Is there a God? How do you know?: My life Changing Experience

By Ken Shores

All of God’s world is a stage. We are but mere actors playing our role in this thing called life. Some play bit parts and feel insignificant. Others take the lead and impact many. Those behind the scenes may feel unappreciated or unimportant. Without every person fulfilling their role, the show has missing lines and broken stage props, the

• Language: English
• Publisher: TOPLINK PUBLISHING, LLC
• Release date: Jul 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9780999194812

Ken Shores

Kenneth E. Shores is honored to be selected first page 2017 Strathmore's Who's Who Worldwide Edition as Professional of the Year. He was born on May 5, 1932, in Dupont, Indiana. He served the Country - U. S. Army November 3, 1949 to January 27, 1953. He also served overseas under United Nations July 1950 to January 1953. He has 45 years of education - work record - from laborer to upper management, including International, owned several businesses and traveled over most of the world. He wrote his first book "IS THERE A GOD? HOW DO YOU KNOW?" on March 22, 2007, completed December, 2012. The second and third edition has now been published. He has also published his other book "MYSTERY IN THE FOREST."

Book preview

Is there a God? How do you know?

My Life-Changing Experience Third Edition

Ken Shores

Copyright © 2017 by Ken Shores.

PAPERBACK 978-0-9991948-0-5

EBOOK 978-0-9991948-1-2

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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Dedication

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It is an honor to dedicate this book first to God. Words are inadequate to express my thanks to Him, my loving and compassionate God. I also dedicate my writing to all the people I have had the pleasure to meet in my lifetime and to all who contributed to this book.

To my sister, Alice, and wife Susan Shores who devoted many hours working with me to make this book what it is now.

To Pastor Steve Stroope, my pastor for more than 32 years and a friend who was always there when my family and I needed him.

To Mary Eisenhower, a true friend I met at People to People International in 1996 while serving on the Board of Directors, she will always have a special place in my heart.

To my Christian friends who are like brothers to me, William Markins, and Patrick Meadows. We not only worked together, but they always stood by me through much of my life.

To Judy Moore, a good Christian friend that inspired me with her excellent musical God-given talents composing music and playing the piano.

To my parents who are with the Lord, for instilling the love of God in me with their devotion to Him.

To my two Aunts, Betty and Lois, and my Uncle Denton who helped raise me.

To Dr. Robert Jeffress, Pastor of First Dallas Baptist Church who is my current pastor and a Godly man who is not only an inspiration, but he is a Bible Teaching Pastor to me and many others. His fortitude to stand up for God to return our country to ‘One Nation under God’ means a lot to me.

To Marge who gave me more than 51 years of joy, stood by me through thick and thin, and to our six wonderful daughters.

This dedication would not be complete without Dr. Gregg Maul who has not only been my doctor for my family and me for the past 20 plus years, but he is also a dear friend. After Margie died, he took a very personal interest in my health beyond what most doctors would do.

My most important dedication is to Susan, my greatest friend, partner, companion, and wonderful wife who responded to God when He orchestrated our marriage.

Is There a God? How Do You Know? is a touching reflection of its author, Ken Shores. Ken has lived a life of multi-paths that have included everything from military service to the corporate world to humanitarianism. Through all of the facets of his life, his triumphs and tragedies, I have never known his faith to waiver. He eloquently reveals this in his book, which is by far one of the greatest testimonials I have ever read.

— Mary Jean Eisenhower; Kansas City, MO, USA

I have known Ken Shores for more than three decades. I pray that his book will be a blessing to you."

—Steve Stroope, Lead Pastor; Lake Pointe Church; Rockwall, TX

I am excited about Kenneth Shores’ new book Is There A God? How Do You Know? Everyone who wants to be assured of the reality and love of God should read this wonderful volume.

