CHAPTER 13

NEVER BETTER

BY AUGUST 1, 1994, I’D HAD IT.

I’d cried long enough.

Part of me was waking up and feeling okay, but part of me was still broken. I’d start each day depressed, thinking, Well, I don’t want to go where I’m not welcome. I don’t want to impose my problems on somebody else. It was that underlying sadness Helen Dye had talked about.

Some of it came from the pain of going to prison. Some came from letting others define me solely as an ex-convict. The rest came from believing that things were miserable and bound to get worse.

When I thought about the shame of being behind bars, I realized it wasn’t shameful to have what Gari had called an “Enforced Spiritual Retreat.” I’d been sifted (Luke 22:31). One of the things I learned from Charles Stanley’s “God Is Able” sermon was that God controlled the method, intensity, and duration of the sifting.

When I realized that, a feeling of comfort settled over me like a warm quilt. Okay, I thought. Prison wasn’t an accident. The handpicked method of sifting I just experienced —and my wife and kids, who were also sifted —was federal prison.

As for duration and intensity, it had never been worse than I could stand —though it came close a few times. And it had an ending —if I would let it end.

The pain of my story still weighed me down, though I was learning the lessons God had for me. Almost daily I felt compelled to tell everyone about my time in prison. It became a sort of calling card. I talked about it too much, as if it were the defining moment of my life.

I was beginning to see that I had to draw a line in the sand and say, “I think I’ve learned what I needed to learn. I need to move on and head in another direction.” If I didn’t, my mess would remain a mess rather than become my message. This short chapter of my life might go on forever.

When it came to letting others define me —I thought of how the FBI, the U.S. Attorney’s Office, and the judge had decided I was a criminal. Even a local leader had told people while I was in prison, “Bo’s a liar.” Over the years I’d bought that man and his wife two cars, paid for the remodeling of their house, and more —most of which he either denied, or said he’d forgotten about. It occurred to me that he was the one who had trouble remembering the truth —not me.

Now I thought, No. I’m not gonna let the FBI define who I am, much less this guy. I’ll take into account what they said, and prison is a moment in my life. But it’s not the defining moment.

As for believing my situation was terrible and getting worse —I considered the rock-bottom truth. Christ had gone to the Cross to pay for my sin, and I would have a happy ending if I sought God’s forgiveness —which I had. Romans 8:28 said God would work all things together for good. That was a happy ending too.

I’d also been forgetting the whole idea of grace. I’d been thinking, I’m a mess and don’t deserve God’s love; the scoreboard shows me as a total zero. Why would God want me? But His arms were open wide.

I knew that grace meant unmerited favor. There was no scoreboard for grace. I couldn’t win or lose God’s love. That was a really happy ending.

I needed a booster shot to stop the way I’d been thinking. Maybe the booster for me would be better information.

So when that day in August came, I woke up and thought, I’ve cried long enough. I’m tired of this, my family’s tired of this, my friends are tired of this. I need to turn a corner by feeding myself a thought that will help me stay upbeat, energetic, positive.

I came up with a plan.

If anyone asks me how I am today, I decided, I’m gonna say, “Never better.”

I couldn’t remember hearing the phrase anywhere; it just came to me as a positive thing to say.

If I say, “Never better” and they ask, “Why?” I’ll say, “This is my best day ever because I’ve decided it is, in Christ.”

And if they say, “That sounds crazy,” I’m gonna say, “Well, if you run into me tomorrow, tomorrow’s gonna be even better than today.”

I was ready to be happy. I thought this might jump-start the process. It just came to me: This is a good day to start being happier.

It seemed natural. Before prison my attitude had been pretty much 100 percent positive. But I’d felt buried alive for a long time.

The day had come to put things in the right perspective: “God’s in control, you’re His man, this all happened for good reasons, and you’ve learned your lessons. Quit browbeating yourself. Get up and have a good day.”

It was time to start stating the facts. And one fact was that, thanks to God’s work during my year or so on the bench, I was a more obedient person than I’d been before I’d gone to prison.

“Never better” was also a much shorter, sweeter answer than the ones I’d been giving.

Was it motivational hype? Maybe. But it was also mental food I needed to feed myself so I could heal.

