My View of Life

Award-winning master storyteller Randy Willis—books about adventure, family, and faith.

Randy Willis is as much at home in the saddle as he is in front of the computer. This is the view where he composes his family sagas. It reminds him of whence he came.

The view from my desk as I write. The vintage saddles are displayed. They include Frank Vela, Billy Cook, and Buck Steiner. I consider them the best three saddle makers in Texas history.

Daddy bought me the saddle on the far right from Buck Steiner when I was 14. I should have known his purpose when I saw the saddle tree. I was thrown three times on the first day. I was not Larry Mahan or Jake Willis, but I got back on. Daddy said that was “what life was all about.” It’s not about how many times you get thrown. It’s about how many times you get back on.

The Frank Vela saddle was my Dad’s, Jake Willis, the best cowboy and person I have ever known. I have boots, chaps, and a guitar. The guitar strap was a gift from Garner State Park’s Superintendent. I received it as a token. I produced the 75th Anniversary Celebration for Texas Parks & Wildlife, which took place at Garner State Park. The superintendent, Jim Wilson, and Texas Governor George W. Bush requested that I produce the event.

Cowboy hats are included. The one on the right is a gift from my late friend, the six-time all-around world champion cowboy Larry Mahan. I consider him the best rodeo cowboy in my lifetime. I have known Larry for decades. I once called him. I wanted to see if he wanted to donate anything to a benefit. A cowboy had been killed in a rodeo.

Larry said, “Willis, how would it look if I didn’t. I’d be the biggest jerk in rodeo.” We occasionally spoke about horses but have not about cowboying in the last two decades. Jesus was always a significant part of the conversation. Larry went to be with our Lord last year.

“The view of the Texas Hill Country in the distance inspires me to write about adventure. Men and women like these inspire me to write about family and faith. If you believe that sounds like God, Country, and Apple Pie, you’re wrong because I don’t love apple pie.” —Randy Willis

Randy Willis and Larry Mahan

Jake Willis, my Dad, and Randy Willis working cows near Angleton, Texas.

Randy Willis and Jake Willis

Go now, write it on a tablet for them, inscribe it on a scroll, that for the days to come it may be an everlasting witness. —Isaiah 30:8

This is written for and dedicated to nine people: my three sons and six grandchildren. And throw in two daughters-in-law for good measure. They are the joy of my life.

Anyone else who would care to listen in is welcome.

I’m living proof that even an old blind hog finds an acorn now and then.

—Randy Willis, aka Dad, Grandpa, Pawpaw

Yes, I once was young.

Longleaf, Louisiana, 1954

I was a shy four-year-old. My sister Marjorie, the closest in age to me, with her arm around me, was my protector.

My childhood began on a Louisiana red-dirt road surrounded by Longleaf pine trees. The Longleaf pine trees were tall giants, and it was difficult for a small boy to see their tops. 

We didn’t have much money. I never noticed because no one else did either. At least those my family socialized with didn’t.

As a boy, I lived near Willis Gunter Road and Barber Creek in an area known as Longleaf, Louisiana. It was a sawmill town. Barber Creek flowed into Spring Creek.   Both were as cold as ice. They were our principal place for recreation. Sometimes, we attended a Dinner on the Grounds at Longleaf Baptist Church. Mother and Daddy were members there before I was born.

In those days, you sat on the ground—no lawn chairs.   The dinner began with a very long prayer for an always-hungry four-year-old boy.   It was a chance for the church folks to visit and sing. They swapped recipes. Kids had a sack race or two. Most of all, it was a time to eat. The fellowship was magical.

Each of the dear ladies would bring their favorite covered dish.   Oh my, the food was better than any 5-star restaurant today.   To this day, I’ve never heard a Baptist sermon about overeating—thank God.   It was also where I began to love music.   I loved those old hymns—they were nourishment to my soul—still are.

✯✯✯✯✯

When I was four, I ventured up a narrow red dirt road known as Empire Road today. It was lined with tall Longleaf pines that seemed to reach Heaven. This road led to my mother’s mother, Nina Hanks Lawson’s house. Her home was just a mile from ours on Willis Gunter Road. It overlooked Barber Creek.

It was near the Old Willis Home Place. My great-grandfather, Daniel Hubbard Willis Jr, built it after the War of Northern Aggression.  I was later told some folks up north, Shreveport, called it the Civil War.

My maternal grandmother, Nina Hanks Lawson, is at her home on Barber Creek and Willis-Gunter Road. That’s my half-brother Jerry Duke in the foreground. He was born in 1940, so this photo was taken circa 1946. Grandma had just killed a snake with a hoe. Jerry and his friend Cindy were told to stand far away. This was the home I ran away to as a four-year-old.

My grandparents and maternal grandparents (the Lawson’s) were neighbors on Willis-Gunter Road. After my mother’s first husband, John Duke, died in 1946, she married my dad, Julian “Jake” Willis, in 1948. They had been neighbors since childhood. Daddy’s first wife ran off with another soldier while he was fighting on Iwo Jima during World War II. All that drama led to my birth in December of 1949. Four half-siblings were waiting for my arrival, although I never considered them half of anything.

My half-siblings: Gerald “Jerry,” Marjorie, and John Alex “Buddy” Duke, in the front row. Johnnie Ruth, the eldest, was in her teens when their father, John Duke, died in 1946.

I should add that both my grandmothers’ surnames were Hanks. They were third cousins. That was not at all unusual. The risk of abnormalities is no more than a distant cousin. My grandchildren may someday wish to know that, so ignore that detail if you’re not one of them.

Barber Creek. The bridge and road were moved to allow for a gravel pit, which today is a lake. Today, Empire Road off 165 is next to the lake formed by the gravel pit.

Before I was born, our family had a routine after milking our Jersey cow. They would tie a string around the lid of our glass milk bottles. Then, they placed them in frigid Barber Creek to keep the milk from spoiling. “The cream would rise, and the clabber would fall.”

Such too has been the metaphor of many I have known who drank more than milk.

Soon, we bought an “icebox.” As a boy, I enjoyed cooling off on hot summer days. I would open the icebox door and stand there for relief. That ended when my mother discovered why the ice was melting too fast.

Now that was bad enough, but the following story should be filed under Too Much Information. I used to sleepwalk. One night, I opened our bathroom door to relieve myself. My sister Marjorie grabbed me and started yelling, “What are you doing?” The bathroom door was, in fact, our refrigerator door. Thank the Lord our milk was in Barber Creek that night.

