The Two Things in Life

                                                                     

I heard a comedian tell a short story that is worth repeating.  

It is funny, but it is serious, depending on where you stand in life. 

He said, “There are two things in life you worry about.  Either you are healthy, or you are sick.

 If you are healthy, you do not have anything to worry about. 

But if you are sick, then you have two things to worry about.  

Are you going to get better?  

Or are you going to get worse? 

 

If you get better, then you do not have anything to worry about.  

But if you get worse, you have two things to worry about.  

Am I going to live?

 Or am I going to die? 

 

If you live, then you do not have anything to worry about.  

But if you die, then you have two things to worry about.  

Am I going to go to Heaven?  

Or am I going to go to hell? 

 

If you are going to Heaven, then you do not have anything to worry about.  

But if you go to hell, then you have two things to worry about.  

Original?

Or extra crispy?” 

 

Funny?  

Maybe.  

But I have a different perspective on his joke.   

I borrowed this “joke” from an online comedian. 

My perspective is about life.  

It is about death of the body.  It is about the true life of our soul.  It is about the death of our soul.  It is about the eternal life of our spirit.  

 

Or is it about the demise of all three? 

 

It was once said that if you are born once, you will die twice.

 If you are born twice, then you will only die once. 

 

This is simple to understand.  Jesus makes it clear in John 3: 3:

 

“Jesus answered and said to him, (Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews) ‘Most assuredly, I say to you, unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.’”

 

Of course, Nicodemus was confused and talked about going back into his mother's womb and entering a second time, thinking this was what Jesus was talking about when He said, you must be born again.    

Jesus was not referring to mankind's first birth, as a baby from our mother’s water breaking, and then we take our first breath outside her womb.  

He was talking about the spiritual birth, by receiving Him as our Lord and Savior.  Jesus died so we could live.  

If we live this life, without Him as our Savior, then we die all three of the above-mentioned deaths.  

Body, soul, and spirit. 

 

So, if we are born twice, in this context, we will make Heaven our eternal home.  If we never receive the finished work of the Cross Jesus died on, (born once, die twice, then we die physically, with soul and spirit included).   

 

The second death is eternal separation from God forever.  

Why?  Because we did not receive John 3: 3 in our hearts. 

 

So many people on Planet Earth have found different religions, and philosophies, to try and fill a void that only Jesus can fill.  

Let's face facts.  Only Jesus died, and was raised from death by His Father, supernaturally.  No other religion or mind-controlled philosophies will ever keep up with what Jesus did.  He was the Word from the beginning. 

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  He was in the beginning with God.  All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made.  In Him was life, and the life was the light of men.  And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.”

 

John goes on to declare…

“But as many as received Him, (born-again John 3: 3) to them He gave the right to become children of God, to those who believe in His Name (Jesus Christ) who were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.”  

John 1: 12-13.

 

Now that we understand this, the two things in life that matter the most are easy to define.

 

 Before I do that, let us talk about the things in life that do not really matter regarding eternity.  

Money.  Fame.  Prestige/honor from people. 

 

We all want a life worth living.  

Some people were born with a silver spoon in their crying mouths.  Some were born into poverty.  

Either way, they were born.  

Each person does the best they can, with what they were born into.  Facts are facts.  

“I have never seen a Hearse pulling a U-Haul trailer.” 

 

We all came into this world with nothing, and it is guaranteed that we will not take anything with us.

1st Timothy 6:7.

Except for, what we did for Jesus. 

There is a Beatles song entitled, “Can’t Buy Me Love.”  Refers to love, not being able to be bought, among other things.  

“I don’t care too much for money; money can’t buy me love.” 

Easy for Paul McCartney to say.  He wrote the song and credited it to John Lennon.  Paul is worth 1.3 BILLION dollars in 2025.  He too, will not take any of those dollars with him, when he faces eternity.  He will go out, just like the rest of us.  The way he came in.  With nothing. 

 

First thing in life.  

Find out what your gifts and talents are from God.  Come to a place where you MUST, be born again as Jesus said to Nicodemus. 

Be born-again in the Spirit of God.  Attribute anything that is good in your life, to Christ, and give Him all the Glory.  

Facts are, unless the Spirit of God reveals Jesus to you in the Spirit, you can’t be saved.  

Jesus said, “Do not murmur among yourselves.”   

“No one can come to Me unless the Father who sent Me draws him; and I will raise him up at the last day. “

John 6: 44.

 

Human beings cannot, on their own, choose to follow Jesus and come to faith.  

 

This highlights the active role of God the Father in drawing individuals towards Christ. 

We must believe that the Gospel is real, and the Bible is true.  

Unless we are Convinced, by God, we will not understand anything spiritual.  

We must be Convicted in our hearts by the Holy Spirit, to repent.  

Then, and only then, will the transformation called: Converted, take place.  

From death unto life.  From hell to Heaven.  Born again.

 Now, once this takes place, we hopefully will allow God to Control our lives.  

This is a life-long process. 

Remember these four C’s. 

 

The second thing in life is what? 

Backstory. 

 

On the day that I was released from prison in September of 1977, I had a choice to make.  A crossroads facing me.  “Would I make the right decision?” 

I sat in the theater room in the pre-release unit of the Texas Department of Corrections. 

I was on the front row, listening to all the speakers that day.  The final speaker was a preacher from the Teen Challenge Center in Tyler, Texas.  

David Wilkerson, in 1958, began ministering to troubled youth in New York City.  Specifically, the gang members and drug addicts.  Mostly Heroin addiction.  His initial street outreach and a subsequent recovery home marked the beginning of what is now called Adult and Teen Challenge.  It is a world-wide ministry. 

 

This man of God, when He was done with his speech at the pre-release center, walked up to me and asked,

“When do you get out of prison?” 

I said, “Tomorrow.” 

He stated, “Do you know you have a “call from God” on your young life?”  

(I was 21 then).

I answered him, “I don’t know, Sir.” 

 

Finally, he opened his Bible and asked me my name.  He wrote my name in his Bible, and said for me to get on the bus, and come to Tyler, Texas tomorrow.  

“I will save a bed for you Joe, and you can begin in the ministry there with me.” 

Well, I had been praying about what to do when I left prison.  Now, I had my answer. 

 

The number two thing in life is even more important than number one. 

 

Once you are saved, and figure out your giftings, then get to work.  

Never, stop utilizing the gifts God has bestowed upon you.  We all have talents of some kind.  Some are administrators in the church.  Many are volunteers.  Thousands are missionaries to other countries. 

Keep doing what God has gifted you to do and never stop.  It is called bearing fruit.  

Fruit that remains.  

He chose us, we did not choose Him.

John 15:16.

 

Back to Teen Challenge. 

I never got on the bus.  Fail. 

 

I took the money I had from the State of Texas and ended up in Tampa Bay, Florida. 

 

“Do not love the world or the things in the world.  If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.  For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, are not of the Father, but it is of the world.  And the world is passing away, and the lust of it; but he who does the will of God abides forever.”

 1st John 2: 15-17.

 

My stupidity, coupled with my spiritual immaturity, caused me to ignore God and His calling on my life.  Yes, gifts are given without repentance.  

 

“For the gifts and calling of God are without repentance.”

Romans 11:29

This verse means that once God gives a gift or calls someone to a specific purpose, He does not change His mind or revoke those gifts or callings.  

God’s gifts, which include spiritual gifts, talents, and blessings, are given once and are not taken back. 

God’s callings, which are His specific purposes and plans for individuals, are permanent and do not change, even if people stumble or make mistakes.  

 

He is faithful, even when we are “faithless.” 

 

Boy, was I faithless when I went to Florida. 

I squandered my monies and time, and like the Prodigal Son, it took from 1977 until 1989 to get out of the hog trough I was in.  

I ate garbage from the world, and basically ignored the Teen Challenge Center in Tyler, Texas.  

I never went. 

 

Good news is, God is a God of Restoration. 

 

Twelve long years of prodigal living.

 

 I was so filled with shame and guilt, I didn’t even believe I was saved anymore.  

 

My sin took me way too far from God’s path in life. 

It was totally my fault.  I do not blame the devil or people.  I blamed Joe. 

 

Finally, when I did get back on the Glory Train, I stayed on the track. 

In 2018, I was supernaturally invited to an Adult and Teen Challenge Center in Estacada, Oregon.  I have been preaching there ever since.  From Texas where I live now, I travel twice a year to Oregon.  I conduct services in 7 prisons, Teen Challenge, and several churches. 

 

What I missed in 1977, God gave me a second change to do things right.

 When I share my story with the men in the Adult and Teen Challenge center, regarding how I missed my opportunity back in 1977, they listen.  

I always tell them,

“So, you are here for a one-year stretch, to be set free from drugs and alcohol, right?  And I know many of you have thought about leaving early because you are saved now, and you feel the urgency to get on out int he world and fulfill your calling, right? 

Well, let me warn you about leaving early.  

There is a possible hog trough waiting for you, if you are not ready to do what God is asking you to do.  I know you miss your family.  I understand your wife is waiting for you, and your children miss you deeply. 

Just remember what I did.  I blew it.  It is never a good thing to get ahead of God.  It is horrible to lag and fall away.  It is another, to just get off His path for your life.   

Endure to the end, men.

You gave it your all when you were an addict.  

You spent all of your time and money doing your own thing.  

It is time to do God’s thing now.” 

 

After telling the men in the Teen Challenge Center these things, many come forward and receive Christ.  

Others, who were going to leave early, stay the course.  Many more, get set free. 

God is a God of Restoration.  

 

There are only two things in life worth living.  

I have explained them, and what NOT to do.   

 

Remember the joke at the beginning of this story?  

There are two things you worry about? 

What are they?  

 

If you do not have anything to worry about, then you are okay.  

Just do the two things in life.  It is worth living to do them.  It is not worth dying on the vine and finding out the hard way.  

Avoid the hog pen.  This world has nothing to offer except be a witness for Jesus.  

 

Anything less, is just a third thing.  

Remember, there are the two things in life. 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Acclimating to Percolating

                                                  

Someone once said,

“Our lives, and how we live them are the only Bible some people will ever read.”

Just a thought. 

Sodom had no Bible, and unfortunately, thanks to Lot, it had no witness for Jehovah. 

 

When we look at the history of the nation of Israel, there is one thing that is unmistakable.  Jehovah had called them and commanded them to be a witness to the world around them.  It was for the nation of Israel to proclaim there was one true God, and that He was the creator of all things, and that all men should honor Him as the true God. 

Worship Him exclusively and serve Him as God in their lives. 

Lot could have been a witness, for he had every opportunity to influence Sodom for Jehovah. But he failed to do so. 

He had the privilege of being with his uncle Abraham (Abram) for most of his adult life, but it seems he failed to absorb very much of the qualities of this Godly man’s character and conduct. 

 

*And Lot lifted his eyes, and beheld all the plain of Jordan, that it was well watered everywhere, (before the Lord destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah) like the garden of the Lord, like the land of Egypt as you go toward Zoar.

 

Lot would rather gain wealth, than follow in the footsteps of Abraham. 

Lot was “acclimating" in this new land he thought would be a blessing. 

His getting used to and being comfortable with all of this was his demise. 

He and his two daughters had to flee the hills after the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. 

They lived in a cave. 

He lived in a cave because he feared the people of Zoar. 

 

Lot’s daughters conceived children with their father Lot, after getting him drunk. 

 The firstborn daughter gave birth to Moab, who became the father of the Moabites. 

The younger daughter gave birth to Ben-Ammi, who became the father of the Ammonites. 

 

So much for acclimating. 

 

Look at the lineage. 

Ruth the Moabite traced her lineage back to Lot’s daughter. 

Ruth married Boaz, and their son, Obed, had a son named Jesse. 

Jesses’s son was King David, who was the descendent of Jesus. 

 

If we are going to acclimate at all, it pays to do so in the right place, with the right people at the right time. 

 

How do we do all this by faith in the Lord? 

I believe the Holy Spirit, as our Teacher and Comforter and Guide, will help us decide what to do, where to go and who to be with. 

We will know in our Spirit the decision we make. 

Yes, it is faith.  But the lack of peace in a decision is usually a warning sign. 

 

And our motivations to do this, or that, must be pure.   

 

Lot wanted money.  He got destruction instead.  Greed versus staying and obeying his Uncle Abraham. 

 

Acclimating: becoming accustomed to a new climate or to new conditions. 

 

In the technical sense: respond physiologically or behaviorally to a change in an environmental factor under controlled conditions. 

 

As Christians, “adapting” to living a different way is hard.  Adjusting to trying to live clean in an unclean world is difficult too with all the garbage being spewed on us with technology and perverted advertising even in stores we shop in.   

Spiritual acclimatization is the process of adapting to a spiritual life and growing in faith.  It must involve developing a relationship with Jesus, reading the Bible, and building healthy habits. 

 

Case in point:

When I got saved 47 years ago, in prison in Texas, there was one chapel service a week.  It was Protestant.  There was a Catholic service as well for those who wanted to go there. 

One. 

Only one. 

No Bible studies or classes on discipleship or prayer gatherings. 

Acclimation. 

I knew nothing about church, so this was my normal. 

 

If I wanted to pray with a Christian brother on the cell block that I knew back then, I had to take a chance of going to solitary confinement. 

(Now, today, it is called Administrative Segregation).

Nice. Ughhh.

 

This dangerous chance I had to take went like this: 

In the evening, after chow time, and when all the inmates were back on the block after work detail and other chores, we were in our cells from 6 p.m. until “rack up.” 

Locked in your cell at 10:00 p.m.

 

“Night, night, sleep tight.” 

 

Before racking up, every hour on the hour, the Boss Man would open all the cell doors to allow men to go to the day room and watch T.V. or go to the gym. 

So, when the cell doors opened, I would fast-walk, before all the cell doors slammed shut simultaneously, and go to my Christian brother’s cell on the block who I knew.  I had to hurry to jump inside his cell, before getting caught and crushed by the moving steel door.  

 

This only occurred when his cell mate left the cell (through a pre-planned signal we had between each other).  I would “cell swap” with my Christian brother’s cell mate as he was leaving the cell, and the two of us would pray and read the Bible for the one hour. 

 

Of course, there would be another “count time” within that hour, randomly, at times, which was not the normal routine by the Boss Man.   

 

We took the chance of the Boss Man recognizing me being in the wrong cell.  Getting caught meant going to the Warden and receiving punishment. 

First, solitary confinement for up to three months. 

Secondly, losing our “good time” accumulated through good behavior. 

Thirdly, “catching a case” we called it, would usually result in being transferred to another prison, or having more time added to our sentence. 

 

Risky business to pray. 

Deadly, too, in many ways, when the cell mate who left to go to the dayroom to watch T.V., found out I was in his cell, he would retaliate against me. 

This happened, and it was my fifth time having my nose broken in life. 

 

Some Christians in the free world, can’t even “get to the church on time, much less understand what prison, underground Christianity, even looks like. 

 

Why should they care anyway? 

 

We deserve to be in prison. 

Take the key and throw it away. 

Make sure you throw it far enough away from our cell, so we do not find it. 

(Amazing what a found key in prison would sell for on the open, black market, inside the maximum-security prison I was living in, back then). 

 

With respect to acclimation, the danger of being so used to where you are and what you are doing comes at a cost. 

It is called complacency. 

Getting comfortable in your Christianity. 

Jesus has never let me be comfortable, in any way, for the last 47 years. 

 

I had to count the costs of serving Him. 

 

Nothing wrong with a career for 40 years in banking or industry.  Living in the same house for the sum of those years is good. 

I am not talking about uprooting your life because you get bored. 

 

 I am speaking to the routine of being a Christian.   

 

Get up. 

Pray.

Read the devotional or daily bread. 

Get the app that gives you the scripture of the day. 

Worship.

Pray some more. 

 

This is all good and is a healthy routine and discipline. 

It is when we hurry our processes with Jesus. 

He longs for our time in our busy routines. 

Drive to work. Work.  Drive home.  Eat dinner, etc. 

Again, rinse and repeat. 

 

I believe when we are in tune with the Holy Ghost, He never lets us acclimate to anything except Him. 

We rid ourselves of distractions as best as possible and begin growing closer to Him in the process. 

 

Let's move on to Percolating. 

 

It refers to the old-fashioned coffee percolators. 

Fill with cold water. 

Put coffee grounds in the upper basket. 

Put lid on, and plug in.

 

It takes time, but eventually the sounds of the hot water pumping, up and over, those fresh grounds, smell good and sound good. 

 

Our faith, in the beginning, is the cold water. 

Jesus is the coffee grounds. 

The water, as it is heated up, is our faith getting activated. 

Faith in Jesus.  Better than an espresso. 

 

Once the coffee is done, we have not arrived in our great faith yet. 

We are just learning how to drink from the well of Jesus and His Word. 

We percolate. 

We enjoy the process. 

 

It is not a task; it is our duty to know Him and know Him more. 

The different processes of making coffee and roasting the beans is an art. 

 It all takes time. 

 

No matter the process you do, it results in the cup of coffee you desire. 

And for a lot of us, we are addicted.   

 

In the same way, as a Christian, we are constantly being refined. 

 

Like the coffee grounds being used for coffee, Jesus is being used, by us, to learn from Him. 

We toss the old grounds every day and start over with fresh grounds. 

Not with Jesus.  We do not toss Him in the garbage like the old grounds. 

Never. 

We keep finding ways to make the coffee taste better. 

We are being refined. 

There are over fifty references in the Bible to our being refined, smelted, strained, sifted, clarified, and otherwise, purified as believers. 

We are no different from those coffee beans in my cupboard. 

With every new sunrise (accompanied by a hot cup of coffee) in this fallen, sinful world, I am being refined for the glorious new world to come. 

I hope to have percolated to a proper pureness when that time comes. 

Like the aroma of fresh, French roast coffee, I hope I am a sweet, smelling fragrance in the nostrils of my Lord and Savior Jesus. 

 

Percolate your faith. 

Do it the way Jesus wants you to do. 

Besides, it is a personal relationship you and I have.  No saint does everything the same. 

We are all “churched” differently within the denominations, or non-denominational places of worship we belong to. 

 

Bubble over with joy. 

Keep hot and on fire for Jesus. 

Pour yourself into prayer. 

Drink of the wells of Salvation. 

And like Folger’s coffee jingle says: “Good to the last drop,” Jesus is good to the last drop of His shed Blood, for our ability to even come close to percolating in our faith the way He did with His Father. 

 

He is our example. 

We are either acclimating or percolating. 

 Learn how to acclimate correctly, and not negatively. 

Percolate the faith you have and never, never, unplug that coffee pot. 

He is your source for His flavor for your life. 

An unplugged pot has no power. 

 Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Our Great Silencer

                                                 

I am not talking today about the “silent treatment” that happens in marriage during and after a quarrel.  We all know what this is.  Obviously, not letting the sun go down on our anger is Biblical.  All I know is that I would rather wake up with noise, rather than silence. 

Moving on. 

We are surrounded with so many voices around us, and sometimes these sounds can be very frustrating, discouraging, and a killer from inside out. 

At one instance, Jesus and His disciples were traveling by in the sea, and suddenly the violent wind blew against them, and the waves broke over the boat, so that they almost flooded.  The disciples tried their best to control the situation with their own strength and intellect but failed miserably. 

You know this story. Jesus slept in the inner part of this boat.  His disciples were gripped with fear of death, and they went and woke Him saying, “

Teacher, don’t you care that we are drowning?” 

Of course He cared.  He calmed the storm. 

Luke 8: 22-25.  

How could Jesus sleep so deeply during chaos?  Jesus knew who He was, and He knew the Will of His Father. 

This He knew for His present and future challenges and pains. 

Especially His Cross coming. 

The disciples didn’t know this. 

Many people mistake Jesus’ silence just like the disciples did on the boat. 

 

“Why is Jesus silent when there is so much evil and chaos around?” 

 

The first thing to remind us of is: 

Jesus’ silence into our situations and trials, is not His ignorance or lack of care about us.  He is not surprised by our chaos.  He knows everything from eternity to eternity. 

 

Second reminder is:

Jesus’ silence does not mean His absence.  God will never leave you alone.  He is always with you and I, but He is closest to us in the toughest of our times.

