Since it looks like the blog thing is starting over I figured I'd repost my testimony...
I was born in KS but grew up in SW MO. Two younger brothers, mom & dad-the five of us were fairly typical family. Dad was raised catholic and mom's father was a baptist minister (though he died before I was born). Folks would send us to church/sunday school at a local baptist church but they wouldn't go. The van driver that would pick us up was not a great guy. While taking kids home he'd stay at one of the stops and visit/have coffee while we waited in the van for him. Made for some bad experiences and ultimately we three pleaded to stop going.
I always did well in school-was in top 10% of class all through school but ultimately made a deal with my parents-took a GED, dropped out after the 11th grade, and joined the Marine Corps. They had to sign paperwork to let me in since I was only 17. Back in the early 80's they weren't sure the all volunteer armed forces would work, and one of the options back then was called an "open contract". Instead of 4 years active and getting to pick your MOS (job in military) they would assign your job but you'd only have to serve 3 years active. Became a radio operator for 10th Marines artillery unit-often attached to grunt units with an artilleryman forward observer (spotter).
USMC was a turning point because it was there I met a guy that would ultimately lead me to Jesus Christ.
It was '82 and while the rest of the class of '83 was enjoying their senior I was in marine corps boot camp. Yeah, what a knucklehead. In school I was a good student without trying but I didn't fit in with the "brain" group and definitely wasn't in with the athletes so I hung out with the "other" kids-the ones that didn't fit in either. The marine corps was my chance to find a fit.
I may speak of some experiences there (I was in Cuba, Vieques [Puerto Rico], went to Radio School in 29 Palms, mountain warfare school in Bridgeport CA) but suffice it to say that the biggest event in there was meeting a guy named Dean. He was a nice christian guy that I could talk with. It might be hunting or guns or home or the future but he was a good guy. He and another fellow I'll Tony would go the baptist church in town and would often invite me to go. I never did because I was smarter than that. Religion was for saps (though Dean and Tony were exemplary marines) and I wasn't going to fall for it. I always told Dean I'd look him sometime after I got out.
After I got out I returned home to MO but nothing had changed except my brothers were deeply involved in the local drug trade. SW MO is the finest marijuana growing area in the country. So as good capitalists my brothers were involved supplying the demand. I didn't hang out there very long before a friend I had in high school invited me to come up to Casper WY and stay with him. So I packed up my armory (0h yeah, I had collected many firearms while in the corps) and moved to Casper. We spent the night in Hays, KS and that's when I smoked my first joint. Turns out my buddy enjoyed his pot. Now up to that point I hadn't even smoked cigarettes but what the heck, right?
Casper WY is near the end of the world. In fact I was told by the locals that if you go to Bar Nunn WY you can see the end of the world but I never took the trip
. The wind blows most all the time in Casper. I was there from Sept '85 to Aug '86 and there was snow on the ground sometime in 9 of the 12 months. Harsh country. I got a job there at the VW/Audi dealer taking care of cars and spending most of my time trying to score dope with my friend. It was 200 miles to Denver and 200 miles to Billings and not much else in between so dope was scarce. Did my first acid in Casper and some thai stick. Usually there wasn't anything so my friend would just drink. Now I didn't care much for alcohol because it made me sick but I did enjoy the mj. My friends stomach was so bad that he had to take maalox because of ulcers but I do recall some times he would come home after being unsuccessful trying to find weed that he'd hit the Bacardi 151 straight and chase it with maalox.
My little brother flew up for a visit in June of 86, smuggled weed onto the plane (and it was the best I'd ever had) and told stories of giant dope fields. So I packed up and left that sad town and returned to Missouri. Seems like the wind and the mormons are about all I remember about that place. Ya gotta like cold if you want that for home. Rockies sound romantic but it takes a tough critter to want to live there.
Got back to MO and I eventually went to work with my younger brother in the dealing business. There were these guys living in trailers in the woods. They named the area "Lonelyville" and they were Grade A #1 growers of weed. They had the red-haired sensi bud, but our favorite was the Ozark Skunk-bud. They grew it and they wanted coke...so we worked the in-between. Then there was the crank (crystal methamphetamine, a.k.a. crystal or crank-don't know what they might be calling it now days). We trafficked mostly in this. I liked it best of all. It gives loads of energy without playing with your brains like the pot or coke or acid. Most of our customers "banged" the stuff (they were junkies-injecting it with needles [spikes, darts, don't know what they might be calling them now days]). That is how we'd test it-call these two brothers over for a free trial and they were very honest. They'd tell us if it had been stepped on (cut with whatever)--or I should say how much it had been stepped on. Customers would put their spikes in an empty beer can in our trash. On occasion I'd have someone come over and they knew that "so and so" had been over so they go through my trash to get that other guy's (or girl's) needle. [Man, 1986-87 seems so far away-almost another world] So I bought a bag of hypos for my customers-seemed to be a nice thing to do.