Would it work? I was about to find out.

Good Medicine

An old adage says, “Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.”

Turns out it is true.

The first time I tried “Never better,” it seemed to make people smile. They said, “That’s good! I’m glad for you!” Or, “I wish I had that.”

Everybody seemed to think it was funny, especially family. But they liked it.

To my surprise, the underlying sadness disappeared quickly. In just a week I was doing . . . better.

Did I believe it when I started saying it? Not exactly. But soon it became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I found myself saying those two words over and over, to all kinds of people. Some said, “Wow, that’s a good response. What do you mean by that?” That led to further discussions.

I had heard many times as an athlete that you move in the direction of your self-talk, and you could never rise above your own words. Also, I had been coached that if you wanted your results to improve, you had to change your words. So “Never better” was helping me to do that.

But mainly it was medicine, designed to put me on the right track every day by focusing on God, the things of His Kingdom, and the fact that “Never better” was a good place to be.

This is my best day, I would think, and tomorrow’s going to be even better. Why? Because of what Christ did on the Cross, because of what He’s done in my life, and because I say so!

As I began to climb out of my version of The Hole, I realized more and more that nobody had been sitting around thinking about my problems as much as I had. Everybody had difficulties, and mine were no worse than anybody else’s.

“Never better” was starting to look like a profound shift in the healing part of my whole journey. With each passing day I grew more positive and excited as I fed myself better information. I had to stop wallowing in the method of sifting God had chosen for me. It was time to celebrate that I’d paid attention, that I hadn’t wasted my pain. With the help of friends and family, I was beginning to feel better.

Despite having God’s Spirit in me and knowing plenty of Scripture, I needed the “Never better” declaration to push me over the top. It was the tool I chose to remind myself, This is a good thing you just went through. These are good lessons you learned. Everybody else may think you’re crazy, but even though you can’t pay your bills, you’re in debt, you and Gari are driving two automobiles that barely function, and you’re selling everything in your house to make ends meet, you need to start expressing outwardly what you’re feeling inwardly —that it’s a good day.

This wasn’t “Fake it ’til you make it,” or “Smile more and you’ll feel happier,” or “Name it and claim it.” This was about counting my blessings and being more grateful for what I had.

It also gave me perspective. I focused on things that were better and deeper than before —marriage, family, friendships, and most of all, my relationship with Christ.

I found plenty of biblical support for the idea. For example, Philippians 2:5-7 (ESV) says: “Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.”

The idea of having the mind of Christ appealed to me. My mind had been cluttered with a mix of prison and pain and healing and “God’s in control” and “I must be a bad person.”

And 1 John 1:9 tells us: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” Having gone through that process, I should have known that I had a clean slate and been able to get past this. But I hadn’t managed to make it all fit together.

“Never better” helped me show outwardly what I was trying to become inside —a person who’d been forgiven. If we believe in Christ, I thought, we should all be “Never better” all the time.

“Never better” was working for me, so I kept it up.

My good friend Phil Irwin later described in writing how well things were going:

Although it took a few years of rebuilding his life, his finances, and his confidence, Bo became an ever-stronger Bo. I remember the day he said, “I’m tired of being sad.” He chose to be happy even under the sad circumstances he faced and was still living with. The answer to the everyday question of “How are you?” no matter how he really felt was and still is, “Never better!” Since then Bo has created incredible successes not only in his personal and family life but also in his business life. I’m more proud than ever to call Bo Mitchell a friend and brother for life.

Eventually saying “Never better” became as natural to me as breathing. I said it every day to everybody I greeted and still do. People started telling me, “I know what you’re going to say, but I’ll ask anyway.” And many of them said it back to me.

The phrase seemed to be an example of what Bobb Biehl called a “brain-brander.” It could be a Scripture, a short quote, or a phrase you memorized. When it popped into your brain it could encourage, teach, and inspire you. It was like the four-word instruction a baseball coach had once given me on swinging a bat: “Short, quick, and down.” Whenever I entered the batter’s box I would think of the words he’d branded on my brain.

In the same way, “Never better” flooded my mind with a thousand positive thoughts about what Christ had done for my family and me. It was a reminder that every day is a blessing from God and that Christ is ultimately victorious.

