Radically Saved

By Ken Solts

Can a boy—who, at a very young age, got into pornography, stealing, and arson—ever change?

Is there any hope for him even though he escalated to using drugs intravenously, committing drug-crazed crimes, violently attacking others, and binge drinking?

Is it even possible that God would pursue a man who had become a drug addict and alcoholic, whose only thrills in life were fueled by sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll?

Come read for yourself how God got one man’s attention, a man who was destined to spend the rest of his life in prison and an eternity in hell.

Read about how God miraculously changed him forever on April 12, 1989. Read about how Ken Solts was Radically Saved!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638147862

Book preview

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Radically Saved

Ken Solts

ISBN 978-1-63814-785-5 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63814-786-2 (Digital)

Copyright © 2022 Ken Solts

All rights reserved

First Edition

Cover art and page design art by Carissa Suarez

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.

Covenant Books

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Table of Contents

Rock and Roll

Coming Up Close

Learning to Fly

Burning Down the House

Changes

With a Little Help from My Friends

I Fought the Law (And the Law Won)

I Can’t Drive 55

Flirtin’ with Disaster

Ridin’ the Storm Out

Crazy Train

Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting

Rock & Roll Band

Turn the Page

Cold Gin

Hard to Say I’m Sorry

All I Need Is a Miracle

Don’t Look Back

I Want to Hold Your Hand

I Love You

Whole Lotta Love

This book is dedicated to my awesome, beautiful, and precious Michele and Joshua—my wife and my son. They have both been through a lot with me and have always loved and respected me far more than I’ve ever deserved. I love them more than life itself, and I praise Almighty God for the amazing relationship that the three of us have with each other!

Even more so, I dedicate both of them, myself, and this book to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. His patience is beyond comprehension. His love is deeper than any human can fathom. His grace and mercy pierce the deepest depths of my soul.

Because of Him, I am Radically Saved!

Preface

Ihave no idea how many times in my life I have been asked, If you could go back in time, would you do it differently? What a loaded question! On one hand, I know that I would have lived my life for Jesus a lot earlier instead of spending so much time working for the enemy. On the other hand, if I went back and changed even the slightest detail, I may not have ever met my beautiful wife, Michele, or may have missed out on my awesome son, Joshua. On the third hand (if I had one)… I wouldn’t want to go back! I am this close to heaven, and I certainly don’t want to delay the process.

Many of those who have heard my story have suggested for over twenty-five years that I write a book about it. I just couldn’t imagine doing that. I mean, what would be the point? Who would care? I am not a notable personality. Plus, I don’t even know how to write a book.

About seventeen years ago, I felt compelled by God to start writing the book, but I wanted to find a ghostwriter to help me. It so happened that there was a man in our church who had cowritten with others in the past. So I asked if he would be interested, and he said that he would love to. Cool!

So I started chapter 1 and was moving along nicely. Unfortunately, my friend passed away before I could even lay down a couple of pages. Thus, my writing and desire for writing withered. I figured that if my ghostwriter died, it just wasn’t meant to be. I was sure of it by then.

However, about twelve years ago, God prompted me to start writing the book about my life once more. I started working on chapter 1 again and have been there ever since. He prods me for a while, and then I don’t sense His prodding. I do, and then I don’t. It has been like that for years.

This year, He hasn’t stopped prodding me, either directly or through others. Plus, I was inspired even more when my buddy, Mark Stuart, came out with his awesome book, Losing My Voice to Find It: How a Rockstar Discovered His Greatest Purpose. As I read it, I felt God telling me for the last time to get my book done. I thought I had better take this step…finally!

As it turns out, this was a much bigger task than I could possibly imagine. I’ve been working on this for six months so far. I never dreamed it would be such a big job. As I was getting into chapter after chapter, my friend, Ryan Stevenson, had his book, Eye of the Storm: Experiencing God When You Can’t See Him, published. His and Mark’s are both fantastic books, both with great purpose and experiences that many (if not all) of us can relate to. Their stories land in so many places that anyone who reads them could easily take away something that will mean a lot to them. (And no, I was not paid to mention these two. They probably won’t even know I did this until they read it.)

Because of my messed-up memory, I have had to cut and paste a lot! I would read something that I had put in the late 1970s section and then thought, Wait… That happened in 1985! It has been a struggle, to say the least. As I write this preface, I am probably about a fifth of the way to completion.

I searched through my old computer files to pull up chapter 1. But I decided that I wouldn’t use it. I know my heart wasn’t into the writing of this book back then. I didn’t even go back to look at it. I just deleted it and started over with fresh thoughts.

I want to preface also that all of this is the way I remembered it—some of it vividly and some of it not so vividly. I’m sure that after reading this, some of my friends might say something like, No, Ken, that was so and so, not him or her, or Ken, are you sure that’s how it went?

