Whistler’s Mother

James McNeill Whistler's iconic painting "Arrangement in Grey and Black No. 1," or "Whistler's Mother," a spiritual side can be interpreted in several ways.  Even though the artist intended it as an exercise in aesthetics rather than a sentimental portrait, it was deemed as a portrait with dignified demeanor in the way the artist painted his mother

Her personality and character was emphasized in the eyes of the public. 

This oil painting was not meant to highlight her except for the quality of the painting alone.  James McNeill, the artist, was reportedly frustrated by the overwhelmingly sentimental public response.

 

Just goes to show you that a picture, (or oil painting in this case),

This can be worth much more than a thousand words.

 

Despite the artist's intentions, 'Whistler's Mother" has resonated with viewers for generations, embodying universal themes and eliciting emotional responses that often lean towards the spiritual interpretations of motherhood, devotion, and quiet strength.

 

This leads me to my story, Years ago, I met what would eventually become two of several nieces by marriage to Uncle Joe.

When she was a little girl around 6 years old, she and her sister would play in the living room of their blessed Mom and Daddy's home.

Raised by loving, nurturing parents, and the Godly instructions that go with "training up a child in the way he should go, and when he/she is old he will not depart from it.  Proverbs 22: 6, seemed perfected in their innocence.

Their child-like faith was evident as I watched with joy and glee as these two sister's entertained all who were watching.  They danced and played and mostly sang about Jesus their Savior.

Like "Whistler's Mother" both little girls were building upon their foundations set by their loving Christian parents, and you could tell the construction was valid and strong.  Both their foundations were flawless and ready to construct the rest of their spiritual houses.

Time went on and the attributes depicted in the portraits by artist McNeill, became evident in both my "NOW" nieces.

Today, as I was visiting this family, my one niece was sitting in a chair with her feet up on a small footstool, similar to the one in this portrait.

With my spirit, I saw this young woman of God sitting there and told her I would be writing about what I saw.

This young lady is pregnant with her third child, and the attributes of motherhood shine in her countenance.

Like the real Whistler's mother, she embodies a quiet strength and resilience too.  Anna McNeill Whistler, depicted in the painting, faced financial hardships and personal tragedies throughout her life.  Her dignified and contemplative posture can be seen as representing the mother she truly was.  A mother with peace.

My niece today was showing, in the Spirit of the Lord, many of these attributes too.

I marveled at what I saw in the Spirit.

No human being is perfect, including myself as I write this.  I see what I see, and I felt compelled to write about it.

Though the artist employed a minimalist approach, focusing on tonal harmonies and a restricted color palette, which was a departure from traditional portraiture at the time of the painting in 1871, it was often told that Anna prayed during the time of the painting.

This memorable portrait of a mother looking quite prudish and rather disapproving with a pursed lips expression was really not what was going on in her heart of hearts.

She expressed more than resolute motherhood.  Her life represented peace in the midst of her personal storms.

My nieces, all three, are their own personalities.  The one I speak of in this writing is all about having three little girls and I can see her resolute attitude to raise all of them in the admonition of the Lord Jesus.

No person's life is perfect, and like me, I am still undone at times.  I know where my strength comes from.  It comes from Jesus.  Watching that little girl and her sister back in the early 1990's is a memory I choose to keep close to my heart.  A child's innocence never really leaves.  It just gets older.  Like wine, it ages with time, and I choose to see her and her sister thrive in their pursuits of joy and happiness.

Like Jairus in the Bible in Mark 5, I can see a little girl who is being raised to life again.  Not that she is or has been spiritually dying, but I see a resurrection of sorts in her.  I don't really know her as I only see this family once a year at best during a family reunion.

This reunion was birthed in part to her taking the reins to have one to remember and memorialize another niece who tragically died a few years ago.

I never want to think that a parent should ever outlive their children, but it does happen.  For my family by marriage it is, and still remains, a blemish of pain in all of our hearts.

God uses all of us to help remember and honor the life of a young girl who died prematurely.

My niece and nieces are all beautiful in the eyes of Jesus Christ.  LIfe has a way of bringing everything full circle.  For me it happened many, many years ago.  I cherish all sisters.  The two I have been eluding to are precious in the sight of God Almighty.

I just hope and pray at 69 years old now, that I get to live and see the fruit of all of my in-laws.  All of them are loved  by Jesus.  And loved by me.

Whistler's mother is just a story.  It is a true painting worth more that anyone could imagine in regard to dollar value.  It is priceless.

The image of "Whistler's Mother" has been used since the Victorian era as an icon for motherhood, affection for parents, and family values in general, especially in the United States.

The picture of my niece today, sitting there pregnant and happy, reminds me of the way life should be.  Living.  Not just in an oil painting.  But in real life.

I honor her and all of my family, young and old.  I am an old guy now.

That is a good thing.  I have been preaching this precious Gospel for over 35 years now and I hope my prayers are answered soon for all of the family I dearly love.

To her, and to the rest of my wife's family I say, "Value is more than money."  True value in the Lord Jesus is how HE sees us.  I know that I know that today reminded me, not of a pregnant niece in a chair like the portrait in oil.

It reminded me of a little girl and her sister dancing in a living room with Jesus on their lips and in their hearts.

Keep dancing.  Keep singing. I am painting with words from my heart a portrait that will last into eternity.  I paint with words.  I pray with words.  God hears both. It is HIS nature.  He is the ultimate artist.  He never runs out of oil for the canvas.  He is the masterpiece on the portrait of our hearts.  He signed our portraits, individually.  Not with a signature in ink.  But with HIS Blood.  Thank God He never runs out of that precious, ever-flowing, and life-giving flow.  I'm "Whistling now."

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Setting Your Face Like Flint

“A Forty-year Prison Sentence”

 

Isaiah 50: 1-8, “Thus says the Lord: Where is the certificate of your mother’s divorce, whom I have put away?  Or which of My creditors is it to whom I have sold you?  For your iniquities you have sold yourselves, and for your transgressions your mother has been put away.  Why, when I came, was there no man?  Why, when I called, was there none to answer?  Is My hand shortened at all that it cannot redeem?  Or do I have no power to deliver?  Indeed, with My rebuke I dry up the sea, I make the rivers a wilderness; their fish stink because there is no water and die of thirst.  I clothe the Heavens with blackness, and I make sackcloth their covering.  The Lord God has given ME the tongue of the learned, That I should know how to speak a word in season to him who is weary.  He awakens ME morning by morning, He awakens My ear to hear as the leaned.  The Lord God has opened My ear; And I was not rebellious, nor did I turn away.  I gave My back to those who struck Me, and My cheeks to those who plucked out the beard; I did not hide MY face from shame and spitting.  For the Lord God will help Me; therefore, I will not be disgraced; Therefore, I have set My face like a flint, and I know that I will not be ashamed. 

 

A lot to unpack here. 

 

Verse 7, regarding setting ones’ face like flint is truly a declaration of faith and courage.  It illustrates that when we trust in God’s help, we can face any challenge with unwavering determination and a confident expectation of not being defeated or disgraced.   

 

This also is often interpreted as a prophesy about Jesus Christ, who, despite facing immense suffering and humiliation, remained steadfast in His mission, knowing that God would ultimately vindicate Him, according to Isaiah’s prophetic explanations of this entire chapter. 

 

This portion of Isaiah 50: 4-7 contains the third Servant Song, wherein the prophet Isaiah speaks of the suffering of the Messiah.  He goes on to express his complete confidence in God, no matter what he sees or hears.  His declaration is something we all can learn from. 

Isaiah 50:7, regarding setting your face like flint, was a word given to me from a preacher back in 2006.  This was just prior to beginning the LIFE HOUSE church that was birthed because of this word from the Lord spoken to me about my “confidence” to preach the Gospel and make disciples of men.  This mandate also included “equipping the saints for the work of the ministry.”  This preacher I speak of began working with me in prison ministry back in 2005, and we began a 16-year relationship before he went to Heaven in 2021. 

 

Setting our face like flint means many things.  Number One: We will not shrink back from our mission to serve the Lord Jesus.  Never.  No matter what comes our way.  No quitting or backsliding or giving up.  Jesus never gave up on us, and we do not have the right to quit if we are truly born again in the Spirit.  “What is our alternative?”  Go back into the world and live like we did prior to meeting Christ?  I do not think so.  If we do, even temporarily, we are really saying, “I just do not think the Blood of Jesus shed for me was quite good enough.” 

 

Well, His shed Blood is more than sufficient.  It was and is powerful to set the captive free. 

 

I have been setting my face like flint from the day I was saved in prison back in 1977.  This is an automatic response for every inmate, in the physical realm, to protect oneself and to be resolute in fighting to stay alive in prison.  Does not matter if you are a Christian or not.  If you hesitate, procrastinate, or even give one glimpse of weakness, your life in prison will no longer belong to you.  You can, and will be abused, used, and ground up like powder in a strong wind.  Blown away for eternity. 

 

That is prison.  “But what about life outside of prison?”  I will get to that soon. 

Flint, a very hard, dark rock, is used figuratively in the Bible to express hardness, as in the firmness of horses’ hoofs (Isaiah 5:28), and the toughness of an impossible task that requires unwavering determination on our part. 

Ezekiel 3: 8-9, “Behold, I have made your face strong against their faces, and your forehead strong against their foreheads.  Like adamant stone, harder than flint, I have made your forehead; do not be afraid of them, nor be dismayed at their looks, though they are a rebellious house.” 

 

Reminds me of my first day in prison, prior to working in the cotton fields. 

Unbeknownst to me at the time, I entered the dayroom with around fifty inmates. 

 

My first learning lesson was about to happen to me.  Not out of total ignorance, as I was enlightened in the County Jail prior to prison about the games played in prison.  I was still fried from all the drugs I had done, so I only remember this following incident because it relates to this message.  I have been given back my full memory now so here we go. 

 

I walk into the day room and sit on a wooden bench towards the back.  There are young men like me, (all of us between 18-22 years old) talking loudly and many playing dominoes.  The bulk of these men are those who have been here for long periods of time and knew all the rules and the nature of extortion games. 

 

I am sitting all alone with absolutely no understanding fully of my prison sentence, much less the cotton fields that awaited me the next morning.  I am a miserable human being and could care less about anyone around me. 

I am 20 years old, and a younger inmate sat down on the same bench near me, but not too close.  I guess I radiated a spirit of “psycho”, and he temporarily kept his distance from me.  Finally, after a few minutes, he spoke to me. 

 

“Hey man, are you from Dallas County?  I hear that you turned state's evidence against one of my homeboys here, and for $10.00 a week, I can offer you protection.” 

 

(Turning state’s evidence, or “ratting” or “snitching” on someone in jail or prison is an instant death sentence.) 

 

I listened to what he said, and then I responded, “If you do not move away from me in the next 5 seconds, I will pull out your eyeballs and...” (Can’t mention my other words, which are not appropriate.) 

 

He left me alone. 

 

I sat for a while and decided I did not like what was playing on the television which was hanging on a steel rack, extended from the ceiling with chains.  I walked up slowly to the television.  I changed the channel. 

 

When I woke up, there were the three gorillas who had been sitting on the front row, standing over me.  My nose was broken, and my jaw swollen.  I had been knocked unconscious by one of them, and was told, “Don’t you ever do that again boy.” 

 

Learning lesson.  I could not eat for several days because my jaw was partially broken too, and my nose was not functioning enough to smell what I was eating.  It was not like it was food that causes you to gain an appetite. 

From that day forward, as my mind and senses began to come back to me, I realized something.  I was indeed in a Maximum-Security Prison, and I had to deal with all that this environment brings.  Insanity.  Extortion, Rape, Murder and many other fear-factors attached to being in prison with all young men.  Testosterone overload. 

 

I had to set my face (and my mind and what was left of my wicked heart), like flint. 

 

No wavering.  No excuses. No hope of ever being normal again.  At least this is how I thought without any feelings of remorse for my crimes or any compassion for other psychos like me. 

 

Being steadfast in your beliefs is paramount to survival outside of prison too. 

Life outside of prison can be like a prison to many people trying to work out their Salvation in Christ.  We get discouraged and let down with broken promises and empty dreams at times in this Christian Walk.  We are not immune from trials and temptations either.  We must set our mind and our heart to the truth of God and His Word to survive and live free. 

Jesus did not back out or run away from the Cross of Calvary.  No enemy or accuser could deter Him from accomplishing His purpose.  He had set His face like flint. 

 

We are all setting our face to something.  Like things that are not flint-rock-solid? 

 

Examples are the cares of this world that Jesus warned us about.  I do not want to be an enemy of God, nor do you. 

How about lusting after your neighbor’s wife?  Or keeping up with the Jones’s?   

 

There are a multitude of things that are softer than flint.  Wishy-washy Christianity?  Going to church, but never being the church?  Giving your tithes and doing that out of duty which disqualifies you as a cheerful giver.  God allows grumpy people to fund the Gospel too.  Cheerful means hilarious.  I want to be that way in all that I give.  Not just finances. 

 

I get the fuel for my spiritual tractor by preaching in a local prison around 55 miles from home.  I go there every Tuesday.  This last Tuesday, the 29th of July, I was just about ready to begin my class, when a man approached me. 

“Hey Joe, can I talk to you for a moment?” 

I always make time for everyone, no matter the time limits in prison ministry in the chapel. 

 

He stated, “I am bummed out a lot lately and feel depressed.” 

He went on to tell me the story of how he was going to be given a smaller sentence through a plea-bargaining agreement from his attorney and his victim. 

 

This man said to me, “I was going to get around 5 years, but at the last minute, the court system and my attorney came to a different agreement.  “I got 40 years Joe.”  He said with tears in his eyes.   

 

“What am I to say to this man?” 

 

I had a chance to pray for him and encouraged him to remember that the Christian life is a rollercoaster at best.  Ups and downs, slow and fast, scary and joyful too.  I went on to say to him that, despite the long sentence, Jesus will use your life.  “Do you love Jesus, I asked him?”  He answered me, “Yes, I do Joe, and I just want to stop thinking about the time I have to do and be happy as best as I can.” 

 

I prayed for him. 

Before he sat down, he asked me, “If you have time again in the future can I talk with you some more?” 

 

Of course, you can, and I will always have a listening ear and a prayer for you, just like all the other men here if they want to talk or pray.  I am here, not as a preacher, but as a servant of Jesus Christ. 

 

Part of the Gospel, if not the main reason for the Gospel, is about being a good listener.  Not just a speaker or teacher. 

I marvel at a friend of mine who goes in with me regularly.  He visits with the men, prays for some of them and always tries hard to remember their names.  He is a thousand times better to remember men’s names than I am.  It is a gift from God to him for sure.  They sometimes sit next to him in the back and visit quietly as I minister from the pulpit.  This is not a distraction to me, and it is needed for the sake of the men who come to talk with him.  They need a listening ear that truly listens, not just a sermon.  The teaching lesson I do is not as important as the one-on-one time this man of God spends with many of the men we visit. 

 

Jesus said, “I needed clothes, and you clothed me, I was sick, and you looked after me, I was in prison, and you came to visit me.” 

 

In verse 40 of Matthew 25 declares, And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to Me.’ 

 

I am grateful I get the privilege and honor to minister the Gospel.  My friend who goes with me may not be a preacher or a teacher, but he is a man of God.  Many men respect him, and they know that he will listen to them and offer advice and love from God and His Word.  Visiting is more than showing up.  Visiting men in prison is about showing up to love them, remember their names, and giving of their time to be a vessel of honor.   

 

This entire chapter in Matthew is Jesus’ words.  Fully.  He had HIS face set like flint.  He wanted to.  He didn’t have to.  He loved all of us.  He still does. 

Staying on track in the Christian life requires setting our faces like flint.  The Apostle Paul teaches us to run the race with our eyes on the prize.  (1st Corinthians 9: 24-27).  Paul set his face like flint to finish his course:  

“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.  Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it.  But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”  Philippians 3: 12-14. 

 

Setting our face like flint.  It is a rock.  A very, very hard piece of granite-like stone. 

Steadfast and enduring this Christian life takes time and effort.  It is not a quick fix. 

Each time, from this day forward, if I get discouraged, or bummed out about something or someone, I will remember that man in prison Tuesday this week. 

A possible 5-year sentence turned into 40 years.  He will come up for parole the first time in 20 years.  He must wait for half of his sentence to qualify.  He will be in his 60’s before he goes before the Board of Pardons and Paroles. 

I am 69.  I just can’t imagine the war he is in spiritually.  I can’t even empathize or sympathize that amount of time to spend in prison. 

 

I hope he is able, with Jesus Christ in his heart, to set his face like flint too. 

Learning lesson for me is to: “Continue to remember those in prison as if you were chained with them in prison, and those who are mistreated as if you yourselves were suffering.  Hebrews 13: 3. 

 

I once had a hard head and a hard heart.  If I am going to continue setting my own face like flint, I must remember “who” I am ministering to fully. 

I am preaching and teaching God’s people and those who need to know Christ.  I have not attained, like Paul either.  I just want to finish my race right.  I must press on. 

 

Like Isaiah, he was a servant to Israel with a message.  “Set you face like flint.” 

Remember, God’s hand is not too short to redeem us.  I am grateful that I received Isaiah 50 when I did, so many years ago.  My face is set.  My heart is right.  My hands are reaching out to the lost, and my eyes are seeking to make eye contact with every man I meet in prison.  I may not remember their names all the time.  But I will remember them in my heart when they share their feelings.   

Especially about a 40-year sentence. 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Doors, Gates and Paths: “Influences”

In this past week of July, on the 22nd, which was a Tuesday, Ozzy Osbourne died.  Iconic rock and roll lead singer for Black Sabbath, he was heralded as the “Prince of Darkness.” 

In the same week on the 24th of July, Hulk Hogan passed into eternity. 

Terry Gene Bollea, better known by his wrestling ring name of the Hulk, was deemed one of the best by the Wrestling federation and World Championship Wrestling.  His massive physique, and his trademark blond horseshoe moustache and bandanas, Hogan was widely regarded as the most recognized wrestling star worldwide. 

In his prime he was six foot seven inches tall and weighed 302 pounds.  The Hulk was a force and dominated the ring. 

 

Beyond that, his proclamation of knowing Jesus Christ as his Savior was by far greater than any feat of strength, he performed in the ring under the bright lights of Hulka mania. 

Ozzy, on the other hand, was noted by his son Jack to have known Jesus in his younger years, and towards the end of his life was known to read his Bible and profess God.  The Godfather of Heavy Metal was not known, despite his lyrics speaking about the dark side, as a Satanist or Devil Worshipper. 

 

His antics on stage would cause one to believe he was demon possessed, yet he was a performer and did spend many years using drugs and alcohol.  It is obvious he was not serving God during those years, but he came back to his faith according to his son Jack. 

 

Ozzy once said, “The thing about life that gets me crazy is that by the time you learn it all, it's too late to deal with it.  It should be the other way around.  We should be born with all this sense and knowledge and then get stupider as we get older.” 

 

On to reality. 

No one knows the heart of a man or woman but God.  We can look at a person and the life they lived and come to some spiritual conclusions.  It does not matter what someone confesses, professes, declares or decrees, only God knows whether they are saved by grace in trusting the death of Jesus on the Cross.  Only God, not a man can be a judge. 

 

Now to the influences. 

After my mother died, we moved to Idaho where I tried to continue in high school. 

Within two months, my older brother joined the Army as was off to bootcamp. 

My older sister moved to live with my aunt in Georgia. 

I was left with Daddy and his addiction to alcohol.  He was successful in being an electrical engineer, but booze was his escape from reality, because of the loss of his wife of 21 years.  He drank before she died, but it became a true addiction afterwards. 

My mother died when I was fifteen years old. 

 

I was an addict, using LSD, Meth, and alcohol.  Smoking Marijuana and doing everything I could to escape reality. 

Two addicts living together.  One balding, the other, me, had hair down to the middle of my back.  It was the era of 1972, 

I tried to go to school, but the addiction and the fact I failed every class, prompted Daddy to move back to Texas by 1973.  It was then that I completely dropped out of high school and did my own thing. 

 

Influences.  Black Sabbath and the lyrics of one of Ozzy’s songs was very influential to me.  It opened the door to Satan in the fact that I allowed it. 

Was not Ozzy’s fault, he was an entertainer.  I was a dope fiend. 

 

One song, called “Paranoid” was the one that got me started into insanity.  It said the following: “Finished with my woman ‘Cause she couldn’t help me with my mind.  People think I’m insane, Because I am frowning all the time. 

All day long I think of things, but nothing seems to satisfy.  Think I’ll-lose-my-mind-if I don’t find something, to pacify.  Can you help me Occupy my brain?  Oh, yea.” 

 

There might not be actual demons in the lyrics, but I was so vulnerable after mom died that I was searching for something to “Occupy my brain.” 

It was true that I was “frowning all the time.”   

 

“Nothing seems to satisfy” is an understatement when a person (me) was trying to fill a void with drugs and every evil thing I could back then. 

I played drums in a rock band in Idaho, and Daddy helped us by building a homemade light show that we could use during our performances.  We played at the high school auditorium, and the V.F.W. (veterans of foreign wars) as well. 

 

We played each weekend somewhere using other rock band’s songs.  Black Sabbath, Deep Purple and Led Zeppelin were a few that we copied the best we could, and drugs flowed freely in our veins during the sessions. 

My daddy’s electrical prowess paid off with his version of a color-filled light show.  My buddy Ed used the switches and lights, including a strobe light and black light to bring the full effect of this hard rock musical event.  We would later, during a break, go out to the U-Haul truck and sit in the back with the door shut and smoke dope. 

 

I say all of this to make a spiritual point about the ear gate and the eye gate and the paths of life. 

Proverbs 4: 14-27.  “Do not enter the path of the wicked, and do not walk in the way of evil.  Avoid it, do not travel on it; turn away from it and pass on.  For they do not sleep unless they have done evil; and their sleep is taken away unless they make someone fall.  For they eat the bread of wickedness and drink the wine of violence.  But the path of the just is like the shining sun, that shines ever brighter unto the perfect day.   

The way of the wicked is like darkness; they do not know what makes them stumble.  My son, give attention to my words; incline your ear to my sayings.  Do not let them depart from your eyes; keep them in the midst of your heart; for they are life to those who find them, and health to all their flesh.  Keep your heart with all diligence, for out of it spring the issues of life.  Put away from you a deceitful mouth and put perverse lips far from you.  Let your eyes look straight ahead, and your eyelids look right before you.  Ponder the path of your feet and let all your ways be established.  Do not turn to the right or the left; remove your foot from evil.” 

 

That was a lot to digest, yet it is the truth that I did not know at 15 years old. 

It is an obvious thought and needs no clarification that “I do not blame Ozzy Osbourne and his band for my demise spiritually.”  That is ludicrous to believe, and I do not expect those who listen to this kind of music to run out and burn their albums. 

Well, cassettes and CD’s burn too, but you get my point.  

 

 Do not open the door of your heart by watching, listening and following any demonic music and the lyrics that back up the dark side of life.  It is a spiritual thing. 

 

I point to the era after daddy, and I moved back to Texas from Idaho in early 1973. 

I quit school and did more drugs.  Jimi Hendrix became my new idol, and I listened, played his songs on my drum set, and did more drugs. 

I was out of control, and it was just a matter of time that the path I was on was about to become the abyss in my wicked heart. 

In late 1974 my father was murdered, and I ended up with my own legal issues by committing two different attempted murders during 1974-1976.  I was a demon possessed drug and alcohol addict.  An accident waiting to happen. 

I continued this path of destruction until my final crime which put me into prison in September of 1976. 

Just after we buried my daddy in November of 1974, I decided to go to the local drive-in movie alone. 

One year earlier on December 26, 1973, the movie the “Exorcist” was released into theaters. 

This night in early December, I took several hits of Purple Microdot LSD and shot Meth into my veins. 

My friends told me that if I did not have any money for the movie, they had a way in for free. 

I was by myself and was following their advice. 

