I recall driving away from my home on the evening of July 4th and being mesmerized by the pyrotechnics in the night sky above my beloved home town of Waco.

As I crossed the bridge over the Brazos River I took in all of the sights: the glow of downtown, the reflection on the water of exploding fireworks, and the throng of people who had gathered for the evening's spectacle. I also noticed, in the darkness of the water on the river, what appeared to be hundreds of floating lights -- they were everywhere, and from my vantage point on the bridge, I couldn't quite make out what they were. As my eyes adjusted, though, I noticed they were lights from what appeared to be dozens upon dozens of small boats, which had undoubtedly sailed over from Lake Waco to witness the firework celebration over the river while floating on the river itself. The lights, the people, the celebration -- it all smacked of joy.

Less than a week prior I had failed the most important polygraph I had ever taken. I didn't just fail, I apparently failed miserably. The polygrapher subsequently accused me of the most heinous of crimes as he grilled me to "come clean" and to "quite bull *****ing" him. He threw out the name of my county's top prosecutor, and told me I was about to become intimately acquainted with that person. He kept insisting that I tell the truth, grinding and grinding at me like a burr mill. I was horrified and, strangely, almost amused. You see, I had told the truth, but his faith in his machine made him sure that I was lying. All I could really lucidly think of at that point was my children, wondering if I would ever see them again.

I had anticipated passing that polygraph with no problems and being reunited with my children within a few short days. The failed "test" stomped on that dream like a roach underfoot, and I was left with the most uncertainty I had ever felt in my life.

I had no fear of the truth, though; by God's grace I had no fear. When I lived my double life (years prior) I guarded everything in my life with intensity. I didn't want anyone to rummage through my wallet, my cell phone calls, my text messages, my vehicle, my computer records, or my bank transactions, and I made darn sure that those items were kept safe from prying eyes. Since January 2008 -- that blessed month of severe mercy -- I couldn't care less if someone wanted to go through my records with a fine-tooth comb, and in the case of the authorities in my life, I wish they would be so thorough. How true I found these proverbial words to be: "The wicked flee when no one pursues, but the righteous are bold as a lion" (Proverbs 28:1).

On that night of July 4th, seeing the fireworks, the lights, and the people filled me with a sense of joy and hope. I had no idea what the authorities were going to try to do to me, but I knew that my family and I belonged to JESUS, and that ultimately nothing else mattered. As my dearly loved friend has said, the Gospel is the antidote to everything, and it was the Gospel of the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ that filled my uncertain future with the hope of an eternal weight of glory (see 2 Cor. 4:6).

As I once again saw explosive lights of celebration just two nights ago, I was yet again filled with hope. Yes, I'm still without the ones that I love, but I can still hear my rabbi say, "My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness" (2 Cor. 12:9).