—Dr. Robert Jeffress, Pastor; First Baptist Church; Dallas, TX

It was an easy read. I loved that Ken took us through his personal journey from ‘not sure if he could trust God to being awed by God’s goodness in his life.’ His experiences are ones that we can relate to because we have all been there at the place where we question where God is or if He is real. His experience in church is a testimony to God’s word–that it doesn’t come back void. As he recalls the time when God showed up big in his life like the ‘no traffic’ is so typical of what God can do so we can give Him all the Glory. By far, the best story was one of the saddest, when his wife passed away. He had at this point matured and grown in the Lord and could rest in Him to get him through those days on the ship without his first mate, his wife. I love how he explained her passing in such a way that almost seemed behind the scene of what God did all through that trip.

—Esther Archut; Colorado Springs, CO

My dear friend and mentor, Kenneth Shores, has assembled herein, a true-to-life perspective of God as our friend, constant companion, and Heavenly Parent/Father. Ken demonstrates how, despite the challenges of earthly life, God never fails: ever watchful, ever Loving, ever real.

—Mark McCord, Performer and Director

Mark McCord Productions & Somebody’s Child Ministry;

Formerly of Branson, MO

I arrived home one evening mentally and physically exhausted, and to my surprise, there was a preview book in my mailbox. I sat down with the book, "Is There a God? How Do You Know? and I didn’t stop reading until I had finished the book. I felt God had sent this to my doorstop just when I needed it. This year has been very stressful with a series of struggles. I had just decided I couldn’t do anymore and needed to turn my problems over to God. My struggles have continued over the last few months, and when I see the book on the coffee table, I’ll pick it up and won’t stop reading until I have finished it again. This is an outstanding collection of inspiring stories and has been a great comfort to me.

— Norma Schmatt; Cedar Rapids, IA

As an editor, I have never been more excited to offer the collection of stories my brother lived. He is eleven years older than me, and I never knew the struggles he faced almost on a daily basis. The years that separated us kept me from knowing what a great brother I had until I began working on his story. God was instrumental in putting all of the right parts into place to produce what I hope is an inspiration to everyone who reads it. I know it has inspired me in ways I had not anticipated, and I thank God for such a wonderful, loving big brother.

—Alice Scott, Editor, Award-winning Author; CEO Blue River Publishing, Inc.; Colorado Springs, CO

All of God’s world is a stage.

We are but mere actors playing our role in this thing called life.

Some play bit parts and feel insignificant.

Others take the lead and impact many.

Those behind the scenes may feel unappreciated or unimportant.

Without every person fulfilling their role, the show has missing lines

and broken stage props, then the audience doesn’t feel the impact

they are meant to experience. A successful performance happens when everyone

was in the proper place at the proper time.

This book is about my life-changing experiences,

and my story is divided into two sections.

I have called them ‘Act One’ and ‘Act Two’ on purpose.

It is my prayer that you find your place on stage,

and that you gain much from what I have lived through.

Contents

Act 1

Skepticism Unleashed

Heartache and Tragedy Strike Twice

Face to Face With Santa

Troubled Days Ahead

My Life Changing Commitment

Military Life

Flying Boxcar

Who Is Really In Control?

Stubborn People Make Stupid Decisions

Discharged from The Army

Life’s Challenges

Open Mouth–Insert Elbow

God’s Plans Become My Plans

New Tests to Pass

Changes are Hard

Intermission

Act2 Scene 1: Family

Making A Deal With God

Miracles I Witnessed

The Greatest Story I Have Ever Told

An Unexplainable Miracle

Growing in My Christian Walk

Doing Things God’s Way

Suddenly the Traffic Was Gone!

Retired from Work, But not From Life

Act 2, Scene 2: PTPI

Playing A New Role In My Life

The Absence of Religion

Dr. Ivanian, Russian Official and Author

God’s Love is Never Just A One-Way Street

Who Is ‘I?"