They said, “Just drive slow over the spikes at the exit of the drive-in theater with your headlights off so no one will see you.” 

Just drive slowly. Huh? 

Well, I did, and popped all four tires as me and my 1974 Ford Pinto hobbled on four rims with flat tires to our spot in the drive in. 

 

High on drugs, and watching with my eyes, I believe, (looking back on this event) that this was the night the demons entered my soul and took up residence. 

It was a pathetic sight to see me driving back to my single-wide trailer a few miles away from the theater.  Four flat tires and driving on my rims at 7 miles per hour, all the way home. 

 

It was a wonder that the police did not pull me over for driving too slowly and D.U.I.D.  The other D stands for Demons.  Driving under the influence of demons and drugs and driving too slowly.  I wonder what the tickets would of cost?  After I sobered up and got out of jail somehow. 

 

This eye gate issue is real.  The ear gate too, as I listened to the horrible music in that movie that was banned in several countries for its depictions of graphic violence and disturbing themes.  This movie was considered unsuitable for the public viewing by the Irish Film Censorship Board.  The board felt that the film's content was too intense for audiences at the time. 

 

Furthermore, the theme of demonic possession and featured graphic imagery and frightening scenes that many deemed inappropriate for general audiences.  It evoked fear for sure.   

Imagine seeing me in my Pinto alone and high on LSD, with demons from hell entering my soul.  Hard to imagine but it happened to me. 

 

I let it all in.  My eye gate was wide open to hell.  My ears heard things that should have never been heard by a normal person.  My path was crooked, and I had to steal four new rims and tires the next day to get my Pinto back on the road so I could do an armed robbery to support my Meth habit.  Real Demon possession. 

 

All my senses were thwarted and full of living-hell-demonic forces because my spiritual doors were wide open and my gates and paths were left unguarded.  It was no wonder I would end up with two attempted murders and ended up in prison. 

 

I needed Jesus.  I needed to be set free from the demonic forces that held me captive during all those 7 years of addiction.  It all stemmed from a broken heart over my parent's deaths.  However, I am the one who did the drugs.  I am the one who listened to Ozzy and the rest of the artists who were addicts themselves. 

 

Hulk Hogan was not Ozzy.  He was a man who had flaws and was labeled an outcast because of his size and stature.  He was a believer in Jesus in his early years but veered off the path of righteousness until his later years when he was a bold proclaimer of Jesus Christ.  He did waste some years of his life living his wrestling dream but came back to Jesus and lived for Christ until he went home to Heaven. 

 

I did not know or watch him in the 1980’s during his prime.  I knew of him but did not watch television much back then.  The rise of Hulkamania brought him to the top and he became a global icon.  His reign as champion lasted 1,474 days, and his matches, especially against rivals like Andre the Giant and Randy Savage, became legendary. 

 

Every superstar or movie legend is still human.  They have a bigger platform in the media and in the world as they end up living in a glass house where everyone watches their every movement. 

 

I speak to this very thing while I preach in prisons weekly.  Men in prison live in a glass house where every other inmate and the guards watch them intensely.  If they are a believer in Jesus, they are watched and tested and attacked more than unbelievers.  Not by the guards necessarily, but the other men test them to see if they are real. 

 

“Why is this?”   

Because there is a hierarchy in prison.  It is a game of king of the mountain.  A felony of murder usually puts you on or near the top.  A cop killer makes you the king. 

A child molester is at the bottom of the fish tank, and he is a target for fishing.  He will be caught, and the crime he committed against a child is perpetrated against him.  Repeatedly until he submits or dies.  It is the way it is in prison.  “No holds barred” as the Hulk would say in wrestling.  This prison environment is not an arena with television cameras and fans watching. 

It is an arena of hell on earth for those who are too weak to survive.  It is the way it is. 

 

I have said all of this for one point, and one to learn from. 

Proverbs said, “Do not enter the path of the wicked.” 

 

Doors, gates and paths.  Open doors from God, and the gates of hell being stopped in your life because Jesus is on the throne of your heart, makes your PATH right and straight. 

 

First point is simple.  Give Jesus your heart. 

 

Second is even better.  Do not open the wrong door.  Leave the gates locked regarding your eyes, ears and mouth.  And simply stay on the path of righteousness in Christ. 

 

He will be the best influencer you will ever have or know.  Goodbye to all the bad influences in our lives.  It is not easy to do, and it is not a lifestyle that is very popular.  But I can guarantee that if you secure the doors, gates and paths with Jesus as your Lord and Savior, you will never regret His influence in your life. 

 

My choices back in the Seventies were bad and ruthless. 

My Godly choices today to serve Jesus with all my heart are the only choices worth making. I certainly am not perfect but strive for His mercy in my life.  I choose to serve Him.   

 

He is the one who can fix our broken hinges on our doors.  He has the key to unlock them and lock them when needed.  He is the ultimate gate keeper of your heart as you surrender to His will daily. 

 

Just remember Proverbs 3:6 which says, “In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” 

 

Verse 8 declares, “It will be health to your flesh, and strength to your bones.” 

 

Influences.  Take a good look at yourself and ask the ultimate question.  “Who am I, and who do I emulate? 

If you are IN Christ, you are in for good.  If you follow Him, you will never be lost again. 

 

I would rather be lost in HIM, than found by this world.  “How about you?” 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Unpacking Emotional Baggage

While packing for my upcoming trip to Oregon for prison ministry and two churches, I ran across this sermon I wrote 10 years ago. 

 

Like any sermon, this one has a beginning and a middle and an end.  Learned that while doing prison ministry for the last 30 plus years.  There is a definite time limit with no exceptions in prisons.  When the officers say it is time for the men to go, it is time to go, even if I am in the middle of the altar invitation. 

Hence, the beginning, middle and the end of the message.  Gotta preach and have time to pray for men and their needs, so there is no time to go off on some rabbit trail and not focus on the three elements of a message. 

 

This is learned behavior so that God has enough time to heal, save and deliver men at an altar in prison.  Of course, He can do what needs to be done on behalf of a man in prison whether I preach or run out of time. 

 

This message was birthed out of my own experiences in the past.  Luggage is not baggage. 

It is not about luggage for a trip because I am speaking to baggage not a four-wheel piece of luggage holding clothes and necessities for travel.   

 

It is about baggage that we sometimes hold on to for various reasons which I will get into soon. 

2nd Corinthians 5: 1 declares, “For we know that if our earthly house, this tent, is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” 

Verse 6-8 goes on to say, “So we are always confident, knowing that while we are at home in the body, we are absent from the Lord.  For we walk by faith, not by sight.  We are confident, yes, well pleased rather to be absent from the body and to be present with the Lord.” 

 

As believers in Jesus and having had the true “born again” experience based on John 3: 3, then we know we are never actually absent from the Lord because of the Holy Ghost. 

 

Romans 6: 12, “Therefore do not let sin reign in your mortal body, that you should obey it in its lusts.” 

 

Our bodies are the temple of the Holy Spirit and grace does allow for us to be in a place of repentance.  Not to take God and His grace for granted though. 

So, what about the spiritual baggage? 

 

Emotions cannot be managed.  Having any control over our emotions is only accomplished by walking in the Spirit and denying the fleshly attributes that seem to control our lives at times.  It is like a spiritual roller coaster that we climb on and go along for the ride.  Up and down.  Happy and sad.  Twists and turns.  Anger then joy.  Upside down, loop to loop, in a depression that the world deems as Bi-Polar.  This may be a real neurological disorder with wires crosses in our brains that medication can help with. 

 

But I am talking about getting on a ride like a roller coaster that we had no business getting on in the first place.  Why do we wait in line at theme parks for hours, just to ride a ride that lasts less than one minute? 

That cost us a bunch of money for a quick fix of adrenaline.   

 

Attributes and characteristics of “baggage” in our emotions are as follows: 

Mood swings, anger, out of control verbal rantings, isolation, fears, anxieties, anxiousness, nervousness, and many others, are sometimes a result childhood trauma. Not all, but some. 

 

How then can we be led by God and His Spirit if we never get the baggage out of our emotions?  They live there in the small zipper pouches like in regular luggage.  They are hidden in small pouches tucked away in our deepest part of the luggage, hoping they make it through security at the airport. 

 

Rather than “check” this baggage, how about throwing them away in the nearest recycle bin.  Better yet put it in the landfill can so it can’t be recycled into another vessel down the road. 

Perhaps it is time to get off that roller coaster and get out of that theme park forever, and do not go back. 

 

There is no thrill in being tormented by emotional baggage.  I know from all my past life experiences how easy it is to allow them back into my carry-on bag. 

 

Ephesians 4: 30-32, “And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, by whom you were sealed for the day of redemption.  Let all bitterness, wrath, clamor, and evil speaking be put away from you, with all malice.  And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you. 

 

Hold on.  “You mean I have the baggage of bitterness in my heart?”   

 

Is this why I have a tough time forgiving the ones who hurt me?  Even if they are dead and gone, I hold on to grievances towards them? 

Yes, yes and yes. 

 

We do not want to admit this as a Christian, but it can be true when the right stressors in life hit us between our eyes like a bullet shot from the rifle of our memory banks in our heart. 

 

We act, react, respond and then renew that pain by reliving it over, and over like that roller coaster with its twists and turns and loop-the-loops.  Vomiting comes after that ride, or even during it. 

 

1st Peter 5: 6-8, “Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time, casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.  Be sober and vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.” 

 

It is like someone at the airport, before the security checkpoint, who slips a handgun in your carry-on luggage while you are not looking because you are too busy in line at Starbucks lusting for that tall Americano with two shots, foam and creme on the top. 

Handguns at the airport seem like the extreme, but the devil is always looking for an opportunity to “slip” something by you, near you or even in your thought life.  Baggage. 

An arrest is forthcoming at the airport for a gun in your bag.  Just try to explain that one away.  “Officer, I did not know it was in there.”  (It is not the Americano’s fault either.  Should have been sober and vigilant.)  We had a part to play in the baggage at this point. 

 

 You can’t explain away a former hurt that turned into a revolver in your own hand, pointing it at yourself daily.  Whether the chamber is loaded or not, it is the fact that you are unable to let go and let God disarm you.  Your spirit is crushed, and your emotions are Topsy-Turvey, and you want to get off that ride, even if you must jump off. 

 

Death is imminent either way.  God does not want you to die spiritually or even be sick.  He wants you to recognize your baggage for what it is.  It is old, rotten, tattered and filled with the ugliness that it was meant to be for.  It may not have been your fault either. 

 

People can be mean and disgusting.  Parents too.  Look out for your own self and be healed and trust the process of God helping you humble yourself.  Humility is an attribute of the Holy Ghost.  Bitterness will go away in time, and you will receive the joy of the Lord.  In the way He wanted for you all along. 

 

I know what it is to be MY own worst enemy.  If I could blame someone, or somebody that would have been the easy way out for me in1971 when mom died.  I could blame it on the drugs.  Yes, drugs open the door for the devil, but the devil did not open my mouth and drop the LSD I took.  He did not open the can of beer.  I did.  I am the one who put a funnel in my mouth and poured the gallon of alcohol down the gullet of my greed and addiction. 

 

I did it to myself, and I am responsible for my actions.  All of them.  Daily and hourly.  Today is much different than back when mom and daddy died.   

 

I am a new man in Christ thanks to the Texas penal system and the felonies I committed.  Sounds weird that I would thank my felonies.  I am not thanking them the way most would think.  I am thankful that my sin did not kill me before it was too late.  Prison saved my life.  Jesus Christ, while I was in prison, opened my bags inside my heart and mind and unzipped them for me.  The release from my emotional bags full of demons and desires, left me.  Once and for all. 

 

I only remember and write about and preach about my past for ONE reason.  So that I can win some to Christ.  No more.  No less.  

 

I hated my past sin-filled life. I am a forgiven man, who does recognize my current frail moments.  I need forgiveness from God and the ones I love for the moments of stupidity and sin that I do from time to time.  If you are perfect, or perfected, please turn down the light from your Halo, it is blinding me, okay? 

Emotional baggage can be psychologically evaluated by a professional doctor.  You can be determined to be “reactionary” and obsessive.  You can be diagnosed as compulsive and deemed to have a disorder.  With grandiose thinking too. 

My disorder was physical, mental, emotional and spiritual at the same time. 

If the State Hospital I was in before prison was right; I would have never went to prison. 

 

Facts are facts.  If the psychosis medications given to me for depression and delusional behaviors were diagnosed correctly, then the medication would have worked. 

The meds did not work.  Try and understand that the Hospital did their best under the circumstances.  I was no different than other patients in there who were diagnosed the same. 

It was not because I was not depressed.  It was not because I did not have demons and desires to kill.  It was not that I didn’t hate myself and God.  I hated everything. 

It was not because I did not want to live and was determined to kill myself over my rotten life at age 20 while in the State Hospital.  This nut house had different varieties living there.  I was in the Adolescent Unit, housed with 18–22-year-old mental patients.  I was a drug addict out of control. 

There were more prescriptions drugs inside this hospital than I had ever seen.  If the Thorazine and Lithium meds had not turned me into a zombie, I would have robbed the nurses at the nurse's station and overdosed to put myself out of my miseries.   

I could not rob them because I would have slipped on the tile floor beneath me because of the gallons of my own slobber drooling out of the side of my mouth from the medications. 

 

I am not insensitive or trying to blame anyone for my behavior.  I appreciate what the doctors tried to do for me.  They are the professionals, not me.  I am revealing what happened to me with no blame given to anyone or any State facility including the prison I was in.  I DID what I DID to MYSELF.  I am the only one to blame for my sin.  Jesus forgave my sin and gave me a new life. 

Emotional baggage along with many other pieces of my luggage hidden between the layers of my insanity.  Deep zipper pockets in my baggage.  It was not a tiny shave kit bag.  It was a full set of Samsonite, indestructible, dent free baggage. 

 

Reality was, I needed to go to prison.  I deserved to go to prison.  I had to go to prison for my life to be spared and my soul delivered from hell.   

Prison was a result of my felonies, but more so it was part of God and His redeeming power.  To take what Satan had meant for evil and turn it around for the good of my life and God’s will for me to be the preacher he desired me to be.  In Him, I have fulfilled His purposes.  His will, not mine be done.  Now, for almost 40 years I have been drug free, medication free and the joy of the Lord Jesus is my daily prescription. 

 

I am 69 years old now.  When I was in prison at age 20, I was never given medication.  If the State Hospital was correct in their treatment plan for me, then I could have continued in prison, on medication issued from the prison doctors, and being happy, happy-go-lucky shouting, “HIP-HIP-HORAY" while in the cotton fields picking cotton.  That was not the case file written on me. 

My case file said, “Convicted Felon.”  End of that story. 

 

Statistics regarding inmates in jails, prisons and detention centers in America are that 54% of State Prisoners, and 45% of Federal Prisoners have some sort of mental health issues. 

Jail statistics vary from state to state.  If this is the case and some of these prisoners are medicated, then the statistic would change over time if the mental health would improve.  There would be tangible, documented and verified results showing improvement. 

 

Incarceration and medicated prisoners are a slippery slope to analyze. 

I am not a doctor or a statistician.  I am an ex-convict saved by the grace of Jesus Christ.  I can only speak for myself and my experience.  Including preaching the Gospel for almost four decades primarily to inmates. 

I have seen men change and go from depressed to the joy of the Lord.  I have watched statistics change and true revival break out in various prisons in this nation.  Jesus is the cure for all that ails mankind, but strongholds exist, and prayer is very much needed to save America. 

 

When inmates are released, within three years of the release date; 67.8 percent of the ex-offenders are rearrested.  Within 5 years, the percentage goes up to 76.6%.  What is wrong with this picture? 

 

There have been many rehabilitation programs, training schools, trade schools and the like in prisons all across this nation.  I was in machine shop in prison in 1977 after I was saved by Jesus. 

We had an upholstery class and another optional class for beginning welding.  We had school to get our General Education Diploma. 

There is only one excuse for a man to re-offend after prison. 

He likes his sin. 

He, or she, enjoys doing what they do and perhaps they are so institutionalized, that prison is the only place these prisoners can function and live out their days. 

This is not because the States failed to rehabilitate.   In my case, it was called Department of Corrections.  I was corrected in many ways in the cotton fields by the Boss Man.  That story is for another time. 

 

Without a complete heart-transplant by Jesus called a transformation from death unto life, then human beings will reoffend.  A new mind in Christ is needed to understand that without Jesus intervening for a person, they may continue in the lifestyles that are causing them to be in prison or jail.   

Even more, there are thousands of “normal” people functioning in America without medication to keep them happy. 

 

They are not in a physical prison.  Thank God.  But the prison they live in with the baggage of their emotions, has many on a spiritual death row.  They are dead men and women walking.  Meaning that they, like a real death row inmate, are just waiting for the moment when they are put to death.  Not by the State with the death penalty in a real execution.  But in a different “lethal injection” spiritually.  No Governor to call at the midnight hour for a stay of execution. 

No attorney to hold back the legal consequences of the crime. 

 

More hardline statistics. 

One out of four Americans will have their savings accounts destroyed.  Primarily because of their mishandling of money. 

One out of four continue: deaths related to tobacco.  High Blood pressure brought on by stress.  Babies in America will die because of the “shaking” of the caregiver.  One out of four Americans (adults and teens combined) will die in their depression and anxiety.  Either by a self-inflicted way, or through means like “Death by Cop.”   Purposely pointing a loaded gun at a police officer so the officer will shoot them, rather than them taking their own lives. 

 

So, basically 75% of Americans are okay and happy and healthy people.  But are they saved by Jesus and born again? 

What about the 25%? 

 

If our emotions do not get handled and managed, this statistic can climb. 

The Demonic realm is real, and we must fight it with prayer.  There is a war going on that you can’t see with the naked eye.  It is absolute and in the Bible.  The Devil is out to KILL, STEAL and DESTROY lives.  

 

 “We battle not with flesh and blood but with principalities and powers and spiritual wickedness in this age; against spiritual hosts of wickedness in Heavenly places.”   Ephesians 6: 12. 

 

The battle belongs to the Lord of Hosts.  The Most High is in charge, but we have a part to play.  It is called prayer, pray and pray some more. 

Like going to a hotel after a long flight to your destination. 

You arrive and set your luggage on the luggage carrier you found in the little closet. 

You unzip it and pull out your toiletries and arrange them neatly on one of the small towels in the bathroom 

Obviously, you used some sort of antiseptic wipe to wipe down the counter tops and light switches. 

Once this is done, you open the garment back and hang the clothes up. 

Finally, you change into comfortable lounging clothes and relax after that long flight and shuttle to the hotel. 

All is well. 

The only problem is you forgot to pack your Bible. 

 

Yes, online reading the Bible will work as you plug in your 47 devices you brought with you.  It is not a business trip, but a vacation.  Got to have all the gismos and gadgets or you may get depressed.  God forbid your batteries run down. 

The Bible. 

There is something about turning the page in a Bible instead of scrolling with your finger on a laptop. 

The paper makes a sound, and it rustles into place. 

The Word of God staring at you from the large print, study Bible because, if you are my age, you need it.  A magnifying glass interrupts the flow of reading for me. 

I read.  I pray, and I rest in His Promises. 

 

Emotional baggage is unpacked, not in a hotel as described above. 

It is unpacked in His Presence. 

It is unpacked and destroyed by His Power from your repentance and your sorrows.  It is discarded in the spiritual realm by prayer, worship and Glorifying the King of Kings, Jesus. 

I do not know any other way to be set free than to take a trip with my baggage. 

Destination, unknown.  Departure and arrival times, unknown. 

Flight delays?  Probably. 

Turbulence, yes.  In-flight meals, no; just peanuts for the peanut gallery.  First class or coach matters not to Jesus. 

 

He just wants your baggage. 

He needs your baggage. 

 

It will not get lost in transit because you want it too.  It will not go away because you pray. 

It will be, like your sin, forgotten and remembered no more.  As far as the East is from the West. 

 

Take a trip today. 

Don’t forget to pack.  Your flight awaits you.  “All aboard.” 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Unmasking The Lone Ranger

The Lone Ranger was a fictional character which began on the radio in 1933 and then later in a television series from 1949 through 1956.  Black and white television was the era. 

He was a Texas Ranger who had lost three of his comrades to murder by bandits.  His job was to avenge their deaths by rescuing the downtrodden and becoming a type of “superhero” to many in the Old West. 

 

He, and his sidekick Tonto, who was an Indian in the Potawatomi tribe.  He was created as a character to provide dialogue for the Lone Ranger. 

 

The Lone Ranger wore a mask over his eyes with only the eyeholes exposed to see.  He was trying to hide his identity, so he did not alert anyone that he was a former Texas Ranger. 

He and Tonto were on their own “warpath” to eliminate and jail the bad guys and rid the area of crime against the people. 

The Lone Ranger rode a white horse, a stallion, often described as a noble and powerful steed.  This horse was known for his speed and intelligence.  Silver was his name, and when the Lone Ranger achieved justice in the show, he would ride off on Silver and shout, “Hi-Yo, Silver, away!”  A well-known catchphrase. 

 

Some of the townspeople would shout as he rode away, “Who was that masked man?” 

 

Today I will ask the same thing to you.  “Who is the masked Christian attending church, going to Bible studies, and praising Jesus on Wednesday’s and Sundays?” 

 

In the church world, there are masks that we wear at times.  Even in the house of God and where people proclaim to love Jesus, we sometimes wear a mask. 

 

Because of circumstances, situations and trials, and issues with family, we sometimes unintentionally hide behind a mask.  We are not being who we say we are, and we are not who we should be for Jesus. 

Jesus is the only One who can take your mask off. 

 

It is almost like counterfeit Christianity.  The word counterfeit means, made in imitation with intent to deceive.  Not genuine.  Forged to look the same as the original.  Pretending to be real.  A copy intended to be passed off as the authentic article as in counterfeit money or expensive art. 

Falsely represented and not fully represented.  Not free from hypocrisy.  Having cunning abilities to convince people that what they offer is true, real and valuable. 

To simulate or imitate.  Most counterfeiters compete out of greed for wealth knowing full well that they are dishonest liars. 

 

Matthew 23 makes a point beginning in verse one, "The scribes and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat.  Therefore, whatever they tell you to observe, that observe and do, but do not do according to their works; for they say, and do not do.  (In other words, they are talkers not walkers.  Their yes is not yes, and their no is not no.)  For they bind heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on men’s shoulders; but they themselves will not move them with one of their fingers.  But all their works they do to be seen by men.” 

 

In modern day Christianity and in some churches, many people attend on Sunday morning.  They come out of duty perhaps.  If they are parents, they take their children to children’s church, while they attend the main service for the adults. 

 

They listen to the message.  IF there is an altar invitation for salvation, or healing or deliverance they will sit as if super-glued to their seats. 

“Would not want my peers to see me at the altar.  They might think something is wrong with me and my marriage.” 

 

How pathetic is this.  Humans need prayer.  People need to get over their pride and indifference and quit being pretenders in the house of God. 

Like God can’t see our true motivations and behaviors? 

 

I consider this behavior as rebellion.  Not rebellion against the Pastor.  It is their sin against God. 

Once the service is over, they pick up their children, walk to their parked car, and drive to lunch at their favorite cafeteria.  Full of other church going, mask wearing, hypocrites. 

 

Yes, hypocrisy reigns strong in the church.  Not all churches, but you get where I am going with this. 

 

The masks we wear on Sunday morning and Wednesday evenings are real.  But these masks do not compare to the ones we strap on at home and at work. 

 

I knew a man who lived with a Pastor Daddy.  This Pastor preached at his church and wore his robe at the pulpit.  He was a great speaker and knew how to quote scripture and break them down to their simplicity.  He painted spiritual pictures on the canvas of people's hearts with God’s Holy Word. 

 

He even prayed for people as they wept at the altar.  Anointing them with oil and weeping with them as they cried their broken hearts out at the front of the church.  The carpet stained with oil and tears. 

