The Catwalk To Christ: A Story of God's Radical Love and Grace

By Robert John

The Catwalk to Christ is the inspiring story of Robert John Grasseschi’s triumph, by God’s radical love and grace, over a life hounded by tragedy and loss. Read. Be Riveted. Be inspired. Be filled with the awe of God’s ability to reach into our broken lives and make all things new by His miracle working love.

All proceeds of this book go towards funding Robert John as a model missionary in Hollywood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781483518435

Book preview

Preface

Ihad fled to Hong Kong to escape from my pain and grief. This was the place where I had been celebrated and where I had found my greatest success as a model, but now the city held no joy for me. My career had taken me all over the world. I had partied with celebrities and had tasted fame and fortune. But wherever I went, death seemed to follow me. Vivid and traumatic memories of an automobile accident replayed over and over in my head. I had unintentionally hit and killed a pedestrian. Even though it was not my fault, I was haunted by a deep sense of shame and guilt.

I sat in my hotel room that night with my head in my hands. Suddenly I was startled by a knock at the door. Little did I know that God had sent a messenger.

ONE

Floorboards

to Backboards

In the beginning ...

it was the pure faith of a child.

Long before I ever stepped on the catwalk, there was a deep void in my heart, a void that yearned to be filled with the love of a father. My mother was everything a mother should be and much more. My mom and dad divorced when I was two years old, and by the time I was a teen my relationship with my father was very distant and limited. But my story doesn't start there. Let me begin a little earlier.

MY FIRST MIRACLE

My eyes gazed at the lifeless body of my beloved rabbit, Hoppy. In alarm, I grasped for a solution — I knew there had to be something we could do. Even though I was only six years old, I had an understanding of faith in my heart. Suddenly, it dawned on me — my godmother had to pray for him! She was deeply involved in the Renewal of the 1970s and believed in healing through the laying on of hands. My heart was telling me that she was Hoppy's only hope.

My mother called my godmother who immediately rose to the occasion, just like I knew she would. My godmother's response was to pack up her two sons and drive to our house. Once they arrived, we raced to Hoppy's pen, stood around his lifeless body, laid hands on him, and prayed for healing.

When we finished, my godmother boldly said, Hoppy, in the name of Jesus, get UP! Hoppy got up and started jumping around his pen. We danced and shouted with elation! My heart was full of joy as I gazed in gleeful victory at my beloved pet. He was alive, jumping, and full of vigor at the name of Jesus. Moments ago, Hoppy had been a lifeless body, and now he was back in full force! It was a miracle before my eyes, and I knew it. If ever I had known that God was real and had the power to raise a lifeless body from the dead, it was then. Moreover, not only was God real and His power tangible — but He was good, too!

Not only was God real —

He was good, too!

I wish I could say that I held on to this child-like faith. Unfortunately, the winds of life came crashing in on my world in the years ahead. The little boy who was once full of expectation soon became a young man full of insecurity and longing for the love of a father.

FATHER WOUNDS

Like I said, my mother is an amazing woman who, as a single parent in a fast-paced world, gave me every ounce of love she could; she made every conceivable effort to be both mother and father to me. She worked full-time as a grade school teacher, made our house a home, sacrificed time and time again for my well-being, was a loving mother, and tried with all her might to fulfill the role of father.

Despite her heroic efforts, I desperately longed for love from my father. The void left a gaping hole in my heart and followed me like a shadow everywhere I went.

In many ways my father was a good man. He was focused, great with people, excellent in his trade as a plumber, and known around the town as a fun guy to be around. For whatever reason, these qualities did not translate into an ability to be a faithful husband to my mom or a father to me, and it hurt.

In reflection, I can see that he, too, was wounded by his relationship with his own father. My grandfather was a noble man with a deep sense of duty to his country. Because of this, as a young husband and father, he left his family to serve in World War II. My grandfather's decision to serve in the US army, instead of staying with his family, deeply impacted my dad in his infancy. No matter how noble the cause of their separation, my father did not understand, and he felt abandoned in his childhood.

This separation eventually caused my dad to become resentful; he lost respect toward his father and for authority in general.

I desperately longed for love

from my father.

Now I understand that my dad's father wound made it