From Junkie to Jerusalem

Scriptures: Isaiah 43:19, Hosea 2:14, Deuteronomy 32:10

Wandering in the Wilderness

Our minds were made up. We were off to Flagstaff, and I was going to find God.

But things played out differently from what any of us expected. Little did I know that the Holy Spirit had set me up. Kim, Rhonda, and I packed our stuff, tossed it in the VW van, and hit the road. With beads hanging from the rearview mirror and peace signs and flowers doodled everywhere, we were free-spirited hippies looking for purpose, meaning, and the promised land. 

In reality, we were lost and wandering in the wilderness.

About thirty miles into our trip, we visited a friend of mine who was also a drug dealer. He had just acquired some heavy-duty hallucinogens and said, “Why don’t you spend the night? We’ll get high, and you can leave in the morning.” 

That sounded like a sweet offer, so we took him up on it and looked forward to getting high. My user friends had tagged me with the nickname OD (for “overdose”) because if everybody took one tab of acid, I took three, with no questions asked. You would think I’d learned my lesson by then, but I hadn’t. I took three hits of the hallucinogenic acid and went on a twenty-four-hour psychedelic trip. I was so out of it that we had to stay with my friend for an extra day. Neither he nor Kim and Rhonda thought I’d ever come out of it. Eventually, I did, but my system needed some time to readjust before we could get back on the road. As we drove toward Arizona, Kim looked at me with curiosity. 

“What were you seeing?” she asked. 

“When?” 

“You know, when you were tripping out.” 

Instead of answering, I gripped the steering wheel tightly and gazed straight ahead, my eyes focused on the road. 

Kim continued, “You were under the kitchen table, and you kept screaming, ‘God, don’t leave me here! Oh my God, I’m lost forever. Don’t leave me here!’ Do you have any memory of that?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” I said. “I was trying to forget about it.” 

“You were holding onto the table legs for dear life, screaming, but what were you seeing?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Maybe you need to.” 

“It was the strangest thing,” I replied. “I was in a black cubicle-like space in the middle of a vast, burning desert that stretched as far as I could see. I was trapped and kept asking God to help me get out. Then, my perspective changed, and I was on a hill, looking down at myself in the same desert, trapped in the same black cubicle space. On the hill, I was standing next to God. I wasn’t looking at Him, but I could see Him from the corner of my eye. Something kept me from turning fully, but I knew it was Him. We were both looking down at the other me, who was below us, screaming, ‘Please don’t leave me here!’ And I said to God, ‘Why don’t You help him?’ And God answered, ‘I wanted to, but now it’s too late. He’s lost forever.’” 

As Kim’s facial expression switched from inquisitive to distraught, I said, “Isn’t that wild?” 

I must have smirked, because she said, “That’s not even funny.” 

“No, no,” I said, “I don’t think it’s funny. I don’t know what it is.” 

I had no Bible or church background. Neither did Rhonda. But Kim was a Pentecostal backslider. She didn’t know it, but she had a well of Bible knowledge inside her, and it would bubble to the surface every now and then. 

The truth was that I didn’t believe in hell or anything like that. Really, I didn’t know anything.

Rhonda had sat quietly, taking in the conversation between Kim and me. Now, all three of us became silent, lost in our own thoughts. The only sound in the van came from the staticky AM radio. As the wind whipped through our hair, Stephen Stills and Eric Clapton–type music played, and I pondered everything, including Eric. 

Scriptures: Mark 5:19, Psalms 139:7-8, Ezekiel 34:11

Planting Roots in a New Place

After twenty-one hours of driving, we made it to Flagstaff, weary, worn, and looking for a place to put down roots.

The van was home until we found a small, shabby unfurnished rental house. We tossed our bags and some mattresses on the floor, and we were set. The house was in the red-light district, among local bars and all the features that come with them. Locals would enter the bars, get drunk, and pass out on the sidewalks while women of the night plied their trade. 

Looking back, I am certain that the Lord orchestrated our Flagstaff move—not just for me but for all three of us. I believe it was an answer to the prayer I prayed in Colombia: “God, don’t let me die until I find what happiness is.” 

What appeared to be a random series of terrible situations was actually an arrangement of stepping stones.

