CHAPTER 4

When Keith moved into my apartment in May of 1974 it was the biggest “moving in” I’d ever experienced. Keith’s whole approach to life was unique. Actually, he was a ball of contradictions.

On the outside he looked like everyone else our age—but underneath it all he seemed out-of-step with the times. His ideas—even his whole character—seemed to be in opposition to the values that were so popular. It was like he’d been airlifted in from some other time and place.

One thing I particularly liked—besides the freshness Keith brought into my life—was the feeling of security I had when we were together. He seemed to like taking care of me. He questioned everything about everything, which challenged me to stretch my thinking. And when Keith was into something, he wanted everybody to get into it, too.

One really beautiful May morning, we woke up and Keith convinced me I should play hooky from work. It wasn’t hard. Keith wanted to take a long drive, so he picked the route—the back roads of Simi Valley that eventually led up the coast to Santa Barbara. On our way, we came upon a little antique store and stopped. Inside, Keith spotted a large, silver Jerusalem cross with a turquoise stone in the center.

“Wow, look at this great cross, Mel. Let’s get it for you.”

I felt awkward. “It’s really pretty but . . . I’ve never worn a cross in my life.”

“Oh, come on, we’ve been looking into Jesus.”

“I know but I’m . . . I’m still Jewish.”

I had been open to Jesus only because of Keith’s enthusiasm about him, and I liked what I saw in Keith. But wearing a cross? That was a different story. What would my mother think? Something inside me totally rejected that idea. On the other hand, I did like what I was learning about Jesus. I thought about it for a minute. “Well. . . .” At least nobody was hanging on it.

“Honey, it’s beautiful. Come on, please let me get it for you,” Keith insisted.

It seemed like Keith really wanted me to have a cross so I could be wearing one like he was.

“Well, alright. I guess it would be okay.”

A grin spread across Keith’s face. He quickly pulled out his wallet and plunked down the money. The cross didn’t have a chain on it so I slipped it into my pocket. I knew Keith really wanted to share his faith with me and, after all, I was hungry for something, too. If Jesus held the answers I was open, even though it was a bit alien to me.

Later on as we drove, I took the cross out of my pocket and turned it over. On the back, it said, “Jerusalem”. At least it was from Israel, which was a point of consolation for this Jewish girl.

It was quickly becoming clear that if I was going to be involved with this guy I was going to be carried along with him on his spiritual journey, too. But for now I was just falling in love.

As I found out more about Keith over the next few months I saw that he was someone who was capable of making deep commitments. I thought this was interesting, considering everyone around us had such a “hang-loose, whatever will be will be” attitude. Keith wasn’t that way. When he cared about a person it was more than just pretty words, he wanted to show it.

For instance, Keith liked to spend a lot of time with Dawn, the ten-year-old daughter of his friend, Karen Bender. Dawn was a beautiful child, with long thick hair and freckles sprinkled lightly across her turned-up nose. Dawn seemed a bit more withdrawn than a kid her age should have been. She didn’t smile a lot, but when she did it was like a burst of sunshine. Keith really loved her, and as I got to know her she won my heart as well. Her mom was divorced and worked long hours, so one weekend Keith decided to bring Dawn home with us so we could have some extra time together. We took her swimming, to an amusement park, and to the movies. We had a great time, but by the end of the weekend we realized being “parents” was a bigger job than we thought. Still we tried to get together with both Dawn and Karen as often as we could.

In fact, it was at a rather wild party at Karen’s house one night late in the summer that Keith and I wandered off to talk about where we were in our relationship. We ended up in Dawn’s bedroom, sitting on her bed. As we talked Keith totally surprised me.

“Mel, I’ve been wondering if it’s really right for us to be living together.”

I couldn’t believe it. No one else we knew would even be raising this question.

“What do you mean ‘really right’? We love each other don’t we?”

“Yeah, but that’s just the point. If we really love each other maybe we should have a deeper commitment.”

