Scott Bushey
Reborn via Gods grace (under Arminian preaching),
through His regenerative power, for purposes unto glory.
As of this writing: 45 years old.........Born April 18, 1958.
St. Francis Hospital. 8 weeks premature! I was in
the ICU for 30 days. In those days, most premies born this early, died. God had other
plans obviously.
Hartford, Connecticut: A very interesting place to
grow up. I have fond memories. West Hartford was sleepy little town actually. My family
was split down the middle religiously. On my fathers side, they were by title only, Roman
Catholic. On my mothers side, her father also was a devout Roman Catholic. Her mother,
Yetta was a Polish Jew. At holidays we would eat Jewish foods and Italian foods. At
Christmas/Hanukah we would typically eat kugel and Turkey. The split in religions caused
a middle of the road type approach to God. It seemed safe this way. At best it was
semi-Pelagian. We were essentially (at best) perishing AND stupid.
At this time, my mother Janet and myself are the only born again believers in our family.
However, for years (and possibly even now) my mother struggled. Acknowledging Christ as
the only way is essentially condemning
her now deceased father, and is even now, condemning her mother and the rest of
our unsaved family. As a man, this does unsettle my heart, for my mother it is weakening.
We continue to pray for their salvation.
Moving along.........
Little did I know in my earlier years, being dug deep into my rebellion towards God and
fully in love with my sin, but New England was the place of a large Puritan movement in
the early days of this country. Some of the greatest sermons and preachers were expounded
upon here in this sleepy little enclave of the U.S. of A. Edwards'
"Sinners
in the Hands of an Angry God" was preached in Enfield, Connecticut.
The first thansgiving proclamation
was also here. I used to desecrate a park in Hartford named after Horace Bushnell. There
were rock concerts held there. People would be getting drunk and smoking pot. If it were
possible, Bushnell would turn in his grave in view of this. Oh my prayer is for another
revival for this magnificent part of the states.
Some musings..............
Fond memories: 10 yrs old: Cub Scouts w/
Mr.
Anderson. Yearly jamboree's, Smith School, After school gym! Saturday morning gym! WAR!
Basketball @ Kennedy Park
(Photo's), Swimming! Hanging out!
Plant Jr. High, The seasons. West Hartford Boys Basketball League; Junior league,
Laurel
Beef (We won the championship when I was 10....WOW!). The coach of this team was an
excellent man. He was at the time a detective w/ the West Hartford Police Department; Pete
McDermott. He was an excellent mentor. My first practice, I couldn't even reach the basket
from the foul line. Kingswood Academy; Their Christmas break basketball tourney!!!
After Pete McDermott and Laurel Beef, I graduated
to the Senior league; I was w/ Jack Willens team( I don't remember the exact name of the
team) for my 1st year. A good friend, and I (Gary Collins) were on the same team. My
second year, Jack implied I would be an excellent "sixth" man. I did the
unconventional, demanded to be traded! The team I was traded to was a last place expansion
team. An old buddy of mine was on the team; Eddie Case. I don't recall the coaches name
(possibly "Callahan"). I led the league in scoring that year, 24 ppg. My high
was 33 pts. I think we won about half our games.
The last game of the season was against Herbs Sport Shop. It came down to the wire. The
coach set up a last shot for our center. Here's how it unwound itself. Referee hands the
ball to me out of bounds under our basket. I throw it out above the key. I run back out to
the point, there is a couple of passes, 10 seconds on the clock. Our big man gets the ball
; drops out to the key and sort of freaks out. I'm like "shoot!" He literally
hands me the ball. I let it fly from the top of the key............nothing but net! The
crowd goes wilddddddd!!!! TIME OUT!!!!
We come back in, they take it out from under our basket. They are choking..........I
intercept the inbound pass while falling out of bounds. I go to nail Brad Morse's knee
with the ball so that it would go out of bounds and he instead catches it. 4 seconds on
the clock. Long pass down to their center all alone under their basket. He scores, we lose
by 1! Where the heck is my defender???I am scarred for life. Grrrrrrrrrrrr! Here's the
item that just eats at me even now. You see, if we had won that game, we would have
went into the playoffs against Jack Willens team (The team that traded me). It was not
meant to be.
This brings me to about the age of13 years old, I
started carrying a knife. I fantasized about stabbing someone. I began to be attracted to
gang life and crime. The streets and basketball went hand in hand. I hung around with a
gang; Fighting was a way of life. If you weren't able to stand and fight, you were often
beat up or intimidated by other gang members. we did various crimes. One of the
things we would do was break into schools to steal stereo equipment and athletic gear to
fence. After selling it, we would buy drugs to party. I began using liquor and pot when I
was 13 years old. I worked in a bar at 14 years old as a coffee boy. The bar was
owned by the mob. I was so stupid that I started stealing from them; they caught me and
threatened me. I believe they were either gonna have me beat up or who knows....maybe x'd!
