family and an especially devastated mother. This mother had lost one
of her twin babies at the hands of her husband’s drunken rage. The
surviving twin toddler was huddled in the corner, broken-hearted
and alone.
As the mother shared her heart, Jean prayed over her the very
verse inscribed on the bracelet. How touching when our first grand-
daughter, Elicia, came to this grieving, broken Lakota mother and
placed the bracelet on her wrist. Jimmy was right. Elicia knew, at just
the right time, to whom the bracelet was to be given. God is close to
the broken-hearted.
By the end of the week, before the big revival meeting at the Pow
Wow Grounds (which was expected to be the crescendo to our week-
long mission), we had witnessed more than sixty Lakota hearts bow
to Jesus.
One precious, childless couple Jean and I prayed with were mourn-
ing the one-year anniversary of their teenager’s suicide on the day
we knocked on their door. They both were gloriously saved by God’s

amazing grace that day. Look what the Lord has done.
Our team and the other missionary teams were emphatically in-
structed not to set foot on the holy Pow Wow Grounds before our last
day’s revival service. These Holy grounds were strictly off-limits to
anyone who was not full-blooded Lakota Indian.
Thirty minutes before the service started, the village elders broke
this sacred rule and invited our entire team to have our celebration
on the Pow Wow Grounds. Jean’s vision and hard work in teaching
the Lakota children the interpretive dance had touched the hearts of
the tribal elders.
We all enjoyed a rich time of worship. Jean and her team rocked
the Pow Wow Grounds with their anointed dance and the precious
Lakota children. I felt the Holy Spirit flow through me like a firehose
as I shared the simple message of Jesus and His cross. Forty-seven
hurting Lakota souls came forward and received Jesus during the altar
call that day. Tears flowed as our team prayed with our dear Lakota
brothers and sisters on the Pow Wow Grounds.
With more than one hundred new converts that week, our host was
compelled to start a new church on the Lakota Reservation. As a result
of this move of God, Hope Rising Church was born and continues
to meet weekly to this day. Yes, the greatest breakthroughs we have
witnessed are more precious than silver and much costlier than gold.
In the past few years, we have also led two mission teams to
minister on the mean streets of New York City. We were so proud of
our HGM ministers, Leslie and Kevin, for doing an exceptional job in
leading one of our New York mission teams. For both missions, we
partnered with the New York School of Urban Ministry and took the
Gospel to the streets of Manhattan and Queens. New Yorkers are in a
hurry, and the work of street evangelism in New York City is not for
the faint-hearted. Yet our team would gather and pray in the morning
and hit the streets with joy and God-confidence the Holy Spirit would
watch over His Word.
212 STEP 13
One afternoon, a handful of our team members were at Central

Park in line to buy a hot dog from one of the street vendors which are
so popular in New York. As the Lord would have it, they encountered
a hurting, homeless, pregnant teenager, sitting on the ground near the
hot dog vendor. It was a God set-up. The team shared the Good News,
prayed with this hurting soul as she received Jesus, and then gave her
all the money they had. They didn’t enjoy a Central Park hot dog that
day as they had planned. God had something better in mind. As some-
one once said, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans!”
Jean’s dad, who had recently passed away from cancer at the time,
had served as a New York City fireman for over twenty-two years until
he was injured in a fire. During one of our recent outreaches in New
York, God graced us with the opportunity to minister to the firemen
at the very firehouse where Jean’s dad had served. The New York City
firemen were all tough guys but quite hilarious and warmly genuine.
They served us the most delicious homemade ravioli dinner and, be-
tween answering fire alarms, were most gracious to us.
One of our team members, Michelle, was a former New York City
police officer and 9/11-miracle survivor. As Michelle shared 9/11 stories
with the lieutenant, a fellow 9/11 survivor, all the other firemen gath-
ered around the dinner table to listen. You could hear a pin drop as
these two miracle survivors swapped testimonies. We were prompted
by the Lord to seize the moment and share the Good News.
As we invited these tough guys to pray with us, they all very re-
spectfully bowed their heads and prayed. One of the firemen in our
impromptu prayer meeting raised his hand in response to our invi-
tation. We prayed with him to receive Jesus as his Savior. After we
said amen, we gave each of these brave firemen a Billy Graham DVD
entitled Heaven, which contains a powerful true story of a firemen
who is rescued from a burning building. As we left the firehouse that
day, our new convert was playing the Heaven DVD on their 55” TV, and
four other firemen were riveted to the screen as the video of the fire
rescue was playing. Look what the Lord has done.
Three years ago, our tele-

