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A Texas farmer had a new mule he needed to have trained; it would not do anything he wanted it to - not even go into its stall in the barn. In exasperation, he hired a mule skinner to come out and break the mule in. The old mule tamer arrived out at the farm and had the owner explain what he wanted done. The old man looked at the mule then at the farmer, reached down and picked up a fence post that was lying on the ground, and, swinging the post as hard as he could, hit the mule right between the eyes. The mule shook its head, braced its two front legs just as stubbornly as before, and refused to move. The mule tamer swung the post and again hit the mule between the eyes, this time twice as hard as before. The blow knocked the mule to his knees. As it struggled back to its feet, the old man went around to the back of the mule and hit it on the rear with a third blow. He then dropped the post onto the ground, caught the mule by its halter, and calmly led it into the barn. By this time, the farmer was furious: he threw his hat down on the ground, cursed, and yelled at the old man,"What are you doing!? I hired you to come out here and tame my mule, not to kill him!" While he ranted and raved, the old man just stood there. He looked up at the sky, then down at the ground. Finally, he just spat some tobacco juice to the side (he was chewing Red Man), and looked the farmer squarely in the eyes. "It appears to me that you're a mighty good farmer," said the skinner. "You got a good stand of cotton in the field out yonder, and your rice paddies look mighty good-but you don't know nothin' about taming mules!" "What do you mean?" asked the farmer. The old mule tamer continued, "You see, when I want to teach a mule something, the first thing I do is get his attention."
To a great extent, that is the way I have felt in the way the Lord had to be to get my attention in life.
Born and raised in the Methodist Church, I grew up in a family that was considered by present day standards to be poor, initially, on the rough side of town in San Antonio, Texas. Later, we moved to a small town on the Texas Gulf coast. I got into trouble as boys sometimes will. Stealing and fighting got to be two real problem areas in my life. I was cured of the stealing habit in Junior High when I was caught, and was counseled by an adult big enough to get my attention. The fighting took a little longer to cure. I was active in the local Methodist Church, eventually being elected Vice President and then President (twice) of the Methodist Youth Fellowship, as it was known then. As the MYF President, I was sometimes called on to speak to our congregation. In my senior year, the pastor told me that if I wanted to enter the ministry, he could get me a scholarship to Duke University in North Carolina. For some reason, he seemed pretty proud of his offer. I turned it down for three reasons. First of all, North Carolina was a long way from Texas, and anything worth knowing about was within the borders of Texas (or so I thought). Secondly, the name "Duke University" just sounded stupid. I mean, "Duke". Who'd ever heard of "Duke"? What would it look like to have a degree hanging on my wall from "Duke"? That didn't have the prestige of, say, "Rice" or "The University of Texas". And finally, I figured that any school named after John Wayne really couldn't have much going for it academically. So, I went to the local junior college down the road, drifted away from church, and attended East Texas State University. Graduating with a degree in Physics and Math, I became an atheist, went on to get married, was drafted into the Army, and served a tour in southeast Asia.
One day while traveling through the countryside with two other Americans, we passed a government outpost that looked like it had been wiped out by the communists. At that time, I knew there were elements of the Thai communists, Pathet Lao, Viet Cong, and the North Vietnamese Army in the area. I became afraid. It felt like I was completely hollow, fear poured inside, and there was an uncontrollable urge to start running - to just run anywhere and not stay there. I was able to overcome this fear only by telling myself, "Wait a minute! Wait a minute! You can't run! There's nowhere to go. In order for you to be safe, you would have to run across five hundred miles of jungle, swim eight thousand miles of ocean, and then run across a thousand miles of desert before you would be safely back in Texas. You can't do it, Boy! You can't do it!" Only this reasoning could overcome the fear. I got through the year safely, returned to the United States, got out of the Army, and went to graduate school at the University of Texas at Arlington. I received my Master's degree and an Army commission as a Second Lieutenant, went back into the Army, and was divorced from my wife. Assigned to Germany on a first tour, I went through a roller coaster ride of emotions caused by the divorce, and the empty feeling I continued to have inside. Living had become so painful that it was tough to just get through the day. I had to find some way to get out of the black depressions I was experiencing. One day, while I was on Christmas vacation in Houston, the solution came to me - I would end my life. I would get on the plane, fly back to Germany, load the pistol I kept in my quarters, put the gun to my head and pull the trigger. After I had made the decision to commit suicide, I felt happy. There was an actual feeling of happiness inside, because I had found my "solution" (I really think that Satan puts that feeling in people to encourage them to try his "way" out of life). On a visit to my adopted grandmother and her family, I was surrounded by such an atmosphere of love that I gave up on the suicide solution and gave life another chance. This was the first "club" God used on this Texas mule (me). I returned to Germany, did all the things I could think of to fill the emptiness inside: partied, traveled, hiked, and dated a wide variety of girls - anything I could think of to fill the emptiness inside. The one thing I rarely did was go to church, because, you see, that would cut into my fun time too much. I completed my tour in Europe, returned to the States, and was assigned to Fort Bragg, North Carolina in 1980. I started attending Camp Ground United Methodist Church in Fayetteville, joined a Sunday School class, and worked with the youth.