I found myself staring at the frayed squares of the granny quilt on Dawn’s bed, wondering where this conversation was going to lead. I’d never heard anyone talk like this before and I was getting a little nervous.

“What I’m trying to say”, Keith continued, “is maybe we should be thinking about getting married. I’m not sure we should be living together without being married.”

“Married?”

“Of course we’d need to get engaged first. So maybe we could get ‘engaged to be engaged’.”

“Keith, what does that mean?”

“It would be kind of a trial period. That way if things don’t work out we won’t have to break our engagement.”

I’d never heard of anything like it. This was crazy—and a little wonderful. But, I was learning that Keith never did things the way everyone else did.

“I don’t know, Keith. . . .”

 “It’ll be great. Who else do you know who ever got ‘engaged to be engaged’?”

I thought about it for a moment. The idea had its merits. Since my disastrous relationship with Mark I still wasn’t ready for a real commitment, even after several months of living with Keith.

“Well, you might have a good idea. That way we’d have time to decide what we really want to do.”

“Mel, I want you to know that if we do end up getting married, I believe it’s a lifetime commitment. I don’t believe in divorce.”

As Keith continued talking my mind started to reel. To me divorce seemed like too big a possibility to ever rule out. I really didn’t know any happily married couples and wasn’t even sure about the whole idea of marriage. Part of me was overwhelmed that someone as wonderful and talented as Keith wanted to marry me. But what if things didn’t work out? It seemed much safer to leave a door open somewhere.

“Some of the things you’re saying really scare me,” I finally replied.

But Keith was insistent.

“Melody I love you, and I believe you love me. Let’s not be afraid of this. If we get married I always want to be there for you, and I want to know you’ll be there for me, too.”

He continued to press his point. Finally, we did decide to be “engaged to be engaged”. We also made plans to get “officially” engaged on Keith’s twentieth birthday in October. It seemed like a safe enough position since it gave us a few months to weigh the whole matter. True to form I was most comfortable keeping my options open.

On October 21st, we had a birthday party for Keith and, as planned, we became officially engaged. Our house was full of friends and little Dawn was among them. She gave Keith a piece of driftwood for a present and we all clowned around, taking pictures and eating the cake I’d baked.

We set our wedding date for December 25th—Christmas day, in honor of Jesus—at the Little Brown Church on Coldwater Canyon Boulevard.

On the night we got engaged, we also started trying to live with another major decision we’d made. Several months before, Keith had come to the conclusion that if he didn’t truly love someone then having a sexual relationship with them was wrong. A few days before we’d even met, Keith confided this decision to his journal.

I’ve been questioning the righteousness of sex in my heart. I know for a fact that sex without love is dead wrong. Now my use of the word “love” has a changeable definition. I know it has changed extremely the past four years. (Or has it? Have I become more cynical and does it take “love” longer to break through and reach me?) At any rate, love has been a different, deeper thing for me. Anyway, sex with love rings true in me. If it is wrong out of marriage . . . let it be shown to me.

The big question we’d been talking about recently centered on the last sentence of Keith’s entry. What if you really did love someone, but you weren’t married to them? What then? Most of our friends were barreling down the road in the opposite direction—trying to figure out how many people they could sleep with and how fast. And here we were, wondering how to make right choices. But this question was really important to Keith, and we talked about it a lot.

“I’m thinking that maybe we should go celibate until we get married,” Keith said one day, to my shock.

“I’ve read some things in the Bible, and I’m beginning to think that sex outside of marriage is wrong.”

“But we’re living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed,” I protested.

“Yeah, but we can do it.”

“Keith, this is even crazier than getting ‘engaged to be engaged’.”

“Well, it worked didn’t it?”

“And how long would you want to do this for?” “Until we get married.”

“Keith, I’m not that much against the idea of it, but how in the world do you expect it to work?”

“Well, I really think it’s the right thing to do. Let’s give it a try.”

