The Foltz home is a place of refuge. It’s a place where those who have nowhere else to turn can come to recover, be restored, and find repentance. Their home is a demonstration of grace for those who have nowhere to turn except for the God of the Bible. Over the past year, the Lord has given them opportunity to welcome methamphetamine addicts, the homeless, sex offenders, alcoholics, and others who have hit rock bottom.

What would compel a couple to put aside their own dreams and goals to serve those that society has given up on? What would compel them to put their lives in potential danger as they set aside comforts for Christ-centered service? It’s all about grace. Grace extended to us ought to be extended to others.   —Pastor Nate Eshelman

Baptism, Booze, and Loud Rebellion

Born and raised in Los Angeles, I was the fifth of the 5 Foltz kids, 10 years behind the rest of the pack. I was baptized and catechized a Lutheran. My parents separated due to my father’s alcoholism when I was 10. Within 3 years he died as a result of alcoholism, and my mother remarried soon after. These were the years I found heavy metal music and drums. Drugs and alcohol soon followed.

My mother’s new marriage came with a new city to live in, new friends, step-brothers and sisters, and a new high school. At my new high school, just after turning 14, I met my future wife, Monica, who was also newly relocated due to the loss of her family’s home. Monica was also born and raised in Los Angeles and was baptized a Catholic. She was the fourth of 5 kids. Her parents separated due to her father’s drug addiction. She also found heavy metal and alcohol at a young age, though she wasn’t a fan of drugs. We had music in common, and there was an immediate attraction.

During the first year in this new environment, I made the life-changing decision to start experimenting with drugs and alcohol. I began with marijuana and alcohol and found I was having a good time and making new friends, many much older than me. Within months I tried speed, cocaine, LSD, and was sowing the seeds to reap a colossal harvest of pain and misery.

Within a year and a half my mother separated from her second husband, and I was back in the home I had grown up in. Just before my sixteenth birthday, Monica and I officially started dating. I stayed in school, spent countless hours practicing drums, and managed to keep my boozing and drugs to weekends. My focus was to get out of high school, become a professional drummer in a death metal band, tour with them, drink, rampage, and live the life I thought my heroes lived.

Conversion, Submersion, and Subversion

At age 18, Monica and I were still together but hanging on by a thread. I remember being terribly dissatisfied with my life and had an emptiness and feeling of discontent, but I didn’t know why. Most of the people I called friends were immature backbiters—not friends, just people using each other to advance their personal agendas. Then there was my sister Sheryl, a Christian, smiling from ear to ear and relentlessly looking for opportunities to tell me about Jesus.

I still remember the night Sheryl led Monica and me to Christ. She was telling us about sin, hell, and redemption, encouraging us to taste and see for ourselves how good it was to follow Christ. My sister was so happy, so content, so joyful, unlike anyone else I knew. She was sure about what she was telling me. I sat there for some time counting the cost, considering what to do. Meanwhile, I listened to my sister lead Monica to Christ in prayer. I pondered what she said, and within the hour I bowed the knee of my heart to Christ.

Those next months were crazy. Everything changed—what I did, how I thought, who I hung out with, what I watched and listened to, how I spoke, even how I dressed. The Bible went from gibberish to actually making sense; it spoke of things I could identify with and relate to. I started attending church with my sister at a Calvary Chapel. I went Sunday mornings, Sunday evenings, and Wednesday evenings, attending every chance I could. I was all in, on fire, and I wanted to lay down my life for Christ, somehow, some way, spending my life in full-time ministry. I signed up to go to Calvary Chapel Bible College, excited to see what God was going to do with my life.

The Bible college was fantastic in many ways. I was away from the big city and studying the Bible full time. I only lasted one year, and I didn’t complete my degree there. God blessed me with new understanding—the discovery of the doctrines of grace as well as the grave errors of dispensationalism. It was pointless to continue my education there, and I wasn’t feeling welcome either.