Video from the Media Historian

The Eisenhower Medallion Award

High-Ranking Chinese Officials At Bill’s House

Education + Hard Work - Drugs = The American Dream

Tornado in Jarrell, Texas

Chinese High School Students Visit the U.S

God’s Timing is Perfect

Life-Threatening Decision

An Athiest’s Questions

He Couldn’t Enter the Cave

A Time for Everything

God Opens Doors No Man Can Shut

The Story Slowly Unfolds

Miracle of Faith

Conclusion

Curtain Call

It Ain’t Over ‘Til God Says It Is

Miracles Just Keep A-Comin’

Publishing my American History Articles

Restoring America through Prayer

People to People International

South Council PTPI Youth Conferences and Awards Banquets

Mission in Understanding

Africa

Europe Oberammergau Passion Play

Greece, The Greek Islands And Turkey

References – Additional information of town where I was born

http://www.ingenweb.org/injefferson/duponthistory.html

http://www.connerprairie.org/Places-To-Explore/1863-Civil-War-Journey/Learn-more-about-the-Civil-War/General-Morgan-s-Raid-on-Indiana

Act 1

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The first half of this book is about my struggles, doubts and the problems I faced because I didn’t understand the loving God who protected me in spite of myself. From growing up in a Christian home to my years in the Army, I faced many hardships. But God’s hand was on my life the whole time, even though I wasn’t aware of it.

Skepticism Unleashed

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My life began in 1932, between the end of World War 1 (1918) and the beginning of World War 2 (1939). The first house I lived in was just outside of DuPont, Indiana, a small town in the southern-most part of the state; this was also where my grandparents on my mother’s side lived. The land around the town was filled with hills and it was so big, only two signs were on the road; one reads Entering DUPONT and the other said Leaving DUPONT. The only building (Grist Mill- 1857) in town separated the two signs. It was one of those towns that if you blinked your eyes, you’d miss it—really miss it!

DuPont’s history (see references) goes back to 1839, when James Tilton founded and named the city. It is located just off State Road 7, between North Vernon and Madison, Indiana, and, according to the 2010 United States Census Bureau, there are 339 people living there and covers 1.0 square mile. There is a general store, a bank in a hundred-year-old building and a Baptist church.

Mom’s parents lived in a three-story farmhouse, also near Dupont. I still remember the old pump organ next to the stairway as I’d enter the front door. Many times I sat on the floor, pumping the pedals by hand so my grandmother, my mother or others could play beautiful music on the black-and-white keys. Mom was taught to play at a very early age by memorizing the shapes of the notes. Her memory for music was so good that miraculously, and instantaneously, she could listen to a melody and play what she heard; many times without having the sheet music in front of her.

My parents came from large families: Dad had nine brothers and sisters, and Mom was one of eleven. Both of them grew up devoting Sundays to God, church and family. Their parents raised all of their children in strict, devout Christian homes. My mother and father did the same with their children.

By the time I was four years old, my parents and I had moved to a different farming community in Indiana. All three of us attended church on a regular basis. The one big difference was my parents seemed to always make the church’s needs a higher priority than their family, mainly me. All too often, I felt they were the first to volunteer whenever traveling evangelists needed someone to accompany them with their special music.

Dad played the violin and drove Mom everywhere. The only time she got behind the wheel to learn to drive, she backed into a rural mailbox. She was teased so much, she said she would never drive ever again. She kept her word; that was one thing I loved about my mom. She always kept her promises.

It was normal during the summer months for me to be left behind to stay with one of our relatives. Both Mom and Dad would be gone for weeks, or even months, at a time. I know my parents thought they were doing God’s work, but I didn’t think they were, especially since I never was invited to go with them.

When Dad’s parents were alive, their farm was a great place to spend my summers, and I loved being around them. Even though I am now 83 years old, I still remember an incident that happened when I was four.

I had been watching my uncles playing with an ice pick. They took turns throwing it into the air and then watch as it fell pick side down into the ground. It looked fun to me, and I wanted to do it too. But they never gave me a chance. They wouldn’t even let me hold the ice pick, let alone throw it into the air.

My uncles left to check on the livestock leaving the ice pick still in plain sight, mind you. I picked up the handle and proceeded to throw it into the air. When it fell to the ground, I didn’t have sense enough to get out of the way. When it came down, it went right through left my foot! I got it to stick into the ground all right, but I didn’t care about that now because I yelled in pain so loudly, my uncles came rushing to my aid.