Did that mean I was immune to trouble or failure? No. But I knew that spending eternity with Jesus would be my final outcome!

I don’t know what might have happened if I hadn’t started saying “Never better.” Would I have stopped getting up, moving forward, going to work, being productive, and celebrating the lessons I’d learned from God? Maybe I would have chosen to feel sorry for myself and be crippled emotionally forever. Perhaps I would have been immobilized by anger, barely creeping through life.

“Never better” helped turn off that underlying sadness and move to the improved version of myself.

That phrase, and the message it delivered to me, brought to mind a verse in Exodus. Moses and the Israelites were shaking in their sandals, paralyzed at the water’s edge as the Egyptians closed in on them. “Then the Lord said to Moses, ‘Quit praying and get the people moving! Forward, march!’” (14:15, TLB).

It was time for them to get off the bench.

And now it was finally time for me to do the same.

Grace and Mercy

Soon I found my mental fuzziness and uncertainty fading. It was time to get our family on its feet financially. I continued my work with Doulos Ministries and the Anschutz Family Foundation but began to add a few helpful jobs in addition.

In 1995 the Furniture Row Companies hired me to speak to its employees about leadership, communication skills, teamwork, and similar subjects. It wasn’t a ministry, but it was a great job. For the next several years I did quite a bit of speaking, and there were years when I would have 125 speeches scheduled by January 1 for that calendar year alone.

For a long time Gari had been telling me, “You’re a really good public speaker.”

I’d think, That’s nice, but so what? It hadn’t helped our family much. All my speaking, like my fund-raising for ministries, had been volunteer work.

Now both were financially rewarding. It was affirming, too; my ex-convict status didn’t seem to stand in the way. The people who hired me and listened to me appeared to accept me. I worked for Furniture Row for 12 years.

It was something to be thankful for. So was what happened next.

We were still thousands of dollars in debt —and still refusing to declare bankruptcy because Gari and I didn’t believe that would be right for us.

About that time a friend named Ted Blank called me and said, “I want to help you and Gari get out of debt.” I didn’t know Ted very well but had always considered him a great guy and a good businessman. I was surprised he even knew we were in debt, and even more surprised he wanted to help us.

For the next few months Ted shared many investment opportunities with me, none of which appealed to me for various reasons. Then one day at lunch he showed me something that would change both of our financial lives forever.

There was an opportunity to buy a certain property —Mercy Hospital in Denver. Ironically, it was located only a few blocks from the halfway house I’d lived in before being released from prison.

As Ted and I tried to find a way to make the transaction work, I kept noticing the sign on the top of the facility. It didn’t say Mercy Hospital.

It just said Mercy.

That made it a constant reminder of what God had shown me —mercy as well as grace. I’d always been taught that grace was getting what you don’t deserve, and mercy is not getting what you do deserve.

I’d look at the Mercy sign and think, I hear your message, Lord! I hear it, and I’m finally beginning to understand!

It was also a reminder of the teaching that God was able and I wasn’t. Determined not to revert to old habits and think I was able, I worked as hard on the hospital deal as I’d worked on anything in my life, and Ted did the same. Yet I knew this wasn’t my doing; it was the Lord’s. He was reaching His hand out to us and giving us a gift.

Or at least He would be if the transaction worked out. It was a very unusual case.

Ted and I repeated many times to each other during the formative stages of the transaction that “God is in control and His timing is perfect.” It became our “go to” theme when things would get difficult. But for the most part, the deal came together beautifully because the Sisters of Charity, who owned the hospital, needed to move quickly so they could meet some important deadlines they were facing. Ted and I were willing to meet their needs to move fast, and in God’s mercy, we were able to purchase the hospital. We raised the necessary funds to complete the purchase in a way that was beneficial for the Sisters of Charity and for us. A true win for both sides of the transaction!

Many advisers from the medical field told us we stood to gain a greater profit if we held on to the hospital for a few years. Ted and I chose, however, to sell the property within one year at a fair price to the right buyer. Even after we split the proceeds, the transaction was the godsend that put our family back on its feet. I will forever be thankful to Ted for his friendship and hard work in making the Mercy deal available to us.