So we made a decision to go celibate on Keith’s birthday. But, as I suspected, it was easier said than done.

In early December, Keith came to me with a mysterious look on his face. He took me by the hand and said, “Come here, I want you to listen to something.” Then he led me over to the piano. “Stand there where I can see you.”

He sat down and just started singing. . . .

You wanna love with me

Love with me, then.

I only ask

That you still be my friend.

For there are many

Where friendship’s unknown.

They live together,

But really alone.

And the days

Go their ways

In silence—

Tense hours of woe.

We do not mean to have it so . . .

As I listened to him sing I got so caught up in the soaring melody that it took me a minute to realize the song was a surprise. It was for me! My throat tightened up and I found myself starting to blink back a few tears. As Keith sang he closed his eyes, then peeked at me to see how I was reacting. I couldn’t say a word.

The song was all about commitment. About a love that wouldn’t change its mind, even during the hard times. It was Keith’s way of saying that he knew he wasn’t perfect, but he would give me a love that would keep growing and never give up. . . .

I know that sometimes

I’m harder to love.

I thrash out blindly

Like nothing’s thought of.

But I will love you,

And love you, I do!

It’s not complete yet,

But you know we’re not through.

And the days

Go their ways

In blessings—

Moments of truth.

We truly dare not waste our youth.

You wanna love with me,

Love with me, then.

It was a bit overwhelming to have a song written for me, especially one as beautiful as “Love With Me”.

The beauty of that moment helped offset the terrible arguments we were having, stemming from what I was beginning to think was a silly rule—Keith’s idea about staying celibate until we got married. That fall was a very difficult time for us. We thought we had the right idea, but it wasn’t easy to live up to our own convictions.

Fortunately, our wedding day arrived quickly. We woke up early on Christmas morning and dressed in our favorite Goodwill finds. I wore a green turtleneck sweater and a long, yellow cotton skirt, and Keith wore his Levi’s and a nubby beige sweater. I’d never pictured myself walking down the aisle in a white dress, but it did feel odd to climb out of bed, help each other pick out clothes and drive off to go get married.

Keith and I were both nervously quiet as we drove down to the Little Brown Church. When we arrived, the dim lighting made the old wooden pews look warm and inviting as we stood in front and said our vows before the minister. It was a quick and simple ceremony, and within minutes we were married—and Keith made sure it was “in the name of Jesus”. Todd was our only witness.

Afterward we drove off to visit Keith’s folks. Keith’s parents were surprised to see us so early in the day—with our crazy late  night schedule we never showed up anywhere before noon. We hung around with silly grins, waiting for them to guess what we’d done. Besides Todd, only my mom knew ahead of time—but we wouldn’t let her come to the wedding since Keith’s family didn’t know about it. Keith kept waving his left hand around hoping they’d notice his ring. But they didn’t. After a few hours, his mom finally ventured a smiling guess, “Did you two get married?” They were surprised, but it wasn’t unexpected. Keith and I had become inseparable.

As word got out, their house filled with friends and relatives, including my mom. Some goodies were pulled together, and the day turned into a real party. We were on the receiving end of lots of hugs and kisses. And as I looked across the room at Keith he seemed really happy. He looked like he was sure we’d made the right decision. I hoped he was right.

Since we were already living together, going off to some romantic spot for a honeymoon didn’t seem real important. We were pretty broke. We’d even had to sleep in “Victor” for two nights as we drove home from a recent trip to Seattle because we couldn’t afford a motel. But Keith, never lacking for good ideas when it came to making money, got us a new job.

Three days after our wedding we started working at the local Pizza Man, so we spent our “honeymoon” racing pizzas around the San Fernando Valley. And I do mean racing. We got paid for each delivery so speed was of the utmost importance—and speed was right up Keith’s alley.

