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hisbeautysurroundsus · 5 months ago

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My Faith Journey

My faith journey begins with my death. Not my figurative death. Not my death to self or death to the old nature. But my literal death. My two-year-old body lying drowned in an irrigation canal on an orange grove in South Florida. This event would shape the rest of my life and the work God called me to do.

In October 1976, my parents worked as laborers at Shawkey Groves in Ft. Pierce, Florida. To get from the small single-wide trailer we called home to the orange groves and garden, we crossed a narrow log positioned precariously above a canal filled with alligators and poisonous water moccasins. While playing near the house, I fell into the canal one day.

Working in the garden on the other side of the canal, my mother realized that she could no longer hear my voice playing with my siblings. She immediately knew something was wrong. As everyone searched near the house, she ran towards the canal. Knowing the canal was the only place I could be, she feared the worst. As she got to the narrow log crossing the canal, she looked down and saw my pale, lifeless face. My body was below the waterline, covered in algae and lily pads; only my little expressionless face showed.

I had succumbed to the green water filled with black poisons used to treat the fruit trees. "Jesus!" she screamed as she leaped feet-first into the canal. "Jesus! Save my baby! Jesus!" she begged as she held me by my feet and ran up the canal bank. She later recalled that my feet felt like two stiff pieces of wood. She held me upright, cleaning slime and debris out of my mouth. My body was cold and stiff. Once on the upper portion of the canal bank, I suddenly began to breathe again. Movement returned to my body as I vomited water and green algae slime. Color returned to my face. I was miraculously alive.

The grove was located in rural Florida and had no phone service, making it impossible for my mother to call for emergency services. She had no choice but to trust God to save her little boy. She could not share this miracle with anyone outside my immediate family until she attended Sunday school that week. Sunday school often started with a time of testimony, with people sharing the good things God had done throughout the week. My mom prepared all week to share this miracle with her church family. She poured over every detail in her mind.

When the time came, she raised her hand. Shaking nervously, she stood up to testify about what God had done. Before she could speak, her Sunday school teacher interrupted. "Mrs. Betty, before you begin, does this have anything to do with your boy drowning in some dark, murky water?" "Yes sir!" she exclaimed with flowing tears.

He explained, "I was awakened suddenly from a dream the other night. In my dream, a little boy was drowning in dark, murky waters. Under his head, I could make out two sticks. The sticks had formed a cross under the back of his head and were holding his face out of the water. I immediately woke up. I awakened my wife and said we must pray; a little boy urgently needs our prayers."

He continued, "I don't know what this dream has to do with your testimony this morning, but I wanted to let you know that I have been waiting all week to tell this story. Is this at all related to what you are going to speak about?" My mother burst into tears and exclaimed, "Yes, sir!" She then told the class about the events that had transpired at the canal.

There was no teaching or preaching at the services that day. Everyone gathered around the altar, praising God for his miracle. The church erupted in joyous gratitude, singing and praising God for his great goodness. Jesus saved the life of that little boy in the murky waters of Header Canal that day in October 1976.

My Salvation.

It was 11 p.m. on the night of October 27th, 1992. I was alone in a cheap hotel room in Tampa, Florida. I was 18 years old and anxious for how the next 48 hours would unfold. I only had $20, money my dad had slipped me when he and my mother had dropped me off with the Air Force Recruiter earlier in the day. I had just a few hours before I boarded a flight to Texas to begin a career in the United States Air Force.

Until this point in my life, I had always thought my personal testimony of salvation a bit uninspiring. You see, I was raised by Christian parents, every-time-the-doors-were-open, church-going parents. They were Sunday school teachers and bus ministers who lived what they believed throughout the week, not just on Sundays. From an early age, I was taught by example that nothing trumps a close personal relationship with God. Even now, as I search the recesses of my mind, I only always remember being in love with God.

So went the first 18 years of my life. I loved God, asked him to forgive me when I failed him, and prayed for my typical adolescent struggles. I took great comfort in scripture. From an early age, God's beautiful words were written on the table of my heart. I strayed a bit and dabbled in things, but I quickly returned to the shelter of my God. I experienced the truth of scripture in my own life, for myself, removing any doubt that God exists and that he loves me.

