"All right, you sissies!" bellowed our football coach, angered by our lack of effort under the glaring spring sun. "Line up! We're gonna run the hamburger drill!"

Named for the runner who could easily get sandwiched between three tacklers, when my turn came I eagerly grabbed the ball.

Although a defensive end, I wanted to prove my toughness and move up to varsity the next season. I hadn't worked out and put on more than 30 pounds for nothing.

So instead of trying to dance away, I ran straight at them. Bam! I smashed into the first tackler head on, flattening him. The other two defenders struggled to bring me down.

"Way to go, Evans!" an assistant coach yelled. "That's what we wanta see! A little hitting! Next man up! Let's go!"

As I trotted to the end of the line, I felt a strange sensation.

"Man, I'm burning;'I said to my best friend. "My neck and back are hurting."

"You'll be okay," he said.

I lined up and ran the drill again. And again. But the fourth time I hit a gang of tacklers, I fell backwards. Twisting around like a battered top, I fell flat on my face.

Fading in and out of consciousness, the next thing I remember was lying in the hospital. My mother stood over me.

A worried look filled her eyes as she looked at black spots running down the base of my neck and spine. I saw her touch my hands, then my feet. But I couldn't feel a thing.

"He's broken his neck," a doctor told her. "He's never going to walk again. The best thing we can do for him is to operate so he can regain control of his bladder."

What would become of my future? This looked like yet another unexpected turn on the road to my destiny.

It began in southern Ohio, where my brother, father, grandfather and great grandfather had all worked at one of the steel mills that dotted the region.

At the age of 10, 1 was reading millwright manuals. I looked forward to claiming my place in the family tradition, which included living in the same town for the rest of my life.

That goal ended abruptly two years later when a fire shut down the plant. Dad qualified for early retirement and moved to Texas, about two hours east of Dallas. Even my brother, now in his mid 20s, came along.

Bitter over being uprooted, I started hanging out with older guys who were into drugs and drinking. Before long, I was taking advantage of opportunities to experiment with both.

The next three years were rough. Finally, with maturity beyond my years, I took a long look at myself. I saw that I was becoming just like my father, an alcoholic who sometimes grew violent.

Seeking a change, I enrolled in a different high school, got involved with a new crowd and started studying. I wanted to enter the military so I could fly helicopters.

Yet, the strangest thing happened. I still felt a void in my life. Cleaning up my act hadn't brought much happiness.

Then, one day as I walked down a hallway at school, I found a small pamphlet. On the front was a question: "What do Christians miss?" I opened it up to see the answer: "Hell!"

That tormented me. I thought of the magazines a pastor in Ohio had been sending me. They had stories of businessmen whose lives had drastically improved after they followed Christ. Was that what I needed?

Soon after this, a youth pastor came to see me. A baseball coach, he wanted to sign me up for his team. I told him, I don't care much about baseball. What I'm interested in is you telling me how I can become a Christian."

Handing me a dollar bill, he said, "This is a gift. It's just like that. It's free. If you believe in Jesus, He gives you eternal life."

Soon, I repeated what I call an "ABC" prayer. I:

Accepted the fact that Jesus is the Son of God.

Believed He died on the cross for my wrong doing.

Confessed that He is Savior and Lord.

When I finished, a soothing peace filled me. I sensed God's presence. I knew this was the answer to my frustration.

I made that decision just two weeks before that paralyzing football injury. So as I lay in the hospital, I wasn't worried.

One reason is I had seen God heal my mother when I was just four. Suffering because of a grapefruit sized tumor, she had withered away to 95 pounds. As I watched cancer eat at her body, I pleaded, "God, don't take my Mom. Then I won't have anyone to protect me."

God had answered that prayer. I reminded her of it that night. "Mom, don't worry," I said. "I know the character of God. He healed you and I know He'll heal me' '

I didn't know it, but many people were praying for me. Members of my church. Guys in the Fellowship of Christian Athletes at school. Some of my coaches.

In the morning, my father was in the room with the surgeon who was supposed to operate on me. As the doctor started talking, he touched my toe.

"I felt that!" I exclaimed.

"No, you just think you felt it," he said. "You saw my hand touch it and want to think you felt it. "

So I moved my leg and said, "I think I moved my leg.' Then I moved my arm and said, I think I moved my arm." My father watched with his mouth hanging open.

The doctors decided to examine me. But the X rays came back showing nothing was broken. Finally, they put a neck brace on me and said, "We'll let you go home.'

The day after that, I went back to school. When one of my coaches saw me, he fell to his knees with tears in his eyes.

Over the next three years, 165 classmates decided to follow Christ when they saw what God did. They couldn't doubt my healing when they saw me playing varsity football.

A number of years have passed. I got married and have been involved in several busiriesses. But that isn't the end of story. I have seen God heal hundreds of people, including my mother for a second time.

Diagnosed with congestive heart failure in 2000, Mom supposedly had six months to live. But after prayer, she felt better. Three years later after an extensive examination, her doctor said, "Your heart muscle is great. You don't have any problems, '