Besides racing boxes of hot pizzas around, “Victor von Van” played another important role in keeping our cash-flow flowing. Keith figured we could turn our love for thrift-store shopping into a business by using “Victor” as a traveling boutique—hippie-style of course. We bought used clothing that still had resale value. Then we’d park “Victor” on the streets of Hollywood and hang the clothing all around the outside. We even set up a mirror inside “Victor” so our customers could climb inside to try things on.

Overall, we had a lot of fun, especially because we could do it together. And it helped us pay our rent in a non-nine-to-five way while we waited for Keith’s big break.

We didn’t have a lot of money, but it didn’t matter. There wasn’t anything more we wanted out of life—nothing that money could buy anyway. The things we were hungry for couldn’t have been bought with a million dollars.

It seemed like all of southern California was on one big spiritual search just like we were. Not only we were interested in this Jesus Christ—whoever he was. It seemed like Jesus was getting pretty popular, too. On the West Coast there was talk about a Jesus Movement. Lots of people were being baptized right in the Pacific Ocean. At the same time there were several movies out with Christian themes. We saw Brother Sun, Sister Moon which was about the life of Saint Francis of Assisi. He was a young man of high ideals who gave up all his worldly possessions to take care of the poor and needy—even the lepers. He led a life of poverty, putting God first. We also saw Godspell. It was about the life of Jesus, acted out by lots of people our age. Then there was Jesus Christ, Superstar. We saw that twice when it hit the movie theaters and constantly listened to the soundtrack that climbed to the top of the charts.

Then, of all things, Keith met Teddy Neely, who played Jesus in the film version of Jesus Christ, Superstar. In fact we had him over for dinner and I kept looking at him thinking, I can’t believe it. I’m making hamburgers for Jesus! I really didn’t think Teddy was some kind of mystic, but just getting to know him after seeing him play Jesus, with his long straight hair and flowing muslin robes, really impacted me.

Teddy was full of stories about some things that happened while filming in Israel. It seemed there was some real supernatural activity during the crucifixion scene. Keith and I were all ears. That crucifixion scene, in particular, really touched me. It didn’t look like Jesus did anything to deserve what happened to him. Jesus and the things he stood for were becoming more real and easier to relate to all the time.

We really loved the movies we were seeing with spiritual overtones—actually they were more inspiring than some of the people we’d met who said they were Christians. We specifically did not want to become like some of the “Jesus Freaks” we were encountering.

Shortly after Keith moved in with me he’d been asked to do a series of concerts in the Pacific Northwest. I’d been laid off from work, so I went with him. While we were in Seattle, Keith introduced me to a girl who said she was a Christian. She was the first “Jesus Freak” I’d ever met. Kathy was someone Keith had met when he’d first run away several years before. Something about Kathy made us totally uncomfortable. You couldn’t have a normal conversation with her. She’d say things like, “Oh, we’re out of milk, praise God,” or “It’s a beautiful day, praise the Lord.” Every other sentence was punctuated with some religious exclamation. It gave me the creeps. We never wanted to walk around uttering mindless phrases like she did. We were content just to call ourselves followers of Jesus and leave it at that. We didn’t want to become alienated from the human race!

My own reluctance ran even deeper. I wanted to know the truth, but because of my Jewish roots it was hard to believe I might find it in Jesus. Even though I’d gotten more out of reading small sections of his teachings in the Bible than I’d gotten from all the other mystical books I’d read put together, I was still uncomfortable when I thought of following him.

In fact, one night before we got married Keith and I had a pretty big disagreement at The Bla Bla Cafe—about our wedding rings. Keith wanted to get small crosses engraved on them. I dug in my heels. We took a heated walk outside The Bla between sets to work it out. Wearing a Jerusalem cross around my neck occasionally was one thing, but engraving a cross on a ring I’d wear every day for the rest of my life was something else. But Keith felt having crosses on our rings would be symbolic of our decision to make Jesus our master, and a constant reminder that we were married in his name. I was torn, but I really did want to honor Jesus in our marriage. Letting Keith’s faith pull me along, I finally agreed. As we drove home from The Bla that night I found myself thinking back to my early childhood. As much as I struggled, it was slowly sinking in that God just might be really real.

