He Is The Rescuer

“In my distress I called to the Lord; I cried to my God for help. From his temple he heard my voice.… He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters. He rescued me” (Psalm 18:6, 16–17 NIV).

Psalm 18 is one of my favorite passages in the Bible. This psalm reminds me that God is near to the brokenhearted. It tells me that He hears our cries for help and thunders down from heaven to rescue us. As I edited this issue, I noticed that Psalm 18 is a favorite passage of many of our writers. In fact, so many of this issue’s contributors referenced Psalm 18 that I almost replaced it here to avoid repetition. Then I realized that maybe highlighting this Psalm was God’s plan for this time.

The Lord spoke to me from this Psalm as I wrote about my encounter with an owl that was about to drown in a lake. (See story on page 8.) I’ve often used this story to remind myself and to teach others the importance of thinking before we act.

The first draft of the article flowed effortlessly onto the computer screen, and I went to lunch happy about how the piece had turned out. But as I ate, I felt the Holy Spirit challenging me to take another look at the story.

And that’s when I heard, “Kristi, you have it all wrong. You’re focusing only on what the owl did wrong and why he ended up in his situation. Yes, it’s good to think before you act, and it’s good to make good choices with My guidance, but that’s not the real story here. The real story is about rescue. I am not a God who is angry, and I am not a God who chastises people for what they have done wrong. I am a God who hears the cries of My people and who thunders down from heaven to draw them out of deep waters. I am the Rescuer.”

Oh! Let me tell you, this correction brought so much joy and peace to my heart. I hurried back to the computer and edited the article.

That night, I was scheduled to speak at a banquet in Phoenix, Arizona, held by Roger Munchian, the subject of our cover story. Roger had asked me to share with his volunteers the partnership between Victorious Living magazine and his outreach, Rescued Not Arrested. (We supply our magazine and Roger supplies NIV study Bibles to inmates; we both offer correspondence outreaches and transitional support.)

I got to share with the people in attendance the exciting news that, as believers, we get to be the hands and feet of Jesus as He performs His rescue missions. We come alongside people in their time of need, we jump in the water with them, and we help them get safely to shore. Today, I’m sharing that news with you too—this privilege is yours!

All around us, people feel isolated and alone, whether they’re in prison or in free society. They think their actions have disqualified them in some way and have separated them from the love of God. They think they are too far gone; that there is no hope for them.

But you and I—we get to tell them the Good News that God loves them, that He is not only able but willing to rescue them. And we get to help them in tangible ways too. The following articles provide indisputable evidence of how serious God is about rescuing His people. I hope they bring comfort to you, even while they challenge you to look for ways to get in the water with others.

Know Your Enemy

When I consider my life today compared to 30 years ago, I am brought to tears. God transformed my broken, bitter life into one of wholeness and love. No one can tell me that God isn’t still in the miracle-working business. My life is a miracle.

My early years were filled with pain. My father was an abuser, and he took out his anger on my mother, my siblings, and me. I hated him for it, and I hated the helplessness I felt as he traumatized us.

The events of my childhood sowed seeds of bitterness in my heart. I resented my father for not loving and protecting us like he should have. His betrayal brought pain that far outweighed any physical blow he could have ever dealt; it crushed my heart.

A crushed heart is the perfect soil for seeds of bitterness, and I tended mine carefully. I watered them daily with thoughts of hate and revenge. At first, these evil thoughts were only toward my father, but they soon spread to the world. Every man was my enemy and responsible for my pain.

Over the years, that bitter root grew strong, and as Hebrews 12:15 says, it caused much trouble and defiled many. Much like my dad, I left a wake of destruction everywhere I went.

In 1972, at the age of 17, I got married and moved out of my father’s house. I couldn’t wait to have a home of my own and fill it with good things. I had met Connie years before at a baseball park. Even as a young boy, I knew she would one day be my wife and that I would be safe with her.

Our love was deep and strong, but the odds were stacked ever so high against us. The first decade as a young, married couple was tough. Broken and bitter, I carried a ton of baggage into our marriage. Not to mention, with no good role model, I had no idea how to be a good husband or father. Thankfully, Connie was patient and loved me unconditionally.

The anger I harbored almost destroyed our family, especially the day my mother showed up at my home with two men—all drunk. By this time, my father was long gone, and my mother, in her pain, had become homeless and addicted to alcohol and drugs. I was so angry with these men who I knew were abusing my mother.

