[I found the following excerpt from possibly a larger written work on David's laptop after his passing...don't think he'd mind now my sharing with you... --Susie]

Sept. 2014

   Just this week the weather has cooled a bit, and fall is in the air. I really can't express how much we love living where we are! What a great feeling for us to realize again and again that we just feel blessed and are so thankful to have, almost by accident, landed here! Surely directed by a higher authority. The comfortable little house, the pleasant two acres, and the grandiose view. The brown and green buttes across the way with dun-colored rock outcroppings like bones pushing out of the earth, and the shadows and sunlight playing across them as the day progresses. And the green and golden fields below divided by the north-south running highway, along with the train tracks and a fine variety of trees beyond, the Ochoco Mountains to the East, dark green to blues and purples, and to the West, the magnificent snow-capped Cascade Mountains! And at night we see sparse white lights from the little village of Terrebonne not too far below us and if it's a dark moonless night, standing on our deck about 6 feet above the ground, with the stars sparkling all around, lights below and a hush all about, our feet not quite on the ground and not quite in the sky, it's like we've stepped right into eternity.
   Didn't mean to try to be poetic there, just wanted to try to describe our setting here a bit. Today the sky is blue and there are several white "beauty clouds" around, as our local weatherman likes to call them. 

BIO

DAVID H. BURNS

Born September 24, 1941  ~~  Passed November 20, 2017

Some explanation about the dash between those two dates… David “Burnsy” “Huck” “Huckleberry” Burns went to his Heavenly Home on Monday, November 20, 2017 at Hospice House, Bend, Oregon where he had been transferred just three days prior, from his home in north Redmond, Oregon. He suffered honorably and admirably the debilitation and utter devastation the ALS had wrought the last 15 months of his life with us. David fought the good fight, gasping his last breath, with his wife of 48 years by his side. And that last breath was just 2-3 minutes before Pastor Greg returned to be with David and Susie, after having spent a time of quiet reflection, Scripture and prayer in one-on-one time with David.

Born in South Bend, WA to Freda and James E. Burns in 1941, he was 76 years old when he left us. As a child, David experienced far too much of his violently alcoholic parents who were both in their 20s, and along with his two older siblings, would live in countless locales during his childhood—Bemidji, Brainerd, Fargo, as well as Oregon’s Cow Creek, Canyonville, Devil’s Flat, Myrtle Creek, Timber and Lee’s Camp. There would be a Fargo orphanage in his early childhood--operated by some “unfriendly” nuns; and there was the cab or the back-end of an old flatbed truck. There was a vacant, breezy mining shack one Minnesota winter, a room in a flop-house hotel where all five of them would sleep in a double bed—unless the parents were gone drinking. David and his siblings were on a first-name basis with Mr. Starvation. There were stays with various relatives and neighbors of relatives. (David was often separated from his family members--never knowing when or how or even if he might be reunited with them).  

These and other temporary shelter situations were all “homes” to David growing up. Sometimes, he would go to sleep a new student in one school and his folks would suddenly move in the middle of the night; and he’d awaken a new student in another school—and the “new kid" stuff would start all over again!

As a teenage boy living alone in an abandoned bunkhouse in a closed-down logging camp in the Coast Range of Oregon, David would scavenge for food and other “amenities” in a nearby dump, and do his best to live off the land. But David would then be rescued by the Hand of God and a gracious miracle was delivered to him. The Les & Delores Blount Family of Lee’s Camp surely saved our beloved David from starvation and homelessness. He would experience his first stable home life, in a family of two parents, the father working steadily as a sawyer in a nearby mill, the mother a homemaker and full-time mom to her own four other kids, and her new “foster” son, David.

Attending roughly 20-some schools before graduating from Forest Grove Union High School in Oregon, David would later look back on his life and count over forty places he had lived in his lifetime. He’d tally some sixty-plus jobs, including, as he would say, “four years, three months and 2 days” in the US Navy as a Sonar Tech, 3rd Class Petty Officer. His naval job was mostly aboard a couple destroyers during the Vietnam Era—and early on, one was assigned to the Caribbean during the Cuban Missle Crisis, but he also had tours of duty in the Mediterranean, other areas of the Caribbean, the Black Sea and other waters.

