When God Is Silent: A Revival of Hope

This past September, we held our second annual Revival of Hope in Greenville, North Carolina. There were moments while planning the event that I questioned whether I should even do it. And no matter how much I pleaded with God to show me His will, there was only silence.

On top of that, I was exhausted, as was the team. We were all carrying heavy workloads while trying to navigate a newly activated database system. The thought of adding yet another commitment to our already full plates could make a macho man cry.

I didn’t have peace about not holding the event, though, because I hadn’t heard a definite “no” from God either. So I moved forward, albeit cautiously.

Years ago, my former pastor, Rob Morford, had taught me that if I wasn’t hearing from God, I should go back to the last instruction He’d given me and move forward from there.

So I thought back. The last instruction I’d had for the Revival of Hope was to erect a simple tent on a particular piece of property so that God could move in the hearts of people from my community. I also knew God had called this ministry to deliver hope through authentic storytelling. I clung to those instructions as I started planning and continued to ask God to guide my steps (Psalm 119:133).

I was so relieved when months into planning, I heard the Lord say, “There’s one of your speakers.” This brief break of silence happened during a meeting in my office with a woman named Reneé, and it gave me exactly what I needed to keep moving forward.

I had not met Reneé before that day. She’d requested a meeting to ask me to speak at a local nonprofit’s fundraising event she was holding. She also asked me to sponsor a table. I liked this bold, beautiful lady and asked about her God-story. She shared how she’d come to know Jesus, finishing with, “The Lord set me free from an incarceration of the mind!”

God used her words to confirm His choice. She had no idea that I’d chosen the theme of freedom for the Revival or that I’d often commented on how a person doesn’t have to be physically incarcerated to be incarcerated. She was two for two.

Sure that I’d received a heavenly instruction, I invited Reneé to be a part of our speaker lineup. Months later, as I sat under the tent listening to this beautiful woman speak, I praised the Lord, saying, “God, You sure knew what You were doing with this one.” I was in awe of the power, conviction, courage, beauty, and grace she exuded. (You can read Reneé’s story on page 22, as well as watch all the speakers’ testimonies at youtube.com/@victoriouslivingmin, and on your correctional tablets through the Pando and Edovo platforms.)

A couple of months before the event, one of my teammates admitted to feeling unclear about event details. “It just feels so different than last time,” Carla said. “I feel like we’re missing something or not giving enough effort.” Then it hit me.

Last year, we had many challenges. It had taken months just to get an address so that we could apply for permits, power, and security, among other things. This year, the planning was simpler, and the lack of conflict made us think we were doing something wrong. But we weren’t. We were right in the center of God’s will.

That’s not to say I didn’t make some mistakes along the way; I made plenty. Or that we didn’t have disappointments. But none of that hindered God’s plans. He graciously redirected those missteps by realigning people and things without the first hint of condemnation. Those realignments proved to me that God was at work even though He was silent.

I came across Psalm 126:5–6 in my daily reading just a week or so before the event. It says, “Those who plant in tears will harvest with shouts of joy. They weep as they go to plant their seed, but they sing as they return with the harvest” (NLT).

I sensed God saying, “Kristi, I’ve seen the tears and sacrifices you all have made. I’ve also seen how you’ve kept moving forward, despite not having all the answers. Precious daughter, warm up your vocals and get ready to shout, because harvest time is here!”

Those shouts of joy came on September 12 and 13, when hundreds of people from our diverse community gathered under the open-air tent on that normally vacant property. There was more rejoicing as team members returned from sowing seeds of hope and reaping a harvest in the local jail.

God was obviously in our midst at every event, both in the jail and under the tent. As I listened to the various speakers, I was amazed at how God had woven all their messages so seamlessly together. Each one built on the other, and not one speaker had known beforehand what the other was going to say.

At the end of the revival, a young woman told me that the Revival of Hope was one of the most wonderful events she’d ever attended and asked who had curated the content. I could only give one answer, “God.”

When the final event was finished, I collected my Bible and notebook and whispered to the Lord, “It’s over.” I was grateful for all He’d done. But before my Southern self could finish drawing out the “r” on over, I heard, “It’s just getting started.” I smiled.

Evidently, God’s got a lot more “planting with tears” planned for our ministry. But that’s just fine with me. His good work always brings a reward of a bountiful harvest, as long as we don’t give up (Galatians 6:9).

Perhaps today, you’re waiting for some heaven-sent instructions. Don’t let God’s silence paralyze you with indecision.

If you are truly seeking His will and desiring to walk in His ways, God’s Holy Spirit will lead you in the right direction. So take a step of faith.

If you happen to misstep, it’s okay. Repent and acknowledge you’ve made a mistake, learn from it, and then be willing to try again. God will get you back on track. Proverbs 24:16 (NLT) promises, “The godly may trip seven times, but they will get up again.” How? Because God will be there to help them.

So don’t be afraid to take a step. Simply walk in humility, listening and watching as you go, trusting that God is at work, even if He’s silent.

Kristi Overton Johnson encourages and equips people for victory through her writings, speaking engagements, and prison ministry. To learn more, go to kojministries.org.

God’s Still Writing My Story

You’re stupid. You’re dumb. You’ll never amount to anything. Those words have haunted me for decades.

Hearing them was crippling enough, but my abuser didn’t stop there. He molested and terrorized me into silence, threatening to kill everyone in the house if I told.

I finally found the courage to tell my mother, but her reaction was not what I thought it would be. My stepfather’s abuse subsided, but now my mother treated me with a silent, destructive rejection.

I often wondered if she was mad at me for what her husband had done. Did she think it was my fault? She never came out and blamed me, but her cold indifference resulted in deep feelings of rejection.

Abandoned emotionally, I was left to deal with the wreckage alone. I was abused at home and bullied at school, and as a result, I grew up feeling like there was no safe place for me.

Satan set out to steal, kill, and destroy my destiny early in life (John 10:10). By working through people, circumstances, and abuse, the deceiver filled my heart and mind with spoken and unspoken lies. Like every innocent child, I believed and took to heart what the people I loved and trusted told me.

The weight of those invisible wounds remained, silently shaping the way I saw myself and affecting how I related to the world around me. Depressed and imprisoned by destructive thoughts, I survived my teen years and limped into adulthood, carrying all my unhealed wounds and unresolved trauma with me.

I was desperate for someone to love me. I met a young man and fell deeply for him. Before long, I found out I was pregnant.

A doctor suggested I have an abortion because I was single, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that. I didn’t know the Lord at that time, but somehow I had a deep conviction that the life I carried was a gift. I became a single mom at 21.

The relationship with my child’s father eventually ended, which deepened the wounds of rejection and abandonment that I was already struggling with.

While my daughter was still very young, I attended a revival service where I gave my heart to the Lord, and that’s when my spiritual journey began.

Eventually, I met Jim. He loved the Lord, and we were married in 1990. It should have been the beginning of a promising new life, but right away I was attacked with dark periods of depression. Even on our honeymoon, I found myself in a pit of darkness that bewildered both me and Jim.

Despite the challenges of my fluctuating mental health, God blessed us with the joy of a family. Within our first five years of marriage, we welcomed two more beautiful daughters. All three of our children were gifts from God who brought light to even my darkest seasons.

Jim was a wonderful father who led our family well. Together, we built a strong Christian foundation in our home. Our daughters all gave their lives to the Lord and began their journey with the Him in their youth.

We were a family rooted in faith and serving in ministry, but all was not well.

My depression often caused me to withdraw from those I loved. I did my best to live out God’s Word during these low periods of withdrawal, but my daughters didn’t know what was wrong and thought I was angry with them.

Without realizing it, I created the same generational wounds in my children that I had so longed to receive healing for.

I tried desperately to hide my pain, perfecting the art of pretending everything was fine. But behind every achievement and every smile was a trembling child, longing for relief from the despair that had carved itself into every area of my being.

I desperately wanted to be free of the pain and turmoil. I was a broken woman in need of healing, and the only place I was going to find it was at the foot of the cross. I continued to cry out silently to the Lord without ever asking for help from those around me.

I was so tired of feeling trapped in my emotions. I was a prisoner in my own mind. I constantly fought thoughts of failure and what-ifs. These destructive thoughts attacked my mind, resulting in a demonic stronghold. I was in constant mental warfare. “Lord,” I cried, “what in the world is wrong with me?”

