I Don’t Even Know if I Have a Heart

On a Tuesday afternoon in the winter of 1972, I became a Christian. 

After I got out of the Marine Corps in March of ’71, I hitchhiked from Virginia to Santee, California, where I grew up. I couldn’t wait to be back among friends. But living in Santee didn’t go well. I partied myself into poverty and depression and would have been homeless if not for a friend who gave me a place to live. I decided to move back in with my parents in Virginia even though I hated Virginia. It was my most lonely place. I needed a fresh start, but I was dragging my feet.

It had been a couple of months since I talked to Mike McGinley, a childhood friend who had become a Christian. He tried to convert me but I wasn’t having it. Now I was reconsidering. I decided to visit him but my car was tireless and up on wooden blocks and he lived 8 miles away and I was in no mood to hitchhike across town. I lit up a joint instead. Halfway through the joint, someone knocked on the door. 

It was McGinley. “I was out praying and God told me to visit you.” 

He had my attention. I let him in and put out the joint. Mike told me what I had to do to be saved. “You just have to believe in your heart and confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord.”

I was ready but I didn’t want an audience. I went into my bedroom, looked up towards the ceiling, and began to pray. “I’m supposed to believe in my heart but I don’t even know if I have a heart. But what I do have, I give to you. I’ve messed up my life and I want you to take over.” I went back to the living room and told McGinley I did the deed. 

Mike said he would pick me up on Friday evening and take me to church, then he left. I spent three days at home waiting, not knowing what to do. But the strange thing is, I didn’t smoke, I didn’t drink any alcohol, I didn’t want sex, and I didn’t do any drugs. The desire for these addictions were gone. I mean completely gone and I didn’t have any withdrawal symptoms.

Friday night we pulled into the church parking lot. It was dark. I walked up a steep driveway and went inside the corrugated barn, turned church. The place was packed with people from my generation. They were standing in front of folding chairs lined up in rows the way churches do, and they were singing with their arms raised. I thought, these people know God. When the singing ended I sat on the floor against the back wall. I had a good view of the preacher. He was a little older than I, was short, had blond hair down around his ears, and a round cherub face. He was glowing and he had a forever smile. I honestly wondered, is this guy an angel? I didn’t understand what he was talking about but I was hooked.