The Promoter

The Promoter

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.

—John 10:27 (NKJV)

Ron Meyers

ISBN 978-1-0980-5009-2 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-0980-5711-4 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-0980-5010-8 (digital)

Copyright © 2020 by Ron Meyers

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations are from The ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scriptures marked KJV are taken from the KING JAMES VERSION (KJV): KING JAMES VERSION, public domain.

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

I’ll Show Them

The Voice

It’s Not Always What It Seems

The Meeting

The Hoods

Caught

Mind Over Money

Dodgeball

The Chosen

Henry’s Hamburgers

Love Held Me Together

Gas and a Girl

The Date

Meet the Parents

The Kozy Inn

Welcome to Adulthood

So Long Iowa

You’re in the Air Force Now!

Tattoos Tell No Tales

Love Me Say Good-bye

Biloxi, Mississippi

Meet Mr. Mom

The Storms Come

And the Beat Goes On

Still Waters

WWW Brenda

It’s Showtime!

Showtime!

The Chicago Knockers

The Dedeaux Delusion

Mud On My Face

Gone

I Need a Miracle

Put Up Your Dukes

A Way Out

Attitude Adjustment

The Crawfish Festival

Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire

My Day in Court

My Step of Faith

The Power of an Idea

And the Devil Had Dimples

The Invisible Fish

The Monster Arm Wrestling Machine

The Death of My Lawyer

Music and Merry Christmas

Christmas Fair and Craft Sale Comes to Biloxi Coliseum

Protests and A Hurricane

The Beer Was Flowing, and So Was the Money

Here Come the Pesky Christians!

I Showed Them!

October 6, 1984, Marquee Cover Story

The Wall Cracked

Facing fear in the Face

Hurricane Elena

I Get Married Again

Dancing Déjà vu

The Swimsuit Calendar and More Protests

The Girls of the Gulf Coast Calendar is Finished, and It is a Beauty!

Here They Come, After the Christmas Show!

Christmas City USA Debuts on November 11–12, 1988

Christmas City Hits the Road!

Lord, My Son Needs a Miracle

My Conscience Was Pricked

The Warning

My Mom Died

My Party’s Over!

The Day I Surrendered

A New Person

From Beer to Bibles

The Birth of Cross 2 Success & My Son

Cross 2 Success

Emmitt & Wanda Pillault

Testimony of a Columbine Dad

The Warehouse Church

The Least of Them

My Favorite Night

A Change Is Coming

The Brownsville Revival

September 29, 2000

Time to Open the Tackle Box with My Brand-New Lures

Outreaches and the Angel

Blood on the TracksMarch 25, 2001

Spirit FestApril 1, 2001–2004

God and CountryJuly 4, 2001

There Were Skeptics!

I Closed the Church Services

The Announcement that Shocked the Coast

Some of My Favorite Stories from the Radio Days

Ashley Smith

Eutychus—The Band Perry

Brittany Waddell—Britt Nicole

Mercy Me

Local Artists of the Week

The Ten-Thousand-Foot Jump

The Calendar Controversy

I Become General Manager of the Station

A Storm Is ComingKATRINA!

The Equalizer

Here Come the Campers

My Contractor

The Rest of the Story

Terminated!

The Loss Was Worse than Death

Perfect Timing

God Sent My Dad to Me

The Power of Love

For We Know Not What Day

Dad’s Last Wishes

The Election

The Last Good-bye

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my awesome family: Karen, my wife of over 33 years, and my four children, Dawn, Ron II, Ryan, and Jacob, the lights of my life. This book is for the lonely, the broken-hearted, the hopeless, the unloved, and every other person who is searching for purpose, meaning, and peace. Also, it is for my grandchildren who I would like them to know who grandfather was and speak destiny into their life. I am so grateful that God would take me, a chief misfit, and turn my life into a testimony of his goodness, mercy, love, and grace. I hope that the person reading this book will experience restoration, spiritual renewal, and a clear understanding of God’s intention for their life.

Acknowledgment

I want to thank Bobbie Sue Fenton for editing this book as well as taking my story and turning it into an enjoyable read.