Gari and I were able to pay the taxes that we owed on our gain, make a generous gift to some local charities —including a 10 percent tithe and more —and then pay off all of our outstanding debt —and more, including the $2,000 that we’d received from the Sangster family during our darkest financial time.

When Verley received his check, he protested, “That wasn’t a loan!”

I said, “Well, this isn’t payback of a loan. Yours was a gift, and this is a gift.”

After all, God had given mercy to us.

The sale of Mercy Hospital also allowed us to repay family members and friends who’d helped us financially. Whenever I saw the Mercy sign after that, I was reminded that, from start to finish, the Blanks and the Mitchells had been blessed.

I thought, God is allowing me to put into practice the lessons I learned in prison, as well as the lessons I learned by doing business the wrong way in the past. I was glad to honor Him by trying to do it the right way.

It was the first time I’d really felt completely off the bench.

Good-bye Pine Time

For me, the end of pine time couldn’t just mean making business deals. It meant charitable and ministry ventures too. At least I hoped it would.

I wasn’t sure, though, whether people would accept that kind of leadership from an ex-con. Would they keep their distance, as some already had? Or would my post-prison experience be like Chuck Colson’s?

When Chuck ended up in prison after a high-profile post in the White House, his former career was toast. But God had called him to serve prisoners and then a whole nation. Chuck said that the real legacy of his life was his biggest failure —that he was an ex-convict. His great humiliation —being sent to prison —was the beginning of God’s greatest use of his life. His words inspired me!

So far I’d kept my ambitions pretty low. Frankly, when I was released from prison I thought I’d just mow lawns, drive an old car, and learn to be happy the rest of my life just trying to pay my bills and live.

I also knew I’d had a problem with pride when I’d tried ministry and charity work before. Besides trying too hard and doing everything in my own strength, I’d often thought my contribution was more complex and maybe more valuable than anyone else’s.

By allowing me to go to prison, the Lord had followed up big-time on James 4:6: “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.”

I didn’t want to get on the slope of pride again. Don’t get me wrong —I was proud of my kids, my marriage, and some things we’d accomplished. But that wasn’t pride in my contributions or myself. It was more of a team-oriented, body-of-Christ joy.

Did I still want to do well in everything? Yes. But partnerships and teamwork were much more important to me now. So was having a more reasonable pace. Christ’s pace had been marvelous, something to behold. He was never rushed, never followed the spotlight.

I wanted to be more like that. And I was about to get the chance.

In the summer of 1996 I got a call from a friend who introduced me to Dan Roberts. A singer and songwriter, Dan worked with a country music star. My friend said Dan had told him that this singer and his band were touring and had scheduled a stop in Denver. They wanted to play some baseball while they were in town. Was I up for that?

I said yes. I spent a few hours at Coors Field, chasing fly balls and helping Dan and the band get in some batting practice. It was fun, but I didn’t think much more about it.

Six months later Dan called again. He wanted to know if this music star could ask me some business questions.

“Sure,” I said.

So the star called our house, and I was able to help him with a contact he was seeking. Before long, we’d struck up a friendship and he told me he’d wanted to experience Major League Baseball because he loved the game.

A year later, when the famous singer was thinking about retiring from touring, I asked him to help me start a charity. “We could help some kids and you could get a taste of Major League Baseball at the same time,” I told him.

We began praying about it. Since 1979 Gari and I had wanted to start an organization that would raise money for other charities, and now we wondered whether this might be it.

It was. On January 7, 1999, we stood at a press conference at the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego and launched the Touch ’Em All Foundation. Soon we renamed it Teammates for Kids.

I served as president for seven years, and over the next decade we raised tens of millions of dollars. The Foundation’s activities involved more than 2,000 professional athletes as well as corporate sponsors. We also organized special events honoring the kids we helped, our donors, and our players. It was a blessing to see the foundation grow and help so many people.

It also felt peculiar to be running a national foundation for a famous singer, given my ex-convict status. But my ego had been so thoroughly squashed in prison that it allowed me to interact with some other big egos and not get swept up into it. I had set boundaries, and our staff and board members were all great people. With teamwork, the organization was very successful.