✯✯✯✯✯

My mother’s home when she married Daddy in 1948. Mother, Ruth Lawson Willis, is on the left. Daddy’s mother and my grandmother, Lillie Hanks Willis, are on the right. I decided from this home, as a four-year-old, to walk to my other grandmother, Nina Hanks Lawson’s home. It was located a mile away on a Louisiana red dirt road.

My Journey down a Louisiana Red Dirt Road

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. —Robert Frost The Road Not Taken

As I embarked on my journey to Grandma’s, I stopped to pick wild dewberries. Grandma was sure to be happy to see me. Perhaps she would bake me a pie while I swam in Barber Creek. Or she might at least offer me a cookie from her giant Aunt Jemima Cookie Jar. No sooner had I arrived than Mama drove up in our worn-out Oldsmobile.

Now, Mama didn’t seem happy with me when she stepped from the car at Grandma Lawson’s home. Visions of her making a switch filled my mind. She would slowly cut it from a supple young branch of a nearby tree. I mean very gradually. She removed the twigs one by one, making sure there were no sharp edges. It was more like a three-act play—the tragedy of all tragedies as Henry Fielding once wrote.

The drama of her cutting the switch was always worse than her application of it to my “seat” of knowledge.   But that did not occur that day, although I later wished it had.

She pointed to an old, gray-haired, swarthy-skinned man driving a mule-drawn wagon down Willis Gunter Road.   She explained, “Randall,” a name she only used under the direst circumstances. “That old man drives up and down these red dirt roads looking for little boys.  He then puts them in a gunnysack and hauls them off.”

She did not say where he took them. I did not wish to know. To this day, I’ve never run away from home again. Grandma intervened and told Mama words any four-year-old would love to hear. “Now, Ruth, remember when you were his age,” she said. I suppose the Good Lord created grandparents always to be the “voice of reason.”

The truth was that those pinewoods were the habitat of the Louisiana Black Bear. And feral hogs that could and would rip you to pieces. And venomous snakes, not to mention getting lost in the vast woods. You get the picture.

In hindsight, my mother only threatened to wash my mouth out with soap once. She did this when I used the word “hell.” After explaining, I heard the word from my brothers, and it was in the Bible. My mother hugged me and said, “I know you’re a good boy.” Mama had the rarest gift known to man—the gift of encouragement.

✯✯✯✯✯

When I first shared this story with my eldest son, Aaron, he responded, “He was driving a wagon?  Who’d you vote for, Dad, Lincoln, or Douglas?”

I seldom get to walk those red dirt roads anymore. Oh, how I miss them.

Yet, there is another road. It is perhaps even less traveled than the red dirt road I trod as a boy in my beloved Louisiana. It may also be less traveled than the one Robert Frost wrote about.

Travel this road, if you will.  It will change your life.   It can alter your destiny. It will be the adventure of your lifetime.

Gone to Texas

Gone to Texas. Clute, Texas, that is. 1954

We moved from Longleaf, Louisiana, to Clute, Texas, when I was four.

All I remember of the trip was stopping at the state line in Deweyville, Texas, to buy gas.  The gas was cheaper in Texas. The pouring rain awoke my sister Marjorie, and she awoke me, crying because her paper dolls had gotten wet.   Our Oldsmobile and trailer were not as watertight as those are today.

Daddy had gotten a job at Dow Chemical in Freeport, Texas. A.J. Jeffers was the first from the Longleaf area to leave for a job at Dow.

Mr. Jeffers returned and encouraged Daddy and others to do the same. The opportunities and pay were far greater than those at the sawmills. They were also better than raising cows on the open range owned by the sawmills. A. J.’s brother, Jimmy Jeffers, and Daddy’s brother, Herman Willis, soon followed. We were all close friends in Brazoria County, Texas.

At the center of everything was family and church.

Temple Baptist Church

Every Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night, we were at Temple Baptist Church in Clute.   It seemed to me that everyone attended church.

Dorothy Curbelo had been abused at her home in Vidor, Texas, according to my mother’s sister. Aunt Gladys asked my mother and Daddy if they would take her in and care for her. Mother and Daddy said yes. It saved her life.

In my left hand is an open love letter to me—my Owner’s manual. It’s called the Bible. I’ve needed a “tune-up” many times since those days. The instruction Book has never failed me.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. —Robert Frost

On a Wednesday night, my mother could not attend church. So, I walked to church from our home on Coleman Street with my twelve-year-old sister Marjorie. I was eight years old.  I had no intention of that night being any different from any other. It would remain etched into my heart, mind, and soul until this very day.

I cannot recall a word Pastor Bill Campbell said in his sermon. But I remember vividly another voice that spoke to my mind—my heart—my spirit.   It was not an audible voice.   It was a still, gentle voice, tender but ever so clear, telling me to go forward and accept Christ as my Savior.

I recall my response to the Holy Spirit as if it was five minutes ago.   “Lord, I’m too shy.   I would if my mother was here to go with me.”

I felt someone touch my left shoulder. My sister Marjorie was sitting in the back row with her friends.   She could not have seen my face, for I was seated near the front.

She said, “I’ll go with you if you want me to.” I immediately stood, walked with her to the front of the church, and made my decision public.

I know you do not have to have an experience like that to be saved.  Nevertheless, I’m so grateful for that experience; it has never left my mind or my heart.

✯           ✯           ✯

Every Sunday, we put on our “Sunday Best.” Growing up under my mother’s roof, I never recall missing Church on Sunday morning, Sunday evening, and Wednesday nights. 

My mother, Ruth Lawson Willis, in her “Sunday Best,” headed to Temple Baptist Church.

As mentioned before, Mother’s first husband, John Duke, died, and she married my dad four years later. Mother had four children with John Duke. Daddy fed us all three meals daily, clothed us, provided a home, and never complained.

I never noticed less fried chicken, my favorite, on Sundays after church. There were always enough slices of dewberry pie. But I did notice Mother put less food on her plate. She said, “I’ve decided to lose a little weight.” 

Suppertime at our humble home, 519 Coleman Street in Clute, Texas, was the best “church service” I ever attended, for I saw the love of Jesus around our supper table.

                      Left to Right: Me, Buddy, Marjorie, Dorothy, and Grandma Lillie Willis: suppertime, 519 Coleman Street, Clute, Texas.