Foreword

This story was written based on actual situations that did occur. The first half of the book is my life as a promoter of sex, drugs, greed, and anything I could make a buck at. The second half of the book is about my life after I had a supernatural encounter with Jesus. Today I am a promoter of love, peace, purpose, passion, and destiny. I gave God the glory for my success in going down both roads in my life. Both the one it took me time to realize I shouldn’t be going down, as well as the one I should, for without the first road, I never would have appreciated the second. Some of my stories may surprise you. But some of you may find they are not so different from your own. For those of you who found God and turned quickly to Him, you’ll probably find a few moments where you will gasp and turn white, as it took me a while to get it. God had to pursue me, and it took 40 years before I surrendered.

For those of you who are looking for a book about a real Christian (the term used on a website I stumbled upon one day to describe one such as I who struggled with the World), it doesn’t get any more real than this. For those who weren’t so hard-headed, please don’t misunderstand, or take offense—I know you are just as real a Christian as I. For no one is truly a Christian until they surrender, and entirely turn to God whether it takes them 4 seconds or 40 years. Not understanding just what God was all about or how He does things, I had an awful lot to learn, and I thank God He was patient enough to wait for the lightbulb to come on. I was probably much worse than I appeared in this book.

The greatest lesson I believe that you will take away is that no matter what you have done or haven’t done or how messed up you might think you are, you can’t be too broken for God. If He can forgive a sinner like me, He most certainly can forgive you. We don’t find God, He finds us. And once He decides you belong to Him; He will never give you up—no matter who you are or what you’ve done.

As you are about to discover, brought up in a home without God forced me to fend for myself from a young age. I made some bad choices, running with the devil well into adulthood. Greed, drugs, doubt, fear, financial ruin, and so much loss—you name it—I dealt with the hell in my life in the craziest ways. I searched for peace and purpose each day and usually only found more hell. I was in a constant wrestling match with God from the first time I heard His voice until I finally surrendered.

It all changed in a plea of desperation one morning when I called out to God for help from the floor of my closet after a failed attempt to end my life as a mere boy. It was that day that God introduced Himself to me. Little did I know, it would be the beginning of a life-long relationship. Even when I didn’t know Him when I gave my life to Him in 6th grade, He began working in my life, drawing me toward Him until that day, I finally surrendered. As I mentioned, I still had a lot of kinks to work out before I really got it. But even through my worst, He never left me or gave up on me. God guided me through my moments of stubborn pride, frustration, and foolishness until I finally understood, and had the hell blown out of my life. Are things perfect in my life today? Of course not! But I don’t have the wrestling matches I had with God in my early days nor rely on my wisdom anymore, but instead, I follow Him, relying on Him to guide me, and strive every day knowing that He is always with me, even when I fall.

It is my prayer that my real-life experiences and hard-earned wisdom, as portrayed in this book through my inner struggles as I learned to trust and rely on God, will be able to help you learn to trust his guidance in your own life. I prayed feverishly before and during the writing of this book. I hope that this book releases a fresh anointing of God’s love, mercy, and grace into your life. As God did in my life, I pray He will meet you where you are and lead you into the place where He begins shaping you into the person you initially were created become. Then, you will start to hear His still quiet voice, His voice of truth, love, empowerment, encouragement, and direction, and I promise you, it will change your life.

Part 1

I’ll Show Them

Chapter 1

The Voice

Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in

our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.

—C.S. Lewis

Growing up, I was one of those people who was just always in trouble. I didn’t have to look for it, though I admit, I often did; it just seemed to follow me. I seemed to have just come into the world that way.

Alright, guys! Get to your bases and let’s PLAY BALL! shouted the coach as he straightened his ball cap to keep out the blinding sun.

A herd of small, mostly 10-year-old boys raced onto the field, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. A handsome statue of a man standing 6'6 and 230 pounds with piercing green eyes and a strong square chin, Ron Meyers Sr. presented a formidable appearance to those who met him, to say the least; especially when you didn’t come up much past his belt loops. Whoa there, Slugger, where do you think you’re going? Hit the bench! You can play in a little bit." I heard him say as I found his hand suddenly on my chest. Immediately, as always, my shoulders drooped, my head dropped, and I trudged my way to the bench. The coaches never let me play. None of them did, not even my own Dad.

To be fair, I kind of understood it. I was awful; I mean, REALLY bad. The ball just seemed to magically go around me, through my legs, over my head, everywhere but in my glove. However, there was this one time I did get to play the entire game.

Ben! Ben! Get the phone! I can’t get my gloves off! Ms. White said as the petite redhead fumbled with her dripping wet yellow rubber gloves anxiously over a sink full of dishes.