 

The third important reminder is that Jesus’ silence is not His betrayal. 

God is very faithful, very merciful, exceedingly gracious, and extremely loving.  He will never let you down. 

We tend to drown ourselves in self-pity, doubt and unbelief at times.  Our boat of logic and misunderstanding about who and what Jesus is capable of, tends to sink our boat in this life, before it ever leaves the shore. 

 Sometimes it is a slow leak that happens and when the boat is full of water, it seems too late for our miracle. 

Not with Jesus.  He is there, always. 

Fourth, reminder is: 

The presence of God in your life might not stop the wind to come against you, but He will surely stop the wind from killing you.

 

No one on this planet, especially Christians, understands why some leave this planet sooner than others.  We do not understand or comprehend why this or why that happens, especially sudden death to a loved one. 

It is God’s Providence, and His alone, which His plan adheres to.  His Blueprints and Purposes of each life that loves Him, is under His complete control. 

From the beginning to the end of all things, has His Design and Thumbprint on it. 

For me and for you. 

For the righteous, and the sinner.  If they repent and accept Him as their Savior, He will be amid their storms too. 

He cares about those who do not love Him yet. 

He cares about everything. 

All things. 

Even every sparrow that hits the ground.  Are we not much more than a bird? 

Matthew 10:29.

Each sparrow does not hit the ground without God’s consent. 

 

He does not give us the “silent treatment at all.” 

 

Noah went through floods.  The floods did not overtake him.  Nor did anyone with him die. 

 Isaac went through famine, but famine couldn't touch him.  He was greatly blessed during that famine. 

Daniel went through the lion’s den.  (Not a lion like yours that sits on your lap wanting a treat.  Little kitty won’t devour you, just her food). 

 

The fifth and last reminder is: 

In Mark 4:35 Jesus said,

 

“Let us go over to the other side.  Jesus already told them, let us go, no matter what situation they might face.  He said with His actions, not words, that they would definitely reach the other side.”

 

God has already declared your purpose, and nothing can stop it. 

Well, you can delay it by doubting who is in your boat. 

Do not be anxious about anything.  Easier said than done. 

 

Case in point: 

Before I knew Jesus as Savior in prison, I almost died seven times in my addicted world I lived in.  Shot at.  Stabbed by the sting of beatings I took from the police and others.  Including my enemies. 

One case began in a Biker Bar.  You know the one.  (Well, maybe not personally, but in the movies).

I walked in. Drunk as a skunk.  (Maybe the dead skunk in the middle of the road we have all seen is the one that was on his way to a bar and got hit by a biker). 

I don’t know for sure. 

Anyway. 

 I ordered a cold, draft beer.  Looking around the room for the biggest, maddest, hairiest biker I could find. 

I walked up to him, as he sat at a table with his other Gorillas, and I tossed all the beer out of my glass into his face. 

After I woke up, I realized the right side of my face was broken, and that perhaps, I should leave. 

I went out to my pickup truck.  I remember these details vividly. 

It took ten minutes for me to put my key into the outside door lock to open my truck. 

Maybe I should not drive? 

I asked another drunk person leaving the bar, “Can you help me here?” 

He came over, and the both of us, with both our hands, clutching the ignition key together, got it open. 

Finally open. 

It was pouring down rain.  Great combination for a bad conclusion to this night. 

I did not have a designated driver.  They had not been invented until 1988.  Long after this insane night. 

The Center for Health Communication launched this Designated Driver Campaign, as an approach to slowing down drunk drivers. 

And of course, there was M.A.D.D.  Mothers against drunk drivers began in 1980. 

Neither program would have helped me in the early seventies. 

The only way of “slowing me down” was to take my keys, truck and my brain, and have it examined by a professional Lobotomist. 

 

And here I go.  I drove away in the pouring rain.  I passed a slow-moving car at 65 miles per hour on a curve.  It was a two-lane highway late at night. 

According to the police report anyway. 

 I do not remember much about this night. 

 

When I passed the car, I realized for a moment that I was no longer on the road.  I had passed this car, took out 90 feet of fence, and rolled the truck over. 

Not just any roll over. 

I hit the ditch head on at 65, and the truck flipped.  End over end, not a typical roll over. 

The rear of the truck landed on a huge fence post, which was part of the 90 feet of fence I destroyed. 

My truck.  Ughhh. 

The back glass of the truck popped out in one piece and was lying next to me in the front seat. 

Like it was a passenger. 

I did not wear a seat belt.  “I wonder why?” 

 

The truck back wheels were still spinning because the entire bed and rear of this truck were resting on a big fence post.  The front of the truck was gone, and the remnants of it were crushed against the firewall under the hood. 

Well, where the hood used to be. 

 

My battery from the truck was hanging off the right fender.  The bed of the truck was twisted like a pretzel. 

Get the picture yet?

 

I climbed out of the wreck, unscathed.  A small cut above my eye next to my eyebrow. 

That was it as far as injuries. 

I remember staring at my truck before the cops came. 

I looked at it and said to myself,

“If I could get it off that pole, I could drive home.” 

Sure thing. 

The police came and arrested me.  Charging me with drunk driving, destruction of private property (the fence), and no insurance. 

I blew into the breathalyzer, and blew a .32 blood alcohol number on the test. 

 I was close to a coma. 

An alcoholic coma usually results in death. 

 

I was in jail. 

 Bonded out, finally. 

Went to court. 

 

The court fined me and made me rebuild the 90 feet of fence for the property owner.  I had to go to Alcohol meetings, and I lost my license for one year, except for going to work, and meetings in A.A. 

 

When I arrived at the intake meeting for Alcoholics Anonymous, I was greeted by a professional. 

He evaluated me for thirty minutes and finally said.

“Mr. Wilkins, you are a seven on the scale from one to four, four being the worst addict, regarding alcohol abuse.  I have never seen anyone as lucky as you to survive that wreck, and your addictions.” 

 

The point? 

I ended up helping him teach the class. 

 

Jesus protected me from the time I was conceived in my mother’s womb. 

 All the times that my self-inflicted wounds from overdoses, crime, shootings, and car wrecks, tried to kill me. 

He was there.  He is there still. 

Watching over us and silencing all the things that try to put our soul in a grave. 

 

Jeremiah declares,

“Before I formed you in the matrix of the womb, I knew you, before you were born, I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.” 

 

I am not Jeremiah by any stretch of the imagination. 

What I am is forgiven. 

What I was, is under the Blood of Jesus. 

What I will become, is His servant, which I became, back in 1977, the day I was born again in prison. 

 

The prison I was in was mean. 

I was mean.

Jesus is not mean.

He is meaningful in His Plan. 

 

He protected me from that self-destructive lifestyle. 

He protected me from two major car accidents back in the 1990’s. 

He watched over me in surgeries I have had. 

He protected and still is protecting my wife and two grown sons. 

He is the Protector, and the Great Silencer. 

Our Great Silencer. 

 

He silences the enemy of our souls, Satan.  The accuser of the brethren is dead in my eyes.  Jesus silences the grave as a believer in Him.   

 

“‘O death, where is your sting?  O Hades, where is your victory?’ The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law.  But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our lord Jesus Christ.”

1st Corinthians 15: 55-57

 

Silencer.  There is only One.  His Name is Jesus. 

 

Before I went to prison, I was in the last stages of building a real silencer for a firearm. 

I worked in a machine shop and had everything to make one. 

 I had the measurements from the gun. 

I met with the man who owned it.  It had no serial numbers. 

 

The good news.  I was arrested before I could finish it. 

There is nothing good that would have come from a silencer I made for a criminal family member.  I am so grateful for Jesus stopping me in my tracks so that piece of unfinished polished steel was never completed. 

 It would have worked.  It would have done its job. 

Lives would have ended by me. 

I would not have pulled the trigger.  I might as well have. 

I almost finished building it.  My part was the killer machinist. 

This kind of silencer is deadly.   

 

Jesus is the Good Silencer. 

He silences death. 

He puts to shame the ignorant plans of Satan. 

He then speaks loudly, after silencing your soul with love, so pain and lies die off your life.  Once and for all. 

Jesus is Our Great Silencer. 

He does what He does, without ever pulling a trigger. 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Birthday Milestones

 

 I had my 69th birthday a few days ago and tonight, my wife, her sister, and my youngest son, celebrated the birthday again. 

I call it my birthday week, not just a day.  It is a good excuse to eat more. 

I was asked tonight what a past birthday milestone for me was. 

After a moment of memory flashbacks, and deciding which one to talk about, I will share two with those who may read this. 

 

First is my 21st birthday. 

I won’t spend but two sentences on that one. 

I turned 21 in prison. 

Not like Merle Haggard’s song, “Mama Tried.” 

In his song, he wrote,

“I turned 21 in prison, doing life without parole.  No one could steer me right, but Mama tried, Mama tried.  Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading, I denied.  That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.” 

 

Good news for me, in 1976, I was not doing a life sentence.  I should have. 

If the two attempted murder charges I did had been murder, then someone else would be writing this. 

On my 21st birthday, while in prison, the decision regarding my parole hearing came to me, via a letter from the Board of Pardons and Paroles. 

Parole Denied. 

End of that birthday. 

I wrote more than two sentences, didn’t I? 

 

The next one, a jubilant one, was my 50th birthday. 

 

I was around 36 years old when I started prison ministry.  Over those years, and up to this milestone birthday, I had met and ministered to hundreds of inmates.   

One, I will never forget.  The year was 2002, and I was preaching at the Sheridan Federal Prison in Sheridan, Oregon. 

I had been preaching there for several years and got to know many of the men personally.   I had led many of my new friends in prison to Jesus Christ. 

This one inmate was about 40 years old.  He had been coming to my services for two years and sat on the carpeted steps leading out of this chapel.  He did not want to sit near the pulpit I preached from. 

Certainly, not on the front row.  

He came up to me after one of the services and proclaimed to me,

 

“Joe, next Wednesday when you are here again, marks my next birthday.  If you will preach a good sermon for my birthday, and make it personal, maybe I will meet your Jesus, OKAY?” 

 

That is a lot of pressure for me, but I agreed to make it personal. 

I went home, and before the next Wednesday arrived, I got out my Bible, concordance, and notes I had saved from previous sermons. 

All my ammunition was in front of me to preach a blockbuster sermon for this man. 

I worked and worked the Bible, trying to figure out a catchy title, along with scriptures about birthdays. 

The best birthday, in the Bible, is about Jesus and His birth in a manger. 

 

So, I am dissecting the Gospels, one by one, and after an hour of this long, manger-to-the-cross-of-Calvary sermon I was working on, the Holy Ghost whispered to me,

 

“Joe, just preach on My Love.” 

 

Well, I tore up the sermon and just decided to take a stab at winging it. 

When I arrived at the prison the next Wednesday, my birthday man was there with anticipation in his brown eyes. 

Jesus speaking: 

 

“Now when they bring you to the synagogues and magistrates and authorities, do not worry about how or what you should answer, or what you should say. For the Holy Spirit will teach you in that very hour what you ought to say.”

Luke 12:11-12.

 

Winging it and trusting the Lord on this birthday sermon.  Not just for him, but for all the men in attendance. 

I preached from my spiritual well and told stories of my life to the men. 

When the time came for the altar invitation, I had the men bow their heads for a moment. 

Every man had their heads bowed, except my birthday target. 

He is just staring at me. 

 

I invited the men to raise their hands to receive the Lord Jesus as their Savior, and many hands went up.  Including the “staring-at-me man.” 

I asked those who raised their hands to come forward so I could pray for them. 

The men came, except for, you know who. 

 

After praying for the men, I closed the service.  I went to leave, and I was cornered by Mr. Birthday. 

He said, “Joe, do you see this scar under my chin that runs from ear to ear?” 

“Yes,” I said back to him.  

 (I had seen the scar before with the few times we had conversed). 

 

He told me the story. 

“Right before I came to prison, I hated my life, and my wife.  I wanted to kill myself.  I got in my car, without a seat belt, and purposely drove my car at 70 miles per hour directly into a telephone pole. I walked away without a scratch. Well, I am not even good at this, much less my marriage.” 

He continued,

“Then, I walked home, and got my pistol, and called the cops.  I expected them to kill me if I drew my pistol.  They showed up, and I pulled my gun on them in my living room.  They postured themselves away from me and demanded I drop the weapon.  I lost my courage to shoot them or have them kill me.”  

(This is called Suicide by Cop.) 

“So, I dropped my pistol and pulled out my pocketknife.  They did not arrest me quick enough, to keep me from slitting my throat from ear to ear, deeply.”   

(Hence, the scar on his neck, from ear to ear.) 

He said,

“Joe, that did not work either, because I did not bleed to death.  The police who were in my home that day, put a tourniquet on my neck.  I found out later, I missed the main vein in my neck when I sliced myself open.  Blood was everywhere.  I was charged for multiple felonies after my hospital stay, and that is why I am here.” 

 

I responded,

“Sounds to me that God spared your life, young man.  First the car wreck you walked away from.  Secondly, you could have been shot to death by the police.  And, finally, you slit your throat.” 

Any other person would have died the first attempt. 

But not him. 

I believe God spared this man. 

 

I asked him if he meant business by raising his hand. 

He said, “Yes, Joe, yes I did mean business.” 

 I thought, “Great.”

We talked some more, and he discussed why he raised his hand but did not come forward for prayer. 

He told me that he just is not ready yet. 

I honored his thoughts, said happy birthday, and left. 

 

The next Wednesday, he surrendered to Jesus and was born-again. 

 

So, now to my 50th birthday celebration, and why it is such a milestone. 

 

I had met a lady in Colorado, through another inmate, and she invited us to minister in some prisons in Colorado.  She and her husband were preachers for years, primarily in prisons. 

 

On my 50th birthday, I checked my mail at the local post office.  I had a box there for ministry mail. 

I got a package and inside the package was a letter, and 50 cards. 

The letter was from the prison ministry lady from Colorado:

“Dear Joe, enclosed are 50 individual birthday cards from men you have been preaching to at Sheridan for all these years.  Many of them have transferred to other prisons in other states.  Happy Birthday, Joe.”

 

Enclosed were handmade cards from men who I remember from many years of preaching.  Each one spoke of how they were saved under the ministry God had given me. 

Every card basically said the same congratulations to me. 

 

Towards the end of the pile, was a card from the man at Sheridan who had cut his throat. 

It read,

 

“Dear Preacher Joe, Happy Birthday, and may you always remember my birthday again sometime and send me a card.  I have been serving Jesus, ever since you prayed for me that time at Sheridan.  I was transferred to the Kentucky Federal prison and will be released soon.  God Bless you, Joe.”

 

Inside the card was an actual picture of him wearing a tuxedo. 

Men in the Federal system, upon a visit by family, can use free world clothes for pictures with family after visitation.  Many drive or fly from far away to visit their inmate family members. 

 

It is a great gesture for the men.  At least for two hours during a visit, they can feel like a normal human being with nice clothes. 

He had worn a tuxedo to have that picture taken, just to send to me.

On the back of the picture it read,

“Happy 50th, Joe.  Keep preaching about the love of Jesus, wherever you go.  I love you.” 

 

In this picture, if you look closely, you will still see the scar on his neck. 

A reminder of how God saved this man from suicide. 

Not once, not twice, but three times. 

To him, I am sure, every day he is alive to serve the Master Jesus, is a birthday to him. 

 

Scars remind us of our pain. 

Physical, mental, and emotional scars are there.  Only the physical ones show. 

The others do not show, but they are visible, indeed. 

How so?  

 When a physical scar has healed, it leaves a reminder of the pain.

If mental or emotional scars are not healed, they leave a visible scar on the outside that everyone can see. 

It is called sadness.  Sorrow.  Depression.  Anger, etcetera. 

 

 Jesus can heal us physically.  He can make the blind see, and the lame walk. 

He can also open our hearts, and do secret surgery, so those outward scars I just spoke about, will disappear eventually. 

All you must do is ask Him. 

“Jesus, heal me from the inside out.” 

 

Let this day be a real BIRTH-day. 

The birth of your broken heart healed. 

It is a milestone, you know. 

 Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

 

A Divine Desperation

1991 began many moments with Jesus, many of them I did not know was HIM doing what He does…orchestrating appointments for me to be a witness to others. 

Many times, I was just in the right place, and the right time (His time), with the ones He wanted me to meet. 

 

Mr. Cobb:

 

While landscaping on a Friday late afternoon with Pro-Care Properties in Portland, Oregon, In work in the town of Beaverton, Oregon, a suburb of Portland, I was finishing my day by using a blower to blow leaves in the late fall.

It is payday and my meager 8 dollars an hour didn’t pay much, but I was glad to be working. 

Living in my car, going through a bunch of self-inflicted trials, I was also grateful to have a car that ran, and a place of shelter.  Sleeping at the Truckstop Southbound Interstate 5, or at the rest area every evening became challenging. It was starting to get colder and colder at night, with rain increasing, as well. 

 

So, as I was finishing up my job, a Jeep Wagoneer pulled up next to me.

A man with one ear got my attention, so I turned off the blower to engage him. 

“Hello,” he exclaimed, “I’m Mr. Cobb.” 

I told him my name and asked him how I could help him.  

 (Remember, I have not prayed much in those early days of ministry, and didn’t understand spiritual warfare, or even how to believe, by faith, much of anything).

 

He asked me how much the company I worked for charged for landscaping; I told him twenty-five dollars an hour. 

“Oh,” he said under his breath, “I can’t afford that.” 

Mr. Cobb then informed me that he had an apartment complex nearby. He needed someone to rake leaves. 

I said, “Well, tomorrow, Saturday, is my day off, and I would be willing to do the job for you for $15.00 an hour.” 

He agreed, gave me the address, and said there was a shed that had lawn and leaf bags, rakes etcetera. So, I was supposed to show up at 8 a.m.

 “I will meet you at 5 p.m. and pay you.”

  OK. 

He drove off and I said, “Lord Jesus, thank you for the extra work.” 

I thought, the whole time, that I would be able to afford a motel room for at least one night, to shower and sleep comfortably, instead of having to shower at the truck stop and sleep in my car. 

 

The following morning, the test of a lifetime to me was beginning to unfold. 

I arrived at 8 a.m., as promised, to the worst rainstorm of the fall weather in the Portland area. 

Drenched from head to toe, with no rain gear, I raked ten flower beds, with two-foot deep, wet leaves, and put them in the bags. 

It was about 47 degrees outside, and the rain never stopped or let up. 

Deluge. 

It took me all day, bent over, and drenched from head to toe.

 

At the end of the day, I had 80 bags filled and stacked 5 feet high near the dumpster where he told me to leave them.  I didn’t even make a dent in this huge World War 2 era apartment complex, three stories high, with about 124 units. 

 

At 5 o’clock, Mr. Cobb arrived and was impressed with what I had accomplished. 

He paid me for 8 hours work,

And then, out of nowhere, he asked,

“Where do you live, Joe?” 

(Under my breath, I exclaimed, “Not too far from here,” not willing to reveal I was living in a 1979 Datsun B-210).

“Well, Joe, if you are willing, I have a one-bedroom apartment available and if you want to work for me as much as you can on your days off or in the evenings, you can have the apartment rent- free, no utilities to pay and you can move in whenever you want.” 

He reached into his pocket and dangled the keys to Unit #1 and said,

“Go ahead and move in today, Joe, if you want.” 

Wow! 

I stood there as Mr. Cobb drove away with cash in hand, a set of keys to an apartment, and I began crying. 

 

What was the test of a lifetime?  

Well, I could have showed up to the job with monsoon weather, and looked at all the work to do, with no rain gear, and said to myself,

 “Nah, this isn’t worth $15 an hour in this kind of weather,” and moved on.

But God had a plan, and I had to pass the test. 

 

I had to learn to cast aside how I felt physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, and be a man of my word and show up to work on time…. even though, it would have been a lot easier to drive away and get a motel room for the night. 

He paid me $15 an hour for all the hours I worked for the next year, landscaping, painting the interior of apartments, and maintenance work that the empty apartments needed. 

