A Warrior's Heart

By Tim Mehl

A Warrior's Heart is the "spiritual autobiography" of Tim G. Mehl. In it, he shares about his struggles with ADD/ADHD as a child, in a time when schools and parents did not know how to handle a child with these issues. This along with a difficult home life created feelings of self-worthlessness and a low self-esteem that led him toward the hippie movement of the '60s. His story takes you through those hippie years, along with the beginning of drug use and eventually dropping out of high school to enlist in the United States Navy. He goes into great detail of the verbal abuse he sustained by his father as well as the serious respiratory illness of his mother, who passed away just five days before his fifteen birthday. When suicide seemed to be the only answer for his pain and hurt, he found the love of God on the very day that he decided to kill himself. He shares the incredible things that the Lord did in him, for him and through him which eventually led him to become a peace officer with almost a thirty-year law enforcement career. He shares stories of God's protection, even when he wasn't walking his Christian witness. Near death experiences and how God protected him and kept him safe on the streets throughout his career as well as during his 10 year assignment working undercover. Tim also shares his healing from the wounds and scars left by his feelings of failure, rejection and worthlessness, that penetrated deep into his heart. By learning to forgive and receive forgiveness, Tim takes you through his discovery of understanding and knowing God as his heavenly Father, who has never rejected him or thought of him as a failure or worthless. Becoming an ordained minister in 2004, God is using Tim and his wife, Myrth, in various areas of ministry within their church. "I have no doubt whatsoever, that there are young people out there who are going through some of the exact things that I went through. If this book about my testimony can reach just one person for Jesus Christ, then everything that I ever went through was worth it. I'd do it all over again, if just one person comes to know Jesus as Lord and Savior."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 12, 2017
• ISBN: 9781635259674

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Warrior’s Heart

Tim G. Mehl

ISBN 978-1-63525-966-7 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63575-463-6 (Hard Cover)

ISBN 978-1-63525-967-4 (Digital)

Copyright © 2017 by Tim G. Mehl

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.

296 Chestnut Street

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

You made all of the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb. Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!

Your workmanship is marvelous-and how well I know it.

You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb.

You saw me before I was born.

Every day of my life was recorded in Your book.

Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. (Psalm 139:13–16)

My Bible Creed

Taken from The Rifleman’s Creed

This is my Bible! There are many like it, but this one is mine. My Bible is my source; in it is found Life! I must read it; I must use it to protect my life.

My Bible is useless without me. Without my Bible, I am useless. I must hold on to my Bible’s truths. I must use it to defend myself against my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must use my Bible to defeat him before he defeats me.

I know that in this spiritual war, it’s not how many times I read my Bible, or how many verses of Scripture I memorize. But it is knowing that within it contains the very Word of God, and it is standing on His word that counts.

My Bible is alive just as I am alive. Thus I will cling to this Life. My Bible has no weakness, but it contains strength and power—more powerful than any two-edged sword. I will keep my Bible ready at all times, as it is a part of me

Before God, I swear this creed. My Bible and I are the defenders of this country. We are the masters over the enemy. Jesus is the Savior of my life. So be it; victory belongs to God and to America. The enemy is defeated.

Preface

"The Lord is a Warrior. The Lord is His name" (Exodus 15:3).

Warrior: defined as a person specialized in warfare or combat, especially when the context of a tribal or clan-based society that recognizes a separate warrior class or caste. It could be an ethos, a Greek word meaning character that is used to describe the guiding beliefs or ideas that characterize a community, nation, or ideology.

Growing up in El Paso, Texas, my dad made sure that all five of us kids knew how to swim. All of us became excellent swimmers, and we all swam competitively for many years. I swam my first race when I was five years old. I dropped out of high school my senior year and enlisted in the United States Navy. I had heard of the underwater demolition team (UDT), and that’s what I told my navy recruiter what I wanted to be. My navy recruiter placed on my paperwork, UDT/SEAL candidate. I had never before heard of the SEALs, nor did I know what they did. I was about to find out.