When I was a little girl I once came down with pneumonia and was delirious with fever. When the doctor came, he became alarmed. He told my mom I was too sick to move to the hospital, and gave me a shot. Before he left, he said that if my fever didn’t break by about four in the morning, I wouldn’t survive the night.

My mom never left my side. Through the haze of fever I watched her putting cool, wet washcloths on my forehead—and heard her desperate prayers. I felt bathed in her love—and in another kind of love that I seemed to be floating in. Was it just the fever?

When the doctor returned at 6 a.m., I woke up and ran to the door. He was shocked to see me. He ordered me back to bed and told my mom it was a miracle I made it through the night. He’d brought a death certificate with him in his black bag.

Since then, I knew that “someone somewhere” answered my mother’s prayers. Could it be that God had reached out to me before I even started seeking him?

There were other influences in our lives, too. Shortly after Keith and I were married, we began to get closer to some people who were also into music—only it was Christian music. Recently, we’d even acquired a new “roommate” who was sleeping on our fold-out couch—Keith’s friend Randy Stonehill. Keith had met Randy one night about a year-and-a-half before at The Bla. Since then they’d had a blast writing and singing together occasionally. Randy had even recorded a whole album of rock’n’ roll Christian songs—an idea that was really new to us.

Now besides being involved in music together, Keith and Randy had their share of fairly “energized” spiritual debates. The thing that always upset Keith was the fact that Randy didn’t think Keith was quite “there” as a Christian. Except for our question —”Was Jesus really God?”—Keith couldn’t see any major differences in their beliefs. But Randy didn’t see how Keith thought he could be a Christian without settling the “God question”, as we called it.

“Keith, you can’t be a Christian if you don’t believe Jesus is God,” Randy would say.

“But I believe Jesus is God’s son. I believe in what he says. I want to live my life by his teachings. Doesn’t that make me a Christian?”

“You're just not getting it,” Randy said, shaking his head.

‘Round and ‘round the question would go.

They developed a deep but rocky friendship, revolving around their mutual love of music and their crazy personalities. So it was inevitable that they’d end up doing some concerts together.

The Salt Company was a Christian club in Hollywood. And the summer before we were married, Randy had invited Keith to do some songs with him there. It was their first performance together and they were great! Their high energy levels made the air around them pulsate. They were also hilariously funny and kept the crowd in stitches between, and even during, some of their songs.

As a result of Keith’s friendship with Randy, a few more Christian concerts were opening up. Keith was invited to play at California Lutheran College and then we made plans to go to northern California with Randy who had been invited up there to do a few concerts. We thought we were going so Keith could do a “guest set” at Randy’s concerts. We had no way of knowing we were about to meet someone who would have a lasting impact on our whole lives.

The first night of our trip, Keith and Randy played at a small, sparsely-attended Christian coffee house in Fresno. The following day, we drove out to Turlock for the next concert where they’d be sharing the bill with someone else.

As we drove Randy said, “The guy who’s playing tonight will really blow you away. His name’s Barry McGuire.”

Keith said, “You mean the Barry McGuire?”

“The guy who sang the hit song, ‘Eve of Destruction’?” I added in surprise.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Randy smiled.

“The Eve of Destruction” was an anti-war song from the ‘60s. It hit the top of the music charts all across America and we remembered it well enough to sing it in the car as we drove. It was hard to believe this guy was a Christian now and we were eager to see what he’d be like.

The Turlock concert was held in a high school gym. There were a few hundred people there when we arrived. After Randy’s set, and Keith’s, we settled back in our seats, anxious to hear Barry.

He’d made a Christian album, just like Randy. The whole idea of people recording whole albums of Christian songs sounded outrageous to us.

