Carry Your Cross

By Robert Lyon

"Carry Your Cross" recounts the true story of a former drug addicts journey from three decades of darkness to redemption through the guidance of Jesus Christ. The author shares experiences of addiction from the age of 10, constantly on the run to escape demonic forces. At 29, a celestial voice of a female led him to sobriety in Oklahoma City's Hope Is Alive program. Amid encounters with demons and angels, including a guardian angel revealed through a photograph captured on January 3rd, 2023, at 4:09 pm, the author presents a powerful testimony, offering tangible evidence of the existence of angels and demons.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gemini Publishing
• Release date: Oct 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988635529

Robert Lyon

Robert Lyon is currently in a program called Hope Is Alive. It is a sober living program that is spiritually based on Jesus being the only answer when it comes to sobriety. Plagued by addiction for over three decades. He lived an inadequate lifestyle and faced tribulations throughout his entire life until now! Given a second chance in life. He has built an excellent relationship with his newfound friend, Jesus Christ. With Jesus in his life, the might wonders of his gratefulness play a vital role in his recovery. His sobriety date is on 11-26-2022. Even though, plagued by addiction for so long, he is still trying to figure out what he likes to do in his free time. He loves to write. Robert keeps busy working at Integris Hospital. He surrounds himself with successful people in the Skyline community helps him grow spiritually and becoming a better person. Right now, Robert is living a life he does not know how to live. In order for him to live this life, he relies on Jesus to guide every step of the way.

Book preview

Prologue

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Before my addiction, my mind contained a mental image of myself. Carrying a positive attitude in life made it easier to chase the females around. I always craved attention and excelled as an athlete because of my speed and agility. Because of my idol, Barry Sanders, my dream was to earn a scholarship to USC and play college football. Being the fastest kid on the team, even faster than the football coach, I strived to mirror Barry's movements, his juke and jive, and his ability to spin on a dime. Our equality for one another could give me the potential to drive me to become better than him. With hard work and dedication, it could be achievable.

Then, one day, I stumbled upon a staircase spiraling downward. The weight of a burden from a decision gave me momentum that was impossible to control. The mental image of myself shattered, becoming fragmented. The more time I spent piecing the brokenness back together, the worse the brokenness became. Each piece was sharper than a double-edged sword, inflicting pain upon me. Not physically, but spiritually.

A void appeared in my soul, which made me become lost and afraid, aimlessly wandering the world with no purpose. Each day, the void grew bit by bit, gradually reaching the point where alcohol and methamphetamines controlled my life for over three decades. Artificially, making me whole again.

Without a spiritual life, darkness would plague my heart and my mind. My perception became blurry, compromising my thought process. My self-worth and my morals were removed from life's equation. I cared about nothing; not even myself. Consumed by anger, fear, and aggression, evil spirits harassed me and invaded my life, leaving me no privacy. They sought my good heart and desired to destroy what remained. Because of free will, I refused to give the demons what they wanted. Controlled by fear, I was constantly on the run. No matter what I did or where I moved to, my past kept on finding me, followed by malicious attempts of domination from demonic entities.

With a dark presence coming on stronger than before, I ran out of gas. A demon became attached to me because of a female. Without the knowledge to vanquish the demon, I wanted to end my life. Not by committing suicide, but by letting the darkness consume me. With life forsaken, hope vanished entirely.

The clock was ticking for God to save me. With a time and date set, my life would soon expire. Only God possessed the power to prolong my life. Otherwise, I should perish from this world with no one to remember me by, other than a meth addict who accomplished nothing.

After a desperate cry for help, God showed up and extended my life. Armed with a purpose in life, I now have a reason to write this book. This is my testimony.

The Beginning of an End

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Have you ever watched the classic movie called The Outsiders? That movie resembled my life while attending middle school. In Webster City, IA, the population is around six thousand people. Corporate businesses included a McDonald’s, Subway, Pizza Hut, Hy-Vee, and four gas stations. The town of Webster City monopolized on small local businesses to keep the owners with money inside their pockets; making them filthy rich.

My group of friends comprised a majority of our parents using drugs or drinking alcohol, which prevented us from obtaining any financial freedoms. We were portrayed as the lower-class kids, resembling the greasers.

The rich kids, resembling the Socials, had it made simple, especially in the world of sports. Because of their parents' profession and the size of their bank accounts, each individual was ensured a spot automatically on the first string, in any sport.

In the year of 1993, I was in 7th grade. Our second-string football team went undefeated that season, while the first-string team had a losing season with more losses than wins. My heavy-set linemen on our team created craters for me on the line. Opportunities emerged to gain a ton of yards and score some touchdowns occasionally. My position on the team was a running back; my jersey number was 20.

