How I Found Jesus. Then Lost Him. From Hair Wreckage to Happiness

The Story of How I Lost Jesus After He Wrecked My Hair, and How I Found True Happiness (With Messy Hair)

Spoiler Alert! This story has a happy ending for me (from my perspective anyway).

But to others (those with faith, religion or other), it may seem like a sad ending. An unfortunate ending. An ‘avoidable tragedy’ or simply a situation where it’s not an ending at all and there is still hope for change. For those, I know you’ll pray for me, and I’m grateful.

Whatever the ending is to you, I accept and respect that. But please remember that to me, it’s still a happy one.

My Upbringing

I grew up in a questionably Catholic family in Sydney Australia.

I say questionably Catholic because the only church visits we ever made were annually on Christmas Day, and then any ad hoc Weddings or Funerals. We didn’t have any church paraphernalia around the house, nor did we say grace.

My father often used the Lord's name in vain whenever he stubbed his toe or cracked his head on a tree branch or the like. There was no stigma or shame with that in our house, there were no guilt trips using God as a crutch, and there were no religiously forced confessions or religious agenda. And I loved it.

Basically, anything to do with God or religion was simply white noise in the background of our lives, and this was fine with me and all of us.

But then came junior high school, and I was sent to St. Augustine’s College, a Catholic School.

The religious aspect was there, but it was light. It was a great school, and I have nothing but good memories.

Nice uniforms, great guys, and fairly good teachers who were mostly full-time priests as well.

Like all schools, some teachers were great, some were not.

In 1985, when I was around 16 years old, my eldest sister introduced me to the Christian City Church located in our local area. This was during a period when Mega Churches were experiencing a significant surge in popularity in the United States, and the trend had also gained traction in Australia.

The first time I entered the Christian City Church, I was struck by the overwhelming energy and enthusiasm of the congregation.

The music was so powerful and enticing and put everyone into a trance-like state. The congregation was full of joy and welcoming warmth. The atmosphere was electric with an unwavering wavering of hands up in the air devotion to the Holy Ghost. That first experience left an indelible impression on me that I will always remember.

I was hooked. Hooked on the pure ‘show’ that it was.

But alas, that’s all it was. A show… I knew that deep down but didn’t really care. It was too awesome for this teenager and besides, there were some really pretty girls there all wanting to talk to me in the spirit of the spirit.

Coming from an all-boys Catholic school, I look back now and can see what the real motivation for attendance was!

I even brought some of my friends to the church and had them “saved”. We sang we prayed, and we spoke in tongues.

I met a girl, fell in love and had a bunch of great friends. Good times in the late ’80s! Who would not love this? Who would want to leave this?

Not me. I’m here for life!

Fast forward 10 years

I’ve been living in Japan for about 4 years by this time and loving it at the same levels as I had done when I discovered the church.

Contrary to what you may think, the Japanese aren’t religious people. Japanese society was handed down a mix of Buddhism, Shintoism and Confucianism from Korea and China over the centuries.

And when I say mixed, I don’t mean that some are Buddhist, some are Shinto, and some are Confusion. I mean, many of them simultaneously carry all three. Now that’s some diversity!

So, whilst each of these three disciplines is a separately registered religion, the similarities are that the followers don’t worship an omnipresent deity. They are more philosophies than a Religion with a god to praise.

But whilst they are not religious people, they are Spiritual, and that’s very different.

This means Japanese are ‘religion-neutral’. Japan, is therefore a ‘Religious Switzerland’.

And that suited me to a T.

Without the constant talk of Jesus around me that I had been exposed to in Australia, I began to return to my roots as a child with my family, with those roots being ‘questionably religious’, and I felt the neutrality and comfort of my home environment again.

As time went by, I continued the decline or ‘backslide’ as my Christian City friends back home would playfully say when they admit they haven’t been giving the lord time, and went from Religious-neutral to a little ‘Religious-negative’ I had a Jesus deficit in my heart and thoughts and inklings of disbelief.

But I suppressed those feelings less to be punished by the wrath of god!

Besides, I didn’t really have a bone to pick with him, so what was the point of mentally water-boarding myself with such thoughts?

I was working at the Intercontinental Hotel in Yokohama at the time. A gorgeous hotel, a gorgeous area, and situated right on the water of a reclaimed land area called ‘Minato Mirai 21’ Or Future Port 21st century.