God had a different plan in His providence as my parents moved my brothers and I to
Florida 1 month later.
The 1st week I moved to Florida, I broke into the
school right up the street from where we lived; Actually, it was a portable. There was
nothing in it to steal. It was the first time I had seen a "portable". As I
left, I had a very odd feeling that I was to be caught. I was scared of being in Florida.
I knew nothing of this place. I decided that I would not take the chance again and
pull one of these jobs again. I was aware that if I was arrested here, I possibly might
spend sometime in jail.
The school I was assigned to was Coconut Creek High School. I
wasted 2 years there. All I did was skip class. I went to school, I just never went to
class. I hung out on the stair well. Looking back on it, it was very peculiar. I was a
weird kid! The truly odd thing was, I lived for basketball, and had desires to play in
college, but unless I went to class and passed, I would be found ineligible to play. Well
I actually was a fine ball player, but I never made the eligibility. If I passed, my
grades were still to low to play. I ended back on the playgrounds! I shined there. I
didn't have to pass any classes there, only the ball. My vertical leap was roughly 54
inches at the time. I was about 5'6 and could literally grab the rim with two hands while
standing under the basket. Ultimately, basketball turned out to be a waste of time.
Eventually, I began doing more drugs. I became
emotionally insecure. My high school sweetheart dumped me and started dating a guy she
previously told me she hated. This crushed me. More basketball. I ended up quitting high
school in the last semester of my senior year. I was angry that i would come up a 1/2
credit short to graduate, so I quit. I think I ended up getting a job as a dishwasher in a
small restaurant for 5 dollars an hour. In 1977 I thought it would be a
good move to enlist
in the Army. I ended up in
Fort Dix, New Jersey.
Drill sergeant Lewis and Fisher were assigned to my care. They were "spit shined"
enlisted men. No smiling; strictly business. (Photo's of this
experience)
From Ft. Dix, I went to
Ft. Belvoir, Va. I was stationed here as a combat
engineer. I specialized in heating and cooling. I met a friend from Texas and he
turned me on to pot. I began experimenting with various substances. I liked the
feeling it gave me. I was released from the active army and went back home to
Florida to a
reserve unit. I wasn't able to land a job as a civilian air conditioning mechanic so I
worked various labor jobs to survive. It was not bad as I lived at home w/ my
parents. I guess a year or so passed before I went back into an active duty with the U. S.
Air Force. Basic training was at
Lackland
Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas.
After basic, I was to be stationed at Lackland at
their hospital,
Wilford Hall Medical Center.
While I was not working, I was partying. Much too much partying. Lots of puking. I am not
at all proud of this. Writing about these events literally bring back the nausea. The
memories embarrass me.
I became interested in punk rock. I started
attending shows in Austin Texas. The scene had moved it's way out of New York and Los
Angeles into sleepy Austin. I got first hand look at the unwinding of this
aggressive,
angry, rebellious sound; I loved it! It went really well with my
rebellious nature. Many
nights I would get home by 4 a.m. and get up for work at 7:00.
I remember one morning while driving to work, I was
pretty hung over.......at a traffic light, my foot sort of came off the break just enough
to roll forward and tap the rear end of the car in front of me. I got out to look at the
other guys car and he got out to come to the rear. He was big! He must have thought that I
was in a confrontational posture cause he ended up kicking me in the stomach! I believe I
puked again.
In 1981 I was honorably discharged from the Air
Force, however, not truly having done my part for Uncle Sam. Much too many drugs involved.
When I came home I was united with a friend from
High School, Tracey Barone. We were wed soon there after. The marriage was not tumultuous
in the least, yet it had a missing element (Jesus). Tracey had our daughter Nicole from a prior
relationship and she was soon to be pregnant with our daughter Danielle. At the
time, we were essentially "a happy family". The marriage took a turn for
the worse when we both decided to pursue education outside of the home. I had an affair
(literally with satan) and it destroyed whatever had previously held us together. It was
horrendous and hurting. No one benefits. Worse than even death as if someone dies, two do
not suffer, just the one living, in a divorce, both parties as well as the children are
affected. Eventually, I moved out; it would be proper to say that I abandoned my family.
Danielle (our youngest) was barely 5 years old. To
this day, I can attest to the fact that this marriage was not of God as
we had no concern for God and His ways. Yet, the marriage, according to
the worlds standards, was not bad. God had obviously providentially
ordained this union for my family's best interest and as a witness later
to all who would see the power of God in my life after I was saved.
My brain was drenched with garbage; I could not see
the tree's for the forest. The punk music was still my god and the music ruled my
thoughts. I was as selfish as selfish gets and didn't think this was wrong. Needless to
say Tracey and I divorced. Shortly after, I started injecting myself with steroids. I
always have been an athlete and in my despicable narcissism began to try and augment my
workouts. Next came the tattoo's. I started putting tattoo's on my arms and shoulders; it
attracted attention. I was so stuck on myself. As I think of it now, it sickens me! While I
was working out, I met a young lady who would talk to me about God and Christ. I told her
I was a Buddhist; I tried meditating once. I would get stoned, light a candle and sit.