God honored my decision not to quit.  Not to give up.  Not letting rain and 47-degree weather with 20 mph winds stop His Will for me. 

 

Mr. Cobb. 

A one-eared property manager who just happened to drive up on a Friday afternoon looking for a willing vessel. 

Who would have thought. 

God did. 

 

And I lived in apartment #1, the old Perry Mason foyer- style apartment complex where you had to push a buzzer from inside your apartment to allow anyone into the hallway for entry. 

So good is the God of Abraham, Issac, and Jacob, to look down on me that day. 

 

Homeless, working for 9 dollars an hour, and very grateful to have that. 

 

He saw my condition and fixed my condition in a moment of time. 

No credit check, no application to rent, no background check (thank God), and no pretense. 

Just a man needing help with his property, and a born-again ex-convict saved by grace in need of a shower, food, a roof over his head, and hope. 

 

Well, Mr. Cobb may have been just a man. 

But he was a man sent from God for Joe. 

No doubt! 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Run for Your Life

 

Run for your life.  

 The primary focus on the call of God on my life, has been to minister to those in prisons.  I have done County Jail Ministry as well.  Because I lived in prison in 1976, the men I bring the Gospel of Jesus to, are very attentive.  They get the fact that, “You can’t con an ex-con.”  

Many have been a dead man walking for years.

 It is time to run for your life. 

Each week, I do a class to 88 men.  Once this 4-month class is over, they graduate, and I start with a new 88. 

By the time the class ends, the men have had the opportunity every week to surrender to Jesus.  I never miss an altar invitation.  It is the most critical time in a ministry environment, where the Holy Ghost is present in. 

 Many men ask me over and over,

“How did you make it outside of prison for so many years?”  

It has been 48 years this September, when I was released in 1977. 

One of the most important things that I instruct the men about is as follows. 

Number One: Work a job.  

You may be a qualified welder prior to prison, but unless you are willing to flip burgers while you wait on the welding job, then you may wait a long time. 

I joke around a lot too.  I will say to them,

“If you are a certified brain surgeon prior to your incarceration, you should have done a frontal lobotomy on yourself.  

If it worked, then you could have avoided prison all together.” 

 

Number Two: Find a good church, and hope it teaches the Bible.  

You will know in time where you belong.  Church attendance is not optional.  

Some pastors will know right away that you just exited prison.  So be it.  If they embrace you, that is good.  If they don’t, then dust off your shoes, and move on. 

Do not try and warm up to the shepherd who guards their flock.  Most are keen on wolves in sheep's clothing.  

Do not try and toot your horn to the pastor.  In time, they will know you are the real deal, and opportunity will knock for you to exercise your gifts from the Lord Jesus. 

You are an outsider to many congregation members once they find out where you have been.  

If you truly love Jesus and He is in command over your life, He will help you fit in.  

He will help you find a job too. 

 

Number Three: Keep your mouth shut.  

This involves leaving the tooting horn at home on Sunday morning and Wednesday evening.  

No one cares about the call of God on your life the first few months of attending a church.  Let God promote you.  You are not in charge of opportunities.  He is.

Case closed on this instruction. 

Sounds harsh?  

Well, my experience tells us everything needed to know about former inmates, offenders, or convicts (there are no politically correct words here), that find their way into the church house.

There is a vast difference in the three mentioned terms for former incarcerated people. 

Just know, without a long explanation, that the convict is the manipulator.  

“Women, watch your purses on Sunday morning.” 

 

When I pioneered our first of two churches from 2003-2007, the rules applied from the moment a man came into the church, just out of prison. I knew each of them personally.  

Of course, I invited these men to come.  

 

But there are rules in God’s House. 

I made them, with a gentle nudge, come and sit in the front row with me and my wife. They sit to my left, and then I sit next to them, with my wife to my right.  I do not let her stand during worship.  

There is a valid reason for this.  

I did not want them sitting in the middle or back of the church during worship, scheming, and eyeballing the women standing up and worshiping the Lord.  

I know what they are doing.  

I know what they are lusting after too. 

This keeps them accountable to me and to the church body.  

Church is not a place to look for a wife.  Neither is a bar.  

The point is, if they do not want to comply with me, then they can move on.  Prison life, and years behind bars causes a man to think a certain way.  Even if he loves Jesus, the lure to find drugs, a woman, and all the flesh issues they missed out on, exists from the moment they leave prison. 

Took one to know one.  

Me. 

If they could last one week in our church, then they would last for a long time.  

Most did not like my rules. 

 

The denomination I was involved in during this first church plant, was dogmatic about many things.  I did not fit into their mold.  

Therefore, I allowed a pastor to take over the ministry after two years, and I moved on.  Nothing is wrong with this.  I never agree to disagree.  

If I see doctrinal differences, or flat-out misnomers in the denomination, I will not tolerate compromise of God’s Word, and the preaching of it.  

I have no problem calling out stupidity.  

I do it with love, always. 

 “Hold fast the pattern of sound words which you have heard from me, in faith and love which are in Christ Jesus.  That good thing, which was committed to you, keep by the Holy Spirit who dwells in us.”

2nd Timothy 1:13-14

 What is said in these scriptures is basically Paul encouraging the young pastor Timothy to faithfully hold onto the true teaching he received.  

Paul taught him well.  Paul emphasized the importance of sound doctrine and the protection of God’s entrusted Truth through the Power of the Holy Spirit.  

Paul urges Timothy to “Guard the good deposit” that was entrusted to him.  

The Gospel Message. 

We must depend on the Holy Ghost and diligently study the Scriptures for ourselves.  This will enable us to guard the treasure of the Gospel which is always under attack. 

 

In Hebrews 10:22, the meaning of being cleansed from guilt and a bad conscience through the Blood of Christ, allows believers to approach God with a true, clean heart, and in full assurance of faith. 

This word also describes, having our hearts “sprinkled’ from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. 

The Old Testament uses “sprinkled,” as in blood sacrifices.  

The New Testament, provides the Blood of Jesus which is presented as the ultimate Sacrifice that cleanses believers from sin and guilt, enabling them to have a pure conscience. 

 

An evil conscience is always burdened with guilt. 

Men come out of prison, who I have watched grow up in their faith in Jesus; over many calendar years; they are sincere.  They do not need rules and regulations from me in how to behave in church.  

They also know, after hearing me preach for twenty plus years, that the same rules apply.  

Get out of prison.  Get a job.  Go to church.  Keep your mouth shut. 

They never forget, though some of them have been away from society for 20 and sometimes 30 years.  I have one man who got out last year, from a 30-year sentence. 

He told me that it took him two weeks to figure out a cell phone.  They didn’t have these mobile devices back in the day.  

Pay phones or land lines was the norm. 

 

Adapting to the free world is so much easier for most Christian men who have done time.  

They understand losing.  

They lost their families, friends, jobs, livelihoods and their freedom.  

All in one massive mistake.  

It cost them more than they wanted to pay.  But they had to.  

No choice. 

 

So many people who have never done prison time can never understand the mentality of a prisoner.  

They are not expected to.  They have never been behind bars.  

Thank God for that. 

But what about the steel around their hearts living a mundane existence?  

What about the dead-end job they have been working for the past 12 years?  

The marriage?  

The hopes?  

The everything? 

 

If anyone does not know Jesus as their Savior and working towards Him being the Lord and Master over their lives, they are in prison.  

They do not feel the steel and concrete.  They do not have to fight a fellow inmate weekly to survive.  

But they are fighting.  

 

They are fighting against complacency.  They war against joy and peace.  

Non-believers in Christ should have no hope.  It is the norm for those who seek truth and never find it.

 It is because He is the truth. Jesus said,

“I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life; no man comes to the Father, except by Me.”

John 14: 6

So, how long does a person wait?  

No Jesus.  Know Peace?  

How long must a person wait out their death sentence, while living for the weekend? 

How much longer is the same old same old, going to last? 

 

This is up to you.

 

 It is not the same old, same old, with Christ.  

Though it has been over 2,000 years since the Resurrection, it is never old.  It is new.  Every Spring, we celebrate. 

We should.  We must.  

It is our duty as Believers in Jesus Christ to celebrate Him, daily.  

Why wait for a holiday? 

Come out of your prison cell and never go back.  

You were your own Judge, Jury, and Executioner.  

Put down your gavel.  Release those 12 jurors now.  

The gallows will have to creak and groan another day.   

Just not for you.  

When you find the answer, you have been looking for all along, your death sentence is commuted.  

His Blood bought your pardon from death and the Hangman’s noose.

His Name is Jesus.  

Court is adjourned. You are found not guilty. You get to live another day.  

I hope you live it, for Jesus.  

Otherwise, the old cell door is still open.  

Run for your life.  It is worth the race.  

No sense in walking to death. 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

 

Costume Jewelry

                                                       

 

Good Ole’ Granny. 

Boy, did my grandmother reflect the essence of the word “gaudy.” 

Heavy, shiny, and overdone was the jewelry she wore.  If it was a Sunday-go-to-meeting event at her church, then add more weight to her sagging earlobes with a hunk of her costume jewelry.  That was Granny. 

Thank God for Granny and her prayers for me. 

The following account of my time with her became prophetic.  It is a bitter-sweet time. 

Me, two days after being released on bond at Granny’s apartment, March 1975.

 

I was out on a $250,000 bond from Dallas County, Texas.  My Uncle, Grandmother’s son, helped me get out of jail in early March of 1975. 

I had committed my first attempted murder, to come into my pathetic, drug-addicted life. 

I spent time in the Dallas County Jail from December 27th of 1974, through early March of 1975, before the bond could be issued.  Part of my bond was where I was to live.  Granny’s apartment became my dwelling place.  My job was at a machine shop, 30 minutes away from the apartment I shared with my dear Grandmother. 

Every Sunday morning, even though I was hungover from booze and Meth, she dragged me out of bed to go to church with her.  I remember her saying, “Joseph, get up.  It is Sunday-go-to-meeting-time.  Hurry up, Grandson.” 

Sometimes, she had to physically pull my ear to get me to get up.  Ouch. 

While in the service at her Baptist Church, I would listen with deaf ears.  Yes, deaf to anything spiritual back then.  I was a maniac, and she knew it. 

Bless her heart, she tried to cope with an insane drug addict. 

Me. 

The old preacher would come out and begin his sermon.  I was surprised (in my mind then) that he did not need sunglasses to block out the bright lights coming from all the purple and grey-haired folks in the congregation.  Seriously.  I was the only young person there.  All elderly.  All purple or grey hair. 

I saw all of this and really didn’t care.  I was there for Granny, not me. 

Little did I know, later in life, that being at this Baptist Church would have such an impact on me, prior to finally ending up in prison.  If only I would have had real ears to hear with.  I would not have ended up in prison, had I taken a simple step. 

The Pastor would give his message, which I totally ignored.  Then, when he was done, he would grab the chair behind him and maneuver it to the front next to his pulpit. 

He would then say with a booming preacher voice,

“If there is anyone here, anyone at all, who does not know the Lord Jesus as your Savior and Lord, I encourage you to come up and sit in this chair. I would be honored to pray for you.  Please come?” 

His appeal was strong on me. 

The Holy Spirit (didn’t know this back then) was bringing heavy conviction to my wicked heart.  I stood up, like everyone else in the crowd, during this invitation to be prayed for. 

The cloth pew in front of me, as I stood became my victim.  I dug my fingernails into the cloth as I leaned my weight on the wood and cloth of the pew lean-back. 

 I dug in so hard; I tore the cloth. 

I wanted to go sit in that chair.  I needed to sit in that chair.  God needed me to respond, and I ignored it all.  Only anger replaced conviction. 

The costume jewelry that Granny wore reflected the fake life I was living. 

The weight of her earrings was heavy, just like the heaviness of my sin upon my young, 18-year-old life of addiction and insanity. 

“If anyone among you thinks he is religious and does not bridle his tongue but deceives his own heart, this one’s religion is useless.”

“Pure and undefiled religion before God and the Father is this; to visit orphans and widows in their trouble, and to keep oneself unspotted from the world.” 

 James 1:26-27.

Coupled with this scripture, is in this same chapter,

"For if anyone is a hearer of the Word, and not a doer, he is like a man observing his natural face in a mirror; for he observes himself, goes away, and immediately forgets what kind of man he was.” 

Verse 24, James 1.

I quote these for a reason. 

Number One: I was a fake person, all along. 

I was like that jewelry Granny wore. 

Not real.  Never to be authentic. 

Shines, yes.  But it was not a genuine article.  Counterfeit living.  I didn’t visit any orphans or widows in their troubles.  I was the orphan in need of a visit by Jesus.  I ignored the voice and pulling or drawing of the Holy Spirit in that Baptist church in Richardson, Texas.  It was just North of Dallas. 

I was about to be orphaned fully once I got to prison.  But for those Sunday mornings, I had a chance.  Like Jonah, I was running to Tarshish, instead of Ninevah. 

Was I to get a second chance, like Jonah? 

Time would tell.  In prison, I had lots of time to think. 

I observed myself in a mirror.  I was a drug addict.  Eyes sunk back into my skull.  Hard shell, for sure.  The hard headedness was pale, in comparison to my wicked, hard, concrete heart. 

 

Number Two, I had forgotten what kind of man (young man) I was.  Why? 

I forgot, because there was nothing to remember. 

I was not a man.  I was an 18-year-old, broken-hearted boy, who had a multitude of issues. 

You can’t remember something you never were. 

No memory loss there.  Just no memory. 

The best thing that ever happened to me were those Sundays with Granny. 

That preacher did preach God’s Word, though I did not listen with spiritual ears then.  The Word of God never comes back void, without any fruit attached.  The issue was me and my ability to produce anything good. 

No fruit yet, but it would come inside of a maximum-security prison, soon to be in my young future. 

1st John1: 6-10.  "If we say we have fellowship with Him, and walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth.  But if we walk in the Light as He is in the Light, we have fellowship with one another, and the Blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanses us from all sin.”

 

It was not God who sent me to prison. 

I sent myself there. 

How? 

I rejected Christ in the Baptist church. 

My sin took me further than I wanted to go, and it did cost me more than I was willing to pay.  It is called, reaping what I had sown. 

I needed cleansing from the inside out.  I needed hope, in a hopeless place called prison.  Not just any prison.  The “Gladiator Farm,” called Ferguson Unit, in 1976.  “Horrible” does not describe this criminal, insane asylum. 

I need His cleansing. 

I needed His light, to burn away my darkness of sin. 

His Blood did both. 

It began the healing process in my wicked heart. 

One beat at a time. 

What costume jewelry do you wear, that is not seen by anyone outwardly? 

Are they earrings of emotional suicide? 

Is it, perhaps, a broach of bitterness? 

Maybe, it has elements of shiny stones in it. 

It can be a necklace. 

One of many strands of fake pearls. 

Possibly, the necklace you wear in your spirit is really a hangman's noose.  I suggest you untie it and throw it away. 

It is costume jewelry, and worthless. 

 

The problem is, so many people consider the fake as real.  They substitute the truth for a lie.  We sometimes, not wanting to, become complacent and bitter. 

The Blood of Jesus can fix all of this. 

 

Good Ole’ Granny. 

I found out from her daughter, years later, after she passed into eternity, a truth.  My dear, Aunt Wanda told me the truth about what happened when I lived with her in 1975-1976. 

“Joseph,” she said to me, “my mother did not eat for days when you lived there with her.  It was not her choice.  She could not afford to feed you and feed herself. 

She took you to church in her 1973 Chevrolet Vega, with no gasoline in the tank.  She drove, by faith, to see her Grandson in church. 

She was forced, because of hunger, to fast, unwillingly, for you.  She prayed a lot for you Joe.  She told me while you were in prison, that she spoke in tongues all night long for you.  She loved you.  More importantly, she wanted the love of Jesus to love you more. “

 

After my aunt told me this, I was floored. 

Not because of guilt or shame of how I put her through so much hell living with her back then.  I was an ungrateful grandson.  I could not help myself in my addiction.  She never really pressured me to do anything except go to work, stay out of trouble, and go to church with her. 

I never realized back then that she was losing weight because of me. 

Yes, fasting helps with weight loss.  Granny only weighed 80 pounds before I moved in with her.  She did not need a weight loss program called: a selfish grandson. 

She must have weighed 60 pounds when we went to church the last time before I left her and did my last attempted murder. 

She never frowned in her weight loss.  She sang hymns most every day we were together. 

Especially in the evening, after I was off work. 

She never complained about being hungry.  She smiled the whole day long.  Yes, smiled in her hunger.  Her true hunger was to see her Grandson Joe, saved. 

My Aunt Wanda told me that, when the news came to her that I had received Christ as my Savior in 1977, while still in prison, she wept. 

Wanda was with her mother that day when this news came. 

Wanda told me that she collapsed on to the rug. 

With her face in the fibers of the rug, weeping and Glorifying Jesus. 

Her kneeling bench in the apartment I lived in with her was in the closet.  In her room late at night, I would holler for her, and she did not answer right away. 

I hollered because I was hungry.  She would eventually come out of her room and cook me something. 

All the while, humming a song.  Another hymn. 

I selfishly ate my food in my room, away from this tongue-talking Granny and her two poodle dogs, Sissy and Papa. 

Granny.  Good ole Grandmother. 

Her costume jewelry was fake.  So be it. 

Her prayers were real though.  They did get answered in God’s timing. 

His timing is always perfect.  He is the Lord Our God who heals us. 

I never knew she spent hours in her prayer closet with a kneeling bench. 

I did remember one thing.   
 

She rubbed ointment on her knees every evening, watching Ed Sullivan reruns. 

Her aged knees hurt.  Not from old age. 

But from praying for her Grandson. 

Me. 

Her prayers worked. 

No costume jewelry here. 

 Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Crossroads and Crosshairs

                                                 

 

We have all come to a dead-end road at times in this thing called life. 

Can’t stop and turn around.  It is a dead end, not a crossroad.  Can’t turn left or right either. 

Crossroads are intended for us to decide in life, whether it be for anything involving our future. 

Like a car at a T- intersection with a stop sign only at our end.  Not on the road ahead of us.  Left or right turn only.  Of course, you can stop, looking for both ways to be safe in traffic. 

 

Not talking about cars.  I am talking about you and me in our decisions in life. 

 

Pondering the turn, we need to make it critical to try and hear from the Lord about our decisions.  We will make mistakes and turn left instead of right.  This is life. 

A learning lesson about how to grow and to learn what “not” to do the next time. 

My whole life has been about choices. 

 

In the “crossroads” of life is also a thing called the “crosshairs.”  

Not in a scope on a rifle as most would think.  It is the being able to look through the lens of God’s Word, to pinpoint in the crosshairs the exact meaning of the Word, to be able to make a good decision. 

Most of us do not pray about our decisions. 

We just go with the flow, or we do this or that cause Daddy did it.  Or the fellow who we looked up to did it.  Or our peers did it. 

What about how God feels when we do not include Him in our decision making? 

 

Does He feel left out? 

 

Well, to say God is not human is an understatement. 

He does, however, feel. 

The Holy Spirit is easily grieved when we sin, of course.  But He also grieves too when we do not let Him in on our decision-making process. 

 

What is this process? 

Number One: Stop. 

Number Two: look at the decision, and do the pros and con’s dissecting the possible outcome. 

Still, after this, we do not know for sure how our decision will turn out.  This is called faith. 

 

Faith is a substance.  A tangible feel, and a real power in operation towards an outcome.  Hopefully an outcome to benefit the one who is having the faith to start with.   

 

Crosshairs. 

Definition: None, Biblically. 

So, I will give you, my definition.  The Cross of Calvary means sacrifice, service, and suffering.  Jesus suffered.  At times in our life, we have suffered too.  Does not mean it is in vain.  Jesus did not die in vain. 

He died so we could live. 

Figuratively, it signifies being directly targeted or focused on, much like the way a gun’s crosshairs pinpoint a target.  It can be interpreted as a metaphor for being under intense scrutiny or facing potential danger, often with negative connotations related to judgment or persecution.  Essentially, “in the crosshairs" means being the center of attention, often with negative implications. 

Yes, that was a lot. 

But this intense scrutiny on your part has to include the Lord Jesus. 

