And Then There Was Light

By Nessive Watson

This retrospective journey will bring every sense of emotions to your life, beginning from childhood to the making of the man. You are being invited into a one of a kind adventure which will captivate your attention from the instant you begin to absorb the words. I have put down all guards in recanting my life experiences. Throughout these pages, you will encounter a looking glass into personal and intimate pieces of history that characterizes the making of the man. These multifaceted dynamics have played key in the molding of my life and will take you into a place where the apparent contradictions will make sense; where the oxymoronic will be logical. You will be confronted with the chilling and the grotesque, followed immediately by empathy and self-identification. Human needs are universal-love, security, belonging, acceptance and the need to achieve, you will find it all here. This candor of my life will take you through a roller coaster of emotions as I share my innermost truths confronting every major stumbling block in my life. After you read this, you will never see the world the same.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781635756289

Book preview

Acknowledgments

I would like to publicly thank my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Without Him all things are not possible, but with Him all things are possible. You deserve the highest praise and honor. Thank you, Jesus!

Acknowledging persons is a very difficult thing for me to do because there were so many people that played an intricate role in my life. There are so many people I appreciate, and it would be arduous to name and remember all who showed love and support. So to those who know, I’m thankful for you. Thank you.

I do want to give a significant thanks to my family for never giving up. You all became the definition of a true friend. I found out who really loved me. Without a Shelly to talk to and a Justin to see, it would have been a longer, lonelier road for me. Thank you.

Daddy, I love you for your expressions of love to me.

To my mother, God never told us why He loves us. All we know is that He loves us with an everlasting love. Your love is a gift from God, and therefore I can’t tell you why I love you. It’s one of those things you can’t describe; that’s why I know it’s real. Thank you for having the unconditional love of God to weather my storm. You never gave up but only looked up and pulled down a platform of faith for me to stand on. Without you, God only knows what would have happened to me. That’s why He gave you to me. Thank you.

The eleven jurors in my first trial, I want to say thank you for voting guilty—you created a need for a miracle. Miracles change us, miracles heal us, miracles redeem us. Without that need, I may not have turned out to be the person I am. It’s because of you that I was allowed to see the magnitude of God’s power. Without great misery, I couldn’t have great ministry. Thank you.

Also, to the one man who voted not guilty, I want to say, may God bless you always and forever for saving my life and giving me a second chance at it. You fought through a lot of pressure to stand tall and fight against the opinions of people. You don’t ever have to worry, Did I do the right thing? If you saw me now and who I’ve become, you would be proud to know you helped me get there. Thank you.

To the panel of jurors in my second trial, you allowed justice to be served. You were ordained by God to be fair, impartial, and just. And you did just that. You were my second chance. Thank you for a second chance.

To my wife, you know, as the Bible says, the last shall be first. Without you supporting and believing in me, this process of writing would have been even harder for me. Thank you for allowing me the peace to write while being a good mother to our kids. You are a diamond. Your light wasn’t a hidden light that only shine within, but it did what it was intended to do—it shined without; your light shined on my potential. Your light helped me to see myself. Your belief in me helped me to see in me. Thank you for helping me lift into a dream.

To my beautiful children, Daddy’s back. Daddy had to write so a dying world could know that the same God who did it for me could do it for them. Thank you for allowing me to write even though you kept knocking at my door.

To the church that God made me overseer, Faith Kingdom Worship Center, I love you. Thank you for your prayers, unconditional love, and support.

Contents

Introduction: My Beginning 7

Chapter 1: My Introduction to Life 13

Chapter 2: A Child’s Eye 18

Chapter 3: Who Am I? 24

Chapter 4: The Night Flight 32

Chapter 5: Trapped in Despair 49

Chapter 6: A Little Boy in a Big Suit 66

Chapter 7: Trapped in Death 77

Chapter 8: Round No. 2 87

Chapter 9: The Fight for Life 104

Chapter 10: Back Again 113

Chapter 11: Better but Not Good 121

Chapter 12: Living on the Edge 128

Chapter 13: Love at First Sight 133

Chapter 14: The Pursuit of Purpose 138

Chapter 15: Mercy Covers Misery 146

Chapter 16: The Treasure Unveiled 150

Chapter 17: In Me I See 157

Chapter 18: A Sure Foundation 166

Chapter 19: Miracles Are True 171

Introduction

My Beginning

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you, declares the Lord, and will bring you back from captivity.