Still, I was careful to be up front about my past. When I had a chance to do business with someone as part of the foundation’s work, I’d give that person a copy of the Focus on the Family broadcast CD that contained the interview with Gari and me.

“Listen to this,” I’d say. “If you want to do business with us, you should know that the president and cofounder went to prison.”

That fact continued to make a difference to a few people, even at my uncle Waldo’s funeral in a small Oklahoma town. After saying hello to most of the people at the church, I felt blessed to see family members I hadn’t seen in years.

My happiness changed to sadness, though, when an elderly woman approached me and asked, “Aren’t you Margaret’s boy who wanted to be a minister but ended up going to prison instead?”

Not certain how to respond, I just said, “Yes, that’s me.” It was funny and sad all at the same time.

I thought, There it is again. I’ll never escape the ex-con label. Not even in little Cordell, Oklahoma —800 miles from home!

The New Me

In the spring of 2004, Chuck Colson called and said he was considering stepping aside and hiring a president for Prison Fellowship, located in Virginia, near Washington, D.C. He didn’t exactly offer me the job but asked whether I’d entertain the idea.

I didn’t quite say no, but I did express my doubts. By that time Gari and I were grandparents, and Gari liked living close to the kids.

When the call ended without resolving the issue, I did think about it.

On the one hand, it sounded like such a good opportunity. The old me, the one with the big ego, would have immediately said, “Sure. Let’s explore this together.” After all, here was an internationally famous guy asking me to consider leading his organization, rattling off complimentary reasons why he thought I could do a good job for him. I appreciated that.

But the new me couldn’t seem to entertain the idea. I said, “Chuck, God will have to make this awfully clear to me for me to even consider it —because this doesn’t feel like a fit.” After all, I was already the president of a national organization.

As we discussed the specifics of the job, I seemed to be passing the test. I liked that, too.

But perhaps the most powerful reason to pursue the position was the potential to turn my prison record into a plus. I thought, Here would be the best reason I’ve heard of for going to prison. I went because it prepared me to help Chuck at Prison Fellowship. When I thought about that, I started to cry. Taking that job would seem to publicly validate what our whole family had been through.

My main concerns were mostly family-oriented. My priorities were my wife, children, and grandchildren. Gari liked Colorado. And to be honest, life in Washington, D.C., wasn’t of great interest to me, either.

It took me only a few days to discuss this idea with my personal protection team and decide that the timing was not right for us. I thanked Chuck and felt good about the team process we’d gone through to make the decision.

Even though there was a new me, the past resurfaced a few years later when an article appeared in the Denver Post on October 21, 2008. Reading the headline “Nottingham Resigns Amid Probe” blasted loose an avalanche of memories and mixed feelings.

Judge Nottingham, of course, was the one who’d sentenced me to federal prison.

The article, written by Felisa Cardona, started this way: “A series of sexually charged allegations over the past year, including a recent claim by a prostitute that Chief U.S. District Judge Edward W. Nottingham Jr. had asked her to mislead judicial investigators about their weekly trysts, prompted Nottingham to resign his lifetime commission Tuesday.”[16]

According to the newspaper, Nottingham was being investigated for misconduct by Chief Judge Robert Henry of the 10th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals. This probably wasn’t the way Nottingham wanted to end his career.

In the weeks to come, several people called Gari and me, asking, “Do you feel vindicated?”

The answer was no. We felt bad for the guy. We didn’t celebrate that he’d made a mess of things.

Next came a call from Focus on the Family. A vice president from the fund-raising department came to see me. He wanted to know whether I’d emcee Focus donor events at The Broadmoor hotel in Colorado Springs. He said Dr. Dobson had requested I do that “from now on” because people liked me and appreciated my humor.

They also wanted Gari and me to give our testimonies at the events. That included the prison days.

We said yes.

When we spoke at those events, we’d say, “Bo went to prison, and we made it through stronger than ever because of Christ, our commitment to each other, and communication.”

When we were finished, people would open up and want to discuss the darker sides of their own lives —their marriages, their businesses. Gari and I would spend entire weekends consulting with people from all over the country who could identify with us. It was an honor.

Eventually Focus asked me to consult with the ministry’s fund-raising team. Their leadership was entrusting us with their donors, and their faith in us meant a great deal.