The only place I found any relief was in reading and listening to God’s Word. As I immersed myself daily, a quiet truth began to emerge from the pages: I was not alone in my struggle. God was with me and had been from the beginning.

The roots of rejection, toxic thoughts, and chronic depression that had entangled my soul had to be exposed. They were holding me back, keeping me from stepping into the purposes Christ had died to give me. And God let me know that in no uncertain terms.

I was praying at a retreat with some friends in 2018 when I heard God speak to me. “It’s time to get up,” He said. I quickly shared what I’d heard, hoping to encourage them, but deep down, I knew the Lord was speaking directly to me.

My encounter was much like that of the man by the pool of Bethesda in John 5:6–9. There I sat, in a pit of shame, depression, and self-pity. The Lord lovingly but firmly showed me my options: I could stay and be miserable or get up and walk in freedom. I couldn’t do both.

I got up and embarked on a journey of healing with Him that I am still on today.

One morning as I wept, the Spirit of the Lord said to me, “This is no more than sorrow of heart.” Where had I heard that before? I searched the scriptures and landed at Nehemiah 2:2. Like Nehemiah, I prayed to the God of heaven and asked Him to show me what to do.

He answered by revealing the soul wound I carried, the result of the childhood trauma I had endured. Those emotional scars had ruled my thoughts, behaviors, and relationships all my life. Just like a physical wound would have needed attention, my soul wound did too. Otherwise, it would continue to wreak havoc. That day, the Lord began revealing the root of my pain even as He promised to bind up those wounds and heal me (Psalm 147:3).

While sitting in church one day, I had this thought: “What if the Lord has already set me free, and I have been believing a lie?”

It made perfect sense! The enemy had fed me lies when I was a little girl, convincing me that I was dumb and stupid and that I would never amount to anything. I had accepted those lies and let them rule my life. There is power in agreement, even agreement with lies.

As I continued to meditate on the truth of God’s Word, specifically what God says about me, things started to change. Instead of trying to change my behaviors, I let the Lord renew my mind. The healing of my soul wound was underway.

But healing isn’t an event. It’s an ongoing journey. Just as soon as I would think my healing was complete, God would place His finger on yet another layer of buried wounds that desperately needed a touch from Him.

My healing journey led me to a confession: “Yes, I was abused. I was traumatized and rejected. But I will not live in defeat and pain anymore. I was a victim, but I will no longer live with a victim mentality. That’s not who I am!”

The beauty of my healing journey is that it’s generational. Every step I take toward wholeness restores me, but it also bridges the distance my depression and unhealthy emotions created between me and my daughters.

Wounds that are not healed and transformed can be transferred to our children. They have a generational impact. My parents hurt me out of their woundedness. I did the same to my children. My prayer now is that as my girls see God’s healing work in me, my life will become a legacy of hope, revealing God’s grace to them and their children.

Finding forgiveness for my perpetrator, my mom, and myself played a major part in my healing process. As much as I desired grace and mercy from God and others, I had to learn to extend those same things to those who had hurt me.

Transformation isn’t easy. Every day, I have to take authority over my thought life. I have to remind myself what the Word says rather than listen to the lies the devil still whispers. I have to guard my life and my tongue, breaking all the agreements I once made with the lies (Proverbs 18:21).

Does it get tough sometimes? Absolutely! But I’ve learned to lean into Him for strength to endure. I am so thankful that God loved me enough not to leave me broken and wounded.

I am still a work in progress. I still shut down sometimes. Being transparent hurts, but when that happens, I remind myself that God is faithful to complete the work He started in me, and I trust that He is continuing to write my story (Philippians 1:6).

God wants to finish the work He started in you too. He’s still writing your story. He hasn’t put the pen down! What you think is the end of your story is instead just the beginning of a new chapter. Continue to walk with Him. Choose to get up daily, rise from your place of pain, and trust the One who created you.

You are never alone in this journey—God’s love will relentlessly pursue you to lead you out of darkness (Colossians 1:13–14). Grab His hand and, with His help, get up and step into the light of His Son. There, you will find healing and restoration.

God can make all things new (2 Corinthians 5:17)—including you. His light will shine through your formerly broken places and light up another person’s path to healing (2 Corinthians 4:7–8). This process will continue for generations to come.

Reneé Cairns is an ordained minister who ministers to young women who have suffered similar trauma. She and her husband Jim founded Broken Chains, Transformed Lives, where they help hurting people find freedom in Christ. She has traveled from North Carolina to Trinidad to Tanzania, ministering the Word and seeing lives transformed by the power of the blood of Jesus Christ.

The Story My Scars Tell

Love can leave scars. I learned this hard lesson in the brokenness of my childhood home.

I watched as my parents, lost in their own pain, tore each other and our home apart. Alcohol, betrayal, and depression infiltrated our daily lives, turning what should have been a place of love and safety into a battlefield.

When the arguments erupted, violence often followed, driving us kids to seek shelter in the basement. As the second oldest of four, I felt responsible for protecting my younger siblings during those late-night fights. I couldn’t explain to them what was happening when I didn’t understand it myself. Fear and uncertainty strangled my heart as I attempted to give comfort.

I learned early to hide my feelings, stay quiet, and pretend everything was okay. But by the time I was 11, I began to wonder if life was worth living. Hopelessness and despair ran so deep that I started to believe the world might be better without me.

It was a terrifying thought for a child, but it felt like the only escape from the pain I couldn’t name. I kept going, though, carrying the weight of that darkness in silence.

That burden grew heavier the day my father packed his bags and left our family. No goodbye, no explanation, and no response to my cries—only the sound of the door closing behind him as my heart shattered into a million pieces.

His absence cast a new shadow over our home. My mother slipped into a deep depression. I took on the responsibility of caring for my younger siblings, trying to be the nurturing presence I longed for.

I felt so alone as I struggled to make sense of my own sadness and rejection. What had I done to make my dad leave? Haunting thoughts hardened into anger, reshaping my pain into rebellion.

The emptiness inside me grew as I entered my teens. Desperately longing for connection in a world where I was invisible, I felt drawn to hang out in Pilsen—a lower west side neighborhood of Chicago. The familiarity of the streets brought a sense of comfort.

I hung out with a gang, which gave me a sense of family and filled the void inside. Loyalty in that world meant something. These people wouldn’t abandon me like my father had. They would protect me at all costs.

But I didn’t consider the heavy price associated with those friendships.

At seventeen, I entered a toxic relationship with someone older than me. He made me feel loved and wanted, and I imagined he’d take care of me forever. But that illusion quickly unraveled as control, manipulation, and abuse took over.

His words and actions left bruises—not just on my body, but on my already fragile sense of self-worth too. He’d beat me and then apologize and tell me how much he loved me, so I stayed. I was soon pregnant with his child.

Becoming a parent with someone who hurt me so profoundly was both heartbreaking and transformative. Every time I looked at my little boy, a voice inside me whispered, “Break free from that man.”

The day I saw the same fear in my son’s eyes that I had felt as a child was the day I decided to leave. I didn’t have a plan, but I had reason enough. I was determined to give my beautiful baby a life free from violence.

My ex didn’t take the breakup well. He threatened to take my son and stalked and harassed me to the point where I feared for my life. I didn’t know much about God, but in desperation, I cried out to Him (Psalm 18:6), begging Him to protect my child and me. God not only answered my prayer and kept us safe, but He also began rewriting my story.

It began with an unexpected meeting one night with an unfamiliar yet friendly face. This guy showed up in his friend’s ride and started flirting with me through the passenger window. He was quite cute and funny. He jumped out of the car, introduced himself, and asked if I wanted to hang out.

Omar Calvillo belonged to a rival gang of my ex’s. I knew if I was seen talking to him, that would be dangerous. My ex’s behavior was increasingly unstable. But I couldn’t resist.

We were cautious in our relationship at first. We both carried many scars from past betrayals and traumas, so we guarded our hearts closely.

But soon, caught between Omar’s magnetic charm and his broken soul, I fell in love. It wasn’t long before I was pregnant with his child.

I wanted to build a life with Omar, but there was a problem—his loyalty to the gang was his top priority, not me. My head told me not to go down that road again, but my heart didn’t listen. I stepped right into his world, inheriting his battles.