I met them in the front yard with my rifle and ordered them to leave. (Violence was the only way I knew to communicate.) But they didn’t leave; the scene ended with one man shot, and the other lying unconscious on the concrete. I was arrested and charged with attempted murder.

Incredibly, I didn’t serve any time. The local police had witnessed firsthand the life my family had endured at the hands of my father, and they had mercy on me. Somehow, the whole thing just went away.

In 1983, Connie and I moved to a quaint little town in Florida. By this time, we had two little girls. I was doing my best to be a good husband and father, but I was still so full of rage. Thankfully, God sent a courageous man of God to my home to show me a better way.

I was sitting at my kitchen table one Saturday morning, when I heard a knock on the front door. I opened it to find Lonnie Cleveland, pastor of the local Baptist church. He was there to invite Connie, the girls, and me to church. A couple of weeks later, we went.

During our visit, the congregation sang a popular hymn, “Just as I Am.” It spoke of how God accepts people just as they are. According to the song, I didn’t have to bring anything to God except my broken self. This caught my attention. Could God really accept me—a broken, hate-filled man with a trail of carnage in my past?

I wrestled with this foreign concept for a few minutes. Then, I went to the altar to take God up on His offer. Pastor Lonnie led me through a prayer of salvation, and I committed my life to the Lord. I told God, “If You are who You say You are, and if You really will take me just as I am, I will serve You with the same tenacity that I served Satan.” This was quite a promise, as I had served Satan well for many years.

Connie rededicated her life to the Lord that day, too. She’d believed in Jesus as a kid but had strayed in her walk with Him. Not long after, our children put their faith in Jesus, and our entire family walked through the waters of baptism together.

I dove into His Word to learn all I could about Him. But studying the Bible wasn’t easy. Dyslexia made reading painfully slow for me, and I often had difficulty comprehending what I read. Nevertheless, I was persistent in my pursuit of Him. God accelerated my growth as His Spirit helped me understand deep spiritual things. The more I learned, the more I wanted to know.

Connie and I began working with the youth in our church, and then we started going on short-term overseas mission trips. In 1994, we moved to Africa for a year to develop leaders and train pastors to plant local churches.

When we returned home, I sensed God leading me to start a church. For the next 13 years, I helped people grow in their relationships with God and others. But, even as a pastor, I still struggled with my own past. I asked God to help me.

He showed me the importance of letting go of my anger and forgiving my father. The process started right after 9/11. Osama bin Laden had just unleashed his terror on US soil. As a pastor, I knew my congregation would be looking for answers. They were angry and wondering how a loving God could allow such pain. I was struggling to find answers myself.

As I prayed over the message, the Holy Spirit spoke to my heart. “Blaine, Osama bin Laden is not evil.”

What? I did not like what I was hearing. How could God say that? Did He not see the horrific aftermath of this man’s actions?

But the Holy Spirit continued. “He is an agent of evil.” And then God went on to remind me that He had created everyone, even men like Osama bin Laden, in His image, but that many have chosen not to follow after God’s ways. Then He continued, “Your father was also an agent of evil. And you, Blaine, were an agent of evil, too.”

My heart stopped, but then I began to understand how, yes, we have all been created in God’s image, but many of us have opened our hearts to the evil one—Satan—to be used by him to bring destruction into this world. He is the real source of evil that is out to destroy the world and every image-bearer of the Most High God. (See John 10:10.)

This revelation rocked my world, and my heart began to soften toward my dad. All my life, I had viewed him as my evil enemy, the source of my pain. Yes, my dad had done horrific things, but the spirit at work within him was that of Satan (Ephesians 2:2). My struggle wasn’t against flesh and blood; it was against dark forces (Ephesians 6:12)!

I had been in the wrong fight my entire life. Suddenly, I understood that to fight against dark forces, I needed new weapons. Second Corinthians 10:4–5 confirmed this: “The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world.…  We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ” (NIV). If I wanted to win this war, I would have to win the battle of my mind.

I set out to renew my mind with God’s Word (Romans 12:2). Because of my father’s betrayal, I had many wrong mindsets toward people. For example, I wrongly assumed that every man would betray me; that their only intent was to hurt me. So to protect myself, I made sure I hurt others before they had the chance to hurt me. I had major trust issues that prevented healthy, loving relationships.