No one’s hands are on the table in the photo, for the prayer of thanks has not yet been given.  Daddy would begin with, “Let’s say grace.” We never used “prepared” or repetitive prayers. The women were always served before the men. The eldest first.

During this time of joy and thanksgiving, we never discussed anything gloomy. We avoided topics such as politics or problems at work, school, or church. There were no TVs turned on, TV dinners, or TV trays.

But, there were a few expected words. “Pass the Mayhaw Jelly and a hot biscuit, please,” for example. The word please was part of every request. “Thank you” always followed. You never reached in front of anyone. Yes, sir, no, ma’am, to your elders was a natural response. Good manners were not an option. You asked to be excused from the table.

And there was never a baseball cap or cowboy hat on in our home, much less around the supper table. I had no issue with this. It was natural. I have admired it to this day, except for one detail. Daddy and Mother had attended a conservation school for decades. A college of survival called the Great Depression. Therefore, you ate everything on your plate. Later, we ate leftovers from the refrigerator. There was no waste.

And that was fine, too, until one of my childhood’s two most hated sentences was mentioned: “Eat your vegetables.” I knew the day would arrive when the day’s vegetable would be green peas. I hated the smell of green peas almost as much as I did liver.

After fiddling with my peas towards the end of the meal, I put a small spoonful in my mouth. Daddy looked at me. Oh, how I remember that look that always meant “Now.” Within seconds, I threw up.

My sainted mother never served green peas again. She even stopped planting them in our garden.

Perhaps you’re wondering what my other most hated sentence was. It was “Bedtime, Randy.” Daddy never mentioned it twice. He never asked anything twice. He only mentioned it once, at least with words.

Christmas 1956, 519 Coleman Street Clute, Texas
Left to right: Lillie Hanks Willis, Julian Willis, Ruth Willis, Randy Willis (on the floor), Buddy Duke, Jerry Duke, Marjorie Duke, and Dorothy Curbelo. On the far right is our library: the Encyclopedia Britannica. Mother’s “whatnot” shelf is to the right of the Christmas cards.

✯           ✯           ✯

Mama and Daddy were the first to trademark a TV remote control and an “electric” ice cream maker. They called both Randy. Thankfully, I was later replaced by a real “electric” ice cream maker. And Hollywood’s Ozempic was called hard work.

Mother is hand-cracking the ice cream freezer. Michael, her grandson, sits on the freezer as her granddaughters Patricia and Sherry Duke look on.

I was raised on a farm and ranch. Otherwise, I probably would have weighed 400 pounds because of Mama’s cooking. We had no clue what calories or carbs were.

After church, we had dinner (which is called lunch today). The evening meal was supper, not dinner. Mother’s fried chicken was cooked in a cast-iron skillet. The grease was not hot enough unless you could light a kitchen match in the grease. No food was ever greasy.

That’s me on the far left next to my brother Jerry.

Mother cooked pineapple upside-down cake in a cast iron skillet, too. In fact, there’s not much she didn’t cook in one.

Mama also cooked with a cast-iron Dutch oven: chicken and dumplings, Louisiana file gumbo, and turnip greens with a large slice of salt pork. I’m surprised I can get through the metal detector at the airport today with all that iron.

Then came the best, homemade vanilla pudding covered with vanilla wafers. Mama never used instant pudding or anything else instant, except perhaps me. And the very best homemade vanilla ice cream, hand cranked.

After Sunday dinner, we sometimes watched TV. We rarely had time for that luxury during the week. Daddy had a TV remote control named “Randy.” I was glad there were only three stations, ABC, NBC, and CBS. That was not as bad as going outside in the heat, cold, and rain and turning the TV antenna until we got a signal. Thank God the TV guide later reduced channel surfing.

A TV station out of Houston would often play He’s Got The Whole World In His Hands by Mahalia Jackson. This usually happened before every Sunday movie. The song blessed me every time I heard it. She influenced Elvis’s music. And The Gospel Jubilee was the first Southern Gospel TV show I watched. Vestal Goodman, of the Happy Goodman Family, had hair that was a foot high. I loved four-part harmony.

✯           ✯           ✯

A Black Land Farm to the Gridiron

We moved to Angleton from Clute in 1960. Daddy leased a 40-acre black land farm for a dollar an acre. That included the two-bedroom, one-bathroom farmhouse, barn, and chicken coops.

When the rent increased to $50, mother and daddy had to decide what to do without. They needed to determine what would be cut from our budget. My sister Marjorie hated living three miles from town in our home with peeling paint.

I loved it. I didn’t love it for the paint. The hunting and fishing within walking distance was paradise to me and my Catahoula Leopard Dog, Bob. Bob was more intelligent than most people I knew.

My sister Marjorie married Roger Eernisse. Our farmhouse on the Old Danbury Road, three miles from Angleton, was never painted.

I drove my dad’s rusty old Ford pickup truck during those days. I was self-conscious about that. My first bona fide crush and date was lovely Betty McDaniel. She was way out of my league. I was smitten.

Betty’s father and mother once escorted us to a foreign country to see a movie. The foreign land was Houston, and the film was The Agony and the Ecstasy, starring Charlton Heston as Michelangelo.

They even picked me up at our meager five-room farmhouse on Old Danbury Road.

I was not scared by the highly elevated scaffolding with Michelangelo atop painting the Sistine Chapel. However, I was frightened by Betty’s father, Mr. O.V. McDaniel. This fear was because he was Angleton’s School Superintendent. 

I wondered if he had seen my grades. Perhaps I could get them up to C+, maybe even one or two to B. I doubted my A in athletics would be enough to impress. As with most fears in life, this was unfounded. Neither Betty nor her parents cared about what I drove or if our house needed painting.

Before I met Betty, I developed a celebrity crush on Janet Lennon. This happened while I was watching The Lawrence Welk Show in the 50s. “Wunnerful, Wunnerful! and Ah-One, Ah-Two!” And “Now here’s the lovely Lennon Sisters,” Welk would say. It was my Dad’s fault for insisting we watched that show. Only rich folks owned two TVs, and I had no other choice.

My other celebrity crush in the ’50s was Annette Funicello. She was among the most popular Mouseketeers in the original Walt Disney Mickey Mouse Club.

By age ten, my infatuation with both of them had faded.