Notice that the word crosshairs has the word “Cross” in it. 

 

The Cross of Jesus Christ on Calvary. 

 

Since we have given our lives over to being a follower of Jesus, we are in the crosshairs of an enemy who wants to destroy, kill, and steal our lives away. 

Satan has you and I in his crosshairs to kill you.  His weapons are not carnal either.  They are spiritual. 

Deceit, lies, misinformation, and counterfeit ideas bombard our minds. 

 

Once we give over to a negative thought like, “I am a failure, I am a “no- good -for- nothing,” then we open the door for lies to come to invade, take over, and destroy the Word of God in us. 

We did not intend this to happen, but circumstances dictated the pain.  Loss of a friend.  Failing in a job or school.  Letting down those around us.  Just plain making mistakes. 

Mistakes are not forever.  We have all done our share.  The mistakes we make should not dictate our future.  Our future is built on learning from our mistakes.  They should never rule us. 

Now, the center of attention, regarding crosshairs, spiritually. 

 

Jesus, our Savior and Lord (as we mature in the things of God), will never change His mind about us.  He is the one who saved us by the power of the Holy Ghost revealing Himself to us. 

 

Martin Luther said, “If I profess with the loudest voice and clearest exposition, every portion of the truth of God, except that point which the world and the Devil at that moment attacking, I am not confessing Christ, however boldly I may be professing Christ.  Where the battle rages, there, and only there, the loyalty of the soldier be proved; and to be steady on all the battlefield besides is mere flight and disgrace if he flinches at that point.” 

 

The battlefield is not the place to flinch.  The war we are in is spiritual. 

Know your weapons.  God’s weapons never run out of ammunition. 

We need to put Christ in the crosshairs of our daily living.  This is not enough at times. 

We pray.  We attend Bible studies.   We are actively involved in our church and do outside ministry.  We are gifted by God.  To preach and teach.  Or we worship or play piano or drums. 

 

 

We have gifts given to us by GOD, and the enemy of your soul wants to deceive you into thinking you cannot do things right.  The failure mentality comes in again to lie to you. 

Subtly at times. 

 

Case in point, my personal story:

Before the Lord healed my broken heart, I was driving down the highway with my future bride to be (someday, if I could get my life together) on the Banfield Highway in Portland, Oregon.  The year was 1993. 

I said, with my own words, “I feel like a failure.  I feel like a no-good-for-nothing.” 

 

She promptly assured me; “no, you are not.” 

I did not like her response, even though she meant it in love for the Lord.  I ignored it and got upset over it. 

I have proven, over and over in my life, that I have failed, I am a failure. 

Can’t deny facts. 

 

I was in prison.  I failed at marriage before.  I was an addict before I met Jesus in prison.  I could not keep a job.  I drove ratty cars.  I had no money.  My health was not too good.  I had Hepatitis C, asthma, and some brain damage from all the drugs in the 1970’s. 

Failure. 

So, I dropped her off and went home. 

 

I managed an adult Senior Citizen Apartment Complex in Portland at this time. 

That evening, after my meltdown on the freeway, one of the ladies who lived there called me in my office.   

“Joe, can you take me to church tonight?”  I answered, yes. 

Well, when it came time to go, it started snowing.  She called me back and informed me to cancel because she did not want to get on slick roads.  She said, “Joe, if you want to go, it is in Milwaukie,” (a suburb of Portland not too far from where I lived and worked). 

“You will enjoy it.” 

I hung up the phone and the Holy Spirit demanded I go.  “But Lord,’ I said, “I have a church I am going to, and I do not want to go to her church.” 

“GO,” He said. 

So, I lost that argument with the Lord.  I always did. 

I showed up.  I sat in the back of this small church building, just in case the people started handling snakes and chanting.

 I wanted to be near the exit door. 

A preacher came out.  A guest speaker.  He was a real prophet named Ed.  He was from South Africa.  He is a white man with an accent. 

He preached.  Did an altar call.  Many people got saved.  He prayed for individuals’ personal issues. He prayed for those who came up for healing and deliverance. 

This was all great, until he stopped and began to walk out into the crowd after praying for all who were at the altar. 

First, he called out to an entire family. 

“Stand up, please.” 

Dad, Mother, and the two children stood up.  He began to speak the oracles of God to them.  A Word from the Most High. 

All four family members fell to their knees, children included, and wept as the Lord used him to speak hope to their lives. 

I am in the back, sweating spiritual bullets, because I was trying to convince myself by mumbling to myself, “I am okay, God.  You are okay, God, so all is well.” 

 

No, it was not well with my soul, and I was lying to myself again, like almost every day of my pathetic Christian life back then. 

 

As I tried to ignore this man of God, he finally came towards me. 

After prophesying over several men, women, and children, he passed by me where i was sitting in the back.  No snakes here.  Just me and my slithering thoughts and belly to the ground mentality. 

I could feel the tangible power of God coming from this Man of God who was about four feet from me at this time. 

It was electric, powerful, and anointed.  I had been in meetings like this at our home church, but not quite like this night. 

 

He passed me by. 

No word from God for Joe. 

I wiped my forehead with my hand and said to myself, “Whew, escaped a bullet.” 

 

Suddenly, as he was headed back to the pulpit, with his back to me, he stopped abruptly.  Turned around and stared at me. 

 

“You, Sir,” (pointing at me with a finger that seemed to be four foot long) “have been in trouble.  You have been in trouble, and it did not take God by surprise what you went through.  It was not a coincidence what happened to you.  You did it to yourself.  You did it.  Without the devil’s help, you did it because you were stubborn and rebellious.  But you made it through, okay?” 

 

(At this point I knew it was God speaking through a man to me personally.  It was like God was replaying a video of my past to this anointed man of God).

 

He continued, “You need to bury your past, bury it once and for all, for you are not the same man now like you used to be, okay?  Bury it, bury your past.”  

(Then he stopped for a moment and took off his glasses, put his face into both hands and began to weep.) 

He said with tears, “I see you needed a father’s love, boy did you need a father’s love, and God wants you to know tonight, He is your Daddy, and He loves you unconditionally.  He is with you night and day, okay?” 

He continued.  “You have always picked the wrong women in your past, YUK,” (he said loudly) “But God has given you the woman of God now, and she will help you.” 

(Then the clincher happened).

 

“YOU are NOT a FAILURE, YOU are NOT A “NO GOOD-FOR-NOTHING” because you have it all inside of you, okay?  Be assured of His Love for you.” 

 

That was it.  I was fried. 

Weeping, but not gnashing my teeth.  (Needed some dental work for sure).

 

The very words I said out loud to my future bride that very day on the Banfield freeway.

“I feel like a failure and a no-good-for-nothing.” 

 

Wow, God was not using my own words against me. 

He was letting those words I had said that day to be repeated so I would realize just HOW close HE is to us, and HOW HE hears every word we say, or think. 

 

I left with a cassette copy from the sound man of this prophesy and went home. Listened to it over and over as I wept tears. 

Eventually, I did bury my past, but the main thing is this: 

I was at a crossroads in my life that evening in that “snake- less” church.  I was the reptile in my heart.  Full of poison and venom and hissing. God sent me on a new path seeking answers from this crossroads event at that church.  Timing.  God’s timing.  God became my Daddy that day.  Boy, did I need a father’s love. 

I did not want my Daddy to be murdered when I was eighteen years old.  It happened, and I can’t bring him back.  But now, I have the best Dad ever. 

 

God had me in HIS crosshairs that night. 

 He scoped me in. 

Pulled the trigger with Words from a prophet. 

The bullets hit my heart.  I did not bleed to death. 

I lived to death. 

Till death do us part. 

My dead things in my heart died that night. 

 

One word from God can change a man or woman’s life.  Even children. 

Everyone. 

 Including YOU. 

 Perhaps today is your day to bury your past. 

 It is under the Blood of Jesus, if you will let it be. 

It belongs in a grave with those old, nasty snakes. 

Right? 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

A Second Chance God

                                                   

We only have one life to live here on Earth, and only one opportunity to do it right. 

Despite our failures, disappointments and trials, we still must live this life. 

Only one chance. 

God has a specific plan for us, if we will figure that out before we get too old to do the plan.   

When we became a Christian, some of us said, “Well, I don’t know if I want to do the Lord’s Will completely.  I might spoil something for my life that is waiting for me.   I might miss out on something valuable while doing His Will for my life.” 

We have not said this verbally, but have we thought it in our hearts.  I want to do my thing first, then I will do His will for my life. 

Before we knew it, we were old.  Too old to turn back the clock on Father Time. 

We will leave stuff behind in our life, but the only thing that will truly last is what we did for Christ. 

Revelation 14:13 declares:  *And I heard a voice from heaven say, “Write this:  ‘Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.  Yes,’ says the Spirit, ‘they will rest from their labor, for their deeds will follow them.’” 

Our deeds we left on earth will last. 

Prayerfully our Godly deeds, instructions, and service to the Lord will carry on in those we love. 

 

Jonah had a second chance to do things right. 

He blew his first opportunity to do God’s Will.  He was supposed to go to Nineveh and preach.  He ran to Tarshish and fled the Lord. 

Like we can run from God? 

After his belly of the fish experience, He repented. 

Look at details with me. 

He did not go down the big fish’s blow hole if it were, indeed, a whale species.  He did not get chewed up by the great fish.  Jonah was swallowed. 

 Now, there are only two ways out.  Since he did not end up in the fish’s lungs from the blow hole, he was going out either through the digestion of the fish or be vomited up. 

Jonah 3: 1-2: *Now the word of the Lord came to Jonah the second time, saying, Arise, go to Nineveh, that great city, and preach to it the message that I tell you. 

Good news. 

God was still speaking to Jonah even after he was spit up on the beach from the great fish. 

(Wonder if he showered first before talking to a Holy God)?

Jonah arose and did what God said do.  Preach. 

Some scholars and theologians say the entire town was saved.  Some 120,000 people.  All. 

Sounds like a second chance for Jonah and for the thousands of people who needed to repent. 

Perhaps this was the only second chance Jonah would get.  And maybe the people too.    

Only God knows how many chances we will get to do His will and do it right. 

 Maybe one.  Two, who knows? 

I would not risk, in this Russian roulette game of testing God, while under conviction to do something the first time. 

May not get a second chance and find yourself an old man or woman. 

Old and out of the presence of the Most High. 

 

I had my second chance. 

 It was 1977 when I gave my heart to Jesus while in prison in Texas.  I was saved.  Baptized in the Holy Ghost too. 

I left prison in the Will of God but found that I had fallen short soon after leaving prison. 

(Should have stayed in prison and grew up in the Lord by doing another felony in prison, which would have ensured my release date would be extended).  Not a chance.  I hated picking cotton. 

At least I would not have fallen away so quickly.   

I still had on spiritual diapers, and they needed changing.   I stunk in the presence of God.  I needed a bottle to stay nourished as a baby in Christ, but what I was feeding myself was only making my diaper soiled. 

I was becoming dependent on a mother figure to feed and change me who did not exist, except in my mind.  No nurturing, because I failed to read my Bible and pray as much as I needed to. 

I didn’t mature at all. 

Jonah.  Good ole’ Jonah. 

The name Jonah means “dove” in Hebrew, but Jonah’s character and attitude was anything but dove-like the first time the Lord told him to go to Nineveh. 

Like me, Jonah was more like a turkey-vulture.  Eating dead things and looking like an overstuffed gobbler, with an ugly demeanor.  No one would have me for Thanksgiving dinner, no matter how long they deep fried my carcass.   

 

I would have tasted and smelled of a thing called “pig-pen mentality, and hog-trough attitude.”  Ask the prodigal son what that was like.  He can give you a first-hand account.  At least he had enough courage to go home to his father and repent.  I did not. 

 

So, in 1991 I had a close encounter of the blue kind.  The PO-lice. 

In Oregon City, Oregon I was pulled over two blocks from my home. 

Understand that I was not living for the Lord and was on my 12th year of miserable living. 

Backslidden. 

I had things in my car that were illegal.  I will leave that to the archives of my criminal record.  It is all under the Blood of Jesus, but not off the police data bases. 

The cop had every right to arrest me. 

How do I know this?  “Thanks for asking, I will tell you.” 

He took 14 minutes in his car deciding on my future incarceration, based upon my history of attempted murder on a police officer. 

And the fact I had things in my car that were illegal.  Not illegal in Oregon now.  You can buy this stuff at any local store today. 

Knowing when the traffic stop, and my history and current issues, take this long, I am in trouble.  I feel like I am going to jail for the first time since my release from prison.  It had been 14 years since my release, and I did not want to see razor wire or eat jail food again. 

Never.

 

So, I had me a “Jonah in the belly moment” with Jesus.  I was smelling the stench of my sin, like Jonah was smelling the acids in the belly of the great fish. 

The moorings of the mountains have let me down.  The earth with its bars (memory of prison and jail bars) closed behind me forever.  Jonah 2:6 

These were my thoughts as I sat in my car with the red and blue lights of the police were parked behind me.  I am still awaiting my fate. 

I prayed a prayer. 

 

“Lord, I know I have not talked to you in over 14 years.  My address has changed several times, but you never change.  Please, if you get me out of this mess, I will never go back to the vomit of my sin.  In Jesus name, Amen.” 

 

All I heard from the Holy Ghost to my heart was, “OKAY?”  The “okay” was conditional.  I knew what He meant.  I was not playing “let's make a deal with God.” 

I meant what I prayed.  The feeling of God’s condition, if I could describe it, would be:

 

“OKAY Joe, I will rescue you again, but, if you do not do what I say, from now on, I will find another fish for you to spend time with.  Understood?” 

 

Suddenly, no more than a half of a second when I said Amen to my prayer, the police officer opened his door, ran up to me with my license, insurance paper, and registration, and threw them in my lap while my driver’s window was down. 

He said, “I have an emergency call, a more important call to get to.  Get home Mr. Wilkins.  He drove off with his lights and sirens blazing. 

I knew what he meant when he said to get home. 

In other words, get rid of the stuff in your car and I do not ever want to see you again “meaning.” 

I went home, disposed of all my junk and moved on. 

 

That promise I made the Lord stuck.  I grew up.  I got rid of the dirty diapers and pull-ups I had been wearing.  I started to eat proper food.  Bread of Life, and His Word was my diet. 

I cast off all my insecurities I could at this time and began evangelizing everywhere. 

I was in my own Nineveh world. 

Preaching everywhere I went.  At work.  At the park.  At the pizza parlor and beyond. 

I never went ever again to Tarshish.  I did what Jonah did.  I repented. 

 I had my “second chance” with the Lord Jesus.  I stopped playing Russian Roulette with the God of the Universe. 

No guns.  No bullets. 

No putting one bullet in and spinning the chamber. 

No putting the barrel to my temple and pulling the trigger. 

In hopes I would get a third, fourth, fifth or “BANG” chance. 

No more for me.  I was done. 

You could have put a fork in me and called me tender.  I am ready now for Thanksgiving.  I was a good turkey for Jesus.  I didn’t smell like sin anymore. 

 

So, throw away the things that so easily destroy you. 

Get up, untie your ropes around your neck. The noose around your life should never be swinging with you in it, ever, never again. 

 SO, help me Jesus.  So, help me, Jonah. 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

 

Spiritual Overkill and Overseer

                                               

 

“Was the Cross that held Jesus, who died for Mankind's sin, considered overkill for all the evil sins people commit?”   

Most of the people in the world, do not need God, to see for themselves all the evil in the world. 

Some people are confused about God, and why He sent His only begotten Son, Jesus, to die.  They sometimes, even innocently, justify their lives without thinking that they are sinners, by claiming that God is not just.   

 

First, we have ALL sinned and fallen short of God’s Glory.  Romans 3:23. 

Just because a person is not evil in their own eyes, does not void their need for forgiveness from the Cross.  90% of mankind are not killers, rapists, thieves, or malicious sinners. 

God does not categorize sins by severity.  We have all sinned. 

All means, all people. 

People can say, “I do not need God because I am not that bad.” 

Or “I am a good person, and I try to help others and do good things.” 

“For by grace you have been saved, (by Jesus dying) through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast.” Ephesians 2: 8-9. 

Some would argue, “I certainly don’t see how an innocent person, especially a child, dying a horrible death, somehow makes my wrongs right in the sight of God.”   

 

How do I make sense of this seemingly twisted justice system by God, and understand why I need Jesus to forgive me?” 

People do not feel comfortable, to put it mildly, with hell or with the Cross of Christ.  I would state this problem like this: Where God is small and man is big, hell will be abhorrent, indeed, absurd, and the Cross will be foolishness. 

The most telling thing about this question posed is that the conception of evil can never be big enough to make sense of a place called hell.  Or the Cross. 

 

The question defines evil only in relation to what harms a man, not what demeans God. 

 

Most would say, “I do not see myself as an evil person.” 

Are they wicked and utterly depraved?  No.  They are still in need of forgiveness by a loving God who sent His Son to die for their sins. 

Not their evil.  That belongs to Lucifer.  The Devil is the fallen one. 

 

I am getting to the spiritual overkill issue soon. 

 

Suppose there is no God, and this question of evil versus good, and sin, is just not real. 

Adolf Hitler was then, according to the notion that there is no God; super successful in His killing the Jews.  Correct?  (Not real success as the world defines a life worth living).

I am not saying people lean that far to evil. But what if, since there is no God, we (like Adolf) had the power and influence to kill all the people of Africa?  We have already killed millions of Jews.  We kill all who live in China too.  India.  South America, and so on. 

So, we have succeeded in killing around seven billion people. 

 

Would I then deserve eternal punishment in Hell? 

My answer to this issue is no.  For two reasons. 

If there is no God in this scenario, then we are just simply a complex, material, and chemical animal.  Not human with soul and spirit.  There is no right from wrong in this explanation.     

Second, and most importantly, in this point is this: I would not deserve an infinitely long punishment, because seven billion murders are still finite.  A limited number of all these limited crimes does not deserve any punishment. 

When God is left out, there is no way to have justice in an infinite crime deserving of an endless punishment like hell or the Cross. They would simply be unjust. 

So, this overkill analogy is just that. 

 

Overkill in justifying our sin, and rebellion against God who did create the Heavens and the earth.  First, we must believe this, or the rest is nil to our hearts.  People inherently know right from wrong in their conscience and ignore the feeling they have when they rebel. 

Sin is rebellion.  Rebellion against the God who created us.   

Today’s world has watered down sin.  Hollywood movies and shows depict husbands cheating on their wives as if their behavior were normal.  Violence in the movies is extreme.  Fist fighting is not real.  No man on this earth can get hit in the jaw with the sound effects used in movies, over, and over, and over again. 

 

This is not real life.  I ought to know.  Once in the jaw and you are finished.  Prison life for me proved that fact.  Not fiction from a Western movie. 

Most good people who are not Christ followers, think they are safe from an eternal damnation because they are good.  Jesus Christ died for all mankind, making Himself of no reputation.  He died, so everyone could live. 

Yet, our ignorance of His Word becomes our overkill attitude and belief system.  

 We do not believe we are wrong at all in our understanding.  Wise in our own eyes.  Isaiah 5:20-21 declares, “Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; Who put darkness for light, and light for darkness; Who put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!  Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes, and prudent in their own sight.”   

This passage in Isaiah goes on to say that “Because they have rejected the law of the Lord of hosts and despised the word of the Holy One of Israel,” this alone causes the anger of the Lord to be aroused against His people.” 

Aroused is not judgment yet.  Israel found out the hard way. 

It is God and His awareness of everything we do and speak.  He sees all.  He knows all.   

Is our complacency and ignorance of God and His Word become common in our hearts?  Does it seem easier to ignore any punishment now and pretend there are no consequences for our actions?

We reap what we sow.  This eternal law from the Most High applies to everyone, not just Christians. 

This is why, “for those who are without Christ as Savior, feel that the preaching of the Gospel is foolishness.  But to us who are saved, it is the Power of God.”  1st Corinthians 1:18. 

“Well, if there was and is a God, why do good people die or get abused?” 

Sin, and the decay of this world and its people is obvious. 