Dad’s oldest brother quickly reached for the handle and told me he was going to pull it out. He said I should hold on to his leg as tightly as I could. He rushed me to the house afterwards, and my aunts took care of my foot. The scar still reminds me of my strong-willed attitude at a young age.

Even though at the time I was an only child, my aunts and uncle treated me like their baby brother.

When I was six years old, Dad’s parents died, and seven of his brothers and sisters moved to Muncie, Indiana. For me, that was a good thing; their influence played a vital role in my upbringing. My aunts and uncles provided stability at a time when my parents were not able to do so.

Mom’s parents were around until I was in my teens, and I have thanked God many times for the influence they had on my life.

Some of my fondest childhood memories are of Sunday school. Many great teachers showed me they cared about me, and I loved the exciting Bible stories I heard. During these times, I could be my fun-loving, mischievous self. Sitting through church services was another thing all together. I loved the music we sang and wanted it to go on forever. The sermons, however, usually put me to sleep. Looking back on those days now, what I learned became vital in helping me fully understand the role God would play in my life in later years.

In July, two months after my fifth birthday, my mother gave birth to a baby boy and named him Harold. I had wanted a baby brother for a long time to play with but Harold was sick all of the time. He spent most of his time in the hospital with his bouts of eczema, bronchial asthma and pneumonia. Mom and Dad paid more attention to him because he needed it, but I felt left out.

My parents moved to Farmland, Indiana, and this is where I started first grade. Right from the beginning, I enjoyed the attention given to me by the teachers and other kids my own age. The house we rented was a two-story duplex with neighbors in the adjoining house. Bill and Thelma became like part of our family. Dad and Bill were always working on something together while my mother and Thelma cooked delicious foods and socialized a lot. Bill and Thelma had a daughter, Annabelle, who was only a year or so younger than me. Bill gave me a lot of attention, and I enjoyed every minute it, even if he wasn’t my dad.

It was during the summer my tonsils were removed. The doctor who performed the surgery told me I could have as much ice cream as I could eat. I was overjoyed at this; I was just like my dad in that respect. I loved ice cream then and still do. Everything went just as well as expected, but I wasn’t warned that my throat would hurt. The doctors and nurses made me feel like I was special, and I ate ice cream until it came out of my ears. That first swallow, however, was not easy. With each spoonful I put into my mouth, it got easier and easier. Not only did I consume chocolate (my favorite), but vanilla, strawberry, peach, orange sherbet, and, well, the list goes on.

Heartache and Tragedy Strike Twice

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I had secretly been praying about having a baby brother I could play with, and in July of 1938, God answered my prayer. My mother gave birth to a baby boy and named him Frankie. I was overjoyed because now I had someone to be a big brother to who didn’t have to spend most of his days in the hospital.

Our first Christmas (and it turned out to be our only one together) was full of joy. He had gotten a Ferris wheel with moving parts from Santa, and I would lie on the floor watching Frankie’s eyes fill with excitement as it went round and round. My greatest joy was being able to wind it up so he and I could enjoy his toy together. I felt loved, useful and important. I was thrilled with my new brother, my new playmate.

Around the first week of January in 1939, Frankie became very sick. Mom and Dad called the doctor who immediately came to the house. Within a few short hours, Frankie left this world to be with God in heaven (as I was told). Doctors at that time still made house calls and this doctor stayed with Frankie until the end. The closest hospital was many miles away, and with as quickly as Frankie’s illness progressed, they probably wouldn’t have made it there in time anyway.

My mother said he died of a head cold, but others told me he died of pneumonia. I was so enraged, I yelled at God, If you are so real, how could you let my baby brother and playmate die? He was only five months old! I’m angry with you God. How could you let this happen?

The worst part was that my parents set up Frankie’s small open casket in the living room of our home. It was the custom of that era, and seeing him ‘on display’ in our front room for twenty-four hours is a memory that imbedded itself deeply in my mind, as though it just happened yesterday. He looked like he was only sleeping, and as I stared at him, he didn’t smile or move a muscle.