ANYHOW, it was getting to be fall and the harvest was coming. We, however, were sitting on some pot and there was word that Fed cops were in the area. Now the local police were of no concern. But Feds were another deal altogether. I was getting tired of the scene and wanted out. So I thought of my friend in PA and figured I'd go there. I sold my car the next day for $80 (yeah the speakers were worth more than that but when you want to get out of Dodge...) and got on a bus to PA to visit my Marine buddy Dean.
I showed up in this little town, got directions to his house, and waited 4 hours for him to come home. Boy was he surprised. I had picked up the cigarette habit (unlike most the marijuana was a stepping stone to Camels for me). I had nothing but a backpack of my belongings. Now Dean was still living with his parents. After he got out of USMC he joined the local Army Reserve (or Guard) unit, which happened to be a paratrooper unit so he was jumping out of planes. [A word about Dean. His dream when we were marines was to one day find a nice girl, get married, build a house-he's a carpenter-have a family, and find a nice small church to go to. It took a while but he is one of very few people that reached all his goals. Oh, the sacrifice-he'd send most all his military pay home to the bank-wouldn't spend frivilously- great example for others] His family took me in, Dean had a job for me within 2 hours at the construction company he worked at, and things seemed ok.
Now they were Christians. They didn't have a TV. Now they weren't plain (though I didn't know what that meant at the time). So I would go to church with them on Sunday mornings and then go with Dean on Sunday evening to a different church (yeah, it was a girl he was looking to meet). This went on for a couple of weeks until one evening after a Sunday evening service when Dean confronted me with the gospel. He wanted to know what I was going to do with Jesus. So in the back seat of an old Dodge Dart he lead me to the Saviour and I became a Christian on Nov 15, 1987.
That next week I began a new job. It was owned by Dean's sister-in-law's father. He was a retired mennonite pastor (mennonite?) and his son and a couple of part time people worked there building cultured marble sinks. So I began working there in what was to be an incubator of discipleship. I learned about anabaptists (I first thought they said "anti-baptists") and mennonites. But a few weeks after my conversion and learning about heaven I decided I just wanted to go there now. So I planned a suicide that would be anonymous and I'd just disappear from everyone ("where did Jim go?") and I'd just be in heaven.
[end part 1]
I was born in KS but grew up in SW MO. Two younger brothers, mom & dad-the five of us were fairly typical family. Dad was raised catholic and mom's father was a baptist minister (though he died before I was born). Folks would send us to church/sunday school at a local baptist church but they wouldn't go. The van driver that would pick us up was not a great guy. While taking kids home he'd stay at one of the stops and visit/have coffee while we waited in the van for him. Made for some bad experiences and ultimately we three pleaded to stop going.
I always did well in school-was in top 10% of class all through school but ultimately made a deal with my parents-took a GED, dropped out after the 11th grade, and joined the Marine Corps. They had to sign paperwork to let me in since I was only 17. Back in the early 80's they weren't sure the all volunteer armed forces would work, and one of the options back then was called an "open contract". Instead of 4 years active and getting to pick your MOS (job in military) they would assign your job but you'd only have to serve 3 years active. Became a radio operator for 10th Marines artillery unit-often attached to grunt units with an artilleryman forward observer (spotter).
USMC was a turning point because it was there I met a guy that would ultimately lead me to Jesus Christ.
It was '82 and while the rest of the class of '83 was enjoying their senior I was in marine corps boot camp. Yeah, what a knucklehead. In school I was a good student without trying but I didn't fit in with the "brain" group and definitely wasn't in with the athletes so I hung out with the "other" kids-the ones that didn't fit in either. The marine corps was my chance to find a fit.
I may speak of some experiences there (I was in Cuba, Vieques [Puerto Rico], went to Radio School in 29 Palms, mountain warfare school in Bridgeport CA) but suffice it to say that the biggest event in there was meeting a guy named Dean. He was a nice christian guy that I could talk with. It might be hunting or guns or home or the future but he was a good guy. He and another fellow I'll Tony would go the baptist church in town and would often invite me to go. I never did because I was smarter than that. Religion was for saps (though Dean and Tony were exemplary marines) and I wasn't going to fall for it. I always told Dean I'd look him sometime after I got out.
After I got out I returned home to MO but nothing had changed except my brothers were deeply involved in the local drug trade. SW MO is the finest marijuana growing area in the country. So as good capitalists my brothers were involved supplying the demand. I didn't hang out there very long before a friend I had in high school invited me to come up to Casper WY and stay with him. So I packed up my armory (0h yeah, I had collected many firearms while in the corps) and moved to Casper. We spent the night in Hays, KS and that's when I smoked my first joint. Turns out my buddy enjoyed his pot. Now up to that point I hadn't even smoked cigarettes but what the heck, right?