After his honorable discharge in ‘66, David returned to civilian life in Oregon. Settling in Hillsboro, on his own again. There he would meet the love of his life in a newly forming community theatre group. See, the next door neighbors to Les & Delores strongly suggested, or as David liked to joke, he was “dragged,” to the next meeting of a local community theatre group, which just happened to have been started by Susie and her former high school drama coach. I guess David figured it was something different to do besides closing down the usual tavern stops. And it was quite literally love at first sight for them—in that high school drama classroom, back in the summer of ’68. After a brief courtship—first date August 10th, engaged September 15, married April 19th, 1969—David married Susan Moser at The Chapel of the Hills on Mt. Hood—a non-denominational by the way! She was 19, he was 27. And the Hand of God had profoundly moved in David's life again.

David & Susie, or Dave & Sue as they were known back then, made their home in Washington County, Oregon and started their own family—9 months and 1 day after their wedding day to be exact! That raised a few family eyebrows back in the day! Three years later after their Lisa was born, they were blessed with another adorable baby girl, Jami.

In 1980, the happy, loving family of four moved out of  the teen-age gang-ridden Forest Grove, selling their beloved “Ashburn Manor,” a lovely 2-story Federal Classic home built in 1910 in the Knob Hill District, one of the more historic neighborhoods of Forest Grove. David moved his family to the slower-paced North Oregon Coast to the smaller town of Seaside. The change of schools was a stressful time for their daughters, however, causing David to vow that if he could, Lord blessing, he would do whatever it took to allow his daughters the security and quiet joy of being able to remain in the same school district until their high school graduation! Since he never had the remotest chance of ever having that for himself and because of his own childhood experiences, he wanted to stop the multiple-school attendance for his beautiful girls. And God honored the desire of David’s heart.

Buying a smaller, modest house in Seaside, David & Susie then bought a franchise women’s wear store in Astoria, and they continued raising their two world-class daughters on the beautiful North Oregon Coast. Daughters who, by the way—

because of their father’s example of sensitively and sacrificially loving their mom and them; because of his honorable behavior in all he tried to do, in all his relationships, because of his example of always striving to do his best in all endeavors, because of his example of stopping the violent alcoholism he’d grown up in of stopping all the ugliness that came with his parents’ alcoholism he so sadly knew of stopping the craziness—AT HIM…

these two daughters, his legacy, would go on to choose wisely and marry their own soul-mates, each of them using the measure of their heroic father as their yardstick!

David & Susie’s sons-in-law would each soon become as much loved and cherished in their lives as their own daughters, often referring to either Scott or Aaron as their “son.” God’s Hands have been busy in this man’s life! It’s only natural that amazing grandchildren would figure into this Hand of God equation.

Aside from his work in their retail women’s wear store—doing the maintenance, inventory control, shipping and receiving, accounting, etc.—David would of course continue his writing, as a correspondent for The Oregon Journal in Portland and the Seaside Signal, and his own creative writing endeavors.

In 1999, well after their girls had graduated high school with having to only change public schools once in their lives, David & Susie experienced the Hand of God again…as the Lord brought about a welcome change of scene in both their work and home lives. While in Lincoln City, God opened a way for Susie to work at her dream job in the publishing world of Western New York. There they enjoyed exploring some of the Great Lakes, the Finger Lakes, the Adirondacks, the Allegheny Mtns. and Niagara Falls. And epic snowfall! David actually enjoyed shoveling their long circular driveway, even when it was several feet over his head! “Get’s the blood up!”

But in 2000, while in NY, David’s horrific childhood would rear its ugly head again, dragging him down further than ever! Diagnosed with PTSD, major depression and dissociative amnesia, he would be under the professional care of a nationally renowned psychologist who just “happened” to be specialized in PTSD. While recovering in the sanctuary of his home, David would write feature articles for several Western New York newspapers, and complete and publish his first novel, 25 years in the making, “Day Follow Night: From Chaos To Redemption.” Now out of print, but there are a few copies floating around on Amazon. And Susie will be looking to have it reprinted down the road.