There were drive-by shootings, cops, and lots of drinking and drugs. I worried every day that a rival gang would kill him or he’d end up back in prison.

The stress made it hard to breathe, and I began slipping into that old pit of depression. Thoughts of ending my life resurfaced, bringing with them guilt. How could I feel so low when I had such a beautiful child and another on the way?

One afternoon, a friend invited me to church. Exhausted, scared, and very pregnant, I went. I didn’t know what I was walking into, but I was desperate for peace. I had longed for it my whole life.

As the worship music played and the pastor began to speak, my heart melted. He talked about a Savior who died for me—not because I was perfect but because He loved me. He said Jesus saw my sinfulness and still chose me.

For the first time, I felt seen—not by a man, not by the streets, but by God. Realizing that I didn’t have to carry the weight of the past, present, or future alone, I ran to the altar to accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior.

Tears streamed down my face as I made my way home that evening. I couldn’t wait to tell Omar so that he, too, could meet Jesus and find peace. But Omar wasn’t interested.

I hoped my transformation would inspire him, but he only ran further into darkness, becoming increasingly restless and angry with each step. The tension between us increased as the streets and Satan tightened their grip on him. Omar was tormented by darkness, and I could see the battle for his soul.

Ephesians 6:12 told me that the war Omar was encountering was not against flesh and blood, but against spiritual beings. So I fought that spiritual war with a spiritual weapon—prayer. My love for Omar and our family kept me on my knees, although it was a lonely battle.

As I clung to Jesus and kept my eyes on Him, He blessed me with peace. And His peace kept me steady (Isaiah 26:3) while guarding my heart and mind (Philippians 4:7). Hebrews 4:16 instructed me to approach God’s throne of grace confidently. So I boldly asked Him to reveal whether Omar was the man He had chosen for my life. If not, I asked God to remove Omar so that I could move on.

I held on to the promise that God was working in my life (Romans 8:28) and continued to pray, even though my situation seemed hopeless. Those fervent prayers led to victory (James 5:16).

Omar’s redemption story is one of my favorites. (You can read it on page 26.) I’m grateful for the opportunity to witness God’s grace transform this once-hardened man into a mighty man of faith. Omar’s story is proof, as is mine, that nothing is impossible for God (Matthew 19:26).

I’m so glad the Lord chose Omar to be my husband. He has faithfully shepherded our family’s walk with Christ for the past two decades. Today, we live not as victims of our past, but as living proof of God’s redeeming power. No one is out of reach of God’s love.

As we’ve allowed Him, God has used our scars to bring healing to others. I have the honor of ministering to women who, like me, have both visible and invisible wounds. These women come from similar places and are marked with rejection and shame.

I share with them the truth that they are seen, loved, and chosen, and how Jesus will step right into the middle of their mess and help them. Their scars are not signs of weakness, but evidence of survival. Each one tells a story of pain endured, strength discovered, and grace received.

It’s a sacred privilege to walk alongside people and witness the beauty of redemption unfold. And it’s a privilege to share this hope with you.

If you’re carrying pain, scars, or wounds that feel too deep to heal, I want you to know that Jesus sees you. He hasn’t forgotten you (Genesis 16:13). The same God who rescued Omar and me from despair, healed our broken hearts, and redeemed our stories is reaching out to you right now.

Don’t worry—God will be gentle with your pain. His love is powerful and will heal all your wounds, even those you’ve tried to hide. Jesus Christ will begin to rewrite your story the moment you let Him in.

You don’t have to stay stuck in survival mode. As God’s beloved child, you were made for victory (1 Corinthians 15:57; 1 John 5:4). Step into it!

Let God heal and restore you and lead you into the fullness of life He died to give you (Romans 5:8; 1 Corinthians 15:3–4). He will breathe life into things you thought were dead (Psalm 147:3; Ezekiel 37:2–6).

The Redeemer is ready to transform your scars into a beautiful story.

Ann Calvillo is the host of Her Scars Tell a Story, a podcast that gives voice to women who have found healing in Christ. She also serves at the Pacific Garden Mission in Chicago, helping the lost and hurting find their way to the Savior who restored her soul.

Freedom From Darkness

For the first 13 years of my life, Pilsen, Illinois, was my happy place. Outsiders saw it as one of the toughest neighborhoods in Chicago, but to me, it was home. The streets were my playground, and the aroma of home-cooked Mexican food filled the air.

I was the middle child between two brothers. We lived on the first floor of our tri-level home with our parents. Relatives occupied the floors above and below us. Though our home wasn’t perfect, it was full of love, and I felt safe thanks to my dad, cousins, and uncles. Their presence shielded us from the dangers of our gang-infested neighborhood.

My dad worked tirelessly, juggling his full-time day job and fixing neighbors’ cars at night. He taught us the value of hard work. But beneath the surface of our tight-knit family, there were cracks—financial pressure, young parents trying to make ends meet, and the ever-present parties where alcohol flowed freely.

There was always something to celebrate, but once the drinking started, fights inevitably followed. I experienced many terrifying rides home from those parties with my intoxicated father behind the wheel. And once we were home, arguing ensued.

In our world, giving a kid a beer wasn’t just accepted—it was celebrated as a rite of passage. I thought I was cool when I drank my first beer. I drank with the adults at the parties and soon began using drugs.

I admired the local gang members. I dressed like them and imitated their every move. But my cousin Gil, who was my hero, made sure I didn’t get caught up in gang life. He knew the price that came with those alliances firsthand, so he kept me from joining.

Whenever I tried to hang out near Gil, he chased me away. He was determined to keep me on the right side of an invisible line that separated me from his world.

Everything changed the night Gil was shot by the police. The news shattered any illusion of safety in my happy world.

The laughter and closeness my family had enjoyed disappeared as grief and confusion overtook us all. The innocence of my childhood died with my cousin, and in its place came anger, rebellion, and resentment toward authority—especially the police.

Nothing stood between us kids and gang life after Gil was gone. My little brother joined first. We were close, almost like twins, so I followed. Then our cousins and friends joined. It became a family affair, fueled by hurt, hate, and anger. I jumped into a life of violence, crime, and heavy drug use—everything Gil had tried to shield me from. The streets became an outlet for my pain and a source for more. I was trapped in a cycle of destruction.

I wasn’t big and intimidating like my friends. I was a skinny kid with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove. So I picked up a gun and started acting recklessly. Our gang assigned youngsters like me to neighborhood security detail, a role I took pride in. I was ready to protect my friends and family.

My mom warned me to stay off the streets. My dad had his own way of dealing with me. But no lecture or belt could loosen the grip the streets had on me.

Eventually, my little brother and I got into trouble with the law. He was underage and went to juvenile detention. I got seven years in prison, and although I only served half of that time, it felt like a life sentence.

Looking back, I can see that God had His hand on me, even in the darkest places. No matter what facility I ended up in, there was always a familiar face from my neighborhood. I didn’t have to fight for respect like so many others. That protection wasn’t luck—it was grace, even when I didn’t realize it.

But when I ended up in segregation, I suddenly found myself alone in a cell with only my thoughts. That new reality helped me realize how messed up my life was.

Until that point, I had hardened myself because in prison, you can’t show weakness. But all my toughness unraveled as the weeks dragged on in isolation. Without my usual coping mechanisms, I hit a breaking point. I began writing poems and prayers to help me express and cope with my emotions.

I had good intentions to live a better life when I walked out of prison the following year. Within a month, I had a job making $9 per hour. I started working on a Wednesday, excited about my new life. But then Friday night rolled around, and the old familiar lure of the neighborhood returned.

I was on parole and knew trouble could land me back in prison, but I drank anyway. As it always did, alcohol brought on fighting. My brother began arguing with someone, and I jumped in to help him. Big mistake.

Someone threw a glass toward the dude we were fighting with, and just as I went to punch him, that glass hit my hand. I tried again, and another glass smashed into the same hand. Forty stitches later, my hand was a mess. I was too drunk to feel anything.

The injury required surgery, and afterward, I fell into a deep depression. How could I be so stupid? I walked around with my hand in a cast for weeks and a screwdriver tucked in my pocket. I deliberately put myself in danger, secretly wishing someone would put me out of my misery.