Working the front desk of the hotel, my Japanese was good enough by then to handle most customer situations and I loved what I did. The working shifts were long, and the pay wasn’t great. It truly was ‘for the love of service’ that one chooses to work in such an establishment.

As it happens, Japan is subject to the occasional typhoon, and one evening we had a doozy coming. I was working a night shift and by morning, we were in the thick of it. The hotel was fully booked that next day so we were expecting a lot of check-outs. But we had customers calling down simply telling us “I’m not going anywhere”. Fair enough!

I finished my shift, and it was time to go, but the trees outside were bending from the winds, the rain was relentless and my colleagues also finishing their shifts were resigning themselves to put their heads down on the staff cafeteria tables to get some sleep and wait it out. They did not want to venture outside! They had grown up with this and knew better. I did not.

So, I had different plans. I was going home! A train ride of 30 mins away, I was too tired to try and sleep in the cafeteria. But I was also too naïve. I was too inexperienced in the country, I was too young, and I was too dumb.

Telling my colleagues that I’d “see you tomorrow” led to disbelief. Unlike me at the time, they were not dumb. But they were dumbfounded by the fact that I was about to walk outside in all that!

“Martin-san, are you crazy? There’s a typhoon outside!!”

“I’ll be fine I said” Although later I wished I had heeded their words.

I didn’t even bother getting my umbrella out. There was no point as it would be futile. It would be inside-out in an instant.

I walked outside the staff entrance and immediately felt the energy in the air. Wind howling, torrential rain pelting down… I don’t even know if the trains were running, but I didn’t care because I had made up my mind and I was going! Too stubborn to think otherwise, too tired to be rational about it. I just wanted to get home to my warm bed and sleep.

And no sooner did I step outside the cover of the building and into the street, I was hit with it. Like a tonne of bricks from my back, I instinctively crouched down into a ‘Spiderman-just-landed-on-the-ground’ position.

I held for as long as I could. But the typhoon winds were just too strong and I knew it. I was too tired and too weak and I kind of just ‘let go’. Thinking I’ll let myself roll into the fence about 5 meters in front of me, I should be fine.

I prayed. I asked Jesus, God for help. I hadn’t spoken to him for a while so surely, he’d be excited to hear from me, right?

I let go.

But I didn’t roll. I flew. I literally flew in the air and came crashing into the steel fence.

Boom! I hit it pretty hard.

If that was God answering me, it wasn’t a, “Yes Martin, how can I help?”

It was more of a, “YES?? MARTIN?????? WHERE THE F**K HAVE YOU BEEN????

Message received!

My adrenaline was running high, I didn’t feel a thing, although I heard a crack. Now I was stuck on the ground outside between the fence and the building, and exposed to the typhoon wind. To where would I ‘roll’ now?

I waited a moment, there was a slight break in the wind, and I did a commando roll a few times to the wall. Stood up with my back against the wall like Mr Bean trying to be a spy, shuffled stepped sideways like a crab along the wall and back under cover, outside the front of the hotel now.

I noticed I couldn’t walk properly and was limping; blood was coming from my right hand which was hurting. Adrenaline kept me moving.

My best buddy who was another Australian and a doorman at the time ushered me inside and down to the nurse.

I’m safe.

The Typhoon died down, and I was taken to the local hospital, patched up and sent home. A couple of broken fingers and a pulled ligament in my leg. I’ve had worse, I’ll be fine.

Fast forward two years.

My Japanese has improved, I’ve been moved to the accounting department, and I’m still loving it.

I’ve got a bung finger from the typhoon event but nothing that’s going to bother me (although it turns out it will be permanently bent). I’m not one to live in the past so moving forward I did, a bent finger and all!

Walking to the hotel from the station, I’m on the same route that I tried to walk back the 2 years prior when I was thrown in the air, flying like Mary Poppins but not as graceful and without the umbrella.

It’s about a 15-minute walk and always a good time to think and reflect.

It was November 17th, 1997. Religious D-Day for me. The internal battle was about to begin and I had no idea.

‘The Winds of Change’ were about to hit me. Literally.

I get off the train and start my walk. There is some wind.

Now I have to admit, I carried some PTSD from the prior event and strong winds were a trigger (still are a bit), but there was no typhoon that day, just some winds.