God moved us to Arizona where I would experience an unforgettable encounter. One night, while Kim and Rhonda took the van to run errands, I sat on the porch smoking a joint. Across the street, I noticed a Hispanic guy in his late teens or early twenties walking along the sidewalk. It was apparent that he was a street kid. He glanced over at me and stepped to the curb to come my way. Then, he stopped, appearing to pause and think things through. 

After a moment, the young man turned around and walked past again, watching me out of the corner of his eye. I assumed he was mustering up the nerve to ask whether I had any drugs to sell. He paced back and forth four or five times, and when he reached the end of the block again, he took a deep breath. 

Then, he turned around, crossed the road, and walked up to me. I could tell he was nervous. 

“I’ve never done this before,” he said. 

“You never bought dope before?” I replied. 

“No. Not that,” he said. “I don’t want any drugs. I just couldn’t walk away until I told you that Jesus is who you’re looking for.” 

That was the third time I was told almost those exact words.

And still, I didn’t get it. “What did you say?” I asked, both shocked and annoyed. 

“All I can tell you, man, is that I was a drug addict and some guys right down the street told me about Jesus. They put me in the back of a van and prayed with me.” He continued, “I was so addicted that when I didn’t have money for drugs, I would spray some paint in a rag and sniff the fumes. But when I asked Jesus into my heart, I got free. I’m free!” Then, he looked into my eyes and said, “I just couldn’t walk away until I told you what He did for me and what He can do for you.” 

“OK,” I responded, “you told me. Now, get out of here. Go away.” 

“I’m telling you, it’s real,” he said. “Jesus is real.” 

When Kim and Rhonda came home, I told them about this crazy young guy who crossed the street to tell me about Jesus. As we talked, we heard a knock on the door. I peeked through the curtains. “It’s him again,” I said. 

“Well, let him in,” said Kim, the backslider. 

So, I opened the door for him. There were a couple of bags of weed around, and I was rolling joints. But our visitor didn’t show the slightest interest in the drugs. He just started telling us how much Jesus loved us. When I mocked him, sadness came over his face, and he turned to leave. “Listen,” he said, pausing at the door, “why don’t you guys come to church with me?” 

“Yeah, well, that ain’t going to happen,” I snapped. 

“You should think about it,” he said. 

I assured him, “Nope. Not going to happen.” 

The young man’s name was Bill Trujillo. He left quietly that evening, but he kept showing up over the next few weeks.

When we saw him coming, we tried to ignore him. Yet because we had no furniture, we sat on the mattress, which was on the floor. He’d knock and say, “I know you’re there. I saw you.” 

Each time, we opened the door, he told us the same thing: “Jesus is what you’re looking for.” 

I always shut him down and said, “Bye.” But he just kept coming over. 

One night, he said, “Listen, we’re showing a movie called The Gospel Road at church this Friday. Why don’t you come to check it out?” 

This time, I said, “OK, I’ll go to the movie with you if you promise to quit bugging us about this Jesus stuff.” 

“Just come to the movie,” he insisted. 

“We’ll be there,” I said. “Then, you can leave us alone.” 

Rhonda and I went to see the film. Kim couldn’t go because she’d gotten a job as a private night nurse caring for a man who had cancer. After dropping her off, we headed to the church, a little wooden building that seemed full with maybe sixty or seventy people inside. Most of them looked like regular church folks to me, but there were some young people sprinkled in. 

Johnny Cash narrated the movie, wrote some of the soundtrack, and performed on some of the songs. June Carter played the role of Mary Magdalene and contributed to the soundtrack, as did Kris Kristofferson. I was already a big fan of all three artists, so that got my attention. 

The film depicted Jesus and the disciples as almost hippie-like characters, which also got my attention. As the ending unfolded, I saw the dramatic scene of Jesus hanging on the cross at Calvary and, of course, dying. Then, the scene changed, and Jesus was hanging on the cross in Times Square, with street people like me all around Him. Once again, His head dropped, and He died. Then, the scene jumped again to Jesus dying on the cross in the streets of East Los Angeles. 

The shifting locations punched me in the gut. 

I realized that Jesus didn’t die only for church people.