God also showed me that in addition to His Word, I had many other powerful weapons—things like prayer, praising God, coming together in agreement with other believers, and proclaiming the name and blood of Jesus Christ—at my disposal. So I went to battle, and with God’s help, I began to win the war! (See Ephesians 6.)

Incredibly, over time, my relationship with my father was restored. I got to lead him to the Lord and even had the privilege of baptizing him. He never apologized for the pain he caused his family—I don’t know if he ever realized the full extent of the trauma he caused. Regardless, God’s love healed every wound I carried. Talk about a story of redemption! Before my mother’s death, I had the opportunity to lead her to the Lord, too. God is good.

I used what I had learned to teach my congregation how to win their battles. Then, I met a man who was involved with prison ministry, and he invited me to go into the prison with him. Once there, I knew right away that God was calling me to minister behind prison wire. There was a world of people just like me who needed to know who their enemy was and how to defeat him.

I started going to a nearby men’s prison once a month to preach. I sensed God, however, calling me into full-time ministry, which would require me to let go of the church I had birthed and to release my business. It took me two years to give God back what was always His.

And then, in 2005, He entrusted me with the startup of a new organization, Xtreme SOULutions, to help men and their families prepare for reentry into society. Connie and I witnessed God transform the lives of many people that society had thrown away and labeled as unsalvageable.

In 2017, Connie went home to be with the Lord after 45 years of marriage and decades of serving the Lord together. Losing her was difficult, but God faithfully healed my broken heart. And then, last year, He blessed me with a beautiful, godly wife who is a colaborer with me for Christ. Kimberly has sacrificially devoted her life to helping the men in our program and their families—it has been her heart for a decade. She has become like a mother to the men in blue, and they love her dearly.

Looking back, it is obvious to me that God has always had a plan for my life, even when I couldn’t see it. Just as He promised, He has taken everything the enemy had planned for evil and used it for good (Genesis 50:20).

Maybe you’ve experienced evil in your life. I want you to know that God has a plan, and He is ready to restore and redeem everything the enemy has stolen from you. Don’t lose hope. Run to the One who has already defeated your enemy. With Him and His weapons, you can win every battle!

Discovering the Right Path

The bottom fell out of my world in 2004, when I was convicted of investment fraud. As a result of my actions, I landed in the federal prison system in Minnesota and served nearly 13 years there.

When I did what I did, many people were surprised—including myself. My choices didn’t square with my stable upbringing in a loving family or my current life situation as a successful businessman.

For 14 years, I had experienced great success in the financial services world. But as I climbed the corporate ladder, I strayed from my values and turned a blind eye to what I knew was right. That choice came with a high cost to my family and me.

I don’t blame anyone but myself. As a financial consultant, I should have done my due diligence. If I had, I would have known that those tantalizing foreign investments that promised such huge economic benefits were bogus. In truth, I didn’t want to know; I wanted the fee attached. So I plowed forth, mesmerized by the financial gain I was experiencing and ignoring all the red flags.

Before I knew it, I was behind bars, furious that I had allowed myself to fall victim to greed.

I quickly learned that the impact of crime and incarceration is far-reaching and painful for all involved. My actions, my own choices, had placed significant financial, emotional, and physical burdens on my loved ones. Those I cared about most, including my young children, were suffering greatly. My clients, too, were devastated by my behavior.

Three months into my sentence, my mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I watched helplessly as she fought against that horrible illness, all the while carrying the extra burden of worrying about me. As her son, I should have been by her side. She died less than six months after I was locked up. For reasons I still don’t understand, I wasn’t allowed to attend her funeral. This left a hole in my heart that the Lord continues to mend.

Years later, while I was still in prison, my father had a stroke and died. I’d been so looking forward to my release date—I’d wanted to spend time with him. I will forever regret the foolish choices that left my parents alone during the most challenging years of their lives.

I spent a lot of time beating myself up for the pain I caused others, but I eventually learned that self-hate, self-pity, and anger only increased the negative impacts of my crime. This renewing of the mind began while I was being held in the hole (a place of segregation in prison), under investigation for what turned out to be a false narcotics accusation.

My first week in the hole was tough. I was angry over the false charge and bitter about not being able to attend my mother’s funeral. And I was still upset with myself for being in prison in the first place. Thankfully, God, in His grace, helped me out of my bitterness before it could destroy me (Hebrews 12:15).

The segregation cell door had barely closed behind me when a female guard banged on it and asked if she could get me anything. I immediately told her I wanted a Bible. I don’t know why I made this request. I don’t recall any intentional thought process behind it or an underlying desire to search for God. Nonetheless, I’m grateful.

