Room 125
January 1, 1980, didn’t look any different from the outside. The same South Texas air hung over McAllen, the same traffic moved along 10th Street. But inside room 125 of a La Quinta Motel, something eternal was about to happen.
I was there on business, handling customers and trying to keep things from falling apart. Truth was, my life felt like it already had. Problems at work. Struggles at home with my wife and daughters. No matter what I did, it seemed like I couldn’t get anything right.
So I called Ken.
He’d been more than a friend—he’d been praying for me for years. I asked him to meet me for lunch at Denny’s just down the road. He agreed, and though I didn’t know it at the time, he said a prayer before he ever left: “Lord, let today be the day.”
At the restaurant, things started like always. We ordered food, and before the first bite, Ken bowed his head to pray. I remember feeling that familiar discomfort, hoping nobody was watching.
But that day, Ken looked up at me and said, “You look troubled.”
I didn’t hide it. “I am. Everything’s going wrong.”
That’s when he began sharing Scripture—right there between the coffee cups and plates. Then he said, “Come with me to my studio. I want to show you something.”
I hesitated. “There’s a Bible in my motel room. That’ll work.”
So we walked back to room 125.
He sat on one bed. I sat on the other. Between us was a Gideon’s Bible—and a moment that would change everything. Ken turned pages, pointing out passage after passage, explaining salvation in a way I had heard all my life… but never truly understood.
Until that moment.
Then he said something I’ll never forget. “Let me help you pray and accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “I’m kind of shy about praying in front of people. I promise—I’ll do it after you leave.”
Ken looked at me, calm but firm. “Paul, I know how this works. The moment I leave, that phone’s going to ring. It’ll be a customer—maybe Jerry McCord—and you’ll get distracted. And you won’t pray.”
He was right. And somehow, I knew it.
So I stood up, walked over to the phone on the nightstand, and unplugged it from the wall.
“There,” I said. “Now nobody can call.”
Ken smiled. “Alright. But can I pray before I go?”
I nodded, just wanting him to finish.
He began to pray out loud. But while he prayed, something stirred inside me. Quietly, in my own heart, I prayed words I had never meant so deeply before:
Father, I am a sinner. Please forgive me. I ask Jesus to come into my life as my Lord and Savior.
And in that moment—something happened.
I felt an arm wrap around my shoulders. Real. Gentle. Comforting.
And I heard a voice, soft but clear:
“All is well.”
Ken finished his prayer and stood up. “I’ll let you have your moment now.”
I looked at him and said, “I already did.”
He blinked. “You did what?”
“I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior.”
His face lit up. “Hallelujah!”
The outside world hadn’t changed. McAllen was still McAllen. My problems didn’t magically disappear overnight. In fact, the first few days were a struggle—as if something didn’t want to let me go.
But inside room 125, everything changed.
Because on that day, January 1, 1980…
I finally understood.
And all was well.
And the arm that wrapped around my shoulders was not Ken…