When he got home, he would drink until drunk.  A closet boozer.  Later, in his drunken stupor he would hit his oldest son with a flashlight on his teenage head. 

 

Hypocrite and abuser.  All in the name of the Lord. 

 

Which Lord? 

I believe it was the Lord of the Flys. 

 

If we can’t be real at church with all our bumps, bruises and stitches that life brings at times, then where should we go?  To a mental institution?  To a Doctor of Psychology or a Christian counselor? 

If the Christian counselor is real, praise Jesus.  Just check out his glove box in his car for a flashlight with human hair and blood on it. 

 

Facts are facts. 

Hypocrites lived among Jesus and His disciples. 

They exist today and it is important to be part of the solution, not part of the problem. 

It is like poisoning the water hole with vain words and actions.  It is similar to termites in the temple eating away at the foundation of the church.  We are either bridge builders in the house of God, or bridge burners at church. 

God cries. 

The Holy Ghost is grieved when we hide behind masks and build walls around our hearts with spiritual bricks and mortar. 

 

Some of the worst masks are identified as follows. 

Insecurities, failures, lack of self-worth, anger, rage, loneliness and despair, suicidal thoughts, and the list goes on and on and on. 

Everything that besets human nature to destroy it is a form of a mask. 

We do not want anyone to know our hidden sins or our insecurities.  It is more important to look good than be real. 

 

At some point if we are truly born again and love Jesus, we must take our Christianity and our walk with God seriously.  Time is ticking and it is either a time-bomb waiting to go off, or it is valued by the believer in Jesus. 

 

HE does not want you to hide any longer.  He wants to untie the masks, one at a time, and heal you. 

But you must be willing. 

 

Just like the Lone Ranger who justified his hidden identity to be a successful hero of sorts by hiding behind a mask.  There is no reason to hide for us though.  This is not a black and white television show from the 1950’s any longer.  You can’t turn off the TV and go to bed with the life you are living currently. 

 

If you do not allow Jesus to untie the masks and break down the walls of silence in your heart, you will die.  Not physically.  Not even spiritually if you are breathing. 

 

You will die a slow death in your emotions. 

They will continue to decay over time and trial.  The masks become evident to most around you and me.  They see through your facade.  Those who know you personally, even at church and at home, know what kind of mask you wear daily. 

 

We put them on to hide behind our fears.  We wear them tightly to cinch away the doubts and broken dreams we currently live in. 

The mask is cutting off the blood supply to our spiritual brains because the strings are so tightly bound and filled with the knots of torment, that we wish we could break them in two. 

No strength physically on your part can break the strings.  It must come from a gentle Savior named Jesus who will untie them, one by one, and peel off the mask of manipulation the devil convinced you years ago that “it is okay to hide behind them.” 

 

It is not okay, and it is time to come out from among them and be ye separate sayeth the Lord of Hosts. 

 

Our family's security is threatened by our exhaustive hours we spend away from home chasing the dollar.  Making a living is one thing, but living to make money is a mask all its own.  Our children grow up wondering “who is that masked man (or woman) who comes home every night late and sometimes intoxicated with loneliness not alcohol?” 

Mark 8: 36-37 declares, “What profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world and loses his own soul?  Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?”

 

The masks we sometimes wear or wear all the time; eventually turn us into the very things we hide from.  Our addictions to drugs, alcohol, gambling, pornography, living for the weekend, chasing a dream that is actually a man-made nightmare, is killing us. 

 

I have watched for many years now a family who once loved Jesus.  They lived for the Lord early on and their children loved Jesus too. 

One day the father said to me, “I am tired of church, and I want to see if the grass is greener on the other side.” 

Green grass, or an excuse to stop being accountable to God and your family?  (I thought this as he spoke.) 

 

It has been over 20 years now and I see a successful man and his wife.  Between the two, they make well over $100,000.00 annually. 

“Where is the profit to the man or woman?” 

Has there been an exchange in their soul for money?  Is the grass which is greener turning brown with time?  Does the Almighty Dollar have a stranglehold on your Christianity? 

 

It is not about church attendance as much as it is about living for Jesus. 

 

The grass.  I have cut grass for a living, and I know the nature of healthy grass.  Fertilized, it stays green and thrives.  Cut it weekly, but not too short, and it will become thick and beautiful.  Grass.  Greener grass is not on the other side of life. 

 

Walking away from a person's first love, Jesus, is an abomination to the Lord.  It breaks my heart to see this family in this condition. 

 

This father was a true leader.  He and his wife have children and grandchildren.  The two adult children married non-believers.  They are happy, contented, financially stable, and seem happy.  All is well with this scenario. 

 

From the inside looking out, it is great.  From the outside looking in, I see masks. 

 

I know them.  I have watched them for over 35 years.  I know happiness in the Lord, and I know the counterfeit. 

I can’t speak to their issues as they are too close to me by virtue of many situations that do not allow me to speak to them spiritually. 

I am not a judge, but I have set before a judge when he sentenced me to prison in 1976. 

He was then, a judge and the prescriber of the time I had to do in prison for my 6 (count them) six felonies.  All aggravated and violent. 

I deserved what I got.  He was the judge, jury and executioner of my life and time. 

He was fair and consistent with the laws of Texas at that time. 

 

If I were a judge now, and this family was sitting before me with the green grass stains on their sneakers, I would say this. 

 

“You, Sir were the priest of your home at one time.  You knew better than to ignore God and put Him on a back burner of your life.  You stand before this bench today found guilty of wearing several masks.  You forged them, and you made your wife sew them with strong string-ties. 

Your children are in the courtroom watching this, and they can’t speak for you now as time is running out on your ability to prove to God, you love Him, more than you love your life. Your grandchildren are not here because they deserve better. 

There will be time for you to love God again after you finish the following sentence. 

Number one: I sentence you to life without parole.  Life in church and life working your job until you retire.  Number two:  you will stay faithful to read your Bible and pray daily.  You will worship the Lord your God with all your heart from now on.  And finally, number three. 

I sentence you to death.  Death to your grass addiction.  Death to your chasing the dollar.  Death to your compromising attitude and you will die to self.  Understood, Sir?” 

 

Well, I am not able to be a judge.  Wouldn’t want that job. 

I am not perfect by any means, but I strive to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me Jesus Christ. 

 

To unmask the Lone Ranger who may be reading this, remember something.  There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ.  No guilt or shame either. 

 

Pick yourself up, confess your sin to the Lord Jesus, and get going in a new direction. 

 

The next time you look in a mirror and untie the last mask you wear you will see something. 

That something is Jesus behind you smiling as He is the one and only one who can untie them anyway.  He just did for you.  Turn yourself around from the mirror and give Him the Glory. 

And by the way, “The mask of success that made you buy the designer handbag for your wife, and the leather briefcase you carry are not needed any longer.  You can stop maxing out your credit cards too.  Every mask you used to wear is gone if you continue to let Jesus help you walk the walk. 

 

I have never seen a hearse pulling a U-Haul trailer.  You came into this world with nothing and will certainly leave the same way. 

With one exception. 

If you love Jesus and He lives in your heart, He will be with you when you leave this Earth. 

You will never be the Lone Ranger again. 

That is His promise to you. 

“HI-Y0 JESUS, AWAY.” 

Who was that UN-masked man anyway?   

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Better Late Than Never

Cliches to hold on to, or faith to overcome in the middle of a storm.  I will discuss some old and some new sayings in some Christian circles.  Good intentions do not make things work, and even your faith does not always remove every mountain just because you quote it. 

 

So often, Christians say many cliches such as, “God is never late, never early, but right on time.  Or God knows what is best for you.  When God closes a door, He opens a window.”   

 

This last one suggests that every setback is an opportunity for something better, but sometimes there is no open window at all.  The closed door may be a difficult reality to face. 

 

“Everything happens for a reason.” 

 

While this can be a way of finding meaning in a difficult situation, it can also minimize the pain and suffering that you are experiencing at that moment.  You find out later that the pain is real, long-lasting and seems to never end.  Reality. 

 

“God helps those who help themselves.” 

 

This quote, often attributed to the Bible, is actually a misquote and can imply that people’s suffering is their own fault and that God only helps those who are already doing well. 

 

I like, “Let go and let God.” 

This phrase suggests passivity, and while it can be a reminder to trust in God’s plan, it can also be used to avoid taking responsibility or making difficult decisions. 

But what does the Bible say? 

 

1st Corinthians 10:13, “No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind.  And God is faithful; He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.  But when you are tempted, He will also provide a way out (escape) so that you can endure it.” 

 

This lends to responsibility on the part of the sinner in need of repentance in their temptation.  It also means that He is faithful, and we must trust Him to help us overcome and use the escape routes He provides.  It is HIS lifeline thrown to us from His ship amid the waves of the boiling seas in life.  If we grab hold of it, then we live.  If we do not, then we can suffer the consequences it brings. 

 

Drowning in sin is the only drowning that leaves you with air to breathe.  It makes you sick, yet in the sickness we return to our own vomit out of desires and flesh-driven motives. 

I ought to know. 

“God won’t give you more than you can handle.” 

Really? 

 

Even as a believer in Jesus, we suffer in this life as He promised about the tribulations and trials that will happen to us.  “Be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world.”  Jesus tells the truth about the reality of this life on earth.  He does not candy-coat or justify a sick world full of sin and degradation.  “Repent for the Kingdom of God is at hand.”  Matthew 3:2. 

 

This call to repentance signifies an inward change of heart and mind, a turning away from sin, and turning toward God, with the understanding that God’s reign and kingdom are near or already present through Jesus Christ. 

 

Now understand this.  We should not be an advocate for pain because life gives us all our share and more at times.  I am a believer that there can be purpose in my personal pain, as I have lived my share of horrible disasters from childhood to today. 

I am who I am because of a scripture I have lived through and trusted for 47 years since I gave my heart to Jesus at age 21 while in prison. 

 

2 Timothy 2: 3-4, “You therefore must endure hardship as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.  No one engaged in warfare entangles himself with the affairs of this life, that he may please him who enlisted him as a soldier.” 

 

This passage goes on to tell another truth. 

Knowing we are not crowned in athletics unless we compete according to the rules. 

 

Life has rules, and I was a rule breaker when I was young. 

I did my first burglary at 12, and then it escalated into drug addiction, and armed robbery by age 16.  I had issues, obviously. 

Better late than never is more than a cliche to me. 

 

Moments, literally five seconds before I threw myself over the third tier of the cell block, I lived on, Jesus Christ rescued me and saved my soul some 45 minutes later in the chapel inside this maximum-security prison in Texas. 

The Holy Ghost was revealing His love to me earlier in the wee hours of the morning, but even that was not going to stop me from diving off thirty feet to my demise. 

Jesus arrested me moments before that dive and saved my soul.  Better late than never has significant meaning to me. 

 

Case in point in reference to God and His perfect timing. 

I had been preaching for nine years in a row at a Federal prison in Sheridan, Oregon. 

Every Wednesday evening for nine years.  I only missed a handful of meetings due to being on a mission trip but always had a fellow minister take my place when I was traveling. 

Victor was a Hispanic man who came to the service I conducted for all those nine years. 

His outward appearance had many tattoos all the way up his neck to his ears, and both arms covered in ink.  Mostly Gang affiliation tattoos, signifying his allegiance to the gang. 

 

He sat against the back wall in the Chapel.  He always brought his Bible and notepad.  I watched him periodically and I could see he took notes from the preaching I was doing. 

He never came forward for prayer.  He never shook my hand or made much of an effort to even make eye contact with me.  This went on for nine years, every Wednesday evening. 

 

By all intents and purposes, Victor had the appearance of a Christian.  He would raise his hands during worship with his eyes closed at times.  He would bow his head when I did the altar invitation but never tried to come forward for himself or for anyone else. 

Week in week out.  Year in year out Victor was a faithful attendee to this Chapel service and others that were conducted by other Christian ministries.  He stacked chairs when the events were over and gave a helping hand around the Chapel when needed. 

 

Finally, the day came when I announced that I was moving to Texas from Oregon soon, and the following Wednesday would be my last service after nine years. 

I preached my last message and did the alter invitation. 

 

Out of nowhere and to my surprise, Victor came forward with tears in his eyes.  Alligator tears streaming down his tattooed face with a sincere regretful heart full of pain. 

Victor shared with me after the service that he had never felt conviction from the Lord during all those years I was there preaching.  He stated that he wanted to be saved, but that he wanted God to save him, not a man. 

He went on to share how he never had any remorse or guilt for his crimes until that very evening during the altar invitation. 

“It was like God arrested me, Joe.”  His exact words. 

 

 I can attest to that feeling when Jesus arrested me back in 1977.  Jesus was right-on time.  He was for Victor this evening. 

Victor was getting out of prison soon, and he wrote me a letter. 

 

“Dear Joe, I am being released in a few weeks, and I am going to go to Los Angeles to be a part of Victory Outreach Ministries there.  They have offered me a place to live and work within the ministry.” 

 

He went on to say that what God did for him through the message I preached was like “God was speaking only to me that night.” 

He asked me if I could help him with some clothes so he could look normal when leaving prison. 

My mother-in-law and my wife went with me to buy him some clothes, according to the sizes he mentioned in his letter to me. 

We bought him Stacy Adams shoes, size 10, and grey slacks and a beautiful button up shirt that made his outfit look reasonable and nice. 

My mother-in-law sent this package to the prison (per Victor’s information in my letter) and the return address was a P.O. Box address with no name or any way to trace the package due to security reasons within the prison.  We followed protocol for the safety and security of the prison. 

Everything worked out. 

 

A few weeks passed, and while at work at the church in Portland, I received a call from Victor.  He knew the name of the church and that I was on staff, so he called me. 

 

“Hey Pastor Joe, I am in Portland at the airport getting ready to fly to Los Angeles.  Could you and Pastor Reed come and pray for me?” 

Absolutely I said, and we got into the church van and headed to the airport. 

You should have seen Victor. 

Decked out in his grey slacks and silk shirt with those alligator and snake Stacy Adam shoes.  He was a sight to see.  Looked like a businessman except for a few things that were very noticeable. 

His tattoos were pretty obvious, but it would take an ex-felon like me to identify his ink as gang related.  Well, the Police could too. 

 

Standing in the airport was Victor as we approached him.  He was smiling from ear to ear as we embraced him and prayed for him and his future. 

We looked down as his carry-on luggage, (or lack thereof) and noticed something. 

He was carrying the Federal Prison issue fish-net bag, bright white with all of his personal effects in it. 

This was his convict bag, to put it mildly. 

 

We joked with him for a moment and said, “Let's go to the gift shop Victor.” 

We bought him a nice “Nike” carry-on bag to put his stuff in, and he took the last remaining reminder of prison, his fishnet bag, and threw it into the nearest trash receptacle. 

 

We all laughed and waved goodbye to Victor. 

I stayed in touch with him for a long time, writing back and forth and finding out he is doing well and ministering on the streets of Los Angeles.  Winning souls every evening after work and living the dream. 

 

There is one last cliche I want to mention. 

The world says, “Once an addict, always an addict.  Once a thief, always a thief.  Once a convict, well you know.” 

Jesus Christ showed up “right on time” for Victor and changed his life.  I often wonder something. 

All those Wednesday evenings listening to me preach, taking notes and bowing his head.  Nine years' worth. 

 

Victor looked like a Christian.  He acted like one too. 

But that last service I did he was born again by the power of God. 

It wasn’t “everything happens for a reason, or God helps those who helps themselves.” 

God is not about cliches.  God is about restoration. 

 

I guess I can truly say that there was a cliche that fit Victor that day at the airport. 

“Let go and let God.”  Victor is born again by the Spirit of God.  And he did let go.  He let go of his sin, and rebellion against God Almighty. 

He also let go of one last thing. 

 

His fishnet bag.  The last reminder of a life from prison. 

From prison to a street corner winning souls to Christ.  That is what Jesus does.  He has done that for me for the past 47 years.  He continues to do that for Victor as well. 

 

My last cliche for today is: “God is good all the time.  All the time, God is good.”   

Yes, He is. 

And that is no cliche.  It is better late than never. 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

 

Kerrville, Texas Flood Update…

a once beautiful park along side the Guadalupe River devastated 200 year old trees uprooted 

Please pray and help your brothers and sisters. We are all affected.

Kerr County Flood Relief Fund

A Season of Time-Nothing More, Nothing Less

Believers in Christ, me included, have complained about things and have had to repent.

 It is a part of life at times. 

 

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8 declares many truths that we can’t dispute.  

Ecclesiastes 3:15 speaks a truth that I have lived out thus far. 

“That which is, has already been, and what is to be, has already been; and God requires an account of what is past!” 

Again, this is about time. 

 

This Scripture shows the breadth and depth of God’s sovereignty over time and the events of life.  

To picture this more clearly, we must perceive time as a moving reality.  

It is as though it is coming toward us and moving away from us, simultaneously.   

 

Though time is involved in this statement, the emphasis is more on the events that happen within time, rather than time itself.  

We can perhaps understand this verse better by saying that what is happening right now has already happened in the past, and what will happen has already happened.  

It is a way of saying that, in one sense, time cannot be broken into parts.   

 

Time and the events happening within it, of and by themselves, are a whole.  

Thus, Solomon is essentially saying, “past, present, and future are bound together.” 

It sounds like science fiction, but it is not. 

Time.  

I have analyzed it, looked at it, prayed about it and have drawn only one conclusion. 

 

It keeps moving, whether I want it to slow down or speed up, depending on my daily circumstances. 

It was like yesterday that this happened, or “where did all the time go?” 

 

Tick tock- can’t stop God’s clock. 

I love what the Apostle Paul wrote in Philippians 4:11-13 regarding contentment. 

“Not that I speak in regard to need, for I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content: I know how to be abased, and I know how to abound.  Everywhere and in all things, I have learned both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.  I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” 

 

Paul pointed out how to be contented with every circumstance in life, whether that be good or bad.  

Shipwrecked, stoned with rocks, beaten with rods and put into prison, speak to God’s resilience and God’s power to work in a man called Paul, no matter the situation. 

He was indeed blinded for three days as Saul the Christian killer. 

He woke up and saw the light! 

Floating in the ocean and almost drowning was not easy for Paul, yet he survived, writing a lot of letters to the church.  

In prison.  

Not a Federal Prison like I have preached in before in Oregon, Arizona and beyond.  

Nice clean clothes, and three-square meals a day.  

Visitations, letters, and some sort of entertainment were and are available in prisons in America.  

Hobby shops and metal working too.  Art supplies for those who are talented.  

Musical instruments for the worship team in church. 

 

Paul could have used the metal works class to fashion a key to unlock his stocks in the inner prison with Silas.  

That was then, and this is now.  

He and Silas did not have guitars, microphones or a backup choir to aid them in their worship.  

They worshipped out of their trust in God, even though they were in tremendous pain. 

Human nature might allow us to complain sometimes, but in Christ, complaining should only be an “every now and then” moment.  

Not a lifestyle.  

 

I also believe that when things happen, like what happened here in Kerr County, Texas on July 4th of 2025, that the Christians here would pray in their pain.  Pray in their grief.  

Pray and believe that God will show up in their season of time. 

 

Since I know personally what it is like to “do time” in prison in 1976, I can honestly say that the only thing worse than doing time, is wasting the time you have. 

 

Time is valuable, like gold and silver.  

It is not to be wasted, squandered, or spent on frivolous things that won’t last.  

I am not talking about going on vacation, or a night out at the movies.  Just make sure your vacation spot is not Las Vegas or watching a movie rated “NFC.”  

Not for Christians. 

 

Time is an asset, not a liability.  

Invest your time wisely as there will surely come a day when you and I will run out of this precious commodity.  

Your hourglass will empty itself of the last grain of sand.  

Your clock and its second hand will cease to move at all. 

Father time will stop and what remains and what will last “eternal” is only what you and I did for Jesus.  

Nothing more, nothing less. 

 

We are the hands, feet and voice for Christ.  

 

Use your hands to bring healing to the hurting.  

Use your feet to run to those who are in despair.  

Speak your voice that Jesus gives you to comfort the downtrodden. 

 

For in God’s time, we have hope.  

In your life is either hope to believe for a closer relationship with Jesus, despite the spiritual “stocks” you are bound in Like Silas and Paul. 

 

Seasons in life come and they go.  Quickly. 

 

Good times, bad times, lonely times, and despairing times.  

Times of grief and times of great joy.  

 

What shall we make of the current season we are in?

 

Romans 14: 12-13,

“So then each of us shall give an account of himself to God.  Therefore, let us not judge one another anymore, but rather resolve this, not to put a stumbling block or a cause to fall in our brother’s way.” 

 

Paul is reminding us that we, alone, are responsible for our words, and our deeds.  

It is the way we conduct our lives.  

But so also are our brothers and sisters in Christ.  

They, too, are responsible for what they say and what they do.  

And what they eat or drink.  

Continue to walk in love, no matter what. 

 

Sometimes, and too often, we can become critical of our fellow Christians at church.  

We know them and their ways of doing things.  

If they do not live up to or conform to our own set standards, or preferred behavior patterns, we tend to silently criticize or judge them.  

 

Instead of looking at other’s flaws, perhaps we should take the plank out of our eye first and then help to remove the toothpick in our brothers and sisters' eyes. 

 

I have been through many seasons in my 69 years of being on this Earth. 

 

In 2010, I left Houston to move to Kerrville, Texas.  

Not by choice, but because of finances. 

I sold our home and left behind a construction company where I was clearing $3,800.00 per month for three years.  This was after all expenses including house payments and everything that is called a life expense.  I saved some money but basically sowed into other ministries and believed God for His abundance for every good work.  I preached as much as I could, considering all my responsibilities in Houston. 

 

That amount of money cleared each month was more than I had ever made in my life, and I left all of that to work at a drug rehab for nine dollars an hour. 

 

I was trying to remember Paul’s words about being contented.

I truly tried but was suffering just like my wife and my two young boys.  The boys did not do without food, but my wife and I did, for their sake. 

 

That is what parents do in the abased times.  

I was brought low and humbled, using the true meaning of the word abased. 

 

I worked there three years and managed to make twelve dollars an hour when I finally left.  I worked again in construction, digging a ditch with a pickaxe and shovel.  

 

I was 58 years old then, and I remember the hot Texas sun in August digging that ditch.  It was a ditch for a sewage treatment plant being built on an Assemblies of God retreat. 

 

I remember sitting on the edge of the ditch with my shovel in hand, shoveling out dirt to prepare the long 100-foot ditch, three feet deep, and two- foot wide.  I could no longer stand and bend over to use the shovel.  

I was beat.  

I then prepared the rebar for the ditch so the concrete truck could pour the wet concrete the next day. 

 

I got a call from my Pastor, who I was working for, and he told me at 6 a.m., that the thunderstorm that went through last night, filled up my ditch with mud. 

I had to go back there, shovel out the wet mud, and remove the 10-foot lengths of heavy rebar steel.  

Pain, and more pain.  Abased. 

 

Eight hours later, as the concrete trucks arrived to do the pour, I had to work overtime and finish the job with the shovel. 

 

Here I am.  From Houston, running a remodeling company from inside a brand-new Toyota Tundra truck with nice jeans and a polo shirt, to a ditch with blisters, sunburns and unmentionable pains in the back. 

 

I made $14.00 per hour doing this work and I was glad to be able to pay for real food for my family. 

 

I learned, without too much griping, how to be contented.  

 

This season lasted three years.  

Carrying 80-pound concrete bags for deck jobs, climbing an extension ladder 15 feet into the air to paint the dormers on a two-story house.  

I love heights. 

Fact: “A curb on the street is too high for me.”   

 

That ladder work took me praying in tongues to survive.  

I only fell off the ladder once to learn my lesson about spatial awareness. 

 

Today, I am living on a ranch, still doing some hard labor.  I do not work for anyone except the owner.  

I work when I want to work.  Preach when I preach, and life is good. 

 

From poverty to provision.  

The only explanation I can give is that I know how to give.  

I gave of my time to volunteer in prisons and preach the Gospel.  I planted money in good ground in people and ministries that I believed in. 

