I can tell you right off that it's not much fun writing about myself. In general, I deplore self-promotion -- even if the so-called ends seem to justify the means, but since I am doing things that engage public evaluation -- well, after all, necessity is the mother of invention. You probably want to know who the heck I think I am in my presumption on everyone else. You've a right to know that, so here goes . . .

The best thing I ever did was sire three kids; two daughters and one son. I am happy to say that, while spread around the country, they are all responsible, productive citizens. I've also had the privilege of being step-dad to three more remarkable people. I love them too, deep within my heart.

On the day that Paul Anderson back-lifted 6,270 lbs (June 12, 1957), my life changed from a skinny, confused, 3-pack a day smoker, to something else entirely. Simply put, I encountered God, through his Son, Jesus. I was 20 years old then. At this writing, I'll be 79 in October of 2015. Whatever happened to me on that day far eclipsed Anderson's feat. Jesus Christ is still in my life, 60+ years later, stronger today than ever. How do you explain that if it were not genuine encounter with God.

I suppose all that was the result of the prayers of a man I never knew: My father. Dad was a Baptist minister in the dust bowl of the 1930's Great Depression in Oklahoma where I was born -- in the back country of John Stienbeck's Grapes of Wrath. My father collapsed in the pulpit of his small church when I was a mere 10 months old, of pancreatic cancer. He was dead within the following week. I am certain that before, as he held me in his arms and rocked me to sleep, he prayed that God would watch over me and claim me for himself.

Well, God heard his prayers.

My mother, my Dad's sister, Lee, and my two older brothers and two sisters moved to Atlanta, where we were all received by Mom's family. My mother, devastated by all these events, became ill and spent the rest of her life in the State of Georgia mental hospital. I was raised in Atlanta by my mother's family, but for the most part by a black nurse, Lizzie Mae, the only real "mother," I ever knew.

After two years of military service, at age 20, I bought a 1954 Chevrolet Del Ray and alone, drove myself from Atlanta to Long Beach, California. It was in the home of my employer that I found myself on the day of Paul Anderson's great lift.

Something happened then that I never dreamed could happen. I faced the opportunity to go to college. At that time, none of my siblings had gone to college, and I was convinced that I was simply not "college material."

I managed to eek through a Christian college as an average student (B.A.) planning to enter the ministry. Then from college, (amazingly), I went to seminary (M.Div.) where I did a little better. I was licensed and ordained, and spent many years in pastoring and church stuff. Then along came the opportunity to obtain a Ph.D. I remember when I walked across the stage to receive my degree I was thinking, now I'll never have to worry about a job. Everybody wants a "doctor" in their pulpit.

When you stop laughing, I'll go on with this thing.

In 1978, Charles W. Colson, Special Counsel to President Nixon and founder of Prison Fellowship, found me languishing on Catalina Island as a mental health counselor. Miracle? Well, I don't have to time to go into that. Anyway, I became PF's "National Training Director," and was put in charge of the seminar program. I did some 125 week-long seminars (along with lots of other boring stuff -- like rubbing shoulders with Governors, Senators and Congressmen -- really thought I'd hit the big time) in prisons and churches all over the United States and Canada while I was with Chuck.

In the process of all this, my marriage foundered. Divorce ensued. I certainly don't hold my work at Prison Fellowship responsible for this, but it didn't help.

I went back into counseling, remarried, and worked as Program Director for two acute-level mental health hospitals. In the course of all this, I did some writing. My first book, Love Therapy, discussed an approach to psychotherapy that I had developed and practiced. Then along came Shadow of Sodom, which explored the Christian response to homosexuality, its pathology and treatment options. Today, of course, people laugh at the "pathology and treatment" notion. I do not laugh.

Since I enjoyed writing, I did some poems, short stories, stories for children and a few scholarly papers. Also published a quarterly journal called, The Journal of Redemptive Therapy.

My wife, Bonnie, and I produced a live, call-in talk show entitled, Linked with Love, in the Washington, D.C. market. This was in the pre-cellphone days and listeners would often stop their cars and use pay phones to call in. That was fun. We did it for four years.

I took a job in a small Christian college in central Pennsylvania. I should have known better. The president of the school was, well, eccentric. I could sense the possibility of problems. Why did I take it? Well, the school specialized in taking poor students off the streets of New York city, keeping them away from drugs and crime. I was greatly attracted to that. Besides, I had never been called an "Executive Vice President" or "Academic Dean" before. So I snagged the worm and pulled the cork under. Eight months later, I had had enough of eccentricity and returned to California.

San Diego, actually. There we lived near the beach and enjoyed the sea breezes from a lovely apartment atop a cliff abutment. But I was out of a job. It was a hard time. We had no visible means of support and we wondered every month whether or not we were going to be able to pay the rent. It was 1995, that I got serious about writing again. I started a project that was to last for the next seventeen years, The Justus Scrolls, Recollections of an Almost Apostle. It was finally published in March of 2013. (Available now at www.amazon.com and your local bookstore! Or it may be read for free on this website.)

I think this is the most important thing I have ever done. Should it be read by many, it will change the world! Well, I've always liked to dream. Chuck Colson told me one time, speaking of my seminar material, "Paul, if you are successful with these seminars, it will change the world." Poor man. He just didn't get it that I was completely incapable at being successful at anything. But this book? This book, if read by enough people, . . . well, miracles have happened . . .

It was once written of me, "Churches, colleges and universities, prisons throughout the continental United States, in every province in Canada, people from every walk of life, from the homeless, the mentally disturbed, working men everywhere, housewives, students, scholars, theologians, Congressmen, Senators, Presidential appointees, clergy, the State Department, the Defense Department, the FBI, the CIA -- all have been touched by God through this gifted man." The statement is pretentious, but factual. If I have been used by God to bring his love to others, it has been despite my unfortunate proclivities, not because of them. When I meet my Maker, I can assure you, I will not come with that exaggerated passport in my hand.

So there you have it. Paul Morris in all his blemished glory. I mean, really, how could you not be struck in absolute wonder? Well, if you are, you truly need a brain transplant. Remember the words of Jesus? "If a blind man leads another, both will fall into the ditch." Well, yes. But I can see a little. Hopefully enough to avoid the ditch. But, honestly, sometimes I wonder. Still, is it possible that I am simply one beggar telling another of a place to find water. And, you know, if I can pull that off, maybe things will turn out ok -- for myself, and maybe those I manage to annoy.

-- PDM