I was breathing, but I sure wasn’t living. Drifting through life without any goals or purpose, I soon fell back into the old patterns I’d promised to leave. But then, God sent someone to help me. I was hanging out with some friends, drinking a beer, when I saw this beautiful girl.

Hoping to impress her, I jumped into the passenger seat of my cousin’s gangster van, and we rolled up on her. “Hey girl, could I holler at you?” I jumped out and started talking to her. Her name was Ann.

“I got three dollars,” I joked. “What do you want to do?” Our relationship began that night; she was so gentle and easy to be around. At first, we kept it casual. Ann had a son from her previous relationship, and neither of us wanted to settle down.

Problems arose in our relationship when I refused to leave my friends or my gang. Even Ann’s pregnancy with our first child didn’t motivate me to change.

My lifestyle exposed Ann, her son, and our unborn child to great danger. One night, a friend got shot in front of her place. It traumatized her badly. I regret now how hard-hearted I was and the danger I put Ann and our family in.

After nearly being hit twice by stray bullets in two separate drive-by shootings, we finally moved. But I still shrugged off my responsibility and often left Ann alone so I could hang out with my gang.

My drinking and reckless behavior took a toll on her until finally, worn down by worry and chaos, she went with a friend to church. She desperately needed relief from the turmoil my choices caused.

That visit marked a turning point for Ann. She returned home with an excitement I didn’t embrace. “Omar, I accepted Jesus tonight!”

All I could say was, “Good for you.” I wanted no part of what she’d found.

As Ann’s faith deepened, Satan unleashed a spiritual battle for my soul. My drinking increased as depression pressed down on me. At night, disturbing nightmares plagued me. While I battled this war inside, Ann and her friends battled for me in prayer.

Eventually, Ann’s prayers and persistence paid off, and I agreed to go to church with her. I longed for the peace she experienced. I knew I was a wreck.

As we walked through the doors, some guy welcomed me and leaned in to hug me. I froze. We didn’t hug where I came from. The men in my family only shook hands.

But as the pastor shared the gospel—a message of forgiveness, grace, and a new beginning through Jesus—his words pierced the hardness of my heart. Foreign emotions overwhelmed me.

The pastor extended an invitation to accept Christ, and I walked to the front. He then guided me in a prayer where I confessed my sins and acknowledged my need for a Savior (Joel 2:32; John 3:16; Romans 10:13). As he placed his hand on my head, a warm sensation filled my body. I was uncertain about what was happening as I knew nothing about the Bible or the Holy Spirit. But I welcomed it—I wanted a new life.

After the service, a couple gave me a Bible and prayed with Ann and me. I realized as I left the service that something had shifted inside me. I didn’t understand it yet, but I knew I had encountered something real. I was no longer the same.

I began reading the Bible. At first, I didn’t know where to start, but Ann and our church family guided me. I learned about Jesus—His love, His sacrifice, and His power to redeem broken lives like mine.

God’s Word became my lifeline. It spoke to the pain I carried, the anger I had buried, and the bondage I thought I’d never escape. Verses like 2 Corinthians 5:17— “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here” (NIV)—gave me hope that I could truly change.

Change did happen, little by little. I stopped drinking and getting high. And then I walked away from the gang life, taking responsibility for my family and our future.

The Holy Spirit encouraged me to propose to the beautiful woman who’d prayed for my salvation. Praise God, Ann said yes. Since then, our 21-year marriage has been blessed as we’ve kept Christ at the center. We’ve raised our children to love Jesus and helped others know Him through our ministry.

God didn’t just clean up my act—He healed my heart. He replaced my rage with peace, my guilt with grace, and my hopelessness with purpose.

Today, I’m a husband, a father to three amazing Christ-following young adults, and a child of God. I’ve been transformed by His grace (Ephesians 2:8) and found lasting freedom from the chains that once bound my soul (John 8:32, 36; Romans 6:22).

My story is proof that God can free anyone. Surrender your life to Him and let Him bring you out of the darkness where hopelessness reigns. (See Isaiah 9:2; 2 Corinthians 4:6; and 1 Peter 2:9). You were made for more.

Omar Calvillo is the host of From Wrong to Strong, a podcast dedicated to sharing stories of transformation from gang life to grace. A former gang member turned faith-driven advocate, Omar inspires change, offers hope to those who feel lost, and proves that redemption is possible. For more information, visit https://www.fromwrongtostrong.org.

The Power of the Pit Stop

I’ve learned a great deal about navigating life’s twists and turns through my involvement with NASCAR, including the key strategy of taking the time to pit. Pitting allows for critical adjustments. I’ve seen many drivers refuse to pit, though, and that choice ultimately cost them the victory.

Once, I was in South Africa with my friend and NASCAR legend, Geoff Bodine. We were part of a team that put together a NASCAR-style race in that region. Geoff had won the coveted pole position and remained in contention throughout the race. Then his fuel ran low.

“Pit, Geoff!” the crew chief yelled over the intercom. But Geoff kept driving, sure he could make it to the finish line. His gamble, though, didn’t pay off. He ran out of gas on the last lap and gave up his victory.

Pit stops can be hard to take, especially when a driver is leading the pack. It can feel like they’re giving up their position. But actually, they are positioning themselves for victory.

In a race, a pit allows a driver and their crew to address concerns and make changes. “Loose” cars can be adjusted to keep the driver from spinning out. Likewise, “tight” cars can be tweaked so that the driver doesn’t have to struggle to make turns.

Repairs are made, usually using duct tape. We call it “200 mph tape,” as it can cover a cracked fender and make it more aerodynamic. Cars are refueled and tires are changed. Windshields are wiped down to clear the driver’s vision, and grills are cleaned to help the engine run at its best temperature. Finally, the driver can get refreshed and refocused during a pit.

The same is true in life. Pitting—taking the time to pull off the track to evaluate your life with God and a caring crew—can help you make critical adjustments that will keep you from running out of fuel or spinning out.

But I’ve met many people who, like my friend Geoff, don’t want to take the time to pit. Pulling off the fast lane of life seems inconvenient or counterproductive. People think it’s a sign of weakness or that they will allow others to pass them by. But it’s none of those things.

God has prepared a great race for each one of us to run. But our races are long, complex, and often include unexpected and frightening twists and turns. We all must pit to evaluate our ways, thoughts, and outcomes if we want to finish well.

Here are some ways that you can help yourself reach lasting change as you strive to cross God’s finish line victoriously.

• Commit to Christ. Jesus Christ changes people for the better. “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” (2 Corinthians 5:17 NIV).
• Pride leads to destruction, but humility leads to victory. “Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up” (James 4:10 NIV).
• Accept, ask, be accountable. Accepting adjustments and asking for help aren’t signs of weakness; they’re the first steps to real change. Being accountable to authority helps you stay on track and move forward.
• Learning to say no to old ways, thoughts, and people is critical. Not
• everyone can go where God is taking you.
• Grace and Gratitude. Immersing yourself in God’s amazing grace and being grateful for all He’s done will bring joy and times of refreshing (Acts 3:19–20).
• Set and reset realistic short-term goals. And when they are accomplished, set new ones. Each small step achieved will bring a sense of accomplishment and move you closer to where you want to be. Celebrating each milestone will keep you encouraged.

Remember, you’re not in this race alone. God is with you, and He is for you. Decide to pit with Him often. He will help you identify and make needed changes and give you strength for the journey.

Randy Claypoole served as a NASCAR chaplain and public relations/media representative. He also owned and operated the ISCARS Dash Touring Series, a professional auto racing series. As a member of the Victorious Living prison event team, Randy helps those who feel disqualified for God’s race get back on track.

Thrive in the Wait

It was 1982. I was fresh out of the military, 24 years old, and in college. My whole life was ahead of me, but I couldn’t see it because of all the debt I had accrued, thanks to my cocaine addiction.

I was drowning in worry. It felt like somebody had chained me to a 200-pound iron ball and shoved me into a sea of anxiety.

Finding a well-paying job was challenging. The country was in a deep recession in 1982, so when I learned about lucrative work in the oilfields of Wyoming, I jumped at the opportunity.

I figured I’d take a few years off from college, work long hours on the rigs, pay off my debts, kick my cocaine habit, and come back to do college as a new man. I even planned to go fishing and hiking in the Wyoming mountains while I was there.