 

Since the Garden of Eden to today, sin has caused the original order of God to become disorder, daily.  From good to evil, and from order to disorder.  It is called spiritual decay.  Without Christ in mankind's heart, they will all surely die.   

“Evil takes over when good men do nothing.” 

(A misunderstood quote associated with no proof of who actually said it). 

The silence of good men is not the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil.  The advancing evil, whether in command or the rank-and-file, must be strong and determined; and the lukewarm must be either cowed (causes someone to be intimidated) into submission, or willing to go along because the evil seems to prosper.   

(Remember, we battle not with flesh and blood).

 

Overkill: excessive use, treatment, or action; too much of something.  The amount by which destruction or the capacity for destruction exceeds what is necessary to win or finish. 

We know evil comes from Satan, and people are used in evil tasks.  This is spiritual overkill to blame everything on demons, or devils, or people, without understanding it is an absolute spiritual war.  War is violent and deadly with many casualties. 

This war we are in is spiritual.  And we must fight with spiritual weapons.  Prayer and intercession do work.  Prayer is a sweet-smelling aroma in the nostrils of God.  Our conduct and behavior that pleases the Lord gives Him pleasure like the sweet smell of Springtime. 

 

The best example I know of overkill in the demonic sense, or with pre-conceived outcomes, is myself.  I knew my behavior was leading to destruction.  I did not care.  I wanted to be the way I was.  I did not need any help in becoming an addict. 

The year 1974 was the beginning of the end for me.  Drug addiction changes a person mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.  I was physically sick all the time as well.  Drug use and abuse opens the door to demonic oppression and demonic possession. 

My $200.00 a day Meth habit, brought with it, demonic possession. 

At least in my case. 

I can only speak to what I did, and how Jesus Christ set me free. 

Once I found out my mother had liver cancer and was going to die, when I was 14 years old, I wanted an escape from this current and future pain. 

Not her pain.  My pain from watching my mom slowly die. 

The results of my seven-year demonic drug use landed me in prison for two attempted murders. 

Fast forward.  I receive Jesus as my Savior, and Lord while in prison in 1977. Jesus set me free from the demonic strongholds on the day of my Salvation in prison.  (No vomiting up demons with a tail and pitchfork).  

No screaming out the demons either.  My release from the demons was a combination of the Holy Spirit purging my soul and releasing me from the demons in my entire being. 

 

What did I feel?  What was it like? 

Example: I had a festering carbuncle near my knee when I was 12 years old.  The doctor deadened the area around it and then lanced it open.  What started out as a small, puss-filled bump, was much more than that.  When the doctor removed it, there was a one-inch root attached to the bump.  It had seeds on the root.  The dead flesh, coupled with the blood and puss, gushed out during the removal. 

As gross as this sounds, this is how I felt spiritually and physically, when the demons left me.  I felt no pain or any physical sensations because the Holy Spirit is love immaculate.  Once the spiritual tentacles left me, pulled up from the root of evil, I was filled with the Holy Spirit and true PEACE.   This overwhelmed my soul and spirit.  

No physical blood, or puss, or seeds.  Zero evil remained.  My spirit was free and began to function with love instead of hatred. 

I was baptized in the Holy Ghost, (with one of the pieces of evidence) of this Acts Chapter Two experience.  A new language, foreign to me, bubbled out of my spirit.  This new Heavenly language became my new prayer life.  Acts 2:4 reference: “And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance.”   

Moments after my conversion to Christ, I was experiencing God’s Power (the second piece of evidence) in my 21 years old life.  I was young, but knew I was changing with the Lord Jesus being the ONE who does the changing. 

I did not see the inmates around me any longer as criminals.  I saw potential believers in Jesus like me. 

God knew I needed His power to overcome my past and present prison circumstances.  He eventually healed my broken heart from my mom dying. 

And, three years later after she was gone, my Daddy was murdered. 

The drug addictions and my broken heart were what led me to prison to begin with. 

 

Now, the good news. 

Some 18 years ago, around 2007, I took a trip to Costa Rica and Nicaragua.  I had been preaching in prisons since 1992, but this trip was about to prove to me this issue of Spiritual Overkill. 

But in a beautiful, loving way that only Jesus Christ could have orchestrated. 

We arrive in San Jose, Costa Rica for the first leg of a 9-day sprint all over Central Latin America. 

The great anointed “Overkill” did not happen in Costa Rica, but Nicaragua. 

Once we landed in Managua, the capital of this once devastated city, the preaching began. 

 

Backstory. 

A horrible 6.2 magnitude earthquake in 1972 destroyed this Capital City.  Besides killing up to 10,000 people and displacing 250,000 more, the earthquake flattened a five-square-mile radius of the city from downtown outwards.  All skyscrapers gone in an instant.  Everywhere was flattened. 

Extremely filthy, shantytowns encompassed the central district, where refugees lived in conditions of grinding poverty. 

We are preaching to poor people.  Beyond poor.  Though it had been 35 years since the earthquake, people still live in desperate, devastated conditions in 2007. 

On the last night of our revival meeting near downtown Managua, I was asked by my mentor to preach the last event for the week. 

He anointed me with oil prior to preaching.  We have it on film.   He grabbed my face with anointing oil dripping off his hands (symbolic of the Holy Spirit,) I flew backwards with my feet off the ground around 9 feet.  My body hit a row of empty metal chairs and knocked them over. 

On film, it captured this supernatural event. I was on the dirt ground for about 5 minutes.  All during this time, I was in the Spirit of God.  Not a vision.  I was just in His Presence. 

When I was helped up by fellow ministers, my grey slacks were riddled with oil, dirt, and new wrinkles.  No humility needed now.  I was about to preach to over 500 people in a grass field.  I could have cared less how I looked.  I was more concerned about the power of God I just felt and expected it to continue as I approached the stage to preach. 

Boy, did it continue.

With all these people, men, women, and children staring on, I began my message. Most were sitting on the ground, because there were not enough chairs there to accommodate the crowd. 

I began, with my interpreter, “I am not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God unto Salvation, to them that believe, first the Jew and then the Greek.”  Romans 1:16. 

No applause.  No movement. No Amen’s. 

This was unusual, because there were believers in Jesus, scattered in the crowd too.  I was not looking for any applause or movement or Amen’s.  This culture behaves differently than in America. 

This is simply painting the picture of what was about to happen. 

I asked the crowd after my opening scripture reference, “What do you believe in?  Or better yet, who do you believe in?” 

I preached about the one lost sheep being rescued and brought back.  The 99 left behind, for the ONE.   Matthew 18:12-13. 

I did the invitation, and several hundred, came up to receive Jesus as their Savior. 

What happened next was supernatural, and a sign and wonder to all who saw what God was doing in the field. 

Our team consisted of me, my interpreter, my fellow evangelist who anointed me with oil earlier, and four more ministers. 

After the Salvation prayer, we prayed for the sick and afflicted. 

With an interpreter with each of us, we prayed for needs in the crowd. 

We were unable to ask for the individual needs for long, because the Power of God fell upon the entire field. 

We tried to anoint with oil, the foreheads of those wanting prayer.  This worked for a minute or so, but God had other ideas and plans for this night. 

People began falling backwards (without catchers, or someone to break their fall), in slow motion. 

Literally, they fell backwards with no person behind them, one by one. 

Taking up to ten seconds from a standing position, to finally laying softly into the grass.  The power of God was all over these men, women, and even children.  I remember, in the beginning, that several children were playing near the altar and pretending to fall on their own.  The Lord touched these children while they pretended.  They all received His Power. 

They lay still, many worshipping out loud with their mouths.  Some singing.  Others were speaking in another language.  Not the cultural language of Nicaragua.  Tongues of fire from the Holy Ghost! 

Once all the folks were prayed for, I looked out over this field, and it looked like cord wood scattered, with bodies lying on top of one another.   The altar area, which was over seventy feet deep, and 100 feet wide; consisted of God’s people laying down under His Power.  The air was filled with singing, tongues, and shouts.  Not loud shouts, mind you.  Shouts of joy and hope filling the atmosphere.  It was a sweet-smelling aroma to God, and to all who were witnessing this “wonder.”  It was harmonious.  This went on for over 45 minutes. 

Many were healed, delivered, and set free according to the Pastors who knew them. 

 

This miracle night was just getting started.  Especially for me, personally.   

I was then asked, to go with another Pastor to a nearby home and pray for a terminally ill woman.  A few of the team went with me.  Keep in mind, this area was very poor and somewhat dangerous to Americans. 

With our interpreter and a couple, a husband and wife with me, we entered this makeshift house. 

It was around 100 square feet in totality.  The husband of the terminally ill wife was sitting in a wooden chair. 

Understand what we are seeing. 

A makeshift kitchen area with a woodburning stone stove.  One light bulb.  Cinder block walls and sheet metal roofing.  Dirt floors.  That’s it.  No running water or bathroom. 

I entered the bedroom, a tiny, five- feet -by- eight-foot area.  One small bed with the wife in stage four liver cancer. 

“Cancer?” 

My memory is clicking in for a moment as the Pastor explained to me prior to arriving, about the woman’s condition.  My Mom died of the very illness this woman is suffering with. 

I looked down at her, and I was shocked, to say the least. 

This woman is a spitting image of Mom.  I mean, like her twin.  Black hair turning white.  70 pounds, withering away with liver cancer.  Her facial features were not like my mom’s.  They were exactly like my mother, as if I am looking down at her back in 1971, when she was dying in front of my 15-year-old eyes. 

Her last days on earth back then were now, right in front of me.  Almost like a repeat of what I went through as a boy.   

This evening, as we began to pray for her, taught me a valuable piece of understanding. 

I was about to witness a miracle. 

 

She was in agony, and pain, without saying anything to us.  This was fine, as we prayed James 5:14-16 over her. 

“Is anyone among you sick?  Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord.  And the prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise him up.  And if he has committed sins, he will be forgiven.”   

We gently, and quietly left this home, with hopes that the Lord Jesus touched her, and her weeping husband. 

I was elated for this family.  We were all in hopes they received what we prayed.  On the other hand, this twin of my mother, so to speak, who was suffering this evening, was daunting, regarding my memories of watching my mother suffer back in 1970-1971. 

I was in a bitter-sweet moment in my heart. 

“Oh Lord, touch her and heal her body, in Jesus Name, Amen.” 

My final prayer in my heart for her, as I went to sleep in a motel.  It did not have dirt floors like the one, tiny shack I had just left.  

The next morning, as we were about to leave for the airport, the Pastor arrived to see us off.  He ran up to me, with an interpreter, and proclaimed this: “The woman you prayed for?  She woke up the next morning and got out of bed for the first time in weeks. 

She had been eating only one 'thimbles' worth of food a day,” he said, “until that next morning.  She got up, went into the kitchen, and cooked herself a full breakfast.  Afterwards, she went to the local government-run doctor and had blood tests and x-rays done.  The liver cancer has disappeared, and she is no longer terminal!  To God be all the Glory!”

He spoke this with tears streaming down his face. 

I was shocked and yet expectant of this miracle.  Why?  Because of the Power of God on display that night in the revival.  It spread outward, and into the home of a sick, dying woman. 

This memory of God moving on behalf of a once dying woman, will stay with me forever. 

 

It was not overkill, by any means. 

It was really OVER-LIFE really. 

What seems like spiritual overkill, or the using of “more force than needed” is an understatement. 

God, in my heart, used a lot more force of His Power, and His Love that revival week. 

He does what He is. 

He is Healing, not just the Healer. 

He is Deliverance, not just the Deliverer. 

He is OVER and above anything we could ask or think. 

ASK, seek and knock. 

He is there for you too.  He is our Spiritual OVER-seer of our lives. 

 Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

 

Our Paradox of Powerlessness

Taken from the devotionals I wrote back in 2021, for a church in Oregon. 

Edited for the sake of all who suffer from emotional suicide and thoughts of grandeur without the Power of Jesus Christ. 

 

*Even though we may have fears about the lack of strength or power in our lives, it makes no sense to say that we are powerless.  We have had the power to stay in our rut, a grave with the ends knocked out of it.  We have had the power to remember, and remember, and remember more about the pains of life.  We vomit up things that we say is under the Blood of Jesus in our “so- called” Christianity. Vomit does not mix well with the Blood of Jesus.  Toxic. 

 Just a thought: if all we “were” (before our Born-again experience in Jesus), is under the Blood of the sacrificial Lamb Jesus the Christ, the anointed One from God the Father, then why do we allow our memories of things that are forgotten by God, to be such a stronghold?  Yes, stronghold.  The memory banks in our brain should be left there.  In our brain.  Not our hearts.  Our hearts can be vulnerable.  I do not want to be vulnerable without a God purpose.  My heart, like your heart, cannot take much more pain from a memory that somehow infected my heart through thinking too much about things that are under the Blood of the Lamb. 

Why do we do this?  Good question. 

We say we have the power or do not have the power.  Let’s look at this. 

The power from God to create the Sun, Moon, and Stars came from God.  On the fourth day of Creation. 

But, when we accept Christ as Savior, the Power of the Holy Spirit dwells in every believer.  Yes, the Holy Spirit gives Christian’s power to live as witnesses to Christ and to do God’s Will.  This happens through faith and obedience. 

Still, why do we vomit or spew out these memories?  Each of us has a memory.  It is designed to reflect, not live there.  Like Psalm 23, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” 

(Not to camp out in the valley for a lifetime).

 Walk, not stay.  (Stole that line from a former Senior Pastor). 

This paradox conflicts with the Power of the Holy Spirit.  Paradox defined: “A statement or situation that seems to contradict itself or go against common sense.”

We are in many ways deceiving ourselves, without the enemy of our soul, Satan, doing any work to disrupt, destroy, steal, and kill our dreams. 

The Apostle Paul tells us, “This precious treasure, this light and power that now shines within us.” 

We are weak, cracked vessels at times in this life.  No sense allowing memories to rule us, so much so, that we break what is left of our own earthen vessels. 

We need the master Potter, Jesus, to put us back on the wheel of grace and love and reshape our lives.  He goes on to say, that everyone can see the power in us and that it is from God because our bodies (containers, tents) are perishing. 

We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed and broken. 

2nd Corinthians 4:7-8. 

The picture here contrasts a precious treasure and the simple container in which the treasure is stored.  The living power poured into our life from above is the treasure. 

Namely the Holy Spirit of God Almighty. 

Our human body, with all its flaws and weaknesses, is the perishable container or vessel.  We are imperfect human beings. 

Once we recognize this paradox of powerlessness, we can be quite relieved.  Added to this relief factor is a thing called deliverance and peace that comes in the morning, from the Morning Star Jesus. 

We do not always have to be strong or pretend to be perfect. 

We can’t.  We shouldn’t. 

We must not strive for perfection.  Strive to be obedient first. 

Put down your personal sledgehammer and quit trying to pulverize your heart with the memories of your past.  It is killing your dream. 

“I can do all things through Christ who gives me the Strength (Power).”

Philippians 4:13. 

This spiritual war rages against the flesh and the spirit; it is real.  Don’t kid yourself. 

Remember that your thought life is real too.  It needs to be controlled by the Holy Spirit. 

Galatians 5:1: *Stand fast therefore in the liberty and freedom by which Christ has made us fee, and do not be entangled again with the yoke of bondage. 

(IN OUR MINDS AND MEMORIES).

Of course, we must make the decision with our minds and hearts not to get caught up with our addiction or bondages, especially living in our past memories that hurt us.  Yes, they are real. 

But if they are under the Blood of the Lamb, they are forgotten as far as the East is from the West and remembered no more by God. 

It is not your fault you were what you were and thought the way you thought.  You are a new creation in Christ.  He will renew your mind and cleanse your memories to the point you do not forget.  You will remember, but without the pain and torment. 

Maybe we should put our pasts under the Blood of Jesus.  Maybe then, we will quit being haunted by our personal nightmares that keep us bound and in despair. 

Easier said than done.  It takes the Power of the Holy Spirit to bring change. 

Any change. 

Many times, the struggles are amplified by who we spend time with.  They, whoever they are, will and can feed into our pain, with their “wanting to help desire.”  Innocent as that is, it can be self-destructing. 

We can, and should, guard our hearts by allowing people (even ones who have good intentions) to speak into our lives.  If they are not anointed by God, then they are just people with good thoughts, experiences and knowledge.  This is good and can help us through tough times.  But we still need the Power without the paradoxes. 

It is imperative through this freedom process, that we make a serious commitment to Jesus Christ to help us get past, our past. 

He wants all of you, even your broken pieces of life that still exist. 

Unless you want to stay in a war with no ammunition to shoot, keep doing the same thing, over and over, expecting different results. 

Definition of Insanity. 

I did not say you are insane.  You only become insane when you quit fighting the good fight of Faith. 

There are enough paradoxes in life to go around.  Let us not create new ones by ignoring the truth.  Let the Holy Spirit reveal to you how to do what you need to do to be sane again and whole.  Free indeed. John 8:36. 

We either are, or we are not free. 

Process of elimination.  Let God take the blinders off so you can see clearly what you need to see.  It is your time. 

Today is the acceptable time.

Seeing is believing. 

Be careful what you believe and who you believe in. 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

Disposable Plastic Christianity

I did a message in a tent revival in 2014, in Kerrville, Texas, with the title of “Counterfeit Christianity.”  I even had a banner stating this exact title, along with banners asking, “Rock or Sand, Where do you stand?”  and “Are You Willing?” 

These banners, along with this title today, are a visual reminder of where we are in our walk with the Most High. 

 

And they are reminders of all the good things we try to do which are pleasing to the Lord Jesus. 

Such as, "Are you willing?” 

These “good things” address being available, able, and willing to do anything the Lord wants us to do.  He wants us to fulfill His mandate in us, by being with those we are supposed to be co-laboring with, when, how, and where we are to preach the Gospel. 

Nothing is automatic.  It is all faith in the One who can order our steps. 

 

What is plastic Christianity? 

 

Years ago, when the New Orleans Saints, the NFL football team, from Louisiana, was playing poorly, the fans wore paper sacks with eye holes in them, on their heads.  They did this out of shame for their home team, who could not win a game.  Pictures of the hundreds of fans showed the sacks, up close, showing bewildered fans with their arms crossed, sitting down. 

Ultimate frustration.  No cheering for a losing team.  Their identity was temporarily hidden, from view, with the sack. 

 

In this very manner, some Christians wear an invisible mask.  A lot of Christians have a hard time being real. 

At least, this has been my experience in 40 years of preaching in prisons.   

 

Inmates in prison, rarely hide their emotional state when under the anointing of God in the chapel.  I see it clearly. 

Many times, as the Word of God goes forth, the emotional triggers that are pulled in their hearts are evident.  Physically, they will lean forward in their metal folding chair, and put their elbows on their knees, place their faces into their open hands, and weep silently. 

No plastic masks there. 

At that point, they do not care what anyone thinks of their display of unheard emotion. 

Crying in prison is a sign of weakness. 

Not in God’s eyes. 

 

 

Plastic Christianity can have a religious spirit attached to it.  It can also be just an issue of immaturity. 

Nevertheless, it is plastic. 

This plastic reference involves something in them that seems artificial. 

 

Think about the quality and flavor of Vanilla extract.  Many bottles of this extract that we buy at the local grocery store are artificial, with fake ingredients. 

But try taking a real vanilla bean, scraping the innards out of it, and gently boiling it in water. 

This becomes the real deal. 

 

There are many differences between artificial and real.  Flavor is only one of them when it comes to our walk with God. 

Most Christians do not know how to have an open dialogue.  A lot of this may be jealousy, envy, pride, or arrogance.  I am not sure.  I have an easier time discussing the Bible with non-believers, than with the plastic Christian. 

The artificial always wants to debate what I preach.

   

Case in point:  Many times, when I am done preaching, and after praying for all the men who want prayer, here he comes. 

Just think.  Several men are crying at an altar, weeping in their repentance, receiving Christ as their personal Savior.  They are having a metamorphosis before all who are there. 

A solemn, anointed moment at an old-fashioned altar of mercy. 

Up walks Bubba now. 

I call them Bubba, as a reference to a red neck who stares at a can of frozen orange juice for ten minutes, because the label says, “Concentrate.” 