Like before, it was from the same direction, and a North Westerly wind was blowing me from the back, giving me a little push.

I assured myself “It’s fine”.

Whhhoossssshhhhhh..

“I’m fine, really”

Whhhooossshh

This one didn’t bother me, but what did was that I had gelled back my hair. That was part of my new look and it was the 90s! (And I had lots of hair back then).

My hair has some natural curls, but I wanted the Gordon Gecko look so gelled it down hard. But the wind saw this as a challenge to test me.

As it was blowing from behind, I knew this would be a problem hair-style-wise. It would be a catastrophe! It will cause a lock or two of hair to spring out and wreck my look and would stay that way for the rest of the day. I can’t have that! I was in my 20’s, I was worried about my looks, and there are girls to impress!

Whhooooshhhh

‘Boing’ A lock sprung.

“Damn it,” I said aloud as nobody was around and I’m trying to hold down my hair whilst carrying my bag.

Whhooooshhh

More hair locks spring out. It seems my Gordon Gecko is getting hammered by the market.

“God damn it!!!”

“Uh-oh…” I think to myself “What did I just say?”

I paused but didn’t apologize immediately to god like I usually would in such a situation.

And that was the pivotal moment. I realized nothing bad had happened, and felt that nothing bad was going to happen.

I was always so quick to apologize to god in the past if I had said that so had never experienced this internal awkward silence. The ‘Stand-off’ if you will.

No bolts of lightning, no typhoon-like wind to throw me against the fence again, and I was slowly approaching that same spot from 2 years prior.

And I must admit though, it did kind of feel good to say what I did. To ‘let him have it’ and not apologize. The relief was akin to popping a huge pimple as a teenager. I felt a little rebellious and a little scared.

Whhhhoooshhhhhh

“God damn it and f**k you, God!”

Whaaaaooooooo. “Did I just say that again but with more oomph!?”

The rush was too much. I was in a rebellious moment. It felt so relieving and liberating. I knew I wasn’t going to stop. My hair was springing curls all over the place, looking like a broken clock radio after getting hit with a hammer from a Tom and Jerry cartoon, but I didn’t care.

I had crossed the Rubicon and there was no turning back.

Whhooooshhhhhhhh. “That’s it. God, Jesus, you are one “f*cking mother f*cker... You %$@#!&@#!!$@#!&@#!$@#!&@#!…”

For the next 5 minutes of my walk, I hardly took a breath as I continued on a tirade of abuse so foul it would make a sailor blush.

I let it out. 28 years of confusion and frustration about whether there was a God or not was washed out of me in a reverse baptism.

I arrived at the hotel where I had called out to him for help 2 years earlier and was instead slammed into a steel fence in response. It was the exact same spot. My hair was like Gene Wilder's but my mind and soul were cleansed, no longer a slave to the mental bondage of an ever-omnipresent being.

I was free.

I no longer heard the whoosh of the wind. I no longer ‘heard the word’, I no longer felt any shame, and I finally saw the light. The light of the truth.

The light of truth was at first lonely, and disappointing.

There was none of that welcoming church energy I felt at 16. there was no music, no hugs and no girls to distract me.

But there was a calming, beautiful chorus of silence, accompanied by a deep sense of relief. There was the clarity of mind, there was a deeper sense of gratitude that I knew life is now fleeting, and there was the understanding that this life is not a dress rehearsal for some afterlife.

The curtain has been drawn up and this is the main event.

I felt a renewed sense of freedom and independence. I’m now accountable and responsible for myself and for my actions, and realized that things don’t happen for a reason because of some grand design. I can no longer say “Oh well, it was god’s will”.

I can no longer scream out for help to him, or make a deal in desperate situations. I had to work it out going forward which was a bummer, but at least it was clear.

I now do the right things in life for the right reasons, and not to try and earn brownie points to get better seats for some after-show.

Good and Bad. Right, and Wrong are now clearer to me than they have ever been.

If God does exist, he can send wind to break my body. He can send wind to wreck my hair. But he’ll never have a wind big enough to send that can break my spirit and my freedom of thought.

So here I am, happy and free, and grateful to be in your life and to share my story with you.

I never say never, always open to dialogue, and always open to being proven wrong.

Get more great stories and become a member of Medium! Use my referral link to sign up for Medium You’ll get access to great content and I’ll receive a small fee as a thank you at no cost to you. And I do say thank you!