Our group of friends resented a majority of our classmates who lived a simple life because of their parents. They were always obedient and followed instructions. Study, get excellent grades, attend class daily, and mind their own business. Their brothers were a different story. Outside of school, it didn't matter when or where we were. Whenever they saw us, they would start chasing us, intending to cause harm. Most of those involved were high school students, at least two years older and too big for us to handle.

One night, a friend and I were riding bikes downtown. From afar, we heard tires screeching and the roaring of an engine heading straight toward us. We pedaled our butts off and split up to evade the truck. I traveled on a road that was unfamiliar to me. It was dark outside and I rode my bike on a concrete path that lead next to a small business building. Then the path turned into a concrete ramp and encountered a six-foot drop into a parking lot. No handrails were placed around the concrete edges. Without a good visual, I ramped off the concrete. The front end of my bike dipped down unexpectedly and crashed hard, which threw my face into the handlebars, making contact with my mouth and chipping one of my front teeth. My only option was to abandon my bike in the parking lot because of the bent rim. I then sprinted to safety back to my friend's house. It was a fortunate incident among the many. Thanks to my speed and determination, no one could catch me. Others were not so fortunate.

My girlfriend and I were walking downtown one night. We spotted a friend across the street walking toward the movie theater. Out of nowhere, a vehicle drove beside him and locked the brakes up. Someone jumped out of the front passenger side door. Not saying a word to my friend, he ran up to him and delivered a haymaker, then jumped back into the vehicle and quickly drove off. I ran across the street to check on my friend; he was knocked out cold. We all knew who was involved. If they were downtown circling the drag, alcohol was always involved.

After that happened, we declared war against the preps and fought back with violence. At the start of the school week, a small group of our friends, including myself, threatened four of our classmates. Those four classmates we threatened got their older siblings involved, claiming they intended to cause bodily harm to us while they were drinking. Our classmates knew we would hold them accountable if their siblings did not show up after school on Tuesday. We congregated together to decide who wanted to be involved in the dispute.

Tuesday rolled around and everyone involved was ready to throw down. We got in our classmates' faces again, threatening them some more if their siblings didn't show up, slamming them up against the lockers. As we got out of school, we headed straight to the parking lot to wait for them.

When I walked out the school doors, I glanced around. My mother's car was parked on the side of the street. She was waiting for me and honked the horn to get my attention. I noticed my brother and my sister were with my mother inside the car. When I got close, my mother rolled down the window. She told me that our grandmother was back in the hospital. The doctor said she wouldn't make it in the next twenty-four hours. Our relatives were already at the hospital, waiting for us. But I was waiting for something else.

I told my mother grandma will be fine and I will see her soon. Without wasting time to debate, she fussed before driving off, expecting me to come along. As I turned around to head towards the parking lot to join my friends in combat, I thought nothing of my grandma. My thoughts dwelt only on my friends and the way of fist. We waited around for a half an hour, but they never showed up. With nothing to do after school that day, I went straight home.

The house was empty and quiet when I returned home. It was the eeriest feeling because normally someone would be home. My parents were over-protective and a perfect example of a dysfunctional family. When I sat on the couch, my anger would soon subside. Now that I was not blinded by anger, my heart dropped into my stomach. I realized I made a huge mistake!

Later in the evening, I heard a strange noise cry out. After hearing the strange noise, I already knew the outcome. It's easy to lose something precious, especially losing sight because of anger. The person I cared about the most passed away. If I were present when she passed, it would've been easier for me to process her death.

My image shattered at that moment. For once, the doctors were right. My grandmother died December 7th, 1993; I was fourteen. My entire family visited her at the hospital that night, except for me. Unaccounted for, I missed the opportunity to say goodbye to my grandmother, which opened the spiraling staircase leading south.

Interacting with my family was impossible. My thoughts plagued my mind. Only thinking about myself; trying to process what I was feeling. My eyes were fixed on the ground. The burdens of guilt and shame would be my undoing. How can I continue living this way?

The ceremony I do not recall. I was not there mentally, just physically. Before leaving the ceremony, the only thing I recall was grabbing a chuck of that shattered image of myself, tossing what I held into her grave. No one could find that piece again, which we buried with her. It was the least I could do for her. It was a form of a spiritual apology for my wrongdoing. If my mind were logical, she wouldn't want me to proceed.

After opening my eyes the next morning, a bad vibe was present inside me. It was the first time I fell asleep angry. (Please Read Ephesians 4:26-27) Somehow, a manifestation occurred while I was asleep without realizing it. As I stood tall after getting out of bed the next morning, I was fully dedicated to releasing this negative energy! Where did it come from? With a hundred unanswered questions, I had no one to turn to. After getting dressed, I left the house and walked to school.