O.V. McDaniel never gave me a reason to fear him. Still, I was as intimidated by him as I was when former President Lyndon Johnson was a surprise guest lecturer in Government 2320 a few years later at Southwest Texas State University. I dared not reach out to shake his hand as he passed by in the hallway. He later shook hands and signed autographs at the Commons Dining Hall on campus.  I still did not approach him.

Betty’s parents influence me more through their gracious, classy lifestyle. They had a HiFi record console in their living room with a 78-rpm vinyl phonograph record on the turntable of Dean Martin often crooning.

Daddy had raised me on “rock ‘n roll” stars like Hank Williams Sr and Ernest Tubb. However, “Rock Stars” like Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson would become my favorites in college. And much later, a student at Southwest Texas State named George Strait would top them all.

If you make it to heaven before me, don’t you dare tell Daddy. I once bought a complete set of Dean Martin’s greatest hits from Time Life Music on TV.

               Randy Willis and Betty McDaniel Valentine’s Day 1966

A couple of years ago, I wrote a tribute about my best friend at Angleton High School, Billy Adams. Unfortunately, Billy had died of COVID-19.

Part of the tribute said, “Billy’s new car had a 4-track built-in cartridge player. I’d never seen one. We must have listened to The Animals’ “House of the Rising Sun” 500 times, driving up and down Surfside Beach. Soon the 8-track would be the wave of the future. After that, I said, “I was too embarrassed to borrow my dad’s old rusty Ford pickup for a date.”

After I posted a tribute to Billy on Facebook, my first crush, Betty McDaniel (Groos today), reminded me of something. She told me that we had been out on several dates in my dad’s old truck. I remember how intimidated I was when I picked her up in that rusty truck with no air conditioning. Betty graciously said that it never bothered her.

Later, Betty sent me an email asking for direction on her new Children’s book. Of course, I was honored to do so.

Betty later sent a copy of her book to my granddaughters, Olivia and Juliette. She also sent a framed art piece she had painted. They were thrilled. Like their PaPaw, they put a lot of effort into a good photo to thank Betty.

✯           ✯           ✯

I was 14, working on our farm in this photo. That tractor and bush hog were borrowed. Our tractor was a John Deere “Poppn’ Johnny” which had to be manually cranked with a flywheel. The first tractor I drove that had a battery was a Ford.

Angleton High School. David Hurta is on the left, and Torbett Clements is on the right.

At 15, I was 6’5 1/2″ tall but only weighing 170 pounds, “soaking wet.” It would be sports that took me off the farm. My coaches had me lift weights and gain weight.

Lamar University offered me a Basketball scholarship during my junior year, believing I was a senior. But my dream was to play football. Yes, that’s how short the shorts were then.

But it was football that I was enamored. But I still needed to gain weight. So, I did. At 18, I was 6’5 1/2″ and 210 pounds, and according to my coaches, as fast as any college lineman.

Headed to Surfside Beach at age 18. My date said I had to take a photo with her Poodle, or she wouldn’t go to Surfside. I explained that cowboys don’t care much for house pets, which was not true. I was tired of her “dog and pony show” and anxious to go. Patience has never been a virtue of mine.

She was not impressed. I could hear my Catahoula Leopard “Cow” Dog “Bob” howling in Heaven when she took this photo. You will never find another picture of me without a shirt on. I was still shy.

✯           ✯           ✯

Criticism and Encouragement

My junior high Coach, Nabro Frazier, would stop under a large oak tree that overhung the street. This tree is next to Angleton Junior High (Central Elementary today). He did this every day during Driver’s Ed. He would roll down the windows. He taught me to take a deep breath. Enjoy your surroundings. He was the man who taught me to love football. And he had the gift of encouragement. Coaches who screamed and shouted never motivated me. Although if a coach cursed you, he could lose his job.

We all sat there enjoying the breeze under the giant shade tree for five or ten minutes. It was as if he were saying, “Slow down and enjoy the experience.” The tree is still on East Cedar Street, just east of North Valderas. It is next to the track and the old football stadium. That’s where I learned to play football.

Coach Frasier was the best coach I ever had. He once surprised me by sitting beside me in the Angleton High School gym. We were near the top row of the basketball stands watching a game. He spoke to me as Head Football Coach Fred Johnson walked by a half dozen rows below. “Don’t let him get to you,” he said. Those six words were the most encouraging advice a coach ever gave me.

I never considered any coach too hard. None of them was as hard as Daddy was on me.   Daddy taught me always to be respectful and fair.  He never told me to expect the same in return, but I noticed he always did.   So, I did, too—I still hope for the same.  

✯           ✯           ✯

But as the years have rushed by, I’ve learned it’s best to let it go.   That is, unless it concerns my children and grandchildren being mistreated. Then, the Biblical admonition to turn the other cheek requires time, prayer, and more time and more prayer.   And even then, I can struggle with forgiveness. And—you get the idea.

Angleton Coaches C. E. “Cotton” Peterson. Carl Davis, Fred Slough, Bill Hollas, Larry Rydell, Nalbro Frazier, and others I admired taught me a lot. They were all fair men whom I respected.   Their motivational skills varied, though. Coach “Cotton” Peterson was as motivational as any I ever knew. He had an impact on me, but soon became an administrator at Angleton High School. His advancement became my loss.

Coach Carl Davis was the most “colorful.” “Willis, you’re so clumsy you trip over the center line” [on the basketball court].   And “Willis, you run really fast, just too long in one spot.”

It was all true. But there was another that I took issue with. “Willis, the problem with you is you drink too much ‘”Sweet Lucy.”’ Sweet Lucy was water.

My water consumption was also a problem with Head Coach Fred Johnson. He took it as insubordination.   It began during two-a-day football practices.   We were allowed an 8-ounce empty Coke bottle filled with water halfway through each practice.   By then, the water was hot from being exposed to the sun.   No concern, though, because he also insisted that we take salt tablets.

In fairness to our coaches, this was the protocol almost everywhere. From antiquity to the late 1960s, athletes were advised not to drink during exercise. It was believed that fluid ingestion would impair athletic performance. Water would slow you down.

I never thought it was true. Working long hours on a farm, we were always told to drink lots of water. A water canteen was attached to my saddle. A water barrel was on our tractor. That water never weakened me.

Daddy’s instruction was always to use common sense and common decency. “That’s not much for a high stepper like you, son,” he always said with a smile.

Publications soon began to warn of the dangers of dehydration, citing illnesses and deaths.  I first heard about the shift from salt tablets to sports drinks in the early ’70s.   By then, I was in college.