I couldn’t see him breathing so I knew he was gone!

I remember clearly the sad faces of friends, family and others as they came for the viewing of my best friend. I was furious with this so-called person named God, and having the viewing in our home did not help me get over my anger quickly. Frankie was buried the following day. I don’t remember much about the funeral–I was much too enraged for any of it to sink in. I grieved for many years.

I completed first grade that summer. My family and I enjoyed attending movies in the park. My brother, Harold, would come with us whenever he was well enough. A large movie screen would be set up, and people would bring their own chairs or blankets to enjoy the movie more comfortably. We never knew what we would see, but it was just a great time to be together with family, friends and neighbors.

Before the movie could start, it had to be dark enough so the screen wouldn’t have the bright sunlight glaring onto it. One of those movies turned out to be a scary one, and it wasn’t such a good idea for a seven-year old boy to be there.

Even when I covered my eyes to avoid the scary parts, I would peek through my fingers and the impact of what I saw haunted me for weeks. It also didn’t help that I walked in my sleep, and more often than not, would wake up with a sudden stop producing blood running from my nose to my mouth. Trees had a bad habit of getting in my way as well. With both of these terrible things happening in my life at the same time, I again questioned God: Where is that Guardian Angel I was told who would protect me and keep me out of trouble?

Face to Face With Santa

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Christmas came all too soon. I was sad that Frankie wasn’t there to enjoy it with me. My brother Harold was in the Hospital again, and it didn’t look like it was going to be a great holiday for me.

Being a very curious boy, however, I decided to sneak a peek to see if Santa Clause was really real. On Christmas Eve after I was sure my parents thought I was fast asleep, I quietly approached the stairs that led to the lower level of our house. My bedroom was on the second floor just down the hall from Harold’s room.

I didn’t make a sound as I crawled to the top of the stairs on my hands and knees. I slowly put my right foot on the top step and followed through with my left foot on the next. I was sure no one could see or hear me, but I kept my head down until I reached the halfway point of the staircase.

As I slowly lifted my head, I came face-to-face with Santa himself! He was bigger than life to me, and I was caught off guard. No one could have moved any faster than I did. In the blink of an eye, I was inside my bedroom and under the covers. I tightly closed my eyes, and thought to myself that I could reach out and touch Santa if I had wanted to, but where was Jesus? He didn’t seem real to me.

I had just seen Santa Claus in person. I was confused because I saw for myself that a seasonal character was real. My faith in God was shaky. I thought, "Why can’t I touch Jesus? If I could, then maybe I could believe". This experience did, however, open the door for me to believe in someone–even if he did only show up around Christmas time.

Troubled Days Ahead

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My birth happened 14 years after the end of World War I (1914-1918) and seven years before the beginning of World War II (1939-1945). The United States had barely gotten on its feet following the first war, when the second one broke out. What a terrible time for our country, but especially for our families.

To top it off, between the two wars in 1929, the Stock Market crashed. Depression was widespread, and work was almost impossible to find.

I may have only been seven when the second war began, but I recognized the impact the two wars had on my family. My father had trouble getting work, and if it hadn’t been for the generosity of our family, we would have been homeless like so many others were. At this time, it was only my brother Harold, my mom, my dad and me.

We moved from one home to the next much too often; my parents had their pride and didn’t want us to be a burden on any of their family members.

Thoughts raced through my head more often than I wanted to admit. If this ‘loving God’ cared so much about us, why didn’t we have a home of our own? Why do we feel like we are an imposition having to stay with Dad’s and Mom’s brothers or sisters? They feed us, they clothe us, and they give us a place to lay our heads at night. How can I believe God even exists if He wasn’t willing to get us out of these terrible times?