David and Susie returned to Oregon in 2004, moving to Bend to take positions as assistant-managers at a retirement facility in 2005, having sought God’s Hand to allow them to retire to this climate of 300(+/-) days of sunshine a year. The retirement facility team job must have been God’s sense of humor about retiring, or else He didn’t hear them right! After almost a year of 60-80 hour work weeks—each—under the tyranny of one of the world’s worst managers ever, the retirement facility management positions were put in their rearview mirror. David and Susie took the handsome severance package offered them in lieu of their filing a lawsuit and waited for God’s Hand to move again in their lives… But hey, The Lord had gotten them to Central Oregon.

In 2013, God’s Hand moved them to their beloved Summer Hill where they have continuously thanked and praised Him for His Wisdom and Provision in blessing them with their open air sanctuary. In 2015, the Lord then brought them to their beloved Redmond Christian Church where they have continuously thanked and praised Him for His Love and Grace in providing them their long-sought faith family and a loving pastor who actually knows them by name. In 2016, they both retired, intending to while away their hours at Summer Hill.

In the fall of 2015, just after finding their church home, David became active in Celebrate Recovery (Friday nights here at Redmond Christian); he observed his 31st Anniversary of being clean and sober this last September. He gave his Testimony for CR in May of 2016 here and at several other area churches as well, and the story he told is still having its impact on believers and nonbelievers alike. Despite his years of counseling and medication, and a loving wife in a happy home, it was Celebrate Recovery that gave him a sense of worth and helped to deliver him from the torment that plagued him all his adult life. On his way home from a CR meeting in February of 2016, he pulled his little black pickup over alongside the highway and had an epiphany moment with His Lord & Savior.

Through it all, he always kept writing. Some dark stories, some children’s stories, some Christian work, and recently he published his 2nd book, “You Can Write A Million Dollar Memoir.” Also available on Amazon! It was a market-test book as a prelude to his long-awaited memoir…

Active in the Central Oregon Writers Guild, David was diagnosed with ALS in April, 2017, with initial symptoms becoming evident in retrospect in September of 2016. David somehow was able to finish his memoir, “Kid On Fire” this last summer, typing his last chapter with his left index finger and with a bit of flexion still remaining in his left arm and hand. His family will collaborate with the help of one of his colleagues from the Guild to get it published as soon as possible.  

This last Thanksgiving Day, just three days after his passing, David somehow managed to send his family, gathered for dinner at Summer Hill, a magnificent long-lasting, complete rainbow as a greeting—assuring them of his newfound freedom, his new body rebuilt in Joy. Hallelujah, David has been set free from his earthly body that had become his prison, the ALS even taking his voice and ability to speak in the end.

As his grandson Henry said, looking at this most magnificent rainbow with his Gramma, “Maybe Grampa is walking across the top of it right now!”  

On Veterans Day, I honor all who served. Thank you to all veterans for your service & sacrifice!

Today and everyday I am grateful for my dad, David Burns, an amazing man and Navy veteran. He has truly achieved the American Dream and is a great role model to us.

His job as a sailor in the U.S. Navy was just one of dozens & dozens of jobs that he's had in his lifetime. He's been a successful Real Estate Agent on the Oregon Coast, and a successful U.S. Census Bureau Agent. He's been a bus driver for the City of Bend, and has worked for Bend Parks & Rec. He's been a Property Manager, and has had other jobs in management. He spent many years co-managing the biggest grocery/deli in Cannon Beach. And while there, he practically knew the whole town (and met celebrities).. And of course, he was Mr. Popular there, as well as at many other workplaces he's had. I've often heard wonderful comments about him, and I knew at a young age that I was a lucky girl to have him as my dad.

My dad has served his country, his family and his church. He's also been a caregiver, volunteer and donator countless times to his church and to those in need. He's had many roles in churches over the years, including a leader of sorts in Celebrate Recovery. Not long ago he gave his testimony speech to a full audience at my parents' church.. After speaking about his life and 30+ years of sobriety (not a sip of alcohol), he was given a standing ovation and some tearful hugs. He can easily make an audience laugh & cry with his amazing talent of creative writing. My dad has many other talents including public speaking, and has also served couples at ceremonies as a deacon.

My dad is a published novelist and a published non-fiction author. He has been a journalist for several newspapers, a published writer of short stories, and a Creative Writing award winner. He is also a bookworm. He has exceptional talents in writing, great skills and knowledge in literature, and has gotten great grades throughout his college education (Portland Community College & Portland State University), majoring in English.

