Restin, I’m so sorry about your achy joints. Horse riding and gymnastics are such fun things to do, I can only begin to guess how much you miss them, and how much you long for the day you can do them again, with easy and grace and without the pain. In academy I was on the tumbling team. One year I was even the captain of the team. I enjoyed the road trips, and performing for small churches in Nebraska and Iowa and Kansas. Mostly though it was an excuse to get out of class and to hang with my friends, especially my girl friend.

Your dream home sounds wonderful. A sprawling log house in Florida, yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. Sweet! My wife and I have been busy, off and on, drawing up plans for our log home here in Flagstaff. Her dream is to have the perfect kitchen, and my dream is to build an indoor climbing wall in the living room. We both want a swimming pool with a lazy river that starts inside the house and ends up outside, with cascading waterfalls, just like the fancy resorts in Hawaii. But I’m not sure we can justify the expense as the gospel still isn’t finished being proclaimed.

My upbringing was far from idyllic. We were abandoned at 4, 5 and 6. First by my dad, and then by my mom. We ended up at Boystown, a catholic orphanage in Nebraska. We were just 3 little boys out of 1,000 homeless and unwanted urchins. I can remember being jealous, and so very sad, on birthdays and Christmas. Most of the boys received at least token toys, but I never once opened a present the entire time I was there. Naturally, it made me a bitter little boy, a mean and nasty scrapper. I was either fighting or getting ready for my next fight.

Then one day something rather beautiful happened. It was Christmas Eve, and I was standing behind the door, a place of punishment, while the boys were happily opening presents and raving about them, so joyful, so lucky. It made me so mad, simply furious. I started screaming like an insane person in a strait jacket. The counselors yelled at me to shut up, but I kept screaming. A boy came over and kicked the door in on me, which caught my bare foot and peeled back the toenail on my big toe. The rubber door stopper held fast, and I was pinned in place, the door pinching my toe. I was bleeding badly, but all I could do was stand there and cry, and cry.

That night, when the counselor released me, I ran away. I had no idea where I was or where I was going. It was freezing cold and dark, the snow was deep, but I kept pushing forward through the pitch black. Somehow I ended up at the farm where I worked as a cowhand. A light was burning in one of the stalls, so I headed that way to see what was happening. Don, my boss, was delivering a calf, but was having trouble. He was glad to see me, and together we gave birth to the cutest little girl cow I had ever seen.

Afterwards, Don asked me how I came to be there. “It’s Christmas, son, why aren’t you home playing with presents?” When I told him what had happened, we both sat there and had a good cry together. And then he did something really strange, but it felt good, it felt right. He reached over and hugged me, tight, really tight. It was the first time I remember anybody hugging me, embracing me like I was loved and appreciated. Then he held me at arms length, looking me in the eyes, with tears falling down his cheeks, and he said, “Son, I believe I have just the perfect Christmas gift for you. How would you like to raise this girl cow all by yourself? You could train her real good, and win gold medals and blue ribbons at the county and state fairs? I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have raise this fine animal than you, Mike.”

That was one of the happiest times of my life. I felt like a real person, like a real boy. No one had ever made me feel wanted before, and the feeling was like eating my very own birthday cake and unwrapping my very own presents. I used to steal wrapping paper out of the trash, after someone had a birthday, and wrap my own presents, usually an odd shaped rock or a twisted branch or some other worthless treasure. But none of that mattered anymore, not now that I was raising my very own girl cow. Her name had to start with the letter “J”, because of her birth mother, so I named her Julie. But her nickname, her real name, a name that reminded me of the best thing that had ever happened to me, her name was – Hugs. I can't see to type anymore, so it's time to stop.

I used to play squash, but I can't anymore because of my knee. Anything I do bothers it, so exercising is a challenge. I've been swimming, which also bothers it, but I think/hope it will be manageable. We can be thankful that while the outer man deteriorates, the inner man can keep improving.