While eating dinner in the privacy of my home one day, I started to choke. I remember thinking, "This is a stupid way to die." I mean, I always saw myself being shot while leading a charge on a machine gun nest, or falling on a hand grenade to save my buddies, but to choke to death - that is really a meaningless way to die. The living room disappeared, and I was in a dark room measuring about thirty feet squared. The floor was like a greased funnel with a black hole in the middle; I was on one side of the funnel slowly sliding into that hole. I could see where I was going; the fear I had experienced during the Vietnam war was nothing compared to the pure terror I felt knowing where I was going. With all of my being I did not want to go into that hole, but there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop the sliding. The only thing I remember is thinking - and it was like a shout inside of my mind - "Oh, God, no!" Finally, after - it seemed like - hours, the hole closed up, the dark room disappeared, and I was again in my living room. This was the second club God used to get my attention.
I sensed there was something seriously wrong in my life, and continued looking for ways to fill the emptiness inside.
In 1984 I flew back to Houston. Plans were for my brother and me to give our only sister away in marriage. The morning of the wedding, I heard my brother arguing with his wife, Kay. When he stormed out of the house, I asked about the nature of the problem. She told me about his use of drugs. For years he and I had had arguments about his use of marijuana, but until that time I hadn't known of his using the "hard" drugs. The wedding was performed in a beautiful park, and I gave my sister away in marriage. About four that afternoon I was at my brother's house preparing for my flight back to North Carolina when the phone rang - it was my brother calling, and I could tell he was out on the road somewhere. He started trying to talk to me, to try to explain his problem, but I just cut him off; I didn't want to have anything to do with him since he had not returned for the wedding and because he was involved in drugs. I hung up the phone, went to the airport, and caught the plane back to Fayetteville. Monday evening I called my brother's home to see how he was doing; Kay didn't know where he was. I called my parent's home in San Antonio asking about him. My mother told me that he had rushed into the house, gotten a hunting knife he kept there, and ran out saying, "I can't stand it anymore! I can't stand it anymore!" Instantly, I realized what I had done - I had judged him. I hung up the phone, got on my knees, and prayed - begged God to find him and keep him from killing himself. For the next three days I prayed almost constantly wherever I was. Thursday evening, the phone rang - my brother was on the line. I told him to stay where he was, that I would fly out to see him as soon as I could. Friday, I caught a plane to San Antonio, linked up with my brother, and stayed with him constantly for the next three days. We walked through the hills of Garner State Park talking about his drug use. He had done everything - cocaine, heroin, even things I didn't know you could use to get high. We drove back to Houston and, as he dropped me off before returning to his wife, I took one long look at him, thinking I would never see him again - alive. You see, I was still thinking in human terms; I knew the statistics, that only five to ten percent of people addicted to heroin or cocaine would ever completely kick the habit, even with the very best medical care (It's easy to visualize God saying to Gabriel, "Now, this boy doesn't know who I am." - and He would be right. I still did not think of God in terms of being the Master Physician). I flew back to North Carolina, and embarked on a prayer campaign. In the morning, I would ask God to keep my brother free from drugs just for that day; in the evening, I would claim that promise and thank Him for having kept him drug-free (while not knowing for sure that he hadn't done anything). Every Sunday afternoon, I would call him in Houston and talk about whatever was going on at the time. Somewhere in the course of the conversation, I would ask him, "Have you been 'clean' this past week?" and he'd reply, "Yes", but I was never really sure until three months later. By then I could tell he was drug - free because it was like his mind had come out of a fog. I was amazed by these events, and was still trying to fill the hollowness inside of me, trying to recapture that feeling of "being alive" inside that went with the high school years. I started reading