On this night alone in a hotel room in Tampa, I made a decision that impacted everything that has transpired since. Even though I had accepted Christ as my Savior and was baptized as a child, that night, I made my salvation a matter of record as an adult. I knelt at the foot of my bed and asked Christ into my heart — a man confirming a commitment made as a boy. I submitted my life to God's care from that day forward. I trusted in the Lord with all my heart.

Since then, my life in Christ has been anything but boring. He, who began a good work in me, has whittled away at the rebellious nature I inherited. I have been stubborn. There is still much work to do, but God faithfully performs it. My salvation experience might not be some great drama, but it is the best kind of testimony. While I have many shortcomings, God has spared me much of the heartache and misery this world has to offer. My salvation story is one of God's great grace, giving me so much more than I deserve. Who am I that God would be mindful of me from my youth? I put my sincere trust in him as a child, acknowledged him from my youth, and he has directed my path. Nothing is uninspiring about that.

Air Force Basic Training.

Basic Training was six weeks long when I entered the service in October 1992. I was scared to death but was immediately appointed to be an element leader in Flight #050. It took much prayer to get through the sleep deprivation and constant fear of being "recycled" due to failure to comply with the minor details of an obscure task. Being recycled was the worst possible penalty, as your six-week training course could be extended by several weeks depending on where the next Flight was in progression behind you.

One of the most feared tasks in Basic Training was door guard duty on the 0400-0600 shift. The shift was when the Training Instructors gained access to the bay and would wake everyone up with furious yelling, flipping of beds, much cursing, and threats of violence. The poor Airman on shift at the locked door was often the first to get recycled into a junior Flight for failing to verify proper access before unlocking the door.

The task was simple: verify the Training Instructor's proper credentials, unlock the door, and let them in. The Training Instructors would flash a Mickey Mouse badge or some other false credential and start yelling with a phrase that typically started with "If you don't let me in, Airman, I am going to come through this door and…" Many Airmen would cave in fear and off they would go, recycled for failure to pay attention to detail.

My bunkmate was particularly scared to pull door guard duty on the 0400-0600 shift and asked if I would cover for him. We agreed he would do some of my more menial tasks in exchange. This led to a host of other Airmen doing all my work in exchange for me pulling their 0400-0600 door guard shift. This continued for a couple of weeks until the Training Instructor caught on. One morning, he showed the proper credentials, calmly entered the bay, and said, "Storman, you're not on Door Guard duty again."

I relied on God to calm me and give me courage. He gave me the confidence and clear-headedness to think under pressure, something on which I would come to rely throughout my military career. One thing about pulling those early morning shifts still haunts me. Under the fear and duress we were all facing, I heard grown men whimpering, sometimes in their sleep, crying out for their mothers. The experience only drew me closer to God, knowing he would always be there with me, even when my mother couldn’t be.

I scored sufficiently high in electronics on the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB), so in Basic Training, I was selected for the Meteorological and Navigational (MetNav) Systems career field. The only issue with this selection was that I would have to perform a fear of heights test. Being from flat Florida, I feared standing on anything higher than a chair. My knees would shake, my legs would tighten, I could hardly breathe, and I would freeze up. The fear of heights test meant I would have to climb a sixty-foot tower, and once at the top, I would have to take both hands off the ladder, lean back to the full extension of a safety harness, touch the tip of my nose with both hands and answer the question, "What is your name?"

As the test day approached, I frequently prayed to God, "Lord, you know I cannot even stand on a chair for fear of heights. If this is the career field you want me in, you must give me the strength to pass this test." I was confident that he would either help me through or move me to a different career field.

On the day of the test, the sixty-foot tower looked like it was a thousand feet tall. Many of the Airmen who seemed confident back in the unit were now unable to climb more than twenty feet before being escorted back down. When I was next in line, I prayed, "God, if it is your will that I die on this tower, so be it. But I ask you to keep me safe and give me the strength to get to the top." Slowly, a calm came over me. God would either take me up this tower, or I would die. Either way, his will would be done.