Casper WY is near the end of the world. In fact I was told by the locals that if you go to Bar Nunn WY you can see the end of the world but I never took the trip
. The wind blows most all the time in Casper. I was there from Sept '85 to Aug '86 and there was snow on the ground sometime in 9 of the 12 months. Harsh country. I got a job there at the VW/Audi dealer taking care of cars and spending most of my time trying to score dope with my friend. It was 200 miles to Denver and 200 miles to Billings and not much else in between so dope was scarce. Did my first acid in Casper and some thai stick. Usually there wasn't anything so my friend would just drink. Now I didn't care much for alcohol because it made me sick but I did enjoy the mj. My friends stomach was so bad that he had to take maalox because of ulcers but I do recall some times he would come home after being unsuccessful trying to find weed that he'd hit the Bacardi 151 straight and chase it with maalox.My little brother flew up for a visit in June of 86, smuggled weed onto the plane (and it was the best I'd ever had) and told stories of giant dope fields. So I packed up and left that sad town and returned to Missouri. Seems like the wind and the mormons are about all I remember about that place. Ya gotta like cold if you want that for home. Rockies sound romantic but it takes a tough critter to want to live there.
Got back to MO and I eventually went to work with my younger brother in the dealing business. There were these guys living in trailers in the woods. They named the area "Lonelyville" and they were Grade A #1 growers of weed. They had the red-haired sensi bud, but our favorite was the Ozark Skunk-bud. They grew it and they wanted coke...so we worked the in-between. Then there was the crank (crystal methamphetamine, a.k.a. crystal or crank-don't know what they might be calling it now days). We trafficked mostly in this. I liked it best of all. It gives loads of energy without playing with your brains like the pot or coke or acid. Most of our customers "banged" the stuff (they were junkies-injecting it with needles [spikes, darts, don't know what they might be calling them now days]). That is how we'd test it-call these two brothers over for a free trial and they were very honest. They'd tell us if it had been stepped on (cut with whatever)--or I should say how much it had been stepped on. Customers would put their spikes in an empty beer can in our trash. On occasion I'd have someone come over and they knew that "so and so" had been over so they go through my trash to get that other guy's (or girl's) needle. [Man, 1986-87 seems so far away-almost another world] So I bought a bag of hypos for my customers-seemed to be a nice thing to do.
ANYHOW, it was getting to be fall and the harvest was coming. We, however, were sitting on some pot and there was word that Fed cops were in the area. Now the local police were of no concern. But Feds were another deal altogether. I was getting tired of the scene and wanted out. So I thought of my friend in PA and figured I'd go there. I sold my car the next day for $80 (yeah the speakers were worth more than that but when you want to get out of Dodge...) and got on a bus to PA to visit my Marine buddy Dean.
I showed up in this little town, got directions to his house, and waited 4 hours for him to come home. Boy was he surprised. I had picked up the cigarette habit (unlike most the marijuana was a stepping stone to Camels for me). I had nothing but a backpack of my belongings. Now Dean was still living with his parents. After he got out of USMC he joined the local Army Reserve (or Guard) unit, which happened to be a paratrooper unit so he was jumping out of planes. [A word about Dean. His dream when we were marines was to one day find a nice girl, get married, build a house-he's a carpenter-have a family, and find a nice small church to go to. It took a while but he is one of very few people that reached all his goals. Oh, the sacrifice-he'd send most all his military pay home to the bank-wouldn't spend frivilously- great example for others] His family took me in, Dean had a job for me within 2 hours at the construction company he worked at, and things seemed ok.
Now they were Christians. They didn't have a TV. Now they weren't plain (though I didn't know what that meant at the time). So I would go to church with them on Sunday mornings and then go with Dean on Sunday evening to a different church (yeah, it was a girl he was looking to meet). This went on for a couple of weeks until one evening after a Sunday evening service when Dean confronted me with the gospel. He wanted to know what I was going to do with Jesus. So in the back seat of an old Dodge Dart he lead me to the Saviour and I became a Christian on Nov 15, 1987.
That next week I began a new job. It was owned by Dean's sister-in-law's father. He was a retired mennonite pastor (mennonite?) and his son and a couple of part time people worked there building cultured marble sinks. So I began working there in what was to be an incubator of discipleship. I learned about anabaptists (I first thought they said "anti-baptists") and mennonites. But a few weeks after my conversion and learning about heaven I decided I just wanted to go there now. So I planned a suicide that would be anonymous and I'd just disappear from everyone ("where did Jim go?") and I'd just be in heaven.
[end part 1]
