Some people have to come close to death before they are ready to live. That was me.
I survived being shot, run over by a car, and shocked back to life after overdosing, but none of those things changed me. Only when federal prison doors closed behind me did I finally realize my need for God.
Looking back, I can see that God was working long before I ever acknowledged Him. Every close call, every mistake, and every narrow escape was evidence that He had not given up on me. My mother never gave up on me either.
She often says I was the “baddest child” she ever had, but that didn’t quench her love. She tried to get me into church, but the sermons always felt like they were directed at me and I would slip right out the back.
By age 14, I had already been arrested and handed probation for burglary, forgery, and stealing cars. With no jail time or other real consequences, though, I drifted further, unmotivated to change. I figured I could never be good enough anyway, so why even try?
My drug of choice began as marijuana, but I soon turned to speed to keep me going. I would stay awake for days until my body shut down and I passed out. My poor mother often found me unconscious. Once, I had to be shocked back to life at the hospital.
That should have gotten my attention, but it didn’t. It wouldn’t be my last overdose either.
I married my high school sweetheart right after graduation, and we had two children. But instead of becoming the husband and father my family deserved, I spent my nights drinking, getting high, gambling, and chasing trouble. I had a knack for finding it, too.
Once, I was shot while defending a cousin. Another time, bullets flew past my head after I stole from the wrong people. This was my life—I took every risk possible.
I was bent on destroying myself. My wife, a good woman, did her best to stand by me. But I was Joe Stupid—a careless, violent, selfish man who gave nothing but pain. After ten years of my shenanigans, our marriage ended.
I lost my mind when I later found out she had a boyfriend. I jumped her, and after that incident, local law enforcement banned me from our small Texas town for three years.
My mother bought me a bus ticket to California so I could live with my brother. We all hoped a fresh start might save me, but moving felt like jumping out of the frying pan into the fire.
My brother got me a job at the post office. I was grateful, but the long shifts weren’t easy. A coworker handed me some pills to keep me awake. Those pills made the speed I’d been using in Texas seem like child’s play. And I wanted more.
When I’d first moved to California, my brother took me down a certain street and warned me never to go there. Well, where do you think Joe Stupid headed for a bigger fix?
There, I met a girl who introduced me to crack. Before I knew it, I was trapped in a dark, hopeless world, sharing needles with strangers. My body dwindled away, and I became a dead man walking—120 pounds on a six-foot-four frame.
Finally, with nowhere else to turn and no strength left to fight, I cried out to the God of my mother for help. In my drug-induced haze, all I could muster was a feeble, “God, help me. Show me which way to go.”
A few days later, my brother reminded me that my three-year ban was over and suggested I return to Texas. I’d been so strung out that I didn’t even know that much time had passed. It seemed to me that God was using my brother’s words to lead me.
After returning home, I entered treatment and began attending 12-step meetings. I married again and managed a low-income apartment building. Life was turning around. But sobriety, marriage, and a job didn’t fill the emptiness inside me.
About a year into my sobriety, a local pastor named Howard invited me to help build a church near the apartment complex I managed. He was a kind man, and as I worked alongside him, he would tell me about God’s love. He even told me I would one day become a pastor. That idea sounded crazy to me.
I began attending Pastor Howard’s church and going to Bible studies. The good news of God’s love (John 3:16) came alive in me. God began softening my heart and drawing me to Himself. I called upon the name of Jesus, and in that moment, He forgave me of my sin and brought me into a relationship with Him (Romans 10:13).
I’d heard about a higher power in my meetings. I’d even called out to it in the low points of my life. But now I knew that power had a name—Jesus—and in that name was true power (Acts 4:12; Romans 10:13; Philippians 2:9–11).
I surrendered my life to Jesus and was baptized. When I came up out of that water, I felt like there was nothing I couldn’t do through God (Philippians 4:13).
I wish I could say I never stumbled again, but God’s story in my life isn’t about my perfection. It’s about Jesus’s perfection and God’s faithfulness (Lamentations 3:22–23). My life testifies to His grace and mercy.
