My first time in a court of law was when I was about eight years old watching my father’s cousin, Bill Davis, defend an accused man in a murder trial.

I don’t remember too many details from the experience. I do recall my parents and I visited the courtroom several times. The proceedings attracted such a large audience that I had to stand on a cigarette butt can in the back of the courtroom to see over the throng.

There is no smoking in the courthouse today.

The “star” of that trial wasn’t Bill, nor the accused. It was the lead attorney for the defense, Percy Foreman.

Texas is home to the “larger-than-life” criminal defense attorney. Dick DeGuerin and Richard “Racehorse” Haynes became rich–and famous–as defense attorneys. More recently, Rusty Hardin has gained national notoriety for his legal representation.

But the name that trumps them all is that of Percy Foreman.

Foreman’s appearance in the Brazos County courthouse was major news in Bryan, and the reason my parents wanted to watch the trial. For many, it was like getting to see Mickey Mantle play baseball or Arnold Palmer tee it up on the golf course.

Foreman’s list of clients is a “who’s who” of the dastardly and nefarious, people like James Earl Ray, Jack Ruby, and Charles Harrelson. Foreman defended the former General Wesley Walker when he was accused of lewd and malicious behavior in Dallas.

It is said that Foreman tried more than 1500 capital murder cases during his career with only one of his clients being put to death.  In his defense of Charles Harrelson in the murder case of Alan Henry Berg, Foreman won an acquittal for his client.

Both Haynes and DeGuerin worked for Foreman in their formative years as defense attorneys. The Texas Criminal Defense Lawyer’s Association annually hands out a “Percy Foreman Lawyer of the Year Award.”

Although I don’t exactly remember the outcome of the trial I witnessed as a kid, I’m fairly certain the defense prevailed.

When Daddy helped me decide to become a lawyer, I didn’t really have visions of being another Percy Foreman. I was just hoping I could get into law school somewhere and take it from there.

Truth be told, had it not been for the fact that one of my Daddy’s high school classmates, Angus McSwain, was dean of Baylor Law School, I might never have had the chance to become an attorney.

As I’ve told you,  I didn't learn much in college, through no fault of my beloved Texas A&M. My “study habits”–if you could even call them that–boiled down to cramming for exams and keeping my fingers crossed.

In hindsight, I really didn’t go to college to learn, and I regret that to this day. Honestly, I don’t think I possessed much of a desire in my youth to learn. I was just kind of a “get-by” guy and averaged a low B at A&M.

That all changed in Waco.

Day One at Baylor Law School, I ran into a buzzsaw.

My first law professor was an old railroad attorney by the name of William Boswell. He had to be at least 80 years old by the time I took his class.

Serious as a heart attack, Boswell made no effort to get acquainted with his students that first day and did not bother to introduce himself. Instead, he immediately got down to the business of teaching us the law. For our first assignment, Boswell presented us a case scenario. It was our job to interpret the case and glean from it pertinent details.

The next class, Boswell called on me first.

“Young man,” he said, “I need a lawyer to advise me on the following fact situation.”

A “fact situation” is legal speak describing a summary of the details of a case for which relief is sought.

Boswell presented me with a few of the facts. After he concluded, he told me, “Now that you know what happened, please stand up and give me and your classmates your legal opinion on the matter.

“By the way,” he added, “you’ll be representing the injured party in this exercise.”

I sat there stunned. Just like Lyde Huggins, Boswell had blindsided me from out of nowhere. I hadn’t touched my homework assignment. I didn’t read a single one of the cases. I was under the assumption I could “get by” in law school as I had my four years at A&M.

After rising slowly from my seat and turning to face the class, I put forth a rambling and incoherent response that had a few in the room snickering. I felt pathetic.

When I sat down, Boswell looked at me silently for a few moments.

“Sir,” he finally said addressing me, “I’m going to have to get me another lawyer because you obviously don’t know a damn thing about the law.”

My entire first year of law school went pretty much that same way. I put in too little effort and felt completely out of my element the entire time.

But, I wasn’t going to quit. Daddy had spent a lot of money to put me in this position, and I didn’t want to fail him.

