The
following was sent in by Bruce Stubbs who was saved in Naples by some former
house members who had moved back to Naples. Bruce then went
to join the house in Tampa and later on went out with Ranch Challenge
to Arizona..........Also see some
photos
sent in By Bruce.......................
I was born and raised in San Francisco and was in High
School during the “60's” and participated in much of what was occurring at
that time and place. This resulted in an early enlistment in the Marine
Corps as an alternative to a prison sentence of similar duration. Three and
a half years later found me much discontent with not only what I saw around
me but with myself as well.
This brings me to the point which the following 3
pages take up.
I live in Brooklyn New York now and have since October
of 1978. I was married in 1982 and have two girls, Lisa and Cheryl, born in
‘84 and ‘87 respectively.
I am an architectural Woodworker in the carpenters
union and work primarily in Manhattan doing executive offices and high end
businesses.
I have been active in my church since arriving here
from Arizona and was a full time worker at the Hallelujah House ministry for
3 ½ years prior to that.
By the grace of God, I shall continue to serve Him
here or where ever He sends me.
On April 5, 1975 I encountered a life defining
experience.
On my way back down to Key West from Mardi Gras in New
Orleans I was examining my life and prospects. I’d been hitchhiking around
the United States for some months and truly enjoying the experience. I had
developed a knack for meeting people and making friends and was becoming
familiar with many ways to survive on a budget.
I guess I started traveling because, after almost
dying in an auto accident, I realized that the place I was in was not where
I wanted to be when I died. Not that I’d ever been doing as well as I was at
that point. I had a job that I enjoyed at a place that built racing yachts.
I also had plans to build a yacht of my own and an offer from the owner of
the use of his facilities to that end. Three un-requested raises in six
months time made me feel appreciated, and the work was both challenging and
rewarding.
While on my way to give my savings to a friend whose
house had burned down, a drunk hit me from behind doing 45 mph. I was riding
my bicycle, and after flying through the air I landed in the hospital with
an almost severed Achilles tendon and a case of whiplash that kept me out of
commission for several weeks.
Well, at that point in my history I had ceased from a
decade long debacle in which I had made it my aim to prove the theory
un-encapsulated space flight. For six months prior to my accident I had been
eating health food, doing yoga exercises and studying philosophy. I had
abandoned any sort of drug or alcohol and was actually enjoying hard work.
As I recuperated, I began to question my purpose in
the greater scheme of things. To those of you who knew me then, this will
paint a more detailed picture. An old acquaintance, who went by the name of
Space Cat, having heard that I had my own house and some time on my hands
felt he should pay me a visit. Having acquired a modest insurance
settlement, I had the means to explore some other possibilities. My above
named acquaintance pointed out to me the benefits of travel as a way to find
alternatives, as we smoked a pound of pot and passed the Christmas season
away in 1974 in New Bern N.C.
So, having liquidated my belongings, I hit the road. My
first destination was Key West. The report of its slow lifestyle and easy
living was not exaggerated and I found it suitable to my frame of mind. I
found that I could make enough money working one week to live on down there
for three. I made a number of friends and began to think of it as a retreat.
Well, to make this brief I passed some months either
there or traveling the country, and found myself becoming dis-enchanted with
life in general. Don’t get me wrong, if I had planned my itinerary, I doubt
that I could have come closer to doing what I thought would please me than I
did. I mean to say that all the “good times” just were not satisfying me
down deep.
April 5, 1975 found me heading south in Florida to
meet some folks and take a boat trip out from Key West. I had in the course
of my travels run into numerous religious folks of every stripe. I had also
written off God as a factor in my life years before. However one night while
viewing the stars I just felt that there must be some explanation for all of
that. So I spoke these words “God, if you are really there, and if you have
some plan for my life, let me know it.” I reasoned that if God existed, the
least that I could expect was some confirmation from Him of the fact if I
was willing to give my life to Him.
Well, that may sound to you like an invitation for
disappointment but, at that time God communicated with me. I won’t get into
semantics about it as to whether it was an audible voice or not, just
suffice to say that I changed the direction and headed toward Tampa
following what I believed was God’s leading.
Upon getting a ride with a hearse full of dope smoking
hippies, I soon was high again and seriously doubting the veracity of the
afore mentioned leading. Two days later found me assaying to cross Alligator
Alley to resume my intended journey to Key West. I was approached by two
guys in an old V.W. and invited to a steak dinner with them and their girls.
Being always ready for a good meal and somewhat hesitant about crossing that
section of road at night, (not that I didn’t feel it my responsibility to
contribute to the local mosquito blood bank, but I had given liberally a few
days before and felt that I had met my quota) I willingly accepted their
offer.