 

I reaped what I sowed.  

 

Those years from 2010 until 2022 were hard.  Very hard.  

Had I been 20 years old, then that work would have kept me in shape. 

Not in my 50’s.  

I am reminded daily to stand up straight Joe.  

Don’t drag your feet.  

“Okay, Honey.” 

The seasons of our life include birth, formative years, adolescence-teenage years, young adult to grown adult years.  Then comes the 50 plus years.  

I call these the twilight years.  Not twilight zone years. 

 

We have dry seasons when God is quiet, and it is harder to hear His Voice.  

 

Then we have the waiting season, being patient for Him to move in our lives.  

God leverages waiting seasons for His Glory like He did with Joseph when Joseph was sold into slavery by his brothers.  

That trial for Joseph worked out in the end.  

Favor coupled with forgiveness that Joseph had for his brothers. 

 

The grinding seasons are the hard-working times and the busy times of work, play, and raising a family.  

Don’t forget Church. 

 

Test and trials seasons.  They speak for themselves. 

 

Spiritual Warfare seasons.  It takes time to discern which is a spiritual attack and which is just bad pizza not digesting well.  

You catch my drift?  

 

Not every trial is from the devil.  If that were the case, then what you bound on earth which was supposed to be bound in Heaven did not work.  

Figure that one out and let me know your results. 

 

I wrote the following poem many years ago.  The first draft was from when I wrote it on scrap paper while in prison in 1976-1977.  I was saved by Jesus when I wrote: 

“From Your Embrace”

 

Tick, tock, your pendulum swings.  No time for games, and no church bells ring.

Our hourglass sand is me and is you.  Each grain that falls can be brand new.

We have some time to get things right; to fix what’s broken within our sight.

The way we were does not define; who we are right now, because of time.

 

Jesus said, “You need eyes to see.”  With His Father’s time; “What will you be?”

Are we lost in sin and wasting time?  This must be worth much more than rhymes.

We say: “I wanted to Lord, I was going to get saved.”  But there’s no more time for your banner to wave.

 

Empty promises and broken dreams; have stolen your time, and now you can’t scream.

“What shall I do as my pendulum swings?”  I want to hear those church bells ring!

Receive His mercy before it’s too late, as eternity holds our future fates.

As these sands of time will stop one day; The clock will quit, as I hope to pray:

“Forgive me Lord for wasting YOUR time.  I know today I’ve committed crimes.

Find me “not guilty” as I seek Your face.  I’ll receive forgiveness, from Your embrace.

 

We are all just one heartbeat away from eternity. 

It is a season of time that this life offers.  

No more. No less.  

How much time do you and I have?

Can you feel your heartbeat?

 

“Thump, thump, thump.”  Thump...thump.................? 

 

 Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Starving to Death (Once and For All)

The literal interpretation of the title of this message is one of global hunger, poverty, and the importance of addressing these problems. 

The disparity between those who have access to food and those who do not emphasizes the need for compassion and actions to alleviate this kind of suffering.  

But what about spiritual starvation which can lead to another type of death?

No one wants to starve to death physically. 

But it is possible to die spiritually if our life without feeding our spirit becomes starved due to neglect. 

 

The empty calories, such as worldly pleasures and distractions that offer temporary satisfaction to our flesh, ultimately leave us spiritually malnourished. 

 

Matthew 5:6 speaks of hungering and thirsting for righteousness.   

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled.”

 

This is cited specifically to emphasize the importance of seeking God’s Will and aligning one’s life with His Purpose. 

It is obvious that dwelling on our past issues of life brings with it a type of starvation too. 

 

What good does remembering, reliving, or focusing on past hurts, sins, and situations that we can absolutely do nothing about today?   

 

It is a form of self-starvation like a person in prison who forces themselves to go on a hunger strike for various penal institution flaws they deem unfair or inhuman. 

 

“Cruel and unusual punishment” was the term used in the Texas prison I was in during 1976. 

Forced to work in a cotton field for eight hours a day in the hot September sun was cruel, but not unusual because Texas demanded we work, or we would not eat! 

 

This saying about not working was part of the Boss Man and his speech given to me when I arrived on my first day in a Maximum-Security Unit of the Texas Department of Corrections.  We were corrected daily by being bent over, picking cotton, and dragging that full sack of cotton along our sides. 

 

All this “hunger striking” does is cause that person to die prematurely and this form of starvation accomplishes only one thing. 

 

Starving to death. 

 

I call it a type of intentional Anorexic and Bulimic spiritual suicide. 

The difference between worldly desires (cravings) and the genuine need for feeding our souls is a fine line. 

 

We live in this world, but we are truly not of this world.  

If we know Jesus as our Savior and Lord, then this is the only way we can declare that we are NOT of this world.  This planet is not our final resting place if we are born again. 

A Heaven to gain, and a hell to avoid. 

 

Again, our choice. 

Our free-will choice given to us by God. 

 

“For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?  Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?”

Mark 8:36

 

This pawning away of our life by neglecting our spiritual growth and health is like pawning a precious ring for a small loan. 

Never intending to pay the fee and get it back. 

We say we will only do this temporarily but find out later that the due date came and went. 

We lost the ring and can never get it back. 

Explain that to your spouse about where the diamond ring went.   

 

Another form of starvation is trying to replace spiritual food with spiritual garbage. 

We can’t exchange time with Jesus and His Word, by never reading our Bible. 

 

We are losing spiritual weight and are looking gaunt in our spirits. 

A skeletal example of a dying Christian. 

Bones showing where bones should not show. 

 

Symptoms of Spiritual Starvation: 

A spiritually starving individual may experience a sense of emptiness, lack of purpose, and a general feeling of dissatisfaction.   

 

Weakening of Faith:  

Without regular spiritual nourishment, faith can weaken, making individuals more susceptible to doubt and temptation. 

Indifference to Spiritual Matters:  

A spiritually starved person may become indifferent to spiritual practices and the needs of others. 

It is like selfishness on their weak spirits that become critical in the starvation of their souls.  Their minds, intellect, and all their emotions are skewed and off kilter, leaving them lonely and in despair. 

Forgetting temporarily that Jesus is there and He wants to feed them, so they do not perish. 

 

Focus on worldly pleasures: 

Instead of seeking fulfillment in God, some people may turn to worldly distractions and fleeting pleasures which scripturally means that, “We become an enemy of God.”  James 4:4. 

 

The answers are simple when it comes to avoiding this spiritual death. 

 

Before I give you the answers, I will share with you how I came out of starvation into spiritual health. 

I had to have another wake up call to stop dying. 

I was far away from God and His will for my life, and it was apparent to me that what I was doing was not working. 

In fact, I was dying and did not know I was. 

 

The before- mentioned symptoms were evident, but I was so far gone I could not see with any spiritual vision. 

I was in church, but was deaf, dumb, and blind to all I was seeing and hearing from the pulpit. 

 

Closed off and living in sin, at least I was in church. 

I was not in addiction, but my doubt and unbelief were my sins of choice. 

No one could see my outward acts of sin, yet one look at my sad face, said it all. 

A man’s countenance tells everything going on in his heart, to a degree. 

 

 Church did not save me and nurture me back to spiritual health, because I was not wanting to live for Jesus anymore. 

Bummed out was an understatement for me in 1994. 

Nothing worse than a depressed Christian. 

This, in my opinion, is an oxymoron. 

 

 Like the deafening silence I lived in would not allow me to hear what the Spirit of God was saying to me. 

I was no longer an open secret, but a wide-open target for the enemy of my soul, Satan. 

I was in a living dead state in my spirit.  I was alive physically, but dead inside spiritually. 

Not only did all the above oxymorons exist, but one last one that I call, “Cruel to be kind.” 

 

I was harsh, trying to be kind. 

I never smiled and lived in my own self-inflicted pity party. 

 

No cake with candles, or streamers and horns to toot. 

 

I was a pathetic Christian living in the world that I created by being away from my Savior Jesus.  I refused to answer my door to my apartment when people came to see me. 

 

It was like this, “The only hope I had was no hope at all.  By holding on to such a broken life, and all the pain of my past, I felt like, that if I let it go, I would have nothing.  Something bad, to me, was better to hold on to than nothing at all.” 

 

I left Oregon and drove South, headed to a job near the Grand Canyon. 

I recorded my thoughts on a tape recorder as I drove all the way through Grants Pass and Medford in Oregon. 

 

As I look back on those tapes that I sent to my future bride, it was a miracle she did not offer a pill from a doctor for my depression. 

 

One of my thoughts on tape while on Interstate 5, going Southbound was, “I see the mountains off in the distance from the highway.  They are tall and wide with snow on the peaks.  The mountains of despair in my heart do not compare to the majestic beauty I see with my blue eyes.  My eyes are red too; from all the tears I cry as I record my despair.” 

YUK.  I can’t believe I spoke that on a cassette tape and sent it to this happy, young, future bride. 

I could have messed up my future completely. 

 

Only by God and His Grace, did I survive this era. 

He rescued me and gave me the hope I needed to stop starving to death. 

I was so parched and defeated that it did take His intervention to rescue me again. 

 

He is in the business of second chances. 

 

The permanent cure for spiritual death is as follows: 

Acceptance of a Savior:  

Many religions, particularly Christianity, emphasize the role of a Savior Jesus in overcoming spiritual death. 

This involves faith in the Lord and His Sacrifice for Mankind. 

This is the Gift of Salvation. 

Christianity is not a religion, after all.  It is a relationship with the only Living God. 

Jesus the Christ. 

Repentance:  

The turning away from our sin and rebellion against God, only works if we have a sorrowful heart and are sincere in our running away from this rebellion. 

This crucial step begins with us consuming the food we need to live again, and the quicker we are to repent, the faster the food comes. 

We get nurtured back to spiritual health every day we seek forgiveness and seek the joy of the Lord. 

It will come once we stop living in the past of the guilt, shame, and condemnation that came in our sins. 

Obedience to His Word: 

This is not an option but a command. 

 

“Be ye doers of the Word, not hearers only.” 

 

Meaning, if you hear the Word of God being preached and apply what you heard, then the fruit of righteousness will be there. 

It is more important to read the Word ourselves in our private devotional time. 

Not just read to read.  Digest and apply what we read daily. 

You can’t live by bread alone, but by every Word that proceeds out of the mouth of God. 

 

 

His Word works. 

 

If you do not discipline yourself to practicing fundamentals, then the starving process begins again in our neglect. 

Prayer, reading the Bible, worship, attending church, and having friends who love Jesus are all the practical things we must practice. 

 

Living in Love and Obedience: 

Simply put: Love everyone and not just saying, “I love you,” but showing you love them by spending time and making an effort to develop a relationship with them. 

Visiting prisoners in prisons, the needy, the nursing home residents, and beyond is a sacrifice of service. 

Serve one another daily. 

Find ways to help the helpless. 

All the practical things spoken about today are not news to those who love Jesus. 

If you are doing your best, then let the best of Jesus shine through you. 

 

“For this son of mine who was once dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”

Luke 15:24

 

The prodigal was not physically dead, but spiritually dying when, in wild living, he was far away from his father. 

For him to become alive again shows he was not spiritually dead, but only dying.  It was his act of repentance which brought the mouth-to-mouth resuscitation he needed by the Father breathing new life into his dying soul. 

 

If you are still breathing air today there is heavy hope for you. 

 

We are not “starving to death” if we will only wake up and eat of the bread of life. 

Drink from the wells of Salvation and have your spiritual thirst quenched. 

We are in a dry and weary desert when we are dying spiritually. 

Jesus is the oasis amidst our dry land in our heart. 

 

Look to Him, He is the Author and Finisher of your faith. 

 

Even in the worst state of a dry desert, a flower will bloom with only one drop of rain.  It only takes one drop of the Blood of Jesus to redeem you from your dying state in life. 

You are a diamond in His eyes, and a song in His heart. 

He will restore every facet of your dry, dull, and parched life if you will let Him. 

 

You shall live and not die to the Glory of God. 

“I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord.”  Psalm 118:17. 

 

Die to self and live for Jesus. 

Live for Jesus and let the dead things be buried, once and for all. 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Two Different Kinds of Grandpas

For those who know me, and those who are part of my family, I am telling this story, only to reveal the power and grace of God. 

My memory, since May 15, 2025, has come back to me from the Lord Jesus.  I have not remembered any of the last 15 blogs I have written, until my memory was restored. 

It is not because I have buried all these stories and need healing.  It is because I believe that some readers need to be encouraged through all the true stories I have written.  

 

This story, like many from my past, has a disclaimer attached to it.  It is very graphic, and I encourage you to try and remember that I am not the same person I was back in the era of all my insanity. 

Jesus Christ has healed me, set me free, and saved my past, wretched soul. 

 

Thanks be to Him and He receives all the Glory for anything I do or write. 

 

On to the Grandpas. 

Grandpa Number One.   

 

This grandpa was my mother’s dad, and I only knew him for a short time in my young life. 

When I was a little boy, during the era of 1963 through 1967, we visited my grandpa who lived in Hamilton, Texas. 

We lived in Dallas.  It was only a two-hour drive to see him on the weekend. 

 

Grandpa was married to my other Grandmother.  Apparently, he had divorced my maternal Grandmother back in the 1950’s. 

This Grandpa was loving, kind and was a good disciplinary Grandpa.  I deserved some of his light spankings at age 7, and I respected him later before he died. 

He died a horrible death.  Lung cancer killed him in 1967 when I was 11 years old. 

 

My memories of him when I was younger, included him taking me outside and sitting me upon the fence railing, and getting to pet the horses that lived next door.  I do not know and never found out about his spiritual life.  I was never told by anyone, to this day, if he was a Christian, but I can tell you, up front, that he loved me and was kind and tenderhearted. 

He told stories about his time in the military, and the stories he had as a diner owner. 

Soft spoken and full of “Good Grandpa” love for his grandson Joe.

 

His diner was in Hamilton, Texas complete with the round, red barstools, and the unique high back booths.  A classic diner with him and my grandmother wearing all white, and a paper hat that was white, too. 

He was the cook, bottle washer, and did all the dishes. 

 

My grandmother waited tables and did all the money transactions. 

Life was good with this grandpa, as I loved him dearly. 

I missed him when he died, and visiting my grandmother, the widow, was hard as time went on. 

Grandma Viola died in 1996 at the age of 93. 

She was a believer in Jesus, as I led her to the Lord about two years before she went home to be with Jesus. 

I visited her in 1994 when I lived a short time in Texas, as the Lord had healed my broken heart prior to visiting her. 

 

The Bible declares, “Plant the good seeds of righteousness, and you will harvest a crop of My love.  Plow up the hard ground of your hearts, for now is the time to seek the Lord, that He may come and shower righteousness upon you.”  Hosea 10:12. 

 

I continue to hold a special place in my heart for her, knowing she was saved.  

Only God knows the outcome of my “Good Grandpa.” 

Only God has the Power in the truth about every human being, including Grandpa Arnold. 

 

Prayer for family will reveal all the ground that was plowed up for the sake of the Gospel.  We should never stop praying for our families, no matter if we know, or do not know the spiritual state they are in. 

 

On to the Bad Grandpa. 

I mentioned that my maternal grandmother had remarried in early 1960, and I never really knew her husband Tommy.  I saw him on occasion, but I was too young to understand much from four years when I first remember him. 

He was a big man. 

Around six foot three and weighed at least 300 pounds. 

 

The next part of this story is graphic and sad at the same time. 

 

When I was about 8 years old, I was at a drive-in movie with my brother, and two family members who are young girls.   

 One was about the same age as the other and they were inseparable.  They always played with Barbies, and every time we visited that family, these two little girls always spent time playing. 

 

The movie that night was the original “Pinocchio” and my brother and I were in the back seat of Tommy’s huge Oldsmobile. 

(I will not refer to him as Grandpa anymore because he does not qualify for that title.) 

 

Tommy was in the driver's seat with the two girls next to him. 

I did not know much about what happened that night until I saw two detectives show up at our house in Dallas about a week later.  They were investigating that night at the drive-in movie. 

It was apparent that Tommy had done the unspeakable to the two girls. 

I remember seeing the plain-clothes detectives wearing their badges on their belts. 

Visible and shiny. 

I am 8.  I do not remember much except there was an arrest, but no conviction. 

I found out later in life what had happened. 

He got away with his perverted acts upon these two 8-year-old girls. 

 

Fast forward. 

It is 1974. 

My daddy was murdered in November of this year.  I was a drug addict, and violent young 18-year-old. 

Out of control, and angry at the world. 

We buried my dad around November 19th and two weeks later, Tommy was in the hospital. 

 

He, being a big man, and a heavy smoker, was having fluid drained off his lungs because of the lung cancer that was killing him. 

He survived this ordeal and was back at work a few days later. 

I had heard about his illness and was so crazy- addicted that I decided to confront him while he was at work. 

He was the manager of Yellow Cab company in this Texas city, and I purposed to find him. 

 

I got off work and drove to his office about two miles from where I worked at a printing ink company. 

I had a .45 Automatic Pistol and was willing to use it on him.   

 

Please understand as you read on. 

I was a criminal, addict and violent in every way. 

 

Like a time-bomb waiting to go off, I had already done four armed robberies. 

I was not afraid to pull a pistol on anyone. 

 

My intentions were to find out “if” he had done that dirty deed to those two girls some 10 years earlier.  I wanted the truth.  He was never convicted, so all I wanted was to know what happened. 

 

I walked into his office. 

I could tell he was weak from the hospital visit earlier, but I did not care.  He was shocked to see me.  He was at my daddy's funeral a couple of weeks ago, but I did not remember him that horrible day we buried my daddy. 

 

 Today’s date is December 3, 1974. 

The time was four o'clock in the afternoon. 

 

I sat down in a chair directly across from him and did not give him an opportunity to speak.  I said to Tommy, “Did you or did you not hurt those two girls?  If you do not tell me the truth, I am going to shoot you to death.  Do you understand, Tommy?” 

 

 

He hesitated and stammered his words. 

I became impatient, so I pulled out my gun and pointed it at his head. 

I thought he was going to pass out from fear.  He knew I meant business by pulling out a gun and pointing it at his head.  I was less than three feet from him. 

 

He turned completely white as the blood rushed out of his face, and he was shaking. 

 

“Did you?”  I repeated my demand. 

“Yes, Grandson, I did it.” 

I screamed at him, “Do not call me ‘Grandson,’ you are a pervert, and I should kill you anyway!” 

 He shut his eyes, thinking he was going to die. 

 

I got up and walked slowly away.  I left him to decide his own fate.  He did not know if I was going to go to the police with this confession. 

Two days later, I was told by my family that Tommy went back to the hospital to have more fluid drained off his cancerous lungs.  The stress and the procedure were too much for him, and he died from a heart attack. 

 

My family from California and beyond were still in town because of my Daddy’s funeral.  They had not returned home yet. 

Now, they have another funeral to go to. 

 

I refused to go to the funeral and continued shooting Dope and doing robberies. 

 

I tell you this story, because I had thought for years that it was because I stressed him out so much when I pulled that gun on him, that he died because of me and the trauma I put on him that day in his office. 

 

I never told the family about his confession.  I do not believe they would understand back then or understand today.  It is a well-kept secret that I keep in my heart to this day.  It does not have any relevance to his demise, yet he did reap what he sowed. 

 

If he was telling the truth that day in his office, (and I believe he was telling me the truth), then I know I put him under distress for sure. 

I had no business doing what I did, and once I got saved in prison in 1977, it was one of the moments in time during my repentance that I spoke to Jesus about. 

I needed forgiveness for much more than Tommy. 

I hurt many people in my younger life, and I tell this story for a purpose. 

 

I talked in a previous story called the “Domino Effect.” 

Once the dominoes fall, they will do what they do, and we can’t stop them.  A good decision reaps good things. 

A bad one, consequences we may or may not want to deal with. 

 

I reaped what I sowed when I was an addict. 

I reaped prison.  Hepatitis C disease.  Asthma and many other issues mentally, physically and spiritually. 

 

It is eternal law. 

Whether we are saved or unsaved, we reap what we sow. 

 

On to reaping goodness. 

We will always reap what we plant. 

God has designed us to be accountable, which is a necessary element of healthy living. 

 

Those of us who live only to satisfy their own sinful desires will harvest the consequences of decay and death.  

 

But those of us who live to please the Spirit will harvest everlasting life from the Spirit.  Galatians 6: 7-8.  

 

Even after we have been forgiven, we must deal with the fallout and damage from our actions in our sins. 

It may take time to finish harvesting the negative consequences from our past. 

You and I have a past. 

Your past, I pray, was not as crazy as mine. 

 

But sin is sin, so it all must get under the Blood of Jesus. 

 

Do not let your past discourage you. 

 

We all have memories of what “not to do” that we did to reap a harvest of weeds in our lives. 

The key is to leave it under the Blood of Jesus and not dig it up.  It is forgotten by God as far as the East is from the West. 

It is remembered NO more by the Most High. 

 

True repentance brings memory loss from God about our sin. 

 

Not all people are willing and able to accept our apologies or even willing to be forgiven.  It is a two-way street.  The hope is that we try to make amends with those we hurt. 

 

I would have loved to apologize to Tommy about my ignorance, violent streak, and hatred for mankind.  My addiction took me to a place, and the demons kept me in this place of no return.  I needed to go to prison to be set free from my past. 

I needed the walls and bars to keep me isolated from hurting anyone else in my path.   

 

Jesus saved me and gave me His Love to give away instead of hatred for every person I encountered back in 1974. 

I was saved in prison in 1977, and I have never been the same. 

 

Tommy was a sinner.  I realize that now and did once I got saved.  He was like me, a sinner in need of a Savior.  I just hope he had a chance to cry out to God in his hospital bed. 

There were two different Grandpas in my young life. 

Back then, one was good, the other bad. 

 

The reality is, we have all sinned and fallen short of God’s Glory. 

It is not about being good or bad. 

It is about being forgiven. 

Forgiven by the Only One who can forgive sin. 

Jesus. 

 

Peter came to Jesus and said, “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him?  Up to seven times?” 

Jesus answered and said to him, “I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven.” 

That would be, mathematically, 490 times. 

 

If you truly forgive someone, you won’t keep track or keep count anyway.  The hope is that forgiveness becomes a daily lifestyle.

 

We are living a life.  We do things that become idols at times. 

 

There is one more thought that I will leave you with today. 

The thing you and I love the most, we spend the most time doing. 

Can’t get past that one. 

 

Spend time with Jesus.  He is a good God. 

Like the way I thought back then which was wrong.  I thought I had a good Grandpa, and a bad one. 

But I had two Grandpas. 

 

Had I known Christ when I was 18, I would not have pulled out a gun and pointed at Tommy. 

Instead, I would have pulled out a Bible and prayerfully led him to Jesus. 

 

I pray for men in prison many times who are in their late 70’s. 

I am approaching 70 now. 

Next March I will hit that lovely number. 

 

I watch, especially last Father’s Day, while preaching in prison. 

So many men, fathers, and grandfathers live in guilt and shame for being in prison. 

In my eyes, and I know in Jesus’ eyes, they all can become “Good Grandpas.” 

 

Not two different kinds of Grandpas. 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Restoration Prison Ministry: July2025 Newsletter

July-2025

Dear Ministry Partners,     

                                                                                                           

As much as I want to talk about the ministry, I must reflect and honor all those who have sacrificed everything to help this flood-ravaged area called Kerr County.  

I live 15 minutes from the Guadelupe River that came out of its banks, cresting over 30 feet above normal. 

 

 

 

I have witnessed, firsthand, the destruction with my own eyes, and the only way I can describe what I have seen from bridges and beyond, is that it looks like an atomic bomb went off. 

 

Most everyone who reads this letter already knows about the devastation of Central Texas. I will not repeat what you have seen on the national news. 

 

Driving through Kerrville today, there are still many rescue and recovery helicopters flying low to the riverbanks.  Many recovery boats, cadaver dogs, men and women on horseback, and all the forestry department workers, sheriff departments, and all nationwide authorities giving helping hands, are here.  