 

So, this Bubba guy walks up to me.  I am at Snake River Prison in Oregon, in 2019. 

He has his Bible open in one hand, and the other is waving at me to get my attention.  The first sign is the open Bible.  He has something to critique about the sermon I just finished preaching. 

The second sign is the look in his eyes.  Beady. Wide open, with a certain giddiness in them. 

“Hey Joe, I want to point out something you said in your sermon.” 

He goes on to say, “Well, I never sin any longer, because my understanding of grace, will not allow me to sin.  I quit sinning years ago.” 

Red flag moment. 

I am waving it, in my mind, in a torrential windstorm. 

Hard to hold on to the flag. 

He goes on to begin to correct me.  I have patience, but many non-plastic Christians, and the ones who just got saved, want me to pray for them, as time would allow. 

He says, as I am walking away, from him, to talk to others, “SO, you think I am a Pharisee?” 

“No sir, I am just a messenger, with a message.  I will pray about your opinion and thank you for your advice.” 

I meant it, but I know a religious spirit when I encounter one. 

 

Remember, this is my 40th year of prison ministry.  And I was a convict, too, in a Texas Prison, back in the day. 

Can’t con an ex-con. 

Impossible. 

 

I could have quoted the scripture that says, “We have all sinned and fallen short of the Glory of God.” 

I did not cast my pearls before the swine, smelling the spirit of religion. 

Besides, he claimed to be Jewish, and we know the difference between Kosher and non-Kosher. 

Frying the bacon now. 

 

We always want to win the lost, or the ones who present a religious spirit.

 

In the church world, and in the ones, I was a part of and on staff with, I saw it all. 

Altar calls with salvation.  Good teaching and preaching.  Evangelism outside the four walls of the church. 

All was good for the first few years. 

Then, for whatever reason, money became an idol to the higher up staff, and the church went sideways. 

(NOT all churches have been infected this way.  I am simply giving a warning to any who will listen).

2nd Timothy 2:22-26: 

*Flee also youthful lusts; but pursue righteousness, faith, love, peace with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart.  But avoid foolish and ignorant disputes, knowing that they generate strife.  And a servant of the Lord Jesus must not quarrel but be gentle to all, able to teach, patient, in humility correcting those who are in opposition, if God perhaps will grant them repentance, so that they may know the truth, and that they may come to their senses and escape the snare of the devil, having been taken captive by him to do his will. 

 

(I share this scripture, not as a disclaimer to what you are about to hear, but as a warning about what not to do in the church). 

 

I have been exposed in 40 years of ministry, to the good, the bad, and the ugly.  I focus on the good, but will call out the ugly or the bad, when I see it. 

Yes, I always do it in love, and with a rebuke, never to injure or harm anyone. 

 

 *One man offended, is harder to regain than a fortified city. 

Proverbs 18:19.   

 

 

After pioneering two separate churches, I know the office of the pastor, and functioned, in it, as the Word says to do. 

In the Lord, no wolves entered the sheep’s dwelling place under my watch. 

 

Pastors have an obligation to tell the truth, no matter what. 

Plastic churches house non-transparent parishioners. 

Stuck in the world of fake love. 

Focused on church activities and events, more than praying for one another. 

Social gatherings. 

Charity events. 

All good works, for sure. 

 

But the motivation for some of these hardcore, plastic pieces of the Body of Christ, is to alienate themselves from the true Believer in Jesus.  They hide behind a religious attitude, infecting the water hole with poison, made from pre-judgmental philosophies.  

They infect, instead of affect, goodness in the Body of Christ. 

They are termites in the temple.  Chewing away at the good wood of a congregational member’s foundation.  Their selfishness and spiritual bigotry are a disease that there is no vaccine for. 

 

It is called melting plastic that stinks.  It never stops stinking even after it is cooled off. 

The plastic blob is still there, but in a different form or shape for next Sunday’s church service. 

 

This may sound harsh, but what is worse? 

Calling this out?

Or allowing the insanity of the religious spirit to grow and dwell among us? 

 

We must lead them to Christ, or ask them, with love, to please stop, or depart. 

Wolves shall not live with sheep.  The sheep die, and the wolves get fat. 

When all the sheep are gone, the wolf runs to the next available door, and enters in, unannounced. 

Matthew 23:1-4: 

*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.  (Being a talker, not a walker). For they bind heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on men's shoulders; but they themselves will not move them off with one of their fingers. 

 

“Shall I stop there?” 

 

Jesus goes on to say many things about their hypocrisy and plastic attitudes. 

Devouring widows? 

Pretentious prayers? 

Blind guides? 

Fools and the Blind?  

 

 

Real plastic is described as a synthetic material made from a wide range of organic polymers (not natural DNA proteins, but like nylon or plastic substitutes). 

 

Why would any Christian (follower of Jesus) want to be fake? 

Or non-organic? 

 

It is called many things.  Maybe they have not been born again yet.  Or they are insecure in their belief systems.  Or, they are being a pretender, an actor in a play, and full of self-indulgence as a true hypocrite. 

The water hole just got deeper with poison.  The temple foundation is weakening more through the dry rot of indifference, racism, and judgmental finger-pointing in the church world.  

 

 God forbid, a woman, who is divorced, not of her own doing, perhaps, be laughed at during the women’s bible study? 

They do not want her there, and they never say a word with their filthy mouths. 

It is their body language that screams, “We do not want you.” 

It makes these “Holier than Thou” females look better without her. They do not want their clique tainted with the likes of that divorcée.   

Their own cesspool of hatred and indifference towards any new married or single women who would join their cult of compromise, should have never existed. 

It is time to flush their toilet of apathy.  And pray the commode does not get clogged with their selfish desires to succeed, and overflow on the new carpet in the sanctuary. 

Stinky huh? 

 

The lost and hurting souls need real, not plastic. 

 

Polymers in plastic are substances composed of repeating structural units called Monomers, linked by chemical bonds.  Think of them as a chain of building blocks. 

“It is a ponderous chain,” the Jacob Marley character quoted in the famous book by Charles Dickens, “A Christmas Carol.” 

Link by link, they are forged into a critical-thinking Christian. 

 

Again, an oxymoron. Like bitter/sweet.  Candy is good this way. 

But so-called Christianity is supposed to only be sweet.  Not bitter envy and jealousy. 

 

The real problems with the possible fake Christians are that there does not seem to be a hunger for the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help us Jesus. 

If there is hunger, it seems to always want the “plus something” added to it. 

The plus, this or that, gets in the way of everything else in the hunger to know the truth. 

 

You can’t serve two masters, and you cannot have any real fellowship with another professing believer who serves two masters. 

Most of the genuine Christians are earmarked with mercy.  They are stamped by God with grace and love. 

 

Genuine Christianity never toots their horn of knowledge.  They let their maturity shine without a spotlight of flesh admiration showing. 

 

Genuine: One day, about 7 years ago, my son and I were traveling back from Houston.  We were detoured off the highway to a small town because of a car wreck ahead.  During this slower driving time, my son put on the song by Casting Crowns. 

 

“Who am I, that the Lord of all the earth would care to know my name?  Would care to feel my hurt?  Who am I, that the Bright and Morning Star, would choose to light the way, for my ever-wandering heart?” 

 

I looked over at my oldest son, and he had his hands and arms in the air, worshipping the Most High.  Tears were flowing down his cheeks like a river. 

He was having a moment with the Master. 

 

After the song ended, I kept silent.  Did not want to disturb his moment. 

 

Suddenly, with tears still flowing, he said to his Daddy, “Pop, I want to do what you do, okay?” 

 

Wow.

 

I held his hand for a while and wept with him. 

He and my youngest son joined me at the Ferguson Unit Prison the next year.  It was Father’s Day, the day I preached three services in a row. 

My oldest, testified about Jesus that day.  My youngest played the piano with the “All Inmate Worship Team.” 

They helped me water baptize two young inmates after the service.  These were two 19-year-old inmates who had gotten saved a few weeks, prior to this holiday.  The Chaplain was off that weekend, and as before, many times, I did the baptisms.  It was my honor to do so. 

 

After the services, we left.  On the way out, my boys got in their car to head back; it was a four-hour drive to our home.  I stayed the night, one more night, as I was going to preach in a local church outside the prisons the next day. 

My sons were talking on the way to their car, and I could hear them. 

 

One said to the other, “Ole’ Pop was surely proud of us today, huh?” 

The other said, “Yep, I know his Father’s Day will be one to remember.” 

 

Wow.  They will never know how I felt to see them weep before the Lord that day. 

They will never know how I succumbed to the Spirit of God to win souls that Father’s Day. 

They will never know.  Or will they? 

 

See, the real Christians showed up that day. 

Not perfect, but real. 

Not plastic.  Not metal.  Not wooden. 

We did our best to present the Gospel to men who needed hope. All three of us.  Me, and my two grown sons.  They felt the presence of God that Father’s Day.  And so did the 250 men in attendance in the Prodigal Son Chapel. 

Many, dozens of them received grace and forgiveness.  They needed more than plastic baggies to hold their tears of repentance. 

They received some metal and wood that day though.  They received the nail scarred hands and the Cross of Calvary into their hearts.  Without the sting of death creeping up on them. 

 

Metal and wood.  Symbolic, and real. 

 

My boys received and gave the truth to men locked away from society. 

They received honor from the men by being allowed by them to be a part of worship and baptisms. 

 

I also heard from them as they walked to their car, “Did you see those 19-year-old inmates come out of the water from the baptism?  Have you ever seen such joy?  Wow, glad Dad taught us right.  I don’t ever want to be where they sit.  I would not want to be so stupid; I would end up here.” 

 

“Thank God”, they said simultaneously as they got into their car, out of ear shot from me, now. 

 

I drove away and headed on to the hotel. 

 

Paul Newman, in the classic 1967 prison movie, “Cool Hand Luke” sang a bit of a song with a banjo while in this horrible prison.  Sitting on his top bunk, with his legs dangling over the mattress, he slowly strummed and sang the following: “I don’t care if it rains or freezes, as long as I have my Plastic Jesus.” 

 

Plastic. 

 

Not for me. 

Hope that never happens to you either. 

 

Plastic is prison.  Whoever is made of plastic is doing life without the possibility of parole.  Until Jesus intervenes. 

Then, and only then, can you receive the pardon you need.  He is the key that unlocks the door to your heart. 

 

*Behold, I stand at the door and knock.  If anyone hears My Voice, and opens the door, I will come in to him, and dine with him, and he with Me. 

Revelation 3:20. 

 

It is time to eat.  The Bread of Life, Jesus, always has a perfect, spiritual aroma. 

Let us eat, not with plastic forks and plates.  Let us dine with the real tableware. 

 

He is our Author and Finisher of our faith. 

He is the Gold Standard we follow. 

 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

 

Seen and Not Heard

Perhaps you have heard someone say, “I would rather see a sermon than hear one any day.”  While the intention behind this statement may be good, one must be careful that he or she does not over emphasize morality, while minimizing the power of God’s Word.   

Yes, God condemns hypocrisy and commands His children to do good works and live Holy lives.  However, Christ did not simply command His disciples to go forth and live good moral lives in front of those lost souls that needed to hear the Gospel. 

“Living it” is one testimony that bears fruit. 

“Preaching it” bears fruit too.  Balance. 

Flip the coin now. 

If the preaching of God’s Word, whether it’s from a pulpit on the street, though evangelism, or in a prison chapel is tainted, that is a big problem.  

Men in prison refer to anything and everything outside of prison as the free world.  They only know the confines of their daily life behind bars.  In the chapel in prison, everything is scrutinized by the men sitting there.  How you look.  Your body language. Even the inflection of your voice while preaching.  They sense the real article from the phony.  It is a sixth sense only those who have lived in prison, understand. 

I understand fully.  I lived in prison.  They will know if the Gospel is pure or not.  They are conditioned to see the fake.  They sense a pretender or a counterfeit Christian. 

You might as well be real, otherwise, they will get up and walk out of your service. 

You will be left alone without an audience to preach to. 

There is more freedom to do invitations to know Christ in the prison services that I conduct, than in most churches in America combined. 

Why say that?  

Many free world churches never do an invitation for people to be saved.  This is an ugly fact.  There are many that do, but from what I have experienced, those are few and far between.  This is God’s territory to fix. 

 Because in 40 years of preaching, primarily in prisons in America and in places all over the world, I have never missed an altar invitation for salvation, healing, or deliverance. 

Never.  Not even once.  Why? 

Because that is how many get saved.  They are invited, no matter what their spiritual condition.  No matter if the seed of salvation has been planted yet or watered. 

*How then shall they call on Him in whom they have not believed?  And how shall they believe in Him of whom they have not heard?  And how shall they hear without a preacher?  And how shall they preach unless they are sent?   Romans 10: 14-15. 

PREACH WHAT?  It is mandatory, after preaching any sermon, to be the person who leads.  Sheep want a shepherd.  They do not want the layman, or the associate pastor, or the Elder or Bishop to pray for them.  They want the one who preached and was used by the Lord to bring them to conviction in their hearts.  All the above that I mentioned are valuable in the church. 

Do not misunderstand my thoughts. 

All members of a church are valuable to Jesus.  We all have our place.  The hand is not greater than the foot.  But it is the mouth of the one speaking that is anointed to invite, not run off the sheep. 

Lead them to the Cross through your message.  Lead them to their knees, even if you must walk out in the crowd, under the anointing, and call them forward by taking their trembling hand.  I have done that very thing over 1000 times in forty years. 

Why do I do that when God prompts me?  Because I do not want to ever be responsible for some human being leaving God’s presence without an invitation for salvation in Jesus. 

In prison or out of prison, in church, or out on the streets, leaving that anointed message, or food offering to a homeless man, without the hope of the Cross, and what transpired on that Bloody Cross, is a tragedy. 

What happens if a pastor or preacher in any place, perverts God’s Word for selfish gain? 

What if they never do altar calls for people to receive Christ as their Savior, and let them walk out of their mega-church unsaved? 

Gold offering buckets and nice carpets will not save their souls.  Only Jesus can.   

The pastor or speaker must bring any sermon to a proper close.  Otherwise, why is this person in the ministry anyway?  Good question.  Feeding sheep God’s Word does nothing for the unbeliever except plant seed into soil that needs to be Born Again.  The Word will stick at some point, while some water, and some bring the harvest.  

 What happens to the lost soul who has heard God’s Word before they came to your church, Sir? (or Ma’am)? 

What if someone has watered it an hour before they came in Pastor? 

They were ripe, ready and right for salvation, yet you, picked up your Bible and the nice leather notebook with your bullet points, with the ten things a Christian should do to prosper, or just “be a better you,” and let them walk out and wither?   

Well, God is bigger than you Sir, or Madame.  He will correct your stupidity and use someone else prayerfully. 

Or will He? 

Did you miss an opportunity to snatch them from the grips of hell? 

I believe that a pulpit positioned anywhere, and an altar, anywhere, is Holy Ground.  In fact, you do not need a pulpit or carpet, or kneeling benches made from velvet. 

All you need is a voice in the wilderness. 

Preach it.  Live it.  If you fail to give an invitation for salvation or healing or deliverance for some poor soul in need, you have failed them and yourself. 

Ask yourself,  why did you go to school or seminary? 

To be called by God after graduation? 

School does help.  But that does not guarantee you will be anointed by the Most High. 

Whose blood is on whose hands?  God knows. 

He knows all about BLOOD.  Shed blood. 

There are other ways to go off the deep end in thinking about seeing a sermon versus hearing one. 

“Faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God.  Forsake not the assembling of oneself with another, as a manner of some is.”

Okay, I have given you simple answers so far. 

Listening to God’s Word preached in person, or on television, is great if there are two things.  One, it must be anointed.  Two, it must match the Word of God, with absolutely no perversion, or bad intentions, by the speaker. 

Now, no human being is perfect.  Never will be.  No preacher, no evangelist, no Sunday School teacher is 100% perfect in explaining God’s Holy Word.  

God will correct our mistakes and lack of knowledge in time. 

Never, ever, never, stand before one soul, or ten thousand souls, and assume on anyone's salvation in Christ.  I do not care if you know every single member of the congregation in your lovely church.  I do not care if you know their secrets.  What matters is you give them an opportunity to repent, re affirm, or get saved for the first time. 

Case in point:  I went to a church in Austin, Texas last Easter (Resurrection Sunday, no rabbits with chocolate eggs in the Gospel), and the sermon was great.  It was a guest speaker, speaking to 800 college students.  I was the oldest man in the crowd, thanks to being past college years by a few.  68, back then was a bit over the 22-24 age group in this congregation. 

The message was anointed, and the crowd seemed focused and attentive.  There were a bunch of “Amen's” during his sermon.  Many clapped loudly during those moments of hearing and seeing a sermon that morning.  He was passionate and even wept real tears at times.  He was talking about the death, and burial of our Savior.  And, when Jesus arose, in his sermon, the crowd jumped to their feet in applause and adulation for our Savior and Lord. The place was electric. 

 (That did not mean all who were already saved stood and cheered, in my mind).  

He told personal stories of his life which matched his sermon.  Painted a perfect picture of the Cross and Salvation in Jesus Christ. 

The twenty-minute sermon was perfect, capturing the attention and hearts of all of us there.  Including me.  I was foaming at the mouth for the altar invitation.  I looked like a hungry coyote waiting for the chicken-out-of-the-coop, to get lost, for my hungry lip-smacking chops to swallow her whole.  Hungry for the altar invitation.  With foam in my mouth.  In the spirit, I looked like I had just eaten a lemon pie with meringue, all over my face. 

He brought this magnificent sermon to an end.  It had the great beginning, an awesome God’s-Word-filled middle, and now, the crescendo. 

It never happened. 

He said goodbye to us all.  He gathered his Bible and left.  The pastor of the church came next. 

OH, I hoped? 

“Was he going to do an invitation?” 

He stood there for five minutes, excited about the Sunday Resurrection Day message that had just been delivered.  He too, brought everything that was preached into perspective.  He did an awesome job bringing all into context.   

He closed this great day with, “Now, if you need prayer for any reason, turn to the one on your left or right, and ask them nicely to pray for your needs.” 

“OH MY GOSH!  Are you kidding me? 

I truly was sick to my heart.  If my son had not been by my side, I would have stood up and screamed, “IF you need Jesus to come into your heart, meet me at this altar, Folks!”  

 I did not care if the bouncers would have tossed me out of there like a frisbee. 

I did not care.  I just did not understand how this could happen. 

So, what was seen and heard was given on ears that heard.  Their eyes saw, when the compassion came from the preacher.  They saw his tears and heart-felt dialogue.  It was perfect. 

Except, it was seen and not heard in the Spirit realm. 

The poor souls who left missed the opportunity.  Not their opportunity.  The opportunity to exercise their baby faith. 

Perhaps the person, who was on the right or left of the lost souls, led some to Christ. 

I will never know. 

“Be ye doers of the Word, not hearers only, lest you deceive yourself.” 

James 1:22

 I am physically nauseated to my stomach right now as I write this. 

It is because I am remembering that Resurrection Sunday Service.  I pray to the Lord that those souls who left, lived long enough to get saved. 

I will, by faith, believe that for their sake. 

 I also pray for the church.  God help any church, let anyone slip through their fingers again. 

“You must be born again,” Jesus said.

You must. 

Children, told by their parents to be quiet, is another sermon that I just do not have the strength to do right now.  Seen and not heard?  I do not think so.  That old English proverb first appeared in a book by John Mirk published in the 15th century titled, Mirks Festival.  He was a Shropshire clergyman.  It was originally directed at women.   

I do not know if Mr. Mirk conducted altar calls for salvation or not. 

Perhaps he was not saved.  Only God knows. 

I want the Gospel to be seen and heard by every person I encounter.  To me, if that is not the priority in a Seminary teaching, or in a church class named: The School of Life, then where is life in that school? 

Where is the truth in the Seminary; or shall I say Cemetery?” 

Nah.  They are not all dead schools.  Some are anointed.

“What must I do to be saved?” 

We had two different people ask us that after preaching in a prison, and at dinner in Costa Rica.  One was an inmate; the other was the cook in the restaurant, near the prison after we preached inside the prison.   They asked, and we told them how to be saved. 