Arriving at their house proved to be a boon indeed. The
food was great and the company was very pleasant. As you may have guessed,
these folks were Christians. Seeing how lovingly they interacted with each
other added validity to the claims of Christ which they shared with me. When
I had realized their avocation though, I determined to be pleasant but
unresponsive.
Joel, the name of the man who first extended the
invite, shared how God wanted to enter into a personal relationship with not
only me but all of the people He had created. He told me how the Lord was in
the business of changing lives. Then he shared the following passage:
Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new
creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. 2
Cor. 5:17 explaining it thus:
If you come to God on His terms [not holding anything
back- 100% commitment] He will change you into the kind of person who will
fully enjoy living a Christian life. He will make known His will to you and
help you to live it.
Joel also told me that inasmuch as God can’t fail, if
I did come on His terms, He would definitely reveal Himself to me and change
me (giving me the option to prove His claim over me). .Since that was what I
had asked God for three days earlier, I did business with the maker and
lover of my soul.
That was April 5, 1975. On that day God took away my
sin and gave me new life. I joined a ministry in Tampa and worked to see
that others might also have the opportunity to experience the Joy and Peace
and Contentment I found in His service.
Friends, we are all in the same boat. Whether we see
it or not, we were created to contribute to the work of God on this earth.
There are needy people all around us. If we are content to live for
ourselves, we will die. God calls us to recognize the need, and our
individual inability to meet this in and of ourselves, and get to Him so He
can make us able to fill it.
Jesus gave His life to purchase us the chance at
eternal life. We can choose to accept or reject His offer. We can also
question it. If you are willing to know the truth, you can.
“If any of you really determines to do God's will,
then you will certainly know whether my teaching is from God or is merely my
own. “ John 7:17 Living Bible
For God so loved the world, that he gave his only
begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have
everlasting life. John 3:16
PS I wrote this several years ago to include with a
slide presentation I have shared with guys I was in the jungle with. I’ve
been doing volunteer work in Guatemala building school buildings for the
kids that reside in the dump in Guatemala City (I’ve gone 8 times so far and
when I retire December 18 2007, I plan to spend more time doing this work)
I’m scheduled to go Feb – March 2008. |
|
The following is
Ben Dennis'
Testimony. It 's a long read but well worth it. Enjoy
My Time with Ranch
Challenge-Hallelujah People
My name is Ben and I spent a little over 5
yrs with RC-HP.
O.K., I guess you start something like this out with a little background,
like what the Lord saved you out of and how you met the Lord and such. I was
born in ’57, when my 15 yr. old mother got pregnant by a 24 yr. old 2-time
ex-convict, who did actually marry her when she was about 3 months pregnant
with me. They had a rocky marriage that lasted until I was about a year old,
when he was arrested for armed robbery and sent back to prison. She divorced
him and we moved in with her mother until I was about 4. Grandma was the
only Christian influence in our family while I was growing up so that wasn’t
a bad thing. When I was 4 my mom married my step-dad, who I remember as
being a pretty decent sort when I was small, and we lived a fairly normal
working class American lifestyle for a few years, with them having my
younger half sister and brother during that time.
However, I walked into the kitchen in our home when I was 8, and saw my
step-dad out cold on the floor, and Mom sent me to bed. The next morning I
was packed off to Grandma’s, Sis and bro to his moms. I didn’t see him for
nearly a year, and rarely saw my mother during that time. It turned out my
step-dad had spinal meningitis, and spent the next 10 months in a coma.
When he came out of it he was permanently paralyzed and his mind was pretty
well shot. Mom went into a depression and dealt with it by going to bars,
hanging out with other men and such. We lived in some pretty bad places
after that, and I followed my mother into depression. I can remember
standing at the kitchen table when I was about 10, holding a knife to my
chest and crying, because I wanted to fall on it, but was afraid to.
I
started working in the school kitchen for “free” lunches when I was 12, and
met a guy there who became my best friend for several years. He was a lot
more street savvy than I, and taught me to steal beer and other things out
of cars, and generally get in a lot of trouble. I lived a North Texas
redneck country boy lifestyle until I was 15, drinking and raising Cain,
angry at life. It was during this time I decided if there was a God he was
just a monster who liked tormenting his creation. Then I got a job washing
dishes in a local honky-tonk, and met a couple of cute hippy girls who
worked there. It wasn’t long before they convinced me to pursue the hippy
lifestyle, and before I was 16 I had ran away from home to San Diego, living
in a Volkswagen van behind a hippie coffee shop in Ocean Beach. I started
doing any drug that came my way, including intravenous, and generally
wrecking my life even worse than before.
