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Subtle reminders of faith are everywhere at the ranch, even on the side of a chicken pen, where 'God Bless' is scrawled.
During his last praise-and-worship session as a student, Ray
raises his hand in praise while singing with the brothers at the
ranch. The men have to attend daily services at the chapel.
Raymond Johnson doesn't know what to do in the spring, when three fellow students and staff members 'fall,' or go back to using drugs. He came to New Life for Youth in Spotsylvania County to get away from the crack cocaine that almost ruined him, and hadn't counted on drugs following him there.
Ray begins to feel he's found favor with God. He talks with a friend in September to tell him he's thrilled about how things went in court. He had driven without a license and could have been jailed for various charges, but was fined instead.
As a staff member, Ray often searched the dorm for items men weren't supposed to have, such as chocolate, cigarettes or nighttime medicine with alcohol.
Isaiah Presley looks over Ray's shoulder as Ray checks the brother's urine test, which turned out negative. Ray often gave random tests to those who spent the day away from the ranch.
One of the hardest parts of the New Life program is being away from family for a year. Ray's son, Javan, came from Maryland to see his dad several times, including this visit at Easter.
After finishing his 12 months as a student at New Life for Youth, Ray heads out, with Bible in hand, for a week's worth of visits with friends and family in Forestville, Md.
Ray quickly made prayer a part of his life after his conversion to Christianity. He gave thanks for the food, when he worked in the kitchen and served lunch, and prayed whenever he and others left the ranch. |
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THE SERIES Day 1: Seeking New Life Day 2: Dealing with Old Habits |
“Trouble’s in my way,
“Trouble’s in my way, now.
“Gotta fast and pray,
“I gotta fast and pray, now.”
New Life needed a lot of prayers this spring. Three men the students admired “fell,” and went back to using drugs. Two of them stole money and vehicles from the program.
The “brothers,” as the students call themselves, were shocked by the actions of those who’d led their worship and Bible classes.
Chaos spread throughout the Spotsylvania facility called “the ranch,” and one brother who’d been in prison said it was as bad as a jail riot.
Raymond Johnson didn’t know what to do. The Maryland man came to New Life in October 2002, after drugs cost him his job and almost ruined his family, and he quickly converted.
Three days into the program, he heard a voice tell him he’d be OK. The 35-year-old seemed instantly certain of his convictions—and that he wouldn’t go back to crack or cognac.
He hadn’t sampled an apple martini or bottle of Warsteiner, a German beer he loved, when he visited his family in May. He said he abstained, because even if people at New Life didn’t know about it, God would.
But Ray hadn’t counted on finding drugs at the same refuge where he’d found such peace and clarity. He wanted to get as far away from New Life and the area called Beaverdam as he could.
Then Ray realized his recovery was about him and his actions, not all the “crap” going on around him. Brothers regularly became wrapped up in what others did or said or what kind of punishment someone else got. That’s how it was when 35 or 40 men lived under the same roof and shared a bathroom.
But Ray had made a deal with God to stay at New Life for 12 months and decided to stick to that commitment. He wouldn’t just do his time at New Life; he’d make it his mission to bring as many men there as he could.
Ray began to consider what happened to those who “fell” as unfortunate aspects of the ministry.
Not everybody makes it.
New Life officials estimate that a third of those who show up at the ranch will stay the whole year.
Of those who graduate, six out of 10 will probably remain drug-free, according to New Life.
The Christian program’s success rate with substance-abusers is similar to national trends. Users typically fall into one of three categories, according to Fredericksburg counselors.
A third of those who seek treatment get better—and stay better. Like Ray, they’re ready to change.
“This kind of guy takes to treatment like a duck takes to water,” said Ronald Smith, director of Substance Abuse Consulting Services in Fredericksburg. “If a counselor says to come twice a week, this guy wants to come three times. He’s motivated.”
A third have occasional relapses, but view them as learning experiences, Smith said.
A third never get any better.
“Blame it on genetics, family, social situations, undiagnosed mental or physical problems,” said Dwight McCall at the Rappahannock Area Community Services Board.
New Lifers don’t blame anyone or ridicule a student when he has a relapse—or worse.
When a graduate died of a drug overdose in December 2002, former assistant director Jesse Gines stood up in front of the brothers and told them that graduation doesn’t guarantee success.
“It’s a tragic scene, and it’s not for us to judge, but we gotta pray for his wife and children,” Gines told them.
New Life does surround its students with those who’ve been through the same experiences. Three-fourths of paid staffers in various New Life operations came through the program.
Graduates who’ve gone on to other ministries or jobs also come back to share their success stories. Gilbert Coleman, a Caroline County native who left the ranch in 1996, came every Tuesday to talk to the men until he died of leukemia in May.
During a February session, he looked around the circle of students and counted five men who hadn’t been there the previous Tuesday. Gilbert told the men what temptations to expect, out in the real world, and tips they could use to stay clean.
“If you have a problem with sexual morality or violence, keep the movies to PG–13,” he said. “Don’t watch music videos if you can’t handle the street culture.”
One of the newcomers looked at Gilbert like he was speaking Swahili when he said discipline was the best thing for them.
