Clark Crawford Ministries: Clark's Salvation

Clark’s Salvation

As a little boy, I was always made to go to church. I was raised in a Methodist church in Dallas, TX. My brothers and I would go with our mother. I would always ask my dad why he was not going, especially since he would make us if we were not feeling like it that Sunday morning. He would always reply, "I know the Lord, but I don't have to go." That was the only explanation I would ever get. So I was raised, do as I say, not as I do. No wonder I was raised with a religious spirit, always judging and legalistic. To be honest, other than going for the donuts, I hated church. It was so dead and dry. Boring!

Many years went by and I became harder and harder towards the church. No power, just religion. I had to dress a right way, say the right things, because God forbid I let people really know how I felt. Hurt, abused, fearful, insecure, tormented and controlled, just to name a few. But when I ended up in prison on January 12, 1990 I began to get desperate. Amazing how you begin to search your heart when you are put in a situation of despair, and there is nobody y there to help you. Just you and God.

I spent a couple of months in jail sleeping on the floor in puddles of water. I was sick, miserable and scared. The Dallas jail was overcrowded and you had to wait for a bed. Needless to say, I became more desperate day by day. Within a week or so, another inmate asked me to go to a church service. Well, I thought to myself, it can't hurt anything, so I went. Wow, it was nothing like that religious church I was raised in. This guy was serious about God. He had been born again in jail. He had a story to tell, and he did not care what anybody thought. All he cared about was getting his point across, lifting the name of Jesus, and he seemed to genuinely care about all of us. A far cry from what I had seen over the years. Next thing I know, I am given a Bible and I am reading. Slowly but surely I am beginning to feel different. Out of nowhere the hurt, bitterness and unforgiveness are not consuming my every thought.

Over the next two months I would pray, read and workout most everyday. Finally, they called my name and I was on my way to prison. We spent a couple of hours from different holding cell to holding cell. Then they brought us all outside and chained us together, hands, waist and feet. They put us on the prison bus and took us to the "Goree Unit" for classification. This is where we would find out what prison we were going to. This is where I would be "born again" and my life would never be the same. Thank you Jesus!

On March 19, 1990 in a single cell there at the "Goree Unit" in Huntsville, TX, I would say the sinners prayer. No man influenced me, only the love of Jesus Christ.

Here is how it happened:

I had not received any mail in a couple of weeks. Since this day was also my birthday, I was really lonely and wondering why everyone had abandoned me. Up until the past couple of weeks I was receiving mail every few days. Amazing how a piece of mail can keep you going while incarcerated. If you have a loved one, or just a friend locked up, let me tell you first hand, there is nothing more important to an inmate than a piece of mail. You may want to consider writing a letter today.The morning of March 19, 1990 I began to cry uncontrollably in my cell. My whole life flashed before my eyes during this time. The brokenness got much more intense, and all of a sudden I said, "Dear Jesus, I ask you to come into my heart and save me. I repent of all my sins. I ask you to take control of my life." It was that simple. Next thing I know, the peace of God as I know it today filled my heart. I new that God saved my soul. Guess what happened that afternoon? When the mail came, I had so much mail that it took me an hour or so to read it all. Hallelujah to the Lamb of God. God had held up that mail, because He new that would be the very thing that would cause my name to be written in the Lamb's book of life. Glory to God in the highest.