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Stan arrived, soaking wet and we headed for home. What a day. I had been a druggie agnostic with absolutely no plan of having anything to do with a Christian God. Stan was getting baptized although I’m not sure he knew what he was really doing. And here we were, on our way back to Burlingame, he dripping wet and me a God believer. OK, so now I knew that God was real. Now what? (Later I read in the Bible that “The devils believe and tremble”.) Sure, I now knew that God was real, but I was not a Christian, not even close. I just knew that God was real.  After a day or two, I started visiting the dreaded Jesus House, trying to figure out this thing,  Before long, I became a regular, dropping by even more than Stan. I would bring a small pad of paper and a pen and would write down all the things I thought must be phony about these people, convinced that they were not genuine. How could anybody be so happy all the time?

On one occasion, I was chatting in the living room with some of the Jesus people when a couple of Jesus guys brought in this young fellow and, boy did he look rough, even by my standards. He looked completely miserable. The Jesus guys  escorted him into an adjacent room and closed the door behind them. A few minutes later, the door opened and there stood the two christian guys along with this new fellow. The only way I can think of describing this new guy was, he was shining.  For a second, I wondered where Mr Miserable had gone until I realized I was looking right  at him. This guy was so radically changed, I hadn’t recognized him.