Most people are strong in either English and the Arts or the Sciences and Math. My dad is strong in all subjects (same goes for my mom). He naturally excels in English, but also is brilliant in Math, Geometry, Biology, Geology and more. Whenever I needed help with my homework for any subject, I knew my dad could help me. He is a great tutor & teacher.

My dad is patient, kind and very knowledgeable about most every subject. He also taught me how to drive, after my mom gave up trying to teach me! (Haha) He was also my softball team coach one year. Out of all the many years I played softball in school, the year that my dad was our team coach was my favorite one. My teammates & friends loved him; I was a proud little player!

My dad is the smartest guy I know, too. And this is always a great thing, unless you're playing against him in Trivial Pursuit or Jeopardy!  He (and mom) have taught me the value of hard work, as well as doing well in school. And he and my mom have taught me what it means to be a good Christian. He has always worked in the household as much as my mom, too. He is also a fantastic cook! Thanks to both my parents, I truly had the best childhood imaginable. And my sister and I are so lucky to have grown up with a great, solid family on the incomparably beautiful Oregon Coast.

We can't say enough great things about my dad, "Mr. Wonderful," as we call him. He is definitely a renaissance man in every aspect of that definition.

We salute and honor him and all veterans today & always! Thank you, Dad, for being the best example in life to us! And to all veterans today, we sincerely thank you for your service.

~ Jami Burns

A Little Tribute to My Dad, David H. Burns ~

The charms of my dad have been discovered by many over the years.. And he has been loved by many people throughout his life. I have been told by countless people throughout my life that they just love my dad (and mom), and/or that they "adopt" him as their own dad. The praises & kudos that I've heard from others regarding both my parents over the decades have been off the charts.

My dad is extremely kind and gentle, very loving and caring, funny and fun loving, wickedly intelligent and wise, very giving and generous, multi-talented, hard working and responsible, and highly inspiring.

He is so much more than "a great man." I have been so very blessed in my life to call him dad.. The same goes for my mom, too.. Both my parents have been role models, teachers, loving supporters and great friends to me (and my husband, as well). My husband, Scott (in some of these pictures) and I look up to my dad (and mom) and admire them both beyond words.  

[This is David's own written words, his story--short version! And this photo of a rainbow was taken Thanksgiving Day, 2017...three days after his going Home to Glory...the rainbow was his greeting and message to his family...]











My Testimony                                                                                                5/13/2016

            Hello Everyone and thank you for coming to Celebrate Recovery. I am David, a faithful believer in Jesus Christ who has struggled with many things; depression, alcoholism, marijuana, tobacco, guilt and chaos, and etc.

            I hope that some of you can find something here you can relate to and maybe even some encouragement in your own recovery and walk with Jesus. I'm going through the Celebrate Recovery 12 step program now.

            Some of my earliest memories are of my parents drinking heavily, arguing and physically fighting. I don't remember any mention of Jesus or the Bible until much later. As close as I can guess, we'd already moved 5 or 6 times by the time I started first grade in Timber, a tiny logging town in the Oregon Coast Range. That was 1947. Looking back, I got good grades in school but always seemed to be a bit confused. Partly because last count I've lived in 42 places, gone to 13 schools, lived with 7 or 8 families and eventually would have 62 jobs! I think we were mostly a pretty close little family of 5: Dad, a truck driver and mechanic, my stay-at-home Mom, sister Darlene age 9 and brother Bud 8 and me 6.

            My mother's father, Grandpa Goedker lived in Minnesota and would write letters about having his own logging operation, and Dad, always unhappy at work (something I'd inherit), decided to leave Oregon and go to Minnesota. He bought a flatbed truck with wood side boards, threw some canvas over the back and the 5 of us headed East. We barely had enough money for gas but started off on the 2000 mile trip. Us kids would hunker in the back if the weather wasn't too cold. Other times we'd all wedge into the little truck cab together and sometimes sing old songs.

            I remember running out of food going through North Dakota. We stole potatoes from a field and ate them raw until we were full and took more with us when we left. 