My aspirations did not materialize as I’d envisioned.

I had failed to realize that working on an oil rig was like working on a four-story-tall machine. A one-legged blind dog has more mechanical aptitude than I do. I’d never even changed a spark plug in a car.

I must have been a sight applying for the job in my suit and tie. The other fellows in greasy blue jeans and worn-out coveralls surely knew I was a fish out of water. The driller who signed me up must have had a sense of humor or was desperate for an extra hand.

Within six weeks, the oilfield and I parted ways. I’m not sure who was happier, me or the crew that carried my load. I stayed in Wyoming and worked as a waiter in Jackson

Hole for the next eight months. I attempted two business ventures to alleviate my mounting debt, but they only worsened it, pulling me deeper into despair.

My core values compounded my crisis. I believed that a person should handle their own problems and repay their creditors, regardless of the cost. While those values sound honorable, they prevented me from reaching out to people whose sound advice and help I needed.

In desperation, I decided to rob a bank. I wasn’t concerned about the outcome. If I succeeded, I could pay my bills and life would be good. If I didn’t—if I were killed or put in prison—at least the responsibility of my debt would be off my shoulders.

That’s how warped my thinking had become. Not for a second did I consider that an innocent person might be harmed. All I cared about was paying my bills and eliminating my stress. I had two dollars left to my name.

I chose a bank in Craig, Colorado, hoping to avoid being recognized. It was a mall bank whose wall safe was not much bigger than a microwave oven.

I entered that bank on March 18, 1982, revealed my gun, and told the teller to open the safe. When she said she didn’t know the combination, I didn’t even argue—I was too scared. Instead, I asked her to give me the money from the tellers’ drawers. Once I had the money in hand, I fled to my car. And with that fateful decision, this son of a police officer went from being a college student and former military policeman to a criminal.

As I drove out of town, I heard an announcement on my car radio about the bank robbery. My initial panic subsided when the announcer described the getaway car as a red sports car. That wasn’t even close to my tan Dodge Colt. I was elated. But I would soon learn the truth of Galatians 6:7 (NLT), “Don’t be misled—you cannot mock the justice of God.”

The Lord was about to rein in my prideful self.

There was a red sports car on the highway that day. A game warden in Colorado’s backcountry saw it and called in its license number to the Craig police department. The plates revealed that the car was associated with another crime, and the local police concluded that the driver must be the robber. Since the state line was close by, the Craig police contacted the Wyoming Highway Patrol to assist in intercepting the vehicle.

That’s when Wyoming Highway Patrolman Steve Watt entered the story. Steve, although not on patrol that day, responded to the callout. He had been driving for miles, searching for the red sports car without success. When he happened upon me in my brown compact car, he stopped me, intending to ask if I’d seen the sports car.

I panicked. I slammed on my brakes, nearly sending him into the rear of my car. Then, overcome with fear, I jumped out of my vehicle and crouched into the firing stance I had learned as a military policeman. I fired two bullets at his head. The first bullet passed through Steve’s windshield and hit him in the left eye.

Steve sought cover, throwing himself below the dashboard and out of my line of fire. I approached his car and unloaded four more shots into his abdomen. Each bullet penetrated Steve’s body, critically wounding him, but I didn’t care. I left him for dead and raced back to my car.

Eliminating him was the only solution I saw to what seemed a hopeless situation. I didn’t see a man, a son, a brother, or a husband; I just saw something standing in my way.

Incredibly, Steve found the strength to pursue me. The minute I put my vehicle in drive, he shot through my back window. His first shot hit my headrest and deflected downward, hitting me in the shoulder and knocking me forward out of the trajectory of the next five shots. As soon as I could regain my composure, I hit the gas.

I made it about a mile before I encountered law enforcement vehicles. One flew past me to assist Steve; another was waiting for me at a roadblock. When I saw him, I threw the car in park, grabbed the money bag, and ran through the prairie.

Five officers pursued me on foot, firing over 20 rounds from less than 50 yards away as they ran. Miraculously, every one of those bullets missed me except for one pellet of 00 buckshot. It hit my shoulder in the same spot Steve had shot me.

Somehow, I found myself in a shallow gully. I peered at the approaching officers and knew I was outnumbered. I had two bullets left. Obviously, I could not shoot my way out of this situation, so I surrendered.

The first officer who came upon me was Steve’s best friend, Officer Tracy. Understandably angry, he pulled out his gun and prepared to finish me off. Another officer intervened. He tried again once we were inside the car, but again an officer stopped him.

They took me to the hospital and placed me in the same room as Steve where only a thin sheet separated us. I could hear all the commotion as doctors scurried around Steve to save his life.

Officer after officer looked my way in total disgust. I’d never felt lower. Then Steve’s wife arrived, another officer. She entered the room but, instead of going to see her husband, she headed my way. She started to draw her service weapon, but an officer intervened again. The Lord’s hand was mercifully on me that day, as it was on Steve.

My medical needs were minor, and the doctor was easily able to extract the bullet and buckshot lodged in my shoulder. Steve, on the other hand, was in critical condition. His medical journey continues to this day.

I spent the next four months in jail contemplating my bleak future. Then I heard that in Wyoming, people with life sentences served, on average, only nine years and nine months. I decided to ask for life rather than risk what the judge might hand down.

My attorney strongly advised me against that, but I didn’t listen. As a result, I served 40 years and 11 months. Turns out, the judge was going to sentence me to 20 years, of which I probably would have served 14.

From the outside looking in, it seems I really messed things up for myself. But God knew I needed those extra 26 years to surrender my life to Him and develop a servant’s heart. It was a small price to pay for eternity and to discover my purpose.

While I served my time in prison, Steve entered a prison of his own—the prison of hate. As you’ll learn from his story on page 18, his bitterness nearly consumed him until he gave his anger to God and forgave me.

I’d served four years when Steve first reached out to me by way of a letter to let me know of his decision to follow Christ. I welcomed his letter and responded with 18 pages of my own.

In December 1986, after nine months of writing to one another, Steve came to meet me at a prison revival. All eyes were on us when he entered the room; everyone knew our story. As Steve approached me, I extended my hand. Instead of shaking it, he wrapped his arms around me and said, “I sure am glad I didn’t kill you that day!” He no longer saw me as a monster, but a man who had made a horrific mistake.

From that day forward, Steve became an integral part of my life. He wrote to me often, accepted my phone calls, and even brought his family to visit me. Can you imagine?

He told me he forgave me and consistently shared his faith, urging me to pursue a relationship with God. He wasn’t the only one. Many inmates shared the gospel with me, as did my grandmother. But each time, I politely refused their invitation. To me, Jesus was a fairy tale.

It took 22 years in prison to come to the end of myself and accept God’s gift of forgiveness and salvation. All the while, Steve and others continued to love me and even fought for my release.

Steve attended 16 parole board hearings on my behalf, met with three current governors, and gave media interviews. He wanted to share how forgiving me had set him free so that others could find freedom too.

Wardens and senators and others with significant political influence fought for my release as well—even Officer Tracy. But no matter who spoke on my behalf, no matter how good I was or what I accomplished in prison, three consecutive Wyoming governors refused to release me.

After 17 negative hearings between 1987 and 2004, I lost all hope. My release should have been in the bag. I’d been a model prisoner, was the first inmate in Wyoming to get a bachelor’s degree, and had even brought a private industry to the prison that employed 100 inmates. But none of that had mattered. There was nothing I could do to work my way out of this situation.

As you can imagine, I grew angry. One day, when a bully made a pass at my cellie, I lost it. My encounter with him earned me a trip to the hole.

People often say they turned to God in their rock-bottom moment. That was true for me. In that frigid isolation room, wearing nothing more than a thin T-shirt and shorts, I came to the end of myself. I fell to my knees and asked Jesus to come into my life. Right there in that cold, hard cell, all those seeds planted by all those caring people sprouted in my heart. Tears streamed down my face as a spirit of calm washed over me.

Soon, an officer brought me a blanket. The next day, I was given a Bible, something that wasn’t normal in that block. God showed me He had me right from the start.