I
started hitchhiking around the country, (I logged between 25,000-30,000
miles hitchhiking and hopping freight trains by the time I was 19) doing
drugs, basically being a derelict. I considered myself an atheist during
this time, but I discovered that the rescue missions and Christian houses
around the country were good for a free meal (if I was willing to listen to
the preaching) when I was broke, which was a fair percentage of the time. My
mind was pretty well gone from all the acid and other garbage I had pumped
into it by this time, and I was really getting close to rock bottom.
One
day, in July of 1976, while hitchhiking to Zephyrhills, Florida to visit a
cousin, I spent the night camping near the Clearwater Bridge, and a couple
of guys told me about a place called the Hallelujah House, where you could
get a decent free meal. I stopped in on a Saturday morning. A guy named
Andre’ (Provost)was sitting on the wall out front, and he gave me the usual
preaching to, Then I went inside and met a guy named J David, who told me
about their plans to build a ranch to help people out, and showed me a
scale model of it. I asked if I could get something to eat, and a young
pregnant girl (Valerie) showed me to a table, and brought me a very nice
breakfast. While eating, I noticed no one else was eating, and asked about
that. I was told that everyone was fasting except the pregnant women, and
Valerie had given her own breakfast to me.
Ouch.
That
put a pretty good dent in my anti-Christian mindset, but I didn’t give in at
that point. I went on to Zephyrhills that day, and went out picking
psilocybin mushrooms with a friend. After picking a tied up t-shirt full, I
boiled them down into a tea concentrate to take with me to Memphis, Tenn.,
my next stop, visiting a girlfriend there. My goal in life at this point was
to reach a point of continual tripping, as I didn’t care for this world at
all, and I figured that was the easiest way out. So while standing on the
highway near Gainesville, Fla., I drank the whole jar of psilocybin
concentrate. I was actually pretty disappointed, as I still had some contact
with reality afterwards, but I did notice that when I smoked a joint or
drank some booze after that, it would be like I was peaking on the mushrooms
again.
I
eventually made my way back to Texas after that, and one day while smoking
pot and doing what had become to me a normal mushroom-peak time, I thought I
fell through the earth into Hell.
I
know now it was the drugs, but at the time it seemed very real to me, and
scared me out of my wits. I asked God to help me, and found myself rising
out of what I perceived to be Hell. When I came back somewhat to reality, I
knew I had to find some way to serve God, so I wouldn’t go back there. I had
been reading about the 2 witnesses in Revelations in a Bible one of the
Christian houses had given me, and I decided preaching on the streets must
be the way to serve God. While walking around telling people to repent, I
found a burlap sack lying on the road. And, since the witnesses had been
wearing sackcloth, guess what? I decided God must want me to put that on, so
I took off my clothes and put on the burlap sack.
Woo
boy.
I
wound up being arrested in Sherman, Texas, where the Assistant District
Attorney decided I was going through a harmless religious experience, and
had the police drop me across the border in Oklahoma (Still wearing the
burlap sack). The Oklahoma police didn’t see it that way and threw me in the
county jail. While I was in jail I prayed and said “God, if you’re real
please do something with my life”. They were going to send me to a mental
institution, but a Methodist Sunday school teacher who had been visiting the
jail talked the judge into releasing me into his care. He took me to my
mother’s house, and she wanted me to go see a shrink. I agreed, but was
planning to go back out preaching as soon as we were done. (I was still
scared half to death) On the way to see the shrink we picked up a guy
hitchhiking, wearing a suit, and carrying a Bible. He was traveling around
preaching in parks and such. I talked him into letting me go with him, (I
never saw the shrink) and we hopped freights together to Yuma, Arizona. He
baptized me in the Colorado River there, and told me about a place called
the Lighthouse Ranch in Northern California. You can see pics of it here:
http://www.goalumni.homestead.com/Lighthouse.html
I
split up with him there and hitchhiked and hopped freights to Loleta, Ca. by
myself. I made it to the Lighthouse Ranch, and spent close to 6 months
working with a group of people who for some reason cared about me in spite
of the burn’t out waste that I was. I worked on forestry crews in the
mountains, which was the most beautiful country I had ever seen, went with
an apple picking crew to Bridgeport, Washington for 2 months, and worked
around the Ranch and body surfed in the freezing cold Pacific Ocean with a
burned out surfer named Jerry when I wasn’t elsewhere. One day while sitting
on the prayer cabin platform overlooking the ocean, I watched a full grown
mountain lion walk out of the brush about 100 ft. below me and hop up on a
driftwood log, stretch, and sharpen his claws. It was a new and
overwhelmingly wonderful time for me, though I must admit I had a tough time
with the hard work on the forestry crews at times. It took a while to get in
shape for that, and my past hadn’t prepared me for it. The examples I saw in
the lives of many of the people there are still an encouragement to me
today.
