““Awe, what the heck.” My room-mate’s words fell on my ears as though weighted with lead. We had just opened the door to our friends’ dorm room and were confronted with a sight that stunned us. One of our friends was holding out his tourniquet–wrapped arm as the other was about to inject something with a hypodermic needle. Our mouths dropped; our faces filled with shock. We had done so many drugs—marijuana, hashish, mescaline, psilocybin, LSD—but up until now, “hard drugs” had been off limits.
What should I do? It seemed that my roommate was game. What about me? Should I go along with my friends, or should I refuse as I knew I ought to? The answer was not so easy. Just a few months earlier, using hard drugs would have been unthinkable. But after thousands of little decisions, each compromising my former convictions, this once-gigantic decision didn’t seem all that big anymore.
“Why not? We’ve gone so far already. It’s only one step more.”
How did an Iowa farm boy—raised in a good family, with ten years of perfect attendance in Sunday School, a model student—how did I get here? The answer isn’t simple. Perhaps it was the rise of situational ethics; the sexual revolution; the influence of the flower generation, the messages in the music I loved, the fear of being alone without friends, the desire for the love of a woman but without the commitment of marriage.
But the biggest pull wasn’t from influences around me; rather it was from a defect in my heart. I wanted to be in charge of my own life, at least for a little while—to do what I wanted to do without the constraints and rules of God. I didn’t want God in my life; I didn’t need Him; I would do things my way along with the other free spirits around me.
What choice did I make in the dorm room that day? Actually, I’ll never know—for after seeing our stunned faces and hearing my roommate’s capitulation, they put down the syringe and started laughing hysterically. It had all been a joke.
But my flight from God was no joke. More pot smoking, alcohol binging, girl chasing, and then the drug I liked the most, amphetamines, what we called “speed.”
But in the midst of the fun, it soon became apparent that some things were amiss. My grades plummeted, I got pyorrhea of the mouth from pot smoking, and I came down with mononucleosis, “kissing disease,”—whether from kissing or from staying up all night on speed, I don’t know. But even worse was the sense of purposelessness that I began to feel. If there was no God, if nature was all that existed, and if we are only a chance collection of random molecules, why was I here? What is the purpose of life? Who are we and what gives us value?
So I decided to seriously read the New Testament for the first time as an adult. Maybe I should at least check out God for myself.
What I found surprised me. The Jesus I read about seemed different than what I remembered from Sunday School. He was a revolutionary; an anti-establishment figure, so full of strength and courage, yet so gentle and full of love. He seemed to have what both the older, materialistic, establishment generation and what our young, purposeless, free-love generation needed.
Thoroughly intrigued by Jesus, I began to attend Bible studies. There I met some people who were different from anyone I had ever met. They were genuine, serious, confident, alive, filled with real love and care for each other—something I couldn’t seem to muster from within myself. Their spirit reminded me of what I had just read about Jesus and the Apostle Paul. These people were wonderfully radical and I sensed that they had what I needed. Within a few weeks, I discovered what it was—total forgiveness through faith in Jesus’ death on our behalf and the power of the Holy Spirit to love, care, and give from the heart.
I believed, trusted in the death of Christ, received forgiveness, and received the gift of the Holy Spirit. My life radically changed. I found a new power to love, to serve, to care. I discovered that Jesus not only died but rose from the dead and will soon be returning to reign as king. I found a purpose for living, one that extends into eternity.
Since I yielded my life to God so many years ago, I have not once regretted doing so. His plan for me has been so good—so much better than I could have ever gained by trying to grab things for myself. I’ve been and am being transformed from the inside out—to live with joy, enthusiasm, and purpose and to live forever with the Risen King.
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