Careful what you ask for. Here is something I wrote about 20 years ago.
On the morning of the third day there was thunder and lightning,
Exodus 19:16
There was a flash of light and a loud boom. William Martz, who was in his back yard, turned and saw a column of smoke rising from the front of the house. Quickly, he headed toward the dissipating cloud. He soon could see a small body laying on the road. Smoke still rising from it. His pace immediately quickened. As he neared the small body, he recognized it to be his son laying totally motionless. His clothes were completely burned off. Smoke was rising from the 9 year old body. There was no movement. No breath. Instantly, training kicked in. He checked for a pulse. There was none. He had been trained in 1968 in CPR. Now was his time to use it. It was a year later, yet the training came back. He started to work on the young boy.
"Michael!" the next door neighbor yelled, thinking it was her son.
"No," responded Bill, "It's Robbie. Bring me a blanket." Immediately, his attention returned to his work. More people started appearing from the close nit community. After a few minutes, a firefighter who lived down the street showed up and assisted Bill. Someone called an ambulance. All they had to do was keep this young boy's heart and lungs going. They had to keep the oxygen flowing. The smell of burned hair and clothes had to be pushed aside. Even the crying and questions had to be pushed back. Now was a time to focus on one thing. Keeping this young boy's body alive. Bill counted and breathed. Counted and breathed. Looking into his son's face and seeing no life. His inner prayers were the only things he allowed to take him away from his task.
After 20 minutes of CPR, the ambulance finally arrived. The paramedics quickly loaded up the boy and Bill and Susan, the mother, jumped in the ambulance with him. The boy's three sisters and brother watched as their brother left with lights flashing and sirens screaming. They were crying to God to take care of him. They wanted him back. Slowly their gaze shifted to all they had left to look at after the ambulance drove off, a two inch deep footprint burned into the asphalt road where their little brother was standing at the time of the strike. A neighbor gathered them up and took them in to wait for any word from the hospital.
The ambulance pulled up to the hospital after a long rush hour trip into Baltimore, Maryland. Immediately doctors and nurses were swarming over the boy. He was taken into ICU and the parents were escorted to the waiting area.
"God, we didn't want a fifth child, but you gave him to me," prayed Sue, the mother. "I love him and I want him back."
During all this, the boy's heart had started again. He was breathing on his own now. The doctors informed the parents that the lightning strike had burned the boy's hair, clothes and some of his skin, but they found no internal damage as of yet. He was in a coma. They did not know what other damage to the brain could develop from such a severe electrical shock.
After hours of waiting, Bill and Sue sat by the boy's bed and prayed and waited. Only an act of God could bring their boy back. All his vital signs were good, but he was in a coma. It had been about 12 hours since the strike. No one knew how long that would last. A nurse came in and started cleaning his face. The boy's lips were burned along with a 4 inch wide burn across his chest. The right side of his hair was melted. As the nurse wiped the boy's lips on his motionless body, he suddenly balled his feet under her and shoved her away.
"Get the h*ll off me!" Robert cried.
"Robert Allen" his mother responded immediately in that tone that said he was in trouble for his rude behavior.
"It's okay!" called the nurse, "He's talking. That's a real good sign."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I woke up in a strange room filled with a bunch of strange kids jumping around and playing. All I could think was I wish they would shut up so I could get some sleep. I drifted back into sleep.
I woke again in a smaller room with another bed beside me. My parents were there staring at me. My mother came over and kissed me and told me I would be okay. I went back to sleep.
The next few days I would wake up a little, then drift back to sleep. Slowly my strength started coming back. My parents told me I had been struck by lightning. They told me I was in the hospital. Seemed like every time I woke up, they were there. Comforting me and caring for me. Other friends and family came to visit. I didn't care much. I was really tired. They told me that the shock drained my system of it's energy. It also burst my eardrums. I could hear. It didn't matter to me, but they insisted on taking me to surgery. I didn't care much. As long as I could sleep. I awoke once during surgery, but they made me breathe something that smelled like Crest toothpaste and I slept again. A few more days passed.