I've appreciated the things you've been sharing, Michael. Haver you ever read Ty Gibson? What you wrote reminded me of a story he told. In one of his meetings there was a drunk (I'll call him Joe) who was causing a disturbance. After the meeting Ty invited him to attend the next evening. Joe said the other people didn't want him there, but Ty said it matter because he wanted him there, and he would resever a spot in the front row for him. Joe showed up sober the next evening, and Ty preached on God's character, emphasizing that God's love is irrespective or our sinfulness. Joe said the description reminded him of a time when he had done something wrong as a young child and his mother had hugged him, letting him know he was loved in spite of whatever wrong thing he had done. He expressed the thought that he wasn't sure he believed in God, but oh how he wished God could be like Ty had described Him.

Your story reminded me of this.

Mike,
That is the saddest story I have ever heard . I kept thinking all the way thru "this can't be true... but no it is a pastor telling this story... so it must be"
How could those grown up people not see your suffering????? I wish I could have been there.
I'm so glad that Jesus is coming and things like this will never, ever, happen again. Little children should never hurt like that.
What happened to your brothers? Are they allright now?javascript:void(0)
Heart
I hope your wife and family loves you to pieces and makes up for those awful years. Take care my friend. See you n heaven.
Dru

Incredible testimony Mike! I am glad that Jesus held your hand as He led you to where you are today from where you came from. Praise The Lord for His mercy. He has had His eye on you and knows all that you have been through.
God Bless,
Will

And your story sounds like mine, too, Mike. My mother was killed when I was one, and I was passed around from one family to the next, with some abuse in there as well. I remember the Holidays in families where it was made very clear i was not part of the inner circle.I know all the feelings you felt. I was a scrapper too, and it saved me more than once.
I really was touched by your story, Mike. Somtimes we think that the people who have the best lives are ones who have been through the very worst. Thanks to Jesus, we can be found and loved, and find the way to peace and power in life. And everything can be turned around. I do sincerely hope you have a most excellent Christmas this year, with many gifts. I've been to Flagstaff and I loved it there..not too big a town, but most everything you need...and looks like the real cowboy west thereabouts. And I also hope that some day you will have that climbing wall in the living room. If not here, in the new earth. As for me, I'm going to have a horse again if I can get my south fence rebuilt.

Tom, Dru, Will and Restin, thanx guys for hoping the best for me and my family. It means alot to know you guys care so much.

Tom, I know Ty Gibson fairly well. We were baptized together in Spokane. His wife, Sue, used to baby sit my first born. We were in ministry together for a short time. Those were exciting days.

Restin, maybe one of these days my wife and I can stop by and help rebuild that south fence? We are planning a southern states tour with our fifth wheel this winter. Who knows?

Have you read Ty's books? If so, what do you think of them?

I read all the books he wrote and published through Light Bearers, but haven't read anything he has written and published through the Pacific Press. In the early days Ty and James emphasized victory over sin, but a several years ago they made an open apology and started emphasizing mercy and forgiveness.

Hi Mike,
Am I correct in assuming that you feel that what Ty and James have been preaching on Mercy and Forgiveness is in error? What I mean is that they are telling people that their is no such thing as victory over sin or something like that?
God Bless,
Will

Oh no, not at all. I like what everybody has to say about mercy and forgiveness - Billy Graham, Adrian Rogers, Max Lucado, Ty Gibson, Mark Finley, etc. The reason I haven't read any of Ty's newer books is because I prefer his older material, they were mostly compilations of Bible and SOP quotes. My problem isn't believing that God loves me, or that He is merciful, forgiving and longsuffering, my problem is staying connected to Jesus so I don't have to keep repenting for the same mistake over and over again.

Knowing that God will pardon me if and when I do fall into sin is definitely comforting, and it takes a great deal of the stress out of blowing it, but it makes me want to do whatever it takes to avoid blowing it again the next time I am tempted. It's not that I am freakishly focused on not sinning, I mean, I don't go around with bug eyes, trembling like someone waiting for the coffee-maker to go beep. It's not that I don't want to sin as much as I don't want to take my eyes off Jesus. I don't want to abandon Him or disappoint Him. Life without Jesus, to put it bluntly, simply sucks.