the Bible and continued attending church. I planned to attend a Billy Graham crusade to be held in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. On February 19, 1985, the first night I of the crusade, I listened to Billy's message and when he gave the invitation to accept Christ as my personal Savior, I was one of the first people to leave my seat and make my way to the area in front of the speaker stand. For the first time in my life, I publicly confessed that I was a sinner and wanted Christ as my personal Savior (after having attended Methodist churches over the span of my life, I had never even been told that I needed to do this). The next evening I arrived early - about six. While sitting in the chair watching the stadium fill up with people, I started thinking about the past year, and how it had seemed like the Lord had worked a miracle in my brother's life, how through nothing "more" than my praying for him a thousand miles away, he was able to kick his drug habit. It was like my brother had been dead mentally, and through prayer he been brought back to life. It was as if God had given him back to me. At that time I made the conscious decision that, "Since God had given my brother back to me, I would live my life for God." In that instant, I felt a flush of heat all over my body and an unbelievable sense of peace. The feeling of peace was so great that if the ground had opened up and swallowed me, I would have felt absolutely no anxiety. Before, I had been trying to recapture that "old" feeling I'd had in high school, but this was a "new" feeling unlike anything I had experienced before. The term "born again" is very real. This has been the third "club" God has used to get my attention.
Since that time, I have had four close calls with death, but these times were different. In all of these encounters, there has been nothing but perfect peace. In the second of these instances occurring about five years ago, I had a series of tests run after having experienced symptoms of malignancy. A total of fourteen tests were run in Texas, at Ft. Bragg, and later at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, DC, any one of which could have determined that I definitely did not have cancer. Each one came back stating the possible existence of the malignancy. Finally, the decision was made to operate. The night before the operation was to be conducted, a hospital chaplain came by to talk to me. After he had started his message, I interjected, "Excuse me for interrupting you, Captain, but I know you're a busy man. To save you time, let me tell you where I am with the Lord. Tomorrow I will go into surgery. One of two things will happen: either I will die or I will come out of it okay. The first thing you need to understand is that I belong to God. If He wants to take me, that's fine, because I have complete confidence in His judgment. If He should choose to let me live, that's okay too because that means I'll have added days in which I can serve Him, and I'll be glad to do that. Now, I don't really know which way it will go, but I have this strange feeling of strength and that everything will be alright" (At that time, unknown to me, two churches in Fayetteville were praying for me). There was a silence for about two minutes with us looking at each other. Finally, he said, "I am amazed! You really have a faith!" I felt like saying, "Why? You're the one who is the chaplain here; you should know these things.", but I didn't. Instead, I just thanked him for stopping by. The subsequent operation showed a complete absence of cancer, and I returned to duty at Ft. Bragg. The last two brushes with death occurred recently during Operation Desert Storm. Numerous school children wrote asking me if I were afraid. In November, long before the first Scuds were launched and the shooting started, I gave them my answer: "Don't worry about me or my safety because, you see, I belong to God - He is my Heavenly Father, and this is His world; He owns it and He is in complete control. That means I can be at home anywhere I am. And don't worry about me when the fighting starts. Have you ever heard of a 'win-win situation' - no matter how it comes out will be good'? Well, that's what I am in, here. If He should choose to let me die, then I will get to be with Him. Or if He should choose to let me come back to the States, then that means I'll be able to work for Him. Either way, it will be good. So don't pray for me or that I will be safe. Rather, just pray that His will be done in my life." I survived combat operations, to include numerous Scud attacks, and returned to Ft. Bragg in the Spring of '90.