Must I do another sermon why and what the Gospel is intended for? 

So, next time you attend your church of choice, or the one you currently attend, ask yourself these questions? 

Does the altar have anointing oil stains in the carpet mixed with tears of repented souls who bore their souls lately? 

Does the church get excited when even one soul repents? 

Well, the angels around God get excited.  His Word says so. 

Jesus speaking, “Likewise, I say to you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”  Luke 15: 10. 

Is Heaven rejoicing when the preacher you listen to ends their sermon? 

Or are there crickets howling? 

Just a thought. 

 Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

 

Screaming Into the Void

John the Baptist, screaming into the void, is a rather descriptive way of saying that nobody was listening to him, or you.  Pastors, teachers, parents of teenagers, and the teenagers themselves, are apt to feel the meaning of this phrase. 

John the Baptist is probably the ultimate Biblical example of someone who is screaming into the void.  John was the one who brought the forewarning of Christ’s coming.  His message, according to Matthew’s account, was “repent of your sins and turn to God, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near!” 

The prophet Isaiah foretold of John saying.  “He is a voice shouting in the wilderness.  Prepare the way for the Lord’s coming!  Clear the road for Him.” 

Now that phrase “shouting in the wilderness,” has a very literal meaning.  John the Baptist lived in the wilderness, clothed with coarse, camel hair and leather belt.  (The camel hair must have brought chafing, with no Walgreens Drug Store available for rash repair medicine.) 

He was eating wild honey and locust.  “Crunch!”  So, so sweet. 

I am certain he was quite a terrific and terrifying sight to see and hear.  It is like a scary preacher, so to speak.  Hard to listen too, and not necessarily difficult to look at, unless he had remnants of locust on his suit coat sleeve. 

There is a more subtle meaning as well to “screaming into the void” in our own personal wilderness.   

Though many heard John’s words and repented in their hearts, his message set in motion the desire to kill him in Herod’s palace and in the temple. 

John called the Pharisees a brood of snakes.  Other translations have this as brood of vipers.  Many have asked why John didn’t try to help, to convert; and reach out to the wayward Pharisees. 

It is a simple answer.  They would have never listened. 

We see the same throughout history.  Hearts are so hardened by one’s own self-righteous understanding, that it only listens, and never responds.  They refuse to understand the big picture.  Self-absorbed by their religious beliefs towards the law.  Not getting the fact Jesus is coming to do away with the very law, that they are addicted to.  They never really change. 

In reality, the Pharisees are screaming into the void of their own self-indulgence and ignorance of who and why Jesus is coming.  Blind guides who strain out a gnat and swallow a camel.  Tasty. 

Anyone’s heart that hardens into concrete, will lead into ruin.  It never makes room for true hope in the delivering power of an Almighty God.  It refuses, in a way, to acknowledge His Power, and allow the Holy Ghost to do surgery on the very wound inside their heart.  This wound, itself, screams into the void of mankind.  Screaming at the top of their left ventricle, “Save me, I am bleeding to death.”  The aorta of their emotions is next. 

Another real-life experience I had.   

I was in the desert of addiction and loneliness.  The wind-blown sand was in my teeth; what was left of them through the rotting effects of the Meth I was putting into my veins daily.  Sometimes, up to four shots into the blood vessels daily, that were not yet collapsed.  Every day, for 6 years.  Never stopped.  I did not want to stop.  Though, I knew in my heart of hearts, I was self-destructing, I loved it.  It was a band aid, on a bleeding wound spiritually and physically.  This cancer-adventure I was on, was terminal.  I was truly dying. 

Screaming silently into the void.  My void.  Hoping someone out there in the world would hear me. 

Mom had just died.  The day of the funeral, I shot LSD into my veins, because I was temporarily out of the Meth.  This was October 5, 1971. 

I wore sunglasses on a cloudy day, in hopes of hiding my dilated eyes from the family who were present for the funeral, and grave-side services.  I remember after the grave-side part was over, I went and hugged every family member, twice.   

I guess, in my addicted, broken heart about my mom, I was silently screaming for help.  Help from someone.  Anyone.  “Please recognize my pain?”  Can’t you see what is happening to me?  Are all of you blind to my pain?  I am SCREAMING, and I need HELP?” 

Nothing.  No one responded.  They acted like their pain was worse than mine.  How so?   

Well, the only one who could have been worse off than me was my mom’s sister.  My Aunt.  The one, many years later, while I was in prison, who prayed for my soul to be saved.  God honored her prayer.  Eventually.  In fact, it was on Mother’s Day in 1977 that I was saved by Jesus Christ while in prison. 

How appropriate was that?  From a cemetery, high on LSD, on my Mother’s Day burial, to a real Mother’s Day salvation, resurrection for my soul.  Does not get any better than that.  Not just for me.  

 It was a miracle answer to prayer for my mother’s sister.  She was Mom’s older sister.  My aunt, and my mom, before Mom died, had lost a younger brother at his young age of 21. Uncle Harry.  Deep, family sorrows lingered in this somewhat functional family. 

 My Aunt must have felt pain, like I could not understand, at fifteen years old, that day in the cemetery, when Mom was laid six feet underground.  Her pain was as real to her as mine was.  The only difference between her pain and mine was, I was medicated on drugs.  She was medicated on sorrow. 

 Screaming is screaming, whether anyone can hear you or not.  God hears.  He is not deaf. 

When Mom died, I collapsed in my soul.  I shut off all tears.  That valve was tightly turned.  It never rusted. 

 I quit living, because I was dying on the inside of my heart.  Have you ever felt that kind of pain?  The kind that, when you cry, the tears have dried up?  And then, you refuse to cry for anyone else because it is just TOO painful? 

I was a walking dead, young man, at the age of eighteen when my Daddy was murdered.  That was the day, November 16, 1974, that the music died.   

Just like “Bye, Bye Miss American Pie, drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry.  Them good ole’ boys drinking whiskey ‘n rye, singin’ this’ll be the day that I die.  This’ll be the day that I die.” Go ahead, Don McLean, sing it again, make my day.  I am dead already.  What could it hurt? 

I died in my soul the day Daddy died. 

I never got the chance to say I was sorry.  Sorry for being a drug addict.  Sorry for letting you down Daddy.  Sorry I was ever born to you and Momma. 

Sorry.  Sorry. Sorry. 

Screaming into a void of pain and heartache, where the only one listening was me.  I listened to myself.  I screamed and screamed and listened to the screams.  Then after listening to myself scream, I screamed with a Thirty-Eight Special handgun.   

I screamed that night, silently, as I squeezed that trigger on my best friend.  The gun screamed into the void of his real heart valve.  The bullet blew away the Aorta valve.  Miracle, he lived.  But I was still dead inside.   

Should have pulled the trigger on myself back then.  It was three weeks after we buried my Daddy in 1974.  I went off the deep end of that levee, with my Chevy.  Well, it was not a Chevy.  It was a Ford.  A brand new 1974, Ford Pinto.  Hoorah.   

It was repossessed while I was in jail for attempted murder.  I could not make the payments on time when I was free, much less now, while I am in jail.   

My soul and my mind were possessed by the Devil Himself.  Wish I could have had both of those repossessed as well.  I stopped making payments on them when Mom died. 

My best friend became my victim. He almost died but lived.  I died and never lived again.  Not until Jesus breathed new life into me and my soul on Mother’s Day in 1977 while in prison.  The walls and bars inside my heart melted that glorious day. 

What else do I need to convey to you today?   

Stop screaming?  Never.  Keep vocalizing, writing, talking on the phone, or whatever way is somewhat comfortable for you to express your pain.  A carrier pigeon works too.  Tie the note tight, okay? 

It is your pain.  Some of it is not you're doing.  Some is your doing.  I call that, “self-inflicted wounds.”  At some point, we must stop screaming and start praying.  It is hard to pray when you are screaming at the top of your lungs.  God hears you either way. 

Matthew 3:11-12: “I indeed baptize you with water unto repentance, but He who is coming after me is mightier than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry.  He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.  His winnowing fan is in His hand, and He will thoroughly clean out His threshing floor, and gather His wheat into the barn; but He will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire.” 

This is a promise, a breath of fresh air, a word which brought untold hope to a people defeated and desolate.  Brought to a people who were longing for a Messiah.  These people were weary souls and worn down by the difficult daily life and oppressed by Rome.  The religious people of this day were only focused on legalism in their religion.  They forgot the spiritual side of it all. 

John gives a rather stern reminder that even now, the ax of God’s judgment is poised, ready to sever, every tree that does not produce good fruit.  They will be chopped down. 

As you and I look to the screaming into our voids in this life, remember this last statement.  The tree, our tree, must bear fruit.  It is fruit that remains that Jesus was referring to in John 15:16. 

Refer to the sharp ax.  The ax is your neglect to fertilize the tree.  The ax is the lack of nourishment you give the tree.  The ax is the outside forces and trials that try and uproot the tree.  You can’t control every element, every day.  What you can do is keep the tree bearing fruit, as long as you can.  

 This will ensure your life continues on.  The screaming stops to a degree.  The ax is gone.  No chopping away at your soul any longer.  If your screams turn into prayer, you will see ripe fruit hanging on the tree of life.  Your life.   

Jesus loves good fruit.  He is the Vine.  We are the branches.  Stay close to the river of Water with His Word.  You shall be nourished in your screaming.   

In what once was a void, is now, the Master’s Ear.  He hears us.  Not a day goes by, that Jesus does not hear you and me.  He loves hearing.  He is attentive to our cry.  Even our screams.  Cry out now.  Do it with a loud voice of triumph with your tears.  They too, will be caught by Him.  He is not afraid to deal with you and me.  Why should we be fearful any longer in our own screams?  Screaming into the void is a lot better than living in it. 

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

The Chair

Many times, families who have experienced the loss of a loved one express this loss by means of a chair.  Military loved ones, who have died in battle, or a young child who passed away unexpectedly, all symbolize a love that disappeared.  Never to be seen again.  

At the dinner table, all place mats are there.  The silverware, napkins, and goblets for everyone's favorite beverage.  Especially at holiday dinners, everyone is at the table ready to feast.  They look at the one end of the table, with the empty chair.  Everything is in front of the empty chair, as the table settings remain the same, even though no one will be sitting there to enjoy the family and feast.  This empty chair does more than symbolize that loved one who will never again be there to be loved.  

More than anything, it represents loss and pain.  Perhaps, unresolved pain.  

A chair.  A simple chair to most.  But to those who have suffered, it is a constant reminder of someone they cherished, who will never again arrive for Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner.  

Just like a child's bedroom. after the child passed away at an early age.  The room stays exactly like it was the day they were taken to the hospital.  It is so hard for a parent to bury a child.  As parents, we are never to outlive our children.  It happens, and there is no way to describe how they feel.  It just hurts and continues to be painful.  Really, for the rest of the parent’s lives.  

Each of us faced the sorrow of an empty chair.  Its seat feels like a scornful sitting place for your heart.  A desk chair that used to have Grandpa sitting in it, tying his new fly-fishing gizmo, trying to be ready for his fishing trip that he intended to take you on.  He is gone from your life now.  His health didn’t allow him time to go fishing any longer.  He wanted to.  He tried.   

Perhaps it is a La-Z-Boy recliner.  Electric or manual; they offer a bunch of relaxation once put in the prone position.   Sometimes we doze off from a hard day’s work.  This chair is more than physical, it is also spiritual.  

In fact, the table and chairs at the dining room table have significance spiritually.  The table often symbolizes togetherness, community, and a place of shared experiences.  The chair is different.  It can represent authority, leadership, or a place of rest and reflection.  

The table is frequently associated with family.  Hopefully a good family.  Shared meals.  It is a place where people come together to connect and build relationships.  

In some religious traditions, the table is seen as a place where God dwells with and provides for his people.    

Chairs, especially thrones or prominent seats, can represent authority, leadership, and power.  Like the Oval Office of the President of the United States, not many sit there, except the President.  

When I was a child, we use to play a game called “musical chairs.”  You set up a circle of chairs, and suddenly, as all the children are walking slowly around the chairs to music, the music stops abruptly.  At that moment, everyone would scramble to sit in a chair and not be left standing.  

This game was always set up in such a way that there was always one less chair than players.  If you were not fast enough, sitting down, you were the one left standing.  A loner, sort of.  Left standing up, and then you were having to exit the game.  This went on, until after each stop of the music, a chair was removed, again and again.  Finally, there would be only two chairs left, and two children.    

The music started again, and when it stopped, they hurried to sit.  Obviously, there could be only one winner.  That winner received the Grand Prize, and the rest received a token prize.  Did not want to leave anyone completely out of the game.  That would be cruel.  We were just children learning a game.  

The parallel here is found in Hebrews 9: 27:  “And, in as much as it is appointed for men to die once and after this comes judgment.”

This passage teaches that one day life will stop suddenly, just like the music in the game.  

All people will be judged.  Every single person.  Do you see the similarities in this yet?  

The music played in the children’s game is life itself.  As long as there is life, we are happily marching around our chairs.  (Chairs represent tasks and duties).  Death comes when the music suddenly stops.  We must stop marching.  No choice.  And the judgment is like the chairs.  When the music stops, everybody must take a chair.  

The difference is that in the judgment, there is a specific chair for everyone. No one left standing.  All must sit.  Everyone will have to sit in their chair.  The one with their name etched on it.  

Now, as far as the judgment goes, everyone in the world will have to sit in one of five chairs representing their own judgment.  

The First Chair: Pagans.  Pagans are those who do not know Jesus Christ and worship Him as God, and a variety of other things.  For example, Pagans worship the flesh or the things and pleasures of this world.  Exclusively, we call them Hedonists.  (Someone who believes that pleasure and the avoidance of pain, are the most important things in life.  They prioritize the pursuit of pleasure above all else).  

There are other categories of this, but you get the gist of this.  

Pagans are into everything and nothing, all at the same time.  Go left, go right, go back around, and around and around again.  They are just into every little thing.  They are mobile.  They are always ready to believe anything that feels or looks good.  Status quo belief systems.  They are as empty and dark as the empty chair they sit in.  The Bible explains their judgment in this “number one chair.”  

Acts 17: 30-31: “Therefore, having overlooked the times of ignorance, God is now declaring to men that all people everywhere should repent, because He has fixed a day in which He will judge the world in righteousness through a Man whom He has appointed, having furnished proof to all men, by raising Him from the dead.  Jesus the Christ.”  

Having faith in Jesus Christ is the standard to avoid judgment.  No other options.  You have the freedom to accept or reject the work of the Cross, and He who hung and died on it.  

The rest of the chairs, individually represent something.   

 The Doubters.  Those who do not believe what Jesus did, and vacillate between wanting to believe, and not believing it is the truth.  Called a doubting man, being tossed to and fro, like a wave of the sea.  A double-minded man.  

Cold Christians.  Not even lukewarm.  Having a form of Godliness but denying the power.  They go to church to fulfill their duty to family, and country only.  Not to please a Holy God.  Revelation 2: 4-5:  “But I have this against you, that you have left your first love.  Therefore, remember from where you have fallen, and repent and do the deeds you did at first; or else I am coming to you, and will remove your lampstand out of its place-unless you repent.” 

Lukewarm Christians.  At least those who are cold, openly have rejected Christ.  These hypocrites pretend, and in doing so, they do it openly and at times, secretly.  They really do not do anything of spiritual value.   

They don't try, and they only serve themselves.  God offers mercy to them if they repent.  Selfish-Christianity is the worst oxymoron.  

Zealous Christians.  Chair Five is like the old metal, folding chair.  This chair is reserved for hot and zealous Christians.  That is the chair for them.  It represents those whose lives match what they believe.  They do believe that Jesus is God.  They receive instruction from Him regularly.  They talk to Him regularly.  They try and serve Him daily.  They make every effort to obey Him.  They are committed to these things, because they are committed to Him, and Him alone.  These zealous servants are not perfect, but they serve the One Who is.  

They treat His Name, His Word and His work on the Cross with respect and love.  The dignity Christ deserves. They’re eager for others to know Him.  

These radical Christians, make sure that no one loses their faith, because they go out of their way to bring hope and healing to those who are hurting.  This chair is the one we want to sit in, and carry with us, so we can sit down, and wash feet from this chair, whenever possible.  Not our feet.  Lost souls, and Christians, whose feet and hearts are in despair.  Their feet are sore from standing on false promises, lies, and disappointments.  They just can’t stand in faith any longer.  They need to sit down and be cleansed with love.  

The lost souls who have not met the Healer of their soul yet, are the feet we should wash carefully, so when they clean outside, and their hearts cleansed inside, then they will have new strength to stand on their own two feet.  

The Bible declares a truth about feet.  Romans 10:15: *And how shall they preach unless they are sent?  As it is written: “How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the Gospel of Peace, who bring glad tidings of good things!”  

It is called, being a servant of the Most High God.  

So, if the music plays in life, we still have time to choose which chair that we will sit in, heading to eternity.  But when the music stops, the choice will be gone.  Gone forever.   Perhaps it is time to put the footrest of the old, tattered brown recliner you sit in, and recline it down.  Get up, walk, maybe run, to the right chair of life.  It is the chair of living in peace.  Sit down in it, and you will see.  

There are chairs of death too.  Maybe you have the worn-out recliner of death, that needs to be tossed into the dumpster where you reside tonight.    

If you choose correctly, the next chair will have the God who sits on the throne of eternity, standing up, and clapping His nail-scarred hands.  He will clap as the angels in Heaven rejoice over you.  Yes, you!   

“Even when one soul repents, the angels around the throne of God, rejoice.” Luke 15:10.  

If the music of your life stopped this very instant, which chair would you be found sitting in?  It is a ponderous chair we sit in, until we get up from it, and run to Jesus.   

He will sit with you and keep you still.  Still in His love.  His chair never wears out.  His chair never quits holding the weight of your pain. 

Not just a chair, a seat too. His resting place.  His seat of love. 

Not a judgment seat at all.  

Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

April 2025 Newsletter: Restoration Prison Ministry

April- 2025

 

 

Dear Partners:

 

Arise and Shine, Lord Jesus, for the sake of souls in America.  

Every day is a new day to serve the Master, and I am determined to make each day count.  I know we all try to do this to the best of our ability in Him.  

There is so much to be thankful for that the Lord has done for all of us. I just wanted to share a few highlights from the past and the present.  

 

Last year, during all the meetings I was able to conduct, 2,500 souls received Christ as their Savior and Lord.  These precious souls were primarily in prisons, but there were also some in churches and drug treatment centers as well.  

One young lady in a church, was at the altar when I spoke to her: “the chapter in her life was about to change.”  I spoke from the Spirit of God and said, “The

power of God will be demonstrated in a new way this upcoming year for you.  Jesus will use you to see creative miracles, souls saved, and signs and wonders, too.”  

She received this from the Lord and has since won many to Christ in her hometown, as well as in her ministry of feeding the homeless.  

This week, she is off to Africa with a team of ministers to work in an orphanage, helping to equip the saints for the work of the ministry.  Included in that important work? Assisting fellow servants of The Gospel, serving food, and teaching The Word to those who have never encountered it before.  It is a harvest field for souls.  Her primary reason for going is to just help in any way that she can.  She will be gone from March 29, 2025, through the end of May.  

She is incredibly young, age 22, but the Lord Jesus has used her life for many years now.  

 

Additionally, off to Oregon, at the end of May, for me.  

I have added a church to the list of seven prisons and two churches already scheduled.  

For the past 47 years, there has been a consistent spiritual attack against me for the preaching of the Gospel in prisons.  It would take five pages of stories to explain all that I have gone through, in the mandate God has allowed me to be a part of.  

Since May is rapidly approaching as of the writing of this letter, I am always aware of things that happen that make absolutely no sense “in the natural.”

I will share one today, as I close this letter.    

I have had two flat tires on tires that are brand new.  I know this sounds trivial.  

But with the first one, I led the man who helped me on the highway to Jesus.  He was only 19 years old.  That flat tire produced a soul won to Christ.  

Romans 8:28 in action.  