For the next 35 days, I read God’s Word and reflected on my life. The Bible brought great comfort to me. It showed me my sinful ways, especially my prideful thoughts, and then it revealed the grace of God to forgive all my sin (1 John 1:9). His Word showed me how to get in right standing with God, through my faith in Jesus Christ (Ephesians 2:8). It also taught me how to forgive others and myself, so I could move forward (Colossians 3:13).

Then, a month later, something happened that had a profound impact on my life. Lack of beds in the general population resulted in an inmate named Kent being placed in the hole with me. He’d just reported to prison and was coming off heavy drugs. He talked nonstop and was in a constant state of panic for several nights. Over the weekend, as reality set in, he threatened to kill himself many times. The guards asked me to keep an eye on him, to be kind to him, and to notify them if there was a problem.

I was a bit annoyed at first. This guy was a handful, and he was interrupting my quiet time with God. All I kept thinking was how lucky he was that I was in the cell with him; any other guy would surely have beaten him half to death the first night. I was so arrogant.

In reality, God had sent Kent to that cell for me, not the other way around—though I didn’t realize that for several days. It was a Monday, and as was the custom, the guards woke us at 4:30 to serve us breakfast.

In those early hours, Kent, who was finally in his right mind, looked at me and said, “Augie, you’re getting out of here today. I feel it.”

I told him that wasn’t possible because I was supposed to be in the hole for six months, and I’d only been there a month. He asked if he could pray for me; I said sure. He prayed and then closed his prayer with, “I ask all of this in Jesus’s precious name. Amen.”

I’d never heard a closing like that. It was a humble yet confident request, backed by the power of Jesus’s name, and it caught my attention. I soon began to pray that way too, as I learned more about the power of Jesus’s name (John 14:13–14; John 16:23–24).

Five seconds later, an officer banged on the door and said, “Ghilarducci, get your stuff. You’re out of here.” I started to cry. It was so much to take in. Could God have spoken through Kent? Had He heard our prayers and answered them that quickly? The officer handed me clothes and took me back to a room in the general population.

This encounter made a profound difference in how I perceived my situation, myself, and God. It showed me that I wasn’t alone in prison—I never had been, and I never would be. God was with me and everyone else behind those prison walls. He saw us; He heard our prayers. I also realized during that time that my past didn’t have to dictate my future. With God’s help, my hard work, and the support of others, I could move forward and emerge from this experience a better man.

I set out on a journey of rediscovery. That journey brought me back to godly values and back to my faith in Jesus Christ. Serving time gave me a clear perspective on the prison system and the challenges those who live there face. It created in me a burden to help those behind bars.

Before I was incarcerated, I had judged people in prison so harshly. I’d never considered them as human beings with emotions, families, or needs. I’d never thought about the helplessness a husband, father, and son feels behind bars until I was that husband, father, and son.

It took losing my liberty and, ultimately, my dignity to open my eyes, but once they were open, my heart was filled with compassion.

Prison teems with people who have lost their way for whatever reason—addictions, mental illness, childhood and adult trauma, poverty…so many things. Some there are innocent, while others have no remorse over what they’ve done, no regard for authority, and no desire to change. I don’t believe that is the norm, but God showed me my role is not that of a judge, lest I be judged myself (Matthew 7:1). Instead, my part is to be the hands and feet of Jesus, to help people find their way—His way.

Not only did I learn about the humanity of people behind bars, but I also came to understand the brokenness of our prison system. Things desperately need to change. Men and women leave the system unprepared for society and unequipped to move forward. It’s no wonder so many fail.

I’d never given thought to the prison system. I simply didn’t care. It didn’t impact my family or me. But once I was there, I saw things I couldn’t ignore, especially the lack of opportunities for people to advance in life.

I decided that while incarcerated, I would change what I could by using the knowledge I had to help others. I noticed inmates struggling to read and understand important legal correspondence from their attorneys, so I helped them navigate their way through the documents. It was a simple act with a significant impact.

I also noticed a lack of essential life skills, especially in finance—things like budgeting, balancing checkbooks, paying taxes, understanding mortgages, and saving for the future. I developed a program and a workbook that taught inmates these crucial skills.

It was so rewarding to help people not only dream about their future but plan for it.

