Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith.
HEBREWS 12:2
God has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. One night when I was seven, I began to understand the spiritual forces at work in our world and how important my faith would be.
It was a Friday evening, and as usual I was in church with my family. Victory Chapel on Agnes Street was about as modest as it gets. The sanctuary wasn’t much larger than a living room, so there was no falling asleep during the sermon. My uncle Johnnie was the pastor, and he could see you at all times.
This night was different than most services, however. My twenty-year-old cousin had fallen into a wayward lifestyle, and Uncle Johnnie decided it was time to give her some focused prayer. He called her up to the front of the church, then had us all gather round and lay our hands on her.
My uncle started praying. Suddenly, he pulled his hands away. “There’s demons in her!” he said. Uncle Johnnie told all of us kids to get our Bibles and put them over our chests to protect our hearts. Then he placed his hands on my cousin again.
She immediately backed away. In a low, guttural voice, she said, “I won’t come out. I won’t come out!”
Next, my cousin fell to the floor and started slithering and wiggling like a snake. Uncle Johnnie didn’t hesitate. He reached down and grabbed her. “We have to get the demons out of you!” he shouted. “In the name of Jesus, I command you to come out now!”
My cousin started screaming, again in a low, masculine voice.
You’d better believe that I was freaked out. I’d never seen anything like it. There wasn’t any green vomit like in the Exorcist movies, but the scene had everything else.
Twenty or thirty minutes later, it was over. My cousin had settled down, her expression changed from extreme agitation to a bewildered calm. The demons were gone. She didn’t remember a thing about what had just happened.
I sure remembered, though. I could hardly believe what I’d seen with my own eyes. It was a lot for a seven-year-old to take in. I left church that night understanding for the first time that God was real, that there were both good and evil in the world, and that I’d better get on the good side with Him. It became an important step in my faith.
I took church and Bible studies more seriously after that night. As I’ve already related, however, my relationship with God sputtered for years starting in high school. The longer I pursued good times with women, the less I wanted to look in that mirror. I was a conflicted and unhappy man.
Early in 1996, I’d just finished my eighth year in the NFL and I was dating a beautiful recording artist. I loved “Vanessa” and we got along great, but somehow I knew that our time together had to end. I realized that deep down I wasn’t at peace with myself or with God. I’d been going about all my relationships in the wrong way. That sliver of evil I’d welcomed into my life—sexual sin—had created a growing, increasingly painful wound. I had to heal it. I needed to be in a relationship that honored God from the beginning, one where a woman and I could grow in our faith together.
Vanessa was ready to launch her career. I was finally ready to get right with God.
I received more confirmation of our diverging paths during a middle-of-the-night recording session early in the year. While Vanessa laid down tracks in a recording booth, I sat in the studio and tried to keep my eyes open. After several minutes, the producer asked his assistant to step out of the room.
When we were alone, the producer looked at me and said, “Tim, I’ve never met you. I haven’t studied your history. I know only a little about you. But I could tell the minute you walked in that you’re not comfortable here. I can tell you that it’s not worth it.”
I was confused. “What are you talking about?”
“This”—he gestured toward the studio around us—“is not where you want to be. This business is not for you.”
The producer didn’t know anything about the conversations Vanessa and I had been having about our future. I hadn’t asked for a sign from God, but for that comment to come out of the blue left a big impression on me.
By June of that year, Vanessa and I were in the midst of a drawn-out breakup. I knew that she was in Chicago to tape an appearance on The Oprah Winfrey Show when I also got a call from one of Oprah’s producers. I was immediately suspicious. I wanted no part of one of those “surprise” shows where the girlfriend suddenly walks on stage to talk with you about your relationship. If that’s what they were selling, I wasn’t buying. But the producer assured me that this show had nothing to do with Vanessa. They wanted to talk about community service.
I agreed to do the show and flew out to Chicago. The show went fine, but when I lost my wallet, I had a problem. I called Vanessa and she invited me to stay with her that night.
The two of us had a long talk. Vanessa didn’t want our relationship to end. She wanted us to stay connected for life. She also wanted to start a family. In fact, she wanted to conceive a baby with me that night.
I was extremely tempted. I loved this girl. I also loved kids. The idea of having a reason to continue my relationship with Vanessa and of raising a child with her was definitely appealing.
