I’ll never forget this one incident as long as I live. It happened when I was about five-and-a-half years old. Back then my family lived down in a place called Sheffield Lane. We lived in the back of the town by the Mississippi River levee. That was where my brother Wayne and I would play.

In that same neighborhood was a kid Wayne and I used to play with. But this kid was an abused child, because both his parents were alcoholics and they would neglect him sometimes. This boy’s name was Fred, and Fred was a tough kid. At the age of six Fred would smoke cigars, and that freaked me out. I’d say, “Wow, man! Fred’s smoking.”

“Want a hit?” Fred would ask, offering me his cigar.

“No, no, no,” I would say.

Fred’s parents didn’t much care what Fred did. I saw his father fall drunk on the porch many times. His mamma too. The police would go down there, pick up the kids and keep them for about three weeks, but eventually they’d give them back.

So Fred was a tough kid. In fact, he once took a butter knife and stabbed one of my friends in the back with it. An ambulance had to come pick up my friend. That made me mad.

“We’re going to whip Fred,” I told my brother.

“Okay,” my brother agreed. “Where are we gonna whip him at?”

Well, I had a plan to get even with Fred.

Back then we didn’t have an inside toilet. We had an outside toilet called a “three-holer.” There was the daddy holer, the mamma holer and the baby holer-a three-holer toilet. You were a hotshot if you had a three-holer.

I told my brother how I was going to get even with Fred. I said, “I’m going to lure Fred into that outhouse. You get there first and wait behind the door. Then when I open the door and he comes in, you just hit him. After you hit him, I’ll throw him down the hole.”

Oh, I was a bad kid. Remember, I was about five-and-a half years old when this happened.

“I done had enough of Fred,” I said. “Fred stabbed our friend, and we’re gonna bust him today.”

Well, sure enough, before long ol’ Fred came over, smoking his cigar. I’ll never forget it. I said, “Hey, Fred, come here.”

“What d’ya want?” Fred asked.

“Come here,” I said. “I want to tell you something. I got something to show you in the outhouse too. Come see.”

“There ain’t nothing in there I want to see,” Fred said.

“Just come on,” I said.

Now, Wayne was in the outhouse, waiting behind the door, and I was tricking Fred into coming in there. Boy, when he walked through that door, boom! Wayne hit him! And when Wayne hit him, I hit him too. I yelled, “You stabbed my friend!” And we started to beat him up.

Well, my plan was to throw Fred down one of those holes. I was trying to throw him in, but all I had gotten in so far was his head. But I was sure trying to get the rest of him down there.

He was going, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

I was trying to get even with Fred for stabbing my friend with a butter knife. I was sticking up for my friend. Here I was five-and-a-half years old, and that’s how I was going to get even.

Fred was screaming at the top of his lungs. We were trying to stuff him down that hole – but the problem was I had his head in one hole and his legs in another, and there was something in between. I couldn’t get him all the way in. I wanted to cut him in half and drop both halves in there.

Just then I heard Fred’s daddy coming after us. I heard him, and I got so scared I left Fred hanging in the holes and started to run. Wayne ran too.

Fred came out crying, “Ohhhhhhhhh!” And his daddy ran up, yelling, “Hey! I ought to kill you.”

Now, I was just a little guy, and when that big man said something about killing us, I froze. Wayne was yelling, “Run, Jesse, run!” But I was scared frozen.

Fred’s dad was drunk, and he was holding a big Stillson wrench. Anybody know what I’m talking about? He had a big monkey wrench, an oil field wrench. And he was holding that wrench, saying, “I’ll kill you, boy!”

So I was standing there frozen, and Wayne was still screaming, “Run! Run!” Wayne was running. But I was just standing there with this guy and his wrench coming at me. He got right up close and said, “I’ll beat your brains out!”

All of a sudden I heard something go, Kukukkk! I turned around, and there was my mamma, standing in the doorway with a .22-caliber rifle pointed at that man’s head.

“You touch my boy, and I’ll kill you,” she told that man.

As soon as she said that, I’m telling you, boldness came up in me. I had so much boldness all of a sudden, I just looked at that man and said, “Yeah, you want some of me? Come on, man. I’ll whip your son and whip you too. Mess with me!” Five-and-half years old! I had so much boldness that I yelled, “Shoot him, Mamma!”

Mamma said, “Shut up, Jesse! Shut up!” Then she turned back to the man and repeated, “You touch my boy, and I’ll kill ya!” By that time my daddy had come out. He saw my mamma with a .22, he saw the guy with a wrench and he saw me going, “Come on, Jack.”

My daddy saw all that and started to talk my mother out of it. Her name was Velma, but daddy called her Vel. He said, “Vel! Don’t kill that man.”

That man looked at my daddy and said, “You think she would?”

My daddy told that man, “I live with this woman, and I know her. She will kill you if you touch that boy!”

Mamma had that rifle with seventeen shots pointed right at the man’s head. Boy, did I have boldness!

Daddy called to my mamma, “Mamma, put the gun down.”

Daddy was trying to get people saved; Mamma was trying to kill them.

She answered my daddy, “Paul, I haven’t crucified my flesh yet. You believe in raising the dead, right? Well, we’ll see how much power you’ve got. I’ll bust him in a second if he touches Jesse.”

That man dropped the wrench and backed away-very, very slowly.

I knew that man had been scared, and that had made me even more bold. As long as my mamma was backing me up, I had boldness. Why did I have boldness? Because there was somebody behind me with a gun! I had someone protecting me.

Let me tell you something. The devil may be coming at you with a wrench, brother or sister, ready to bust your head open. You may have done something to make him mad, and he just doesn’t like it. Maybe you did something wrong, or maybe you did something right. The devil doesn’t care. He comes to steal, kill and destroy. (John 10:10.)

Well, with God on your side, you can look over at Jesus and hear Him say, “Come here, kid!” It’s Him saying, “You touch that kid, and I’ll blow your head off! You don’t touch that kid! That’s My boy.” Or, “That’s My girl.” Glory to God. Hallelujah! You’re Jesus’ kid, and He sticks up for you just like my mamma did with that gun. Knowing that produces boldness inside you!

Source: Jambalaya for the Soul by Jesse Duplantis
Excerpt permission granted by Harrison House Publishers