The second flat tire allowed me to be at Walmart Tire Center on a Sunday.  Thank God someone was open to fix it.  It was a Sunday, with regular tire shops closed.  

This encounter did not have anyone in my path for me to witness to.  

It was not about that.  

It gave me one hour of uninterrupted time as I waited for the tire to be fixed.  

The Lord began to explain to me about the urgency of using all my time wisely.  

As wisely as possible, working full time, and preaching as much as I can.

 

 I recently sent a story to many of you that have received this newsletter.  

This story was about my encounter with a man at an airport.  

Back in 2018, I met a man in a wheelchair, who was 80 years old, and spoke about my family, the ministry, and me.  Specific things only the Lord and I knew.  It was a turning point for me.  

The main message, in that prophesy, given to me that day was:

“Do MORE.”  

So, in the writing of this letter, and remembering the mandate to do more, I am in process.  I am believing God for more opportunities in prisons.  

Like an arrow in God’s quiver, I will go anywhere, anytime, and at any cost, to preach the Gospel in prisons.  

I am His arrow.  He is the Bow.  

“Launch me, Lord.”  

 

Of course, there is a balance to doing more.  I still work full time, with responsibilities where I live, that are ongoing.  

I have scheduled Oregon prisons and a few churches at the end of May.  

I am believing God to open new opportunities to preach in prisons, wherever that may be.  

Please pray and agree that the Lord will continue to use me, and this soul-winning ministry, to do His Will.  

When I return from Oregon on June 4th, I will be going to the Ferguson Unit Prison in Texas with my son, and his friends on Father’s Day.  We are believing for many souls to come to Jesus this special day.  

 We want to provide, like in years past, a bar of soap for each man who lives there. 

The ministry needs 2,300 bars of soap to facilitate this blessing to each one of

them.  We will conduct three services that day, with over 250 men in attendance for each service.  

It’s an annual Father’s Day blessing, as well as during Christmas too, along with Christmas Cards in December with the soap.  

Please pray for everything I have mentioned today.  

And as always, thank all of you for the support, both prayerfully and financially, to see the lost souls come to Jesus that I will encounter very soon.  

Blessings to you, and peace, from our Lord and Savior, Jesus.  

Sincerely,

Evangelist, Joe Wilkins

My Spiritual Schism

Schism definition means: a split or division between strongly opposed sections or parties, caused by differences in opinion or belief.  The formal separation of a Church into two Churches, or the secession of a group owing to doctrinal and other differences.  Most churches that split, are over other internal issues beyond doctrinal differences. 

Glad I got that out of the way.   

This analogy of my life will be described as a division between my spiritual vacancy, and the split between the forces of evil, against the love of God through Jesus Christ. 

It is wrong to divide a church over personalities, carnality, desire for preeminence, social status, gifts, understanding, rites, ceremonies, or bigotry.   

Dividing over personalities was happening in 1st Corinthians 1:10-17.  Paul speaking: “Now I plead with you, brethren, by the Name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that you all speak the same thing, and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be perfectly joined together in the same mind and in the same judgment.  For it has been declared to me concerning you, my brethren, by those of Chloe’s household, that there are contentions among you.” 

He went on to talk about the Cross of Christ should be made of no effect, because of words of wisdom, outside of the preaching of the Gospel.  Not with wisdom of words, but of Christ alone. 

“For the message of the Cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God.”  Verse 18. 

This being the context, I will share personal “divisions” within the family I was in, and the things that happened which brought me to prison in 1976.  There was, absolutely, no spiritual unity. 

When my Uncle formalized my $250,000.00 bond, to get me released from jail, the process of “paying him back” was in motion.  In less than an hour from my release from jail after six months, the wheels began turning. 

Without naming a name, my Uncle was involved in the “family.”  Better known as the Cosa Nostra, (Sicilian Mafia) was his brand of family back in the early 1970’s.  His biological blood line was half- French, and half-Italian.  He was my mother’s half-brother due to divorce in the family early on. 

He had a legitimate job.  It was as a salesman for a well-known office and school supply company.  He was the head salesman.  This was his front company.  He used this company to hide his shenanigans with the “family.” 

MY job, directly out of jail, was to help him with his used car sales and delivery. 

This is where the schism began for me. 

I was already a drug addict.  Not just any old drug addict, mind you.  I was extremely bent, and wicked, and mean.  This is why I was out on that bond.  Attempted Murder was my calling card at this time in my young 18-year-old life.  Facing a twenty-five- to- life sentence was in front of me.  Court was postponed many times, until my Uncle deemed it was time to face the music. 

My way of paying my Uncle back for all the monies he put forth for my bond, was to move cars around the Dallas area, late at night.  Evil always lurks at night. 

Ephesians 5:11 says: “Have no fellowship with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather, expose them.” 

I did not have a spiritual bone in my spiritual body at this time.  Well, I did have demons from Hell living on the inside of me, if that counts as a bone of contention. 

Schism number one: Take directions from Uncle; move a car (usually a Cadillac or Lincoln brand) at night to a pre-determined location, take the keys and lock the doors.  Then, put the keys on top of the left front tire, and call a taxi.  “Here, Nephew Joe, take this cash I am giving you, and fill up the car with gas, and pay for the taxi.  No paper trail using cash.  Whatever is left over, go and eat out.”  He wanted me to always end up in Downtown Dallas for dinner. 

I am in downtown Dallas at the Cattleman's Steakhouse.  (pre-determined by Uncle) A well-known, higher end restaurant back in the 1970’s.  My tie-died shirt and jeans was not appropriate attire for this tablecloth dining establishment.  I had to wear a suit after my first felony with him. 

The owners, who operated it, knew my Uncle; they let me slide on my clothing, this ONE time. 

I ate my dinner.  Then I would go to a payphone and call Uncle.  He would come and get me. 

Job well done.  Understand that when I dropped off the car, it was in a giant warehouse, somewhere.  My instructions were to drive up to a huge elevator.  Open the elevator door, drive the entire car inside the elevator.  Once the keys were on top of the left, front tire, then hit the number three button for the third floor and get out as quickly as you can before the elevator doors shut. 

Job done.  Call a taxi, go eat, call Uncle.  Simple. 

This was just one out of a hundred different ways that I was used (abused) by my Uncle.  All in the name of money. 

Schism number two: Do what he says, but do not do what he does.  This was very difficult as I was an addict, addicted to everything. 

He was a womanizer.  He was married and had three girlfriends, all at the same time. 

Divorce was looming for him down the road to the courthouse.  Alimony, child support, and divorce settlements did not put a dent in his budget for gambling and all that brings with that lifestyle. 

I was with him, everywhere he went.  Day and night. 

My time to go to court was fast approaching, but he wanted to celebrate prior to my hearing.  I was facing a hellish sentence, but he seemed to have it all worked out. 

We went to play golf.  We went to Las Vegas.  Another story for a different time. 

I skipped out on my bond from Dallas County, without any issues.  I was protected somehow.  Well, I know how.  Uncle played golf with the judge prior to my sentence hearing.  My lawyer, the best criminal lawyer in the state of Texas at that time, also played golf with this judge.  It was a set up. 

Schism number three: Keep your mouth shut, and never tell anyone what you know, what you see, and who you encountered.  Never, Uncle said to me from the very beginning.   

This entire story I am sharing is for a spiritual reason soon. 

My time with Uncle lasted one year. 

I met Uncle in “dives” called bars with thin walls.  These drinking establishments were a front too, but I was never privy to his conversations with the bartender who looked like one of the Goodfellows.  Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci and the like do not compare to the real deal. 

  The Underworld was above ground, except for the ones who broke the rules.  They were underground.  Probably six feet if they were good.  Eighty feet deep with cement shoes, if they were not good.  Either way, they never spoke again.  A corpse can’t talk, especially if their throat is cut, and their tongue pulled out through the slit in their throat.  Called Columbian necktie.  A postmortem mutilation meant to send a message.  “Do that, get this.” 

My spiritual schism began long before my Uncle. (He did get saved one hour from his departure into eternity.  Not a death bed forgiveness, but a supernatural encounter that proved he repented. 

(Another story).

I was divided by drugs.  I was split in two, and separated from society by prison, and county jail time. 

I was ostracized and excluded from society as if I was a leper.  I was a spiritual leper with rotten spiritual skin and disease.  Ridiculed and persecuted by my peers, my uncle, and the system.  The judicial system. 

The reality is, only Jesus Christ can fix anyone.  He wants to save everyone, but our choices keep us in a paradox. 

The root of my schism was the form of Heresy.  I hated God. 

“And ye shall be as gods; knowing good and evil.”  Genesis 3:5, in part. 

My eyes were open to evil, not good.  I was an evil young man and the demons from hell had me in a stranglehold. 

The simplicity of telling you my story is that I was an extremist.  I did more drugs than anyone around me.  I drank everyone under the table.  I hated everyone around me, so I would fight someone, just to fight and see blood.  Hopefully not my own. 

Enter Jesus. 

I know that I know, He rescued me and gave me a second chance at life.  The horror stories I lived through, were my schisms.  My self-inflicted wounds bled and were deep.  Another schism. 

The spiritual schism ended up not divided.  Not alienated.  It was when darkness (me, back then) met the marvelous Light.  The Light of Jesus and the Gospel of Peace.  There had to be a separation of my dark side, and a deliverance from demons, to see the Light of Christ. 

You may not be as insane as me.  You are not a drug addict and a violent person either.  You are just a good, hardworking person who loves their family.  You would do anything towards sacrifice for the ones you love.  You are normal.  That is the normal way to live. 

The problem is that without Christ in your, perfect little world, with the white picket fence and all that the American Dream can produce, you are still in a schism.  Your separation from Christ.  You may not feel that.  You may even go to Church. 

I have news for you.  Buckle up. 

Going to church does not make you a Christ-follower.  Christian meaning. 

If going to church qualifies you as a Christian, then myself walking into a garage makes me an automobile.  It does not work that way.   

Jesus said, “Verily I say unto to YOU, you must be born again.” 

You must.  No options.  Well, there are options.  Reject or accept His love for you.  When you do accept Jesus into your heart through repentance, then the schism of spiritual darkness is removed. 

Get into His light.  He is the Light, that leads you to Salvation in Him.  It is called, “Come unto Me, all of you who are heavy laden and labor, and I will give you rest.  For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light.”  Matthew 11:28. 

Your spiritual schism can be a thing of your past.  It can be a story to help someone else who finds themselves living what they deem as the “American Dream.”  Without Christ Jesus as their Savior and Lord, they are living an American Nightmare.  The problem with this “nightmare” is that you will never wake up from it.  It is eternal. 

Ensure your Salvation in Christ by asking Him to take away your sin and your schisms.  He will forgive you for all your rebellion.  He will wash you clean with His Precious Blood.  The Blood of Jesus not only washes away sin, but it buries our schisms.   

 Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins

 

Bones Without a Grave

In 2004, I am standing in front of the very Chapel I got saved in, back in 1977: Prodigal Son Chapel.

How can you and I revive the dry bones in our spiritual life?  There is only one way.  It is to recognize what is dry, dead, or in need of God’s Breath to be breathed upon it. It is your soul, and your heart that has been in the valley of dry bones for far too long. 

The bones in Ezekiel 37, were bones without a grave; without a headstone, and void of any eulogies or memorials attached to their demise.  No family arrived to bury them.  They never would. 

They were soldiers without a 21-gun salute. 

Imagine for a moment what Ezekiel was seeing, sensing, and feeling in this vision.  Even smelling.  All his senses were activated beyond normal.  It is an open vision. 

Verses 1-3 from Ezekiel 37:  “The Hand of the Lord came upon me and brought me out in the Spirit of the Lord and set me down amid the valley; and it was full of bones.  Then He caused me to pass by them all around, and behold, there were many in the open valley; and indeed, they were very dry.  And He said to me, ‘Son of man, can these bones live?”” 

And I answered, “O Lord God, You know.” 

“What was Ezekiel seeing with his own eyes?” 

He saw firsthand, the thousands upon thousands, slaughtered and battle tested, warriors who had succumbed to the pressures of a war.  They died on a battlefield, and their bones were scattered from the horizon line, and as far as the eye could see, all around. 

None were alive to bury their own comrades.  Everyone was dead.   

Eagles had gathered when they all died.  They devoured the soldier’s carcasses.  No one was left behind to scare or fray the birds of prey away.  Wolves had eaten the flesh of these mighty warriors and ultimately, drank the blood of princes.   

Rain, wind, and scorching sun bleached the bones and whitened them.  They were so dry, that they became brittle over time.  No hope at all in this vision. 

Ezekiel referred to the facts in verse 2 when he declared, “There were very many in the open valley and indeed they were very dry.” 

Imagine along with me for a moment; this scene filled with silence.  The exception was the sound of howling wind blowing through the dry bones.  Whistling sounds that reminded Ezekiel of this death and destruction that had taken place. 

Zephaniah 3:17 declares:  “The Lord your God is in your midst.  The mighty one will save.  He will rejoice over you with gladness.  He will quiet you with His love.  He will rejoice over you with singing. 

What singing song sound does the wind make, that we can follow along with during this graveyard scene? 

OH, did Ezekiel’s soul need quieting.   

Just then, right in the midst of his emotional and spiritual turmoil, a voice thundered in from the Lord God to Ezekiel in verse 3.  “‘Son of man, can these bones live?’”  God needed an answer from this man of God. 

Are you serious God?  (That is what I would have thought). Stop and ponder this.  I am sure Ezekiel was exhausted (in the spirit) as he had been taken by God in the Spirit and sat down amid dry bones.  To do what? 

He was about to find out. 

Think about those sounds of the wind flowing fast through the eye sockets of the thousands of skulls, laying in heaps.  One on top of the other.  That sound must have sounded like a chorus from some death march. 

Wind whistling a tune of terror.  The smells of dry, scorched sun-beaten bones.  They may have had no smell now, but they did at one time as each soldier died.  The decay process was fast with eagles and wolves. 

No remnants of flesh now, yet there was the smell of death in Ezekiel’s mind, as he must have thought what the horrible smells were after all this death had happened.  

Bones scattered as far as the eye could see.  Bones without a grave. 

Was Ezekiel supposed to answer God by saying, “Sure, these bones can live, if you want them to?  Just speak God, and it will be done.” 

This isn’t the way the Lord planned this out. 

God had another way to make dry bones live.   

Have you ever thought how you would answer God in this moment?   

Are your parched bones in your life, crying out to God to live?  Do you find yourself with a femur bone of failure in your daily living?  Do you feel alone in the midst of a crowd with a lacrimal bone in your face named loneliness? 

Is there a compound fracture near your heart, behind your ribs of rejection? 

ONLY you know.  Well, God knows about every bone in your spiritual body that is in a war right now.  You will live and not die, to the Glory of God. 

Your spiritual bones may be broken in pieces.  Many are cracked, dry and parched by life, and all the stress it brings. 

The Lord Jesus Christ is asking mankind today, “Can your bones live?” 

Ezekiel answered God with a “safe” answer.  “O Lord God, You know.” 

Of course He knows.  He knows the beginning and end of all things concerning you and me. 

He knows our thoughts before we think them.  He knows what we will do with our thoughts.  He knows our true condition in our hospital traction-harness that temporarily holds us together after a broken leg.  Like in a real hospital, we are laying in a bed with our bones in a cast.  But not in this valley of dry bones.  There was never to be the Red Cross, or a blood drive to heal the wounds of all those soldiers. 

The bones in Ezekiel’s vision can’t live without Ezekiel saying himself, the words of life that God said for him to prophesy. 

Verse 4 declares, “He spoke to me and said, ‘Prophesy to these bones, and say to them, O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord!’   

Thus says the Lord God to these bones:  ‘Surely, I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. I will put sinews on you and bring flesh upon you, cover you with skin and put breath in you; and you shall live.  Then you shall know I am the Lord your God.’” 

God wanted Ezekiel to declare by prophesying himself.  God could have done it all.  He wanted Ezekiel to believe it could happen, and commanded him to say with his own mouth, LIVE. 

Ezekiel had to do his part.  God moved when he moved. 

A rattling came in verses 7-8.  “So, I prophesied as I was commanded; and as I prophesied, there was a noise, and suddenly a rattling; and the bones came together, bone to bone.  Indeed, as I looked, the sinews and the flesh came upon them, and the skin covered them over; but there was no breath in them.”

God had Ezekiel prophesy to the breath to come from the four winds so these slain may live.  And they did live. 

Just like all of us who are broken in some way or another; we need new life.  A rattling in our spirits to see pieces of old bones of discouragement, old bones of disappointments, come alive.  Those smaller bones, in our mind, that set themselves without proper surgery.  And we wonder why we can’t get spiritually ahead in this life.  It is because every fracture, every bone that is broken in our heart, and every one that seems like it is miniscule to us, needs to be reset by God.  He is the healer.  He does not apply a cast on your leg.  He can heal without plaster.  His Hands heal quickly.  If our doubts and unbelief's keep us from believing, then the first bone to be put in place, is the bone of faith. 

Live without the titanium plate of terror, screwed into our bones with metal.  No scars.  No surgical procedures.  Just His presence and His love to bring to life all our dead areas that continue to cause us pain.  Yes, they are dead, dry bones.  But even though they are dead, they live in our memories to haunt us, until God breathes new life into us, and heals us. 

Those old baked by the sun bones.  Insecurities and loneliness.  Bones that broke in a divorce.  Kicked around in life until our tail bones were broken by someone else who pulverized our hopes.  They literally kicked us out the doors of opportunity and peace.  Who allowed this to happen?  No one really.  It is just this temporal life with temporary trials. 

Some of us had an entire skeleton of addictions. 

The bad habits caused pain and hopelessness.  They lay in their own valley, scorched by the hot sun.  Those bones seemed to try and live at one time when we sought treatment in our recovery process.  We made it two years clean and sober, but not free indeed.  After we dove back into the swimming pool of sadness and regret, we woke up.  Prayerfully, we came out of our sick and twisted coma.  Jesus raised the dead.  When He did, He also fixed the thing that caused them to die.  He fixed their bones that were headed to a graveyard with no headstone.  Bones of disease.  He healed them.  Bones of suicidal thinking.  He touched that too and replaced that bone-lie from Satan with the Joy of the Lord.  Never to be replaced again. 

If treatment from a doctor, or a program would fix permanently, all the things that beset human beings; there would be no need for the Cross of Calvary. 

But the Cross hung up high on Golgotha’s hill.  There were two more.  One on each side of the big one Jesus hung on. 

The moment He said, “It is finished,” we had and still have the opportunity to live again.  Live with hope.  Live without deadness in our spirits.  Live and not die in a graveyard with no granite headstone.  No more parched bones without a grave. 

We can be remembered by our walk with Jesus.  Not where we walked that displeased Him.  No. Our walk is not perfect.  But it is when we stop walking with Him, is when the bones in our spirit begin the death rattle. 

“The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge.” Psalm 18:2. 

Rocks.  No one can ever throw stones at you again.  They can try, but they will fail to hurt you with their words again.  You are in the refuge.  You are in the fortress.  Take one last look at your valley of dry bones.  Turn around and begin to take them and bury them from your heart.  The only sounds we will hear will be the sounds of life.  Not death. 

We will overcome by the Blood of the Lamb, and the words of our testimony. 

God does not want us to dry up.  He wants us to live and give Him Glory in our pain.  How so?  By seeing the pain become parched by the SON of the Living God, Jesus.  He will be gentle with us.  His rays of SON-shine will melt away the clouds of despair and pain in our lives. 

There is no pain that He can’t heal.  There is no bone that He cannot mend.  There is no heart, that He will ignore.  Your heart.  He is looking down at you from Heaven’s view.  He sees all your skinless bones.  He sees the lack of muscle to move your arms into the air and worship Him.  “Prophesy to your bones now.”  Tell them to live.  He will do His part.  You and I must do ours.   

Speak to the mountain to be removed.  Ask Him to raise the valleys in your life that are full of dead bones.  If the mountains are removed, and the valleys lifted, then that is the New Plumbline for you to begin again.  It is His will for us to live without any broken bones or broken promises.  His promises, He will keep. 

 Copyright © 2025 by Joe Wilkins