But then I thought about Taylor growing up with a mom and dad in separate homes. I thought about how much I missed him when I was off playing football. Ally and I were doing our best under the circumstances, but it wasn’t the proper way to raise a child. Now I was considering adding another kid to that equation? It wouldn’t be fair to the child, to Taylor, or to Vanessa. It also wouldn’t be what God wanted. What was I thinking?
“Vanessa, I love you,” I said as gently as I could. “I love you so much that I’m not going to do this. Tomorrow morning or a week from now—or nine months from now—you’d regret it.”
That might have been the toughest decision of my life to that point. But it was also the right one.
For the next two days, I mulled over the state of my life—particularly the spiritual side. I was almost thirty years old and ashamed of the way I’d been living. I had drifted away from the church foundation that my mom and many others had worked so hard to instill in me. I’d separated myself from the powerful God I’d become aware of when I was seven. I had not heeded the words of Pastor Whitley to use my position as an NFL star to lead people to God.
I took an honest look at my faith and didn’t like what I saw. I knew that God wasn’t a heavenly genie I could turn to only when everything went bad. I also understood that as much as He loved me, He wasn’t a buddy who winked at anything and everything I did. He was a powerful and loving God, yes, but He also demanded total commitment and obedience. I’d been a lot more committed to my football career than I had been to my faith. I’d been running from God for far too long.
I finally reached the end of my rebellion. On the night of June 26, 1996, I rolled out of bed at my parents’ home in Dallas and got down on my knees.
I was ready to do business with God.
“Lord,” I prayed, “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m tired of trying to live a life I’m not comfortable with and that I know You’re not comfortable with. It’s time for me to stand up and be the man You want me to be. I need Your help—right now, tomorrow, and for the rest of my life.”
I can’t say that bells started ringing or that I heard the “Hallelujah Chorus.” But I’d made my decision and it felt right. I was committing to be a spiritual man, not a “natural” man. I was giving my life to God. The challenge for me now, especially regarding women, was to live my life His way.
What I didn’t realize was that God had been waiting for me. Now that I was finally on board with Him, He was ready to bless me with exactly what I needed.
The Lord’s timing is always perfect. For a year and a half, my good friend and teammate Chester McGlockton had been trying to connect me with a girl from the L.A. apartment complex where he used to live. He had hired her to cook for parties he hosted. “Man, you need to meet this girl,” he said the first time it came up. “She’s a Christian, she’s pretty, and she can cook. She’s a nice girl.”
You could say that Chester, in his day, had played the field too. “I know what your idea of a nice girl is,” I said. “I don’t want no part of your nice girls.”
“No, Brown,” he said. “I’m not talking about that kind of nice girl. I’m talking about a nice girl.”
“Dude, I’m not falling for that one.” I was sure Chester was trying to lead me into trouble. During rounds of golf or when we just talked, he kept bringing up the idea of hooking me up with this girl. I continued to resist what I viewed as an evil scheme.
It turned out that Chester and I were both moving in a new direction. He met Zina, the girl of his dreams and a Christian, in 1995. Chester began talking and behaving in an entirely different manner. We began having more and more conversations about God. He proposed to Zina, and then, early in 1996, he committed his life to the Lord.
That’s how I found myself at a mansion in San Jose on July 6, 1996. Just ten days after I’d made my own commitment to God, I attended Chester and Zina’s wedding. Before the outdoor ceremony, I sat down with a dozen or so NFL players. We were strategically positioned so that we could see everyone who walked into the courtyard. When an especially striking, dark-haired beauty in a polka dot dress arrived, everyone in our group sat up. Most started making comments, typically along the line of, “Oh, yeah, that’s the one I’m going home with tonight.”
I’d noticed this girl too, no doubt about it. But I was a new man. I had no intention of competing with these guys to try to take somebody home. I didn’t even plan to talk to her.
It seemed that God had His own plan, however.
A few minutes later, I was waiting in line to get a drink and noticed the same girl right behind me. Competition or not, I figured I could at least be polite. I turned around and said, “Hey, what are you drinking?” She told me cranberry juice, so I got her drink for her. She thanked me, and we both moved on to talk to other people. End of story, I thought.
The wedding, held in the sunshine under a trestle, went off without a hitch. Chester’s smile was big enough to light up Oakland’s coliseum. Afterward, we gathered inside the mansion for the reception. Chester had designated seats for everyone. I found a place card with my name and sat down at that table. More people joined me until there was only one open seat, right next to me.
That’s when the same girl showed up again. Chester had assigned her to my table too.