My stumble happened in 1997, after several years of sobriety, when I lost my job and marriage. As financial pressure mounted, my old criminal mindset kicked in. Instead of trusting God and seeking His help, I took matters into my own hands.
There was only one way I knew to make fast money and avoid losing everything I had worked so hard to build. I began selling crack cocaine.
It was a terrible decision, and I knew it was wrong. But I ignored God’s voice and did it anyway. I felt convicted every time I sold that poison to the same people who had once sat beside me in recovery meetings. I knew I was destroying lives.
One night, I finally came to my senses and fell to my knees, asking God for forgiveness and help. Two weeks later, federal agents kicked in my door.
At the time, it felt like God’s judgment was raining down on me, but it was God’s mercy. His mercy always triumphs over judgment (James 2:13). God loved me enough to stop me before I destroyed my life and the lives of any others.
I entered federal prison at 40 years old, scared and ashamed, certain that I had fallen too far from God’s grace for redemption. But He was waiting for me behind those walls, ready to take what the enemy had meant for harm and use it for His good (Romans 8:28).
In a place that could have destroyed me, God rebuilt me, showing me that He never abandons His children. No matter how many times we wander from Him, God does not wander from us. He also revealed that He wasn’t mad—He just wanted me to come back to Him.
So I returned to the Lord, determined not to waste any more of my time in prison.
One day, as I read God’s Word, the Holy Spirit illuminated Matthew 7:12 (NLT). It says, “Do to others whatever you would like them to do to you.”
That simple verse quickly became my life mission.
For too long, I had put my desire and my drug use ahead of those I should have loved and protected. Through this verse, God revealed my responsibility to serve others—especially the incarcerated men around me who faced danger every day. Many were being bullied or taken advantage of. I did my best to serve and protect them.
I was released from prison in 2002, and I immediately set out to serve others wherever God allowed. I taught Sunday school, led recovery programs, and started a food pantry.
One day, I attended a men’s breakfast and met a chaplain from the same federal prison where I had served my sentence. He invited me to return—not as an inmate, but as a minister.
It’s funny. As I was being released, a corrections officer smugly told me I’d be back in prison one day. I told him the only way I was going back was if I was invited. And that is exactly what happened, 12 years later.
Incredibly, top leadership welcomed me and allowed me to return where I had served time.
Today, I walk through those prison gates carrying a Bible instead of a prison number. The men are overjoyed to see someone who once sat where they sit now.
I am evidence of God’s mercy and a promise that what He has done for me, He can do for them.
I continue to visit the prison weekly as a minister and mentor. My goal is to equip these men to fight the good fight of faith (1 Timothy 6:12). I tell them to read their Bibles daily. To get down on their knees and pray often. I tell them to fellowship with people who are like-minded. And to fast. There is power in fasting and prayer (Acts 13:2–3).
Outside the prison, I continue to serve through street ministry and food distribution. My desire is to live out Jesus’s command to feed the hungry, help the hurting, and remember those who are forgotten (Matthew 25:35–40). (See also Proverbs 19:17; James 1:27; and 1 John 3:17.)
One of my greatest privileges is caring for my mother. She is 88 years old now and suffering from dementia. Amazingly, God has used the baddest child she ever had—the one who caused her years of heartache—to serve her with love and gratitude. Every day, I get to be His hands and feet. Only God could write a story like that.
As you’ve seen, my story isn’t about a man who finally got everything right. It’s a story about a God who never gave up—not when I was breaking the law, sticking needles in my arm, or backsliding my way into prison. He won’t give up on you, either.
You might think you’ve gone too far, failed too many times, or wasted too many years. I thought the same thing. But God’s mercy is greater than your mistakes.
There is nothing, my brothers and sisters, that can separate you from His love (Romans 8:38–39).
Consider: Do you think your failures are too great for God to forgive? How does Raydeen’s story challenge that belief? How will you respond to God’s gift of another chance? How might your life change if you treated others the way you want to be treated?
RAYDEEN EDWARDS is a Texas cowboy who serves God and His people anywhere he can. He ministers to and mentors incarcerated men weekly at Texarkana FCI through its chaplaincy and mentorship programs.