But becoming a believer didn’t suddenly earn me a ticket out of prison. Not even close! I served another 19 years after I surrendered to Christ. But it was okay—I needed that time to deepen my relationship with the Lord. If I had gotten out sooner, my type-A, driven, prideful self would have grabbed the reins of my life and left God and those He wanted me to serve in my dust.

No, life didn’t get easy because of my faith, but it did get better. Trust in the Lord replaced my frustration and anger with peace and contentment.

I was honestly okay whether God arranged for me to get out or not. I knew He was with me and would help me face whatever came my way. That was the secret to my being able to live in prison without losing hope. The apostle Paul had discovered this same thing—he said, “I have learned the secret of living in every situation . . . for I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:12–13 NLT).

Paul endured being robbed, imprisoned, beaten, stoned, shipwrecked, adrift at sea, hungry, thirsty, cold, naked, and so much more because Christ gave Him the strength to endure. (See 2 Corinthians 11:23–28.) Not only did he survive, but he also lived an impactful life, fulfilling God’s desires.

In Micah 6:8 (NLT), God told us what He wants from us: “to do what is right, to love mercy, and to walk humbly” with Him. Having integrity, being merciful to others (just like God and Steve were merciful to me), and walking in humility with God always leads to blessings.

In February 2023, I walked out of those prison doors after serving more than four decades. Since then, God has provided everything I’ve needed—food, clothes, supplies, even a vehicle.

One night not long after my release, I found myself outside a Walmart, holding a two-pound bag of grapes and staring up at the beautiful starlit sky. Snuggled up in my warm coat, eating all the grapes I could stand, I asked myself, “Can it get any better than this?”

That was three years ago, and every day, I thank God for my life and for His faithfulness.

If you are in a waiting season, don’t give up. You are not alone.

The same God who sustained the Israel­ites for nearly 40 years in the desert is the same God who sustained me for over 40 years in the desert of prison. He will sustain you too.

As you wait to enter your “promised land,” determine to live a productive life. Refuse to dwindle away in anger, frustration, and hopelessness. Make the most of your time (Jeremiah 29:4–7). Take advantage of programs. Help others. Start planning now for what you dream of in the future. I prepared for my role at Compassion Wyoming for years before I left prison. Compassion Wyoming is a nonprofit I founded in 2024 to advocate for an exit strategy for reformed long-term Wyoming offenders.

God promises that He knows the plans He has for you (Jeremiah 29:11). Trust His plan and His timing while living in His strength. In Him, you can overcome all things (Romans 8:37), and you can thrive as you wait.

Mark Corbett has resided in Wyoming since his release from prison in 2023. He is the founder and executive director of Compassion Wyoming. Learn more at https://Compassionwyoming.org.

Redeemed Years, Restored Life

“Hands up! Step away from the truck! You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

I stumbled out of my uncle’s truck on that chilly February night in 1986 in a drug-induced daze and faced three police officers. Their guns were drawn and pointed at me. An officer patted me down and pulled a handgun from underneath my shirt. I had placed it there right before exiting the vehicle.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been arrested, but it was my first charge that included a concealed weapon. Fear and concern set in when I learned the gun had been used in a murder the day before. I was unaware of the gun’s history when I acquired it.

In jail, coming off my high, I was flooded with feelings of regret, guilt, and shame. I was only 25, and I had already made a mess of my life. My addiction to drugs and alcohol had led to multiple arrests, jail time, a criminal record, and a revoked driver’s license. I was divorced, and my current marriage was on the brink. I was sure I’d never be successful at anything.

I continued to appease my emotions with drugs and alcohol for two more years. I was 27 when I finally discovered the unconditional love of God. His love, Word, and Spirit helped me put the shame and regret behind me so I could start again.

Do you carry regrets? Maybe you regret wasting time or hurting others with your past actions. Do those regrets make you feel like you’ll never be anything more than a failure? I’ve got some good news for you.

God can redeem all your past failures and mistakes if you’ll let Him. He can cause your barren, fruitless life to become a place of blessing. Let’s look at what God had to say in the book of Joel, a book written 800 years before Jesus Christ.

God sent the prophet Joel to His people with a message of repentance. He wanted them to stop sinning and following the ways of the world and to come back to Him instead.

The book begins with Joel describing how sin had led to their land being attacked. Locusts had stripped every vine of their grapes, and all the crops in the fields lay barren (Joel 1:10).

Despite the land’s current condition, however, God promised that if His people would turn their hearts back to Him and change their ways, He would restore what the locusts had eaten and bring many blessings. Not only that, but He would also repay them for the years they had lost to the locusts (Joel 2).

I sat in a jail cell, reading those words and wrestling with regret. I felt like those barren lands. My life had been stripped down to nothing because of my sin. I’d lost many years to the “locusts” of addiction and bad choices. It was time to turn to God in surrender.

How thankful I am for God’s forgiveness and redemptive ways; He didn’t leave me in that pitiful state. The moment I turned to Him and acknowledged my sinful ways, He not only forgave me, but He also restored my life.

It’s been many years since I surrendered my life to God. Today, I’m a minister who has the privilege of helping others find restoration through Jesus Christ. I continue to be amazed at how God takes my past and uses it to help others. That’s how mighty my God is!

Are you ready for your life to be restored and for lost years to be redeemed? It starts with repentance—turning to God and away from sin. You recognize your sinful ways and acknowledge to God that you’ve missed His mark. You ask for His forgiveness and then determine to move forward differently with Him so that you don’t repeat the mistakes that led you to your valley of regret.

When you do that, God will begin a restoration process in your life that only He can do. He will return to you all that you’ve lost—many times over and in the most amazing, unimaginable ways.

Michael Dixon surrendered to God after childhood trauma and addiction nearly destroyed him. Changed by God, Michael became a pastor, author, licensed addiction specialist, and director of his nonprofit, L.I.F.E. (Living in Freedom Everyday) Ministries. His bilingual curriculum, L.I.F.E. Ministries, helps others find wholeness and freedom in Christ Jesus and can be purchased on Amazon. Videos can be viewed by the incarcerated on Edovo and through VL’s platform on Pando.

Running on Empty?

It started with a sink full of crusty plates and ended in a meltdown.

My sweet husband David stood stunned as I—suds flying, voice raised in snarky commentary, sanity slipping—suddenly realized that this wasn’t about the dishes. It was a warning. I was one dirty casserole dish away from a breakdown. Between work, ministry, and life, I was coming unglued. Fast.

A caring friend gave me a reality check: “Christina, you have a lot going on. When do you rest?” She suggested I might be experiencing burnout—not the kind fixed by a bubble bath and a scented candle, but the kind that makes you want to smash your phone and escape to a chocolate-filled island with no Wi-Fi.

Even simple situations had been triggering extreme reactions from me, while complex ones felt impossible. It wasn’t just fatigue—I was depleted.

The depletion didn’t happen dramatically; it was subtle, like a slow leak in a tire. I kept showing up, smiling, saying yes. But inside, I was running on fumes, and I didn’t know how to stop. Saying no felt like failure. Rest felt like weakness.

Admitting I was burned out felt like letting everyone, including God, down. How had I gotten there?

My days were filled with good things—family, work, and ministry. I wasn’t running from God; I was serving Him. But my friend was right. It was time to ask myself some serious questions—What am I doing? Why am I doing it? Who am I doing it for?

Once I admitted burnout, I turned to scripture—not to be super spiritual but because I was desperate. There, in the pages I’d read before, I found fresh comfort. Verses like “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28 NIV) didn’t just speak to my exhaustion, they gave me permission to stop striving and just be still (Psalm 46:10).

Jesus didn’t want me to push through or try harder. He was inviting me to lay it all down. From ministry to dirty dishes, I needed to surrender it all and let Him help me. God was not disappointed in my weariness; He was inviting me into restoration. Isaiah 40:29–31 reminded me that strength doesn’t come from pushing harder, it comes from hoping in the Lord. I didn’t need to earn rest. I needed to receive it.

Scripture gently unraveled the lie that rest equals weakness. Even Jesus withdrew to quiet places and slept through storms (Mark 6:31–32; Mark 4:36–41). If the Savior of the world made time for rest, shouldn’t we?

Burnout isn’t failure; it’s a signal to return to the Source of true rest.

