BY MICHAEL MATTHEWS

BECAME A CHRISTIAN ON OCTOBER 11, 1981. On that date, between the hours of 11:00 p.m. and midnight, I found myself on my knees in a jail cell, holding the hand of a fellow prisoner, committing my life to Jesus Christ.

I recognized my situation for exactly what it was: the most decisive moment in my life. Two paths lay before me: one to a living death, the other to death to self that promised life in return.

Who knows when conversion really begins? As I reflect back on my life, I am aware that God's presence was always there. Even the many times I desired it otherwise. It is as though my whole life had been but one test after another, as though I was being prepared and molded for some purpose.

A Slippery Slope
At an early age I developed an interest in the occult. I read just about everything I could get my hands on, sometimes reading an entire book in one night. I also studied other religions and Eastern philosophies. It was not long before I entered the drug culture as well.

It all began with the old adage "I'm just experimenting." In 1977 I became a dealer as well as a user. By 1979 I was clearing $2,000 to $3,000 a week. I obtained my wares from several sources, but one person in particular became "my main man."

He happened to be an avid reader of the Bible. When I asked him about it, he said he read it for its literary value. "You can't really believe everything written in it," he said, "because the Bible contradicts itself." Later I accepted this as a personal challenge.

As if my life weren't complex enough as it was, one of my closest friends was a member of the local police department; on several occasions I worked undercover for him.

Needless to say, I had a well-established reputation, most of which was untrue, but the truth was really quite sufficient. I began dressing entirely in black. I wore a wide-brimmed black leather hat, along with a mid-length black leather jacket. My hair was black and hung in long waves. My appearance was somewhat sinister and formidable. Much of the time I went around armed, carrying either a knife or a handgun, sometimes both.

This extreme measure of caution was not intended for the law enforcement agencies, but for the people I did business with. There were times I didn't know where I was going or whom I would meet.

Joy and Sadness
The day after my twenty-fifth birthday I was presented with a son by the woman I was living with. We called him Eathen Charles Matthews. We never got to bring him home from the hospital. The day he was to be released he contracted a virus from which he never recovered. I came to believe that Eathan's death was directly related to my lifestyle. This became one of the major turning points in my life.

I began taking large doses of LSD--nine to 11 doses at a time. The old sales pitch used by dealers was "Take this, and you'll see God." I was looking for answers, and God was exactly who I wanted to see.

Only a few within my circle knew the quantity of drugs I was taking, and they couldn't understand what was keeping me alive. As depression set its claws into me, I isolated myself more and more from those who were the closest to me. I managed to keep a good front, but self-hatred had developed and had taken deep root. Death would have been welcome, but I dared not take my own life. When contemplating suicide, I imagined my next conscious moment standing before God and being asked, "Did I send for you?"

I didn't fear death, but I didn't want to meet God under those circumstances. Early one morning I awoke in a rage and killed my cat. I had reached my breaking point. Thinking I was on the verge of insanity, I hated who I was, what I had become. I couldn't understand why I could not stop. I prayed, "Tell me what's making me what I am."

Sobering Thoughts
Later that night my prayer was answered. I was watching television in the living room when a strange feeling came over me. I hadn't taken any drugs, so I ruled that out. I felt myself losing consciousness, so I quickly made my way toward the bathroom to get some cold water on my face. I made it only as far as the bathroom door before I collapsed on the floor. The only thing I was conscious of was the thought What will your wife do without you?

Questions for Reflection or for Use in Your Small Group 1. What lessons about God's grace have you learned only because you were captured by circumstances? 2. What Bible characters had to learn life lessons in situations that were far from ideal? Were there any who failed to learn the lessons God wanted to teach them? 3. What do these things teach us about the distractions of modern life? 4. What practical steps would you take to ensure that you're being sensitive to God, before He has to "raise His voice" to get your attention.

About two weeks later an elderly couple came to the door. The man held a small package in his hand. He explained that they were members of the church where my wife and I were married, and that the package contained a gift from the church.

I opened the box and discovered a Bible. At first, I thought my wife was behind it, but she was as surprised as I was. I began reading the Bible that same day, from the beginning. Shortly afterward a man who called himself T. C. tried to make arrangements to meet with me.

The people I did business with were very close-knit. We knew one another well, and it was not my practice to take any new clients; but T. C. was persistent. My contacts believed he was an undercover narcotics agent, and they assured me that two of our fellow associates could be sent to eliminate him. They had served in the Special Forces in Vietnam, so they were very capable of doing the job. But I didn't want bloodshed. As an alternative, I proposed meeting with T. C. and taking him on as a client. If our suspicions proved true, I would take the fall alone.