phone rang. I picked it up, and
a very kind man named Dr.
Jim G. was on the phone. Billy
Graham’s daughter, Gigi, had
read our book, A Shepherd’s Heart,
and was touched by it. She sug-
gested Dr. Jim should give me
a call and hire me. That he did.
The invitation to join the Jesus-
loving staff of the Billy Graham
Evangelistic Association came
at the most inconvenient time.
It was December of 2013, and
What an honor to serve on we were busy facilitating more
staff for 3 years with Franklin than a dozen outreaches that
Graham and the Billy Graham month. Jean and I prayed. With
Evangelistic Association. the strong leading of the Holy
Spirit (and my wife, the Holy
Spirit’s helper), I accepted, and we were soon off to Tampa for train-
ing. Wow! What a whirlwind of grace and blessing awaited us!
I had to chuckle from time to time as I remembered how incredible
it was to meet Billy Graham at WEDU in 1991. Twenty-two years later, I
found myself on staff with the BGEA. Look what the Lord has done!
Working as the State Coordinator for Billy Graham Evangelistic
Association was rewarding and challenging. Jean and I continued to
serve as senior pastors with Higher Ground Ministries. Thank God,
our kids were now serving as pastors and associate pastors. We could
not have survived without them.
Our three years on staff with Billy Graham flew by with much
traveling and much grace. We met and worked with many of the finest
Christian people we had ever met. We met and prayed with pastors
from almost every Christian denomination. We led prayer meetings,
214 STEP 13
pastors’ breakfasts, outreaches, and evangelism training seminars at

churches large and small. One such church was Faith Assembly in
Orlando. This church is more than 100,000 square feet and sits on
100 acres in downtown Orlando. I felt like a skipper on a P.T. boat on
assignment to an aircraft carrier!
Praying with Franklin Graham and the BGEA core team during a
morning devotional at the Jacksonville Festival will forever be a special
memory to Jean and me. The sweet presence of the Lord permeated
our small group as Tommy Combs led in intimate worship.
Another highlight took place on January 12, 2016. Jean and I had
worked for twelve months plowing the ground in preparation for the
Decision America Tour Prayer Rally at the state capitol in Tallahassee.
This was capital city number two in Franklin Graham’s 50 State Capital
Tour in 2016. Jean and I had made the 500-mile roundtrip to Tallahassee
dozens of times in preparation for this one prayer rally. When the
morning of the big prayer rally came, we didn’t know what to expect.
We literally didn’t know if 300 or 3,000 people would come out to pray
on a weekday at noon. Words we shared so many times with our kids
echoed in my heart, “Do your best, and God will take care of the rest.”
We were overjoyed when 4,000 people showed up to pray that day!
More than a hundred souls said yes and received Jesus as their Savior
that day. Look what the Lord has done!
For the first couple of years, our work on staff with Billy Graham
focused on sharing anointed thirty-minute Gospel DVDs with pastors
and encouraging them and other church leaders to utilize these DVDs
in creative ways to win the lost. This initiative is known as “My Hope”
with Billy Graham.
In prayer one morning in 2015, I felt impressed of the Lord to share
this “My Hope” initiative with a ministry we had been involved with
for several years who had no hope at all—namely, death row. With the
chaplains’ help, we played a “My Hope” Gospel DVD in each of the
330 cells on death row every day during the week before Christmas.
As a result, one death row inmate received Christ as Savior, and three

