Roy Davidson

I wasn’t raised in the church. I had never attended a church or read a Bible, but when I was 21 years old I had a girlfriend, Amy, who treated me like I was God. No previous girlfriend had ever given me so much attention and made me feel so special. But to finish my college education, I had to move away from home and attend the University of Kansas. Amy stayed in St. Louis, and for two years we commuted five hours each way for dating. The physical distance between us took its toll, and we broke up before I graduated.

I was devastated. That was the most serious relationship I had ever been in. She had convinced me that I was everything to her, and then, boom, it was over. I was feeling terribly lost and lonely over that breakup. I felt like my whole life was a mess. For the first time, I was so distraught over a girl that I cried, but I never would let anyone know it.

As the days went by, I got more depressed. It wasn’t so much the loss of Amy as it was the fear of building a new relationship with another girl that might also end some day. I didn’t want to risk another heartache or rejection. I was feeling so down I was literally sick to my stomach. There was a burning, gnawing feeling inside that almost felt like I had to throw up.

Pacing the floor of my apartment, I walked into the living room and turned on the TV. It was almost evening on a Sunday in March or April of 1972. I had an old, portable black-and-white TV with only four or five channels on it. I flipped through each station, and on all the channels were preachers and church services. I wasn’t interested in listening to any of those kinds of shows, but when I stopped searching, the last station had evangelist Oral Roberts preaching.

Before I could turn the TV off, something struck me like a freight train. All Oral Roberts said was, “God loves you,” but it felt like he was talking directly to me. Everything he said after that seemed to be exactly how I was feeling and thinking at that very moment. It was uncanny. At that moment I had an overwhelming notion that I should get to a church right away. I didn’t know why, but it was urgent that I get to a church as soon as I could.

I jumped up and scrambled around looking for a phone book. I looked up churches in the yellow pages and tried to pick one to go to, but I couldn’t decide. I didn’t know what the church names meant or what the difference was in the denominations, so I just got in my car and started driving around town looking for the right one. When I turned the corner onto Massachusetts Street, there was a small building on the right that looked inviting. By this time it was dark out, so I could see people through the glass doors in front. I knew there must be a service going on inside. A red, neon sign out by the road read “Church of the Nazarene.” I had no idea what that meant, but something was enticing me to go in.

As I parked my car and headed for the door, I realized I didn’t have a clue what I was doing there. I couldn’t anticipate what I was going to hear or see. My mind was thoughtless. It didn’t even matter to me why I was there; I just had this unusual, instinctive feeling that I was supposed to be there.

It was quiet when I walked in. There were about fifteen to twenty men, women, and children scattered around in the pews. I don’t remember any old people. Everyone seemed to be fairly young. The only sound I could hear was the pastor crying. I sat way in the back where no one would notice or talk to me. I kept waiting for a sermon, but none came. Everyone but the pastor sat still and quiet. The pastor began to cry harder and started wailing. He paced back and forth across the pulpit with his Bible open in his hands as if he were reading it. Then others in the pews started sobbing. Some of them got out of their seats and laid down on the floor. Soon they began wailing, too, and rocking from side to side.

I was stunned. Having no idea what this was all about, I got up and started to run out. But guess what? I ran straight up to that pulpit and threw myself down at the pastor’s feet. I began uncontrollable weeping and wailing myself, and to my surprise, I felt a warm, oozy feeling coming over me.

The pulpit was a raised platform about two feet high. I knelt with my knees on the floor and my chest flat-out in the pastor’s path. I have no idea how long I laid there. I remember trying to pray, but the only thing I could say was, “Thank you, God. Thank you, God.” I kept trying to pray something, anything, but my mind was blank. All I could do was cry and keep repeating, “Thank you, God.” I can’t remember if the pastor touched me, prayed, or even spoke to me. I was so overwhelmed with such a good feeling of release that I never even looked up at him.

When I stood up and turned around, I could see that a few people were gone and the overall volume level was a little quieter. The pastor was pacing again, and no one was paying any attention to me. I felt so relieved; it was like a thousand pounds had been lifted off my back.

Slowly I began to walk down the aisle, wiping the tears off my face and heading for my car. I felt so good; I wasn’t in any hurry to leave. I got to my car, and before I started the engine, I burst out talking to myself about what had just happened. There I was, sitting in my car, laughing and talking out loud to God just like He was right there with me. I can’t describe the feeling exactly, because it was a presence of something, someone, that I had never felt before. It was the presence of God, assuring me that my troubles were over and that He had a plan and purpose for my life that was much better than I could ever imagine.

God had given me the revelation that if my relationship with Amy had continued, I would have had a lot of heartaches and a miserable life, ending in divorce. I realized that breakup had to happen because God had something better planned for me. This was no subtle little understanding I would have eventually come to on my own. It was different and had nothing to do with my mind or my thoughts. It was in my whole being, not in my head. It was a confirmation that God was real.

I left that church a changed person. I couldn’t do some of the things (sins) I used to do anymore. That experience set me free from trying to fit in with the crowd. I was less worried about what others thought of me, and it put a drive or need in me to tell others that God is real. I started my car and drove away with my windows rolled down, laughing and hollering at everyone I passed by. All the way back to my apartment, I was so excited I kept shouting out my car window things like, “Don’t worry. God is real. God will take care of you. ”

That born again experience started my personal walk and personal relationship with God that has lasted my whole life, leading me all over the world to do volunteer mission projects, and even write a book titled: God is Real. The book documents His undeniable supernatural powers. Please visit my web site below and read the excerpts from my incredible, miraculous testimonies… they just might change your life!

God Bless You.

Roy Davidson
redav50@aol.com
www.roy-davidson.com

08 February 2009 06:50