What I had to do went well beyond just “buckling down.” I knew I had to transform my whole approach to learning. There was no way I was going to skate by in this competitive environment.

My study habits dramatically improved the following year–in part due to a Baylor co-ed I had started dating: my future wife, Becky. She made me feel good about myself, and with that boost in personal confidence, my grades picked up dramatically. I still wasn’t an “A” student, but in making B’s, B-minuses, and C-plusses, I was at least on the road to successfully completing law school.

As I neared the finish line, I had one final challenge before receiving my degree. That last hurdle between me and becoming a real attorney was a former personal-injury lawyer by the name of Matt “Mad Dog” Dawson and his two-quarter Practice Court class.

Dawson was a Waco native, a Baylor graduate, and a highly-respected trial attorney. He was the son of the Reverend J. M. Dawson, a distinguished Baylor alum and highly-regarded local Baptist minister.

Physically, Mad Dog was a pretty unassuming character: bald-headed and bespectacled. As an instructor, he was tenacious.

Dawson was new to the Baylor law-school faculty, and it was my good fortune–as it had been with Gene Stallings at A&M–to be enrolled in his first Practice Court class.

Like Stallings, Dawson had little patience for screw-ups, which is why we began calling him, “Mad Dog.” He was a fanatic about the correct and ardent interpretation of the law.  

Despite my improved study habits and my desire to get law school behind me, I really struggled in Dawson’s classes. He humiliated me on several occasions, and when he called on me that first quarter–even though I thought I was prepared for his class–I invariably gave him the wrong answer.

Or, at least answers he didn’t want to hear.

In no time at all, “Mad Dog” had my stomach tied up in knots. His classroom was a frightening experience for me.

By the end of that first quarter, I was a wreck. I studied for his final exam like I’d never studied before. Still, when I took the test, I only managed to finish about 40 percent of my work.

Leaving his classroom that day, I felt an overwhelming sense of impending doom.

I was certain I had failed the class. I was positive I wouldn’t be getting out of law school.

And for sure, I wasn’t going to become an attorney.

By then, Becky and I were married. Even though we were newlyweds, she had already seen me hit rock bottom on more than one occasion. She always tried to put a positive spin on things, but I was firmly established in my habit of taking a sordid comfort from my gloom.

This was long before I found my Salvation in Embracing The Cross. While in law school, I had great difficulty even seeing the “sunny side of the street.” Personal remorse and despair were my too-constant companions.

With Mad Dog having gotten the best of me, Becky did what any good Baptist girl with a teaching degree from Baylor would have done for the despondent and forlorn man she had married: She got me drunk.

Both Becky and I grew up in the Baptist Church, but neither of us were brought up in strict Baptist homes. There was a time when we Baptists were thought to be “tea-totalers” and pursuers of the straight-and-narrow highway.

Neither my wife nor I have ever thought of a drink or two as any kind of sin.

As Becky sought to comfort my Mad Dog sorrows with a little “Mad Dog 20/20,” there was definitely no consumption of alcohol in moderation. After she was through with me, I passed out.

(Point of clarification here. Becky and I would never have had any Mogen David street wine in our Waco apartment. I’m not sure what elixir she used on me, but my co-author couldn’t resist linking the notorious inebriant with the law-school instructor of the same sobriquet. So, I’ve gone along with that, succumbing to his “literary license” and alliterative spin at the end of that last sentence.)

The next morning I woke up feeling miserable. But with the hangover came, surprisingly,  a newfound sense of optimism. Rather than clinging to my hopelessness, I realized that with Becky by my side I’d make something out of my life one way or the other.

It turned out Professor Dawson gave me a D on the test. I hadn’t failed. Yet.

With hope somewhat restored, I moved into my final quarter of law school, which included Mad Dog’s “practice court” mock-trial exercise.

For some young lawyers-to-be, practice court is as close to courtroom proceedings as they’ll ever get. I figured to fall into that group. My plans, if I could successfully navigate the law-school experience at Baylor, was to move back to Bryan with Becky and take up a job at Daddy’s bank.

I had not yet discovered my passion for litigation.

In a mock trial, students try a hypothetical case before their fellow classmates. Mad Dog presented each team a fact summary and it was our job to look up the law and defend or prosecute our position.