other men contacted the chaplain asking for prayer.
Never in a million years did I ever think I would find myself on
death row! However, almost a decade ago, after literally hundreds of
evangelistic meeting in twelve prisons in Florida and two in Honduras,
the Holy Spirit led me to reach out to the 330 condemned men resid-
ing on death row in Starke, Florida. Other than Central Prison in San
Pedro, Sula, Honduras, death row in Starke, Florida, is the closest place
to hell I have ever seen.
Death row is actually a building with many rows of grim six-foot
by eight-foot cells, all of which face a dingy gray wall. The condemned
men on The Row remain in their small, barren cells twenty-three
hours each day. A thick oppression and profound sense of hopelessness
smacks your senses as the heavy metal door clangs behind you upon
entrance to each individual row. Walking down each dimly lit corridor
is eerie at first, sad at best. “Even though I walk through the valley of
the shadow of death, I will fear no evil” (Ps. 23:4a). Most of the men
appear to have succumbed to their miserable fate. Many lay motionless,
perhaps dreaming of air conditioning, which is uncomfortably absent.
Few even make eye contact as you try to reach out with a caring glance.
One memorable visit to death row took place in 2007. My friend
James, a.k.a. “Gator,” and I prayed together before making our way
to the front gate. We had come to know Gator while he was serving
a forty-year sentence for capital murder after shooting his wife six
times. Gator had sincerely surrendered his life to Jesus while in “the
box” at Putnam and was now a new man, married to a beautiful, godly
wife, Kim. These two overcomers have become our dearest friends and
lifetime ministry partners.
Praying with Gator always pricks my heart. However, today’s prayer
was even more heartfelt. We both were cognizant of the fact that if it
weren’t for the godly parents of Gator’s victim, who fought against the
death penalty, death row would certainly be his home. His story and the
supernatural forgiveness lavished on him by his victim’s parents and
216 STEP 13
brother had recently been featured on “The 700 Club.” Paul was right: “If
anyone is in Christ, the new creation is come.” Such is my friend, James.
So, there we stood and prayed, completely unaware of the miracle
we were about to encounter in the awful place simply called “The Row.”
The first few rows we went down were typical, dingy, depressing, and
uneventful. The men’s hearts seemed as hard as the iron bars which
segregated them from the world. Then we met Manny.
When we first laid eyes on Manny, he was sitting up on his bunk
and greeted us with a smile as bright as a Cheshire cat. It was as if he
had been waiting for us. Perhaps he was. We chitchatted about random
topics—the Philadelphia Phillies, Mustang automobiles, and Philly
cheesesteak sandwiches. After a short while, Manny stepped up to the
bars of his cell and welcomed us to the only home he had known for
more than a quarter century. As Manny shared his story, the warmth
we were experiencing was not from a lack of air conditioning. The
Holy Spirit was present. Why else would this condemned inmate pour
out his heart to two complete strangers as he was?
Manny shared how he foolishly had stolen a car twenty-nine years
earlier and, in a panic, shot and killed a cop in Miami. He shared col-
orful stories from the almost thirty years he had spent on death row
and the many people he had met. We discovered one person he had
never met—Jesus. After Gator and I shared some of our testimonies, I
felt prompted to ask Manny if he died that day, did he know where he
would spend eternity? He said he hoped he would go to heaven but just
didn’t know. I asked our new friend if he would like to pray with us and
invite Jesus into his heart. He teared up, bowed his head, and reached
his hands through the bars. I put my two hands around one of Manny’s
outstretched hands, and Gator took hold of the other. We prayed through
tears of joy, and Manny V. received Jesus as his Savior and Lord.
Immediately after we said amen, I asked Manny if he had a Bible.
As soon as Manny said no, a volunteer poked his head around the
big metal door sixty feet away and shouted down the Row, “Anybody
need a Bible?” “Right here,” the three of us shouted back. Now we
were laughing and crying at the

same time.
Over the next fou r years,
Manny became one of my best
friends. Many times, I would make
the two-hour drive to go minister
to Manny and for the two-hour
drive home marvel how Manny had
ministered to me! In Philippians,
Paul speaks of a “peace of God,
which surpasses all understanding”
(Phil. 4:7). Such was Manny. His
peace and joy and faith was inde-
One of my all time dearest scribable. I would walk down the
friends, Manny Valle, (with his dark, spiritually cold Row to visit
sister Jackie) hours before his Manny and find myself startled
execution at FSP, Sept. 28, 2011. by what I would find. Without fail,
Manny would be lit up with the joy of the Lord like a Christmas tree
at night.
I often asked him, “Manny, how do you keep your faith and joy so
strong in this place?” He would just crack his big, bright, trademark
smile and say, “It’s a gift!” So it was. So he was. How I miss him.
Not too many hours before he was executed, I was graced to spend
three hours with Manny on Q-Wing during his death watch. I was
choked up and nervous as I knew our last visit was soon to end. Manny
was as calm and joyful as he always was. My voice broke a little as I
read out loud the 23rd Psalm and all of Romans chapter 8. When I said
my final good-bye, Manny looked me in the eye, flashed his disarming
smile, and said, “Jim, I’ll be waiting for you at the Pearly Gates—with
a box of cannoli’s and a Philly Cheesesteak sandwich.”
Jean and I were with his sister, Jackie, her husband, Raul, and their
family when he was executed on September 28, 2011. Manny died in
peace, with courage, and in Christ. Every year for the last five years on
218 STEP 13
the anniversary of Manny’s death, Gator and I go back to death row. We