Staged at the local high school, TIVY Highschool, I also see the Red Cross, Samaritan's Purse, Franklin Graham’s Ministry, and so many more, offering help in every way possible to the families and friends who suffer with the catastrophic losses of life that directly affect them.

 

It may take years to recover the riverbanks that lost almost every huge tree, and anything and everything in flood waters’ monstrous path.  

It may take a lifetime for those who grieve to even comprehend this loss.  

 

It will stay with me forever.  

I travel through Kerrville daily for work and errands, and it will never be the same in my heart. 

Motorhomes, fifth-wheel trailers, cars and tents, all gone from their spaces overlooking the once serene river in the middle of the early morning hours of July Fourth.   The 30-foot rise in the water, that rose that far in 45 minutes, killing over 119 people (to date), and over 160 still missing, that the officials know of.

Washed them away with people inside.  

 

I honor all who are here, locally and around this nation who love, with the love of our Lord Jesus. 

All the FEMA people along with County, State and local officials, all doing what they can to aid in this recovery attempt.  

Not to mention the hundreds, if not thousands of volunteers who have arrived to help. 

 

I honor all of them, and say, “Lord Jesus thank YOU and continue to help all those who suffer greatly.”  

They are still trying to find more victims.  

Yes, victims.  

It has been six days since this July Fourth disaster.  I saw on the local news that a 9-month-old baby was found among the dead this morning. 

 

I can’t put it into words, nor can anyone who lives here understand why this happened. 

 

It would be detrimental to quote scriptures, though I could, and it would be disrespectful to those who suffer to say anything except “pray” for them. 

We are, and many of the people I know personally here, in the Kerr County area are praying for peace during this storm. 

Though campsites can be rebuilt, and trees planted, and homes replaced perhaps, nothing will replace the joys of life, now replaced with sorrows and pains of those who have lost the ones they love.  

Many vacancies in the homes and hearts of those who only have memories now. 

 

The only scripture reference I can quote is Psalm 147: 3, “I have come to heal the brokenhearted, and bind up their wounds.” 

“Lord, please, in the Mighty Name of Jesus, heal, restore and revive those who hurt today.  In Jesus Name, Amen.”

 

Prison Ministry

 

Sunday, July 6th, I ministered in Hondo, Texas, 55 miles from home at the Joe Ney Unit of the Texas Prison System.  There were around 30 men in attendance, and I did a belated “Father’s Day” message that the Lord had on my heart for this Sunday morning. 

Several men received Christ as their Savior, and many hearts of men who had been living in regrets regarding their children, cried bitter tears, and then the joy of the Lord fell.  

I saw with eyes filled with my own tears, the healing mercy shown to men who are locked up away from society. 

The Lord Jesus has compassion on those who suffer, and I had a chance to pray for all those who wanted prayer. 

Coming Events

I will be in Oregon on August 5th through the 11th.    

I will conduct two services in the church in Vancouver, Washington called Lifehouse Fellowship.  

Wednesday August 6th from 7 pm until the Lord is done, and then, again, on the next Sunday morning August 10th at 10 a.m. until noon. 

 

I expect many souls to come to Christ and will tag-team the preaching in both services with my youngest son, Levi.  

We are excited to see what the Lord Jesus will do. 

On Friday, the 8th of August, I will be in the Oregon State Correctional Institution in Salem, Oregon for a 7 p.m. service until around 9 p.m.  

 

I have been ministering in this prison for some 33 years now, and it is always a blessing to see men who I have known personally for all those years.  

 

Please pray for souls, and for the ministry to provide more Bibles for Oregon on this trip coming soon.  

If I can purchase 25 more Study Bibles, I will have them shipped directly to the Chaplain at that prison. 

September and December Outreaches at Ferguson

 

At the Ferguson Unit Prison in Midway, Texas, on September 7th I will conduct two services in the main unit of this notorious prison.  One at 8 a.m. and the other at 6 p.m.  

Between these services, I will go next door and do a service at the Trustee Camp as well.   

This schedule is the same as December’s date too, which is December 7, 2025. 

Keep in mind that I am endeavoring to purchase 2300 bars of Palmolive Soap again and 2300 Christmas Cards to give to the men.  The soap will be for September’s outreach, and the Christmas Cards are for the December outreach. 

 

Please pray and help me, as always, to be diligent in doing what God has called me to.  Your support financially and prayerfully is what makes this ministry so fruitful, and you get to be a part of a great soul-winning effort. 

The on-going Bible drive for the Ferguson Unit is still happening as this prison produces a lot of souls when I come, and we are hoping to provide more Study Bibles for this prison.  

The need is great, but God will make a way for the men to receive their first Bible for so many who have never known Jesus.   

 

My son, Levi and his friend Adam, who were with me on Father’s Day, are coming with me again for both the September and December events.  Their lives have changed too, when they are used of the Lord to minister to the men who have broken hearts.  

They both show a tremendous zeal, ministering both in music, and the preaching of His Word. 

 

As always, thank you partners in advance of the Oregon trip, and the Ferguson Unit revival meetings upcoming. 

Sincerely,

Evangelist Joe Wilkins, Son Levi, and Adam 

https://www.anewthingsee.com/

 

 

The Four “R’s (No Matter What)

No, I am not having an alphabet cereal fun time, but I am endeavoring to have a spiritual outcome to this true story.  Some names have been changed to keep those involved in this story safe and secure from all spiritual attacks on their lives. 

 

The Four “R’s” are explained from the Bible.

 

 Restoration is described as God’s act of bringing things back to a state of wholeness, health, and prosperity, often surpassing their original condition.  It’s a recurring theme of renewal and redemption throughout both the Old and New Testaments.  

These references reflect God’s desire to restore His relationships with humanity and creation.  

Especially the Nation of Israel.   

 

Job’s fortunes:  

In Job 42:10, “And the Lord restored Job’s losses when he prayed for his friends.  Indeed, the Lord gave Job twice as much as he had before.” 

 

This is but one of many examples of God and His restorative Power. 

Biblical restoration goes beyond simply fixing what is broken.  It implies complete renewal and an abundance of blessings. 

 

God’s initiative is primarily HIM who initiates and accomplishes restoration, demonstrating His Grace and Love throughout. 

Restoration from God can encompass physical healing, spiritual renewal, and the mending of broken hearts and the relationships that brought on the brokenness to begin with.  

 

It is His Great Mercy prevailing in this restoration process. 

 

The New Testament highlights Jesus’ role in restoring humanity’s relationship with God through His death and resurrection.  

It is His shed Blood that bought back our relationship with the Father.  

It is because of the remission of sin.  

 

 Luke 1:77, “To give knowledge of salvation to His people by the remission of their sins, through the tender mercy of our God with which the Dayspring from on High has visited us; to give light to those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” 

 

Revive (Revival):  

Jeremiah 30:17, “For I will restore health to you, and your wounds I will heal, declares the Lord.” 

 

To revive is like a heart patient who has flat-lined, and the electrical shock applied by the doctor, REVIVES the heart to beat again.  

Shock value is placed on how God through Jesus, brings the dead things that have died and are rotting in a spiritual grave, back to life and living.  

 

True revival, in the sense of our nation turning to God, involves the church being shocked back into repentance (first), so that true revival can begin again, and hopefully never stop.  

 

If the church does not repent, then the hope of a sweep of God’s Spirit is almost impossible.  

 

It is probable and possible.

“If My people, who are called by My Name, will humble themselves and pray, and seek My Face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from Heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.  2 Chronicles 7:14.

 

IF MY PEOPLE will do what this scripture directs the church to do, and be sincerely repentant, then and only then can revival begin.  

 

This is my opinion, so I hope you get the love behind my words regarding revival.  

 

God will do what His Word says whether we get in line with Him or not.  

 

It is corporate repentance versus individual repenting of sin. 

 

Reconcile:  

 

The concept of reconciliation involves finding a way to make different ideas, facts, or situations agree or work together.  

It will kill conflicts withing people, jobs, and even our walk with Jesus as we repent. 

 

The real reconciliation is proved by the shed Blood of Jesus for our sins.  

He has reconciled us back to normalcy with the Heavenly Father. 

 

Repentance:

 

(I saved the best for last).

 

Simply put, get on your knees and talk to Jesus about your issues and sins.  

Spend time in a state of sorrowful regret for what you and I have done.  

 

Daily, hourly and minute by minute, try and talk to Him all day long.  

 

From the time your feet hit the floor by your bed, till you lay your head down on a pillow; talk to Him.  

 

The quicker we repent, and do not linger without speaking in prayer to the Most High, the cleaner we become, and peace arrives.  

 

Sooner, than later, is the best medicine called repentance, a turning away from the sins we do.  

 

Run from them, do not jog or walk crawl.  

 

Run for your life, as your spiritual life depends on daily repentance. 

 

 I must pause and tell a true story about my life, not to interrupt, but to clarify why restoration, revival, reconciling, and repentance play such a big part in my 47 years since my Salvation in 1977. 

 

I was living in my car in 1991, because of a backslidden time in my life when I repented.  

 

I re-affirmed my Salvation in Christ and truly meant what I prayed. 

 

I was in a state of almost being homeless.  I lived in a 1974 Datsun B-210 two door car. My spare tire was my pillow at night, as I slept at the rest area parking for 18-wheeler trucks.  

Some nights, I slept by the dumpster at a motel nearby.  

 

My life was in this condition because of my sin.  

 

I was still working full time as a baker, but my financial life was in ruin. 

 

One night, around midnight in November in Portland, Oregon, I was reading my Bible inside of my car, using a penlight to read by.  

I didn’t want to run down my battery, because I needed my car to start in the morning. It was how I got to work.

 

I ran across Joel Chapter 2, by accident.  

Well, by accident in my mind, but it was the Holy Ghost doing this.  

 

 (I have injected my actual thoughts at this time in my life, as exactly how I was thinking during the reading of the scriptures).

 

I began to read, not at the beginning of this chapter, but began at verse 21.  

 

It read, “Fear not, O land…”

 

(Boy was I living in fear inside of a car late at night, continuing through verse 27). 

 

“...be glad and rejoice, for the Lord has done marvelous things!...” 

(I did not feel He had done much for me at this time).

 

“…Do not be afraid, you beasts of the field…”

 (I was one paycheck away from full homelessness and would have felt like grazing like an animal for sure if that happened). 

 

“...For the open pastures are springing up, and the tree bears its fruit; the fig tree and the vine yield their strength.  Be glad then, you children of Zion, and rejoice in the Lord your God; for He has given you the former rain faithfully…”

 

(Boy was it raining at the truck area I was parked in during November in Oregon). 

 

“...And He will cause the rain to come down for you-the former rain, and the latter rain in the first month. 

The threshing floors shall be full of wheat, and the vats shall overflow with new wine and oil.  So, I will restore to you (I thought for a half-second, YOU mean little ole’ ME?)  ...the years that the swarming locust has eaten, the crawling locust, the consuming locust, and the chewing locust, My great army which I sent among you…”

 

(Swarming locust is pressure in a divorce, crawling locust is health issues and almost homeless, consuming locust, in my mind at that moment was all I had was being eaten up, financially, physically and mentally, and the chewing locust felt like taking three steps forward and five steps back, because I just could not get ahead in my life at this time.  Seemed like no hope for me at all).

 

“...You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied…”

 

 (I had a half of a package of Ritz Crackers, and a small can of Vienna sausages to my name.  Payday was a week off, so I was in a forced fasting period.  “Eat in PLENTY!” I would have been grateful for some crumbs on the floorboard of my Datsun at that point.  I lost 40 pounds during my living-in-my-car era.) 

 

“...and praise the Name of the Lord your God, who has dealt wondrously with you.” 

 

(Yes, He was dealing with me in all manner of living and surviving this cold night in a monsoon of rain.  I was beginning to thank Him at this very moment that I did have something to eat, and a dry car with a sleeping bag.  I looked around the inside of the car, thanking Him, with tears in my eyes, knowing full well, there were hundreds of homeless people in Portland during this time in1991.  

There were over 3,200 homeless people in Oregon, statewide, with the majority in big cities like Portland.  600 were children.  Some were in emergency housing or in shelters, but many lived on the streets.  Under overpasses with tents, if they were fortunate enough to have a tent to stay dry in. 

I am in my car, not a tent.  I was very thankful at this very moment continuing to read Joel Chapter 2.  Tears dripping on to the pages of my only Bible). 

 

“...And My people will never be put to shame.  Then you shall know that I am in the midst of Israel…”

 (In my car at that very moment was my thinking that He was with me).

 

“I am the Lord your God…” (Me, and He is my God) “and there is no other.  My people shall never be put to shame.” 

 

Wow.  What can I say now to what I just wrote to you?

Believe it or not, as I am writing this letter, I am spiritually reliving that moment in my Datsun.  I am sitting here at a computer screen and a keyboard, writing, but I can see that moment in the rain, pelting down on to the roof of my Datsun.  In the spirit, I can see but I can physically smell too.  Right now! 

 

I can smell the rain.  I can hear the trucks idling their Diesel engines.  

I can see the words from my Bible, as they literally hovered in midair in my car.  

I am reliving this, but at the very moment, in my cold interior of my car, in a sleeping bag with a penlight, I am worshipping my Jesus, and as I write this now, I can feel His presence with me as I type. 

 

He never left me in that moment in 1991.  

Those words from the Bible that hovered in midair in my car were profound to me.  

 

I said to myself, at that very moment I finished reading about locust and restoration; I blurted out loud to the Lord, “You mean You will do this for me?” 

 

The very next morning, as I was preparing to put on my last set of white “baker” clothing that had been laundered the day before, I was getting a sense of a miracle coming for me.  

After work, I made my way inside the truck stop cafeteria when the miracle happened.  A temporary job at the truck stop, unloading a truck. 

That money I earned, though it was only $40.00 cash. It paid for some fuel, a hot meal, and a motel room for the night. 

 

I showered after my meal at the truck stop and turned on Christian television on the black and white television inside this motel room. 

With my few belongings, including an old briefcase full of my old photographs of my family, and some bills that needed to be paid, I watched the preacher on the T.V. 

 

It was E.V. Hill preaching.  He said, as he pointed at the camera inside this big church that was filming him live for Christian television…

 

“I see a man out there, who knew the Lord Jesus, but fell away for a season.  You are not a failure, and your life is about to take a turn for the good.  You may have failed in your past, but Jesus loves you, and you will come out of your current circumstances soon.  He will restore to you the years that may have been deemed by you as wasted; and He will give back to you what was eaten away from your life because of your sin, and your circumstances.  Many of those things were not your fault.  You are taking blame for things that you had nothing to do with.  Be assured of His love for you, Sir.” 

 

Then he finished his message with John 8:36.

 

“FOR whom the Son sets free, is free indeed.” 

 

Wow again! 

God read my mail through that preacher. 

Yes, at that moment, I was in the Spirit realm in my heart.  I turned off the television, got on my knees and wept.  I wept because I had discounted the ability of the Lord to restore me for years.  

Even though I had felt His Presence in the car the night before, I still had my doubts of His ability to restore me.  

 

I repented for my doubts and unbelief's that I had in my heart. 

 

It was only a month later that the Lord gave me an apartment.  

 

And the rest is history now. 

 

From a moment in a car at a rest area.  Reading Joel 2, mostly out loud to myself as the rain beat on the roof of the car.  It rained so hard, it was coming down sideways and hitting the car windows so hard that the seals in the windows leaked.  The inside of my car was getting damp.  

 

My perspective had to shift at that moment when I said, “You mean You will do this for me?” 

He did, and He continues to restore the years all those bugs ate from my life.   

 

The Four R’s. 

Restoration, Revival, Reconciliation and Repentance. 

 

Not necessarily in this exact order, but the Lord Jesus has done what He said He would do for me, and He can for you too. 

 

Never give up or give in to the lies the world says about you.  

The enemy of your soul is out to steal, kill and destroy your dreams. 

Whatever you do, and wherever you go, remember this one thing. 

 

Deuteronomy 31:6, “Be strong and of good courage, do not fear or be afraid, for the Lord your God goes with you, and He will never leave you or abandon you.” 

 

He is with you now.  

 

He was with me then and is still here as I finish this thought. 

 

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever.  

 

Trust Him to restore you.  Fully and completely.  

He loves all of us the same.  

He is no respecter of persons.  

He is there right now with you as you read this account of my life. 

 

From the eyes of a child, way back when, I witnessed many things that ate away at my young life.  I have been set free. 

 

Remember John 8:36.

 

“Who the Son, (Jesus) sets free, is free indeed.” 

 

You can count on Him.  

He counts on you to trust HIM, no matter what. 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Sibling Rivalry

The account of my life is very painful to write about, and there was really no rivalry between my sister and myself.  

My behavior was the culprit, and the events that took place started back when I was 8 and my sister was 10 years old. 

Unlike Miriam and Aaron in the Bible in Numbers 12, my sister and I loved each other, but time would tell if this love would last. 

In the Book of Numbers, Miriam was punished by God with leprosy because of her and Aaron’s actions.  

These two siblings challenged Moses’ authority and marriage, suggesting God speaks through others as well.  God appears in the Tabernacle, reaffirming Moses’ unique role as His prophet and mediator of the covenant. 

 

Leprosy was her punishment.  

Moses pleaded with God to heal Miriam, demonstrating his humility and forgiveness.  Though Miriam is exiled from the camp for seven days, and the Israelites remain at Hazeroth until she is healed, this illustrates the impact of their actions on the community. 

 

They needed to respect God’s chosen leader Moses and not let pride or jealousy reign.  

Humility and forgiveness were the outcome of this story. 

 

This relates to my sister and myself in several ways. 

Again, for the sake of privacy, I will call my sister Drue. 

 

Drue was two years older than me and suffered more abuse from our mother than myself back when Drue was 10 and I was only 8 years old.  The scars lived on in the both of us, as time went by fast, after our mother died in 1971.  

Drue was 17 and I was 15 when Mom died from cancer. 

 

Life went on. 

Drue moved away to Georgia to live with my Aunt Wanda, my mother's sister. 

My older brother joined the Army. 

 

I was left with Daddy.  

I was already a drug addict, and I ruined our relationship all the way up to his murder when I was 18.  

I never had a chance to reconcile with my Daddy, and the pain in my heart bled out to the point that my heart grew hard and callused. 

 

Again, time went on and I ended up in prison at age 20.  

My brother was still in the Army and my sister had her own life to live after marrying her high school sweetheart, living happily ever after. 

 

Mom and Dad were gone, and the Wilkins’ family disbanded in a bad way.  

It was spiritual leprosy, like Miriam had.  

The reality was evident.  

I had the spiritual disease, not Drue or my brother.  

I was a sheep.  

A lost sheep, and the black sheep of the remnant of a family that discarded me for many years. 

Back to the story of Miriam, a type and set of my sister.  

 

Miriam was described in the Bible as a wise and courageous woman who played a crucial role in saving her brother Moses’ life. 

 

My sister was also wise.  

Drue was wise enough to move away from the tattered remnant of a family, after Mom died. 

 

In 1974, when my Daddy was murdered, Drue was pregnant with her first child.  

My Daddy never got to see his first grandchild.  

Drue was hurt deeply yet moved on in her life and became a successful nurse.  Her husband was a life-long Army Ranger and retired from the Military to become a juvenile probation officer around New York City. 

 

Prior to Drue moving to New York, I visited her and her husband.  

By then, in 1981, just after Mt. Saint Helens blew her top, I moved to Washington.  Her husband was stationed there. 

 

I was not serving Jesus at this time in my life.  

I was 25 years old and backslidden away from the Lord. 

 

Not a good Aaron example at all.  

The real brother to Moses was the first High Priest of the Israelites.  His early life is shrouded in mystery, with various theories about the origin of his name and his upbringing.  

Some thoughts are that he was raised in Pharaoh’s palace. 

 

The one weakness in Aaron was like me.  Aaron struggled with insecurity.  

Like all Biblical characters, Aaron was unabashedly human.  

Despite being commissioned as priest for the people, Aaron is not perfect by any stretch.  Several instances of his life (and mine) testified to his insecurities. 

 

In Exodus 32, Aaron was requested to cast new gods for the people.  

Without hesitation, Aaron agreed.  

He knew better.  

I knew better than to be stupid and addicted, yet I continued in my rebellion. 

 

My relationship with my sister became strained when I lived with her for that short season in 1981.  

It came crashing down all because I cast, (like Aaron) a new god (my addictions), into my life, ignoring my older sister Drue.  I hurt her deeply. 

 

Towards the end of our time, I stole her credit cards, and a diamond ring which was given to her by my uncle who was a Vietnam veteran.  My uncle gave her this expensive ring, as a token of love during her wedding, prior to my Daddy being killed. 

 

I stole from her, and abruptly left the State of Washington, heading quickly to Idaho. 

 

Time went on with this sibling rivalry that I created. 

To make a very long, painful story shorter, I was temporarily reunited with Drue in 1994.  

Over the phone, I led her to Jesus Christ, and it seemed all was forgiven. 

 

However, the communication died, like all our past issues were supposed to, and we became estranged again.  

From 1994 until today in 2025, we have not spoken even once. 

 

Over thirty years of silence. 

 

I have prayed, repented, and prayed some more, with no answers in sight.  

I can relate to the story in the Bible regarding this sibling situation. 

 

Eventually, after Miriam was healed from her leprosy, she and Aaron died in the wilderness before the Israelites enter the promise land. 

The well of water which was provided for the children of Israel in the desert, dried up when Miriam died.  

Aaron died five months later, though Moses smote the rock twice, and water continued all the way to the Promise Land.  

God did bring the miracle of the Promise Land, despite the children of Israel running around the mountain for 40 years. 

 

I had absolutely no business being in a backslidden state in 1981.  

 

I loved Jesus, but was living in the world, rather than serving God.  

My spiritual desert lasted from 1979 (two years after being released from prison), until 1989.  

Ten long years of misery. 

 

I burned every bridge I had with family.  

No one trusted this so-called Christian Joe. 

No one to blame but myself. 

 

Sibling rivalry, as youngsters, can be healthy as children decide the fate of the other siblings in a loving pecking order.  

Just like chickens, the strongest survive.  

 

I survived, but I also knew better than to steal from my normal sister.  

I knew better than to steal her credit cards, heirloom ring, leaving a wake of destruction that only time and Jesus could heal. 

 

I am thankful I led Drue to Christ.  

Regardless of her current walk with Jesus at her ripe age of 71, I am not responsible for her actions.  

If she has decided to never contact me, so be it.  

 

Does that hurt?  

Yes, it does, because she is my sister, and I love her. 

 

Miriam was loved by Aaron.  Their relationship had a lot of hurdles to overcome with their brother Moses. 

 

In the Bible, Moses and Aaron grieved Miriam’s death, despite the text not detailing a mourning period for her.  

Here is why some scholars and traditions suggest Aaron and Moses were saddened by their sister Miriam’s death. 

 

Family relationship:  Aaron, Moses, and Miriam were siblings who shared a history, and played crucial roles in the Israelites’ journey to the Promise Land.  

It is likely that their strong emotional bonds, and the loss of a sister would naturally cause grief. 

 

I would love to find a scripture reference or hear the Voice of the Holy Ghost regarding my sister Drue. 

 

I have prayed, fasted, and grieved for over 31 years in hopes of reuniting with my sister.  

She is my blood sister. 

 

Most normal families have a close bond with each other.  

My family line and lineage have no history to speak of.  

My Daddy had two brothers and one sister. 

My mother had two sisters, and two half-brothers. 

 

I do not have any insights from God to know who, if any, were Christians in my family tree.

This “tree” feels more like a family weed.  

 

My grandmother was a believer, and my aunt was a believer.  

Both loved Jesus with all their hearts.  They are responsible for praying me into God’s Kingdom.  

This is a fact that can’t be disputed. 

 

As far as the tree that grows close to the waters of life, the hope deferred has caused my heart to grow weary at times.  