She and I made polite conversation during dinner. When they served carrot cake for dessert, I tried it—it was delicious. “Oh, man,” I said to her. “You have got to taste this carrot cake.” Without thinking about it, I cut a piece off with my fork and shoved it toward her lips.
The girl in the polka dot dress could have rejected this weird stranger who was trying to push cake down her throat. She could have embarrassed me and said, “Forget it, I’m not eating the germs off your cake.” But she was gracious. She took the bite and said, “Oh, that is good.”
That broke the ice. We started talking more, and kept on talking for the rest of the evening. Her name was Sherice Weaver. I was definitely intrigued. Unfortunately, I had to leave early to catch a flight back home to Dallas. When I got up to go, Sherice got up to head for the dance floor.
We had time for just a quick good-bye, but I wanted Sherice to know she’d gotten my attention. Earlier, I’d discovered that we had a mutual friend, Angie, so I asked Sherice if Angie could give me Sherice’s number.
“No problem,” she said with a smile.
On the way out, I interrupted Chester in the middle of a dance to say my good-byes. “Dude,” I said, “who is this girl Sherice?”
“Man,” he said, “that’s the girl I’ve been trying to get you with for forever!”
Now it all fit. I knew more about this girl than I realized. I decided I wanted to find out even more.
I called Sherice the next day and left a message. The rest of Sunday came and went. Monday came and went. By Tuesday I was thinking, This girl’s not going to call me back. She at least could’ve called and said, “It was nice meeting you but I’m not interested in dating right now.” I wasn’t even asking for a date. I just wanted to get to know her better.
Tuesday night, however, Sherice finally called back. We talked for six hours. Little did I know where those first conversations would lead.
That, at least, is how I remember the beginning of our relationship. Sherice has a different version—and I do mean different.
According to Sherice, believe it or not, I followed her around at the wedding from the moment I saw her. She says that I was behind her in the drink line, not the other way around, and she asked me what I wanted to drink. She says that as soon as I got my drink, I went over to Chester and said, “Who’s that girl in the polka dot dress?” Chester said, “That’s the girl I’ve been trying to introduce you to!” And I supposedly replied, “Oh, man! We’d be having a double wedding today if I’d just listened to you!”
That’s not all. In Sherice’s version of the story, Chester and I did some rearranging so that she ended up at my table. Then, according to Sherice, I tried to give her my number, but she wouldn’t accept it. So I gave my number to Angie and asked her to get Sherice to call me. Sherice wasn’t sure she wanted to call, but over the next few days Angie persuaded her. When Sherice finally called on Tuesday, I supposedly said, “I thought I had bad breath or something—I didn’t think you were ever going to call,” which got us both laughing.
They say that love is blind. Maybe love has a bad memory too. I have to admit that Sherice is usually better at remembering those old details than I am. But somewhere in there is the true story, and as far as I’m concerned, the details aren’t important. What counts is that God allowed me to meet the amazing woman I would be with for the rest of my life.
The timing of our first meeting couldn’t have been better. I’d recently dedicated myself to God. Sherice, meanwhile, was just completing a six-month program based on a book by P. B. Wilson, Knight in Shining Armor. While “under construction,” she hadn’t dated men at all, focusing instead on her relationship with God and preparing herself for her lifelong love. It sure seemed like God had His fingerprints all over this thing. God used Chester to bring Sherice and me together. He also showed me that I needed to wait to meet her until we were both ready to begin a relationship that would honor Him.
God is like that. He wants to shower us with blessings if we’ll only follow Him. It took me a long time to truly understand that and to start living a life of Christian obedience. As soon as I did, everything changed. I’m not saying that’s always how it works. Sometimes He has work to do in us that takes years. Sometimes, even when we’re fully committed to God, it can feel like He’s forgotten us. Yet I have no doubt that the smart play, always, is to pursue His path.
Many a man, like me, has tried to go his own way and live a life inconsistent with God’s teaching. As Jesus once said, you can’t serve two masters. It doesn’t work to live godly part of the time and do whatever you want or whatever feels good the rest of the time. My football career would have failed quickly if I’d taken that approach. The same is true for the Christian life.
Real success isn’t based on money or fame or influence. It’s about developing a relationship with God and letting all your thoughts and actions grow out of that. It’s not a part-time gig, but a full-time, lifelong commitment. Is that often hard? No question about it. But the blessings God gives back—the joy, the peace of mind, the fulfillment that comes from serving and being close to Him—make it more than worth it.