Church is no place for divorced people like me, I thought. This belief set up the biggest spiritual battle I have ever faced, keeping me from having a meaningful relationship with God for more than 30 years.

As a youngster I loved going to church. But when I reached my teen years I gradually steered away from spiritual things. After marriage, kids came along, but there was something wrong. My wife was dealing with bouts of depression. On top of my full-time job I had to come home and care for her — along with doing the housework, cooking and seeing to the kids.

I was driving to work one day, exhausted as usual, when I snapped. I’d had enough. I quit.

I filed for divorce, but my wife wanted to reconcile. My heart wasn’t really in it, but I felt I owed it to her and the kids. I moved back home, but in a couple of weeks she was back to her mood swings. And I was her target of choice. I moved out.

I carried a load of guilt over my divorce.

Later, I met Carla and felt a freshness I’d not experienced in a long time. We married in 1978.

I tried to explain my guilty feelings about the divorce. Carla told me she understood, but I couldn’t shake the dark cloud that hung over me. I had not only failed in my marriage — I had failed God.

Physical problems developed, particularly with my heart. I soon had my first open-heart surgery. As for the number of angioplasties, I’ve lost count. Each time I figured, This could be it, Roger! I hope you get lucky and wake up from this thing.

There was no question in my mind that God, heaven and hell existed. There was also no question in my mind that God was really angry with me. I was afraid of each surgery. What if I don’t make it?

Roger and Carla Alberts

After I retired, Carla and I moved to a little town in California’s Central Valley. We needed a slower pace. Carla did some waitressing at a mom-and-pop restaurant in town. She would come home and tell me about a pastor who would stop in occasionally for a chocolate milk shake and invite her to church. She told me she wanted to go to church. Would I go with her?

“I don’t think so,” I replied, hoping that would put an end to it. After all, divorced people aren’t welcome at church, I thought.

One day I was sitting at the counter when the pastor walked in. I knew who he was because Carla said, “Hi, Pastor Chuck!” I didn’t want to meet him. I felt trapped.
But I finally did agree to go to church.

Later, as we met with the pastor, I decided that maybe he could address some of my issues — mainly God’s anger with my divorce. In those meetings, he opened his Bible, explaining that God really does love me. The proof, he said, was Jesus going to the cross, paying the price for my sins.

“Yeah, but isn’t God still angry with me?” I asked.

“No!” Pastor Chuck declared. “When you come to faith in Christ and ask for forgiveness of your sins, you are forgiven. He really does love you, Roger.”

I walked out thinking, This is all too good to be true.

Carla and I began attending church regularly. I soon realized I needed to go to church for me, not just to make her happy. I asked Jesus into my life.

I still struggled with the guilt of my divorce, but I asked for Christ’s forgiveness — and received it!

Pastor Chuck Roots and Roger on their way to a hospital visit

Pastor Chuck and I met for discipleship. Our talks often dealt with forgiveness, especially relating to divorce. I learned that Satan really wanted to drag me back down. I hung in there, though, holding on to my new relationship with Jesus. The pastor emphasized Scripture memory. This was a weapon to battle Satan! Pastor Chuck smiled and said, “Welcome to spiritual warfare!”

Blessed victory! I was loved enough to be forgiven!

One evening at home I mentioned to Carla that I was not feeling particularly well. She called 911. When the paramedics arrived, I was feeling much better. They agreed that I looked OK, but since they had made the trip, they thought it would be best if I went in. I reluctantly agreed.

In the ER, I was lying on a gurney chatting with the cardiologist when I went into cardiac arrest. I was gone just like that! The medical team went into full resuscitation mode. Out came the defibrillator. They applied the paddles — nothing. A second time — nothing. A third time — still nothing. Then they began to administer CPR.

During all this, I felt detached from what was happening to me. I saw the medical team working feverishly, but I didn’t care. I said, Lord, if You want me to go, I’ll go. I realized I wasn’t afraid. What a difference knowing Jesus makes!

Suddenly I was back. I opened my eyes and looked into a friendly face from church. Jerry Mottweiler had heard I was in the hospital and came right over.

I knew then that the Lord had more for me.

Later, I met with Pastor Chuck for discipleship. We were going over the verses I had memorized that week when he asked if I would accompany him on a hospital visit.
The woman we went to see was asleep, so the pastor took out one of his business cards, jotted a note on the back and placed it on the bedside table. We then prayed quietly for her and left. That was all it took. I was hooked. Having been in the hospital as a patient so often myself, I can relate to those who find themselves laid up.

After this I became our church’s minister of visitation. It has been such a blessing to bring people hope when their hearts are troubled. I tell them that God loves them — something I can now say from a heart set at rest by forgiveness and a new purpose in life.