It wasn’t long before prison officials took notice of the impact the program was having and endorsed it. This was a high compliment in a place where compliments are rare. They took the program and made it a requirement for those in drug treatment plans.

I had opportunities to impact the lives of people outside the prison too. The warden placed me in a community outreach program that allowed me to go into high schools, colleges, and universities to share with students the lessons I had learned from my ethical failures. I was able to use my failures for good by hopefully preventing others from going down the path I had chosen.

I was released from prison in 2018. That was a difficult transition for a 57-year-old man to make, but with the help of my Lord Jesus Christ, the faithful support and dedication of the woman who had stood by my side through my entire prison sentence, and careful planning, I am now thriving and helping others to do the same. I am in constant awe of how God has used every part of my past for good (Romans 8:28). He hasn’t wasted a thing.

Amazingly, less than six months after my release, I was invited to return to jails and prisons to share my story and to teach my programs though an organization called 2nd Opportunity. Today, I share this reentry program with inmates five days a week. It’s also available via computer tablets in many facilities throughout the United States. I have written a book about my experience called I Climbed the Wrong Mountain to Discover the Right Path. Its purpose is to help others dealing with the barriers of reentry.

So you see, no matter how dire your situation, God can still use your life for good. No matter how you’ve fallen, you can not only survive your ordeal but thrive! To do so, you will have to trust God, persevere in your faith, and work hard. No one is going to hand you your life back. You’ll have to take advantage of what’s available to you. You’ll have to make sacrifices. But as you do, God will take your life and use every part of it for His glory. He will cause your fall to be the catalyst for a better life experience.

Rescued, Not Arrested

My family immigrated to the United States from Armenia in 1979; I was eight years old. We arrived in Los Angeles with few possessions and many dreams. It was a difficult transition. The language barrier, my thick Armenian eyebrows, and my single outfit made me an easy target.

By the time I was a teen, I was tired of being put down and walked on and of being disrespected and poor. And I was tired of no one doing anything to help. I decided it was time to change my life experience.

So I turned to the streets—a young man could find both respect and money there. I started by stealing car stereos and moved up to delivering ordered vehicles to chop shops. Then I discovered the drug market, and I got a taste of real money.

At first, I dealt with drugs by the pound, then kilos, and then tons. I was an ambitious businessman who networked with leaders in the drug industry to make the next deal happen. By 17, I was delivering goods to cartels nationwide and making more money than I had ever imagined possible.

Once I’d tasted money, I developed an insatiable desire for more. I loved the sense of power money gave me. My pursuit of the almighty dollar, however, led me down destructive paths that hurt many people and nearly cost me my life. But thankfully, on September 25, 1997, like Paul in Acts 9, I had a Damascus Road experience that changed the trajectory of my life.

That night, like many others, my friends and I went to a high-end VIP nightclub. When we tired of that scene, we climbed into my Mercedes S 600 coupe. I punched the accelerator, feeling invincible as the speedometer reached 130 mph. But then the car began to fishtail, and I lost control.

I can still hear the screams of the girls as the car smashed into the concrete wall and folded in on us. And then, there was silence, except for the faint bleep of a crushed cellphone. I pulled myself from the car and looked at the bloody scene. The girls lay motionless on the ground. What had I done?

Funny, until that moment, I hadn’t thought much about God. I figured He hadn’t thought much about me, either. Surely He had abandoned me all those years ago when as a child I was being bullied and abused.

Soon passersby stopped and called 911. I knew I was in deep trouble. I limped as fast as my battered body could go, hoping to jump from the nearby bridge and end this nightmare. I’d almost made it to the guardrail when the pilot of the police helicopter spotted me. Ground police and K9 officers gave chase.

“God, help me! Help me!” I cried. I was in way over my head. I reached the railing and leaped, but my plunge was abruptly halted by a German shepherd who sank his teeth into my pant leg and dragged me back. Officers descended  on me from every direction.

At the police station, I was booked on two counts of vehicular homicide. In the intake room, for my safety and theirs, they strapped me into a chair and put a facemask on me. I was teetering on the verge of insanity—spitting, biting, and kicking at the officers.

Darkness engulfed me as I looked at the intake papers the officer had shoved in my hand. Two counts of aggravated vehicular homicide meant I could not place a bond. All those hundreds of thousands of dollars I had tucked away from my drug deals were utterly powerless to save me. And so were the other gods I’d served so faithfully through the years—the gods of sex, drugs, toxic relationships, and power. Where were they now? They had brought me to this pit of destruction and  had abandoned me.