—Jeremiah 29:11–14

In the beginning I was formless and shapeless and lived in the dark places for many years.

I was a gangster, a thug, a Blood, empty, confused, and unsatisfied. I was 6 feet 2 inches, 250 pounds of muscle and menace and an intimidation to society. I never took a life, but I took everything else—money, weed, power, and respect. What was mine was mine, and what was yours would soon be mine. I destroyed everything I touched and left behind me a terrible trail of deceit and broken promises.

I should have died many times, but I never did, thanks to an angel watching over me. Many nights I felt the forces of death coming to grip me. But I knew God had Momma interceding for me. Guns and bullets sang my name, but there was nothing anyone could say to me to change my life. I was stubborn and extremely mad—mad at a world that seemed unfair. I did not care anymore, not about anything or anyone. Least of all, myself.

My epitaph could have read, If I die, I just die. I rebelled against the word of God like you break bread—without a second thought. I did not care about the consequences. Multiply that nothing-can-touch-me attitude with the constant smoking of weed and drinking Hennessy, and you have created one sociopathic Superman.

That was my life for nineteen years. Random violence, anger, rage, disappointments all consumed me. I knew I had to get out of this trap, but how to get out? I didn’t know. I ruined a lot of lives and hurt a lot of people. I brought shame to my family, but they never stopped loving me and that caused me more shame. Something inside was pulling me one way and another force pulling me another way. I don’t know why. Why was I so important? Was there something about me that was special? Whatever the answer was, these forces grew stronger and stronger as I grew older.

At the heart of it all, I wanted to escape, and I did not want to die. My life had been on the line more than once, and each time, I got away.

It got to the point where I hated going home because I didn’t know who might be hiding in the bushes ready to jump out and kill me. Violence had become part of my life. Many nights, I got my key out and dashed for the front door. I knew if I could just make it inside, I would be safe; I would feel the house seasoned with prayer. Even then, in those early thug days, I felt a comfort in prayer.

But it took a long time to make it through those doors to a place of safety. I had been stabbed, shot at, and even wounded one time. I escaped the deathblows of the knives and the nines. I spent time in jail, but I did not allow that to destroy me. I knew I had been saved from life behind a prison wall for some other challenge, some higher purpose.

I wanted to find it.

I didn’t know how to find it.

I didn’t know where to find it.

But I did know who I wanted to find.

I did know, and I always knew, it began and ended with God. God, who is the author and finisher of my faith. I knew that real change, real transformation, could only come from Him. I knew if I sought Him with my whole heart, I would find that door, that sanctuary. Seek and you shall find; knock and the door shall be opened. All the missing pieces of my life would finally be retrieved. I knew the broken parts of me might finally be healed. God would help me in giving definition to my life. He is the answer to my whys. All the pain healed, gone. He would make me the man I wanted to be. He would show me how to be.

There would be no lies, no getting over. No violence. No thuggery, no thievery. I could kill the gangster inside me once and for all. I would not have to persuade Him, coerce Him, scare Him or beat Him into listening to me. I desperately wanted it. I also knew that as God revealed Himself to me, I’d have to reveal myself to me. That face truly scared me—in those eyes there was no hope, from that mouth nothing positive was ever spoken. I would be forced to look at the man in the mirror; I’d be forced to look at a life wasted, a life of mindless pursuits obeying a criminal’s code of conduct. I would be forced to see myself in light of His person.

I had done nothing positive with my time here. If I had suddenly vanished, poof, would anyone care? Would anyone miss me? Would life anywhere be changed even a little bit? At the church, the graveside, would anyone be there besides my family?

Since I was a little boy, I had always known of God but did not know Him for myself. My grandmother had been a true believer before I even knew myself. She spoke often of the Lord Jesus in a very personal way—she knew God for herself. They were friends, bedfellows. Mom, the name we gave to my grandmother, was always telling me, God has a calling on you but the devil is trying to destroy you. Of course, I didn’t listen to her. In all of history, do adolescents ever listen to elders? But she was describing that tug-of-war for my soul, those two forces who each wanted me.

I was just a kid and nothing could hurt me. One day, she told me not to ride my bike past the driveway. In rebellion, I immediately rode my bike past the driveway. Why? Who wants to be boxed in, who wants boundaries? Something in my mind whispered to me, You can ride your bike out of the driveway. It reminded me of satan telling Eve after she was told not to eat from the forbidden tree, You can eat of the tree; the day you eat of the tree, your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God. Satan, the author of rebellion, always opposes truth.