Coach Darrell K Royal

Later, another coach and friend would teach me fairness and respect for others, like my dad and Coach Frasier had.   He, too, believed in common sense and common decency. His name was Coach Darrell K Royal.   He once said, “The real measure of a man is how he treats people who can do nothing for him.”

My dad, Julian “Jake Willis,” Darrell K Royal, and my late pastor, JB Young in Wimberley, were the best men I’ve ever known. My three sons, Aaron, Josh, and Adam Willis, and my grandson Corbin Willis should be added to that list. All of them were men of character.

Daddy, Coach Royal, and Brother Young were all in the U.S. Army Air Corps during World War II—all of them you could trust and respect.

Coach Burley Bearden was the first person to recruit me to play college football. He was the head coach at the University of Texas at Arlington. Coach Bearden was told about me by Carrol Brister, a football scout from Arcadia, Texas. Arcadia was also home to my brother, Buddy. He and Buddy were friends. I’ve kept his business card for over half a century.

Coach Bearden met my dad and me at the Taco House. The greasy spoon restaurant was on Highway 35, with a jukebox constantly playing Roy Orbison’s hits.   Daddy and I often ate breakfast there.  The price was low enough, and the food was not half bad.  And we both liked Roy Orbison—although three songs in a row were enough. I think of that every time I watch Pretty Woman on TV, which has only been two or three times.

Coach Bearden began, “Coach Fred Johnson will not recommend you.” That night, he offered me a scholarship, so whatever Coach Johnson told him was not a deal-breaker. And I’m sure my brother Buddy informed the scout I was no longer on Coach Johnson’s Christmas card list.  But it made me wonder why the next school recruited me, knowing Coach Johnson would not endorse me.

I soon discovered that a few other colleges had heard of me.   They became aware of me by watching 8 mm game films. Coach Johnson provided these films. They showed how great my teammate Larry Webb was.  

Larry was the star linebacker and fullback, earning all the awards, and he deserved them all. He was also the linebacker lined up just a few feet behind me, an unheralded defensive tackle.  

I had no awards. However, I was 6’ 5 1/2” and 210 pounds. I was almost impossible to miss on film if you were scouting Larry.

I learned much later that the great Texas college football coaches and recruiters knew more about the integrity of high school coaches than they did the players they were recruiting.  They would go the extra mile to consider a high school player recommended by a coach they respected and trusted.  I did not have that advantage, but I had Larry Webb lined up behind me on film.

✯           ✯           ✯

I first watched The University of Texas play football at my friend Billy Adam’s home. Billy’s family owned a Color TV.   That was a big deal then; ours was black-and-white.   That night, I became a fan of Duke Carlisle.   He was the first college football player I ever became a fan.   That night, I also became a fan of the University of Texas football.   I was only thirteen.

Several years later, during my junior year of high school in the Fall of 1966, Coach Carl Davis entered the Angleton gym. We were practicing basketball. He announced over the weekend that he had seen the best high school running back he had ever seen. It was during the state playoffs.  His name was Steve Worster from Bridge City.   Bridge City had beaten Conroe 41-17 in the 3A Bi-district game.  Angleton was a 3A school, too. 

If we had won our district, we would have played Bridge City. Back then, Texas had only four classifications in high school sports, with 4A being the biggest. Coach Davis was not the only coach in the stands during that game.   We soon learned that Darrell K Royal, Head Football Coach of The University of Texas, was as impressed by Worster as Carl Davis.

I followed Worster’s next games in the news to see if the Conroe game was a fluke. Bridge City next handled Clear Creek, 36-7, before defeating San Marcos, 28-7.  

 I also knew that would all soon end when Bridge City faced the top-ranked team in the state, unbeaten McKinney.   They had the best defense in the state and shut teams down all year. During the playoffs, McKinney had given up seven points in three games.

Steve Worster proved unstoppable and carried the ball 36 times for 249 yards and three touchdowns, leading his team to an impressive 30-6 win over previously unbeaten McKinney.   Now, the stage was set to see which of the more than 75 colleges offers nationwide he would accept.

Because of Worster’s choice and Duke Carlisle, I became the biggest Texas Longhorn fan on this side of the Colorado River.

A year later, Leon Manley recruited Larry Webb and me to play football at the University of Texas on the same day during a visit to Angleton High School.   Larry and I were friends.   We duck hunted and fished together in the rice fields surrounding my parent’s farmhouse. My parent’s house was on a 40-acre black land farm. We also spent weekends in the Brazoria County Saltgrass Country hunting and fishing.

Coach Manley and Angleton High School counselor John Craven told me I would need to take additional algebra courses that summer to be admitted to the University of Texas.  They had it all planned out.   I could take these courses at Alvin Junior College, only 20 miles away.   UT would accept the credits from Alvin Junior College. The college was state-supported, so the tuition was reasonable.

Coach Fred Johnson was not in the meeting.   I had no clue why they recruited me at the time, knowing that Coach Royal sought high school coaches’ recommendations.  And knowing Johnson would never recommend me.

A decade later, in 1978, Texas Monthly published a story about Coach Johnson entitled “The Great Rockdale Mutiny.” The article reads in part, “Fred Johnson has been a high school football coach, and on the record, a very good one.   Eighteen of those years, taking whatever talent has come to him in towns like Mission, Kerrville, Gonzales, Angleton, and Rockdale, he has turned in winning seasons.   Last year, Johnson’s teams won state championships in football and track.   This year, he is out of a job.”

The article continued: “But this was no ordinary coaching ouster. Johnson resigned after every team member signed a petition asking for his dismissal, and the resulting upheaval, replete with overtones of ideology and class, has threatened to tear this Central Texas town apart.”

Johnson was quoted in the article as saying, “Players learn the willingness to give their time, accept strict rules, and subordinate themselves for the good of the team.   Some don’t and can’t accept those things and become failures.”

His words rang familiar. Ten years before the Rockdale High School Mutiny, Fred Johnson insisted I meet in his office to discuss my insubordination. He explained that he had done his best with me but had resigned to the fact that he had failed and I would always be a loser. His words did not discourage me but had the opposite effect.

✯           ✯           ✯

More severe events soon showed me how silly and petty all this was. My sainted grandmother died in 1973. I adored her.

That same year, Willie Nelson moved to Austin at the suggestion of his friend Darrell Royal. Soon, tragedy hit the Royals. Coach and Edith Royals’ only daughter Marion, an aspiring artist, was killed in a bus accident. Willie couldn’t find the words until he played the Healing Hands of Time for Coach Royal.

