36 years go tonight I was converted to Christianity: I was born-again, I gave my life to Christ. How the heck did that happen? I had been an atheist. Not an agnostic, a flat out atheist.

Here is how it happened. When I graduated from University, I accepted an invitation from a friend to come live with him and several of his classmates who were continuing post graduate studies at MIT. It was quite an adventure, but two years later the house was breaking up because everyone was graduating and moving on.

In the summer of ’83, I was working at a camera store on 1st Street in Cambridge. I came down with a mysterious illness that had me laid up with a fever, unable to keep anything down. Worried, I decided to consult a doctor. Not having a primary care physician, I found one in the phone book and scheduled an appointment. His office was in Sancta Maria Hospital on the other side of Cambridge.

Sancta Maria was a Catholic hospital. The entrance to the office part was decorated with photos of Catholic missionaries that had been martyred for their faith all over the world. I thought to myself when entering into the office space,”how foolish of them to go to the remotest parts of the world to basically die for a lie.”

My doctor was Dr. Michel Jean-baptiste, a French speaking African. I never found out where he was from, but I recognized the accent. Later on, it was amusing to think how a doctor named after John the Baptist had a role to play in introducing me to Jesus.

Dr. Jean-baptiste was baffled and worried by my symptoms, and, because I was becoming dangerously dehydrated, he admitted me and put me on an IV.

His concern worried me, and I felt some real anxiety as time passed. I began to think about my own mortality: I was only 24 years old.

The morning after being admitted I was visited by a nun, probably a novice, who asked me if she could pray for me. Not wanting to be rude, I let her. She encouraged me to pray and left a brochure with me. On the back was written the prayer of St Francis.

That afternoon, after a worried visit from the doctor, I decided to give prayer a try. I had spent most of my athletic career reciting the Lord’s prayer before every football game, but it had been so long since I played, I had forgotten it. So I prayed the prayer of St Francis; and I added, “Lord if you’re real, heal me and I will get baptized and serve you the rest of my life.”

It was a fox hole prayer, but I don’t knock them. What ever gets you one step closer to Christ is alright with me.

Immediately after praying that prayer my anxiety left me and I felt complete peace. Then I saw what I now know was a vision. I saw Jesus standing across the room from me smiling. I remember feeling both afraid and relieved at the same time. Afraid, because I was a sinner and “I weren’t no beginner” either. Relieved, because I realized that this life wasn’t the end.

Jesus was real! I thought that was all I needed to know and do, just acknowledge that He was who He said He was. Boy was I wrong. I thought I was a Christian because I knew Jesus was real. I found out later that even the demons (fallen spiritual beings) know who Jesus is, so at that point I was no better off than they were.

So, after my visit from the Lord, I made a quick recovery. Doc never knew what I had and neither did I, but I guessed maybe food poisoning. Anyway, after three days in the hospital I was released, a little weak and shaky, but alive.

I meant to keep my promise but I didn’t get baptized, I didn’t really serve God and I drifted back into a slightly better lifestyle than my old one in my home town. One night I was driving to my friend’s apartment when I was pulled over for drunk driving. It was pretty devastating. Some high school kids had gotten killed just a few months before in a tragic drunk driving incident, so the laws had been stiffened: I had my license suspended for a year. I wound up working second shift at a factory making colostomy bags for minimum wage: $5.25/hour.

It was the lowest point of my life. What happened? Wasn’t everything supposed to be beautiful after I said a prayer and acknowledged Christ was real? Not good.

In the fall of 1984 I started getting sick again. It felt eerily like the sickness I had in Cambridge. I was worried. At my “lunch” break I went outside to eat. It was Monday, October 22, 1984; I sat at a table by myself. A couple of workers came and sat down across from me. I didn’t know either of them. It was unusual because they were African American, and back in 1984 there was still a lot of separation between the races; and you usually wouldn’t sit down at a table with someone you didn’t know.

I kind of ignored them because I was looking up at the stars and asking God if I had been wrong. Maybe I had fooled myself into believing He was real. Maybe I was self-deluded. Looking up at the stars I asked, within myself, not out loud, “God, are you real?” The young black man turned from the woman he was addressing, looked me straight in the eye and said” Yes, God is real.”

I was blown away! Had he read my mind? Was he some kind of angel or prophet? He continued to talk to his female coworker about God. Break was over after a few minutes; I never saw that young man again. –

After my shift ended I headed home to bed. I was anxious and excited about that encounter. I decided I had made a mistake somewhere. I was determined to have a talk with God and pray–and not stop–until something happened. I didn’t know what I expected.

After what seemed like a very long time I suddenly felt a “whoosh” (for lack of a better word) from the top of my head, down my spine, to my feet. It was like someone had just turned on the lights in a dark room, spiritually speaking. Then I heard God’s voice for the first time.

Everyone I hear give a similar testimony always prefaces telling you about God’s voice by saying “it was not an audible voice,” as if that will make it seem less crazy to someone who doesn’t believe in God. So let me just say for the record, it was not an audible voice. It was like thoughts inserted into my thoughts. He told me that I was His and that for the next two years He was going to teach me about Himself. I couldn’t have any other serious relationships during that time. At the end of two years he would give me a ministry.

I got up to go to the bathroom and when I opened the bedroom door, I had a vision of a demon staring at me angrily. That was disconcerting, but I didn’t feel afraid, and I walked right through it after telling it I wasn’t afraid of it.

The next day, I felt brand new. It was a beautiful fall day; I heard the Lord say go get a Bible. So I walked to the mall near my house and bought my first Bible and began reading it. I read it, per my Teacher’s instruction, from Genesis to Revelation. I was shocked to see the images of Christ in the Old Testament. I shouldn’t have been, I guess. I hadn’t been raised in church so I knew very little about what I was reading but I had the best Teacher.

Everything in my life turned around at that time. I lost a lot of friends, many of whom later joined me as believers. But it was rough for those two years. Two years to the day after I was saved, I was introduced to a prison ministry that I got involved in for the next four years.

Telling stories like mine to the general public is a mixed bag. There are plenty of skeptics out there. That’s OK, I was one once myself. The day I found out I was wrong about God, about Christ, about Jesus, was the scariest and best day of my life. Having gotten to know Him over the last 36 years, I have found Jesus to be loving and kind, a sort of older brother and mentor: someone whose love I cannot doubt. But He is also a sovereign King, Who is awesome to behold, a little scary at times, as you would expect the Creator of the universe to be.

That having been said, I am His and He is mine: a friend, literally, forever.