The day before my SEAL physical agility test, while in boot camp, we were given a short video about the Navy SEALs and what they did. Afterward, a SEAL instructor gave us a short talk about the SEAL teams. I was very impressed. We were told that part of the agility test consisted of doing fifty push-ups, not to mention the swimming test, sit-ups, pull-ups, running, and so forth. But there was something about having to do fifty push-ups that racked my brain. That night, just so I knew I could do fifty push-ups, I did seventy-five, with my last ten or so in a handstand position. I failed to think that the next day my arms would be incredibly sore. The next day, as I was going through the testing to see if I qualified for BUDs training (basic underwater demolition), I pretty much breezed through every test. I blew everyone away in the swimming, eased through the pull-ups and sit-ups. Then came the dreaded push-ups. I began fast and hard, pushing each one with vigor. As I got closer and closer to the fiftieth push-up, my arms began to burn. Still, I continued, pushing up with as much determination as I could. On my final push-up—my fiftieth—my arms locked in position, just barely bent. Both of my arms began to shake. My muscles screamed at me to quit. I stayed there in that push-up position . . . my arms still slightly bent, unable to force myself to lock my arms for that final, qualifying push-up. After what seemed like hours, the SEAL instructor looked at me, cussed me out, and screamed, Get out of my face! That was it. I was finished. I wasn’t going to BUDs training, nor was I going to be a Navy SEAL. That has always hurt. It still does.

To this day, I have always had a special feeling for these silent warriors, those men with green faces, the most elite of warriors of the entire United States military. I have so much respect for each and every man and woman who serve this great country, and I pay them respect and honor them each and every day. When I see a member of our armed forces in uniform, I try to make it a point to shake their hand and to thank them for their service. But the Navy SEALs will always hold a special place in my heart, and I have to admit that I constantly think, What if . . .

The SEALs have an ethos—a creed, if you will—that they don’t just follow, but they believe it, they live it . . . and many die committing to it. It reads as follows:

In times of war or uncertainty there is a special breed of Warrior ready to answers our Nation’s call. A common man with an uncommon desire to succeed. Forged by adversary, he stands alongside America’s finest special operations forces to serve his Country, the American people, and protect their way of life. I am that man.

My Trident is a symbol of honor and heritage. Bestowed upon me by the Heroes that have gone before, it embodies the trust of those I have sworn to protect. By wearing this Trident I accept the responsibility of my chosen profession and the way of life. It is a privilege that I must earn every day.

My loyalty to Country and Team is beyond reproach. I humbly serve as a guardian to my fellow Americans always ready to defend those who are unable to defend themselves. I do not advertise the nature of my work, nor seek recognition for my actions. I voluntarily accept the inherent hazards of my profession, placing the welfare and security of others before my own.

I serve with honor on and off the battlefield. The ability to control my emotions and my actions, regardless of circumstances, sets me apart from other men. Uncompromising integrity is my standard. My character and honor are steadfast. My word is my bond.

We expect to lead and to be led. In the absence of orders I will take charge, lead my teammates and accomplish the mission. I lead by example in all situations.

I will never quit. I persevere and thrive on adversity. My Nation expects me to be physically harder and mentally stronger than my enemies. If knocked down, I will get back up, every time. I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates and to accomplish our mission. I am never out of the fight.

We demand discipline. We expect innovation. The lives of my teammates and the success of our mission depend on me-my technical skill, tactical proficiency, and attention to detail. My training is never complete.

We train for war and fight to win. I stand ready to bring the full spectrum of combat power to bear in order to achieve my mission and the goals established by my Country. The execution of my duties will be swift and violent when required yet guided by the very principles that I serve to defend.

Brave men have fought and died building the proud tradition and feared reputation that I am bound to uphold. In the worst of conditions, the legacy of my teammates steadies my resolve and silently guides my every deed. I will not fail.

***

The warrior. A fighter who will never give up, never give in to the things that are wrong. Even if the majority bows down and gives in, the warrior will not. He will stand up for his beliefs, and he will protect the weak. He will encounter enemies more powerful and better equipped. If he gets knocked down, he will get back up. If he stumbles, he will again get back up, and he will continue on the path that is before him and he will continue to fight. He may get wounded. No . . . the warrior will get wounded . . . many times. Many of those wounds would stop the normal man, but not the warrior. The warrior will continue to fight until his last breath, and with that very last breath, he will do everything possible, everything within him to keep on fighting, aggressively attacking the enemy. Losing will never be an option. For he is indeed a warrior.