Seems like the water is far off for the roots in my life that appear to be parched for the love of my sister.

 

I am not getting any younger, and I wait, pray and wait some more.  

I know God and His promises are Yes and Amen to them that believe.  

I will always believe. 

 

Sibling rivalry. 

Drue.  

She’s named after one of my aunts.  

She is a successful, retired nurse.  

She has two grown children with “who knows” how many grandchildren.  

God knows. 

 

Here is how I deal with the former sibling rivalry.  

Remember, I created the deep wounds, not Drue. 

 

I look at things this way.  

I have people in my life who I currently cherish.  

All of them are not blood related. 

One is a woman of God who I have a deep respect for, and she knows who she is.  

I consider her my little sister. 

 

If I never see Drue again in this life, I will see her in Heaven. 

I do not have a vacancy in my heart that bleeds for restoration.  

I would love a family reunion like normal people.  

 

I have never been normal, nor is the life I have lived come anywhere near to normal. 

So be it. 

 

Jesus knows my heart and He, alone, is enough for me.  

 

I have recently learned to let Him open my eyes a little bit more for Mankind.  

 

He has, and it is a good thing that brings tears from my aged eyes.  

Like today, in a prison this morning, when I preached. 

 

Men got saved.  

Many wept.

Jesus did what He always does.  

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.  Psalm 147: 3. 

 

If you and I have wounds from our past, He can heal them.  He desires to.  He wants us to heal more than we do. 

 

It is His Nature.  

He loves us so much that if anyone understands sibling rivalry within a family, He does.  

He dusted off the sandals of His own feet to move on away from those who did not receive His message of repentance. 

 

Are you welcome in your own hometown?  

Jesus was rejected at every turn.  

Do not be weary in doing well, Saints.  

People are people.  

And if human beings live, they are apt to offend those who they profess that they love. 

 

Love should be unconditional. 

Learn what I have learned.  

Love those who are unlovable.  

Love them, even if they hate you.  

Love them the way Jesus does.  

His Love never fails. 

 

I will never again put myself in a place where I create a rivalry.  

Even as an only child, rivalry comes in different forms.  

It comes from parents, or lack of a good parent. 

It comes from peers in school. 

It comes from strangers.  

 

Jesus told us that the world will hate you for His Namesake. 

 

I would rather be hated by the world and loved by Jesus.  

No sibling rivalry there.  

He will never leave me or forsake me.  

He is the best family member I have.  

The only one Who really counts.  

 

He counts, and we can fully count on Him to do what He says He will do. 

 

If you need to have a little talk with Jesus, do it now.  

 

Do it while your heart is tender to hear the Voice of the Holy Ghost.  

He is with you right now where you are at. 

 

Listen closely.  

He is speaking.  

Can you hear Him?

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

 

Two Different Brothers

This story is real.  The names have been changed to protect the interests of both parties. 

I want to talk about my biological brother first, to put into perspective about why I am telling the story. 

For anonymity purposes, I will call him Dean. 

 

He is my older brother.  

I am the youngest of three children.  I have a sister who is older than me by two years.  

Dean is four years older than me. 

 

For those who know my story, I will not labor over all the horrid details of our growing up years, except to say that Dean was a first born. 

At least 100 pictures of this first-born son to the Wilkins family existed at one time.  

I ended up with the photo albums but lost them in my last arrest.  I was arrested on Industrial Boulevard near Downtown Dallas, Texas.  My effects, including the photo albums, were strewn all over the road in an untidily scattered way.  Cars ran over the albums and destroyed all the pictures of my family.  Deans included.  

The ultimate price I paid for being hit by an oncoming car in my addiction.  

I was running from the police.  A bad habit I had in my addiction.   Oncoming cars, one of which hit me and knocked me unconscious.  I woke up inside the Dallas City Jail. 

 

My brother grew up in our home and was favored above myself and my sister.  He was favored more by my mother; his high I.Q. made it easy for anyone to acknowledge his smarts.  

Daddy loved us three children equally, but not my evil mother. 

 

She would say to me, “Why can’t you be as smart as Dean?  What is wrong with you, Joseph?” 

 

He was a master chess player.  He taught himself to play and tried to teach me.  

I learned, but he would never let me win.  

So, I quit trying to keep up with the intellectual older brother. 

 

Dean made straight A + grades in Calculus, Trigonometry, Chemistry, and Physics.  

He never cracked a book.  Never did homework.  Always had a natural tendency to learn quickly.  

It is no wonder that he became an airline pilot for Continental Airlines in the 1980’s.  Had to be smart and stable to become one of “them” kind of people.  

“Great vernacular, Joseph.” 

 

Me, on the other hand, I was a failure in school.  

I should have been a foot. I could have run away from home had it not been for being pigeon-toed and wearing a size 13 shoe at 12 years old.

 I would have been a light in the Wilkins home.  

My bulb burned out once Mom yelled at me about being smart like my brother.  

I hated her for that. 

 

I was stepped on by Mom a lot.  

I made my only “A” in spelling.  

I won the spelling bee at age 9.  (I think that was my age, but it was a long time ago).  

I won the spelling contest by spelling accurately the word: “Ocular.”  

 

She never acknowledged my success in Spelling class.  

Her words to me that day I brought home my certificate of completion was, “Is that it?  So, you spelled a word.  What about the F you got in History Joseph?  What about the F you have in Math?” 

 

And, so on, and so forth.  

She had a way with words.  

Sticks and stones would have felt better upon my brow than those harsh words of criticism and ridicule coming from a hateful mother. 

 

Dean succeeded in being the focus of attention at every turn. 

On to the reality of this story.  

Brothers in the Bible. 

 

Cain and Able, Jacob and Esau, and the apostles like Simon and Andrew.  

Joseph and his brothers as examples.  

The concept of brothers also extends to those within a nation or those united by shared beliefs. 

 

Cain kills Able.  

Jacob and Esau were twin brothers with a complex relationship, like me and Dean.  

Marked by competition and deception.  

Even Joseph and his brothers.  

The breakdown of Joseph and some of his brothers leading to Joseph’s imprisonment was like my life.  

I was not put into prison because of jealous brothers.  I was put into prison because of my sin. 

 

My brother Dean did not send me to prison, but he might as well have.  

He belittled me and made me feel constantly inferior to his expertise in everything he touched.  

I do not blame him today, but back then I did.  

My hatred grew as each year passed. 

 

Jesus commands his followers to love one another, just as He loved them, and this love is presented as a way for the world to recognize who are His disciples.  

 

The Bible makes it clear that love for one another is inseparable from love for God.  1st John 4: 20 declares, “If someone says, ‘I love God,’ and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen, how can he love God whom he has not seen?  And this commandment we have from Him; that he who loves God must love his brother also.” 

 

Tough pill to swallow for me back then.  

Before I met Christ, I hated everyone, including Dean. 

 

A day came when less than 14 hours from the time my Daddy, (our Daddy) was murdered, Dean had to fly from Anchorage, Alaska where he was stationed in the Army.  

On a special Red Cross leave of absence, Dean flew directly to El Paso, Texas to claim the body of our dead Daddy.  

 

I never thought how he must have felt to see the cold body in the refrigerator of the coroner’s office, back in 1974.  

Dean was 22 years old.  I was 18.  

The coroner pulled out in a six-foot drawer, to be claimed by my brother, and asked him, “Is this your dad?” 

 

His head had not been bandaged, so the gunshot wound was fresh, just as he was found by the Sheriff’s office, some 14 hours earlier as his lifeless body was taken to this cold storage facility.  

Blood everywhere.  One third of his skull was gone. 

 

Dean’s perfect grades in school and college did not prepare him for this moment.  

It did not matter to him how smart he was while in the Army.  

This scene could never allow Dean to reflect on how good he was on his aptitude test to join the Army.  

His excellence in the Armed Forces mattered not at that very moment as he had to deal with the death of our once loved Daddy.  

 

Not just a death.  A murder. 

 

That is my brother.  

My flesh and blood brother Dean.  

I have only seen him two times since my Daddy’s demise. 

 

Once, after I got out of prison, and the other time, when he came to visit me in Oregon City, Oregon in 1988.  

He was a commercial airline pilot, stationed outside of Aurora, Colorado, and out of nowhere, he contacted me.  

We visited for one day.  A short, 24-hour period, before he left to fly away to Australia.  

His last words to me that day at P.D.X. Portland airport was, “I have a bunch of flyer miles to use up, Brother Joe.  If you have a passport, I want you to join me soon for a trip to Australia.  I will wait to hear from you, Brother.” 

 

That was the last time I physically saw my older brother Dean. 

 

Fast forward to 2015 from 1988.  

27 years passed, and I was able, through a supernatural event, I get in touch with Dean. 

I asked him, over the phone, “Where have you been for all these years?”
 

He calmly answered that he had been flying for Saudia Arabia airlines and has been living in the Samoan Islands for years, married and with two children. 

 

We talked for a moment.  

He ended the phone call, which seemed sincere at the time, with a question to me.  

“Hey Brother Joe, can you help me with some money I need?” 

 

Wow.  

I was shocked.  

After all we lived through in childhood, and all that we had to endure with our mother dying of Cancer when I was 15 and Dean was 18.  

Even after our dear Daddy departed at age 46, Dean only wanted money?  

Are you kidding me? 

 

I haven’t heard back from him since.  

 

It is now 2025 and he lives in Oregon with his wife.  

No contact.  

No nothing.  

I have lost contact with my blood brother, perhaps forever. 

 

Now, on to the real brother.  The “different brother.”  

The one who I cherish, more than he may know. 

I will call him Edward. 

Ed for short, is a man who is a believer in Jesus Christ.  

He was saved during the Jesus movement in the 1970 era.

 

Ed is related to me by marriage.  He has gone to the prisons with me in Oregon and has an exact opposite testimony than me.  

In fact, it is a better testimony because he did not wreck his life like I did mine. 

His story is not deficient of sorrows of his own.  

He overcame a lot of heartache too, but because of Jesus, he has maintained his walk with the Lord Jesus all his life since his transformation early on. 

 

Ed shares in the prisons with me and his story brings much perspective on “how” to live for Jesus without all the chaos of addiction.  

 

OH, but he is an addict in my opinion.  He is addicted to Jesus! 

 

Ed has several grown children, and a bunch of grandchildren.  His children love the Lord and several of them are in ministry to this day. 

His legacy is one that is like the coat of many colors. 

 

1st John 3:14 declares, “We know we have passed from death to life, because we love the brethren.  He who does not love his brother abides in death.” 

 

Wow.  

Ed shares from his heart many parables of truth from God’s Word.  He has story upon story of the mercy of God and His grace upon his life.  

He is married to one woman.  Only one. 

I am married to one woman too.  

However, my past is riddled with failure upon failure regarding relationships.  

I will leave that one lay dead there. 

 

Let me not kid myself.  

I am not Ed.  And Ed is not me.  

We are like oil and water.  When mixed, they make a good salad dressing.  

If you get my drift.  

He learned, early on, about Jesus and what NOT to do in life.  

I learned, without Jesus yet, what to do that was entirely wrong.  

Oil and water. 

 

When it comes to passing from death to life because we love the brethren means to me a simple point.  

Since actions speak louder than words, I will simplify this.

 Ed is a doer of the Word.  

He is human and able to mess up, and none of us are perfect, but if I ever wanted to duplicate to a degree anyone I know as a man of God with integrity, it would be Ed. 

Why?  

Because he is a different brother than the one, I grew up with?  To a degree, yes. 

 

Is he my biological brother?  

No. 

Am I comparing him to Dean?  

Never. 

 

It is an honor to know a man like Ed.  He has ministered with me, side by side in prison ministry, and he and his precious wife have supported this prison ministry for many, many years.  

That has not gone unnoticed by me when it comes to support, as preaching is not cheap.  It takes money to travel and preach.  

This family is a family of soul winners. 

 

“How can that be, Joe?”  

I am glad you asked me. 

 

Because of Ed, and the love he has for men in prison, and men in general, he is a man’s man, in my opinion.  

I am not talking about Macho this, or Macho that.  

I am talking about a word that is lacking in many circles of Christianity and the local churches. 

 

It is a thing called integrity.  

Integrity is different than just character.  

Godly character.  

Godly integrity is the long-term, genuine history of a man and his walk with God. 

 

Not a firecracker.  Lit one moment, and then “Bang.”  

 

I am talking about a flare that burns and burns and sheds light in dark places.  

The calling of God is different for many people.  Women and men alike.  

Some preach.  

Some teach.  

 

Ed is a teacher without saying a word.  

 

I would rather see a sermon, than hear one anyday. 

 

A life lived for God is a better testimony than a sermon with five points.  

I only have three-point sermons.  

Jesus died for you.  You must repent.  And you MUST be born again. 

 

Ed preaches without preaching.  

He teaches without a bunch of Greek or Hebrew explanations.  

He probably knows more than I do.  

Truth is more powerful than words spoken. 

Legacy. 

 

Ed, and his legacy are more than an inheritance to his children and grandchildren.  

It is more than homes, cars, and boats.  

It is more than even being a brother in the Lord to me.

It is an inheritance of longevity in serving Christ. 

 

We are the same age, but he is older in the sense of knowing Christ longer and knowing more about how to live, without the history of a reconstructed life.  

My life had to be rebuilt in the Lord, and the Lord Jesus did a good job giving me a second chance at life.  

Ed had a chance to serve God early on.  

He took the chance, and it was more than a chance encounter.  

He met the Living God, and the Living God still dwells in Ed and his legacy of love for souls. 

 

So, a day will come when I lay my soul-winners crown down at the feet of Jesus in Heaven.  

1st Thessalonians 2:19, “For what is our hope, or joy, or crown of rejoicing?  Is it not even you in the presence of our lord Jesus Christ at His coming?  For you are our glory and joy.” 

There may or may not be a real crown with jewels.  That is left for the theologians to figure out.  

I could not win those to Christ in the way I do, unless I am sent to do so. 

 

Ed sends me. 

Ed supports me in most every way known as a true servant.  

He cares about men in prison, and he cares that they have a bible. 

I have watched him, his children, and his family for years. 

Nothing changes.  

All is still good regarding this family of God serving God. 

 

Two different brothers. 

 

Dean and Ed. 

Both have integrity.

Both have lived through some heartaches and pains in life. 

Both have a history. 

One has a history of being Agnostic. 

The other, loves Jesus.  

 

My prayer is that the one who is a non-believer will be one soon.  

He is my brother by the blood of my mom and dad. 

 

The other one.  Good ole’ Ed. 

 

I love them both.  

 

I honor Ed today in this letter.  He may not know this or even receive this note of love from me today in this story. 

 

“Ed, I hope when the Lord lets me make disciples of men in prison, that I always remember your influence on me for these some 24 years plus since I have known you.  I celebrate you today in this letter.  I honor you, “Man of God.’” 

 

So, if you have two different brothers in your life, I hope that your influence on them, even in some small way, reflects the love of God I hold dear to my heart in loving my other brother. 

Ed.  

Good, ole’ Ed.   

Keep looking up!   

 

If I never see my brother Dean again, this side of Heaven, I know I will see you again, in Oregon, in the future, and we will go into a prison there and tell “them” men, “Jesus is Lord.”

 You tell them your side of the Gospel, and I will try mine again.  

 

I will endeavor to make a good salad dressing from your oil, and my water.  

Bless you Ed. 

 

Regardless of the type of salad we make together, the dressing will be delicious. 

 Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

No Deposit, No Return

Many states in America use the recycling method for cans and some glass bottles, offering a return of $.05-$.10 apiece for recycling them for a financial return on their investment.  

Yes, they invested hours walking or driving around picking up discarded recyclables, often in dumpsters, trash cans, and alongside highways and byways.  

This is a lot of work, considering seeing one giant lawn and Hefty bags full of these treasures, getting our shiny dime in return, nets about $5 - 8 dollars.  

If it took three hours of walking, dumpster diving, and driving, then there is not any profit to be made, except, of course, the feeling of satisfaction, knowing we are cleaning up the planet.  

It sounds like a way to make a deal with Mother Earth.  

Greener planet without glass and cans reflecting the sunlight in Texas.  A true “green new deal” without making a deal at all.  

Nevertheless, no deposit, no return is a reality for some of these states.

Spiritually we get a return on our deposits of prayer, Bible reading, digesting what we read, and our worship/devotional time with Jesus, our Lord.  

No recycling here except the concept of taking a dirty vessel like an empty beer bottle with a .10 cent return, recycling, it and getting our shiny outcome in return.  

What about the dirty vessels we are without Christ?

 Some people will let us cash in our dirty vessels by making a deal with the devil.  

I would rather take my sin-filled vessel and have Jesus clean me up, to hold a better product inside.  That means His Holy Spirit lives in me, having my vessel poured out wherever He wants to use me.

Is my vessel a container of honor or dishonor?

2nd Timothy 2: 20-21 declares, “But in a great house there are not only vessels of gold and silver, but also of wood and clay, some for honor and some for dishonor.  Therefore, if anyone cleanses himself from the latter, (dishonor) he will be a vessel for honor, sanctified and useful for the Master, prepared for every good work.”

Are we really prepared for every good work?  

Are we ready to be used by Jesus?

No matter our spiritual condition, He loves us and wants to use our lives for His Glory.

The dumpsters I physically dove into to eat were real ones.  

No metaphors here.  

Real filthy, maggot- infested dumpsters filled with refuse from a restaurant.  

I ate at this fine food establishment.  My seat at the table was not one with fine linen tablecloths.  Rather old, wet cardboard boxes, mixed with trash and remnants of food discarded from the kitchen staff, and out into garbage bags with no twist ties.  

Twist ties took too long for me to undo.  

 

I tore the bags open and fished for anything somewhat edible.  

Once I found a morsel or scrap, I flicked off the swarming maggots and devoured the delicious garbage.  

Hence, a dumpster-diver.  

 

I was diving deep and wide in my sin of addictions.  They took me farther and deeper into insanity than I really wanted to go.  

Meth, shot into my collapsed veins with a needle, drove me to the garbage can of life.  

Properly named a vessel of dishonor.  

Nothing noteworthy or honorable about a stinky, filthy, and addicted 18-year-old boy, who wanted to eat my dinner inside with the white tablecloths.  

I did not qualify, because my money was spent on three McDonalds cheeseburgers with no fries.  

That was my daily diet when I did have money to spare.  

Otherwise, it was peanut butter and honey sandwiches and sweet tea when I got paid from my job in the filthy printing ink company I worked for.  

My hands and fingernails remained a dark shade of charcoal black stained deep within the cuticles of my fingers and thumbs.
My callused palms were stained from the printing ink.  

No chemical made could remove these imbedded stains.

No wonder I never had a girlfriend.
My sin-stained heart and sin-stained skin, to match, had the dark recesses internally and externally.  It was a clear indication that I had no return because I had nothing to deposit into my life worth a penny.  I was worthless in my mind.  

Not worth a single, red cent.

Something needed to change, but I liked being a filthy addict.  

Drugs kept me bound, and it took another near-death experience to somewhat wake me up.

This all happened prior to my Daddy’s murder in late 1974.  

Months before this horrible news came to me, I had no excuses to be as bad as I was.  

I went as far as stealing a clear liquid chemical from the previously mentioned printing ink company.  It was used to clean out the steel vats we used to mix the printing ink in.  This flammable liquid, when soaked into a cloth rag and put inside a paper sack, offered me another new chemical high.  

If Meth was not bad enough, I took my addiction to another demonic level by breathing these toxic fumes from a bag closed tightly around my mouth and nose.  

“Breathe deep, Joe.”

I would breathe these fumes until I actually heard the sounds of crickets getting louder and faster in my ears, until I passed out.

I would wake up an hour or so later with a headache and repeat this process until the small jar of toxic liquid was gone.

Brain damage, yes.  

Heart and lung damage, yes.  

Spiritual destruction?  

Almost completely, until Jesus intervened.  

 

Thank God there would be a return on His investment from His Shed Blood for former inmate number 262066 in a Texas prison.  

 

He rescued me and gave me a new non-toxic brain, new lungs, and every other organ I must have destroyed from the 7 years of daily drug and alcohol use and abuse.  

Only Jesus could help me.

Gideon, King Cyrus, King Hezekiah and others were found by God as vessels of honor, not dishonor, like I was.  

Emphasis on the “WAS” because I was an addict, convicted felon, and state hospital patron.  

A proper nut case in the nut house in Austin, Texas.  State hospital stay for 90 days from the Austin Police Department.  

Apparently, the cops did not like me directing traffic on their beat.  

Just because I did not have a badge and a gun did not mean my skills as a traffic controller were not admirable.  Can’t imagine why.  Can you?

Bottom line is this.  We reap what we sow.  

I did, and so does every person on this planet.

No deposit, no return?  Ask yourself a simple question.

“What are you depositing into your spirit daily?”

If you want a return on your life, put Jesus on the throne of your life, and let Him direct your paths.  

It is only a short life here on this planet compared to eternity.  

Make your shots count.

Learn the Bible.  

It will teach you more about what to do than what not to do.  

 

I leaned from my past horrible life, more about what not to do, than to do.  

Now, with Jesus, I know the difference.  

There is a difference.

He gathers the refuse in this life and recycles our garbage into worthy vessels.  

You and I are holding something in our vessels.  

“What is in your bottle?”

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Maximum, Optimum Return

The greatest investment we can ever put into our lives is not financial, or our time, or even our other so-called priorities.  

Yes, our jobs and careers are part of life.  

Our children, if we have children, grandchildren, and beyond are important, and the love we have for them is unending. 

 

However, even as much as we love our families, and our ministries, and our local church, the investment of time that we put into them is good and rewarding.  

Yet, the most important investment that carries with it, the joy and fulfillment, is the dividends and interest we gain from knowing Christ and Him crucified.  

 

Knowing Him and the fellowship of His sufferings. 

 

Knowing, and having relationships, beyond the natural ones we love, including our families and friends, do not hold weight in knowing Jesus Christ.  

Knowing Him first is the best investment we will ever put our time into. 

 

It is because we reap what we sow.  

And it is because this eternal law of sowing and reaping is for those who know Him and for those who do not know Him yet.  

 

This is not theory, but the law. 

It is a law, just like gravity.  

 

I would never test gravity from the 11th floor of a building, to try and see if gravity works by throwing something from that height.  

Especially not myself.  

I do not have a parachute or wings.   I may want to fly, and desire to fly, but we are not built to test all the laws of nature.   

 

Isaac Newton’s law of universal gravitation describes gravity as a force by stating that every particle attracts every other particle in the universe with a force that is proportional to the product of their masses, and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between their centers of mass.  

 

Ughh.  

 Lots of stuff there.

 

 In other words, the object you throw off that building will crash down on the ground below with force.  

Unless it is a carrier pigeon that is healthy with a note attached to its feet, saying, “I can fly, not you.” 

 

Both Albert Einstein and Isaac Newton are correct, though one believes in the theory behind the facts, and the other believes in the law.  

 

Both have effects.  Both works. 

 

How about the investment that has the Maximum, Optimum return? 

 

It is defined as, “the highest achievable profit or benefit from an investment or business venture, considering all relevant factors and constraints.”

Optimum is the most favorable. 

 

Maximum is the limit of achievement or gain.  The return on the investment may take time, and it has its risks.  Especially in business. 

 

Spiritual investment never fails. 

 

Of course, it depends on Who you are investing in, and what you are doing spiritually.  

If you want to go to a mountain somewhere in Tibet and worship creation instead of the Creator, then have at it.  

Maybe you will be enlightened and find some solace.  

This is a bad investment, in my opinion.  

 

Knowing Jesus Christ as your Master Chief Operating Officer, will allow you to have faith in what you are doing.  

Will you always win?  

Depends on what you deem to be winning.  

 

Faith in Christ is not a game, or a race to the finish line.  

However, there is an end to all things.  

Winning can be confusing. 

Winning is subjective.  

 

What is winning?  

Well, it is making Heaven your home and hearing, “Well done, my good and faithful servant, enter into your rest.”  