Slowly my hyperactivity started to return. I started getting real bored and cried really bad when my parents had to leave. I wanted to go home. I was lonely and hungry. They wouldn't let me eat. I begged my parents to let me go home. I cried and had to stand at the window and wave to them as they drove off. It had been almost a week since I had entered the hospital.
Finally, they let me eat. I was so happy. I even got chocolate milk. I got sick and threw it all up. I cried because I wanted to eat so bad. Fortunately, they let me eat more later. It stayed down. I made friends with the boy in the bed next to me. He was having brain surgery. His head was bald. We joked about it and played. Time passed.
I was getting sadder and sadder. Crying more and more. The doctors wanted to keep me longer to run tests. Not many people survive direct hits. They wanted to study me. My mother couldn't take it any more. She talked to our family doctor. He immediately scheduled me for departure. I was going home!
After two weeks of being gone, I arrived in my driveway not 30 feet from where I was struck. My dog who had been almost motionless for two weeks jumped up and was running all around. I walked in the door and there was a house full of friends and family. Banners and presents. I was not too worried about those things. I was just glad to be home. I was glad when everyone finally left. I was really tired. I went to bed immediately.
After another couple of weeks, I returned to school and found out I couldn't really write anymore. Seems that all my letters were getting switched around. My mind was kind of different. It didn't work the same, but I really never thought to much about it, until the thank you cards had to be written. My parents thought I needed to write EVERYONE a thank you card. I could barely write my name. I hated it. I cried. It was so frustrating. I would write, "Thanks for the abll". Get mad and erase. Try it again and write, "Thknas orf teh blal". Get really mad and throw the thing down.
I finally got through the cards. Then my mother started telling me that God had a purpose for me. She would say, "He sent you back, there must be some reason for you to be here." I believed her. My mother wouldn't mislead me.
Time passed. The writing problem has never gone away, but has gotten much better. I struggle with memorizing things, and spelling, but I found that I gained a lot of neat things. I think differently then a lot of people. I think, not in words, but in concepts and images. This allows me to think faster and kind of see things and how they fit together. Problem solving is so easy for me, I never see them as problems. My Science and math grades soared, while my English and History grades plummeted. Science and Math are concepts. English and History is spelling and memorization. I know History, just can't tell you when it happened.
When I was 18, I was ready to go out and make my mark on the world. I stopped and asked God what He had for me. I heard no answer. I was very impatient and had no time to wait. I said, if you have something for me, tell me. If not, then I am going to make my life in the world. I heard nothing. So I walked away and said, God has no purpose for me. Maybe there really isn't a God. Maybe it's all bull.
I walked away from God, but not my upbringing. I was always taught to treat others with kindness and respect. That stayed, but I created my own plan for my life and started to achieve it. I became my own god. School was not the place for me though. I could barely read. My reading speed was like 8th grade if that. I found I excelled in the manufacturing world though. I could produce. I could handle responsibility. I was dependable. I excelled at crisis management. Slowly, I started to mature and climb the latter. I was married and had a child. A second one came along. Now I was totally ingrained in building a family.
I wanted my kids to grow up around good people. I had given up on God, but knew one had a better chance of finding good people at church. We started attending a little. I had read much of the bible and grew up in church. I read the story of Jesus and knew what a "Christian" should be in my eyes. When we attended, I was not seeing a lot of that. I would not go up and take communion when it was time. Everyone would look at me like I was some demented thing. It didn't mean anything to me and I was not going to do it just to look like I was in with everyone. I had some worldly views that were not accepted in church. At that time, I accepted the truths of the bible, but did not know if all the stories in the bible were true. I stated that. Some were offended. It became uncomfortable to attend in a small country church. We stopped attending.
Suddenly, my world crashed in around me. We had some very severe challenges in Texas, where we were living. My wife and children were afraid to even come out of the house until I was home. I knew we were not living, only surviving. I wanted my family to live. We sold our house and twenty acres we had just bought not quite a year before. We sold almost everything and loaded up a small 5 by 8 foot UHaul trailer behind the car and we drove to Northern Indiana. I accepted a transfer with the company I was with. They needed manufacturing started up there. I knew I could do it without any problems. I have always been able to make things happen.