When I planted my feet on the ground, I screamed out of rage inside myself. While walking to school, thoughts of my pain and suffering consumed my well-being. Only to display my feelings to everyone in silence, only to erupt into violence. Between the high school students not showing up after school and missing the chance to say goodbye to my grandmother, I had started a personal war with myself.

While attending the first half of my classes, I pondered on who my victim would be. During lunch in fifth period, my observation skills were like a hawk and my patience like a turtle. My victim stood up from his seat.

As I was observing from a distance, my target got up from his seat to dump his lunch tray in the trash can. He walked down the hall and headed up the stairs. I followed him more closely. He was portrayed as a piece of meat, and I was starving. I followed him up to the third floor and peeked around the corner. My target was walking down the hall towards the bathroom. Patiently waiting for the perfect time to strike. I planned to catch him with his zipper down.

Like a snake, I slithered inside the bathroom. As I stood behind him, he had no knowledge that I stood there. I took a deep breath and tapped on his shoulder. When he turned around, my victim was viciously mauled like a lion, followed by his head getting smashed on a porcelain pisser.

Someone discovered him unconscious in the bathroom. My anger turned into rage and almost killed him, but he was still alive. A couple cheerleaders cried out in the hallway; one of them was his girlfriend. She started screaming, Jacob is dead! Jacob is dead! My next class after lunch was in the study hall.

I knew it would be best if I sat in the back row behind my friends. With my feet propped on the desk like I owned it, my chair was kicked back, as I wore a smile larger than Rhode Island with no empathy. Just waiting for someone to seek revenge by bursting into the classroom. There was one fellow that busted through the door, charging towards me. As I laughed hysterically, there were zero worries. My friends, who were my linemen in football, stood up from their chairs and intervened.

Before our study hall ended, the principal called my name over the intercom and instructed me to report to his office. Moments later, I was cleaning out my locker because I was expelled for my actions. Only a week later did I realize the severity of what happened. While having a conversation with one of my friends who defended me in the study hall, it blew my mind what he told me. The bathroom where the incident occurred remained closed for several days.

My time with my grandfather, Donald, decreased. PTSD played a significant impact on him and our family. Because of the selective service, he enlisted in the army at eighteen and was subsequently drafted in 1944. During his deployment, he was captured by the Nazis and was held as a prisoner in a POW camp for six months. Donald only talked about the war with my brother. During a scavenger hunt to find remnants of a baseball collection in my grandpa's house, my brother discovered his war diary.

The stories my brother told me that my grandpa shared with him were beyond imaginable. Especially having to kill anyone who came inside the perimeter. Little, starving kids strapped with bombs, trying to get close enough to blow up their fellow commandos. He did not drink or smoke cigarettes before leaving. He came back a different man.

Six years later, in 1999, he would pass after his wife left the earth; I was twenty years old. He developed lung cancer which then traveled down to his prostate. Donald was taken out of his home and placed in the nursing home. No one could provide care for him that was needed. It took him less than a week to pass away in the nursing home. At least they are together again! At the funeral, the army people that attended his service gave him a nineteen-gun salute for his services.

Our grandparents raised us up the ole school way. An untold agreement existed between us because we learned through the powers of observation. When we went to the store, they were polite. They opened the doors for people. If someone rubbed them the wrong way, they would react in a different fashion. Never did our grandparents raise their voices toward us.

My childhood was two-sided, though. I remember what it was like to be a kid and have the freedom to choose. Every weekend, our grandmother, June, would ask my brother and me what we wanted to do. Our options were going to the arcade or playing mini-putt-putt, followed by Baskin Robins. We shared the responsibility of deciding what we wanted to do.

When we went to the arcade, June gave us twenty dollars apiece. June always carried a huge smile on her face. She never asked us if we were ready to leave because she was patiently waiting for us to finish having fun. On the days we stayed indoors, we would paint on a new canvas that were stored in her closet, and, of course, we would watch Bob Ross later that night. She was truly an angel and an excellent painter!

After spending quality time with our grandparents on the weekend, our parents would pick us up. When my parents were young teenagers, they were forced to make a decision at a young age. That decision made them use drugs.

We rarely went straight home after being picked up. A friend of my dad's owned a satellite dish. We would go over there and watch the Sunday night football game.

If we weren't over there, we'd be at the bar. Born and raised in the bar scene, we were all able to go inside. My dad would order a couple of drinks and start playing pool, while the rest of us would sit at the