With stiff legs and shallow breathing, I climbed to the top of the tower, touched my nose with both hands and softly breathed out my name with the only air my tightened lungs could muster. I could hardly stand when I returned to my unit that night; the stress decimated the strength in my legs and body. I would go on to climb communications towers for the remainder of my career, my crippling fear of heights never entirely going away. I was even appointed climbing training instructor for the Pacific region, providing climbing certifications for hundreds of technicians in Japan, South Korea, Alaska, Guam, and Hawaii.

On graduation day, just before we got on the bus for the airport, my Training Instructor called me into his office. I was sure that I was being recycled. He asked me to sit on his couch, something we were forbidden to do. I reluctantly sat only after he repeatedly assured me that it was okay. He questioned me: "Were you in ROTC?" "No sir," I replied. "Was your dad in the military?" “No sir,” I answered. “Anyone in your family in the military?” “Not that I know of,” I said, worried by the line of questioning. “Hmm, okay, go get on the bus.” The confidence he saw when I was under pressure was not my own or a result of some pre-exposure to the military but God’s unwavering strength. Just like that, I had completed basic training in the United States Air Force.

I Know God, But Who is Jesus?

My first assignment after basic training was a technical school in Biloxi, Mississippi. The school was nine months of intensive electronics training for eight hours daily, five to six days per week. Of the fifty students who started basic electronics, only twenty-four completed it. In the “sets” course that followed, where I learned in-depth theory on specific systems, only twelve of the initial twenty-four made it through to graduation. Many late nights were spent on my knees, praying for the strength to get through the course. Even though I possessed no special abilities, God was sufficient.

Technical training was rife with temptations. I dedicated my free time to studying the Bible to avoid the traps of military life. I grew up knowing the God of my salvation, even accepting him as my Savior. I trusted in Jesus and the sacrifice he had made for my sin. However, when I prayed or thought of God, it was always in a father-son relationship. And so, I prayed that God would help me to see who Jesus was.

Who is Jesus? Why Jesus? Had I known the spiral these questions would take me down, I would likely not have asked it in prayer. Over the next few months, God showed me who Jesus was and why salvation had to come through Christ and Christ alone. The journey was as uncomfortable and challenging as I would ever face, but one that I had to experience.

The answer came during a Bible study I attended at the base chapel on Friday nights. Raised in the Pentecostal church, I asked the leader to pray for a family member who was “backslidden.” He asked if I thought a person could lose their salvation, and I, of course, answered, “I was raised Pentecostal, and we don’t believe in eternal security.”

He challenged me to show him in scripture where a single person who believed in Christ unto salvation had then lost it. I could not. In just a few minutes, he showed me dozens of scriptures contradicting everything I had learned from my parents, Sunday school teachers, and childhood pastor. I became frustrated and angry. I dismissed this as false teaching, Satan trying to lead me astray, and was confident I would see the truth I was taught in scripture during my personal Bible studies. I left the Bible study and never went back.

Over the coming months, I searched the scripture to back up what I had been taught as a child. The more I searched, the more I saw that when Christ saves, he saves to the uttermost. I saw that the gift of God is eternal life. Eternal life is eternal, not just until I sin again. When scripture says I will never perish if I believe in him, it means everlasting life—life that lasts forever. I understood that I did nothing to earn salvation, and it made no sense that it depended on me to keep it.

I finally understood who Jesus was and why it always had to be him. I always fell short in attempting to secure my own salvation. Only a sinless savior could pay the penalty for my sins. This revelation shook me to the core. Could everything I was taught by the most trusted people in my life be wrong? Could the same God who commanded me to honor my parents also be showing me that they were doctrinally in error? I became angry with God. How could he betray me in this way? How could I ever trust him again if he allowed me to be deceived by this foundational truth? I became a shell of myself. I stopped reading my Bible. I stopped going to church and Friday night Bible study. I threw a temper tantrum like a little boy. All along, God was giving me the answer to the question I had asked him.

After a few months, I missed God. I missed the closeness of my relationship with him and the comfort and peace of scripture. And so, in a river of tears, I came back to my first love. He restored the closeness I had felt since childhood. I knelt on my knees and yielded myself to Christ. I now fully understood who Christ was to me. I realized that I did not earn my salvation, and in trying to keep it, I would always fall short and be miserable. I understood that God had started a good work in me, and he would faithfully complete it. My faith strengthened.