Nine years later, Willie would sing it again when the Royals’ son David, a musician, died in a motorcycle accident. Willie sang the song again at Coach Royals’ funeral with tears in his eyes in 2012.

The Healing Hands of Time is my second favorite Willie Nelson song. My favorite is In God’s Eyes. 

The song begins:

“Never think evil thoughts of anyone

It’s just as wrong to think as to say

For a thought is but a word that’s unspoken

In God’s eyes He sees it this way”

Fred Johnson was inducted into the Rockdale Sports Hall of Fame in 2011 and the Kerrville Tivy Hall of Fame, where he was a standout athlete. He was a U.S. Army veteran and a Rice University graduate who played football and ran track.

I was pleased to try and see him through God’s eyes. Through God’s eyes, he, like me, fell short of God’s Glory. We all have feet of clay. In hindsight, his flaws fell short of mine. The Healing Hands of Time handles most things. 

Larry Webb and I unofficially visited Austin and the UT campus.   Larry said, “You want to meet Steve Wooster?  He’s a roommate with Jay Cormier from Freeport.” Jay played high school football at Brazosport, just a few minutes south of Angleton.

“No thanks,” I said, “I’ve got to meet a friend.” She was a girl from Austin who often visited her mother in Angleton.   We had a couple dates in Angleton, but Austin was a four-hour drive.  I could not afford 32 cents a gallon for gas, and my tires were always threadbare.   

When Larry and I met later, he said, “You should have come and met Worster.

I responded, “Let’s see Larry, have lunch with my beautiful date, or meet Steve Wooster.” When I got home the next day, I had second thoughts; I could have seen her again the next time she visited Angleton.   I still regret that decision. 

The truth is it had nothing to do with her.   I was too shy and intimidated to meet my high school football idol.  “Big Woo,” Steve Worster soon became the cornerstone of the Texas Longhorn’s famed Wishbone offense.   I never met him.  He died on August 13, 2022.   I’m still a fan.

I also never took the needed math classes due to my parents’ divorce two months after Coach Manley’s visit.   In those days, divorce was a huge deal.   No one in my family had ever divorced in our known family history.   I was devastated when I saw my mother’s tears. They had been married for 20 years.

After college, Larry Webb and I stayed in touch until about a decade before his tragic death.   I suddenly lost track of him. After college, he worked with Pelican’s Wharf Restaurant in Austin and later in San Antonio.   I ate at both several times to visit him.

Larry played on two of  UT’s National Champion football teams.  Larry was a better player than me.   Those teams had more talent than I’d ever seen.   I would have never started, but the bench was not a bad seat to watch the games, and what an honor it would have been, not to mention the financial advantages of a scholarship.   I had no money.

Larry Webb died on February 3, 2019.   He’d been suffering for four or five years from Chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE).   CTE is a progressive and fatal brain disease associated with repeated traumatic brain injuries (TBIs), including concussions and repeated blows to the head.   He ultimately died of Renal Cell Carcinoma while in hospice care.   I miss him.

Joseph Willis Institute for Great Awakening Studies

Randy Willis was a charter member of the Board of Trustees for the Joseph Willis Institute for Great Awakening Studies. This institute was at Louisiana College, known as Louisiana Christian University today.

Why I Love Texas

One of the reasons I love Texas. I last saw Lady Bird Johnson at the Headliners Club in Austin at an event that honored a couple people. I was one of them. As always, she was escorted by two Secret Service Agents. She was gracious and kind as always.

Lady Bird Johnson later had her book “Wildflowers Across America” hand-delivered to me at my home in Austin.

“For Randy Willis

“A hero for Children’s Hospital and for our family. Your wisdom and your grace are our blessings.

“With generations of gratitude.”

Lady Bird Johnson

Luci Baines Johnson (Her daughter)

Nicole Nugent Covert (Her Granddaughter)

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

I found this in the rubble after my home burned to the ground. It was an even greater encouragement than the first time.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

Coach Darrell Royal knew I wanted to be a writer. He introduced me to James Michener. My favorite Michener novels are “Hawaii,” followed by “Centennial” and, of course, “Texas.”

Author and friend Lewis Timberlake invited me to Austin Baptist Church. Lewis had been my Sunday School teacher at Hyde Park Baptist Church. Texas Coach Leon Manley was also in that class. That day, I also met James Michener’s friend, HC Carter.

HC invited me to lunch with his wife and former Austin Mayor Ron Mullen and his wife. HC was a founding member of the Texas Longhorn Breeders Association. HC and I sat at the Olive Garden Italian Restaurant next to each other and spoke the entire time.

I love Longhorn Cattle and Kiger Mustangs. I bought two Kiger Mustangs for my granddaughter, Olivia Grace Willis. She’s a ten-year-old cowgirl as of 2024.

HC Carter raised Longhorn Cattle near Dripping Springs, only 20 minutes from where Olivia’s Mustangs are pastured.

James Michener was keenly interested in HC’s knowledge of Longhorn Cattle for his novel “Texas.” This interest later influenced my novels “Texas Wind” and “Destiny.”

While Michener gathered the information for his epic novel Texas, he spent many hours with HC Carter. They discussed cattle drives and Texas history on HC Carter’s front porch in Dripping Springs.

Michener acknowledged HC more in his book than any other source. Michener told HC Carter, “If this book is a failure, it’s your fault.”

James Michener was a philanthropist who donated more than $100 million to educational, cultural, and writing institutions. He donated $37 million to the University of Texas. Michener lived his final years in Austin and endowed the Michener Center for Writers at the University of Texas.

I’m reminded of how grateful I am to Coach Darrell Royal’s thoughtfulness. He introduced me to James Michener and others who loved Texas and the University of Texas.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

How I Write: Research, Visit, and Have Fun!

“I first researched everything I could about my subject. Then, I like to visit the location around the time of year the event took place. This happens when I write a story for a novel or biography. It helps me capture the essence of the scene. I want to experience the colors of trees and flowers at that time of year. In this case, I ride my horse down the creek. Then, I climb the steep bluffs to find out how much noise we make and how my saddle horse responds. And finally, I reward myself with a dash of fun after a day or two of research. The latter keeps me from burning out.” Randy Willis

Example: Researching Texas Ranger Jack C. Hay for my novel Texas Wind

Every Western novel and movie I have read, watched, and written about is influenced by Texas Ranger Jack C. Hays. The Texas Rangers led to the creation of Colt’s six-shot revolver. It was a time when the Comanche controlled the Texas Hill Country that I live in today.