I
could never get the group in Florida, and the Ranch they wanted to build,
off my mind though, and after struggling with it for a while I went to one
of the elders and told him I thought the Lord might want me to go there. He
asked me to give him and the other elder’s time to seek the Lord about it. I
decided I was going to accept whatever they said. To my surprise the said
they thought it was the Lord and suggested I call the group in Florida and
begin discussing it with them. I called the Florida operator to get the
number, and she knew of the group, and had recently given out their number,
but they had disappeared, and no one seemed to know where they were.
I
was surprised and disappointed, and decided to go with a tree planting crew
to Coos Bay, Oregon. While praying, I said,” Lord if you want me with that
Florida group you’ll have to do something because I don’t even know if they
still exist.” When the day came to leave for Oregon, I had had a hard time
catching a ride into Eureka to meet the guy I was supposed to ride up with.
I wound up being an hour late, and he left without me. I was stuck in town,
so I went to the evening service at Deliverance Temple, planning to catch a
ride back to the Lighthouse from there. As the service progressed they began
introducing visitors from different parts of the country, and introduced a
George Hoard from the Hallelujah House in Tampa, Florida.
I
just about fell off my chair.
At
the end of the service I went up to him and told him everything that had
happened. He told me the group had moved to an old gold mine / ghost town
named Octave, Arizona, and gave me directions to get there, as he wasn’t
going back for a while. The elders prayed for me and told me to let that be
a lesson in faith to me, and the next day packed a huge food bag for me, and
gave me a letter of recommendation, and I took off hitchhiking to Arizona.
The
trip was fun, with a group from a Christian house in Stockton picking me up
for a pleasant 3 day stay with them, and another visit with a Christian
communal house in San Diego. That group bought me a bus ticket to Phoenix,
Az. Hitchhiking out of Phoenix, a man picked me up who knew where Octave
was, (in a very remote area about 70 miles out) and he gave me a ride to the
front gate.
To
say that things changed then is an understatement.
I
was met at the gate by a wiry lady named Lee, who was wearing a pistol, and
wanted to see some I.D. She let me through the gate, and I passed through
what I discovered was “their” part of the Octave. Turns out I had walked
right into the middle of a feud between the R.C. group, who had paperwork
showing at least partial ownership of the mine, and a group of salty old
miners who were trying to claim it as their own, at gunpoint if necessary. A
newspaper did an article on us during that time called “Guns, Guts, and God,
Reverend Jack and his mountain boys”. It was typical media hype and
misrepresentation, but I still wish I could find a copy.
When
I got to the R.C. part of the camp I was met by Bro. Jack, who was also
wearing a pistol, and still gimping from being pistol whipped by the other
group that morning. That group had also fired some shots through a mobile
home where some children were sleeping that morning, so the atmosphere I
walked into wasn’t the best. I showed my letter of recommendation to Jack,
doing my best to fight off the urge to run like a scared rabbit.
I
was allowed to stay, and began to meet the other people. One guy who was
mentally disabled came up and told me repeatedly how things were “very, very
tense”. Another, who wasn’t disabled, but on kind of an odd spiritual trip,
came up to me and told me the Lord had revealed to him that I had a false
religious spirit. These were the first two besides Jack that I met. You can
probably imagine what was going through my mind about then. But then I
started meeting some of the other people, including some I had met in Tampa.
Because of the way that doors had opened for me to go there, and wanting to
be obedient to God’s call on my life, I stayed, though I wanted to leave. We
spent about a year at the Octave mine, with lots of adventures and
misadventures.
People in the area were scared of us at first, so work and money were
scarce. We tried gold mining, and found some gold, but never made a profit.
We reached a point where cash got really tight, and took what we had left
and bought 1000 lbs of beans, so we would have food. We called that time
period the “bean purge”. We would supplement that with food gathered off the
desert, hunting, and such other things we could afford to buy. Our crowded
meeting hall, where we ate also, was the only warm spot around in the
winter, and would get very ripe at meeting time after 35-50 people eating a
meal of beans. One of our daily rituals was starting Father Abraham, our old
diesel military generator that had to be hand cranked to start. Two guys
would grab the crank facing each other and crank until they were too tired
to continue, then two more would take their place. It would eventually
start, and we could pump water and such for the day.
One
day during this time period, I was in the kitchen trying to talk the cooks
out of some of the leftovers, when I heard a gunshot very close to the
building. I went outside to see Jack being led across the parking lot by a
couple of our guys with his arm hanging on by some skin. He was pulling an
old double barrel shotgun out of his truck to show to some hitchhikers who
were staying with us, when the hammer caught and released on a loose wire,
blowing out his elbow joint. The arm was sewn back on, but wouldn’t heal
properly, so it was eventually removed, and prosthesis made.