When we arrived, we didn't know anyone in the area. We felt all alone and isolated. I had only talked to a few people in this area over the telephone. I had a friend who had moved back to this area years ago. I looked his name up in the phone book at the mall. After 6 years of no contact, his name stared up at me from the phone book. So I dropped in a quarter and called.
"Hello," came a small voice from the other end.
"Is this the home of Rodney Johnson," I asked.
"Yes, it is."
"Is this the Rodney Johnson who is married to Katie," I asked sheepishly.
"Yea, you want me to get her for ya?" came the young cheerful voice.
"Yes, please!"
As Katie and I started to talk, I found out they lived about 15 miles from us. I suddenly didn't feel so alone. I told her I would call back and talk to Rodney when he got home.
Later that evening, Rodney and I connected. He invited us over to their house the next weekend for the annual Summer Festival their town has every year. He said we could watch the parade from their yard and they would take good care of us. I asked for directions.
"I live right by the Mennonite Church here in town," he responded nonchalantly.
"Your not one of those Mennonites, are you?" I asked in a accusatory voice.
"Well, yes, actually I am," he replied shyly.
"Good, you can tell me what they are. We have seen signs up all around here, but have never heard of them before."
I got directions and headed there the following weekend. We arrived and it felt so nice to see someone we knew. To talk about all the people back in Texas we all knew. The visit was great. Our friendship picked right up where it left off. Rodney immediately recruited me to help him scrape and paint his house. I was so glad to have something to do and a place to go. We had moved into a small two bedroom apartment from a three bedroom house on 20 acres. We were ready to be outside as much as possible.
Over the next few weeks, my wife and I asked Rodney and Katie questions about the Mennonites and the Amish. There was a large group of both in the area. Our curiosity was unending. Katie and Rodney were kind and gracious. Finally, Rodney invited us to attend on Sunday with them. Sherry, my wife just looked at me waiting for the rejection, but I said sure. I thought it would be interesting. Being curious, I am willing to check out a lot of things.
We arrived the next Sunday Morning and parked at the Johnson's house and walked to the church. The day was beautiful. The sun warmed my body. We went in to the worship service. The message was on the Love of God. Pastor David Helmuth was speaking. That warmed my soul.
"He was speaking directly to me," my wife stated as we were walking across the parking lot.
"No, he was not. He was speaking to me," I insisted. We joyfully argued the point all the way home. We talked about how everything the pastor had said was the exact way we envisioned God. Even my radical concepts seemed to fit in with what was presented. We decided immediately to investigate these "Mennonites" and find out everything about them. I did not want my family to get messed up into some crazy cult or anything. We checked books out at the library and planned a visit to a Visitor center in a town very close to us.
After our study, we drove to Menno-Hof, the visitor's center in Shipshewana, Indiana. After taking the tour, we knew we had found home.
"We were Mennonites and never knew it," I told my wife as we were leaving the center. The radical commitment and the lifestyle is what I always felt were needed when one truly accepts Christ were rooted in this strange faith. We started driving in every week or two to go to church. It was strange for the girls who were now 8 and 9. They were not as taken to it all as we were. One even had problems with some of the other kids in Sunday School. Yet, we knew something was very different here. I for the first time in my life sensed God's presence. My radical ideas had matured and I was finding some answers I had forgot I had searched for. I watched the lifestyle of many of the people. Did they live the same during the week? Were they nice only on Sunday mornings? They were not perfect, but we could see the sincerity in them. The kindness was there. The true deep concern for one another and others continued through the week. A strong desire to follow all of Christ's teachings was easily apparent.
After a year, a house became available just up the street from the Johnson's, right on Main Street. We jumped at the chance and rented the house. Now we were a block from the church. So much easier for Sunday's and the girls were in a really good school. Sherry had a friend close. So many things were going right. Our wounds from Texas were starting to heal. I started to rethink many of my ideas and was guided with the kind gentle hand of the pastor. Accepting my ideas, but sharing his also. I still felt that one needed to live a radical life to follow Christ, but that needed to be seen in action, not appearance. Not all Mennonite Churches require certain dress and style. That turned out to be mostly the conservative or Amish Mennonite and the Amish.
