50 Years ago today December 13, 1975
Don Bradley 12-13-25
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| DB at 14. |
Today marked the 50th anniversary of being saved by Christ Yeshua and receiving the Holy Spirit. I debated both writing this up and sharing it with the world, but it was the single most significant day of my life up to that point and since, that it is hoped that this testimony, this witnessing for Yeshua (Jesus) might be of value to someone in the world in like or similar circumstances, no matter their age. To set the stage, the following.
I was 16 and a runaway from a extremely abusive home dominated by a practicing though secret witch step mother whom married my Marine Corp Gunnery Sergeant Father in 1966. I was 7 when this tragedy overtook us, his children, which was my younger brother David, and my older sister Patti Ann. As we used to say, it was then our father disappeared and “Tex” took over. For we were forbade to call him father or Dad, only Tex when in public; since Lola became our stepmother. It was also then the beatings began for trifles, usually not of our making. If Tex had a bad day, one of us was sure to get a beating. Which involved stripping down to our undies and placing our hands on the edge of the cots we were raised on, not beds. Navy cots he bought from surplus. That is how quickly Lola changed the life of our home. Every part of our life became a prison box of pain and suffering. The food was locked up under lock and key, only two meals a day, one of them a school lunch. It got worse and worse by the year. By the time my sister was 14. Lola pushed her out of the house. Then they focused on destroying me. I left at 16, ending up in Pine Bluff, Arkansas with one set of grand parents who narc'd me out to Tex and Lola in August of 1975 at first, then Memphis by late October, with my other grandparents JC and Ellie of my mother. I learned that if I were caught by the law it meant juvenile hall until I was 18. I meant to stay free, any way I could. That meant, staying away from Tex and Lola and their relatives. In those days, all any parent had to do to get rid of unwanted children was call the police, say your child was incorrigible and they would lock them up in Juvey until they were 18. As happened to so many boys and girls in the 60s and 70s by parents who did not want to raise children they did not love. All it took was a phone call and a single court appearance and the child's life was over. They were planning on doing it to me, as I overhead them discuss one night, so I left home and never looked back. While I still could. The night before I left Tex beat me with his boots and fists so hard, I limped for three days. He started on me in the kitchen and finished up until I passed out in the living room, between the sofa and the coffee table. He was an overbuilt marine gunnery sergeant and I was a malnourished 105 pound 16 year old boy that still got the fist and the boot. Until he passed away in 2021, he never once apologized for any of that to us children. I forgave him of course; I know David, because he suicided never did and Patti never did or would, ever. She was hurt far too deeply for any of that. What they did to my sister is not be believed unless witnessed. I don't know how people who do such things can sleep at night, ever. Anyways.
It was snowing that December in Tennessee, and there was about a foot of snow on the ground and some girls from the street JC lived on invited me to church for a youth social. That meant making friends and meeting girls for the first time in my life. Tex and Lola did not allow social anything. Our bedtime from 1966 to 1975 was a strict 7.30PM every night or else, strip down and the beatings. My life was a pure horror until I finally arrived east of the Mississippi River that October. Then I began to know “normal” that other people had, but I only saw from windows and the ever present threat of the fist or the boot. It took about ten years for the scars on my butt and lower back to finally fade away.
It tell you this not to elicit any pity or such, but to explain why, at 16, I was clear across the country doing everything I could to stay away from the Soul Crushers, Tex and Lola. What they did to my sister is not to be believed; my brother David blew his brains out at 21 with a .38 special, if that tells you anything. I know the millions of covenite witches and Jews will laugh with happy glee and cackles over learning all this. Of course. Anyways.
It was on a Saturday night, December 13, 1975 and I was 16, turning 17, the next month. So about 7pm, I was picked up by two sisters and their mom to be taken to this small, wooden, white clapboard baptist church that clearly was built before the Great Depression, maybe earlier than the 1920s. Just one big room, with pews on each side of an isle with a small, rickety wooden podium at the back under, under a big wooden cross. Not much else, other than a tiny Christmas tree on a table in the corner. It had steam heat, with a furnace in the basement. That tells how old this building was.
Anyways.