 

Losing the race of life, means that you may have run to Heaven, but did not follow the LAWS and THEORIES of God Almighty, and found that your belief system was a false one.  

 

There is always hope if you are alive.  

Winning is not losing.  Losing is not winning.  

Death is real.

Life everlasting in Jesus Christ is also more than real.  It is eternal.  

Only one way to Heaven. 

John 3:3.  

Read it. 

 

Maximum, Optimum return.  

You are not owed anything from Jesus.  

He does not owe you anything because of your investment in Him. He invested in you through His Blood, so you can partake of His death, and die to yourself.  

His return on His investment is you and I when we repent and ask Him into our lives.  

No more, no less. 

 

“It is by His grace ye have been saved through faith, not of yourselves, it is the gift of God, not of works lest anyone should boast.”

Ephesians 2: 8-9

 

I spent all my younger years investing in the wrong companies.  

The company I kept was not a business.  

Unless you consider drug dealers a business.  

I guess it is. 

 

I was given, or fronted (handed this Dope with no money exchanging hands), a 2.2 Kilo of Marijuana from Mexico from my dealer.  

Meaning that he gave me the Dope, with an amount of money he wanted back from my ability to sell this large quantity of Marijuana.  

I sold it in ½ ounce baggies.  This initially was 77.6 ounces of Marijuana.  

An investment. 

That 77.6 ounces, sold as ½ ounce baggies for $15.00 per baggie, equaled, when done, a total of $2,310.00 dollars.  

All I had to do was give my dealer $500.00 cash (after I sold all that Dope.)  

 

It might have taken a few days because I had people wanting it and stood in line in the parking lot of the arcade I hung out at.  They lined up to my driver's window of my 1970 Ford Galaxy, and I walked away with a net profit of $1,800.00.  

That was a bunch of money in 1973. 

The problem was, I was greedy. 

 

Of course I was.  I was an addict.  

NO deposit No return for my investment, or the dealer's investment. 

I owed him money and never paid him.  

Therefore, I was a hunted man by a very serious dealer. 

 

He finally caught me, and I had to pay up, which I did.  

Mainly on installments. 

He trusted me repeatedly, and to his chagrin, he became distressed and embarrassed, feeling like a failure because he had a boss to answer to.  

I let him down and he had to pay a price for my stupidity and selfishness. 

 

One day, he fronted me another 2.2 Kilo of Dope, and when I left his house, I parked a block away with my headlights off. 

 

I watched him leave his house, through the back door.  

He would go out to the doghouse where his violent Doberman dog was, and move the doghouse over a bit, to expose a hidden, underground bunker where he hid the other pounds of Marijuana. 

 

I watched him with my binoculars.  

He put the 50 plus pounds of Marijuana in the hole in the ground.  Moved the doghouse back on top of the bunker.  

The watchdog was chained to the doghouse.  

A protector of his investment. 

 

When he drove away to his next appointment, I casually walked through his unlocked, chain-link fence to the backyard.  

I walked up to the growling dog, shot the dog dead with my pistol, took all the Dope, loaded it into my trunk, and drove off. 

 

This obviously worked, and he never knew it was me who did this. 

He was never to be seen again as his “bosses” must have given him a ticket out of town.  

Or a pair of cement shoes to wear in the nearest river.  

I do not know the outcome; except I had to find another dealer who would trust me as an “investment.”  

Maximum, Optimum return. 

 

I maxed out, burning all the bridges with killers and thieves, and finally ended up paying for my theory of relativity which, in Einstein’s thoughts was, how speed affects space, time, and mass, and applies to situations without gravity. 

 

My speed (Meth in my veins) did affect the space and time I had to spend in prison, which was a mass of confusion, applied without any gravity.  

Except the gravity of my pain-filled, addicted situations. 

 

I reaped what I had sown.  It is God’s eternal law. 

 

Psalm 90:12 declares, “So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” 

 

Teach us, Lord. 

I learned the hard way about life, death, investments, time, love, and heartache. 

God never intended for me to become a mess.  

He turned my mess into a message of hope, through the preaching of the Gospel. 

 

He restored my life through the trials and tests I went through.   

 

My tests turned into testimonies of His grace and love. 

 

Only He can fix our issues. 

 

There are many millions of people who never took the path I took.  

The path of least resistance is just to serve God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength.  

Avoid the self-inflicted sorrows of life by trusting in Him during your storms. 

 

Investments are here one day and gone the next.  

Especially financial investments. 

Thank God for wisdom in how to conduct successful business ventures.  It is His money anyway, and He expects us to use His finances and blessings with wisdom in faith towards His abundance for every good work. 

 

Besides this investment, our time spent with the Savior of our souls, Jesus is the ultimate “time well spent.” 

 

I wasted too much time being stupid and broken. 

 

I am believing God to continue to restore me and my family, one day at a time. 

 

We only have 24 hours a day, according to a watch or a calendar. 

 

When we pray, and I mean “really pray,” where we lose track of time when we cry out to our Heavenly Father.  

 

Time stands still when we weep, worship, and pray out loud or silently, alone in an actual closet.  

A private place we have segregated away from the norms in life, becomes our personal altar of mercy and sacrifice.  

We will find solace there. 

 

My closet is a greenhouse.  

Somedays it is a chicken coop.  

 

Anywhere I can find to be alone with my Master Jesus is a good place.

 

Quality of time is better than quantity, but more time in quality of prayer means more answers from the Lord to our prayers.

 Simple talking with Jesus. 

 

My maximum return for my time with Jesus is basically just a little more peace in the middle of my personal trials. 

My optimum results come as Him speaking to me through His Word and sometimes in that Still, Small, Tender Voice of the Holy Spirit. 

 

Mostly, the return on all of this is just knowing Him more and the fellowship of His sufferings for me, personally.  

 

If you and I can realize the personal pain He went through for us personally, one on one...then we will see the tears on our cheeks.  

We will feel the sorrows He felt, and little by little, have a glimpse of His eyes for people.  

Even His eyes for us, personally.  

He loves us so much, words can’t describe this kind of love. 

 

Maximum, Optimum return on the investment of time with the Master-Teacher Jesus the Christ, the Anointed One, sent from God. 

 

All the drugs I stole, and all the times I should have been killed are truly countless.  

I remember over a dozen times I should have died.  

I try to forget, but I remember for a purpose in my pains of life.  

My purpose is to preach this Gospel of Peace. 

 

NO pain, no gain.  

 

If for even a moment, we could understand that compassion is more than love, then we would be more like Him.  

 

A feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for others.  They suffer beyond, perhaps, what we have suffered.  

Our compassion in Christ for others allows us to alleviate their pain, even if, it just a little bit.  

 

All they want is to be loved and understood.  

Listen to their pain.  

Feel their tears upon your shoulders.  

Pray for them. 

 

The men who I have preached to in prisons for almost 40 years understand why I have compassion for them.  

It is because Jesus had compassion for me.  

He felt my pain.  

He bore it all upon the Cross of Calvary.  

For me, and for you. 

Invest wisely. 

 

Your return on your investment is more than finances and even peace. 

Your return is simple. 

It is knowing more about Him and realizing that we might as well get to know Him more now.  

We will spend eternity with Him.  

 

It would be better to not be so surprised in Heaven about Who and What He is, then.  

Let's find out together now in prayer about His investment in us.   

Individually and corporately.  

 

He is the best.  

And Jesus, the Best, is yet to come.  

He is coming back.  

That is His investment in us.  

We are worth so much, He died and lives again.  

He is coming back for His church. 

Be ready.  

 

“Be still and know He is God.”

 The return on His investment, is His Return to Earth to take us home.  

Maximum, Optimum return. 

 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

My Danger Zone

No, I am not talking about the movie, “Top Gun,” and the iconic theme song played for the film’s intro. 

I am not talking about Kenny Loggins singing those lyrics like…

 “Revvin’ up your engine, listen to her howlin’ roar, metal under tension, Beggin’ you to touch and go.  Highway to the danger zone, ride into the danger zone.” 

What a box office hit that movie was.  Grossed 357.3 million dollars worldwide.  The highest grossing film of 1986. 

 

Moving on into my personal, real-life events of what I call my Danger Zone.  

It was not a hit song that was played on my behalf.  

There was no fiction involved in this take on my life.  

 

Unlike in a movie, I was not given a bunch of chances to get my “scene” correct or memorize my lines.  

It was all improv, without the comedy.  

Sick and twisted was I. 

 

Influences.  

Music, drugs, sex and rock and roll, before the era of 1977 and Ian Dury’s song by the same name, “Sex, and Drugs and Rock and Roll.”  

Lyrics like, “Sex and drugs and rock and roll is all my brain and body need, sex and drugs and rock and roll is very good, indeed.” 

 

So much for 1977.

 I lived in this era, beginning in 1971 through 1977.  

Music played a big part in my demon possession.  

Yes, demon possession, not oppression.  

There is a big difference. 

Rock and roll with the influences and lyrics of AC DC’s Highway to Hell, was truly prophetic as I was literally on my way to the abyss.  

Definition: seen as a prison for demons.  

This usage was picked up in the New Testament.  

According to the Gospel of Luke, Jesus sent the Gadarene swine into the abyss.  Luke 8:31. 

 

Graphic?  

Yes.  

I was in a true danger zone.  

Revelation 11: 7, “When they finish their testimony, the beast that ascends out of the bottomless pit will make war against them, overcome them, and kill them.”   

 

This signifies a time of opposition and persecution against those who faithfully preach God’s Word but also highlights the Divine timing and purpose behind events, as the witnesses complete their task before being overcome. 

 

The Book of Revelation has several places in which the abyss is mentioned. 

My abyss that Satan had planned for me began on earth when my mother died. 

I opened the door to the occult by taking drugs.  

Not starting out easy.  

I began with Marijuana laced with a secret white powder which was hallucinogenic.  

I was an addict the moment I took this demon drug.  

I craved it to cover up the pain of watching my mother die a slow death from liver cancer. 

 

My danger zone was plural.  

Zones after zones of drug experimentation.  

Dangers around every puff from a pipe to the dirty needle going into my vein that was tied off with a string to make the vein pop up for easy injection of the Meth and L.S.D. 

 

Demons came in, and I did not realize it until I turned 18.  

Kenny Loggins’ song was not intended for me to Rev up my engines of insanity. 

 

With this theme of 1970’s songs, and how they played into my demise, I turn to the song “Le Freak,” by Nile Rodgers and Chic from 1978.  It came out after my salvation in Christ in 1977 while in prison, but I have a point to one of its lyrics. 

 

“All that pressure got you down, has your head been spinning all around?  Feel the rhythm, check the rhyme, come on along and have a real good time.” 

 

Reality?  

There was a good time to be had on the dance floor.  

My problem was that I never hit the dance floor.  

I hit the vein with my drugs.  

I never did anything this song was coined for except the lyric of “Freak Out.”  

Yes, freak out.  

I freaked out on drugs. 

 

I freaked out on the Police in Austin, Texas.  

I freaked out when I shot my best friend with a pistol.  

And I, ultimately, freaked out on a cop in Dallas which sent me to the ultimate FREAK OUT.  

Prison, maximum- security style.  

 

 Texas style had no style points.  

The razor wire was sharp.  

The steel bars of my cell were not rusty.  

The guard towers stretched upwards to 30 feet in height, allowing the officers inside them to see the entire perimeter of the prison.  

 

No escaping this Danger Zone.  

My danger zone that I put myself in.  

I did it.  

I committed the crimes that landed me in prison.  

 

Yes, I was possessed by the Devil, Himself.  

Obviously, a normal human being would have never done the things I did, but I opened the spiritual door by using drugs, and listening to demon- possessed music. 

 

Whatever you do, do not burn your vinyl records now.  That may be too toxic if you breathe the fumes from the burn barrel outside. 

 

The old saying, “Garbage in, garbage out.”  

This is true, whether we want to believe it or not.  

Whatever we listen to or watch on television has an impact on our walk with Jesus Christ.  

 

As a Christian, we must guard our hearts by only feeding our lives with His Word and observing the dos and don’ts of our personal walk with the Most High. 

 

I am not talking about legalism.  I am talking a lifestyle. 

 

Once I walked the gangplank off the ship of stupidity and then into the ocean of drugs that I was addicted to, I found myself drowning.  

I was drowning in a pool of despair, brought on my mother dying and my Daddy being murdered.  

I could use these two issues as a crutch or an excuse for not being healed by Jesus Christ.   

 

But I am healed by Him.

 I do not remind myself any longer about all my self-inflicted wounds of the past.  

I ignore the temptation to dwell on the past sins and mistakes I made.  

I only refer to them when I preach.  To, hopefully, win the lost in prisons that I preach in. 

 

Influences we allow in, DO make a difference of whether we will enter a spiritual danger zone, or avoid a pit of perversion of His Holy Word.  

 

Yes, we can be deceived.  

We can get entangled in the doctrines of men and find ourselves in a danger zone of being a sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal.  

 

Are your ears itching?  

 

Living Wisely and Intentionally: 

 

Ephesians 5:15-16, “Be very careful, then, how you live-not as unwise but a wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.” 

 

This verse highlights the importance of making wise decisions and using time effectively, recognizing the influences of the surrounding cultures.  

Music, television, theatre, etc. 

 

Proverbs 4: 26, “Give careful thought to the paths for your feet and be steadfast in all your ways.”  

 

(All means all).

This verse emphasizes the need for careful consideration in our actions and a consistent commitment to righteousness and holiness. 

 

Guarding your Heart: 

 

Proverbs 4:23, “Keep your heart with all diligence, for out of it flow the springs of life.” 

 

Protect your inner self, and your thought life, words and actions. 

 

Remember, we are not cookie-cutter Christians trying to be robotic in our lives.  

We are saved by grace, yet we do not want to take His grace for granted.  

Some call this “greasy grace.”  

Sin is sin. 

 

The television programming has changed from the “Leave it to Beaver” era I grew up in. 

The love at home that I did not get was a true vacancy for my young 8-year-old heart. 

Finding love for my mother was hard considering the abuse issues I faced.  

I was not the only one.  My sister suffered more than me. 

 

Leave it to Beaver, the Real McCoys and Father Knows Best were the only shows I watched where I felt true love.  

Until, of course, when I was told to turn off the television and go to bed.  

“Don’t forget to tuck yourself in, Joseph.”  

My mom would holler that statement from the kitchen as I walked slowly down the hall to my bedroom.

From the den, where my love was left behind on a Motorola black and white T.V., I had to wait until the next day to feel love again.  

These love substitutes for the attention I craved eventually died.  

Mom died when I was 15.  Daddy died when I was 18.  

It was too late for me then to know love.  

I hated myself, God, and life. 

I hated everyone around me, except for my drug connection. 

My vinyl records of Jimi Hendrix, Deep Purple and the like, were my heroes of Rock and Roll. 

I was about to rock, alright.  

Making little rocks out of big boulders in prison with a sledgehammer.  

I was about to roll too.  

 

I would roll out of my pathetic two-inch mattress in prison, to another day of torture in the cotton fields.  

Rehabilitation, Texas style. 

 

The simple point is this.  I learned the hard way. 

 

We can’t go back in time and unlisten to those records.  

Even if they were the Carpenters or soft rock like “How deep is your love” by the Bee Gees in 1977.  

I was in prison in 1977. 

I had to listen to records playing in the Dallas County Jail over the intercom in 1974 when I had my first attempted murder charge.  

Daily, over and over, until lights out at 10 pm.  

The Doobie Brothers hit, “Black Water.”  

Lyrics, “Well, I built me a raft and she’s ready for floating, Old Mississippi, she’s calling my name.  Catfish are jumping, that paddle wheel thumping, Black Water keeps rolling on past just the same.” 

 

My mind was already tormented because of drugs.  My demons inside my soul were very healthy and ready to do more damage. 

 

See, the influences in our life are real.  

People.  Preachers. Iconic actors.  Friends, and even enemies.  

Hopefully we do not have an enemy, but if our neighbor is not so friendly, well pray for him, or her. 

 

Ear gates.  Eye gates.  Touching things that are inappropriate.

   
Allowing our minds to wander into a fantasy world.  

I will let you figure that one out on your own. 

 

Do not try and convince me that garbage in, garbage out is not real.  

I lived it in the 70’s and all my bad influences almost killed me.  

Jesus Christ rescued me.  He gave me a second chance. 

 

The true Danger Zone is this.  

Not knowing Jesus Christ as your personal Savior and then allowing Him to rule your life as your Lord and Master. 

 

 “That if you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.  For with the heart (your heart right now as you pray this with me) one believes unto righteousness, and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.  For whoever believes on Him (Jesus) will not be put to shame.”  

Romans 10: 9-11. 

 

It is a simple prayer.  Just ask Jesus to forgive you and believe in your heart He died for you.  

Ask Him right now, as you have read this story, and Jesus will forgive you for all you have done which is contrary to His Word, and you will be saved.  

Simple. Just do it and believe it.  

It is real.  Jesus is real. 

 

I avoided the Danger Zone.  I was in it, like the movie “Top Gun.”

 I was flying high on drugs.  I was a fast mover, burning fuel which was pumped into my veins with drugs and alcohol. 

I was almost burned out and burned up, headed to Hell. 

 

Once you ask Christ into your heart, cut lose all the bad influences that so easily keep you saddened and sorrowful.  

Truth is, that when I hear those songs from my past occasionally in the store or in the mall, I have memories.  

Real, bad memories. 

 

The key is, I do not live on the Black Waters in Mississippi any longer.  

I am not on the highway to Hell like AC DC wanted me to be on.  

I do not “freak out” any longer because of the Holy Ghost in me. 

I live and let live.  

Not live and let die like the movie from 1973, the James Bond film with the same name.  

The song, by the same name said, “When you were young and your heart was an open book, you used to say, “Live and let live.  But in this ever-changing world in which we’re livin’, makes you give in and cry.” 

 

Yuk, another depressing song.  

My point.  

Live.  

Let the dead stuff in your life die. 

 

Christ Jesus will help you shed the old man or woman and be all He wants you to be. 

 

Avoid the Danger Zones. 

 

I am not going to give in and cry, like that song.  

I will not, as a preacher of this Gospel, let those I see who are dying and headed to hell like I was, stay in that condition.  

I am going to tell them the answer.  

His name is Jesus.  He is the Name above all Names. 

 

He is the protector.  

He will keep you from all the danger zones in your life.  

Just do not enter them on purpose.  

Purpose to live for Him, and Him alone.   

 

I am on the right path or highway now.  

It is a Highway to Heaven, not hell.  

Goodbye forever the songs from the past.  

If they do not Glorify God, well, they are glorifying something. 

 

Be good to your ears.  Be safe with your eyes.  

And if need be, wear gloves in the bitter cold of life.  

We are supposed to be the hands, feet and voice of Jesus.  

Do your best, and He will do the rest.  

It is His promise to those who believe in Him. 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Our Mix Master-Stop, Look, and Listen

This term is associated with Dallas, Texas regarding the multiple, modified stack interchanges of highways, modified and called the Horseshoe Project.  

Construction began in 2013 and ended in 2017. 

The original Mixmaster Highway was constructed between 1958 and 1962.

It never saw significant changes after its construction.  Traffic congestion, coupled with miles of slow-moving traffic, was its downfall.  

New construction was imminent.  But not for a while. 

 

Then came the Horseshoe Project, looking like spaghetti thrown against a wall from an aerial view, was quite the relief for the “rush-hour” traffic in this overgrown Metropolis called Dallas. 

Not enough “off ramps” to Downtown Dallas also caused its need for massive change in the 1970’s through the beginning of 2013.   

Though Dallas was on the map, regarding the Assassination of John F. Kennedy in 1963, the city of Dallas, and State of Texas were trying to move past this horrible crime.  

In the immediate aftermath and for several decades, Dallas residents and leaders actively tried to forget the events of November 22, 1963.  

New freeways would not solve the problem of this horrible black eye on Downtown Dallas. 

 

There was a strong push in the 1970’s era to demolish the Texas School Book depository building, which many considered an “ugly monument” to the assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald. 

The sixth floor of the building remained untouched until 1977.  An effort by the city’s residents to try to move on with life, beyond the tragedy, was largely ignored. 

 

Dallas eventually went from ignoring the assassination and shifted towards learning from the past and looking forward, emphasizing shared ideals and the ongoing efforts to address the challenges that remain.  

Like Dealey Plaza and the Downtown area itself, Dallas had many memorials and memories attached to J.F.K.’s demise. 

 

To my spiritual point now. 

 

How does your spiritual journey of freeways, off-ramps and traffic jams look today?

 

Either you are getting on the road, getting off the road to Christ, Who was crucified, buried, resurrected, and is now sitting at the Right Hand of His Father, making intersession for you and I; or we are in an endless ditch, ravine or field of sorrows.  

Looking for the right path to God is like being in Downtown Dallas during President Kennedy’s death shots to his head. 

 

(Thought I had forgotten about Dallas)?

 

Think again, Saints. 

 

My Daddy was in Downtown during that shooting.  

He was an electrical engineer on his way back from lunch when all traffic stopped.  

He was in a 1960 Fiat 500.  

Bright Red in color, it would reflect, to a degree, the blood of our President who would later die at the Parkland Hospital Dallas.  

 

Blood, death, and lies would haunt this tragedy in Dallas that November. 

 

Even the Warren Commission could not figure all the details out.  

 

We may never know the truth about our 35th President of these United States of America.  This Warren Report remains the official account of the events surrounding Kennedy’s assassination.  

It is the subject of ongoing scrutiny and analysis to date. 

 

“Why all this talk about Dallas?” 

 

That Mixmaster of freeway junctions and overpasses is part of my pathetic history as an addict, and an eventually convicted felon, in Texas.  My last arrest was on South Industrial Boulevard and R.L. Thornton Freeway, near Downtown Dallas. 

 

Dallas.  

Death in its history, and my death to self and all the spiritual luggage I carried in 1971 through 1977. 

 

Why do humans try and cover up our pasts?  

 

Like the Warren Commission, all the lies and secrets surrounding a President’s death, linger on into what seems like forever. 

 

We cover up because of what Ezekiel tried to explain in Chapter 33: 10-16.   

“Therefore you, O son of man, say to the house of Israel: Thus, you say, if our transgressions and our sins lie upon us, and we pine away in them, how can we then live?  Say to them: ‘As I live,’ says the Lord God, ‘I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live.  Turn, turn from your evil ways!  For why should you die, O house of Israel?’”

 

PINE AWAY:  

“To become progressively weaker, thinner, or less healthy, especially due to sadness, grief, or longing for someone or something.  It implies a gradual decline in physical or emotional well-being caused by intense yearning or despair.  To become frail or sick.” 

 

Yes.  I was sick of my life before Christ came in and saved me.

 I was frail in my addiction.  

I was yearning in my despair of sadness and pain from my mother dying and my daddy being murdered. 

 

I pined away my life.  

 

Better put, “I pawned my life away without a deadline to pay.”  

 

Like in a real pawn shop, we need cash for a temporary bill to pay, yet sometimes we forget to pay back this loan, and we lose our valuable item.  Be it a watch or ring.  Or a precious locket made of Gold. 

 

I pawned my dead father’s wedding ring for drug money.  Never got it back because of my selfishness and greed to get high.  

It was on his left-hand ring finger. He was in his casket at the funeral home.  

I gazed at that ring, and the bandage on what was left of his head from the fatal gunshot wound.  

As his aged-spotted hands were across each other, cold and still, I saw his wedding ring.  

His covenant reminder to my dead mother.   

 

How could I do such a thing?

 

Addiction.  

Pawned away a memory.  

Gave up his ring for my covenant with a death sentence.  

His ring.  My loss.  

 

He would never know the depth of my addictions.  

I was glad later in life, knowing he and my mother were spared from seeing their youngest son.  

Little Joe.  

The mixed-up boy, serving a Master of Disguise.  

Satan. 

 

So many of us seek peace and find turmoil at the end of the assassination attempt of our souls.  