He died for us street people. That movie and its music began the soundtrack for my life and fifty years of serving God! Music is so powerful and able to penetrate hearts and minds like nothing else can. It certainly penetrated mine that evening. 

May God keep on using music through today’s generation and future generations to touch souls, break down walls, melt hearts, and transform lives in supernatural ways!

Scriptures: Romans 8:28, Luke 15:7, 1 Peter 2:9

Coming to the Foot of the Cross

Though the church that ran The Gospel Road was housed in an old building, it was a new church plant.

The young pastor, Ron Burrell, had been the lead singer and guitar player in a rock group called Eden, from Prescott, Arizona. Eden was the backup group for some leading rock and roll bands. They were in the process of signing a contract with Elektra Records when Ron suddenly gave his life to the Lord. The other band members eventually did the same, and their wild rock group transformed into a gospel rock and roll band. This caused a chain reaction, with hundreds of young people in the area deciding to follow the Lord. The Jesus movement had come to Arizona. 

The Jesus movement became so widespread that Time magazine devoted cover stories in 1971 and 1972 to its impact on America.

Parts of the free-spirited hippie movement morphed into the Jesus movement, and it swept through Prescott. The new wave of Christian music served as a bridge to reach the younger generation. Eden’s members became part of the town’s Foursquare church and started a major youth movement there. 

Now, Ron had brought the fire of the Jesus movement with him to pioneer this church in Flagstaff. After the movie, Pastor Ron gave an altar call, saying, “If you want to give your life to the Lord, come forward.” I had just realized that Jesus died for people like me, but I was not about to go forward in front of everyone! Nobody had greeted Rhonda and me or even made eye contact with us. Maybe it was the Colombian poncho I was wearing or the fact that I wore no shirt underneath it. I could be rather intimidating, with rings on every finger, bare feet, and needle marks up and down my arms, not to mention my long hair, the bags under my eyes, and my feather earrings. 

Although that congregation would become my church and many of those people would become my friends, they didn’t know what to do with Rhonda and me that night.

Looking back, I realize it was what 1 Samuel 16:7 describes: Man looks on the outside, but God looks on the inside. 

Rhonda and I needed Jesus, but we didn’t quite fit in.

Is that why I held off going forward? Maybe partly. I fiercely resisted the altar call, but the pebbles in my shoe kept nudging me. So, I watched as a few people went forward. Then, Rhonda leaned over and whispered, “What do you think?” 

I just shrugged. The two of us were glued to our seats, not moving, but Pastor Ron kept saying, “I feel like there’s somebody else. I just feel like there’s somebody else.” 

To this day, I don’t remember getting out of my seat and walking to the front, yet suddenly Rhonda and I were kneeling at that altar. It had to be God, because there we were, on our knees! Personally, I had no understanding of heaven, hell, or being born again. And I certainly didn’t know what to do. 

However, there was something about seeing Jesus die on the streets that bypassed my understanding and went directly into my soul.

At that moment, I knew that He was what I was looking for. 

People gathered around and prayed for all the others who had come forward, but nobody prayed with Rhonda and me. I realized that I still seemed intimidating to the people in the church, so they kept their distance. Only Bill Trujillo and Pastor Ron seemed unaffected by my appearance. 

Undeterred by the distance I felt from the congregation, I said, “God, if You’re real, be real to me.” When the words came out, I instantly felt as though a million pounds lifted off my shoulders. I began to weep, crying real tears for the first time since the day my dad tried to give me away. What happened at that altar was a totally new experience. I had no idea what it was or what to call it. But like Bill Trujillo and my former college teammate had said, it was real. 

While tears streamed down my face, Pastor Ron put his hand on my shoulder. “God really touched you, didn’t He, son?” 

I pushed his hand away and said, “Well, somebody did.” 

When the altar call was done, everybody went back to their seats. Still, nobody engaged with us except Pastor Ron and Bill. That was partly my fault. I didn’t trust anybody and showed a hard exterior that kept some people away. 

Later in the van, Rhonda, who had also given her life to the Lord, asked (as if I knew the answer), “What was that?” 

“Man, something powerful!” 

We felt so good that we went and bought an expensive bag of dope and a bottle of whiskey to celebrate. 

And still, God kept drawing us to Himself.