VL - Issue 43- April 22

More documents

Info

THE DEATH OF BIG MIKE I’ve THE STORY OF MIKE WILSON but a recipe for disaster? The school was full of bullies and other rebellious youth like me who had money and the means to everything. I attended the school for several years. craved attention for as long as I can remember. Money, material things, sports, the importance of hard work or the val- I was so immature. I didn’t understand people—you name it, I’ve used it to make ue of earning money. Instead of counting myself look important. I’ll be honest: my prideful desire to be the center of attention came with big price tags. Yet no matter the cost, I kept paying the price. During the 1980s, my father hit it big financially. Suddenly, our family went from living on a teacher’s salary to having wealth. But all that money wasn’t cheap. Before I go any further, I want to set the record straight. By telling my story, I don’t mean to disrespect anyone. I love my father, two sisters, and my mother, who is now deceased. I am grateful for their presence in my life. My father has done so much for me. He’s never once turned his back on me, even when my actions made a mockery of our family name. My parents sent me to military school when I was 10. I’d been challenging their authority since the day I could walk, and they were tired of dealing with my rebellious self. Instead of that being a solution, however, it made things worse. Kids were raising kids; how could that be anything my blessings, I squandered them like the prodigal son (Luke 15:11–32). That money was a game-changer for me. As I got older, I had lots of attention- grabbing items like a Mercedes, expensive jewelry, and top-of-the-line clothing. Money brought many “friends.” Too bad I didn’t realize then that most of them weren’t really friends; they just wanted the money in my pockets. But even if I’d considered their motives, it wouldn’t have mattered. Real friends or not, these people made me feel important and needed. Everywhere I went, I flashed those dollar bills, bragging about what my family owned and who we knew. I was the king of name-dropping. On September 22, 1990, I went out drinking with a former cadet who had been expelled the year before. My coach begged me not to go, but I didn’t listen. Hours later, I was thrown from a vehicle going over 100 mph. My pelvis was shattered and my left leg detached from my body. Miraculously, the doctors were able to piece me back together. They used muscles from my abdomen to reattach my left leg. My right leg was severely injured too. I remained in the hospital for three months, fighting serious infections and undergoing multiple surgeries. During one of the surgeries, I am sure I saw a vision of hell. It reminded me of a Mario Bros. video game. I could see myself running and then falling suddenly into utter darkness. Perhaps God was giving me a warning about where I was heading if I didn’t change my ways. You’d think this might make me take a good hard look at my life, but it didn’t. I was 17 years old and far too important for that. I had survived the accident, but emotionally, I was a wreck. Several colleges had offered me soccer scholarships, but now, I was just this skinny, frail kid with a busted-up leg. I couldn’t play soccer if my life depended on it. And then there was the fact that I would be finishing my senior year at a local high school where I was not the Big Man on Campus. Instead, I shuffled through the halls, imagining ways to get back into the limelight. I graduated in 1991 and began a ten-year college career. I worked the system and stayed in school, living off Dad’s money. A decade of nonstop partying led to countless bar brawls, two DUIs, and more car accidents. But no matter how bad the situation I put myself in, Dad was always there for me. Regardless of my bad choices, I could always count on a “get out of jail free” card at his expense. At the clubs, I made sure everyone knew about my wealth. I’d tell anyone who’d listen about my limo companies, gyms, restaurants, warehouses, construction companies, and hotels. I bragged about the beach home and the penthouse I owned. Lies. Lies. Lies. None of that was mine; it was all my father’s. Around 1997, I got into weightlifting. It was a great way to satisfy my ego. That scrawny kid from high school was gone. The bigger and stronger I became, the more attention I got. Soon I turned to steroids to increase my size and strength, and 16 Issue 02 / 2022 VICTORIOUSLIVINGMAGAZINE.COM
PHOTO BY GERI SIMPKINS PHOTOGRAPHY Big Mike was born. People couldn’t help but notice me; I was huge—your typical meathead. Everywhere I went, heads turned, and people called out my name, “Hey, Big Mike! What’s up, man?” I loved it! In addition to the steroids, I began using ecstasy. Big Mike knew how to party. I lived it up, all for the sake of trying to be somebody because, inside, I was pretty sure I was a nobody. Then, one night, the party ended, and I woke up in complete mental anguish, surrounded by darkness, and terrified to death. My heavy steroid use had led to suicidal depression. The darkness lasted for days, and I couldn’t eat or function normally. I felt like a guinea pig as doctors searched for a drug to bring my mind back into balance. Eventually, they found the right meds to help me. I knew by that point that alcohol triggered my depression, so I tried not to drink because the darkness terrified me. Occasionally, however, I’d lose control, go out and get drunk, and send myself right back into a living hell. The darkness that enveloped me in January of 2004 almost destroyed me. This time, it was more intense than ever, and I was overwhelmed by suicidal thoughts. I couldn’t escape from the darkness that controlled my mind. I kept calling my doctor, begging him to help me. “This stuff is not leaving me, I’ve craved attention for as long as I can remember. My prideful desire to be the center of the room came with big price tags. Yet no matter the cost, I kept paying the price. doc! I’m going to die!” I’m thankful for the doctors and all the help the Lord sent my way. It’s only by God’s grace that I came out of that season alive. I finally realized that if something didn’t change, I was going to die. It was only a matter of time. I ended up attending a local church service where I heard about Jesus and how He could help people like me. When the pastor presented an invitation for people to receive Jesus as their Savior, I went forward, grabbed the microphone, and told everyone I was giving Jesus a try. VICTORIOUSLIVINGMAGAZINE.COM Issue 02 / 2022 17
Page 1 and 2: REAL PEOPLE | REAL STORIES | REAL H
Page 3 and 4: ISSUE 2, APRIL 2022 Be of good cour
Page 5 and 6: ISSUE 2, APRIL 2022 CONTENTS 8 24 2
Page 7 and 8: Through the stories of Victorious L
Page 9 and 10: TRANSFORMED LIVES God’s Faithfuln
Page 11 and 12: PHOTOS COURTESY OF MYPILLOW I had a
Page 13 and 14: PHOTOS COURTESY OF MYPILLOW bragged
Page 15: TRANSFORMED LIVES As they should ha
Page 19 and 20: invited anyone who wanted to receiv
Page 21 and 22: PHOTO BY ASHCROFT STUDIO PHOTOGRAPH
Page 23 and 24: stuck, Melisha!” His words helped
Page 25 and 26: STEPPING FORWARD DON’T GIVE UP! B
Page 27 and 28: PHOTO BY OPENDOOR CHURCH All I coul
Page 29 and 30: STEPPING FORWARD Trust God, Even Wh
Page 31 and 32: could see that God was at work as m
Page 33 and 34: GOING DEEPER: Be Courageous On page

VL - Issue 43- April 22

You also want an ePaper? Increase the reach of your titles

Delete template?

Save as template?