I strongly believe that Christians should be some of the most powerful warriors anywhere. In fact, I know that Christians should be the most powerful warriors in the world because there is no one person, not one thing that is more powerful that Almighty God. Each and every day, Christians are in a spiritual battle . . . a war. It’s so much more than good versus evil. It’s the enemy attacking God’s people, trying to devour them with lies, thoughts, and just within life itself. The spiritual battle is life overcoming death; His life overcoming our death. See, Jesus didn’t come just to die for our sins. He came to die as our sin. He didn’t just die on the Cross for us. He died on the Cross as us. But in order to overcome the evil one, Christians need to be grounded in the very Word of God; they need to have a firm foundation of prayer and fellowship. Christians have to have that warrior spirit, that warrior attitude that failure is not an option. We need to stick to Scripture found in Philippians 4:13: I can do all things in Christ who strengthens me.

Scripture talks about spiritual warfare, as it does about preparing for battle. Ephesians 6:10–18 says it all: A final word: Be strong in the Lord’s mighty power. Put on all of the God’s armor so that you will be able to stand the firm against all the strategies and tricks of the devil. For we are not fighting against people made of flesh and blood, but against the evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against those mighty powers of darkness who rule this world, and against wicked spirits in the heavenly realms. Use every piece of God’s armor to resist the enemy in the time of evil, so that after the battle you will be standing form. Stand your ground putting on the sturdy Belt of Truth and the Body Armor of God’s righteousness. For shoes, put on the peace that comes from the Good News, so that you will be fully prepared. In every battle you will need faith as your Shield to stop the fiery arrows aimed at you by satan. Put on the Helmet of Salvation, and take the Sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God. Pray at all times and on every occasion in the power of the Holy Spirit. Stay alert and be persistent in your prayers for all Christians everywhere.

We need to be ready for when the storms come, when the battles come . . . and they will! You can be guaranteed that they won’t just come, but they will come hard, fast, and at full force. I look forward to the day for when after every attack that satan hits me with when he sends every one of his demonic powers against me . . . when the dust settles, I’m still standing saying, Is that all you have? I want to be like David, when he faced Goliath. David didn’t just face his enemy, he attacked his enemy! And when he did, David screamed out, You come to me with a sword, spear and javelin, but I come to you in the name of the Lord Almighty. And everyone will know that the Lord does not need weapons to rescue His people. It is His battle, not ours. The Lord will give you to us (1 Samuel 17:45–47).

I want to be that warrior. I want to be like David. Even better, I want to be like Jesus. This book consists of personal experiences and a few teachings that have helped mold me into being the man of God that I so desire to be. I have touched my darkest hours while at the same time, have shown God’s grace and mercy in my life, even before I ever knew Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. Even in times when I wasn’t totally living for God or walking the Christian walk, Jesus was still right there with me, loving me, showing me His mercy and grace, protecting me from harm. God’s plan for our lives is good. He gives us not just a future and not just a hope, but God gives us His future and He gives us His hope. I pray that through this book, you are touched and ministered to. I pray you laugh out loud, and I pray you get teary-eyed and even weep. But most of all, I pray that in every story shared, you see Jesus and all that He has done to me, what He has done in me, and what He has done through me because without Him, I would already be dead.

Note: All of the names in this book are fictitious to protect the identity of those involved. Only those who include first and last name are real, and their names have been used with permission.

Introduction

And we all know that God causes all things to work together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purposes (Romans 8:28).

It’s almost comical as I sit at my computer and begin writing this book. For one, I don’t like to read. I am not one who can sit back with a good book and read for hours on end. And if the book doesn’t have a lot of pictures, it is even more boring to me. Yet here I sit, writing an autobiography, a spiritual autobiography, of my life and the things that only a loving, caring, merciful God could have done. You see, I am really no one. I don’t say this in a negative manner or to take away from any achievements or to belittle myself. But I am not famous, and though I have a lot of friends, there is nothing remarkable that I have ever done. I am like so many other of millions of people that hardly anyone knows. Yet I still have a story. You have a story. This just happens to be mine, and I believe that within these pages, someone will be touched and ministered to. I sit back and reminisce on so many different things that have taken place, the things I have done and witnessed. I look at my sometimes sick, twisted, warped, and dry sense of humor while at the same time I look at the tender, caring, and peaceful heart God has given me. I look at that man of God that He has made me, the things my Savior has done to me, in me, and through me. I look at my entire life and all I can do is give Jesus Christ honor and glory, because I know, that I know, that I know, that without Him as my Lord and Savior, hell would have been my eternal home many years ago.