            Finally we found Grandpa and Grandma Goedker in the forest out of Bemidji, Minnesota. His big, successful logging operation was quite a disappointment to Dad. Grandpa would saw one tree down with an old hand saw, hook it up to an aging horse and drag it a couple miles to a dirt road where a friend would load it on his truck, take it to a mill and split the profit with Grandpa. The small operation certainly would not support all of us but Dad helped Grandpa a short while to make some money. We stayed with our grandparents in their one-room shack where they hung a blanket from the ceiling to divide it in half during the night, Grandpa and Grandma on one side and the 5 of us on the floor of the other side. Soon we left.

            Dad didn't use Employment Offices or the like to look for work. His office was always a tavern. We ended up in Bemidji, Minnesota for awhile. Dad and Mom in taverns by the hour, and us kids in the truck where we were supposed to hunker down out of sight so passersby wouldn't know we were homeless and send us to the orphanage. So we'd duck down when we saw people going by. There was a big lake right there in town where we played and cleaned up in the water a couple times and when we'd get out, these long, dark leeches would be stuck all over our skin, sucking our blood. We'd pull them off and it'd leave bloody cuts where their mouths were. That gave me the heebie-jeebies.

            Several times our folks would drop us off to see what must've been the only movie in town because we saw it 5 or 6 times. I guess it was the first religious experience I remember because there was certainly no religion in our home. It was a 1945 film starring Bing Crosby as Father O'Malley and Ingrid Bergman as Sister Mary and called “The Bells of St. Mary's.” I remember Sister Mary's big message was something like: we must get through the tough times so we can appreciate the good times.

            We drifted around Minnesota and North Dakota most of that year and we kids didn't go to school. We rented a trailer house for awhile and that's where I remember a particularly ugly fight. Dad knocked out Mom's false teeth and chopped them up with an ax. At least that's what keeps playing in my memory; my older sister says it was a hammer, but anyway it was one of the scariest nights of my life.

            Sometimes Dad would strap us kids with his belt. Once he beat Bud so bad they had to put him in the hospital. He'd beat Mom so bad other times she'd have dark bruises up and down her arms, on her face, and black eyes and terrible swollen cheeks and lips. But maybe the scariest was when he'd be stone drunk and choke her. Us little kids would try to intervene but it didn't slow him down much.

            Dad would get drunk and fight with men too. Once he cut a man's throat with a knife. We thought the guy might die, or at least quit coming around, but he was back in a couple days with his neck all bandaged up drinking and swapping stories like nothing had happened.

            Those were really scary times for a little 7 year old. I'd have terrible nightmares about Dad cutting us all or choking Mom to death. Sometimes I'd pray under the covers, or at least, talk to God. I really didn't know much about prayers.

            Since I was little I've heard the admonishment, “Honor thy mother and father,” and I know a very frank kind of testimony like mine probably bothers some people. But I've come to agree with the noted memoirist Natalie Goldberg who said something like, if they wanted to be written about nicely, they should have behaved better.” I love you Mom and Dad, rest in peace. 

            We moved into the Northwestern Hotel near the Red River waterfront in Fargo, North Dakota. The owner said we could have heat if the two older kids would shovel coal into the basement furnace. So we were sometimes warm and dry. We were all jammed into one bed at night. Dad, Mom and Darlene at the head, me and Bud wedged in between the feet at the bottom.

            I was afraid to run down the dark, spooky hallway to use the bathroom at night because of some of the scary men around. I'd wake up with my foot shaking a little trying to put off going pee as long as I could. Then someone would yell at me to hold still. So I'd chomp on my tongue or roll my eyes way back in my head until it hurt, trying to stay awake.

            While we lived there I came down with an ailment that almost did me in. I felt really itchy inside. I couldn't really tell where it was coming from but I'd scratch here and there without any relief. I really got in trouble, and sometimes slept on the floor. Then I began noticing little white wiggly worms in my poop. And I was afraid to tell anyone. Would they believe me? Does everyone have them and they all just forgot to tell me? I was too embarrassed to tell anyone.