When Barry stepped out on stage to sing, we were immediately struck by his presence. At first glance, he looked a little rough around the edges—a big, burly guy with long hair and a bushy beard. He looked like he might ride to church on a Harley Davidson motorcycle or something. But as soon as he spoke, I was amazed at his meekness. He sang a few songs, playing the big guitar strapped around his shoulder. We were particularly impressed with one called “Bullfrogs and Butterflies”. It was incredible to see this big hulk of a guy singing what sounded like a children’s song. He explained it before he sang.

“What do bullfrogs and butterflies have in common? The frog comes from a tadpole, and the butterfly emerges from a cocoon but they both get born-again. And just like them, we need to experience a spiritual rebirth before we can really know God.”

He sang and talked about God in a way that we never heard before. He made knowing God sound simple. Barry’s mannerisms were so warm and easygoing that we were glued to every word he sang or spoke. When he was finished, we followed him back into the dressing room with hopes of talking to him before he had to leave. He was in a big hurry to catch an airplane, but he took a few minutes with us. Up close, he was kind and gentle—but it was more than that.

There was something about his eyes. They were like clear peaceful pools. His spirit was far different from his gruff-looking exterior—this was obviously a man who had been transformed. He was married, and he and his wife traveled all over the country telling people about Jesus—often living out of their small vehicle that had a camper shell on it. We were impressed by this “singing star” who was now following Jesus in such a humble, sacrificial way.

After that evening, Keith and I knew Barry McGuire had something we wanted. That special “something” in his spirit had caused the seed of an idea to burst open in Keith’s heart—an idea that had once been planted there by another friend, named Randy Wimer.

Keith had felt an instant love for Barry, which he compared to the depth of relationship he’d had with Randy Wimer, who played in a band called MU. When Keith first met Randy, he was taken by his quiet spirit. Randy was a Seventh Day Adventist, and talked to Keith a lot about Jesus. Now some of the things he’d said about Jesus were starting to make more sense. Randy had told Keith that Jesus could take away sins once and for all—unlike the eastern and occult religions he’d studied.

As we drove home from Turlock, Randy’s discussions with Keith all came back to him.

Many of the eastern religions teach the idea of multiple lives, and that your lot in the next life is determined by how “holy” you were in the lifetime before. If bad things started happening to you in one lifetime it was because you were paying for the sins of your past life. If you had “good karma” you’d have a happy life but “bad karma” meant you should expect hard times. We used to joke around when we saw someone do something wrong, saying, “That’s gonna be a few years of bad karma!”

Now, Keith recalled something Randy Wimer had told him—that Jesus can wipe away your sins so you don’t have to pay for them later. When we got back home Keith grabbed one of his older journals to find his notes from that conversation. When he found it he read the quote out loud to me:

Christ created us, the world, and the universe. His teaching is the way out of the cycle of death and rebirth (re-incarnation) and He is the way.

Keith concluded that he was more open than ever to the idea of Jesus being able to “cut your karma”. And after hearing Barry McGuire, I had to admit that the idea of getting a “clean slate” and being born-again spiritually was starting to look like it might really be possible.

Unfortunately, our burst of inspiration was short-lived as the rockiness of newlywed life with no money hit. Keith closed at The Bla because, once again, he wasn’t drawing a good crowd. But Keith felt he’d been there too long and needed a break, anyway. My mom cheered us up with a beautiful belated wedding reception at her house, where lots of friends and family came and loaded us down with lovely gifts. But even with all those blessings—even with our love—we felt like life was running out between our fingers, leaving us with nothing to show for our days.

Then in March, Keith played at another Christian coffee house with Randy Stonehill, near the beach in Pacific Palisades. The night proved to be another number on our growing list of disappointments. First Randy played, then Keith. Keith always loved to play new songs to “try them out” on an audience and this night was no exception. Two days earlier we’d written a humorous song about the energy crisis America was plunged into, called “Self-Service Mama”. It was about a guy who meets a girl while they’re “waiting in line at a self-service gas station”. Part of the chorus contained some mildly-suggestive images. We just thought they were funny.