I needed something with real power. Did it exist?

“God, are You there? Help me, God…help me.” This plea lasted no more than 30 seconds. And then, worn out and in pain, I fell asleep.

I woke to an officer trying to remove the intake papers that were stuck to my bloody hands. “You sure lucked out on this one,” he said as he stuffed a new paper into my hand. After he left, I looked at what he’d given me. Two counts of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon.

Assault? How could that be? The girls were dead—I’d seen them! But this paper said they were alive. The words “God help me” rang in my mind. Comfort like I’d never felt before flooded over me, and inside, I sensed someone say, “I heard you, Roger. Call out to Me, and I will show you great and wonderful things. You are not a murderer. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. All of My works are wonderful, and you are Mine. Your journey has just begun—trust Me.”

God had revealed Himself in an undeniable way, one I certainly didn’t deserve. He had pursued me with His everlasting love and rescued me from the pit of destruction I had dug for myself. For the first time, I truly believed there was a God.

With the new charges, I was able to make bail. I went straight to my attorney’s office to make sense of what had happened. All he could offer was, “You just got lucky, Roger.” But I knew different. People don’t just come back to life.

I left his office and went to the hospital. I couldn’t believe my eyes—the girls really were alive! An inexplicable peace expanded beneath my anguish. God was fixing what I had destroyed. He had my attention.

Why am I still here? I wondered. I needed to know the truth. I needed to know God.

Over the next nine months, I sought to learn all I could about Him. I searched history and science, unearthed multiple faith foundations and their manuscripts. My quest to know the truth led me to understand that yes, God was real, and He was worth giving up everything I had to follow Him. I accepted by faith His Son, Jesus, as my Lord and Savior, and in my heart, I’ve not looked back.

But leaving that old life wasn’t easy. People like me don’t get to just walk away. My phone rang constantly with both opportunities and threats. But deep down, I knew the only business worth doing was that of reaching God’s lost ones. After some hard lessons, I finally let go of my old ways and turned my life completely over to Him.

On May 18, 1998, I received a plea of five years probation for the accident, instead of 20 years in prison. I praised God for the result and focused on building my parents’ legitimate insurance business. I did my best to serve God and His people. But a bigger trial lay ahead.

Ten months after the plea, I was in my office when suddenly the tiny room was filled with federal marshals, Arizona DEA, and US Customs officers. They escorted me outside, tucked me into a government sedan, and took me to the federal building in downtown Phoenix. I was facing twelve Class-2 felony charges under federal RICO law—a possible 160 years in prison.

Yet again I heard, “Trust Me, Roger.”

Then, amazingly, the Feds released me on my own recognizance. I surrendered my passport and was assigned a hearing date in Detroit. My attorney got to work, and as the facts of the case unfolded, the grace of God became evident.

Everything the Feds had on the cartels that would have involved me happened after the accident—after my decision to follow Jesus. That accident in 1997 wasn’t just God’s way of getting my attention; He used that wreck to keep me from a lifetime of incarceration. Had I stayed on that road of destruction, I’d have been working with the cartels when the Feds infiltrated them.

Months later, the federal charges were dropped, and then my fight against the state began. The state drug prosecutor was determined to send me and anyone associated with my case away for life. Since I had a record in the state system, that wouldn’t be difficult. The case lasted for three years. At times, it looked like my past would never leave me alone, and rightfully so.

During this time, I began conversing with a young lady from Armenia, the daughter of a friend. We spent many hours together on the phone, and a deep love began to grow between us. Against the odds, I asked the court for permission to fly to Armenia so I could marry her. Incredibly, the judge allowed it.

My shocked attorney said, “Roger, your grant from the court to travel to Armenia is a one-in-a-million opportunity. You’ve won the Golden Ticket, like the kid in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Don’t waste it. Go to Armenia and never come back.” He reminded me of the orange prison jumpsuit that would be waiting for me if I ignored his advice.

I sat on the plane at Phoenix’s Sky Harbor Airport, thinking of his words. I’d soon be 7,000 miles away from this mess. I considered the possibility that this grant from the court might be God’s way of giving me freedom. Maybe He wanted to use me in Armenia to save many souls.

It made a lot of sense intellectually, yet my heart was void of peace. I knew running from my problems and breaking the law wasn’t God’s way. I also knew choosing to stay in Armenia wouldn’t be fair to my parents. They’d lose the $100,000 in bond money they had loaned me. Once again, I heard the Lord reminding me to trust Him. I tightened my seatbelt and settled back for a long flight.