A prematurely balding man with a bit of a belly mumbled as he set his cigar into the ashtray on the top shelf of the end table next to him while simultaneously slamming his newspaper into his lap impatiently.

Ben! Ms. White exclaimed again from the kitchen.

Hold your horses! I’m moving as fast as I can! he growled, mumbled again, then reached over the arm of his well-worn dark mustard colored tweed recliner to the lower shelf of the end table and picked up the receiver of the black rotary dialed telephone. Hello? White’s residence, who’s speaking? He looked up impatiently as Helen White came into the room. Her gaze met his, her eyebrows raised with inquisitiveness as she dried her hands off with the red and white checkered dish towel she’d gotten as a bonus out of the last box of detergent she’d bought. He centered his attention back to the phone call.

Uh-huh, uh-huh, okay. Thank you for calling, good-bye, Mr. White set the receiver back onto the hook clumsily as he raised his paper once again.

Ms. White knew he had picked up his cigar because a giant mushroom-shaped cloud of smoke hovered above the newspaper. She waved the air with her dishrag in feigned disdain. Well? she inquired.

At that moment, a young boy dressed in a baseball uniform walked up and stood beside her while ruffling the ears of a small wiggly beagle puppy clutched in his arms. What his dad would say next would have him looking up at his mom with grave disappointment.

No ball game tonight.

It’s Not Always What It Seems

Meanwhile, back at the Meyers household, Ron gently placed the heavy receiver down on the hook of the telephone, careful not to make a sound. He looked around one last time to make sure no one saw him using the phone, picked up his bat from the corner of the hallway where he’d leaned it before calling the Whites and walked casually into the living room just in time to see his Dad stepping in through the back door. Okay! If you’re coming with me, get in the car! We’re going to be late! Ron smiled as he ran for the car.

On the outside, things couldn’t have appeared any more perfect. My life looked like it had fallen right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. I grew up in the heart of middle America suburbia in a beautiful city called Cedar Rapids, Iowa, which is rich in history. The Cedar River flowed right through the center of this multicultural city with its cutting-edge schools, blocks upon blocks of beautiful multi-story buildings, and sidewalks lined with storefronts. Surrounded by several perfectly manicured parks, the city also had an abundance of recreational lakes located nearby. At night it was full of lights and sound, with plenty to do and see. It was an exciting time and place to live!

Nine of us lived in the Northwest side of town, where most of the middle-class lived, in a cookie-cutter, 1200 square foot, one bath, three-bedroom row house built sometime after World War II. Each one had a little yard and a patio. My three brothers and I did everything together, and my three sisters—they did their own thing. In the evenings, most folks would sit in the yard and greet one another as many took their evening strolls. In fall, we would rake up piles of leaves and have bonfires in the street, and everyone would gather around to enjoy the warmth and each other’s company. Weather permitting, we kids filled the roads on bicycles with playing cards clipped to our spokes with clothespins so that they made a loud clacking sound when the wheels turned. If we weren’t in school, most parents had no idea where their children were until the streetlights came on at dusk. It never crossed anyone’s mind to worry because there was no need. Everyone knew everybody.

On Sundays, we’d go to my maternal Grandmother’s house for Sunday dinner in Fairfax, a small farm town nearby. Together with all my cousins, there were at least 25 of us kids! My mother came from an extensive family of nine children, so the family grouped in one place was massive, loud, and boisterous. Grandpa would have us kids stand in the middle of the yard, and laughing, he would throw handfuls of change up into the air. I remember how it glittered in the sun as it showered down onto the ground. I can still almost hear the peals of laughter among us as we’d dive into the grass and scramble for the money. Then, like a wild pack of young wolves, we’d run to the store for penny candy or to the Dairy Queen for ice cream and then run all over town playing hide-and-go-seek! We thought it tremendously exciting to lay coins on the tracks then lie in wait for the train to come and flatten them. And on Easter, we’d all load up to go to a nearby German town—Amana, Iowa. Why yes, it is where Amana appliances got their name! We would eat at one of the many excellent German restaurants there. It seemed like an ideal way to grow up, and this part of it was. It truly was.