In Mad Dog’s class, the mock-trial included actual opening statements, cross examinations, and testimony from witnesses. Ultimately, much hinged upon our summations and the closing arguments we presented. The class then voted on the outcome of the case.

Mad Dog assigned me a partner who was a worse student than me.

Realizing our disadvantage, I decided to go talk to a real attorney and seek advice on how my partner and I might pull an upset and win our mock trial.

That attorney was, of course, Bill Davis.
Back in Bryan, Bill gave me good counsel: He told me to relax. Bill knew me well enough to understand I could be my own worst enemy. I suspect Daddy probably lamented with Bill from time to time about his “high-strung” oldest son. In addition, Bill provided tips on relevant procedural matters we were likely to face and techniques on how to sway the opinions of the classmates who would serve as the jurors in our case.

His final words were simple. “Enjoy the experience.”

When it came time my partner and I to take center stage, we had agreed that I would present the opening statement. In competition with another pair of students, I just tore them up with my remarks.

I’m sure it came as a surprise to the class, but what I had to say was well thought out. It was convincing. It was based on the facts. And as I progressed, I felt a surge of confidence that I had never felt before in ANY kind of academic pursuit.

As I sat down I thought to myself, “Damn. I can do this!”

I’ll never forget that feeling.

The rest of the mock trial went even better.

I suspect now that God had a hand in my endeavors in that course. While I may not have been “brilliant,” like Percy Foreman or Bill Davis, I was good, better than I ever imagined. I set witnesses up perfectly, closed the doors down paths I did not want them to go, and took control, as a good attorney is supposed to do.

After it was over and the class voted on the outcome, my partner and I won our mock trial. The margin of victory wasn’t even close.

Before leaving class that day, Mad Dog told me he wanted to see me in his office later that afternoon.

Dawson hadn’t said much to me during my time with him, and when he did, his words were less than encouraging. Yet, in his office after the mock-trial victory, he was no longer a mad dog.

“Did you tell me you came to law school to be a banker?” he asked.

“Yes sir.”

Without pause, he continued, “You don't need to be a banker, you need to be a trial lawyer because you have what it takes.”

Talk about a resurrection!

Dawson’s “endorsement” was a tremendous turning point for me. If I could convince Mad Dog that I was capable of successfully trying a case, then I was confident I could actually do so because he had such high standards for excellence.

Professor Dawson died in 2015 at the age of 98. Each spring, the winner of the Baylor Law School’s mock-trial competition receives the “Mad-Dog” Award. I am proud today to have been one of his first students.

In preparing to take my bar exam–which was held in Austin on the University of Texas campus–I enrolled n a two-week-long review course. We had some great instructors and in those two weeks they covered pretty much the entire law-school experience. I took the course seriously and worked hard to ready myself for the task at hand.

In the week preceding the scheduled test date, a couple of my law-school friends and I rented a motel room in Austin and sequestered ourselves morning, noon, and night to prepare for the exam. By the time we were done, I knew more about the law than I had before or, quite frankly, I have since.

I was primed.
When I entered the room in the “tu” Student Center–I still can’t capitalize those two letters when they stand symbolically alone–where the test would take place, I was surprised by the number of attendees. There had to be at least 400 people there.

The bar exam is a timed event. After issuing preliminary instructions and words of encouragement, proctors handed the test out. As it was placed on my desk, i sat there staring at the cover sheet.

This was my ticket.

A bell rang which indicated we could begin.

I opened the exam booklet and read the first question. In a matter of moments, a familiar sinking spell came over me and I totally froze.

I looked again at the question and it was as if it was written in a foreign language. Nothing about it made sense to me. Not a single neural transmitter clicked in my brain, and nothing came out of the pen that was poised above the page.

I moved on to the next question. “What does THAT mean?” I asked myself.

For 20 minutes, as everyone around me wrote frantically, I sat in a semi-comatose state certain of just one thing.

“There is no way I can do this.”

After another five or 10 minutes of mining the black hole of my legal knowledge–where everything went in but nothing came out–I began to consider just getting up and leaving. I looked over at the friends with whom I had studied so diligently in that Austin hotel room. They, seemingly, had all the answers.   

