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Why I Accepted Christ as my Savior and Lord

My birthday is this Wednesday. I'll be 67. As birthdays go, there's nothing particularly interesting or significant about 67, other than God has granted me the beginning of another year.

I'm one of those guys who has often wondered what my purpose in life is. I had never been much of a believer in miracles or signs from God. Oh, I believed in God, casually, I suppose. Jesus was another matter. I figured he was a great teacher, but the son-of-God thing was a bit much for me to handle. That is until seven years ago.

Sixty was a much more significant milestone for me. I'd had one career in the Navy and was jumping from job to job and moving around a bit afterwards. Not much direction and feeling pretty sorry for myself on my 60th.

I was more than feeling sorry, wondering what the hell I was going to do for the next 40 years if I was fortunate enough to live as long as my great grandmother and grandfather. It was a dreary thought. I had no goals to speak and was feeling that I hadn't really accomplished all that much with my life.

So, while walking that day I asked God (for the umpteenth time) for some sort of sign that he had me in mind for something, anything. Then it hit me, out of the blue, as the saying goes. Something, or several somethings, that had happened to me that might be construed as signs or even miracles that I had lived through, but never connected.

I believe that God has literally saved me numerous times from death. That may sound melodramatic, but looking back on these events, I do believe I experienced five miracles and God was responsible.

The first happened when I was around 16 years old. I lived in North Highlands, Calif., and one day a friend and I were walking along some railroad tracks when a freight train came our way. On the spur of the moment we did something only teenagers would think a good idea: we decided to hop aboard the moving train. We started running alongside one freightcar and just as I reached up to grab the ladder I heard my friend shout that it was going too fast. My hands grabbed the ladder, but my feet stopped running and I was thrown forward as if from a slingshot. I landed midway alongside the car and started rolling -- right up onto the tracks and under the car. I could see the wheels coming at me and my one thought was to roll one more time. Fortunately, I stopped rolling beside the tracks as the train kept on going. I was pretty torn up, but alive. My one concern was that my mom was really going to be mad. She never noticed my condition and I never told her and quickly forgot about it.

Years later, in the Navy, aboard the USS Estes sailing in the Sea of Japan, I was on the third level deck around 1 a.m. I was a radioman and my duty that night was to burn bags of messages in the incinerator. I had just finished and cleaned up and was leaning on the lifeline admiring the night sky and all the stars. All of a sudden, the ship was hit by a rolling wave and began to heave over. I thought it was going to capsize as I slid across the deck headed for the side and only at the last second was able to grab a line to keep from flying overboard. Being that the ship was heavily damaged and there were many injured sailors, I doubt if anyone would have noticed for hours that I had gone overboard.

Three more miracles happened while still aboard the ship. To be more brief we were caught in a typhoon and I was not too bright (at 19, I had little thought of my own mortality). I went outside and up high in the mast to get a picture of a wave breaking over the bow. I got my picture, just as a monster wave engulfed the entire ship and nearly swept me out of the mast. The next time we were in the Mekong Delta (this was during Vietnam), when I spotted something floating toward the ship. It was a strange object and came right at the ship, then mysteriously turned and floated alongside the entire length as I walked along the deck scoping it out. Then, as it reached the bow, it turned and floated toward the USS Iwo Jima and the alarms started sounding and helicopters took off and marines started shooting at the object - and it blew up! It was a mine. If it had hit our ship and me standing right above it, well it would have been the end for me and probably a lot of other sailors.

The last incident stayed with me many years. We were in Singapore. Three friends and I were sitting in a bar when we heard someone say, "You f**cking American." I looked up to see the biggest, angriest man I had ever run into. I don't know how big he was, but he grabbed me by the throat with one hand and lifted me straight up and then hit me in the face. I flew over several tables. I had never been in a real fight in my life, but this was literally a fight for my life. It's kind of a blur, but I was actually winning when someone else hit me from behind and then a bunch of British sailors grabbed the two guys who (I found out later) were intent on really hurting or possibly killing an American. The Brits hustled me out of the bar and back to their base.

I had pushed all of these incidents out of my mind, but they came back in a flash on my 60th while wondering why God would not give me a sign. He had, but I wasn't paying attention. My greatest thanks to God and Jesus Christ is that I had been allowed to live to my 60th birthday so that I might realize how many chances I'd already been given.

Not all signs or miracles are so dramatic, but every day now, I thank God for every miracle, whether I recognize it as such or not.