If you’re snapping over small things, feeling emotionally drained, or physically deteriorating, it might be time to ask: Am I burned out? Pause and evaluate—not with guilt, but with grace (2 Corinthians 12:9). God’s Word offers comfort, renewal, and an invitation to rest, reconnect, and be restored by the One who never asks you to jump through hoops for His love.

If you’re reading this from a prison cell, this invitation for rest is for you too. The soul grows weary in confinement, I know. The weight of guilt, shame, regret, and unresolved pain, as well as the consequences of poor decisions can bring burnout as well. But the promise of rest in Jesus isn’t restricted by the walls around you. It’s available to every heart that turns to Him.

So how do you recognize burnout before it breaks you? Start by checking in with yourself regularly before you’re in crisis mode. Notice patterns of irritability, fatigue, or emotional overreaction. Say no to anything that costs you peace. Allow yourself quiet time with the Lord and keep a prayer journal (Psalm 62:1–2). Look for more suggestions on page 32.

Like grace, rest isn’t earned—it’s a gift from a God who loves you deeply. Stop running on empty and receive rest and renewal today.

Christina Kimbrel develops content for use on VL’s many platforms. Once incarcerated, she now ministers hope to those held captive by their past and current circumstances while sharing the message of healing she found in Jesus.

Unlock Your Prison of Misery

Do you know Jesus as your personal Lord and Savior?

This question often results in strange looks and less-than-nice responses. But that has never stopped me from asking it. I want people everywhere to know the greatness of God’s love and how He saved me, a lost and broken man.

His love freed me from my self-imposed prison of fear and resentment and redeemed my life from the pit. But not everyone desires to hear this good news. For a long time, I didn’t either.

I had to go through hell on earth before I realized my need for a Savior. Before then, I wasn’t convinced God existed, nor did I care. My only concern was living my dream as a Wyoming patrolman. I joined the force in 1979, right after I turned 23, becoming the youngest trooper in the state.

My family didn’t understand my decision—we were ranchers, not law enforcers. But ever since I was seven and saw a uniformed state trooper standing next to his car with a big honkin’ gun strapped to his side, I knew that was who I wanted to be.

Upon graduation from the Academy, I requested an assignment to Rock Springs, Wyoming—a boomtown known for violence and corruption. I was a rough-and-tough cowboy looking for adventure. It was a perfect match.

My exciting adventure ended, though, three years later on March 18, 1982, when I unknowingly pulled over a bank robber fleeing the scene of his crime. Before I’d even shifted my car into park, the panicked man jumped out of his car and came toward me. I kicked open my car door to exit, and he opened fire.

His first bullet penetrated my windshield, hitting me in the left eye. It stopped with only the thickness of a piece of paper from my brain. The second bullet ricocheted off the windshield. I leaned down out of the line of fire and reached for my radio, screaming, “I’ve been shot!” into the microphone.

By then, the man was leaning into my car and shooting me point-blank in the left lower back. One bullet hit my liver, miraculously missing a major blood vessel by a quarter of an inch. Another hit my spine, stopping a 16th of an inch from my spinal cord. The final two bullets bounced around my insides, ripping through my bowels and intestines, and settling in my hip socket. All five shots should have been fatal.

The assailant retreated, and somehow, I managed to get out of my car and draw my gun. But then I remembered I was only allowed to discharge a weapon in self-defense or to shoot a fleeing felon. This man had his back to me and was no longer trying to hurt me. I couldn’t justify shooting him in self-defense. I waited until his vehicle started to move and then opened fire.

My first bullet ricocheted off his headrest. It hit him in the left shoulder, knocking him forward, to the right, and out of the line of the next five bullets that would have certainly hit him in the chest.

As soon as he was able, the man sped away. I made my way back to the radio and screamed for help again. I heard the dispatcher order an ambulance, but I didn’t think I’d make it.

I attempted to retrieve my first aid kit from the trunk of my car to stop the bleeding. A few steps in, though, I collapsed. I landed next to the exhaust pipe of my still-running vehicle. I didn’t have the strength to move away from the hot, toxic fumes and considered the irony—I’d survive all those bullets, only to die of exhaust poisoning.

I didn’t believe in God at the time, but I prayed anyway. “God, I don’t know if I’m going to die. If I do, take care of my wife. Please, help me.” A life-and-death crisis will cause most atheists to pray.

Not long after, a truck driver arrived and turned off my car, saving me from the fumes. Then came a patrolman, who administered first aid. The ambulance arrived next. When I heard the EMTs shout out my vitals, I knew I was in trouble. They rushed me to the hospital, where a medical team tended to my most critical injuries.

I about came off the table when one doctor broke my nose with his fist and then forced a large tube down my nasal passage. Another poked around my hollow eye socket. Someone else thrust a large needle into my abdomen to relieve the accumulating blood. Blood shot to the ceiling.

The pain was so intense that I threatened to kick the butt of the next person who touched me. With that statement, someone suggested I must have brain damage. I heard the anesthesiologist request a moment to administer anesthesia, to which the doctor responded, “There’s no time!” and proceeded to cut me open.

I’m telling you, what went on in that room was more traumatic than the shooting. I underwent ten hours of surgery that day. The doctors removed my left eye and a third of my liver and repaired my bowels and intestines. They left the bullets. Six months later, the doctor went back in to retrieve the two bullets in my hip. The one in my spine remains, as the risk of paralysis is too great to remove it.

As I recovered, however, it wasn’t the physical pain or the trauma of the recent events that overwhelmed me. It was my bitterness toward Mark Corbett—the man who had shot me.

My hatred intensified every time I looked in the mirror. Every day, the gaping hole where my eye used to be and the rest of the scars I carried screamed of all Mark had stolen from me. So did the terrifying dreams, fear, anxiety, excruciating headaches, and other physical pain. My life was a living nightmare.

I was determined to return to work. No way was Mark going to take my career, too. But I was so overcome with the fear of being shot that I couldn’t do my job. I imagined every person I encountered was going to hurt me—men, women, and children alike. I called in sick often and turned to alcohol and painkillers to survive.

One day at the detention center, I saw Mark. For a brief moment, I fully considered killing him. I reached for my service weapon but came to my senses before I could do anything stupid. Not long after, I considered killing myself. But I couldn’t go through with it. I’d already put my wife through so much.

My employers were patient as long as possible, but eventually, they gave me an ultimatum: get my act together, face termination, or resign. I walked away after I almost shot an unarmed man.

Over the next year, my wife, also a cop and staunch atheist, began asking questions about God. She couldn’t deny the miracle of my being alive. After speaking with a chaplain, she accepted Jesus as her Lord and Savior and was baptized. Noticing her newfound joy and peace, I began asking my own questions. I needed what she had.

I went to see her chaplain friend. He patiently shared how God so loved me that He gave His Son, Jesus, to die for me, so that my sins could be forgiven (John 3:16). The only thing that could save me, he said, was faith in Jesus. Nothing I could do would work (Romans 6:23; Galatians 5:6; Ephesians 2:8–9). The gospel came alive to me, and right there at his dining table, I put my faith in Jesus for salvation.

There were no heavenly fireworks and no immediate joy. I eventually called the chaplain and asked why I still felt so dead inside. He asked if I’d forgiven Mark. I assured him that I had, but he wasn’t fooled and called me out. I hung up on him.

When the misery continued, I humbled myself and reached back out. The chaplain suggested that I write a letter to Mark. Desperate, I agreed. I also sent Mark copies of articles that had recently been published about our shootout and my faith.

In my letter, I said, “Mark, I don’t wish you pain by sending these articles your way. I just want to share my faith with you. If you haven’t already, would you join me in Christ’s love and the Christian family?” God lifted the darkness from me the moment I signed my name, giving me His gift of joy (Galatians 5:22).

A few months later, though, the Holy Spirit began prompting me to write another letter to Mark, extending forgiveness. I refused, and all the joy I’d found left.

To me, it seemed that extending forgiveness would lessen the im­pact of what Mark had done to me. His choice had cost me everything. What I didn’t understand was that my bitterness and hate were costing me more than his bullets ever could. Those emotions were eating me alive from the inside out and opening a door for Satan to destroy my life. (See Genesis 4:2–7; Ephesians 4:25–27; Hebrews 12:15.)