go row by row, and as the big metal door clangs behind us, we boldly
sing “Amazing Grace” in Manny’s honor. We then call down the Row
with an invitation for men to receive Christ. We have prayed with
scores of our condemned brothers-in-blue. We have witnessed more
than a dozen give their heart to Jesus. Look what the Lord has done!
The day Manny died, I wrote:
A candle burned
On the cold, dark Row,
A graceful fire,
A warm Christ-glow.
A bit colder now,

A bit darker still
The cold dark Row,
The cold dark Row.
I think of my friend almost every day. In my mind’s eye, I often
see his contagious smile and hear his heartfelt charge, “Jim, live life
to the full. It’s a gift.”
We started our Step 13 journey with a question Jesus asked a para-
lyzed man in John Chapter 5—”Do you want to get well?” Perhaps a
fitting close would be revisiting Jesus’ words from John. However,
instead of referencing a question, I pray the Spirit will illuminate the
answer Jesus offers freely to every struggling soul in John 10:10: “The
thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may
have life and have it abundantly.” This abundant life is discovered
when we live our life for others.
“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred,
let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt,
faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; and
where there is sadness, joy. O Divine Master, grant that I may not so
much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to under-
stand; to be loved as to love. For it is in the giving that we receive. It is
in the pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying we are born

to eternal life—St. Francis of Assisi.17
It is never too late to discover this abundant life Jesus promises
to saints and sinners alike. A.A. founder Bill W. was near death when
the Spirit rescued him and snatched him like a branch from the fire.
In Bill’s story, he wrote:
There, in the hospital, I humbly offered myself to God, as I
then understood Him, to do with me as He would. I placed
myself unreservedly under His care and direction. I admitted
for the first time that of myself I was nothing; that without
Him I was lost. I ruthlessly faced my sins and became will-
ing to have my new-found Friend take them away, root and
branch. I have not had a drink since.
Thus, was I convinced that God is concerned with us hu-

mans when we want Him enough. At long last, I saw, I felt,
I believed. Scales of pride and prejudice fell from my eyes.
A new world came into view.18
Can you see this new world? Can you live this new life? I believe
the words of Henry Ford, “Whether you believe you can or believe you
can’t, either way, you’re right.”19
17 “Prayer of St. Francis.” In La Clochette., edited by Dr. Christian Renoux.

FranciscanArchive.org, http://www.franciscan-archive.org/franciscana/
peace.html (accessed July 20, 2017).
18 B., Dick. Turning Point: A History of Early A.A.’s Spiritual Roots and
Successes, Paradise Research Publications, 1997.
19 Wikiquote. “Talk: Henry Ford.” En.Wikiquote.org. https://en.wikiquote.
org/wiki/Talk:Henry_Ford (accessed July 20, 2017).
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Alcoholics Anonymous World Services. Alcoholics Anonymous Comes of

Age: A Brief History of A.A. A.A.: New York, 1975.
B., Dick. Turning Point: A History of Early A.A.’s Spiritual Roots and Successes,
Paradise Research Publications, 1997.
Bell, I.M. Project Canterbury—Before and After the Oxford Movement.

London: The Catholic Literature Association, 1933.
Bricker, Jesse, Lisa J. Dettling, Alice Henriques, et al., “Changes in U.S.

Family Finances from 2010 to 2013: Evidence from the Survey of
Consumer Finances, Federal Reserve Bulletin 100, no. 4 (2014).
Hegstrom, Paul. Broken Children, Grown-Up Pain. Kansas City: Beacon

Hill Press, 2006.
International Federation of Health Plans. “iFHP publishes 2013 Price

Report.” IFHP.com. http://www.ifhp.com/1404121.
Lean, Garth. Frank Buchman—A Life. London: Constable, 1985.
National Conference of State Legislatures. “Pharmaceuticals: Facts,

Policies and NCSL Resources.” NCSL.org. http://www.ncsl.org/re-
search/health/pharmaceuticals-facts-policies-and-ncsl-resources.aspx.
October Sky, DVD. Directed by Joe Johnston; Universal City, CA:

Universal Pictures, 1999.
221
222 STEP 13
“Prayer of St. Francis.” In La Clochette., edited by Dr. Christian Renoux.