All I can say is this was written after much prayer, asking God to make me remember what He wanted me to include in this book. And it was really hard for me as He made me remember things that I wish would never be brought up again. So I am going to have to believe that I remembered these things somewhat accurately. And if I didn’t, I don’t think it would change the story enough to make a difference anyway.

I also want to say that most of the names used here are not the actual names of the individuals of my story. I must avoid any unnecessary legal entanglements.

I don’t know what will come of this; but I know that God has plans for it, and that’s good enough for me. If this book would even reach one person for Jesus, it will be worth every bit of time and effort. So here I go…

Ken in 1959

1

Rock and Roll

Let’s get the logistical stuff out of the way; then I can tell the story! I was born in Portland, Oregon, on a Sunday, October 5, 1958. My parents moved the family to Phoenix, Arizona, in 1961, when I was just three years old while my mom was pregnant with their fifth child. She told me that the reason we moved was because there were better job opportunities there.

Arizona is where I and my four siblings (there are three boys and two girls) were basically raised. The youngest one (a boy) was born in Phoenix while the rest of us were born in Portland. My parents must have been part rabbit as they popped out five kids within the span of only six years. The only significant gap is between me and my younger sister. We are two years apart.

Unfortunately, because of my past, I don’t remember much about my childhood or my teenage years or much of my adulthood, for that matter—and just about everything that I did yesterday! You’ll have to bear with me as there will be many holes and missing years.

We lived in the Maryvale area, which is in West Phoenix. I remember the neighborhood and most of the neighbors but not many by name. There are a few memories, but most of them have faded as time went by. The older I get, the less far back I am able to reach into my memory bank.

What’s strange (besides everything about me) is that the things I remember most are numbers instead of events. For instance, I remember our Arizona street address without having to stop and think about it. (Of course, I didn’t share the address here to avoid any weird stuff happening to whoever lives there now.) Up until about fifteen years ago, I could recall our phone number as well. I know the area code was 602, but the other numbers have slipped away from my memory.

I remember the names of the two elementary schools I attended: Glenn L. Downs Elementary School on 47th, which I attended until the fourth grade; and Light & Life Christian School on 18th Avenue, which I attended until the eighth grade. But I have many more memories of Maryvale Senior High School, on 59th Avenue. It was very large and was only one of twelve high schools in that district, with the largest high school in the city being Phoenix Union High. Maryvale had its share of gang violence and other troubles. Yes, even back in the early ’70s.

I don’t remember much about my first two years in high school, except for a few of our friends. My mom drove us to school in the mornings, and then we would walk home. It was only about a one and a half-mile walk. Back then, it was just all farmland that we walked through for 90 percent of the trip. Now it’s all subdivisions.

My brother Kevin and I used to hang out at the handball courts out back of the school. We were pretty good at playing, and we made some friends from playing handball with them. I remember a guy named David. He became good friends with me and Kevin. He was a pretty cool dude.

Getting back to when I was much younger… We grew up attending a very large Nazarene Church, where my mom was the pianist and my dad, the song leader and choir director. The two of them were also in a gospel quartet, where my mom played the piano. She also sang alto and my dad, tenor. They were quite good and sang together often. Us five kids sat in the third row from the front. We drew pictures on the bulletins while the sermon was being preached. We had to do something to keep ourselves quiet as we didn’t dare make a peep.

Every now and then, one of us would get so wrapped up in his or her drawing (usually his) that we forgot for a moment where we were and made a little bit of noise. That’s when warning number one rang out. My parents sat on the platform during the entire service. My mom either sat at the piano or on a chair nearby. She would do a quick snap of the fingers, which made all five of us come to attention immediately.

I can only imagine the look on our faces: those who were innocent had a look of It wasn’t me; and the guilty party or parties had a look of Who? Me? My parents returned the look with one that clearly stated, You’d better not make another sound!

We knew all too well what that would mean. We usually got two warning snaps. But one more even minor interruption, and Dad would come down from the platform and carry out the guilty one(s) for a good spanking out in the foyer. To this day, I don’t know how in the world he knew which of us to grab; but he was never wrong. I have to admit that it was usually me. Even though each of us had their own falling down and finding their way through life, especially through the teen years, the other six members of my family would easily and readily agree that I truly was the black sheep of the family.

I’ll never forget how I begged my dad to not spank me once we got into the foyer. But there was no way he was going to make that long, embarrassing walk for nothing. My dad was strict, but he sure loved his kids!

I got a lot of spankings in my youth. For some reason, I rebelled at a very young age. To this day, I cannot figure out or remember what caused this. I would love to know what happened at this early stage that turned my life completely around.

When I was five years old, the Beatles hit the airwaves, and I was hooked for life! I couldn’t get enough of rock ’n’ roll. Before I go any further on this subject, I’d like to remind some of you who are shaking your head in disgust that listening to rock ’n’ roll was not—and is not—a sin. It’s the same principle as listening to country, blues, soul, or any other genre.

If you’re a Christian, you need to remove all the songs from your