Stepping on a Girl's Hand

I was 22 years old. I had been back from Vietnam for a little over a year . . . living in Los Angeles, searching for God among the hallucinogenic aromas of Sunset Strip. I had tried it all . . . scientology . . . . satanology . . . zen Buddhism . . . Alan Watts . . . and anything that promised me to get in touch with the Wholly Other.

I was exhausted and run down with all these "cereal box religious experiences". It sounded like this: I am God . . .you are God . . .we are all God . . .every thing on the planet is God. I couldn't tell if I should raise my hands in worship to the heavens or look down at the sidewalk to make sure I didn't step on God in whatever form He appeared in.


I was told by some religious groups that to get holy, I had to give up just about everything. For example, Buddhism teaches all suffering is the result of our cravings and desires. So If I could stop desiring, I would stop my personal suffering.


Suddenly, i realized I wanted to suffer. I liked to suffer. To become nothing, selfless, and float into nirvana didn't touch any buttons down inside me. I didn't want to walk around in a saffron robe acting like I had no sex drive nor the tools God gave me to go to go along with it. A sexless holy man was too much like watching silent films with no picture.

I enjoyed life and religious thinking made me feel that I should not enjoy life. I should only enjoy God and people who love God and individuals who wanted to please God. I was made to feel I needed to join the "stop sinning" club. I was told to stop smoking dope, stop dropping LSD, having pre-marital engagements with women and the list went on and on. Instead, I was to read the Bible, pray, attend church and prayer meetings and then presto . . . I would find happiness.

To be honest, taking drugs sounded more exciting. Sitting in a church pew as opposed to swaying to the music of the Doors at the Whiskey didn't move me at all. I was not a church-going guy!

After all, I didn't think I was that bad of a person. It was the summer of 1969 - the Manson murders - when all this was taking place and I was nowhere near the likes of Tex Watson or Charlie Manson. I wasn't murdering, or stealing or committing adultery. I was a clean cut, long-haired, wild guy who thought he wasn't as far away from God as everyone told me I was.

Christians were starting to drive me crazy. According to them, I needed to accept Jesus and then I could be holy. But I kept arguing back that I wasn't do bad. So . . . I had a drug habit. Big deal!

I went to Vietnam . . . didn't that count for erasing some of my bad karma? I figured 2 years in the Army was not a bad trade off for getting stoned for 6-7 years of my life. I even visited Buddhist shrines in Japan and Shinto ones as well. I helped South Vietnamese people find jobs on the Army base where I worked, drove our 2 1/2 ton Army truck to orphanages and gave out food.

I even got Bar Mitzvahed at age 13. I might be closer to God than people would agree with. Why in the world did I have to "Make Room for Jesus"? Besides, I'm Jewish and I had no spare rooms in my life for another deity (as I assumed He was).



One hot summer August afternoon I went into the Mojave desert with a few friends. A guy, his wife and my date. We had taken a lot of LSD . . . probably enough to send a horse on a three month drug trip. I was dumb and stupid and took a gamble on my life.

We stopped the car out in the desert heat. I wanted to climb to the top of a ledge I fixated on. Somehow getting to the top of the summit made me feel I would be connecting with God. Yes, it was a contradiction. If I was so good and holy, what did I need God for?

As we climbed the Mojave rocks, we headed straight for the top of this elevation. I did not have hiking books or any of the rock climbing gear. We were too stoned to even think of that.

I placed my foot down on a rocky ledge to get to the next level. But when i put my foot down, I smashed the fingers of my date's hand who had used the same ledge with her hand to get a grip on the rock wall. She yelled out in excruciating pain.

I quickly lifted my foot and kept going. I didn't say I was sorry. I was on my way to the top of the mountain; I was on a spiritual high. I was holy and full of divine light. I could not stop for such mundane obstacles like pain.

When I reached the summit, I expected to see the hand of God, instead I saw the hand of my date. She was nursing the hand I stepped on. But in my drugged state I had transcended the fleshly level; I was pure spirit or pure bull shit.

What turned my life around that day? My date' hand. I think her name was Denise. I stepped on this poor girl's hand and I didn't care. The flesh was evil in my mind and pain was not real not real. All that Eastern crap. But I realized I was pure crap as well. What a selfish, insensitive person I was. All I cared about was this God of my own making but I didn't care about this girl's throbbing hand.


In that moment I saw a dark heart . . .a heart that did not care about anyone but himself. I loathed my selfish heart. Yet I still have that heart. It's not as dark. Jesus has scrubbed it down in the past 37 years. And I don't step on girl's hands anymore. I would rather hold them. And I hate breaking or wounding anyone's heart. I can barely live with myself when my darkness is exposed.