A cotton farm about 30 miles away needed laborers, so we started our own
cotton hoeing crew. The farm liked us, and gave some of us permanent jobs. I
wound up in the equipment repair shop, where I worked for over a year,
learning to weld and mechanic. The foreman was a nutty Buddhist, who enjoyed
harassing us, but liked us and taught us a lot. I learned some basic
beekeeping, which I still enjoy, from him after being introduced to it by
Bill Phettiplace. The last I heard of the foreman he had solo-sailed a
homemade boat to Hawaii.
We
were being harassed by the miners during this time, equipment vandalized,
and such, and found a ranch we could buy up in the mountains about an hour
drive out of Wickenburg. We worked out a deal for about $160,000 for a 17
section (14 sq. miles) ranch that would have the Ranch paid off in 7 years,
and started moving out there. We had to leave people at the Octave as guards
until everything was moved, because of vandalism and theft from the miners.
That created some interesting times, like when one of our guys was doing
watch in a mobile home that was still there. A barrel got blown off the roof
by the wind; he turned and saw his reflection in the mirror, and shot it.
We
finished the move to the Ranch, and got settled in. There was no running
water of any kind when we first moved in, as the pump was broken on the
well, and the line was in disrepair that piped water from a spring ¼ mile up
the mountain. We hauled water in buckets from the river and snuck down the
river for baths for a short while until we got them repaired. The Ranch was
in some beautiful mountain country, on the banks of the Hassayampa River,
which ran year round there (In Arizona, rivers don’t necessarily flow year
round). We had a 21 mile drive in to town, 17 of it over rough, steep
mountain dirt roads, with the nearest neighbor about 10 miles away. We had
to cross a number of washes (seasonal creeks), and even drive down the
middle of one the last two miles to the Ranch house. That made for some
excitement when it was raining heavy.
We
converted part of the generator shed into the single men’s dorm. The single
women were in a single wide mobile. Three married couples were in the main
house, with the rest in converted buses. A lot of us were still working on
the cotton farm at this time, and it was an hour and a half drive one way.
We would be up anywhere from 3 to 4 a.m. for prayer, bible study, and
breakfast, then off to work. Then every night after dinner we would have
worship and sharing.
Contrary to what is in some of the newspaper articles, while food was lean
and basic at times, (mainly at the Octave), we were never close to starving,
(though some folks who were used to the unlimited, free, day old donuts they
got in Tampa thought we were) and for the most part we ate well, with enough
food for thirds at most evening meals for the hungrier physical laboring
folks when they wanted it. Margo was actually quite talented at taking
staple foods and turning them into a tasty meal for a large group. We NEVER
had a time during the 5+ yrs. I was there when all we had for dinner was a
spoon of oatmeal, as one newspaper article stated, though I can’t speak for
the 5 month period between when I left and the Ranch closed. I’ve never
heard anything to that effect from anyone I’m still in touch with who stayed
after I left, however. Food was much better and more plentiful than I ever
had hitchhiking, and a cheese and egg sauce over homemade biscuit breakfast
I enjoyed there is still my favorite now. My wife makes it for me a couple
of times a month, (to my waistline’s dismay, as I don’t do as much physical
labor as I used to) and my family will line up for the omelets I learned to
make there, when I cook breakfast.
Saturdays we would all fast until dinner, and have Communion. Sunday was
worship and relaxation, though we had so much to get done after the move
that we worked in the afternoons a lot. Animals accumulated fast, with lots
of horses, milk cows, milk goats, pigs, rabbits, geese, guineas, chickens,
burros, Catahoula hounds, dachshunds, honeybees, and 100-150 head of beef
cattle on our 14 sq. miles of grazing land. There was a small jewelry shop
where jewelry was made from the gold, turquoise and
chrysacola we mined, also from ironwood and manzanita. We built a four-seater
outhouse, which served its purpose, but took some getting used to,
especially when the light on the back of it would throw a shadow from a
scorpion that was crawling across the rafters. One young lady from back east
who spent some time there said “If it doesn’t bite, sting, poke or scrape,
it’s not from Arizona”.
We
began to get work at different places, landscaping, a lumber yard; a local
road maintenance equipment manufacturer heard of our reputation as workers
and came to us looking for employees. Four of us went to work there,
including me, as welder / mechanics. After 2 years I transferred into the
machine shop as an apprentice. I still make a decent living as a machinist /
toolmaker today, and enjoy my work. After work and weekends we all had other
projects to work on, and if you weren’t working on something else you would
likely get drafted for one of the never ending repair projects in the
mechanics area. Though it wasn’t my favorite work, I owe a lot of thanks to
Steve Graber for all I learned during those “draftings”, as I had absolutely
no mechanical skills or experience before I went to the Ranch.