Ray certainly believed in it—and had the chance to dole it out in June, when duties changed at the ranch.
Walter Little, a 2002 graduate studying for the ministry, came back to the ranch to help restore order. He led the daily Bible classes, and Ray took over office duties.
Ray began to make dozens of decisions daily: who went out on work crews, how much gas to put in the vans and what kind of punishment to give.
Ray didn’t agree with people in similar ministries, who let men keep smoking after they’d given up harder drugs.
Cigarettes were against the rules at the ranch, and when Ray caught someone reeking of cologne, he made him do the “blow test,” as Director Roy Rivera taught him.
The man held a pencil in front of his face and blew it enough to make it move. If the smell of smoke was in the air, he was punished.
If someone looked suspicious, Ray gave him a “piss test” to check for drugs. He looked over the brother’s shoulder as he gave his specimen because Ray, like other former drug-users, knew there were ways to beat the system.
A former teacher who “fell” and spread crack throughout the ranch knew one of them. He drank a lethal combination of bleach and orange juice to camouflage his drugs.
Ray made smokers run around the ranch for at least an hour and stayed on the men to keep their faces shaved, their rooms cleaned and to wear a collared shirt to chapel.
His transformation from student to leader was physical and mental. He didn’t play as much basketball with the guys as he’d done at first, and sitting behind a desk all day caught up with him.
Ray put on the pounds, and a fellow student printed a certificate, recognizing how quickly he reached the 300-pound club.
Ray laughed about the joke and stayed calm when he had to be the bad guy. He didn’t get in anybody’s face, the way a drill sergeant might, but made it clear he’d give them more if they didn’t listen.
He made rule-breakers push a mower from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. and eat grits for breakfast, peanut butter and jelly for lunch and nothing for dinner until the work was done.
His tough-love approach didn’t win him any popularity contests. Brother David, a Mechanicsville man who got hooked on pain-killers, said the men didn’t always know how to take him because they didn’t realize he was doing what was best for them.
But even those who had gone back to drugs recognized Ray’s work at the ranch. Brother Mark, the former teacher, wrote a letter from his jail cell to Ray in July and told him that he was doing “the highest calling known to man.”
“You work to bring men into a personal growing relationship with the only true God and Saviour Jesus Christ. No paying job will ever be more prestigious.”
Ray enjoyed being the intake coordinator at the ranch. He dealt with people as desperate to find a program for their loved ones as his family had been.
He often talked on the phone for 40 or 50 minutes at a time—at all hours—about what the program offered and how it helped him.
“No, it’s not a cult or a bunch of religious fanatics,” he told a male caller in July. He talked in a matter-of-fact tone, not like an evangelist speaking from the pulpit. “We’re just on fire for Jesus.”
As Ray’s time at the ranch ticked away, he felt he had found favor with God, “for some reason,” and wasn’t about to jinx it. His family had forgiven him, and things were great between him and his 9-year-old son.
Javan had visited him at the ranch in July, and the other men called the boy “Little Ray” when he walked around with the TV remote or PlayStation controls.
Ray called him “Pop,” a nickname Javan got at birth, when the only hair he had was on the sides of his head. He looked like Grandpa on the TV show, “The Munsters.”
Javan was anxious for his father to finish his year at New Life. He wanted to go fishing and out to dinner or back to Paramount’s Kings Dominion, like they did in July. Ray kept the picture of the two of them taken there, with the words “Perfect Angels” in the background, on his office desk.
But Ray felt like God was leading him in other directions. The director had asked Ray if he would give another year to the ministry, and Ray wrestled with that prospect.
He was ready to go home, to raise his son and to be a blessing to his family after being a burden for so long.
His mother and siblings and the girlfriend he’d met at New Life church told him to seek God’s will.
A brother from the ranch—one of the men Ray was always badgering about the rules—asked him to stay. Brother Matt said that even though a lot of the brothers didn’t like Ray, they knew he brought reverence and discipline.
Javan was the only one with a different opinion. He asked his dad to come home.
“My son is trippin’” Ray said in October. “I tell him I just want to serve God and he’s like, ‘But you can serve God here, Daddy,’”
So, Ray prayed about it.
When he asked God what footsteps he should take, he thought about going home and was filled with so much dread, he thought he was having an anxiety attack.
Then he brought up staying another six months at the ranch, and a peace came over him. “I was like, all right, man, I hear ya.”
Ray committed to his plan to stay another half-year, just as he’d done the first time he heard “the voice.”
The only bad part was breaking the news to his son.
Javan didn’t take it well, and Ray questioned, once more, if he was doing the right thing.
He and Javan talked about it in late October, when Ray spent a week with his family. He took Javan trick-or-treating, as promised, and told him he needed to be at the ranch more than at home during “this season” of his life.
He also told Javan that the extra time he spent there would make him a better father, that he’d be able to keep all his promises now that God was in his life and drugs weren’t.
The 9-year-old could understand that. Promises are their “big thing now,” his father said, and after a year at New Life for Youth, Raymond Johnson is determined to keep his—to his son, his family and his God.
To reach CATHY DYSON:
540/374-5425
cdyson@freelancestar.com