Like so many people I know, I was born at an early age. I was the youngest of five children born to Andrew and Dorothy Mehl. I was the baby, the youngest, and I was the most difficult of all of the Mehl children. My siblings, two older sisters and two older brothers, were all incredibly smart and talented. I seemed to always struggle in everything I did. I had such a hard time grasping things, especially in school. I couldn’t turn my mind off long enough to absorb what was being taught. Obviously, I suffered from severe ADD, ADHD, L, M, N, O, P and whatever other letters one can come up with. But back then in the late ’50s and even in the early ’70s, these learning problems, such as ADD and ADHD, were not known. Instead, I was identified with wonderful titles, like slow, stupid, and dumb. It seemed that my dad took great pleasure in reminding me just how stupid I was. Those were pretty harsh words for any father to continuously drill into the heart and mind of a four- and five-year-old.

My dad was a supervisor for a steel company, and my mother was a stay-at-home mom for the most part. My dad was always working hard to care for his large family. I remember him having to work three jobs for a while so he could take care of the house as well as pay for my mother’s huge medical expenses. In doing so, he never seemed to have time to spend with us kids, especially me. To me, it seemed like after he got home and talking with and checking on the other four kids, by the time he got to me, he didn’t have anything else to say. As I struggled in learning things, he would always ask why I wasn’t like my siblings. Why wasn’t I smart like them? I remember at such an early age when he began asking me why I was so stupid. Then he began telling me that I was stupid. The more he hammered these verbal attacks in my heart and mind, the harder it was for me to concentrate because I knew that if I didn’t get it right or if I didn’t understand, the barrage of insults and demeaning words would fly my way. As I grew older, my dad’s verbal assaults continued and they became more personal. It was almost as if he enjoyed or looked forward on telling me how worthless I was, how I would never amount to be anything but a bum. He would remind me constantly how useless I was, how much of an embarrassment I was to him. I felt like I was one huge disappointment to him, and I grew up knowing and accepting that I would never amount to anything. No matter how hard I may have tried, I would never please him. I soon quit trying.

My mother was continually sick. She suffered from severe asthma, and she was a heavy smoker. All throughout my childhood, she would constantly be admitted in the hospital for respiratory issues. My mother kept a glass inhaler in her purse all the time. It was one of those devices in which she would have to pour some medicine into the tube and she would have to squeeze the rubber bulb at one end in order for the mist to get into lungs as she inhaled. There were so many times that I had to open her bottle and pour her medicine into the glass container because she was so weak and out of breath. She also had a large green oxygen tank tied to the headboard of her bed that she had to use throughout the day. Again, there were many times in which I had to use that special wrench to open the air tank so she could place the oxygen mask on and just lie down with her head propped up enough to breathe in the much needed oxygen. But right after she would have one of her breathing treatments with either her inhaler or have to use her oxygen tank, she would immediately put another cigarette in her mouth and light up. There was one time, when I was about six years old, in which my mother had to be hospitalized for eight months straight. About half of that time, she was in ICU. Several times, I would stay for weeks on end with a family friend, Connie and Joe. Every time my dad took my mother to the hospital, I never knew if she would come home again. On January 11, 1968, my dad took my mother to a doctor’s appointment for a follow-up. As she waited for the doctor to come into the examination room, she lay down . . . and died. She had no more fight in her. She was so tired . . . so weak. This happened five days before my fifteenth birthday. I said my final Good-bye, Mother the day before my birthday. She was finally at rest.