I had a similar feeling the day a man called me from Geneva College in Pennsylvania. The school wanted to give me an honorary doctorate.

I hesitated. Finally I asked, “Does your board know I’ve been to federal prison?”

“Yes,” he said. “That’s not why we’re giving you a doctoral degree. We’re giving it to you for all the great things you’ve done in your life. We’re aware of your legal history, but that’s not a consideration.”

His answer made me feel welcomed, humbled, and celebrated all at the same time. I knew now that the Lord was responsible for anything worthwhile I’d been involved in, but it still felt good. Once I’d thought prison had wiped out anything decent I’d ever done, but I was glad to be proven wrong.

From Gray to White

One day we received a phone call from a surprising source: the White House. As best I can recall, this wasn’t long after George W. Bush took office in 2001.

Matt, a social secretary at the White House, called to ask whether Gari and I could come to a meeting about faith-based initiatives.

I suspected it was a mistake. “Hey,” I said. “Have you looked up my past in your computer lately?”

There was a pause as he checked my record.

“Oh,” he said, sounding a little embarrassed. “I forgot you went to prison.”

That didn’t bother me. In fact, it made me feel good that he’d forgotten. For so long I’d assumed “went to prison” was all anybody thought about me.

His voice was kind as he asked another question. “Would you wait for the next invitation?”

That was okay with me.

I didn’t know whether we’d ever receive another, but we did. In 2002 First Lady Laura Bush threw a 60-couple Valentine’s Day party for the president, and we were invited.

I had to admit it was fun. I was thinking, We’re accepted again and we’re welcome at the White House! The government that made us feel unwelcome by sentencing me to prison is now making us feel more than welcome. Another whisper from God!

By God’s grace I’d gone from the Gray-Bar Hotel to the White House. We didn’t know who had put us on the guest list or why, but it was an honor.

Another invitation came when Teammates for Kids raised money for Little League’s Challenger Division, a program for kids with physical and mental disabilities. Gari and I were invited to attend the league’s baseball game on the South Lawn of the White House.

President Bush was there, watching the game. I knew he was a baseball fan; after all, he’d been a part owner of the Texas Rangers team. When I had a chance to talk with him, I was amazed to learn that when the president was a little boy he’d met my father. He knew all about my dad and his baseball career. He knew his career batting average and all about the strikeout to end the perfect game. The president even told me my dad was one of his childhood heroes!

More Ministry

Things continued to improve for us. To centralize and better organize the various ministries I was involved with, in 2005 I formed Crosswalk Fellowship. It started with Bible studies and special events, and eventually gave birth to several other ministries that functioned under the Crosswalk umbrella.

One of the first was Game Day Memories, which purchases tickets for sporting events in 15 stadiums and arenas around the country and distributes the tickets at no charge to families with children who have special needs.

In many cases, the parents of these kids have been round-the-clock caregivers since the day their children were born. Game Day Memories allows them to enjoy a few hours “off the clock.”

Crosswalk Fellowship has also helped two churches purchase buildings for their congregations. The building our ministry owned from 2010 to 2014, called Crosswalk Center, housed a messianic Jewish congregation, a Korean church, a Russian church, a Scottish church, and a Pakistani church all at the same 75,000-square-foot facility. Talk about a ministry center! We had it covered.

Susie Hayes has provided the directional leadership for Crosswalk Fellowship as its president and Mark Klibbe, Jayne Conant, and Gari complete our small staff. Together we serve a lot of people and have grown into a successful ministry. Bob Beltz and I even reentered the radio business with a weekly show called You Get the Blessing. We interview people in ministry, allowing them to share their faith in Christ and any need their organizations might have. My job as cohost is easy since I still consider Bob the smartest man in the world!

The support and friendship of the Crosswalk Fellowship staff, board members, and participants has been extremely affirming to Gari and me. God has continued to show me that He can, in fact, make use of me. Especially the new and transformed version of me!

Free at Last

Finally, there was a call in 2012 from the Colorado Rockies baseball organization —and a job offer. Fifty-six years prior to the phone call, I had watched my dad strike out to end the only perfect game pitched in World Series history. I’d seen my dad deal with that famous 1956 strikeout with class and dignity. He did not let it slow him down for long.