During the struggles of the brutal training and my anger towards God, I just kept to myself so as not to get caught up in the temptations that were becoming more and more available. The dormitory I lived in was organized into two students per room, with about twenty rooms sharing a common area called a day room. Everyone liked to gather around the day room and brag about what they were doing off base.

One Airman was particularly skilled at telling stories of his exploits in the local area. He always drew a large crowd hanging on every detail of his exploits and conquests. To avoid falling into temptation, I would avoid these gatherings altogether. While this made me somewhat of an outcast, most of my roommates knew my relationship with Christ was the reason. Besides, I was not otherwise an awkward person to be around. Even so, I was often teased for not being a part of the scene. I would pray for God to allow me to speak of him when given the opportunity.

While that opportunity seldom came, I continued living closely with God. I would sometimes be discouraged that God had not allowed me more opportunities to tell others about him. Twenty-four years after I graduated from technical training school, I received a Facebook friend request from the Airman who was particularly adept at telling the stories of his exploits in the local area. Upon accepting his request, he messaged:

“Hey there, Chief! Wow, how cool is that? Congratulations, that's certainly a huge accomplishment. The congratulations weren't the reason for this message, though. I wanted to encourage you about something. I've (about 4 years ago) come to the Lord. The circumstances were quite remarkable, and worthy of a later discussion if you'd like. But again, not my point. I wanted to tell you that I saw you. Back in those days. I saw that you had something I didn’t. I even knew what it was. You didn't ever try to hide it. In my faith walk thus far, I've many times recalled that about you. I just thought I should share that with you. While your accomplishments are impressive, I can't honestly say I'm surprised. I know with whom you walk. Keep on being that light, brother. I would have told you I was a Christian back then. I did actually believe in God, my sinfulness, and Jesus. I definitely didn't know Him though. I suppose there are differing opinions on what all is required for "salvation". I think we'd agree that in His grace He offers us a pretty low bar. He allows us our miserable failures. Though, my old life would truly qualify as a “colorful” one, and nothing befitting anyone even claiming to be a Christian, as I sit with hindsight, it is unmistakable that His hand was on me even then. Anyway, like I said, I just wanted to tell you what a mark you make on those you come in contact with. You did then, I'm sure it's more so now. This may be a decade’s overdue acknowledgement, but it's not like I just recently came to know what it was. I hope that can bring you a smile. It does me.”

Not Columbus, Ohio – Columbus, Mississippi.

Towards the end of technical school, we gathered around our instructor to learn where our first assignment would be. Some went overseas, others out west. When it came to my turn, the instructor said, “Airman Storman is going to Columbus.” I exclaimed to the class, “Oh wow, I’ve never been to Ohio.” I was corrected, “No, not Columbus, Ohio. Columbus Air Force Base. Just up the road in north Mississippi.” And so, my Air Force career would take me four hours north from Biloxi to Columbus, Mississippi. I would not have been so disappointed if I had known what God had in store for me in that rural town planted in the pines. But before a great victory, I went through a time of personal trial.

Columbus was a great place to cut my teeth on Air Force life. There were many great people in my circle, many of whom I consider my best friends to this day. However, it was also a difficult time. Many of the Airmen I hung around with were in their early twenties. They were falling in love, getting married, and having children. Now twenty, I felt lonely because my life lacked close companionship. I was always the single guy tagging along with several couples.

Living in a co-ed dormitory, temptation came often. Many offers were put before me. None of those girls were Christians, most generally lacking the character I expected in a companion. I wouldn’t say I was picky, I just wanted a woman heading in the same direction and keeping my pace. That made for a pretty lonely time in my life. I was social and dated a bit. But, not finding what I was looking for, I would quickly move on to avoid complicating things with physical connections.

To relieve my loneliness, I turned to writing. I had written poetry years before to ease the stresses of high school. Now, writing unto God consumed many lonely nights. I wrote poems about love and loneliness, never cynical, but always expressing my longing for love and companionship. God used this time to allow me to find companionship in him. Once again, he was sufficient. The four and a half years I spent at Columbus were filled with people and events that would shape my entire life, but none were as impactful as a flood on the Biloxi River in May 1995.