I resumed work with the youth at Camp Ground UMC as both a counselor with the youth fellowship and the Junior High class Sunday school teacher. That summer we took the youth to Lake Junaluska. It was a good Spirit-filled experience ending with the final session on the last night we were to be there. The Reverend Keith Tonkel, a Spirit- filled Methodist pastor who ministered in a project section of a Mississippi town and who had guided the weeks' activities was talking to the room full of people - about 350 youth and 40 adults. He gave the youth an opportunity to accept Christ as their Savior, and a sizable number responded to the call. After they had gone forward and publicly made their commitment, they were asked to return to their seats. Then Keith said, "Is there any adult in the room who is feeling the call into full time service for the Lord? If so, I'd like you to stand where you are." One man did. I had felt the call three years previously, but decided not to stand thinking, "I would be embarrassed." (There were still remnants of "mule" in me) Meanwhile, Keith told the lone man who was standing to walk up to the front of the room where he was. As he was making his way forward, there was a voice inside of me saying, "Why didn't you stand up? You've told all of your friends that you're going to serve the Lord." The voice was gentle yet powerful, like the power of the ocean tide coming in, and made me extremely uncomfortable - as if a can of itching powder had been dumped inside of me. I remembered thinking, "Where did this voice come from?" and wanting to get away from it, but there was nowhere I could go because it was inside of me. A concluding thought I had was, "I'll never do this again! Never will I ever hesitate to stand up when someone asks me if I'm going to serve the Lord!" About that time, the man stood in front of Keith, who was talking. He stopped in mid-sentence and said, "I don't want you to think this is some hocus-pocus, but it happens sometimes. The Lord is talking to me. There are two more people in this room who are feeling the call of the Lord." As he said this, he held up his right hand with fingers up in the "victory" sign indicating two. He continued, "I'll give you another chance. If you are feeling the call to service, want to stand up and come forward, please do so now." About the time he said "service" I stood up and went forward. I wasn't about to let that Voice start talking to me again. As I was making my way to the front of the room, I remembered thinking, "I guess old Keith was wrong. He said "two" and I am only one. When I got to where Keith and the other guy were standing, another youth who was sitting in the back of the room made his way to where we were. What made this even more of a "special miracle" was the youth was Steve Thomas, a kid with a lot of potential and for whom I had had a special burden. Keith talked to us and we returned to our seats. It is interesting that when I was at Junaluska two years later, an adult who had been in that room, a pastor of a church in Florida, walked into the room where I had my group of youth (I was a small group leader) and recalled the incident. One of the kids in my group piped up and said, "Hey, I remember that! I was in the room too!" Miracle upon miracles!!
Over the next year I agonized over where I was going to school, because I had wanted to become a Youth minister and to continue working with the organization Concerned Methodists, that three other men and I had formed over three years previously in an attempt to get the United Methodist Church back onto a more scriptural basis. That lasted until one day when I was trying to decide between Asbury (Methodist-associated) Seminary in Wilmore, Kentucky, and Southeastern (Baptist-related) Seminary in Wake Forest, North Carolina. Out of nowhere, that same Voice said, "I'll let you know when I want you to go to seminary." My response was a military salute and a vocal, "Yes, Lord." This is one Texas Mule who has learned to be obedient to the Lord.
In summary, several lessons can be learned from my experience - going back to when I was sliding into that "black hole"; you can have everything in the world - money, a house, a car, beautiful girlfriends, an education, intelligence, etc., but if you don't have Jesus at the center of your life, you have nothing. Essential to that is admitting your sins, having Christ as your own personal Savior, and living your life according to His will as revealed through the Bible and prayer. On the other hand, if God is central to your life, any problem you have or any situation in which you find yourself in this life is of secondary importance. Infinitely more important, and I mean infinitely, is the salvation you have through Jesus Christ. Then you can live your life completely confident in the knowledge that God cares for you and will do what is best for you, whether or not you understand whatever is happening to you at a particular time in your life.
Website maintained by Rev. John Warrener at Servantweb.com
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