Back at home, those around me struggled through my doctrinal issues whether they wanted to or not! Fortunately we all survived and came out stronger for having done so. At age 20, Monica and I became members of an Orthodox Presbyterian Church in the Los Angeles area and we soon got married. Sitting here in my office some 20 years later, I wish I could tell you that we’ve been faithfully walking with God ever since—but that is not our story.

At some point that simple, living, loving relationship I had with God began to dry up and wither. I ceased abiding in Christ and cultivating my relationship with God by reading His Word and praying daily. Monica and I didn’t do any kind of family worship and didn’t even know we should. We continued to go to church, and I read various theological books so that I would know where I stood on every doctrinal issue; but my emphasis had subtly changed from knowing God to knowing about God. By the time I was 23 I was enjoying all of my Christian ”liberties,” but my heart had grown cold. My idolatry was about to fully usurp the throne of my heart. At a church congregational meeting where issues and accusations were made between the leadership, we found an excuse to exit—no words, no letters, no emails. We just disappeared, never to be seen again.

Autonomy, Despair, and Blessed Brokenness

By the time I was 25 my Christian books were in boxes. There was no going to church or even talk of God anywhere around me, other than with my sister who lived hours away. I had a decent job that I hated. I was very discontent, drinking regularly, dreaming of creating music again. I had gone on a 6- or 8-month run of smoking methamphetamine and had used several other hard drugs.

History often repeats itself. I knew just how to fix the emptiness I was experiencing: form a professional metal band, get a record deal, tour, drink, rampage, and live the life I thought my heroes lived. I was sure this would fulfill me and make me content once again. My wife became part of this new life goal. As the keyboardist, she was one of the founding members of our symphonic black metal band, a band very much in rebellion to Christ and His kingdom. I had become an ardent atheist and nihilist with a major chip on my shoulder for all organized religion.

The next 14 years of our lives were filled with drinking and debauchery. We managed to buy a home, form a semi-successful band, land a record deal, and do some touring. Monica did well for herself over those years, moving up the corporate ladder in a job separate from the band; her passion became her day job. As for me, I was outwardly successful, but inwardly I was once again dissatisfied, empty, and discontent.

One summer night in 2012, Monica was on a business trip. I’d been drinking heavily and decided to smoke a little meth with some guys I knew up the street. From that night on, I used drugs daily. Over the next year and a half I systematically lost, gave away, sold, or destroyed almost everything I had.

Throughout my downward spiral, Monica plunged herself deeper and deeper into her work. I became suicidal and picked a date to end it all. Our marriage had run its course. In a last-ditch effort to save me from sure demise, Monica called my sister Sheryl, the Christian, and told her everything, asking her to come and talk some sense into me. She did that.

On Jan. 23, 2014, I checked into a drug and alcohol treatment center. My plan was to get the heat off my back and return to some substance abuse that would be more controlled. After 72 hours the drugs had run their course and were out of my system. It was the first time I had been sober since 2012.

After a week or two inside the treatment facility, I had found myself alone in my room on my knees, crying and praying these simple four words: God, please help me. Around the same time, Monica apparently prayed the same words. I left the treatment center after 30 days with a completely different worldview and a very serious determination to continue recovery. I had a zeal for honesty and integrity like never before.

After getting home I very seriously chased recovery in the rooms of Alcoholics and Narcotics Anonymous, doing everything that was suggested within those programs. Monica and I also began looking for a church. The second one we attended was the RP Church of Los Angeles. In a relatively short period of time, God made it abundantly clear to us that the LARP would be our new church. We soon became members.

It has been a year and a half since we repented, and God has done amazing things in our lives. Both Monica and I keep our relationship with God as our highest priority and guard it dearly. We try to keep things simple, be of service, and prioritize daily Bible reading and prayer to daily cultivate knowing Christ more. God has seen fit to use us in ministry, and that is always thrilling. We count ourselves very blessed to have been redeemed by Christ, who not only redeemed us unto eternity but also redeemed our present lives—our thinking, our worldview—in our pilgrimage through this world.

Author Jerry Foltz is a member of Los Angeles, Calif., RPC.