With God’s help, I hadn’t let my strikeout stop me for long, either —but I did let it change me.

Now I was entering the Rockies clubhouse as a consultant to help improve an already great culture. I was told to report at 10:00 a.m., January 6, to start my new job. That sounded familiar. Exactly 20 years before, at the exact time of day, I had self-committed to federal prison. Showing up for this appointment was definitely more gratifying. Yet my personal strikeout had taught me many lessons that prepared me for this job.

I’ll never be the man I was before I went to prison, and I never want to be. I say “no” frequently to requests for my time. I’m not reckless, and when my life gets too busy with too many strings attached to me, I readjust and change.

The Lord taught me how to be free in Him.

He also taught my family a few lessons while I was incarcerated.

One day, several years after my release, Andy interviewed Ashley about the experience on a local radio program he hosted. Here’s a portion of what Ashley shared:

I look at our lives and how much they’ve changed for the better. Like you said, we were on cruise control. It did seem like everything was perfect, like everything just came to us and worked out, and then all of a sudden, bang! Everything hit. I’m so glad, because I don’t want to be the kind of Christian who’s on cruise control. I want to be shaken. I want the Lord to say, Listen, you guys are strong and I need you to wake up so that you can see there are other people out here who are in prison, other people who are sick. So not only did our family become closer and Dad and I became friends, it got us ready to go out in the world more and say, “I’m going to show you who I am. I’m opening up my heart. I’m not perfect; in fact, I’m very far from perfect. This is what I’ve been through.”

And because Andy had also experienced God’s care during that time, he shared this:

Keep in mind that the Lord has your interests and your goals and your biggest dreams in mind every day of your life. It may not seem that way, but He always does. He’ll always take care of you, and He’ll always see you through.

It was clear that our kids were learning lessons too. Gari remembered the message God gave to her as I was sentenced to prison: “This will be the salvation of your children.” Was this what God had meant?

The trials changed everyone in our family, including Gari.

She’ll tell you that she developed a deeper faith —partly because of my imprisonment and partly because of her illness.

Beginning in the late 1990s, Gari finally recovered enough to resume more of her life. In 1997 Gari and I started a couples’ group called the Colorado Council for the National Day of Prayer. This group helps support the National Day of Prayer Task Force with finances and other resources. The great friends Gari made there and in other groups have been wonderful for her after so many years of being isolated because of her illness.

In 2000 Gari was asked to serve as a Mothers of Preschoolers mentor at Cherry Hills Community Church and served in that position for 10 years, and she also works with inner-city ministries.

“With all the things I’ve become part of, my life is healthy and fulfilled,” she says. “I’m not fully recovered; I think that will come about in heaven. But I’m so very grateful for all I have,” she says. “So did God bring us to the place of abundance He promised me the first night Bo was in prison (Psalm 66:10-12)? I don’t know what your definition of abundance is. But for me, it’s what our lives are today.”

For you, O God, tested us;

you refined us like silver.

You brought us into prison

and laid burdens on our backs.

You let men ride over our heads;

we went through fire and water,

but you brought us to a place of abundance.

PSALM 66:10-12

All the new opportunities and Gari’s improved health were tremendous blessings, but the best by far was our growing family.

When our daughter, Ashley, married Andy Larson, and our son, Andy, married Dana Evans, it was like life was starting all over again.

And now that we have four beautiful grandchildren, Gari and I feel God has blessed us beyond belief. When the grandkids are all together, it is an endless time of laughter and joy.

When my grandson, Mitchell, and I play catch, I remember my days as a boy when my dad called me his “running mate.”

At those times I can almost hear snatches of a hit song from the early ’60s, sung by Paul Petersen. It was called “My Dad”:

When I was small I felt 10 feet tall

When I walked by his side

And everyone would say, “That’s his son,”

My heart would burst with pride . . .[17]

I’d loved my father. I tried to please him, but sometimes I tried too hard.

I’d done the same thing with my heavenly Father —with similar results.

All that effort, all that pain. All those tears.

It had taken a prison sentence to show me that self-effort and accomplishments would never be enough.

And that, thanks to God’s grace, they never had to be.

At long last, I was finally free.