After Keith’s set, Randy came up to him in a highly-agitated state. “What in the world are you doing, singing songs like that here? You’ve offended these people. This isn’t The Bla Bla.”

Keith was irritated, too. “What are you talking about? These people don’t know a good song when they hear one. Don’t Christians have a sense of humor?”

“You blew it man.”

“Well, excuse me. Are you trying to tell me that ‘Queen of the Rodeo’ song you sang tonight had some kind of spiritual message?”

“Hey there’s nothing wrong with a simple love song,” Randy said defensively. “I’m just trying to help you.”

 “You can help me by trying to understand where I’m at and by getting off my case.”

After that, Keith did become more cautious about the songs he sang for these “super-Christian” and un-funny people Randy was introducing us to. One that they especially seemed to like was a song Keith had been working on for a few years called, “The Prodigal Son”. It was from a story in the Bible, about a young man who demanded his inheritance early from his father so he could go out and live on his own:

I was done hoeing,

Out in the fields for the day.

I was thinking of going.

I had to leave right away.

My father was reading

The Holy books in his room.

My heart was just bleeding,

I knew I had to go soon. . . .

I said, “Father there’s so much to know,

There’s a world of things to see,

And I’m ready to go and make a life for myself.

If you give me what is mine,

I will go if I can have your blessing.

But if you won’t bless my journey,

I’m gonna leave anyway!”

As the story goes, the father gives his son his share of money, and the son goes out and squanders it on wild living, gets used by his friends, and finally hits rock bottom. Then he realizes what he gave away by leaving a home where he was loved. It was a powerful song, with several movements to it.

At that time, I was working on a song with a similar theme, but a whole different feel. It was a song I started for Todd, because he was thinking of splitting from home in hopes of finding the truth about life somewhere “out there”. It was called “Run To The End Of The Highway”.

Since I’d gone all the way to Asia on my search and Keith had rifled through every spiritual option you could think of, it was appropriate that we finished the song together:

Well, you can run to the end of the highway

And not find what you’re looking for—

No, it won’t make your troubles disappear.

And you can search to the end of the highway

And come back no better than before.

To find yourself you’ve got to start right here. . . .

It was crazy in a way. Here we were writing songs about people who needed to get their lives together, but our lives were slipping out of control again. Despite our heady, spiritual dialogues, we were once again falling back into the same old sloppy habits to deaden the pain of Keith’s lack of success—not to mention our inner emptiness.

As Keith wrote, disgustedly, in his journal:

Took a downer, snorted coke—not good enough—smoked dope till the cows crowed.

Keith was really down on himself, and so was I. But a few days later at a party in a friend’s gazebo we did it again. It was a beautiful day and after a small argument about whether we should or shouldn’t, Keith and I ended up smoking large amounts of hash. The drugs made us miserable and only underscored the fact that we were lost and failing in our search for God. We were beginning to realize that all our good intentions were getting us nowhere fast.

Nothing really seemed to be working for us. We just knew we wanted to be pure and righteous and that we wanted to follow Jesus—but we seemed incapable of doing so. And so it seemed to go through much of 1974.

Keith wrote these two entries on the same day that summer:

July 29, 1974

Still Stoned

Always a rational reason why I can cloud up my clear sky and pretend that I’m getting “high”. What a screw-up! Never believing in my will—a snort, a joint, a pill, will screw up my head until I let my angel(s) lead me away.

God

There is no one to talk to about how I feel. I love the Christ always—and Jesus and all the words and works. There’s metaphysical Christians—and there’s Jesus Freaks that scream, yell and chant his name, but there’s no confused Christians like me—that I can see or meet. I love the goal so thoroughly that I’d give up anything to attain it if I were sure about the path . . . Ah! My heart—It wants to break for the truth. . . .

It was clear that something had to break for us—and soon.