T. C. tried to convince me that he was a biker. The only thing he convinced me of was that he was playing the role of a biker. After my first transaction with T. C. I asked myself, "Why am I sacrificing myself for this guy?" The answer that came to me caught me off guard: "Because that's what Jesus would do."

Jesus? I didn't even know Jesus. I knew who He was, but I didn't know Him personally.

One morning in October I was awakened by a series of loud knocks at the front door. I got up slowly, taking a .45 caliber pistol from under my pillow. I walked into the living room and momentarily paused, facing the front door. Then I turned and laid the pistol down on the couch, walked into the kitchen, and sat down to gather my thoughts.

Again, there was a series of loud knocks at the door, and I heard a man's voice say, "I know someone's in there. I heard him walk across the floor."

When I opened the door, I was greeted by two men in business suits, each with an overcoat draped over his right arm. There were a few moments of silence, which was followed by the exchange of glances between the two, who quickly pointed the .357s concealed under their coats at me.

The voice in my head said, "Tell them to go ahead and shoot." Instead, I asked for their identification. The man standing to my right pulled his badge, and I could plainly see he was a member of the police department.

I gave up without a fight.

Time to Think
When my wife came to visit me in jail, she asked if I wanted my Bible. "No!" I exclaimed. I wanted nothing to do with God or His word. But there was no escaping it.

One of my fellow prisoners had two Bibles, and he insisted that I take one. I took up reading where I had left off just prior to my arrest, in the book of Philippians. I soon met Pastor Gerrit Van Druten. An immediate bond formed between us when he told me that he also had been on the other side of those bars.

He shared a text with me, "But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name" (John 1:12). This led him to ask me to make a decision. That night in a 6' x 12' cell I counted the cost and asked the man who had given me one of his Bibles to pray with me as I knelt and gave my heart and life to Jesus Christ.

There weren't any fireworks, but a drastic change began to take place. The craving for drugs that had been the center of my life for the past nine years vanished. That which I once loved I now held in contempt. Drugs were only what lay on the surface; the lifestyle they represented was the real addiction.

The mother of one of my closest friends, a Seventh-day Adventist, began visiting me. She asked if I'd like a Bible course to help me in my studies, and she began bringing me a course, along with several books. I spent six months in the county's jail system before being sentenced on a Good Friday to four to 20 years for trafficking in drugs.

During my incarceration I continued to study the Scriptures. I can't say how many times I read the Bible through from cover to cover, gaining new insights and discovering more truths each time. I took and completed other Bible courses, reading and studying every book or piece of Christian literature that came to me.

Pastor Van Druten and Mrs. Combs faithfully corresponded with me, writing letters and providing me with additional books and literature. I planned to be baptized as soon as possible, but choosing a body of believers to worship with was a difficult decision to make. There appeared to be so many divisions in the various denominations, all professing to be followers of Christ, which I found to be very confusing, because I couldn't fully agree with any of them.

In prison I attended a Bible class faithfully each Sabbath. One week it would be conducted by Art Stone, and the following week it would be conducted by Pastor Richard Mills and his father.

In March 1984 the Parole Board called me in and granted me a parole.

I was released and was soon attending church services with Mrs. Combs, the woman who had become like a mother to me.

The third Sabbath after my release a baptismal service was held. After the baptisms were performed, an invitation was given to follow the Lord in baptism.

I refrained, but what took place in my life on that day remains deeply entrenched in my mind. I heard an audible voice, as though it came from someone standing next to me. It said, "This is where you are to be baptized"--those exact words. When I turned to see who spoke, I was greeted by empty space.

Several times I've been asked why I am a Seventh-day Adventist. My response has always been, "That is where I'm meant to be." (I can only imagine what one might think if I stated I heard a voice.)

Shortly afterward, another invitation was given to which I responded with a raised hand. On October 13, 1984, I was baptized by Pastor Steve Shipowick. My problem with denominations has long been put behind me, with the realization that I am a Christian first and an Adventist second. In other words, I am Christ's first, and anything else that I am it is because I am Christ's. I've confronted my greatest fear, the fear of dying while living an unfulfilled life.

I've followed a very dark passage with many twists and turns before coming into the light. Amid that darkness the light was ever present to direct me and lead me on. Though God has led me out of darkness and into His marvelous light, the reality of that darkness and what it is capable of, if it were given free rein, remains clear and present. Just as it is Christ who holds the keys of hell and death (Rev. 1:18), He holds the keys that bind the dark forces that once bound me.

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Michael Matthews writes from Amelia, Ohio.