I
did learn however, to find other things to busy myself with so I wouldn’t be
so likely to get drafted, and as a result, by the time I left the Ranch I
was a decent horseshoer, (A local ferrier told me I was the best greenhorn
shoer he had ever seen, and I’m still trying to decide if that was a
compliment or not) a competent beekeeper, which I still enjoy, and have used
to supplement my income at times over the years, and good at leather
tooling, saddle repair, and chap making, which I’m now teaching my oldest
daughter. I even started setting up an old fashioned blacksmith shop, but
left the Ranch before it was finished. I also wound up separating a lot of
the gold concentrates from our various mining ventures, which included
damming up the Hassayampa River and Amazon Wash, and buying two 8” floating
dredges with scuba gear, which was interesting, but never made a profit. The
original vision of the Ranch was a place where people could come and learn
about Christ, get their lives together, and learn a trade, and we had a good
start on it, but wound up off track before it was done.
A
number of key families and individuals had left over the years for a number
of reasons, and that loss was felt, with others trying to fill in the gaps.
We were pretty stretched though. Jack had began to get interested in the
“militia” movement during this time, and at first it seemed like there might
be some valid points to it, but as we went along the discrepancies between
their “doctrine” and scripture became glaringly obvious, but Jack wouldn’t
see it. Over time readings from various groups literature began to take the
place of a lot of bible study.
We
also began taking underage children referred to us by the courts, as an
alternative to reform school. That put us at odds with the law, as a group
like ours was only allowed to have a maximum of 5 underage children, unless
their parents were there. We needed special licensing for more, which we
couldn’t get because of all the former drug users we had on staff. Kind of a
contradiction, the courts would send them to us, and then we would be in
trouble for taking them. Go figure.
We
actually were losing a fair amount of money in our gold mining ventures, had
more horses than we really needed, which was a big expense, and had a pretty
huge fuel bill every month (about $2000) between running the generators and
all the driving we had to do. We were getting by, but barely, and needed to
find a way to make more money. A decision was made to start a reforestation
business, similar to what I had done at the Lighthouse Ranch. Almost
everyone except me quit their jobs to do forestry work. I kept working in
town as a machinist for a while. All the trucks were being used in the
forest, so for a while I was riding a 5 H.P. moped the 25 miles to work (in
winter, brrrr). It wouldn’t climb the mountains on its own, so I would have
the throttle wide open while pedaling for all I was worth to get to the top,
then cruise to the bottom. After about 10 miles the road leveled out so I
could fly at a top speed of 30 mph the rest of the way.
After a few weeks, I went on the forestry crew, which I honestly enjoyed. I
was in much better shape than I had been on the California jobs, and was
able to do the work fairly easily. It was very cold, though, and not
everyone was properly equipped for it, clothing-wise, and that got hard.
During this time the problems concerning the underage children got worse,
and the move toward the militia mentality was increasing. A group of 7 of us
went on a 21 day fast for the Ranch during this time, but I’m not sure what
we accomplished. I had been praying Jack could meet Jim Durkin, who was the
head of Gospel Outreach, the parent organization of the Lighthouse Ranch, in
the hope he could help bring him back into balance. We were invited to bid
on a Forest Service contract in northern California, and Jack took one of
the men and drove up there to see it. They stopped at the Lighthouse Ranch
while they were there, and Jim Durkin heard they were there, and sent word
that he would like to meet with them; But Jack wouldn’t wait, and left
without seeing him. I started to realize then that things probably wouldn’t
change for the better, and began to think seriously about leaving, though I
still struggled with not wanting to walk away from something God had called
me to and that in many ways I enjoyed.
After a while it became obvious we still needed cash flow while waiting on
checks from the forestry work, so a couple of us went back to work as
welders. The job was far enough away that we stayed in a travel trailer
during the week, and went back to the Ranch on the weekends. I had gotten in
touch with a group that had started a Gospel Outreach church in Phoenix,
which was near where we were working, and began going to evening bible study
in one of the elder’s homes.
On
one trip back to the Ranch, Jack told me” If any government agents come on
the property concerning the kids (underage), shoot the engine out of their
car and make them walk back to town”(I was one of the people who had the
combination to the gun cabinet).That did it for me, and the next bible study
in Phoenix, I cornered the elder, and told him everything that was going on,
and he told me what I already knew, it was time to get out of there. I still
had to go back to the Ranch to get my personal stuff, so I told Steve Graber
my plans that night. He said he had seen it coming, and was going to try
again to work out some things himself, and if he couldn’t, he was leaving
too. The night we got back I gathered my stuff, talking to a few people,
most of whom didn’t want me to leave (like I hadn’t wanted others to leave
before that). That night Jack insulted one of the ladies who was bringing
him some food, she dumped it in his lap, and wound up leaving the next
morning when I did. Margo gave us a ride into town the next morning, with
the lady going back east to her family, and me moving to Phoenix.