John Coffee “Jack” Hays is one of my heroes. He became legendary in June 1844 on the Pinta Trail during the Walker’s Creek Fight.

The fight had several names. It was known as the Battle of Pinta Trail Crossing. It was also referred to as the Battle of Cista’s Creek. Another name was the Battle of Sisters Creek.

The exact location was at today’s Sister Creek. It flows into the Guadalupe River next to Sisterdale Road (FM 1376). This spot is one mile south of present-day Sisterdale, Texas.

I smell the grass and watch the white-tailed deer drink from the creek. As I observe the breathtaking views, the story comes to life. Randy Willis

Get permission from the landowner. Saddle up. Trailer your cow ponies for a few hours. Hire a guide who works for the landowner (see the photo below). Then, you are ready to ride. Oh, I forgot to buy a pair of boots for my trusted friend as promised. I’ll make that later with dinner and music by Willie.

✯ ✯ ✯

The Texas Hill Country, with its rivers, animals, and scenery, is my sanctuary. It is my “City of Refuge”, as the Bible describes it. Here, I seek His face, His peace, His wisdom, and, yes, His joy!

Jack C. Hays led fourteen men from his ranger company on a scouting mission. They were searching for a Comanche war party led by Yellow Wolf. This group had recently been raiding Bexar County.

The “Houston Morning Star” characterized Walker’s Creek as “Unparalleled in this country for the gallantry displayed on both sides, its close and deadly struggle, and the triumphant success of the gallant partisan captain of the West.”

This fight marked the first time a company of rangers used Colt revolvers in combat. The Comanche participated in the battle. Later, he complained that the rangers “Had a shot for every finger on the hand.”

The Comanche were right. Hays was the first to use the Colt Paterson five-shot revolver. He quickly sent Samuel Walker to meet with Samuel Colt. Their meeting led to the design of the legendary Colt Walker six-shot revolver used in the Old West. I’m reminded of that every time John Wayne reaches for his six-shooter!

The next day, we drove an hour to Whitewater Amphitheater. It is near Canyon Lake and New Braunfels, Texas. We went there to celebrate our research. We also planned to see another hero perform, Willie Nelson, who lives in the Texas Hill Country.

Now, I’m ready to write the story. Excerpt from my novel Texas Wind

June 1, 1844, Pinta Trail Crossing on the Guadalupe River

The Texas Hill Country

The sounds of change brought glorious news that blew like trumpets from heaven. The first trumpet sounded like a story Theo Cormier had shared with Joseph in a letter.

Fifteen Texas Rangers left their headquarters in San Antonio. They were looking for a Comanche war party that was raiding and terrorizing the settlers. The Rangers traveled on the Pinta Trail as far as the Pedernales River without a trace of any Comanches.

After nine days, the Rangers decided to turn back and make camp at a crossing on the Guadalupe River. One Ranger saw a large band of Comanches after climbing a bee tree. “Must be a thousand of ‘em!” he yelled. Those fifteen rangers found what they’d been looking for…and then some.

Theo had ventured to San Antonio, looking for `employment. A couple of German immigrants hired him for protection. They explored the Pedernales River to find a place to start a settlement.

They told Theo they wanted to name the town after Prince Frederick of Prussia. One tried to call it Fritztown, and another suggested Fredericksburg. When they returned to the Pinta Trail, they heard guns firing like never before. Theo figured there must have been a hundred or so firing by the number of shots. He discovered the number to be only fifteen.

Theo told the immigrants to wait for him down the trail. “I got to know what kind of guns they’re usin’,” he said.

He managed to identify himself to the leader of the men and soon discovered they were Texas Rangers. Remembering our friend Jim Bowie, a former Ranger, Theo began to fire. The Ranger told him, ‘Your gun will be of little effect again’ ‘em. Use one of my five-shooters!’

Those Indians started yelling bad things in Spanish at the Rangers. They called them cowards and all sorts of things. The Rangers’ leader saw Yellow Wolf, who led the Comanches. The Ranger said something like, “Yellow Dog, son of a dog-mother, the Comanche liver is white!” That’s when the fighting really began picking up. Theo thought, Who is this man?

Theo began to shoot and soon discovered he was no match for that Ranger. Within five minutes, Theo was hit with an arrow. It knocked him to the ground, and he lay there, stunned. He lifted his head and could see the shaft of his demise sticking straight up in the air. He asked himself, “Why ain’t I dead?”

With a trembling hand, he reached inside his coat. There was no blood. As Theo sought to find his wound, he touched the bloody Bible in his coat’s pocket. He thought, I’ll be! It would seem this little Book has saved my life!

Backstory: Who was Jack C. Hays?

Captain Jack C. Hays—Legendary Texas Ranger. Hays built a reputation for fighting marauding Indians and Mexican bandits.

An Indian who switched sides and rode with Hays said the Indians called the young Ranger Captain “bravo too much.”

Rachel Jackson, Andrew Jackson’s wife, was his great-aunt. In 1836, at 19, Hays migrated to the Republic of Texas. Sam Houston appointed him a member of the Texas Rangers because he knew the Hays family from Tennessee. Jack Hays met with Sam Houston and delivered a letter of recommendation from his uncle, Andrew Jackson.

He moved to California during the 1849 gold rush. In 1850, he was elected sheriff of San Francisco County. Later, he became one of Oakland’s founders. The San Francisco 49ers football team was named after the 1849 gold rush.

The same holds true for my novels

I have researched and written a story for my “nonfiction novel,” Texas Wind while making it a fun adventure. Truman Capote claimed to have invented this genre with his book In Cold Blood in 1965. Yes, I know the term nonfiction novel is a misnomer to some.

Texas Wind depicts accurate historical figures and actual events. These are woven together with imaginary conversations using fiction’s storytelling techniques.

Texas Wind was inspired by true stories handed down by my ancestors.

Our Family Costa Rica

Our Family Lahaina Maui Hawaii

Randy Willis Texas Baptist Children’s Home Round Rock, Texas

Randy Willis Dell Children Medical Center Austin, Texas

Operation Warm Heart

Randy Willis founded Operation Warm Heart, which feeds and clothes those in need in Central Texas. He also served on the Board of Directors of Our Mission Possible in Austin, Texas. This organization empowers at-risk teens to discover their greatness.