            I began to worry that the little worms might wiggle up through my neck and get in my head. Maybe peek out through my nose or eye sockets. That would not be good. Finally I told Mom and she took me to see a doctor. He told Mom to feed me more, that I was under nourished. I was thinking about being sent to an orphanage and told him I ate a lot. I didn't tell him about a couple weeks before when our folks told us not to leave our room except for the bathroom until they returned from the tavern. Of course, there was nothing to eat in our room. Our parents got into a drunken brawl that night in the tavern and were sent to jail for a few days, but we didn't know where they were.  And we waited and waited and waited. I remember being so hungry that I'd try to fill up on water until my stomach screamed in pain. I lost all energy and just curled up crying for days. Eventually our folks sent a friend with a sandwich to split 3-ways and that got us through.

            So anyway, the worm doctor gave me some medicine to take and told me not to be surprised if my stool turned purple. I was stunned. I didn't know what to say to him because I'd never heard my poop called “stool” before. I figured he was just a bit loony and I wanted to tell him I didn't own any furniture and I sure didn't have my own stool. But I kept quiet. The medicine got rid of my worms though.

            Dad was driving truck out of town sometimes and Mom was drinking a lot and then got on drugs. I came home from school one day and she was in her underwear in the hallway eating one of my comic books. It just about scared the stool right out of me! They took her to an institution and us kids went to St. John's Orphanage in Fargo. Pretty soon, though, Dad got us out and Mom came home.

            Dad started working for a rough customer named Norris who painted cars for a living. Darlene took us boys to a nearby basement sort-of Sunday School a couple times. As I recall it was a preacher, several winos and us 3 kids. My wife, Susie says it must've been like an early Celebrate Recovery! That may be where I first really heard about Jesus Christ, and Heaven and Hell. Heaven sounded so wonderful. I didn't want anything to do with Hell so I tried to be good. Still I'd steal a little food if I had a chance from the diner in our hotel. If someone left a little toast or celery I'd run through and grab it. The owner Walt could never catch me, though he tried.

            Two FBI agents started coming around asking questions about Dad and Norris and the car-painting business. They were building a case about them stealing cars, painting them a new color and selling them. Dad had been hanging around a tavern just across the Red River from Fargo, N.D. in Moorehead, Mn. Maybe he was selling cars across the state line so the Feds came on the scene.

            So Dad took off from the F.B.I. saying he'd send for us. We'd already been near starvation but then things got really tough. Mom was forced into prostitution to support us. With that came more drugs, more drinking and more rough guys hanging around. It was a terrible, scary time.

            One night Mom woke up with a start. The room was filled with really thick smoke. She told us to stay in the room no matter what until she found out where the fire was. Then she'd come back to get us. The smoke continued boiling in around the door. It burned in our eyes and throat. I cried and rubbed my eyes until I had black all around. Bud, always the calm one, pulled Darlene and I down to the floor where the smoke wasn't quite as thick. Darlene was crying and screaming; that always freaked me out.

            Finally, we heard a fireman in the hall yelling, “Is everyone out?” We yelled back “No!” and he came and saved us. God bless that fireman. He took us down the metal fire escape on the outside of the building. It was dark outside but we could finally breathe. Someone told us Mom had banged on doors all through the first couple hotel floors and saved numerous lives, may God bless her too. Unfortunately, she was overcome by smoke and tumbled down the cement steps outside the front door, probably trying to get some air before coming back for us. I never saw her again after that night. She died two days later from smoke inhalation and head injuries, in the hospital where I was too young to visit. I was 8 or 9 years old. Mom was just 30.

            Back to the orphanage us kids went. This time they said it was for good.  I got kind of bothered in the head about then and became bitter and uncooperative. The nuns didn't like me and I thought they were witches. 

            But, as luck would have it, we weren't there very long because Dad sent a friend to get us. He couldn't come to North Dakota himself  because he had an outstanding warrant against him. We went to stay with a logging family Dad was working for in the coast range of Oregon out of Canyonville. We stayed there awhile and I remember that Mrs. Brown had a real kitchen. And boy, did she know how to use it! She was a good cook!

            My memory gets kind of sketchy here for awhile but I next recall living out in the brush in a tiny camp trailer. Dad used to leave us there a lot and go into town to drink. Sometimes all night. I recall being so hungry once I was sick to my stomach. I sat down on a log and picked a huge pile of grass. I figured if cows and horses ate it, maybe I could get some nourishment from it. And I quickly ate the whole pile. It was kind of juicy but bitter. I don't recommend it. It came up a short time later in a couple big wads of frothy green vomit. Then I really felt sick to my stomach.