The preacher seemed like a young guy, around 30. Kind of hip, for a preacher. He was going on about the spirit and meaning of Christmas and a bunch of other stuff I don't remember. I wasn't there to hear the word of God. I was there, for the first time in my life, to meet other people my age and girls. This was my first chance at being and having, a normal life with other normal families. So, naturally, when asked to go to ANYTHING I was going to say yes, no matter what. The Soul Crushers were 2,000 miles away and as far as I knew, had no idea where I was; all they knew was I was in the deep south somewhere and nothing else. All I had to do was go unnoticed by the law for 14 more months until I turned 18 and then I was as free as a bird. That was the plan at least.
Church just was the venue, in my mind. My only experience with church was as a child on military bases being taken to off base to catholic churches by my birth mother, when I was in grade school for catechism. Only thing I remember about this was how mom dressed like Jackie Kennedy; with the gloves, the pill box hat and veil, the pink dress. She was a very pretty lady in her twenties.
So, preacher at this small church is chatting it up and I'm half listening, half thinking about all the new friends I was going to make and what new adventures of FREEDOM were in store for someone who just broke jail from the slavers in California. I thought of my still trapped little brother, having taken his turn under the boot now that Patti and I were gone. He died young, his mind and soul destroyed by the Soul Crushers. What Lola the practicing witch did to my family was like what she did to her own, in St Louis in the 1960s, when the courts found out about her satanism and took her own children away from her. Historical fact. In those days, practicing the craft on children was a serious offense. She was kicked out of Missouri.
Sorry for all the rambling around. Memories are like that, many times.
Finally, the preacher said in a clear and audible voice, if anyone would like to receive the Holy Spirit and be saved by Jesus, please come forward. Now, I'm hearing this, but like most of his sermon, I'm just hearing it, not taking it in per se.
Amazingly, and to my total surprise and consternation, I stand up. WHAT!?
I cannot believe this is happening. Next thing I know, I'm edging toward the isle in the center to my right, in front of the two girls and their mom I came in with, what I am sure is what I was feeling – total surprise and disbelief. What are you doing DON??? I cannot believe this is happening; some great something was moving me, my legs and body, straight toward the Preacher.
But, there I go, moving ever more quickly toward the front – the only one doing so mind you – and finally standing before him with must have been to him, the biggest set of wide eyed surprise anyone had ever witnessed.
He asked to my face, do you wish to be saved?
Yes. I say, amazed I had just said that.
Do you wish to receive the Holy Spirit?
Yes.
Then he put his hands upon my head and started praying the sacred words, “Heavenly Father here is a young man whom seeks thy face....” and the whole world inside and out of me exploded in a flash of light and overwhelming Presence that instantly took over all I was or ever would be. I could barely breathe. The Preacher is still praying with his hands on my head and a literal fiery river ran through me I cannot give adequate words to describe.
Before a knew it, I felt myself crying with such a passion that it seemed every pain I had bottled up all these long years was being released from within me. Whatever all that was, out it came in the same fiery torrent that was still pouring through me. Seemed to me, like I was standing there under his hands for the longest time. I'm sure I heard every word he said, and I did, but the fire, the torrent, the release, the joy, the uplifting current of soul freedom and release made his words seem distant and small, in the background.
Finally, he stopped speaking and removed his hands. I literally half collapsed to the floor and he caught me before I hit it. I looked up into his beaming radiant face, my face awash with tears aplenty, unable to speak or utter a word. I could not. Nor even knew what to say, even if I could. My mouth was open wide, tears still pouring down my face, my voice a tiny squeak here and there...
Somehow, he got me to my feet and helped me to a nearby open space on a pew, where I continued to weep. Finally, that subsided. I lifted my head and found several people around me, giving hugs and kisses, putting their hands me, praising Jesus. I don't quite understand much of that; everyone seemed so very happy. I was still in the river of fire, on the inside. Mute. Stupid with pure joy. No way to explain that, ever. Not even now. Especially now. After life I've lived.
50 years ago today.
Don
"Yes, they want you to reject GOD for them and then to DEFY him.
That’s all the left exist for. TO DEFY THE MOST HIGH."