Because of my mom’s illness, we kids had to take charge of keeping our house clean and neat. My sisters, Melinda and Nadara, taught me how to do housework. They taught me how to vacuum, dust, do the dishes (we never had a dishwasher), wash and iron clothes. I have to admit that sometimes I look back and have to think that my sisters may have used this as an opportunity to get out of doing their chores and have me do it for them. I doubt they did, but that thought has come to me every now and then. They also taught me how to cook. I became an excellent cook and completed my first full course meal when I was eight years old. No one died. These skills have helped me throughout the years, and I use them all the time today in helping my beautiful bride. I cook most of our meals, and I do a lot of the house chores. It isn’t a big deal at all. She coached high school volleyball, track, and assisted in girl’s basketball at a small private Christian school for eighteen years. There were many nights where she didn’t get home until after 7:00 p.m. Right now, she is a nurse practitioner working in rheumatology, and her office is forty miles away. Sometimes in the evening, it takes her over an hour to get home. It wouldn’t be right for me to be at home and sit around just waiting for her to come home and then have to start dinner. I always try to have dinner ready for when she comes home so that all she has to do is change out of her work clothes and come and eat a nice hot meal. I may not be able to afford a lot of things to buy my bride, but I can demonstrate my love for her by helping her around the house. After all, it is our house.

My oldest sister, Melinda, had the most beautiful blond hair. She really mothered me a lot in my childhood days. I guess with her being the oldest and me being the youngest, she felt it was something she had to do because of our mother’s illnesses. We were very close, and after she married and started raising her own family, I sometimes felt all alone. After our mother died, I would spend a lot of time at Melinda’s house. Her husband worked for the railroad, and he sometimes had to work the midnight shift or spend some time out of town. Melinda hated being alone at night, especially with her children, so I would stay with them. There were times when I would stay for days on end. It was a great excuse to be away from my dad.

We were incredibly close, and years later, she leaned on me pretty much when her eldest son, Neil, was killed by a hopped-up truck driver who was high on drugs and had been drinking. Sometimes we would meet for lunch or just go somewhere, she would just cry. I was pretty close to Neil too, especially when he served in the Gulf War with the army’s mechanized infantry group. His unit was one of the American troops that penetrated the deepest into enemy territory. He would write me about the sickness of Saddam Hussein and the treatment he did to his military. Neil would share about caring for these enemy soldiers, many who had their Achilles tendon severed so they couldn’t run away, or those who had a weapon but no ammunition. Melinda could never accept that Neil had been killed by some senseless drunk. His death took a huge toll on her life. She seemed so empty at times. She so dearly loved her children so much. They were her life.

I left to serve in Kosovo for a year in 2004 to work with and train police officers for the Kosovo Police Service (KPS). I was part of what has been described as an international police task Force. During that time, Melinda became real sick. Like my mother, she had been a heavy smoker for so many years. Like so many other young people in her teenage years, smoking was the popular thing to do. It made a person feel older, more mature. Now, after so many years of inhaling that poison, Melinda was dying of COPD, just as my mother did. My other nephew, Jason, e-mailed me to let me know how bad she was doing. During this time, I would e-mail her and would share Jesus with her. I would explain of God’s love for her and all who she was to Him. I also explained to her that many years ago, Neil had accepted Jesus Christ into his heart, and I had no doubt as him being in the very presence of Jesus even as we spoke. I would share Scripture with her, knowing that she was weakening daily.

I was able to come home for a short visit in May 2004. My plan was to go back home for a couple of days and visit with Melinda. She died the day I arrived back in the United States. I never had the chance to talk with her. I spoke briefly at her funeral. In the quietness of the night, sometimes I just lie there and think of her. Within my spirit, I know that in her quiet moments, Melinda spoke with God, cried out to Him. I truly believe, with everything within me, that in the still of the night, Jesus revealed Himself to her; and that now, she rejoices with her son as they both bask in the very presence of Jesus. That brings me comfort.

Nadara was the second oldest of the Mehl children. She was another incredibly beautiful young lady. She was very smart and excelled in all she did. With us Mehl kids being such strong swimmers, we were involved in the neighborhood swim team, and with every meet we went to, scores and scores of blue ribbons filled our home. There would always be maybe one or two second place ribbons, and extremely rarely, there would be that yellow third place one. That yellow third place ribbon was usually mine.

Nadara, my two brothers and I also swam with the El Paso Aqua Posse