I
had the last check from the job I was working on ($260), and not much else.
I rented a room from the pastor of the Gospel Outreach church for $200 a
month, bought a bus pass, found a job as an apprentice in an aerospace
machine shop, and started building from there. It took a while to work
through the disappointments over what happened, and the doubts about whether
I had made the right decision, and I really went through culture shock going
from our communal ranch lifestyle to a middle class big city lifestyle
almost overnight. I had to resist the urge to go sleep outside on the picnic
table when I first moved there. I met my wife of 23 yrs. at the Gospel
Outreach church 2 years later, when she came down from Alaska to go to
college, and we married a year after that. I never learned to like city
life, and when we had our first child 2 years later, we moved to Wickenburg,
and have gradually made our way up to the mountains in the Prescott area. We
now have 7 children, 5 boys and 2 girls, with 4 still at home, and while we
certainly are nowhere close to rich financially, I consider myself a wealthy
man.
I’ve
kept in touch with a lot of people from the Ranch over the years in varying
degrees, gone to church with some, and worked with some at times. I had no
contact with Jack or Margo after I left; as the things they got involved
with were serious enough that I wanted no association with them at all (they
got Jack 4 yrs. in prison). I finally called Margo recently, speaking to her
for the first time in over 25 yrs., and we had a very good conversation. I
printed and mailed her copies of all the pictures from the Ranch I have, as
she had lost all hers in a house fire. Jack made a lot of mistakes,
especially toward the end, and from what I’ve heard, those things started
before they even left Tampa, but in spite of that a lot of people were
helped who might not have found that help anywhere else. It takes a strong
personality to start and run a place like that, and when strong
personalities make mistakes, they usually make them big.
For
myself, though I am aware of the mistakes that were made, and don’t have
rose colored glasses about any of it, I also know what I was like before my
time there, and I know how much God built into my life while I was there. I
gained much of the foundation there that the life I have now was built on,
and I will always be thankful for the people who put the efforts they did
into reaching out to others, no matter how imperfect they may have been.
I’m
finishing this up having just returned with my wife and oldest daughter from
an excellent rendition of Handel’s Messiah, performed by the Yavapai College
Symphony Orchestra, it's lightly snowing outside, and it occurred to me that
the first time I ever heard and learned to enjoy The Messiah was at the
Ranch, where our poor choir director was attempting the impossible task of
teaching us to hit those notes. And we wound up not being half bad. Though I
did take his advice and pursue a different career.
That’s my story, from my perspective, for what it’s worth.
Ben
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Bill McDonald and his wife
were frequent visitors to the Hallelujah house when it was in Tampa, This is
his recounting of some of the times he spent there.
My wife (at the time at least) and I didn't live at the h.h., never did,
but we lived with our two children within two blocks of 607 Horatio,
Tampa, and visited the worship services there almost every night for a
couple of years, while I was stationed at MacDill AFB.
I was "taken up" with the sincerity and focus of the youth who resided at
the house. These were dynamic, "know what they had been saved out of" sort
of people. As driven and evangelical as many were, I'm sure their parents
and families must have stepped back, shook their heads, and uttered "Whoa"
numerous times.
(Mine certainly did!)
I remember people like Bro. Jack who, on reflection, reminds me so much of
a current television figure
(can't remember his name) who hosts the military series "Mail Call." This
guy even bears a strong
facial resemblance to the late Jack Oliphant. (At least I think so.)
And there was Cindy Shoeman. Would anyone who ever met Cindy ever forget
Cindy? I think not.
She lives in the Midwest now. I hope her life has been nothing short of
wonderful in the thirty plus
years since we were privileged to know her.
And Bro. Jesse, who sustained that horrible motorcycle accident, and who
resisted the temptation to have the wound treated at a hospital, but
depended on the prayers of his compatriots. (And while I personally
believe God has given us doctors and nurses and medical technology, who
can second-guess his determination and commitment to what he believed, as
misguided as he may have been?)
I remember, (was it Bill Wolfe?) and his printing press. I spent hours in
that little shed "out back" watching him, and others as they zipped out
countless multi-page tracts for distribution to the unsaved masses.