            Dad married a lady from the tavern with two kids and we moved to an old house near Devil's Flat. Of course they drank and fought terribly, and after two more kids together, she left him. He was shattered and drank even more.

            We moved to Canyonville at first to a breezy little shack behind a tavern with newspaper on the walls to stop some of the wind, then later we moved to a pretty decent cabin. But Dad drank so much and roughed up Darlene a few times until she scraped up enough money for a bus ticket to an aunt and uncle's place in Washington state.

            I made a pretty good friend in Canyonville. He loved to play Army and even had a real rifle he'd pretend to execute me with, blindfold, pretend cigarette and all, but of course he had no bullets or I wouldn't be here. But one Saturday he found a bullet and shot and killed his little sister. After that he never wanted to play anymore, me neither.

            Dad got so depressed about losing his second wife, he came home one night a few weeks later, shook hands with Bud and me, went into the next room and shot himself. We went rushing in to find him on his back with his chest bleeding. With each struggled breath frothy blood gurgled out the bullet hole. Bud ran to use a neighbor's phone while I prayed out loud and tried to stop the bleeding. God answered my prayers and kept Dad alive. The cops questioned Bud and I separately over and over trying to pin the shooting on us. Finally, they decided Dad actually shot himself even though it was a little difficult because of the long rifle he used.

            Bud and I were sent to an aunt and uncle's house in a logging camp in Northern Oregon. They were really heavy drinkers! They had 4 kids of their own and money was tight. We ate a lot of beans, poached deer, caught trout and salmon in any season we could. We ate sheep's brains a couple times and sometimes quail.

             Aunt Della, my mother's sister, looked so much like Mom I thought they were all playing some kind of sick joke on me. I was so startled when I first saw her that I nearly swallowed my tongue! Pretty soon Aunt Della was pregnant and Uncle Furman told me to keep the whiskey bottle away from her. Once we struggled over a bottle she fell down hard and later miscarried. Word got around and for a while the school kids enjoyed calling me “the murderer.” I carried that burden all my life until a Christian Counseling session a few short years ago.

            After a year or so my aunt and uncle gave me to a family down the road who wanted a boy. They had a girl a few years younger than me and we did not get along well. She was always calling me “orphan boy” and trying to boss me around. After less than a year they kicked me out for being uncooperative. There was an empty bunkhouse down the road a ways and I took my stuff and stayed there awhile. I guess I was about 14.

            I was getting pretty out of control by then and started stealing food,  beer, cigarettes and whiskey. I got an old jalopy and stole gas for it from the logging trucks at night. I survived two head-on accidents and one roll over about that period... only one of them I was driving. I was running wild.

            My brother Bud had stayed with another family, the Blounts, down the road and introduced me. Pretty soon the Blounts had me chopping wood for them and babysitting for meals and they took me in. They knew Jesus a little bit, I'd say. And they were the sweetest family I ever knew! They treated me like a real person and I swore to myself I was going to be more like them than my real family.

            I finished high school somehow and joined the Navy. I became a Sonar Technician on a destroyer and went all over the Mediterranean and the Caribbean. Back near Florida one night about 3:00 am in dense fog, we had a terrifying collision at sea. The other vessel sank and our ship was going down fast too but we limped back to Tampa Bay, Florida listing deeply to port just in time. We never saw our ship Captain after that night; I suspect he got a desk job somewhere on dry land.

            I think I straightened out a bit in the Navy and they wanted me to sign up for six more years and become a pilot. But I still fought nightmares, sleeplessness and depression that always led me to more drinking. Four years was enough for me, and I'd become a full blown alcoholic with emotional and mental scars I just couldn't deal with sober. I returned to Oregon and somehow the Lord led me to the love of my life, Susie.

            She overlooked most of my faults, I kept some a secret, and we fell in love, married and produced two beautiful daughters. Susie encouraged me to reconcile with my father, after his years in prison, before he died. I drifted from one job to another, did 3+ years of college and tried to make a living writing for newspapers but usually had to have another job as well. A friend of Susie's brought her to Jesus Christ in the 70's, Praise God. She prayed for 9 long years for my salvation and sobriety. Bang! Finally I stopped drinking and smoking! Nearly 30 years ago now! I met Christ too in 1986! Hallelujah!