In the fall of 1939, a friend of my parents agreed to provide a place in their back yard to set up a World War one tent for us to temporary live. They also included a kerosene stove and cots. My dad was only able to find handy man type jobs which provided money for bills and very little food. My brother Harold had been transferred to a special hospital in Chicago with pneumonia, eczema and Chronic bronchitis. As winter approached, my Dad had a hard time finding work that reduced our income. When winter and below freezing weather arrived we were without income and someone donated several cases of can soy beans that became our only source of food. The owner of the property provide kerosene for heat. Several months the only other food we had was water and ice cream made from snow without milk. There was a few times when the temperature was ten below. We went to bed with several layers of clothing and blankets to try and keep warm. After Christmas we were invited to stay in Farmland, Indiana with friends.

In February of 1940, my sister, Marilyn was born in Hollywood (sub division of Farmland), Indiana. Now Mom and Dad had five mouths to feed, and Dad struggled to make ends meet. We lived with relatives while my father continued to look for handy-man work.

He was very intelligent and could usually take on any task and complete it successfully. In 1935, the Government had implemented a program called the Works Progress Administration.

[The Works Progress Administration was a United States government-run program. It was the largest and most ambitious New Deal agency, and provided jobs and income to the unemployed during the Great Depression.

Between 1935 and 1943, the WPA put almost eight million men to work. This provided one paid job for all families in which the breadwinner had suffered long-term unemployment. Unskilled workers carried out public works projects such as the construction of public buildings and roads. The agency also hired artists, writers, actors and directors in large arts, drama, media and literacy projects.

Writers documented local and state histories, and artists painted murals and other works for new federal post offices and other buildings. Hourly wages were typically set to the prevailing wages in the area, but workers could only work 30 hours a week. No training was provided prior to 1940, and most men who worked for the WPA had struggles taking care of their families.

It was estimated the cost would be $4.9 billion over the eight-year period, but the total spent was $13.4 billion.]

Dad applied for work. He was hired at a government labor job. The WPA was begun for the unemployed to help keep America working, but the pay was terrible. Employed repaired roads, maintained government properties and other types of back-breaking work. Most of the time, the program used more people than required in order to increase the number who were employed.

None of these jobs produced sales for income, but required tax payers’ money to pay salaries and supplies. In concept, it looked like it should work, but it drove our country deeper into the depression. The income Dad made was barely enough to provide food rarely had much left over to pay bills. I’d overheard Dad talking to Mom once about how he felt like he was on welfare with the program. He didn’t agree it was right for our country.

Because Dad’s family helped us financially, my parents felt very hurt they had to depend on others. That summer, my dad thought he could find good employment in Chicago, so they decided to move there. Dad and Mom’s family got together to provide funds for the trip, along with other items we would need.

My Dad’s brothers donated a 1929 Whippet automobile, and it wasn’t long before we were on the road. A new adventure was just beginning in the lives of my sister Marilyn, my brother Harold, my mother and father and me. Gas wasn’t as expensive as it is today, only $.18 cents a gallon. If it had been, we probably would have stuck it out in Muncie where relatives were more than willing to help us.

The Whippet was an eleven-year old car by the time we got it, and it had its unique problems. From time to time, the engine would overheat, and the radiator cap would blow off. I was given the job to find the cap while my father poured water into the radiator. Then there was always the worry that the ‘aged old engine’ would break down and we would be stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Nevertheless, Dad was determined to make it to Chicago for better work conditions, better pay, and a better life for his family. He convinced Mom that moving to the big city meant there would be better opportunities than the pennies he was earning. He hated the hard time we were having and that we lived from paycheck to paycheck.

We hadn’t been on the road long when we ran out of gas near an airfield. One of the people who fueled planes was sympathetic to our situation and offered to fill up our tank with gasoline. What we didn’t realize was that what he filled our tank with was very high octane aviation fuel! That Whippet must have loved it, because it never ran better...or faster! In fact, the car wanted to consistently run faster than we wanted to travel.

A few miles from the Indiana border, the car began to knock, so Dad stopped at a garage. The mechanic told him a rod was ready to break loose, and since he could see we didn’t have much money, he offered to fix it temporarily. He used a piece of leather belt to take up the gap between the connecting rod and the crank shaft, and after the mechanic and my dad worked on the engine for a few hours, we were back on the road