As for my parents—my Dad was the outgoing type, one of those charismatic people to whom people just seemed drawn. With his good looks and magnetic personality, he probably should have been in sales. He worked as a custodian in the schools by day, and usually in Doctor’s offices doing the same job at night. He wasn’t particularly demonstrative and could be stern, but I think it was because of the significant burden he had on his shoulders, raising such a large family. I believe that burden weighed on him so, that often that’s all he had on his mind. The typical workaholic, it wasn’t unusual for Dad to hold three jobs just to make sure he could adequately provide for his family. Needless-to-say, we didn’t see him much. Occasionally, he’d bring us to work with him when he had to clean the school in summer or on weekends. He would have us, boys, scrubbing floors, and cleaning desks while he leaned back in the teacher’s lounge listening to Paul Harvey on the radio. He would reward us each with a bottle of Mountain Dew and a bag of Fritos, a price which we thought in those days had been certainly worth the effort.

My Mom was a pretty and petite woman, always prim and proper. In her world, everything had its place, and it, and you, best, be in it. She kept Dad’s little army going with strict discipline and made sure that we knew how to keep things ship-shape. We weren’t allowed to linger in the kitchen, and we best not touch the refrigerator. If we wanted a drink of water, we boys knew that’s what the hose outside was for. If the weather was sunny and chores completed, it was expected of us to be out in the sunshine. Whether boy or girl, we each knew how to clean, take care of our clothes, and our appearance. She made sure that we had manners and were always polite in public, respecting our elders and saying, yes, Mam, and no Mam, or Sir, as the situation required and to always say please and thank you. She made sure it was drilled into our heads, Appearance is everything! She had high expectations for all of us and had her cap set that we were going to follow along her path, which she had all planned out for us. Thus, her training was so complete that to the outsider, we seemed like the picture-perfect family.

Yet, as perfect as this little picture appeared, as is often the case behind closed doors with the shades drawn, it couldn’t have been further from the truth. I got in trouble—a LOT. I was hyper, curious, and into everything, and no one had any time or patience for my antics. It was expected of me to sit still, speak when spoken to, and to be seen, not heard. Because of the sheer flood of criticism, which seemed to pour down on my person most of the time, often, I didn’t feel like I even ‘fit’ in my own family. I was the proverbial black sheep, the oddball, unwanted, and unloved. Sometimes, I was sure I brought a lot of it on myself. But quite often, I thought if they were just a little more patient with me, they’d see I wasn’t as awful as they accused me of being. I was whipped with a belt by my Dad, sometimes within an inch of my life, when I’d get into trouble. In my mom’s case—I got the shoe. Not a regular flat-heeled shoe, mind you, but the high heel shoe right on the top of my noggin. Sass my mom? Whack! I’d see stars for two days!

As you might imagine, my self-worth was virtually non-existent most of the time, and the only way I could escape my mother’s disapproval and the terror that loomed inside my mind was to daydream. So, I became a dreamer. I considered how my life might have gone had things been different, most of all, of what I was going to do in the future. I wasn’t sure what I was going to be, as my thoughts on the matter changed daily depending on what influenced me at the time. But whatever I became, a tiny part of me believed that I was going to be great at it! That small flame even I didn’t understand, but jealously guarded, told me that I knew I was meant for something different, something that would make me stand out from the crowd and make a difference. I felt that if I could live through this, that no matter what anyone said: parents, teachers, enemies, whatever; someday I WOULD amount to something! Instead of cowering and backing down, my defense mechanism became to look at the offending party straight in the eye (even though most of the time, I admit, they were stinging with angry tears I refused to shed) and yell at the top of my voice, You just wait and see! I am going to be famous one day! They would just laugh and call me crazy with their eyes still deadlocked with mine so that I knew I was looking right into their soul. I was sure that they positively believed I was utterly, totally, and completely worthless.

Even though I did my best to hide it, I was a sensitive soul, easily offended, so a part of me believed what they said about me as I never felt like I quite measured up anyway. When I was angry, often, the flame I spoke of seemed far away. Sometimes, so far away, that my defense mechanism came out sounding hollow even to my ears. Thus, the disapproval of others for any infraction, no matter how minor, I still took incredibly personally. Often, I wondered if there wasn’t a big red target painted on my back. It seemed to me that in the eyes of those around me, nothing I ever did was ever quite good enough, no matter how I tried. I remember cringing whenever I thought I had done an excellent job, quite often instead of eliciting praise; infallibly, someone would pipe up as to how so-in-so could do it better. Of course, this usually left me