After a long night of drinking at a local tavern, my brother and I headed toward home in Hoquiam, Washington. We didn’t get far before our car veered off the road and struck a utility pole.

Uninjured, we stepped out to assess the damage — never noticing the downed power lines.

As I walked through the darkness, my left arm brushed against one of the live wires. Thirteen thousand volts entered my body, dropping me on the spot.

The instant they touched the ground, my knees exploded. I collapsed across the wires, the continued shocks burning my flesh.

I awoke in a Seattle hospital, where I would remain for the next six months. That first morning, the attending doctor asked me to sign a release form to amputate my left arm.

The limb was crisp and curled from fingertips to elbow. Everything above the elbow was distended and taut with fluids.

My doctor was kind but firm: “If we don’t amputate this morning, we will likely take off more of that arm tomorrow.”

I signed the form.

Two weeks later, I authorized amputation of my right leg.

For several months, I fought to keep my left leg before finally surrendering it as well.

I endured painful burn treatments and skin grafts. As a triple amputee, I had to relearn everyday activities, including feeding and dressing myself.

When I finally left the hospital and returned home, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I saw stumps where my limbs once were, and scars where skin had melted away.

At 21 years of age, I wondered, Who will accept me? Who will love me?

To numb the pain, I returned to alcohol and illicit drug use, which only made things worse.

I had attended church growing up and remembered a prayer that hung on the wall of my childhood home: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”

A desire to change what I could motivated me not to give up. I spent the next four years trying to improve by my own power. I put on a brave face, but I still felt empty inside.

My sister introduced me to Darla Hollis, a Northwest University student and genuine follower of Jesus. We soon struck up a friendship.

At 21 years of age, I wondered, Who will accept me? Who will love me?

Although Darla often invited me to church, I always found an excuse to decline. Until one Sunday when I said, “Yes.”

On Nov. 16, 1980, I wheeled into Calvary Temple Assembly of God in Auburn, Washington. Darla sat down beside me, trusting that God could reach me, even on the back row.

During the service, the Holy Spirit reminded me that God loves and welcomes me just as I am — scars and all. When the pastor gave the altar call, I raised a shaky hand, expressing my desire to repent and begin a relationship with Jesus.

My physical condition did not change, but God made me completely whole that day.

The following year, Darla and I married. We moved to Cottage Grove, Oregon, and became active members of an AG church.

I accepted a number of invitations to share my testimony with local Christian groups. I also spoke at school assemblies, addressing such issues as disabilities, self-esteem, bullying, and substance abuse.

Before long, the speaking engagements were interfering with my work as a tax consultant. After much prayer, Darla and I agreed that God was leading us to full-time ministry.

I enrolled in Berean School of the Bible (now part of Global University), becoming a licensed AG minister in 1999. That same year, I launched my evangelistic and motivational speaking ministry.

After connecting with Army chaplains who asked me to share my story with soldiers, I traveled to military bases across the U.S. and Europe.

At Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland, I encouraged young amputees who had been injured in Iraq.

For exercise and recreation, I learned to use a custom handcycle. I sensed God leading me to utilize that as another platform for sharing His message.

During 2008, Darla and I pedaled our bikes from Seattle to New York, along with our three children. We called the tour Hope and Courage Across America.

I spoke at churches and other venues along the route. We also ministered to individuals we met during our travels — at campgrounds, restaurants, and wherever opportunities arose.

We completed another cross-country ride in 2011, from California to Florida.

Each of those trips lasted four months and resulted in many salvations. Some of the relationships we formed are still opening doors for sharing the gospel across the country.

Darla and I had no way of knowing the places God would take us when we answered His call and agreed simply to go where He leads.

The journey has not always been easy, but the Lord has always been faithful.

This article appears in the Winter 2025 issue of Influence magazine.