As I mentioned yesterday, Mr. Gilbert Steele has been sending my husband articles of his personal experiences that I will be sharing with you, my readers. I sincerely hope that you enjoy reading Mr. Gilbert’s stories.

All the best, Jackie Schenone

The Day Gilbert Gave his Life to Jesus Christ the Son of God

I was working with an old Navy man who was an electrician then and now. He treated me well, and he would explain a political situation I got myself into. As the years went by, he became a Christian.

I always felt our conversation was more high tech than I had with anybody else. Then he became an ordained minister. You might say the conversation was talking about high stakes in our relationship with the Lord. We were always at the point of losing our lives — that is, hanging from the side wall working on a fan, standing on very hot bricks that are part of an electric furnace roof. You might say the job had real physical pain to it. I firmly understood what salvation was all about.

I had this ongoing struggle for over six months. It was the weekend and I was in my garage working on my van. I decided I needed a hole in the floor of the van for the window water system. I had a long steel pin and a 3 lb. hammer. I was driving the pin through the car floor and missed. I hit my left hand with that small sledgehammer as hard as I could. I firmly hit the first and second knuckles and by the way my stomach rolled over I thought I’d broken my knuckles. I’ve been a maintenance man long enough to know I had about two minutes before I passed out.

I got away from the van and sat in the chair, leaning on the table. My first thought was “This is a good place to pass out. I have been here before.”

As bad as my hand hurt I thought about the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. I said the to Lord, “My mental pain is so much greater than my physical pain in my hand; I would like to deal with that now, Lord. I give you my life, for whatever you can do with it.”

I just quit.

“Now at this time looking at my life, Lord, I wish you the best of luck.” By now, I realized I did not pass out, and looked at my hand. I opened and shut it, wiggled my fingers, and opened and shut my hand over again and wondered why it wasn’t broken. I answered the altar call at church to profess my faith in Christ.

When I look back on this, I wonder if the Lord just didn’t heal my hand.

By Gilbert Steele ©
1966 – 1967