A story from Pastor G. William Harding (now in his reward).

My brother Jim is an example of how Satan destroys and takes away the innocence of our young people. Jim was six years older than me. When he was nine months old, he developed pneumonia in both lungs. The doctors said he only had the space of a dime in them to produce enough air to sustain life. This lack of oxygen destroyed some of his brain cells, and he was never right in his mind after that. He needed constant help, but he didn’t get it at home. Our parents didn’t know how to take care of him. He needed professional help, guidance to deal with daily life, and special love and instruction.
Jim tried to defend himself from the bigger boys who picked on him. I defended him even though I was much smaller than those mistreating him. I beat some of those hecklers with a club until I didn’t have any club left. I thought it was the right thing to do. Jim didn’t want to hurt anybody; he wasn’t mean. But I was. We grew up in an alcoholic’s home. Things happened there that I wouldn’t even want to tell—shameful things that no child should ever see or experience.
As soon as Jim was old enough to taste beer, he started drinking it. I watched alcohol take him from a healthy, robust young man to someone whose body and mind were destroyed. He wouldn’t work or provide for himself, so he stole and even sold his own blood to buy more alcohol. One time, he called and said there wasn’t anything to eat where he was staying, so he found some dry dog food and was eating that, drinking water just to fill his stomach.
My wife [Sis. Margaret Harding] and I felt sorry for him. He would visit us about once a year, and he hadn’t bathed in all that time. He was small, about the size of one of our younger boys, so we’d have him take a bath and give him some of our son’s clothes. Jim had once been so strong, but over the years, we watched as alcohol destroyed his body and mind.
At times, we took him into our home. We prayed with him, took him to church, and even enrolled him in rehabilitation programs. For a while, he’d seem to turn a corner, but then his mind would drift back to the alcohol, and away he’d go. My wife would tell him, "Jim, at least call us collect once a month, so we know you’re alright."
Sometimes, he’d call, angry, and ask why we didn’t reach out to check on him. I’d tell him, "A beer bottle doesn’t have a telephone on it." I was angry, too. I told him he traded his family for a beer bottle, but deep down, I knew it was Satan taking advantage of him. One time, he called, drunk, and told me he was going to kill himself because nobody loved him. I said, "Jim, I love you." He didn’t believe me. He told me he was going to jump off a bridge. I told him, "Go ahead and jump." He was shocked. He said, "I knew you didn’t love me." I said, "Jim, you can swim." He paused and said, "I can, can’t I?" We both laughed. He was drunk.
My wife was so faithful in trying to help Jim. One year, around Thanksgiving, we hadn’t heard from him in two years. My wife started calling police departments and Salvation Army organizations in other states, trying to locate him. We didn’t even know if he was still alive. He was a real character. One time, he got run over while lying in an alley, waiting for a soup kitchen to open. He ended up in surgery with a rod in his leg.
One day, we got a call from Cleveland, Ohio. A woman asked if we knew Jim Bebout. She said he came into the Doughnut Hole where she worked every day for a free cup of coffee. She felt sorry for him and even helped him get an ID card after he lost his. She wanted to know if he had family because it was the holidays. Jim told her his brother was a pastor in Mount Vernon, Ohio, so she found our number and called. Jim had thought our phone number had changed because the area codes had.
Jim was 65 years old. He had been living this way all his life, ever since he started drinking as a boy. The devil had taken hold of his mind. My wife found out when Jim would be at the Doughnut Hole the next morning and called to speak with him. She could hear him asking, "Who would be calling me?" The first thing he said when he got on the phone was, "Marg, I want to come home." He sounded so pitiful. The devil doesn’t care. Like the prodigal son, the devil had misused and abused him, and all Jim wanted was to go home, where he knew he’d be loved.
We double-parked in front of the Doughnut Hole, and my wife got out to find Jim. There he was, a 65-year-old bum living on the street, squinting to see if it was us because he couldn’t see very well anymore. My wife was dressed up, and people were all around, watching through the window. Jim asked, "Is it you, Marg? Is it really you?" She said, "Yes, Jim, it’s me." And right there, she embraced him—this bum, this drunk—hugging him on the street. People passing by must have wondered, but it was like the father embracing the prodigal son.
We brought Jim back to Mount Vernon, and within days, we got him into an apartment where he lived out the rest of his days. Over the years, I watched how the devil destroyed Jim, taking advantage of his already fragile mind from childhood. The devil didn’t care.
Don’t even think about serving the devil. Don’t even consider doing things you know God isn’t pleased with. You’ll get burned, badly. Satan is trying to destroy us. We can fool others into thinking we’re fine, but God knows our hearts.
God wants to help us, to lead us to a better place. We, as Christians, can let the good things of Christ slip away if we’re not careful. All you have to do is—nothing. You and I can get caught up in secret sins, but God doesn’t want us to be held captive by Satan. You hear God’s voice calling to you because He’s faithful to our souls. We’re fighting spiritual battles, like the eighth beast mentioned in Revelation, and those spirits are at work even now.
God doesn’t want anyone to perish. He didn’t want my brother to die in sin. While Jim was in the hospital, close to death, different family members prayed with him. After all the years of praying and showing our love for him, we can only hope that Jim got his heart right with God. If he did, it was only by God’s mercy because Jim’s mind wasn’t clear, both from his childhood illness and from the years of alcohol abuse.
The contrast to this account is that Pastor G. William Harding was raised in the same home, the same way, by the same people. He chose to turn his life over to God, and God helped him rise above the unspeakable filth of his childhood. We all have a choice: “Choose you this day whom you will serve!” You are the only one who can make that choice and the only one responsible for your future. One brother became an alcoholic on the street, the other a minister helping those in need. Both made a choice. What will your choice be? Will you serve Satan in the gutter, or will you turn to the freedom that is only found in Jesus Christ?
I was there when Jim was brought home from Cleveland. Actually, it was the first time I met him. What a sight! But if anyone was allowed the opportunity for salvation, he was. I saw the love and care his brother and sister in law gave him. The 2 brothers were truly a picture of contrast between how God can change a life for good and Satan can destroy one. So thankful we are presented with the choice and are able to find true freedom if we want it!