FranciscanArchive.org, http://www.franciscan-archive.org/francis-
cana/peace.html.
Republican Party. October 30, 1928. Advertisement. New York World.
Wikiquote. “Talk: Henry Ford.” En.Wikiquote.org. https://en.wikiquote.

org/wiki/Talk:Henry_Ford.
Willis Wheatley, The Laughing Christ, 1973, sketch, United Church of

Canada, Ontario.
DISCOGRAPHY
Meigs, Charles D. “Others.” Hymns for Worship. Wilberton, OK: R.J.

Stevens Music, 1995.
Rogers, Kenny. The Gambler. United Artists. UA-LA934-H, 1978, LP/Album.
223
For more information about
Jim Brissey
&
Step 13
please visit:
www.highergroundministries.org
higherground_1@msn.com
www.facebook.com/jimbrissey
Higher Ground School of Ministry

820 N. Frankfort Avenue
P.O. Box 1313
DeLand, Florida 32721
(386) 738–7077
www.highergroundministries.org
For more information about

AMBASSADOR INTERNATIONAL
please visit:
www.ambassador-international.com
@AmbassadorIntl
www.facebook.com/AmbassadorIntl

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Step 13

Overcoming Addiction and Joyless Religion

Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are taken from

Cover Design & Typesetting by Hannah Nichols

1 The Holy Bible, New International Version. Grand Rapids: Zondervan

By the end of my junior year at Brooklyn College, it became clearer

before we got married convinced me that we deserved no better. After

Jean had every confidence in me that I was going to make it. I

North Carolina, I sat down and wrote an angry letter of complaint to

being cancelled as previous coworkers were going to my old customers

making sport of my faith in Christ. He would call me an “ignorant

the Bible together, memorized scripture, and prayed together every

When it came my turn, I began to share how I had come to know

with me. “No preaching! No preaching!” he shouted. “This is an A.A.

about thirty days of sobriety, something would pull my trigger, and

I continued to read my Bible and my A.A. Big Book, memorize scrip-

rambling and wondering if there was anything real about this or if

anything!” Suddenly, the room lit up with a great white light.

giving me hope. He was with me. He cared. It was going to be okay. I

It’s about a fifteen or twenty-minute drive on the Grand Central

We continued to go to Bellrose Assembly of God on Sundays. I

trying to, we worked through A.A. Steps #4 and #5 together. Step #4

To say things were better at home would be the understatement of

Every special time we shared was like a victory celebration. With

meetings. I did attend several of their meetings and really enjoyed

Bob got involved with a zealous bunch of Christians known as

interest in Christ or His Church. As a chronic alcoholic, Stanley’s life

Before making the weekend, I had been working on A.A. steps #8

I had written letters of apology to my dad and other family members

and gave it my best effort. I preached on the conversion of Paul. In my

“He must not be a recent convert, or he may become puffed up with

“off-limits.” We had, in effect, been “blacklisted.” The people we had

insensitivity to the spiritual, physical, and emotional needs of others.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Go make the coffee! You’re hired!”

They say it takes not only rain

Without all its bright colors,

He took our sin at Calvary.

Like Joseph’s coat of colors,

The promise of the Father

“Father, please forgive them,

Oh, blessed be His rainbow,

He rose again as He said He would.

There’s forgiveness in no other;

“To err is human,” said the poet.

Oh, blessed be His rainbow,

I went to a printer and had the poem professionally typeset and

copy of the poem in a prominent spot in the restaurant, right under

reached out to hurting people by way of small house meetings. It was

The Oxford Group was founded in 1908 by Dr. Frank Buchman, a

5 Bell, I.M. “The Oxford Movement Explanatory.” “Chapter 1” in Project Can-

twelve-step recovery groups, such as Alcoholics Anonymous, Al-Anon,

6 Lean, Garth. “The First Chapter.” in Frank Buchman—A Life. London:

further. Now with my curiosity aroused by our sourpuss neighbor, I

backyard. Jimmy wasted no time building a tree house, and I planted

I knew John was a little on the legalistic side theologically, so I

them. Yes, we must be “true to ourselves” and “be good to ourselves.”

That very same evening (Christmas Eve, 1985), I received a telephone

Shadowed by a painful cross,