From Junkie to JerusalemNäide

Planting Roots in a New Place

After twenty-one hours of driving, we made it to Flagstaff, weary, worn, and looking for a place to put down roots.

The van was home until we found a small, shabby unfurnished rental house. We tossed our bags and some mattresses on the floor, and we were set. The house was in the red-light district, among local bars and all the features that come with them. Locals would enter the bars, get drunk, and pass out on the sidewalks while women of the night plied their trade.

Looking back, I am certain that the Lord orchestrated our Flagstaff move—not just for me but for all three of us. I believe it was an answer to the prayer I prayed in Colombia: “God, don’t let me die until I find what happiness is.”

What appeared to be a random series of terrible situations was actually an arrangement of stepping stones.

God moved us to Arizona where I would experience an unforgettable encounter. One night, while Kim and Rhonda took the van to run errands, I sat on the porch smoking a joint. Across the street, I noticed a Hispanic guy in his late teens or early twenties walking along the sidewalk. It was apparent that he was a street kid. He glanced over at me and stepped to the curb to come my way. Then, he stopped, appearing to pause and think things through.

After a moment, the young man turned around and walked past again, watching me out of the corner of his eye. I assumed he was mustering up the nerve to ask whether I had any drugs to sell. He paced back and forth four or five times, and when he reached the end of the block again, he took a deep breath.

Then, he turned around, crossed the road, and walked up to me. I could tell he was nervous.

“I’ve never done this before,” he said.

“You never bought dope before?” I replied.

“No. Not that,” he said. “I don’t want any drugs. I just couldn’t walk away until I told you that Jesus is who you’re looking for.”

That was the third time I was told almost those exact words.

And still, I didn’t get it. “What did you say?” I asked, both shocked and annoyed.

“All I can tell you, man, is that I was a drug addict and some guys right down the street told me about Jesus. They put me in the back of a van and prayed with me.” He continued, “I was so addicted that when I didn’t have money for drugs, I would spray some paint in a rag and sniff the fumes. But when I asked Jesus into my heart, I got free. I’m free!” Then, he looked into my eyes and said, “I just couldn’t walk away until I told you what He did for me and what He can do for you.”

“OK,” I responded, “you told me. Now, get out of here. Go away.”

“I’m telling you, it’s real,” he said. “Jesus is real.”

When Kim and Rhonda came home, I told them about this crazy young guy who crossed the street to tell me about Jesus. As we talked, we heard a knock on the door. I peeked through the curtains. “It’s him again,” I said.

“Well, let him in,” said Kim, the backslider.

So, I opened the door for him. There were a couple of bags of weed around, and I was rolling joints. But our visitor didn’t show the slightest interest in the drugs. He just started telling us how much Jesus loved us. When I mocked him, sadness came over his face, and he turned to leave. “Listen,” he said, pausing at the door, “why don’t you guys come to church with me?”

“Yeah, well, that ain’t going to happen,” I snapped.

“You should think about it,” he said.

I assured him, “Nope. Not going to happen.”

The young man’s name was Bill Trujillo. He left quietly that evening, but he kept showing up over the next few weeks.

When we saw him coming, we tried to ignore him. Yet because we had no furniture, we sat on the mattress, which was on the floor. He’d knock and say, “I know you’re there. I saw you.”

Each time, we opened the door, he told us the same thing: “Jesus is what you’re looking for.”

I always shut him down and said, “Bye.” But he just kept coming over.

One night, he said, “Listen, we’re showing a movie called The Gospel Road at church this Friday. Why don’t you come to check it out?”

This time, I said, “OK, I’ll go to the movie with you if you promise to quit bugging us about this Jesus stuff.”

“Just come to the movie,” he insisted.

“We’ll be there,” I said. “Then, you can leave us alone.”

Rhonda and I went to see the film. Kim couldn’t go because she’d gotten a job as a private night nurse caring for a man who had cancer. After dropping her off, we headed to the church, a little wooden building that seemed full with maybe sixty or seventy people inside. Most of them looked like regular church folks to me, but there were some young people sprinkled in.

Johnny Cash narrated the movie, wrote some of the soundtrack, and performed on some of the songs. June Carter played the role of Mary Magdalene and contributed to the soundtrack, as did Kris Kristofferson. I was already a big fan of all three artists, so that got my attention.

The film depicted Jesus and the disciples as almost hippie-like characters, which also got my attention. As the ending unfolded, I saw the dramatic scene of Jesus hanging on the cross at Calvary and, of course, dying. Then, the scene changed, and Jesus was hanging on the cross in Times Square, with street people like me all around Him. Once again, His head dropped, and He died. Then, the scene jumped again to Jesus dying on the cross in the streets of East Los Angeles.

The shifting locations punched me in the gut.

I realized that Jesus didn’t die only for church people.

He died for us street people. That movie and its music began the soundtrack for my life and fifty years of serving God! Music is so powerful and able to penetrate hearts and minds like nothing else can. It certainly penetrated mine that evening.

May God keep on using music through today’s generation and future generations to touch souls, break down walls, melt hearts, and transform lives in supernatural ways!