And there was, for lack of a better phrase, "the Walks." I joined the h.h.
gang on one such walk through the streets of Tampa, and into the campus of
a nearby university. As we walked, we prayed, and as we prayed many of the
young people broke out in "tongues." (Acts 2:4) As we made our way through
the university parking lot, a guard threatened us with arrest, if we
didn't immediately "find our way" off the campus. We didn't linger long,
but neither did we hurry.
I will never forget the groups of three and four, as we prepared to do one
task or the other; be it the dishes or dirty clothes. For just before
undertaking a task, we would join hands and pray that things would go
well, and that not one of us would surrender the unity we had, one with
another.
And there was the night in which I asked for prayer; (and who can say at
this juncture what my request may have been?) But as old Bro. Jack laid
his hands on my head and prayed, I fell backwards in
the Spirit... and hit that wood floor, as straight as the boards it was
made of; and never felt a thing,
nor sustained a lump or a bruise.
In July 1973 I finished my tour of duty in the Air Force, and was
reassigned to a reserve unit in Baltimore.
Well, for whatever reason, the former Lutheran minister that we all knew,
loved, respected (and mostly feared) breathed a prophecy over me... that I
would be actively involved in establishing a branch h.h.
outreach in Baltimore, and that I would influence countless young people
for Christ; the hopeless, the homeless, the addicted. I admit, I once took
a quick tour of that city, scouting for a possible location.
But this was the jest of it. And the prophecy was forgotten as quickly as
it had been pronounced.
Never during that period of time did Bro. Jack contact me, or offer any
further guidance, nor did I
ever see him again. And all of you are well aware that a h.h. ministry
never developed in Baltimore.
Still, in spite of our founder's growing tendency to veer off track, and
his ultimate and amazing end, I have come to believe that his prophetic
utterance that day had some merit. Not in terms of location, but in
relation to outcome. For thirty years later, a full thirty years, my
pastor called on me to establish a recovery ministry in our local church.
And it was then that I remembered that singular prophecy in the early
70's, when that fellow, who had once worn the ecclesiastical collar,
placed his hand on my head, and
foretold my spiritual future.
I can't say that our support group bore a great deal of fruit; (only God
knows for sure, and "He's not telling." LOL) But during the two years it
was in existence, well over a hundred souls passed through
our portals. We seemed to attract the "hopelessly" addicted, and those who
were more interested in socializing than changing. (It's a real problem
when the leaders are more committed to change than
the members.)
But there was one. Judy "showed up" at our meeting one night, trembling
under the effects of cocaine withdrawal, (or possibly in need of her next
"fix.") And so began a new season in her life; a season that neither she,
nor I, nor the other leaders could hardly hope, or believe or expect...
for lasting, enduring,
wondrous change was on the horizon for this dear young lady. (Jeremiah
33:3)
Judy, even in her addictive stage (and it had been chronic and it had been
long) was a "Person of
Excellence"... in the rough; in the stage of germination. 'Cause Judy was
different. Judy was a fighter.
And so her journey towards health and spiritual wellness began. Her mother
called me, some time after she began attending our meetings, and pleaded
with me to help her locate a residential treatment facility.
I made a few calls, and Judy admitted herself to a local outreach. Time
and space would not permit me to
adequately recall the entirety of this story, but suffice it to say that
after Judy was released, I counseled her (for I am a pastoral counselor,)
and I mentored her, and ultimately she became my friend, and nothing less
than my spiritual daughter. And glory beyond glories, one day I had the
privilege to perform her wedding ceremony. Well, my friends, Judy has been
clean and free for several years, and has gone on to act as chairperson of
a group of 50 volunteers, who minister to the addicted populations of our
local jails and hospitals.
And to hearken back to Jack's prophecy, uttered so many decades hence. I
think it was all about... Judy. How blessed I am to have impacted that one
precious soul, and how proud she has made me.
I will never forget the h.h. It was a breeding ground of lives, not yet
fully formed, and yet to embrace Mission. And as much as we were
misunderstood at the time, and as obvious as was the ultimate derailment
of that ministry; it was a crucial season for some, the "some" who may
have never found
spiritual enlightenment and opportunity in any other environment.
Strange, I sat down to type out a few lines, and the past suddenly became
as poignant and "there there" as the present ever was.
Enough for now. I feel like that lone old fellow at the end of the movie
"A River Runs Through It." He was musing about the waters of time, and how
they flow over the rocks, and how that "God's Words (and those of his
family and friends) are under the rocks." For as long as I breathe in and
out, I will never forget your words, your deeds, your ambitions and
intentions. I will forever remember and be blessed by my fellowship
with you all; should we never be united, 'til we pass through "The Gates
of Splendor."
We have touched one another's very souls and in doing so, have been
touched. We would be the poorer for having never met. We are forever
changed. And we will never forget.
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