I entered the street and it was clear sailing. I said to myself, I know what I’m doing— Bam! I was knocked right to the ground. A car had rounded the corner and sent me flying. I stood up, brushed myself off, and walked away. Not a scratch on me.

A short time later, when I was seven and riding in the back of our car, another voice came to me. This one told me to open the rear passenger door while Mom was driving down the freeway. So I opened the rear door. Mom screamed and told me to close the door, and I did. No one was hurt. The subsequent spanking convinced me that opening the car door while driving along the highway at a high rate of speed is perhaps not the smartest thing to do.

Even as a kid, I was pushing the limits of childlike stupidity. And I vowed never to listen to that special voice again.

I would, of course, listen to those satanic voices, again and again. I would do stupid things, mean things, violent things. Finding myself, saving myself, redeeming myself, however you might describe it, was a long and hellish road. No shortcuts. There was no magical moment of clarity. It did not go from shadow to light like the sun rising. I did not change from having bad thoughts to good thoughts overnight. It wasn’t instant coffee; it wasn’t fast food. It wasn’t a bigger memory chip or a faster dial-up. There was no combination phone/BlackBerry/DVD player/game box/camera/IM device to plug in. I would have to make it through the unabridged, unedited, full-length salvation and resurrection and redemption of Nessive Watson.

It would take everything in me to make this work, to bring about this change. I would have to let go of everything I knew and be willing to be redefined, remade, and redeemed. There was only one voice I wanted to hear. I wanted it to be the voice that made me. God—His voice has creative ability. He can’t speak without his words trying to create. When God spoke in the beginning, He formed, He made, He created; all I needed Him to do was speak to me so He could re-form what the devil had conformed. I wanted to share His life with my friends, my neighbors and with strangers. And in this way maybe I could stop someone from doing the things I had done.

Save someone from themselves.

I wanted to devote my life to that simple idea. I wanted to give back and balance out everything I had taken. That would be my life—this is my life.

And then there was light—my struggle, my journey, my pain.

Chapter 1

My Introduction to Life

Daddy, no, daddy, noooo!

I screamed, hiding behind a piece of furniture. I heard him cursing my mother out and slamming doors. Bam! Poof! Bam! I thought, What was going on? I was crying and everything felt hopeless. I was four years old—what could I do? My mind couldn’t comprehend the idea of calling the police for protection. Because the only police I knew, my parents, my protection, were fighting.

Who do I turn to?

Where do I go?

Who’s going to help us?

Will they stop?

I turned off the lights in the living room and ducked down, shaking, crying, and hoping he wouldn’t find me.

I came into the world as Webster Nessive Watson Jr. on March 11, 1973. I was born in the Bronx-Lebanon Medical Center in New York. I am the middle child, born from the union of Webster N. Watson Sr. and Valeria P. Watson. My sister, Shelly, is three years older than me, and my brother, Justin, followed me by twenty-two months. The arrangement suited me; no sibling rivalry plagued our household. Once Justin came along, a full-time nanny arrived to care for the three of us. Life in the two-family home my parents owned was good. Our tree-lined street in Flatbush was quiet. My attendance at St. Mark’s Episcopal private preschool was uneventful.

Hardworking, middle-class immigrants populated our neighborhood, and my parents were no exception. Mommy worked as a registered nurse, Daddy on the ramps for United Airlines. An interesting mix of West Indians, Jews, Haitians, and Cubans peopled our block, and our neighbors were considered family. Mommy’s best friend, June, lived next door with her three kids, who were added to our clutch of cousins. Auntie June is my godmother, and her eldest daughter is Justin’s. I’ve been told that neighborhood block parties and barbecues brought everyone together, although I don’t personally remember them.

Throughout our childhood, Shelly, Justin, and I experienced many of the finer things in life. Besides the nanny, our family employed a housekeeper who arranged the china, crystal, and silver on a linen tablecloth. Straight and shiny. We had new clothes, video games, stereos, and a well-stocked pantry; there was always a lot of food to eat. And Mommy actually cooked nightly. Our home was always well furnished. When we traveled, we flew first-class and stayed in the best hotels.

During my later school years, our family moved to a beautiful part of Altadena, California. We lived on a quiet cul-de-sac in a house with a pool. We attended both private and public schools through