I had none.
At first, I was too embarrassed to give up, remembering my father’s insistence that I was not going to be a quitter.

But, eventually I did.

I walked out of the room. A proctor eyed me but paid little attention and said nothing. I strolled aimlessly through the hallways of the student center before finding a door and making my exit.

All around me, students went about their daily lives: walking, talking, laughing, with nary a care in the world, each of them oblivious to my humiliation.

Drifting for a time, I felt completely and utterly alone. I didn’t know what to make of my circumstance.
And then, it hit me. There was someone I could talk to.

“Okay God, “ I whispered to myself, walking downtrodden across campus, “what am I going to do now? What do I do with my life?
“I’ve wasted all my daddy's money on law school and here I am. I can't pass the bar. I won't become a lawyer. What do I do?”

I nearly walked into the path of a pretty coed pedaling her bicycle from the opposite direction. She swerved to avoid me. I paid the near collision little attention.

‘What do I do, what do I do, what do WE do, God?” I had gotten Becky mixed up in my failures.

I kept walking and began to notice something about the people around me. They all seemed really happy. “How could that be?” I thought to myself. “How can anyone be happy when the world is such a miserable place?”

I thought about that for a while and then came to an important realization: Everyone goes through bad things every once in a while.

I suddenly didn’t feel quite so alone.

“How do people get through it when they’re down on their luck?” I asked God.

Continuing my quiet conversation, I mumbled, “God, I believe there ARE other things I can do. I don’t have to be a lawyer to make a living, right?”

But, before this encouraging new line of discussion with My Maker could get started, the familiar sinking feeling returned. The Devil had now entered into the dialogue.

Satan was insistent that my plight was hopeless. As the clock was ticking back in the exam room, Satan demanded that I keep heading in the opposite direction. 

The Devil wanted me to get into my car and go somewhere, anywhere but where I really needed to be.

I rationalized that I couldn’t leave just yet. My buddies would need a lift later after they had passed the bar.

Suddenly, God’s voice became clear.

“Maybe you can take the exam again. People do that, you know.”

A flicker of optimism sparked my imagination.

“If you do take the test again, it might be good to know what to expect. You oughta go back into that room and look through the exam booklet; See what’s there. Get an edge on the next time you take it.”

God wisdom made perfect sense to me, although I was a little surprised by the informal manner in which he offered His good advice. I never imaged God using the word, “oughta.”

Without giving it another thought, I stopped in my tracks, turned around, and trotted back to the student center.

When I got there, I walked back into the room. The proctor who watched me leave probably figured I had been dealing with some intestinal issues in the bathroom and again paid me no mind.

I sat back at my desk. As they later told me, my buddies never noticed my absence, so immersed were they in the work. I picked up my pen, opened my booklet, and turned past the first couple pages I had seen before.

On page three, a miracle occurred. I found a question I was certain I knew how to answer. I began writing, slowly at first, but the tempo soon quickened.

Before I knew it, I’d finished with that question.  Upon turning the page, I found another subject for which I was eminently prepared.

And the hits just kept on coming.

As time expired, I had not only finished the exam–including the first two questions that initially had proven to be stumpers–but as it turned out, I made a damned good grade, and became a real attorney.

So, what happened? What made the difference at that crossroads of my life?

As I’ve said, God spoke to me. It wasn’t a “divine intervention” or anything like that. I just let him come into my presence and have a talk with me. He spoke to me in words that resembled my own thoughts and sent me back into that room to get the job done.

In as emphatic a manner as I’ve ever experienced, I died there in Austin that day. But, in as dramatic a Resurrection as I’ve ever had–and far more quickly than is usually God’s will– I was Raised and Transformed.

Think about your own life. Aren’t there moments and events where you’ve felt lost and become hopeless? Aren’t there times where you have completely given up?

But, look at where you are now. Right now as you read this book. How did you get here? What has been your journey?

Now, think about those times in terms of Death and Resurrection. Consider that Jesus came back from death after his time on The Cross.

My friend, you’ve come back from the dead, too, and that’s the essence of Embracing The Cross. Behind The Cross of Jesus Christ, we can always take Faith that a Resurrection is coming.