✯ ✯ ✯

Randy Willis founded Operation Warm Heart, which feeds and clothes those in need in Central Texas. He also served on the Board of Directors of Our Mission Possible in Austin, Texas. This organization empowers at-risk teens to discover their greatness.

✯ ✯ ✯

Randy Willis’s Operation Warm Heart: Randy, Aaron, Adam and Josh Willis feeding and clothing the needy.

Going through boxes and boxes of things from the past for volume two of my memoir, I’m abundantly clear that much of what I have boxed and stored in the attic is of no interest to anyone.

But it does remind me of the dozens of Boards I have served on, including the Texas Apartment Association Board of Directors for years.

I don’t care about these plaques, but about the lifelong friendships I made in these incredible organizations.

One was the late Charles Webb, who became one of my attorneys and one of my best friends.

✯ ✯ ✯✯ ✯✯ ✯ ✯✯ ✯

Destiny

Three Winds Blowing

Books

“Master storyteller Randy Willis—books about adventure, family, and faith.”

Randy Willis draws on his family heritage of explorers, settlers, soldiers, cowboys, and pastors. He upholds the tradition of loving the outdoors. He shares this love in the adventures he creates for readers of his novels. He is the author of two biographies and his new memoir, To the Best of My Recollection.

Randy Willis has written many books, including Destiny, Three Winds Blowing, and Beckoning Candle. He also wrote Twice a Slave, Texas Wind, Louisiana Wind, and The Apostle to the Opelousas. He also wrote The Story of Joseph Willis and To the Best of My Recollection, and many articles.

Four bestselling authors’ books, including Randy Willis’s Twice a Slave, have been chosen as a Jerry B. Jenkins Select Book. Jerry Jenkins is a 21-time New York Times bestselling author. He has written more than 200 books. The Left Behind series, his best-selling work, has sold more than 70 million copies.

Randy Willis’s Mini-Bio

Award-winning master storyteller Randy Willis—books about adventure, family, and faith.

Randy Willis is as much at home in the saddle as he is in front of the computer, where he composes his family sagas.

Randy draws on his family’s heritage of explorers, settlers, soldiers, cowboys, and pastors. He carries on the tradition of loving the outdoors. Randy shares it through the adventures he creates in his short stories, biographies, and novels.

Randy Willis is the author of 19 books. These include Destiny, Beckoning Candle, Twice a Slave, Three Winds Blowing, Texas Wind, and Louisiana Wind. Additionally, he authored The Apostle to the Opelousas. He also wrote The Story of Joseph Willis and his autobiography, “To the Best of My Recollection.”

Twice a Slave has been chosen as a Jerry B. Jenkins Select Book, along with four best-selling authors. Jerry Jenkins is the author of more than 200 books. His works have sold over 70 million copies. This includes the best-selling Left Behind series.

Twice a Slave has been adapted into a dramatic play at Louisiana Christian University by Dr. D. “Pete” Richardson (Associate Professor of Theater).

Randy Willis owns Randy Willis Music Publishing. It is an ASCAP-affiliated music publishing company. He also owns Town Lake Music Publishing, LLC. This is a BMI-affiliated music publishing company.

Randy Willis is an ASCAP-affiliated songwriter. He was an artist manager and TV producer.

Randy Willis is a Texas Hill Country Rancher.

Randy Willis founded Operation Warm Heart in 1991. It provides food and clothing to those in need in Central Texas.

Randy Willis was a member of the Board of Directors of Our Mission Possible in Austin, Texas. This organization empowers at-risk teens to discover their greatness.

Randy Willis was a charter member of the Board of Trustees of the Joseph Willis Institute for Great Awakening Studies at Louisiana College (Louisiana Christian University).

Randy Willis served on the Board of Directors of the Austin Apartment Association for four years. He was on the Board of Directors of the Texas Apartment Association for the same duration.

Randy Willis was born in Oakdale, Louisiana, and lived as a boy near Longleaf, Louisiana, and Barber Creek.

He currently resides in the Texas Hill Country near his three sons and their families.

Randy Willis graduated from Angleton High School in Angleton, Texas, and Texas State University in San Marcos, Texas.

Randy Willis was a graduate student at Texas State University for six years. He is the father of three sons and has six grandchildren.

✯✯✯✯✯

Randy Willis Website: https://www.threewindsblowing.com

Randy Willis Newsletter, Short Stories & Biographies: https://randywillisbooks.com/

Books on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores

512.565.0161
randywillisnovelist@gmail.com

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

“Many today have just enough religion to inoculate them from knowing Christ.” Randy Willis

According to the Bible, we all have feet of clay and fall short of God’s glory. Our righteousness is described in the Bible as filthy rags. God’s grace (his undeserved favor) is available to us all. However, we must accept His gift of forgiveness. This gift was bought and paid for on the cross with Jesus Christ’s blood. You can say yes to Jesus’ free gift right now.

Our greatest need is forgiveness. Christ came to forgive us, but we must accept that free gift. Jesus said in Revelation 3:20:

Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me. (NKJV)

Jesus knocks, but you must open the door to your heart, to your life, to your future. Notice there is no doorknob on the outside.

It’s not a prescribed list of words. In Luke 23:42, one of the criminals crucified with Jesus pleads, “Lord, remember me when You come into your kingdom. His heartfelt cry of faith from the cross saves him.

Jesus answers in the next verse with a promise. He says, “Assuredly, I say to you, today you will be with Me in Paradise.” The first person to accompany Christ to Heaven was this lowly thief on the cross.

Isn’t it time to decide which “thief” on the cross you are? Are you the one who put his faith in Jesus Christ? Or are you the one who rejected our Savior who gave His lifeblood for us?

The most famous 25 words ever written: “For God so loved the world. He gave His only begotten Son. Whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16)

If these words are how you feel in your heart, then pray:

“Heavenly Father,

I pray to You, asking for the forgiveness of my sins.

I confess with my mouth. I believe with my heart that Jesus is Your Son. He died on the cross at Calvary, so I might be forgiven.

Father, I believe that Jesus rose from the dead. I ask Jesus to come into my life as my personal Lord and Savior.

I turn from my sins and will surrender to your will throughout my life.

Your word is truth. I confess with my mouth that I am born again. I am cleansed by the blood of Jesus!

In Jesus’ name, I pray. Amen!”

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