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Hope
There’s some sort of hole in your heart that you're still trying to get filled. You wish your Dad had said some wonderful things.
In 1968 I was eighteen and at the height of the hippie movement. You know I smoked a lot of pot, took a lot of acid, did a lot of drugs. In the middle of Los Angeles I took off all of my clothes so I could become one with the...
I would always come home from church and tell my dad what I learned there. I wanted him to be saved and to know the assurance that he was saved.
My dad committed the crime of first degree murder on August 14, 1996, which is my birthday, and he went to prison.
"I had a team to help win a championship. I felt like there were more important things, unfortunately [than my son]. When I say that now, it makes me sick to my stomach."
I remember early as a boy he would come into our neighborhood in a trailer park where I lived in Gainesville, Florida riding a Harley on a wheelie.
"But God had to teach me that none of that matters, that He was going to be my Father and that He was going to teach me and help me."
“My whole entire life I was looking for someone to teach me how to be a man."
"Not even a week old and she was in church. She learned to walk in the church. She spoke in church for the first time. She crawled in the church. All of it."