This was so stupid and so empty. She asked me about sin and explained how I
would be judged in the final day. I told her that God and me were
"tight". Little did I know, but my sins had separated me from God. In
actuality, the god I worshipped was actually the prince of the air, satan. I was a liar
much like my father.
In the year or so to come, I began to hit what is called "rock
bottom". I was still clubbing (I was 34 years old) and my favorite drink became
straight vodka. However, technically hitting this low, I wasn't even aware of it. I had
outlived most of my piers and began hanging out with a younger generation. It was joke as
looking back on it now I see that they saw me as "older" and most
likely a
loser! Their intention was not to be found like me at my age. It was hopefully a witness
to -what not to do-.
Things just got worse. I began to find myself in bed with
innumerable women; not even remembering how I got home. I would brag about these conquests
and treat these girls as if they were disposable. Most al of them would leave their
numbers, but typically after a few visits, If they were not slave-like to me, I would
promise them I would break off the relationship. I did this as to threaten them. I was so
hung up on myself that I believed they saw me a s a god of sorts; an
Adonis. Little
did I know. After dumping them, they never called me again. This didn't dawn on me for
years later. I thought I was doing the doing and in reality they were the one's that were
-using- me. I was such a fool.
I continued doing the steroids. The gym and my body became my god.
I was eating 5-7 meals a day and was at the gym at the least 5 days a week. I quit the bar
scene generally; I only went every once in a while. I guess this was a good thing. Switched
from punk rock to grunge. Sleeveless flannel and combat boots.
Where I lived, my bedroom literally had barbed wire in it. I had
laid it all around on the floor and around the canopy of my bed. When anyone came to
visit, the wire said volumes about who Scott Bushey was. I was losing my mind slowly but
surely.
I began working around this
time as a scrub nurse in a local hospital. We performed angiography's
and angioplasty's. The people I worked with during this season of time had little
respect for me. All of them had at one time fallen subject to my deceit and evil doing. It
was horrible. I looked for ways to knock the apple cart over. The doctor I worked with
didn't like me much, but that was because he was so much like me.
Somewhere along this time frame, I met a woman named Margie at
Gold's Gym in Pompano. She began asking me questions about myself. The subject matter
turned to religion; I told Margie
with pride that I was a Buddhist. She asked me if I was
familiar with Jesus Christ. I replied "of course, I was raised in the Roman Catholic
tradition." Margie asked "Who is Jesus to you?". Well, these conversations went
on for months. We became good friends. Eventually, she invited me to her church. I
refused. I told her I was not yet ready to go to church; I had many things I needed to get
out of my system first. Time passed. Eventually Margie or I moved on. About a year or so
later, I ran into Margie again. This time it was at another gym in Margate. We were glad
to see each other. We talked about the last year. Again she invited me to church. I told
her no; I was still not ready. A few months later, we again ran in to each other. She
again asked, I said no, tuned away to go and finish a set on the bench and stopped dead
in my tracks. I turned around and faced her and said, "Ok, I will come to your
church". To be honest, now knowing about the doctrines of grace, I believe that God
had saved me right then. (I knew about sin and that I was a sinner. I knew of Hell and
that I would possibly go there for my sin. I was well aware of Christ and his sacrifice at
Calvary and that I believed in HIM but my life reflected the obedience to the devils).
I eventually left the cath lab
and found myself working at the Cleveland Clinic
in Fort Lauderdale. I spent the next 7 years there
working in various capacities as a nurse. I recall somewhere in the
first year that I pinched some steroids. Upon arriving home with them, I
was severely convicted of what I had done. It was then that I knew that
God had transformed me. The next day, I returned the medicines, never to
repeat that again. Believe it or not, putting them back was more
difficult that stealing them!
The next thing to go was the swearing and cussing.
One at a time, God removed the desire in me to use foul language. Within
6 months I was cuss free. I began to attend Calvary Chapel of Ft.
Lauderdale. It was a large Church; and growing. I can remember looking
over the ocean of faces; many people had their hands raised to the
heavens during worship; their eye's closed, tears rolling down their
faces; broken in front of the Lord. I remember feeling so low; so
ashamed of my sin and Gods welcoming forgiveness. Death could have been
at my door that night. I needed a savior. I was an abomination to God in
the worst sort of way. I wanted so much what these people had. I prayed,
"Please Lord, help me. I cannot do anything outside of your mercies and
power. Help me Jesus-please, help me". I knew right then that God's
Spirit was coming to me; drawing me to Himself. I felt transformed;
filled. I hated my sin. I hated the field day that the enemy had had
with my soul and life. The past flashes before my eye's; I was ashamed
and disgusted. I thought of my family and friends whom I let down; God
forgive me.
To Be Continued.................