I wrestled with God’s instruction until finally, I obeyed. I even wrote, “Mark, I love you.” They were the hardest words I’ve ever expressed.

You may wonder how I could love a man who hurt me so badly. On my own, I couldn’t. But when I considered God’s unconditional love toward me, a sinner, I had no choice.

How could I withhold what God had given me? And why would I want to? The Bible is filled with warnings about the cost of unforgiveness. (See Matthew 6:15, 18:35; Mark 11:25; and Ephesians 4:31–32.)

When I first forgave Mark, I imagined I’d given him quite a gift. But today, I understand that forgiveness is a gift that God has given me.

Chinese missionary Brother Yun, in his book, The Heavenly Man, describes forgiveness as a gift that God has given us, enabling us to survive in an evil world where people hurt, betray, and do terrible things to us. It’s living in a flow of forgiveness, he says, that results in our freedom.

It’s true. By choosing to forgive Mark, I was released from a self-imposed prison. Not only that, but I also received the most unlikely gift of friendship.

Mark and I exchanged letters for ten months before I met him in person. That occurred during a church-led revival at the prison where Mark was residing. I didn’t want to go at first, but I knew better than to disobey the Holy Spirit’s leading.

I spent the entire night before we met in a motel room, praying. “God, whatever I do or say when I first see this man, let it be from You.” I didn’t trust myself.

The next morning, when Mark stuck out his hand to shake mine, I didn’t shake it. Instead, I threw my arms around him and hugged him tightly. There’s no way that embrace was from me! But as I held Mark, a dark thought formed: You could kill this man right now with your bare hands.

“No!” I quickly told myself. “That’s not me anymore!” I recognized it as a trap from Satan. He was hoping to destroy my life. But as I resisted him, he fled (James 4:7). God will always give us a way out (1 Corinthians 10:13).

Mark and I talked that whole day. I shared the gospel with him and asked if he wanted to accept Christ. But it didn’t happen. Mark told me he had too much respect for me and my beliefs to pretend to believe something he didn’t.

For the next 22 years, I wrote and visited Mark, each time giving him an opportunity to receive Jesus’s gift of salvation. I refused to give up on him, trusting that all those faith seeds I was sowing into his life would one day bear fruit (Galatians 6:9). And they did. But it wasn’t until he hit rock bottom that he finally put his life in God’s hands. (You can read Mark’s story on page 14.)

I attended Mark’s first parole hearing to show support for his release. I shocked everyone when the parole board asked if I had anything to say, and I answered them with this question: “Do you know Jesus as your personal Lord and Savior?” The parole board and Mark all looked at me like I was crazy.

I attended many other hearings in the years to come, but never spoke on Mark’s behalf until the Lord challenged me with this question: “Steve, is Mark your friend?”

“Of course,” I responded.

And the Lord called me out just like that chaplain had years ago. “Well, if Mark is your friend, why won’t you speak up for him like My Son spoke up for you?”

I was speechless.

Jesus, my advocate, continually intercedes for me. (See Romans 8:27; Hebrews 7:25; and 1 John 2:1.) He even sacrificed His life for me when I was His enemy (Romans 8:5–10).

From then on, I spoke up for Mark and rallied others to do the same. Finally, in February 2023, Mark was released. Our friendship has remained strong over the years. We visit as often as we can and share our story with all who will listen.

It’s been 44 years since that life-altering day. I continue to endure tremendous physical pain and ongoing surgeries related to the shooting, as well as an ever-present struggle with PTSD, which cost me my first marriage.

Still, I praise God and say, without hesitation, that getting shot was the best thing that ever happened to me. It led me to Christ and taught me to love others as God desires, which made me a better man and brought me into a deep dependency on God.

I must admit, though, I long for the day when God takes me to my heavenly home. This life isn’t easy. Until He does, however, I continue to tell others about His great love and trust that He will provide for the journey. It’s what God commands us all to do (Mark 16:15).

In 2013, God gave me the gift of my beautiful wife, Joyce. This amazing woman willingly stepped into my pain and helps me navigate often difficult roads. He also blessed me with Sam, a highly trained service animal. Sam has saved my life on many occasions, and he opens doors for me to share my God-story with others. I share because I care.

Before my accident, not one Christian I’d met had ever told me about Jesus. If I had died during that shooting, I’d have gone to hell.

It amazes me how believers who are supposed to be the light of the world leave people like me in darkness. They are either too busy or too afraid to share their thoughts. But isn’t rejection a small price to pay for another’s soul?

So let me ask you—Do you know Jesus as your personal Lord and Savior? Please don’t wait till you hit rock bottom (like Mark and I did) to realize your need for Him. Accept Jesus by faith now, and avoid the pain “rock bottoms” inevitably bring.

Then deepen your relationship with God by studying the scriptures, praying, fellowshipping with other believers, and attending a Bible-believing, Christ-loving, people-serving church. And don’t forget to tell others how good He is!

One final thing—if you’ve accepted Jesus as your Lord and Savior but you still lack joy and peace, let me ask you this—have you extended forgiveness to those who have hurt you? I know it’s difficult, and God knows it too. He sacrificed His Son to forgive you (John 3:16).

Receiving His gift of forgiveness and extending it to others is the key to unlocking your prison of misery and staying free.

Steve Watt lives in Colorado with his wife Joyce and his service dog Sam. He lives to tell others about Jesus.

Invited & Accepted in God’s House

“Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows” (John 16:33 NLT).

Trials and sorrows look different for every­one. We can’t avoid them, and no one is exempt. If you are reading this, I imagine you’ve had your fair share. I think we would all agree that life is hard.

As I type this, I reflect on the hardships I’ve faced. Some of them, I brought upon myself, but a good part of my suffering and troubles arose from what people said and did to me. The consequences of those actions caused me to spiral into a destructive cycle of self-loathing that nearly destroyed my life.

I’d like to share with you an overlooked story from 2 Samuel that speaks directly to this. It is the story of Mephibosheth, a boy who became lame in both feet at the tender age of five.

Mephibosheth did nothing to deserve his injuries. His only crime was being the grandson of King Saul and the son of Jonathan. When his caretaker received the news that both men had been killed in battle, she grabbed Mephibosheth and fled, trying to protect him from those who would do the child harm. But in the process, she dropped and injured him (2 Samuel 4:4).

Maybe like Mephibosheth and me, you did nothing to deserve what happened to you. You were just caught in the crossfire of someone else’s drama, and you’ve been walking with a limp ever since.

We learn from Mephibosheth’s story that our ancestors’ choices—whether good or bad—can affect us, but they don’t have to define us. Generational sin does not have to determine our future, for our God is in the restoration business.

We see a beautiful example of this in Mephibosheth’s story. It happened about 17 years later, when King David sought to show kindness to the house of Saul for his friend Jonathan’s sake.

When David learned of the young man, he invited Mephibosheth to his home and restored to him all the property that once belonged to his grandfather, Saul. Not only that, the king gave the young man a permanent place at his table as one of the king’s sons (2 Samuel 9:7, 11).

But listen to Mephibosheth’s heartbreaking reply: “Who is your servant, that you should show such kindness to a dead dog like me?” (2 Samuel 9:8). You can hear the shame in his response. No, King David, I don’t deserve this. Don’t you know where I came from, who my granddaddy is? Don’t you realize I’m lame and worthless? I have nothing to offer you.

I can identify with Mephibosheth’s shame-filled response. There was a time in my life when that voice of shame completely drowned out the truth of God’s love and grace.

How about you? Has your limp caused you shame and insecurities? Does it make you feel unworthy, as if you’re not enough? Has your limp isolated or limited you? Just like King David did for Mephibosheth, God invites you to His table—a place of acceptance and restoration.

“Come,” He says, “sit at My table; you are worthy. Let me restore what you’ve lost and what’s been taken. I will bring to pass the good plans I have for your life.”

Don’t let your shame keep you from taking your rightful place at your heavenly Father’s table as one of His own (2 Samuel 9:11). Embrace His love and forgiveness and let go of the shame. Leave that “dead dog” mentality at the door and take a seat. You are a chosen child of the King.

Solé Wright is an author and life coach who guides women in overcoming personal challenges. She understands the impact of unresolved trauma on personal and spiritual growth. Her approach to health and wellness is to care for the whole person—body, mind, and soul.