 

The problem is not the shooter on the sixth floor of the Dallas School Book Depository in Dallas in 1963.  

We carried our own spiritual rifle.  The rifle of our rejections of life.  

We loaded the bullet, a 6.5mm round in the chamber of our Italian- made rifle, like Lee Harvey Oswald had.  

We pulled the trigger.  

We did it in our spiritual coma we had before we knew Jesus as our Savior. 

What will it take for us to turn from our wicked ways like Ezekiel pointed out to the House of Israel?

 

God said He has no pleasure in the death of the wicked. 

 

When we find ourselves on the wrong road, or freeway (the mix master), in this life, we end up in bad places and experience devastating losses.  

If we go too far down this overpass of ocular blindness, we endanger our very life and our future eternity.  

It is a real life or death situation for many of us. 

Just think about a drug addict like I was, for example. 

 

One time too many.  Too much of the pure Meth I was putting into my veins mixed with L.S.D., or the combination of Thorazine, a psychosis-preventing narcotic, mixed with beer.  

I did this.  

My one time too many came, and I overdosed and almost died. 

I look back now and realize it was truly Jesus Christ who stopped my self-inflicted bullets I shot at myself with my own rifle of renowned refuse in my wicked heart.  

My attempt at trying to repudiate my claim on life was dead upon arrival.  

I denied the truth about my addictions. 

 

Have you and I gone too far in our sins? 

 

If you must ask that question about yourself, then there is hope.  

Worrying if you have gone past the point of no return, is a good thing.  At least you are capable of the thought about going too far.  

If you have not gone too far, then you are alive.  

Too far is death.  

Physically, yes.  

 

There are worse consequences to our mix master of continual driving down the road with no end in sight.  

There is an end.  An end of all life as we know it.  Here on Earth. 

Spiritual death.  

Without Christ as your Savior and Lord, death of the body is an actual grave.  

Death of the Spirit is eternal.  

An endless grave you will suffer in for eternity.  

It is your choice. 

 

When God says that “I would have none perish, but all come to repentance” (2 Peter 3: 9, part), this scripture means business.  

Eternal business.  

All means all.  

Every human being has and will have an opportunity to hear the Gospel of Jesus Christ. 

“And this Gospel of the Kingdom will be preached in all the world as a witness to all the nations, and then the end will come.”

Matthew 24: 14

Jesus spoke these words. 

 

I go back to our 35th President.  

Did he know Jesus as his Savior?

What about famous others we know from history?

 Martin Luther King assassinated as well.  

Yes, he proclaimed Jesus as Savior, and beyond in his speech called “I have a dream.”  

 

What does your dream look like today?  

Is it a dream and a hope for your future, or is it a living nightmare that never seems to end? 

 

Time. 

Tick- Tock. 

 

I know this one thing; this one thing is all that really matters. 

 

I know, without a shadow of doubt, if I died before this letter is finished, I will be in Heaven with Jesus my Savior. 

 

Confidence in me?  NO. 

My confidence is in the Bible and the Words in it.  

I repented.  

I continue to repent when needed.  

I sometimes make it a whole day without something stupid I say or do that needs forgiveness from God.  

I am human, not a robot. 

 

Dallas Texas used to be a place of sorrow for me. 

I did all my crimes in that general area back in 1974-1976. 

 

I don’t live in my past any longer.  

It is because of Jesus I found the road to life.  I got off the freeway of foolishness and found the overpass to eternity.  

It is because of His Blood I can proclaim I am Born again. 

 

Mix master? 

 

Perhaps it is time for us to stop, look and listen to the Spirit of God.  

 

He will answer you and me.  It is His promise to us.  

“My sheep know MY voice, and they follow Me.” 

What voice do you listen to? 

 

My mix master was a web of sin and rebellion, with a dead-end street at the end. 

Our mix master can be a road that leads to life.  

Go ahead and, if you must, get lost on the freeway of life.  Not all roads lead to eternity.  

Only one.  

His name is Jesus, and He is waving at you every time you stop at the next exit.  

You will never be able to say, you did not hear the Gospel after reading this letter. 

It is a letter of love from a man who knows pain.  

I hit every possible roadblock in life.  

I did it to myself. 

I am now free.  

No more mixed-up thoughts, because my Master is Jesus the Christ. 

 

Our mix masters must be sorted out before it is too late.  

Look at the road you are on.  

 

Go find a Bible; it is the best roadmap for your life you will ever need.  

 

In fact, it is the only map you will find that leads to the right eternal destination.  

Heaven.

And if you read it, you will find the right exit ramp.  

 

It begins with believing on the Lord Jesus Christ.  

 

He is flagging you down now.  

Do not run that red light.  Stop and breathe.  

Remember, we are all only one heartbeat from eternity.  

Can you feel your heartbeat? 

I feel mine.  

It belongs to Him.  

He gave me air to breathe.

He is the air I live on.

My days are numbered.  So are yours.  

Stop, Look, and Listen.   

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

A Lifer Brigade

In the military, a unit typically composed of several battalions and supporting elements, form this tactical formation called a brigade.  Larger than a regiment and smaller than a division.  

A brigade is self-sustaining. 

A prison in Salem, Oregon called O.S.P., standing for the Oregon State Penitentiary, was originally established in 1851, in Portland, Oregon, and then relocated to Salem in 1866.  

It is the oldest prison in Oregon.  

It has big walls around it and the ominous guard towers with over a half mile of razor wire throughout its structure.  

Several escapes have happened since 1861, and a few are still at large according to the history of this Maximum-Security facility.  

This prison holds 2,242 men prisoners when completely full. 

I have preached here since 1991.  It has several security checkpoints from the first entrance, all the way to the chapel. Up several flights of stairs, then down a few.

Four checkpoints to be exact.  

It makes you feel that you may never get out of here, if something goes haywire. 

 

In 1992 through 2004, I ministered once a month in the huge chapel.  

On every other Tuesday, I would conduct a Bible Study for the men doing life sentences.  I called them the Lifer Brigade.  

These men love Jesus, and they are unmovable.  The spiritual armor they wear depicts their faith in the Most High.   

 

Steadfast in their trust in Jesus Christ, I watched them grow in the Lord and felt their pains and frustrations of doing life.  Some were doing life sentences without the possibility of parole.  

Many tears and breakthroughs happened as we learned to trust each other. 

This took time.  

They had as much time as it took, considering they were doing time, and trying to make the best out of the “timeclock” that ticked and ticked daily in their young lives.  

Most were under 35 years old.  

I was the elder guy back then, spending precious time with them as they counted the days and hours of each day in this grueling prison. 

 

One man, I will call Mike, for the sake of anonymity, was around my age, and was locked up when he was 18.  With 20 years of time under his spiritual belt, he remained in the same jail cell, looking out the same window every day.  

He watched the ducks near a pond by Center Street in Salem.  His cell was on the third floor (tier) overlooking the huge wall surrounding this dungeon of a prison.  

He had a duck-eye view of the little creatures of habit. 

He named each duck (in his mind) and became familiar with their behaviors over all those years.  

He saw a family of ducks grow up and die.  

Then another family started their journey across Center Street to the small pond during his countless years behind bars.  

The same bars he arrived behind in 1976 to this current date of 1992. 

One day in 1995, I was sitting around the same table we met each time I came.  I had one hour, twice a month to minister to, pray with, and become a friend to men that society did not want any longer. 

 

Mike was sitting across from me when the Spirit of the Lord said, though me, a word of knowledge to Mike.  

“Mike, I see your daughter, Sir.  She was very, very young when you went to prison, but today in her late teens, headed into her 20th birthday, she will contact you, and you will be reconciled to your precious Baby Girl.  You will receive a letter within 10 days, Mike.” 

He wept and cried like a baby himself.  

I had to leave but prayed for all the men including Mike as he continued to cry and weep bitter tears of regret. 

The next time I arrived for my Bible Study. Two weeks had passed since this Word came to Mike, from the Lord, through me.   

Mike spoke about his only daughter, in front of the other 10 men this day. 

 

With tears flowing down his face, he did his best to utter the words that told the story of his daughter. 

 

“When my daughter was three years, I killed her mother.  I shot my wife to death in front of my little girl.  I was angry and out of control.  I did not want to do what I did, but I did, and that little girl who I traumatized that day in 1976.  She will turn 20 next week men.” 

 

Mike went on to say that when he got this Word from the Lord two weeks ago, he initially believed, yet it was so specific, that he doubted the Lord for the next several days. 

 

He stopped. 

 

He reached into his blue jacket and pulled out a letter he had received.  He got the letter a week ago, postmarked the very same day this Word came to him in our Bible Study. 

 

He read it out loud to all of us at the table we were sitting at. 

 

“Dear Daddy, I miss you.  I do not remember too much about that horrible day my mom died.  I have a fractured memory of that event and was too young to understand all the details.  I am a Christian, Daddy.  The Lord told me to write you a letter and forgive you and ask you to please be my Daddy again.  Please?” 

 

Mike had to stop and weep, as his brothers in Christ surrounded him and held on to him weeping too but rejoicing as well.  

This miracle happened, exactly how it was spoken two weeks ago.   

 

Mike finished his daughter's letter.  

“Daddy, may I call you Daddy?  I hope we can have communication together and let my Savior Jesus heal us together.  If you write me back, I will be convinced for sure that it was Jesus who told me to write to you, Daddy.  P.S., I love you and I want to be a part of your life.  I know you were given a very long sentence when that happened, but I am okay Daddy.  I have been living with my family who took me in back then, and I am living for Jesus.  I hope you understand my heart.  I am not afraid of you, Daddy.  I love you, because Jesus loves me.  I hope you get to know Jesus like me.  Love, your daughter.” 

 

This brigade of men in that room broke.  All their spiritual weapons were put down.  

All the tears from Mike became a cleansing flood, poured out on a table that day.  All the men, myself included wept and glorified Jesus for His marvelous works.  

His timing.  His perfect timing. 

 

This self-sustaining lifer brigade of men loved one another, long before I came on the scene.  Their unity in the Spirit was strong and became even stronger that day Mike read his miracle letter.  

From a little girl, the essence of forgiveness, and the pure mercy of our Lord Jesus, was poured out that day in the little Bible study room at the Oregon State Prison. 

 

In 2006, my wife and I, and three other couples began LifeHouse Church located in Lake Oswego, Oregon. 

Eleven years from the day I was in that prison, ministering to Mike, we began this church for anyone and everyone who would come.  

“Love, Hope, Restoration, Healing and Forgiveness” was our theme. 

 

In 2007, after one year of being open, our church was given over to one of the founding couples as my wife and family began our plans to move to Houston, Texas.  We would be leaving in three months. 

 

Prior to leaving, Mike got out of prison and started coming to our church.  I continued to stay in touch with him after that miracle letter he read back in the early 1990’s. 

I had stopped going to the Oregon State Prison around the year 2000, but kept in touch with Mike via letters once a month. 

 

Now Mike is in our church and doing well, having been reconciled with his daughter over these many years.  She visited him in prison, and now he is becoming a part of her life in person after that horrible tragedy back in 1976. 

She is a grown woman now, and her and her father spend time together as much as time allows. 

 

One day, Mike was at work building cabinets in a cabinet shop in Portland, Oregon. 

He called me to tell me the story that unfolded this day at work.

 

“Pastor Joe, I was at work when my boss walked up to talk to me about a job I was working on.  As we were talking, my boss saw his ex-wife walk in and approach him.”

 

 Mike said she pulled out a gun a pointed it at him and pulled the trigger three times.  His body flew backwards and landed on the concrete floor of this manufacturing plant.  She was taken down by other employees, waiting for the police to arrive.  

 

“I was holding my bleeding boss in my arms, sitting on the floor watching him take his last breath.  Pastor Joe, I led him to Jesus Christ before he entered eternity.” 

 

I was floored talking to my friend and brother in the Lord on the phone. 

He came to church and told the story to the congregation, and it was a healing day for most of us.  

Especially for Mike. 

Mike told me in my office after the Sunday service, “Pastor, the Lord gave me a glimpse of my past as my boss was entering eternity, bleeding to death in my lap.  I saw the day when I killed my wife in front of my baby girl.  

The Lord spoke to me and said that the day I shot my wife, she, too, was bleeding to death, like my boss was. 

And while she was in the hospital dying, some nurse led her to Jesus Christ.  The Lord revealed to me this issue in my heart the day I took my wife’s life out of anger.” 

 

He went on to say that “Life and death is quick, compared to eternity.”  

 

Mike continued to come to our church until we left for Houston, and he remained faithful for several years after we moved. 

 

Mike.  

The Lifer.  

Part of a Brigade of men of God while in prison.  

He remained a man of God outside of prison.  A Comrade in arms in his brigade at the Oregon State Prison.  

He fought the good fight of faith, and he laid hold of eternal life in Jesus.  

From 1976 through 2007 completing a total of 31 years in prison, he finished his time. 

 

He fought his battles in prison on his knees in prayer.  

He was spared the death penalty.  

He was spared a life without a daughter because the Lord gave his daughter back to him, and his daughter had her prayer answered as well. 

 

Our fight is not in the natural army.  

Our battles do not really exist in the real world called life on earth.  

Our wars are fought in the Heavenly Realm. 

 

Just know, the Lifer Brigade that I was blessed to be a part of for a season of time, lived on.  

The ones doing life without parole continued to fight their battle on the battlefield of the Oregon State Prison.  The walls made of stone that surrounded this prison could not stop the Holy Ghost from arriving to heal and deliver men behind its ominous stature of concrete and stone.  

The razor wire can’t stop God.  

 

The time served and being served did not stop men from repentance and being born again. 

I had the honor to be a small part of this army of God called the LIFER BRIGADE. 

 

If you must fight a battle today, tomorrow or next week, remember this one thing from this story about Mike and his daughter. 

 

God is a God of Restoration, Reconciliation, and Mercy.  

 

Throw down your natural weapons of bitterness and unforgiveness.  

Do not harbor hand grenades of guilt and shame. 

 

If a little girl witnessed her Daddy kill her mother, and then forgave him, then what excuses do we really keep in our hearts, harboring the pain of our pasts?    

 

We must forgive the multitudes who have harmed us and killed our dreams?   

 

Psalm 90: 4-6, “For a thousand years in Your sight are like yesterday when it is past, and like a watch in the night.  You carry them away like a flood; they are like a sleep.  In the morning, they are like grass which grows up: In the morning it flourishes and grows up; In the evening it is cut down and withers.” 

 

If you and I wake up in the morning, it is a privilege to wake up knowing Christ.  

He has already numbered our days anyway. 

 

Smell the coffee brewing in the morning.  Drink it and enjoy it. 

 

In the evening, smell the freshly cut grass from your next-door neighbor, and remember your restful sleep and the grass.  

It could very well be your last sleep and your final cup of Java Joe.  

 

Maybe, maybe not.  Only He knows. 

Both will fade away.  The coffee too. 

 

Mike and his daughter were a lost cause at one time.  

For over 30 years he paid the price for his sin. 

 

God loved him so much and his daughter so much so, that God Almighty decided to weave back the torn fabric of their tattered lives. 

 

He did it for them, and He will do it for you. 

 

What Army Brigade are you really in?  I hope it is a Lifer Brigade.

Fight your war in prayer. 

Not in prison.  Not in a jail.  But fight for the right of life.  

For His life, with parole.  

You and I have been pardoned because of Jesus and His Blood.

  

Join the Army.  

You are not too old.  You are not too young to join.  

No physical required.  No paperwork and no boot camp. 

It is His Army.  

The ARMY of the Lord.  

Jesus is our General.  

Obey His orders and you will live forevermore.  Amen. 

 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

“Yes Boss. No Boss.”

It was the fall of 1976 when I arrived at the Ferguson Unit of the Texas Department of Corrections.

Formally known as T.D.C., this Maximum-Security prison housed 2,300 felons like me, all there for some kind of violence attached to their crimes.  Everyone here is between the ages of 18-21.  

I was 20 when I arrived.   

 

Savage Drive, part of its address, should have been explained to us as we arrived at this prison so that we could prepare for all the savagery to come. 

This “Gladiator” farm was notorious and nefarious. 

 

Once situated in my cell, called 9 twenty B, and my inmate number of 262066, I looked at my surroundings in my house of redemption.  

More like a house of ill repute. 

Eight feet wide and nine feet long with a single stainless-steel toilet and sink, I looked at the two beds in the typical bunk-bed style. 

A thin, one-eighth of an inch thick blanket.  A soiled pillow with no pillowcase.  Not provided by the State of Texas.  If you wanted a pillowcase, then you had to order one from home, or buy one at the commissary.  

I was indigent financially and mentally.   

 

Zero balance in my mind.  

 

In fact, I believe I was overdrawn with a bunch of past due fees owed back to my brain that was fried from all the drugs I had been addicted to.  NO true source of income, either with real money, or brain cells. 

 

My first day picking (pulling) cotton balls from the spiney, sharp plants, was grueling and insane.  

My hands and fingertips began to bleed before I got to the end of my row of cotton.  This went on, day in and day out, from the end of September and through October. 

 

Blood and Cotton.  

Red, white but no blue, except for the blue skies and the eyes of Texas that were upon me from the Boss Man sitting atop his horse. 

He had a rifle with a scope laying across his lap and a shotgun in a leather holder with a quick draw release from the pouch it lay in.  One hand on the reigns of his disciplined horse, and the other poised on the trigger of his rifle. 

 

As I was approaching the finish line of my first 100 yards of cotton pulling, I was almost there, ready to begin another long row when he stopped me.  

He did not say “Excuse me, Convict, or may I interrupt your work for a moment, when you get time?” 

 

(Oh, I had time, alright.  Lots of time facing me daily). 

 

He hollered at me at the top of his lungs, “Boy, go back that 200 feet and get that cotton ball you missed, Convict!” 

 

I proceeded to lay my sack down which weighed around 120 pounds at that moment. 

He screamed at me and used the nose of his horse to bump me so hard I fell to the ground.  

“Get up, Boy, and go get that cotton ball and take your sack with you. Do you understand me, Convict?” 

 

I dragged my sack and picked up the lone cotton ball, then proceeded to pick faster so that I was not the last man to get to the end of my row. 

 

Punishment ruled this land.  

By the Boss Man, and the other convicted felons.  

 

If you were the last one to finish your row, the other psychos (convicts) pointed you out as “stuck out.”  Meaning you were now a target for their wrath in the shower, later in the evening. 

If you were stuck out, they would gang up on you in the shower and beat you, but not too much.  

Only bruising, not breaking your ribs so that you could go back into the fields the next day with bruised ribs and a black eye.  

No infirmary time for you. Only cotton. 

Harder to breathe with bruised ribs.

  

It taught you a lesson.  

Pick faster so you are not last to get to the finish line. 

 

The rule regarding your communication to the Boss Man was only two words.  

“‘Yes, Boss,’ or ‘No, Boss,’ and nothing in between.”  

 

Otherwise, the Boss was tougher on you than the shower bruising.  Believe me.  I learned from experience.  My black eyes lasted for six months. 

 

My hands and wrists and fingertips bled until callas formed.  Hard time.  

Blood time.  Cotton’s Blood. 

 

Hebrews 12:11… “No discipline seems at the time, but painful.  Later, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.” 

 

Discipline, Texas Prison style.  

Painful, yes.  Rehabilitation, yes.  

Corrections in Texas were a Department.  

Department of Corrections with many facets, tools, and cruel and unusual punishment.  

This department was not a department store with cotton clothes and leather purses.  No perfume counter, either.  

It was a Department of Punishment to break a young man into submission.  

It worked.  Thoroughly and completely. 

Time ticked on, and once the cotton work was over in October, the weather changed. 

 

November was hog pen work.  

December was going back into the bare cotton fields and picking the prickly holders on the stems which held the seeds for new cotton planting. 

More bleeding.  

Hurt more in December with frozen hands that bled. 

 

I wanted to paint a picture of this insane punishment, so I can reveal a miracle from God. 

This, on a scale of one to ten, ten being the best miracle outside of my salvation in prison, is truly a 12.  

Told you I can’t do math.  LOL. 

 

 

In 2005 I did a tent revival in Madisonville, Texas next to a Walmart.  The man who mowed the field to prepare for the tent construction, was a well-known pastor in the area. 

He also was a volunteer minister at the Ferguson Unit.  I had preached at Ferguson since 2004, and it was challenging, remembering all my memories of doing time there back in 1976-1977.

 

He became my friend for future events too, and we reconnected in 2015 when I began to preach in the church he has in Madisonville. 

One day, he and I went to his tire shop he owned and had some work done on one of his vehicles. 

We went into his office to get something, and he pointed out a picture in a frame hanging on the wall in his office. 

It was a picture of him and his dad.  

Mr. Boss. 

Yes, Boss.  

His dad, unbeknownst to me, all these years that I have known this Pastor, was the field BOSS at Ferguson in 1976.  His career was from 1969 through 1988.  He had passed away into the arms of Jesus in 1989. 

 

His dad was the actual Boss Man in the field who pushed me down with his horse that day when I was pulling cotton in 1976 in the hot Texas sun.  

What are the odds of this?  

 

I fully recognized him in this picture I was staring at this day.  

Yes, he was a little older in the picture, but I remember his stern look of authority back while he rode his horse.  His 30-06 rifle with a scope with several notches carved into the wooden stock.  

Makes me glad I obeyed him.  I did not want him to point that rife at me. It was better to just say…

“‘Yes, Boss,’ and ‘No, Boss,’ and nothing in between.”

 

A hidden jewel for me.  

This man of God on his horse never showed any outward signs he was a Christian.  

He was, but he had a job to do in breaking the convicts in the field.  He had to pretend to be tough as nails, and give off the maximum, authoritative demeanor he could.  He demanded respect. 

We gave it to him or got shot for being stupid. 

 

Romans 13:7… “Render therefore to all their due: taxes to whom taxes are due, customs to whom customs, fear to whom fear, honor to whom honor.” 

 

This scripture emphasizes the obligation to give back to the State (Texas) what is due, including both financial obligations like taxes and customs, as well as respect and honor.  

Christians must uphold order and recognize the authority that God has established in human governmental agencies.  

Prison guards and Boss Men are State representatives. 

 

I did not know Jesus yet while in the cotton fields.  I came to know Him the next year in 1977 in May. 

 

Mr. Boss Man was cruel to me.  

I hated him for the words he said to me, which I can’t repeat here.  

He was trying to break me emotionally.  

It worked.

He was endeavoring to break me physically by picking cotton.  

That worked too. 

 

What truly broke in me during the field work, was my will being turned over to a Boss Man on a horse. 

 

When Jesus Christ became my ultimate Boss, I understood forgiveness.  

I forgave many.  I forgave the Boss Man.  

He was doing his job.  I was trying to do mine. 

A picture in a tire shop office.  A father and his son.  

One, a Pastor.  The other, a Boss Man. 

 

I will remember, forever, the face of the Boss Man who corrected me.  He made me run back and get that cotton ball with my heavy sack on my back. 

I will remember his words to me, “Boy, go back that 200 feet and get that cotton ball you missed, Convict!” 

He won the battle.  I won my freedom, eventually. 

 

Now, my ultimate Boss Man, is Jesus.  

I will run anywhere He asks me to run.  

I will do; whatever He tells me to do.  I will say everything, and anything He allows me to say on His behalf.   

For me, it is “Yes, Boss.”  

Not “No, Boss” anymore.  

I learned the hard way. 

 

It was best for me to learn, so that humility would remain in my heart. 

 

I bear the scars today, some 48 years later from those cotton fields. 

I am in fields all the time now.  

I am in prisons a lot.  

I am not in the cotton fields anymore when I visit these prisons.  

I am in the harvest fields of souls.   

 

Thank you, Mr. Boss, from 1976.  

I appreciate you humbling me back then.  

It stuck.  

Just like those prickly thorns of the cotton I picked.  

I don’t bleed anymore.  

Jesus bled for me, so I don’t have to any longer. 

Cotton.  

 

“‘Yes, Boss. ‘No, Boss.’ And nothing in between.”

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins