I knocked on the door of Bill’s first-floor condo, not knowing what to expect. But since I was infused with the desire to share Christ and had already shared with two others that day, I was ready to confront Bill, who was always reticent if not resistant to my message of God’s love for him. I suppose that if I had been him, I would have been so inclined myself. He suffered from stomach cancer, he’d had a portion of his colon removed, and he wore a bag for elimination.

In spite of his quiet demeanor, I had taken a liking to him, and especially when I learned he had been a writer for a music magazine and had at the same time been a drummer for a rock band in San Francisco during the turbulent sixties. (I, too, had been into the music scene, singing on stage in musicals as well as writing songs and was with BMI for a while.) In fact, Bill admitted being a radical druggie at the time. Although he was raised in a quiet Naples neighborhood, he had a wild streak in him and left home to seek his fortune elsewhere like so many other young people at the time, and he ended up in San Francisco.

Bill was a good student and had applied to various universities for medical training but was forced to wait in a long line of more privileged young people. That made him more resistant to the establishment, and it pushed him into the radical drug culture.

Surprisingly, drug abuse didn’t affect his mental acuity, and he could hold his own with a more stable person. Although I have never even smoked a joint, I am constantly reminded of mankind’s resiliency in being able to bounce back after years of drug abuse.

In any case, I knocked lightly and finally rang the doorbell, not knowing what reaction to expect. Bill answered the door with a towel wrapped around his huge girth and a loose-fitting shirt draped over the top of it. He was surprised to see me standing there.

“Jim… what brings you here?”

“I haven’t seen you in a while and wondered how you were doing.”

We began making small banter when he finally asked me, not knowing where else to turn.

My intent was to make the Gospel known to him verbally and in full – not just by my actions. This has always been my modus operandi right from the git-go over forty years ago. And so, when I stepped inside the tiny apartment, I noticed it was clean except for the empty bottles standing next to one another on the kitchen counter and on the floor in front of it. There must have been sixty or seventy clean, clear empty tequila quart bottles row after row, waiting to be thrown out into the trash bin next to the parking lot in a cement block cubical.

“Have a seat,” Bill urged as he flicked off the television that was reviewing a soccer match somewhere in the world. (Soccer was his favorite thing to follow.)

“How have you been?” I finally inquired.

“Oh, so-so; please excuse the bottles. I haven’t had the strength or will to put them in the trash,” Bill said as he sat in the big, plush easy chair draped with a big, worn beach towel. I sat in the only other chair across from him with a small table between us.

“Care for a drink?” he asked.

“No thanks.”

“Tequila! Margaritas are all I ever drink, and as you can see, I drink at least one every night before bedtime.”

We had barely begun conversing when the phone rang; it was his mother calling from the nursing home where she had been residing for the past few years. “Jim, my friend from the fishing pier, is here. He’s the first visitor I’ve had in the past several years.” They only talked for a couple of minutes, and Bill insisted on showing me his knife magazine to show me his latest acquisition for his collection. “Should be here this week.”

After a little more small talk, I finally got down to the business of sharing the Gospel with “my fishing buddy,” with whom I never really fished but only talked to.

“I came to let you know that God cares about you and that Christ came to die for your sins and mine.”

At this, Bill nearly jumped out of his easy chair. “I’ve heard that B. S. over and over, and I don’t buy it!” Bill got up, and just when I thought he was going to get violent, he walked to the small bedroom, saying, “Let me show you my bible!”

Coming back out of the bedroom, he held a glossy covered book indicative of a self-published tome. It was a book written by an atheist/philosopher, the title of which I’ve forgotten.

So now I knew he had only been using me and was tolerant of my good behavior toward him because I always gave him a ride home in my car out of concern for his condition.

His rabid reaction did nothing to quench my concern for him and didn’t surprise me in the least; I knew he was an atheist.

“Let me tell you about my conversion,” I began. Then I told him of my dramatic conversion, which led up to my vision later in life. From there, I went on with my encounter with Satan in which God told me, “I have given you over to Satan to sift you like wheat, but you will not die; for I am praying for you. And when you recover, you shall go out and strengthen the brethren.” Bill just sat there with his mouth agape and never said another word.

I fished into my shirt pocket and pulled out a little red book with Bible verses in it pertaining to the Gospel and laid it on the corner of the kitchen counter that was just big and clear enough to receive it. “Let me leave you with this little booklet so that you fully understand what you’re dealing with…. Goodbye, Bill.”

Forrest Gump said, “Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re going to get.” That is why I enjoy engaging in conversation with strangers, especially concerning spiritual things.

YBIC

Jim Towers

Write me at jt.filmmaker@yahoo.com and visit my reconstructed website www.propheticsignsandwonders.com and www.dropzonedelta.com (Warriors following Christ.)

 

As Joe Biden rescinds Trump’s good executive orders at a blistering pace, many of the seventy-five million conservative people who voted for Trump feel they are experiencing a nightmare with the supposed New Administration taking over. How can this be, they ask? What went wrong? How could the millions and millions of “Trumpers” lose to the likes of a rapidly deteriorating old man and his cabal, who ran his election from the basement of one of his houses against a man who tirelessly crisscrossed the country to pay visits to enthusiastic throngs of people who actually get out and vote every election cycle?

Many others can’t be bothered with politics. They are too busy getting high, drunk, or goofing off while the country slips through their fingers. Yet it is the Democrats who will be in control for the next four years and who are certain to bring the country to its knees – if not demise. These people are friends of the Chinese Communist Party, the Iranian provocateurs of conflict and hate, and the shady communist Russians.

No one has mentioned vetting yet, but shouldn’t there be certain qualifications for running for public office? Is the person a drug addict, an alcoholic, a pedophile, a mental patient, a thug, a thief, a convicted felon, a traitor, a troublemaker, or an outright loony tune?

One day, one of these self-righteous persons is going to have a conflict with another comrade, and they will begin telling what they know about one another; it’s almost inevitable. I’m sure you’ve heard the saying that “There is no honor among thieves.” Then their whole illicit operation will begin to crumble, and our enemies will seize the moment to subdue us.

Has God abandoned us, or better said – have we abandoned Him? You know the answer to that one. Why, even the angels who were “conjured up” by Paula White couldn’t turn things around.

Again, I ask, did God abandon us? No, we abandoned Him, and now we have to pay the piper. If this were a horror movie, here is what the cast of characters would look like:

CAST of CHARACTERS.

BABYLON

The great Babylon.

The year is 2021; buildings are burning, politicians are stealing from the populace, their followers are looting, and people are dying. The police can do nothing.

Our communist enemies are slowly taking over with help from the deep state. ISIS may be the Sharia lawmen as it is in lower Detroit (Hamtramck), Michigan.

The head (Anti-Christ) of this cabal is a man known for his drug use and sordid sex life. He is also known for hating America and white people and for partnering with our enemies even as he bows to them in submission. His partner is known for hating white people too, and their closest confidant is a woman who has direct ties to an enemy who threatens to destroy us and Israel, calling us “Big Satan” and Israel “Little Satan.” This in spite of the fact that they kill their own kind in the name of Allah – their chosen god. The new godless administration has already been making plans to continue helping our sworn enemy’s nuclear-bomb capabilities with pallets of money sent to them in the dead of the night – as was their theft of the presidential election.

Next in the order of subversives is a feeble old man who at times doesn’t even know where he is or what he just said and is the puppet president of this new administration. He will be carrying the nuclear “Football” for the next four years thinking it’s a fishing tacklebox with the red button being a bobber saying, “Hey man, what’s this?” and pushing it until he gets it to work. As of this writing, it goes missing with no one knowing where it is. (I hope the military has it.)

Then there is a small group of insolent, proud men and women who are planning to extinguish free thought and suppress Christianity. Pedophiles, assorted criminals and murderers are taking over the country – lock, stock and barrel – if nothing is done to stop them.

The ad on the marquee for such a movie would say, “Coming soon to a theatre near you, so take a deep breath and pray to God that the Gestapo doesn’t pay you a visit in the middle of the night.”

On the other hand, this nightmare scenario may be the sifting of God. “His fan is in His hand, and He will thoroughly purge His threshing floor and gather His wheat into the garner; but He will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire,” in which case it is really what is best for the nation and its people.

Books

I just finished reading a book titled 32 Minutes in Hell, which was written about fifteen years ago. It details a believer’s journey to hell and back and of his encounter with Christ. Although it was difficult to read, it made me realize how important it is to share the Gospel with others.

The next day I set about in making encounters with four others and realized that I had been somewhat negligent in doing so because of Covid 19. Since I relish making new friends and giving people hope in an ever-darkening world, I missed being out there tussling with the world.

So, after sharing Christ with a young man at Home Depot and giving him my card, I went to my favorite place in all the world – the Naples Pier. No one I knew was there, so I had a snack. Before long, a Romanian man in his late sixties named Adrian showed up. I asked about Bill, and he said Bill had just left since the fish hadn’t been biting since late July. Adrian said it was too bad because he had brought back a sandwich for Bill for lunch. I had noticed he often did that kindly gesture and asked him why he did so. His reply was, “You know what Jesus taught us?” to which he didn’t really expect an answer, even though he must surely have known what I was all about. When I replied, “Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you,” he became confused and had nothing to add to that statement. (He was a Catholic, so he didn’t know much about the Bible and true Christian faith.)

One thing led to another, and he taught me about the Socialist Romanian Republic and how he fled that regime to live in the land of the free, the United States. One of his first jobs was a chauffeur in New York City of all places and had at one point been a driver for Billy Joel (the singer/songwriter).

I gave him one of the little Bibles I try to always carry with me after getting to know each other better.

Then I left to pay a Gospel visit to Bill.

YBIC

Jim Towers

Write me at jt.filmmaker@yahoo.com or visit my website www.propheticsignsandwonder.com and www.dropzonedelta.com.