We decided to become members. Mennonites believe in a believer's baptism as opposed to infant baptism. The pastor said if our baptism was meaningful, we did not require rebaptism. He seemed surprised when I said I did not have a problem with being rebaptized. I was an infant when I was baptized. I had no choice then. We started membership classes. It was so helpful to me. We stepped though so many things. I was able to temper so many ideas I had as a younger person and see two sides to things. I also realized that I was not too far off on most of the things I had always believed in. Within a few months, I was rebaptized and we joined First Mennonite Church of Middlebury, Indiana. When I was rebaptized, I stated that it was a beginning, not an end.
After we joined, God continued to work on me. One day, I realized I always viewed God as my equal. I realized I was not His equal, but His servant. I, for the first time, dropped to my knees and chose to accept His authority over me. I stopped in and talked to the pastor. I shared with him that I was really ready to fully commit my life to Christ. I knew that might not mean any outward change, but inwardly I was ready. He suggested I take one class in the evening at the seminary which was only about 20 miles away. He thought it might help to explore where God was trying to take me. I agreed and looked forward to the chance to broaden my horizons.
I had a job in upper management and was being paid fairly well, yet I was very unhappy. The money and prestige was hollow. I longed for something better. I was driving one morning to a job interview to see about finding something better when I saw a sign in someone's yard that said "Have Faith". A block down the road I turned into the seminary parking lot instead of going to the interview. Somehow, after a few weeks, I went from working full time to being enrolled in Seminary full time and helping my wife baby-sit children to help pay for my schooling and our bills. Our income dropped from around $50,000 a year to about $15,000 a year, yet we always had just enough money to take care of everything we needed and a few things we wanted. Whenever a bill would come up, the money was there. At times when we didn't know where the money was going to come from, we would receive the bank statement and somehow we had made an error and the bank was saying we had more money then we thought we had. It would be just the amount we needed for the bill. Other times, someone would walk up and offer me work just when the baby-sitting was slow. Other times, we would get extra children in just before a need came up. God continued to provide for us. We were happier and more at peace with less money because God was supplying our needs in so many apparent ways.
During my stay in seminary, I was also able to put names to the challenges I have had for so many years with reading and overabundant energy. I have ADHD and dyslexia. I like to call it ADS, Attention Deficit Syndrome. I do not like calling it a disorder. I gain so many blessings from it. I have learned to channel my energies in positive ways and take advantage of it. Since I do not really think in words, I can see things and instantly connect two things that look unassociated. I can easily see patterns in many things in life. I also have a sense about people with aids me in ministering. Because of my short attention, I am always looking to learn new things, and have become a jack of all trades. I am looking forward to the time God uses this in the mission field somewhere. I was told once God could heal me of my struggles. I stated I didn't know if I wanted to be healed. I have gained so much from it. God really does use all things for His purposes. Even a flawed person like myself.
The end has not been written yet, but I eventually left seminary in Elkhart and I have been pastoring in Mennonite Churches in Arkansas, Michigan, and Indiana for close to 20 years. I am involved in several other ministries also. We have also adopted three wonderful hyperactive boys. Now, I Thank God for my hyperactivity. I state this not to boast, but to help show that all things are usable by God. God can even use us wild children no one can handle. He can open doors that appear impossible to others. If I was to share all the things that has happened over that last few years, you would be reading a book right now instead of a short story. I hope to claim no glory for myself, but share this to show God's glory in a life that many thought would never happen. I hope to show God's ability to use even a hyperactive child who can't even memorize bible verses.
I still struggle with reading, but God has filled my life with His love. Everything in my life is not perfect, but God walks with me and even carries me sometimes. I realized that I was His servant and He calls me to serve, not as pastor, but as a Christian; one who spreads His love. To this I have dedicated my life. To this He has filled my life to achieve. My mother didn't lie, God does have a purpose for me.