            Over the years I've still fought depression, guilt and self-respect though. And I must admit I nearly took my own life when we lived in New York for period. My doctor had put me on some powerful anti-depression pills that actually made me hallucinate. My moods were up and down like a nervous yo-yo. One day I just decided I'd end it all by jumping off a bridge into a raging stream during early Spring run-off. Jesus must've been watching as I climbed out on the bridge girders because someone sent a policeman who talked to me, then grabbed me by the jacket and pulled me back over the railing. I was in the Erie County Medical Center Maximum Security Psych Ward for a couple weeks. I counseled with some fine doctors in the mental health field and was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder with Major Depression with bouts of Dis-associative Amnesia. My medications were seriously adjusted and I came home feeling much better.

            Fast forward to last year when we found Redmond Christian Church and Pastor Greg. I felt like we'd finally come home. Pastor Fred invited me to a Celebration Recovery meeting. When I'd quit drinking many years before, I was too shy to attend AA meetings but when I heard that Celebrate Recovery included people with Hurts, Habits and Hangups I thought maybe I'd come sit in the back row and listen once... just to see. I'm so glad I did. Right away I could relate to so many of the regular attendees, including Fred.

            I attended for a few months, then one night during a time of sharing in men's small group I spoke a bit of my old struggles and something happened. Not right then, but as I drove home that night, last February 19, it's like I was hearing directly from Jesus. Maybe not exactly His voice in my ears, but He spoke to my heart, there's no doubt about it! I felt like I was so very blessed; I had this big mess of a past, a tangled up brain and emotional quagmire but so very blessed. That's what I needed to focus more on, my blessings. It seems so simple now, but then it was like a breakthrough.

            I have the best wife a man could have and I am so in love with her. Two precious daughters, great sons-in-law, terrific grand kids, 3 little angel grand kids already in Heaven I'll get to meet one day, a great place to live, a wonderful church, and quite a few good friends, (and a couple not so good.) Just kidding! And I love you all.

            The result of the drive home that night is that Jesus told me I have more self-control over my mind and thoughts than I ever imagined. I pulled over for a couple minutes by the overpass at St. Charles Hospital and looked up at the stars. Jesus told me I am worthy. He lifted so many years of guilt, doubt and heavy baggage from my tired back and scarred psyche. I don't know exactly how it happened, but suddenly I was lighter, brighter and happier than I've ever been in my life! Really, truly. I just feel refreshed, untroubled and full of love.

            I'm here to tell you that decades of bottling up hurts inside didn't work so well for me. I have a friend in this church, a smart fellow who says, “that kind of stuff is between me and my Maker.” I guess that works okay for him, but maybe one day he'll just need to share with another Christian, another child of Christ. I hope he does because it has helped me so very much. Who knew, this late in life? I have been so free of worry, so forgiving, so free of pride, over-sensitivity and temper. I haven't been depressed, down on myself or angry once since that night driving home with Jesus riding shotgun in my pick-up. He said that stuff is such a waste of time and it's never too late to change. Yeah, Jesus told me that! Pow! He said it right to my heart! And he's still working on me.

            The Bible says in Isaiah 43:1-3 Jesus tells us---Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

            Will you pray with me?       

            Lord Jesus, you have summoned me, called me by name. You said David, you are Mine. It gives me chills. Yes, Lord, I am Yours. Thank you for your grace. Bless all those who've helped me along the way, even the nuns at St. John's Orphanage! Bless all my doctors and counselors and my Christian Counselor Debbie Borovec who said my life is a miracle! Bless Amherst, N.Y. Police Lt. Richard Walter! Bless Celebrate Recovery, this church, especially Greg and Debi, Fred and Deborah, my family and foster families and especially, especially Susie. Thank you for bringing her to me, Lord, 47 years ago! And Jesus, please watch over everyone here. Give them peace. In Your Holy Name, Amen.

            Just a quick footnote; I think now my life has been all kinds of Miracles!

Thank you all!