On that day the twisted, wretched selfish chamber of my heart was revealed to me. I hated what i saw. Into that empty, selfish heart I realized I did have room for Jesus. I had room for Someone with a heart greater than myself who didn't step on people's hands.

Yet everyday I still step on someone's hand metaphorically. I am still selfish. I am insensitive.

I cry when I step on people's hands. But Jesus wipes my tears and reminds me who I am without Him. He reminds me that I will never love people like He does. But I have every opportunity to ask Him to keep me from stepping on hands and to learn how to nurse the hands I damaged back to health.

Denise, wherever you are . . . . I'm sorry I stepped on your hand. But know this . . . your throbbing hand allowed the pain in my heart to throb so much that i cried out to Jesus to save me from own selfishness.

Stepping on a Girl's Hand

Does God Ever Step Outside His Will?

I can hear it now. Blasphemy! How can you utter such words? Are you still a Christian, Louis? You've been in the ministry for over three decades. How could you?

Exactly my point. I've been in the ministry for almost half my life and I've seen it all. I've seen the best and I've witnessed the worst.

So once again, we ask, does God ever make mistakes? Are you ever truly disappointed with the way your life turned out . . . even though you believe you are in God's will?

To not admit we toy with this question is dishonest. We dare not tell anyone. We're afraid of what others might say. We fear the wrath of God. Yet deep in the recesses of our souls, my question reverberates with yours. Admit it.

It's a mental game, isn't it? Here are the rules. No matter what God allows in your life . . . no matter how bad your life ends up . . . and no matter how miserable you are, God is always right-His will is perfect-and you're always wrong to question Him.

Read the Word of God. Psalm 19:7 The law of the LORD is perfect, reviving the soul. The statutes of the LORD are trustworthy, making wise the simple. Matthew 5:48 Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. Sure, you can play around with the Hebrew and Greek so that they refer to God's completeness. Still . . . He is perfect. His will is always correct. . . right?

So stop thinking. Cease all your questioning and get on with your life. Stop complaining.

I can buy that response if I was an atheist. Ultimately I would be responsible for everything that occurs in my life, right? So who's your Daddy? No one. Not God. It's all me. It's life. It's circumstances. Stuff happens! The universe is indifferent to your happiness.

But I am not an atheist.

Here's our dilemma. We have to live in an imperfect universe; fractured people struggling with illness, undeserved suffering and financial woes surround us. Then I am supposed to say, "God's never wrong." Yet deep in my soul, there's this nagging question: Can I really stand behind God as I watch this mother bury her 14-year-old daughter killed in a senseless car accident?

For Christians it can be a one-way conversation. God allows bad stuff to take place and I cannot question Him. Something is not right with this picture.

I know all the prescriptions Christians write out for my disbelief: God allows suffering to accomplish His will, to mold our spiritual character, because of sin and disobedience, since we live in a cursed world and to ultimately give Himself glory when He delivers us . . . if He does.

I guess you can't do much better than these explanations. If you say all disappointment and suffering is our fault and all the blessings belong to God. That’s a cop out. It's circular reasoning. Here's the argument: God is perfect. Whatever He does is perfect. Imperfection is all around us and impacts our lives. Therefore, anything imperfect cannot be from God.

God is off the hook. We are left alone trying to figure this out. Very alone and scared. Yet I wonder if the problem is not really God but the way Christians represent God.

Christians feel they have to defend God so He always looks righteous and perfect. This is where we get into trouble. Does God need us to defend Him? If He allows cancer into the life of an infant, are you going to try to make up some cockamamie explanation because you must run in and save God from embarrassment? I stopped doing that a long time ago.

I was a pastor for many years. I reached a point where I looked at all the hurt and disappointment and could no longer try to explain God to people. He has to get His own defense attorney . . . Himself. I'd rather live with mysteries in the universe rather than offer someone a cliché about tragedies that come into their lives.

Perhaps the best explanation for those times when we wonder if God has stepped over His own boundary line is, "I really don't know why you're going through this horrific time." Rather than take the risk of saying something stupid and superficial, this is the better approach.

No, I do not believe God makes mistakes. But I don't believe it is up to us to front God with a reason or explanation for our suffering. Regardless of the insights offered to Job by his three friends, it was only when Job himself went toe-to-toe with the Lord that the patriarch received his answer. God's response was not too pretty, but at least it came from the Lord Himself. It's a lot better than a bunch of Biblical speculators starting each sentence with "Maybe God is trying to . . . or Maybe He is teaching you . . . When we remove the "maybes' from our spiritual vocabulary and wait on God to hear His voice, then we're cooking.

It's not that God makes mistakes; it's when we try to explain or defend Him we make Him look like He doesn't know what He's doing.

I would love to hear what you have to say. Maybe . . .

Does God Ever Step Outside His Will?