My boss called me into his office with an “opportunity.” In the Air Force, this was code for an opportunity to volunteer for something that could advance your career but likely not something you wanted to do. “Voluntold” is almost always associated with such opportunities to “volunteer.” He said he was an American Red Cross Disaster Response Team member about to ship out to assist the people impacted by flooding on the Biloxi River when an unexpected family emergency prevented him from leaving. He asked if I might be interested in replacing him on the team. I agreed to the arrangement because that’s what was expected when a Technical Sergeant gave an Airman First Class an “opportunity.” He told me that I would have to take about thirty hours of training over the next week to qualify for driving the Emergency Response Vehicle (ERV) and performing mass shelter operations. Also, I would need to be on leave for the two weeks we were expected to be in Biloxi. That was a big deal because I had barely accrued two weeks of leave in my short career. I wanted to say no, but I reluctantly agreed to the task, knowing it would take almost a year to build up that much leave again.

Following a crash course in caring for disaster victims, I drove the team to Biloxi. We immediately started preparing meals and stockpiling cleanup supplies in the Wool Market Baptist Church gym. My job was to make deliveries to those impacted by the flood. After a few days, one of my fellow ERV drivers said I had to meet another volunteer with whom he had been working. He introduced me to Rebekah in the gym at Wool Market Baptist Church. We briefly said hello and agreed to meet for a group dinner that night. At dinner we talked, and even though she was gorgeous, I felt she was too young at four years my junior. Over the next few days, we spoke between deliveries and at dinner with the group. She was different, not like any girl I had ever dated.

Following the relief efforts, we talked each night on the phone. Never, not once, did we ever stop talking. We were instantly friends, though it was not immediately apparent we would be more than that. We spoke on the phone for hours. She was a Christian, confident, yet humble. She did not play games. She was just who she portrayed herself to be.

After some months of talking and a few brief visits, it became apparent that there was much more to our relationship. I felt confident that God had brought us together and that this was the girl I wanted to marry. We dated for two and a half years and married in September 1997. As I look back on it, a thousand small things had to align for us to meet. The flood, my boss, the training, my leave, the introduction by a friend – so many small things had to align perfectly for our marriage to get off the ground. Only God can do that.

Our Life Together.

I would go on to have a 28-year career in the United States Air Force. I would ascend to the rank of Chief Master Sergeant, the highest enlisted rank in the U.S. military, limited by Congress to just one percent of the active force. Rebekah and I would travel to thirty-two countries on six continents. We served in every capacity of ministry in local churches in Germany, Hawaii, Curacao, Guam, Florida, Texas, and Japan. God blessed us abundantly with service in children’s ministries around the globe, even though we could not have children of our own.

Our twelve assignments brought unique challenges, but we met each with our faithful God's abundant blessings and grace. He helped us climb spiritual mountains and survive spiritual droughts. Three things remained consistent despite our location or circumstances: God was always sufficient, our love and support of each other, and my passion for writing.

I retired from the military in 2020. Rebekah and I moved to rural Clark, Wyoming, just outside Shoshone National Forest and Yellowstone National Park. I asked God what he would have me to do with the remaining balance of my life. Through the miracle of a lone elk calf, a story I have written but is too long for this account, he pressed me to spend my days writing of his beauty that surrounds us. And so, I have dedicated the balance of my life to mountains, rivers, and writing of divine beauty in wild places.

Sometimes, when photographing nature, I set the camera down and take in a sight without the cumbrances of my camera. I know what I am looking at will only be preserved in my mind, but that seems acceptable. I take comfort in knowing that the moment is just between me and my God and will never be fully appreciated by anyone but us.

Such is the story I am telling. My life is filled with a thousand examples of God’s goodness. I have experienced more love and life than anyone could expect in a thousand lifetimes. I could write volumes and not adequately express my gratitude towards God. I will set down my pen, knowing that most of what I have experienced in my faith journey will only be preserved within me. I console myself as a writer with the thought that God intended these moments to be just between us, to strengthen our relationship, and they could never be fully appreciated by anyone else.

#god #nature #beauty #mountains #clark wyoming #wyoming #optoutside #nofilterneeded

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