On the ground in Armenia, I immediately felt at home. I was in the place of my true heritage and with Sirarpi, the woman I loved. I proposed marriage and she accepted; we set the wedding date for four days later. But I hadn’t told her about my past, and I needed to. So first, I told her I’d been married before, and then I told her my legal troubles. Finally, I shared how God had touched my heart and changed my ways. She had many questions, but in the end, she made an incredible choice to trust God too.

Against my attorney’s advice, I headed to the Armenian airport to return to Arizona and attend my court hearing. But when I went to check in, I discovered I had missed my flight. Was this a sign from God? Was I to stay? As I began wrestling with the decision; the ticket attendant excitedly announced that she had found an alternate route. “Should I book this flight for you, sir?”

It was a moment of truth. I could trust God’s plan and return to America to face my past, or I could live as a free man in Armenia. I thought about my attorney’s reference to winning that fictional Golden Ticket, and suddenly, I realized he was wrong. The theme of that movie wasn’t about seizing an opportunity; it was about being trustworthy. Charlie was the only child with integrity, and as a result, he inherited everything from Mr. Wonka. I understood that, like Charlie, I had much to inherit from God—but I had to do what was right. I booked the flight and returned to America to face my charges. Sirarpi planned to join me four months later.

Once home, the reality of my situation was inescapable. I had no plea bargain—I could get 160 years in prison. But it was time for me to live by faith and not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7). Sight is deceiving. Months passed, and the case dragged on. And then, something incredible happened.

The prosecutor on my case was not just after me; she was attempting to take down the entire Mexican mafia. In retali­a­tion, they arranged for her assassination, planning to make it look like I had killed her to keep her off my case. But their plan backfired when their hit man accidentally shot her brother instead. He lived and identified the shooter, connecting him to the Mexican mafia.

Because of the threat against her life, the prosecutor was taken off my case and put in protective custody. Thankfully, her replacement didn’t share her passion for putting me away for life and gave me a seven-year plea instead.

There was standing room only in the courtroom at my sentencing hearing on April 11, 2003. The judge took the bench and spoke directly to me. I deserved to serve multiple life sentences for the many lives I had destroyed, he said. But then, incredibly, he reduced my seven-year sentence to two-and-a-half years. He even gave me two weeks to get my affairs in order and spend time with my family. Folks, it simply doesn’t work this way. Plea agreements aren’t reduced! God had showed up again!

There’s a saying that, if you focus on taking care of God’s business, He will take care of yours. This is the testimony of my life. God has taken care of me in the most miraculous ways as I have trusted Him and focused on doing His work. He takes care of those I love, too.

I walked into Lewis Prison in 2003, to serve time for the crimes I had committed. I served 20 months, and every day, I praised God for all that He had done for me.

I tell people, I didn’t go to prison, I went to Bible college—and the Holy Spirit and the NIV Study Bible were my teachers. Prison life was not easy. I was tempted at times to use the position I’d held in the drug world to protect myself. But I knew if I did that, I would stray from what God had in store for me. I had to fear God more than I feared man.

It was often scary, and my life was indeed threatened. Yet, with God’s help, I did not compromise. I was determined to be a follower of Christ and represent His love and power to those around me, no matter the cost. Those boundaries led to some frightening moments, but God always made a way. He helped me stand firm in my convictions while being respectful to those around me.

As I served my time, the Lord began to show me His love for incarcerated people and the need for His Word behind bars. He planted the idea of a ministry in my heart, called Rescued Not Arrested (RNA). RNA has since reached millions of prisoners, both around the world and in 500 US prisons, with its custom-cover NIV Bible.

Praise God, Sirarpi and our children were waiting for me when I was released from prison in December 2004. We had used that time to draw close to one another through phone calls and prison visits, and now we were excited to start a new life together. Sirarpi and I often joke that we spent more time together when I was in prison than we do now, as I travel the world sharing the Gospel.

Friend, God is in the rescue business. No matter where you are, He is there, and He is ready to help you out of your pit and into a life of adventure. Trust Him and do the right thing. I am living proof that God can use anyone!

The God of Comfort

“Your book changed my life,” the female inmate said. “I’ve read it three times in the past two weeks. It’s the only thing that keeps me going in here.” Tears filled her eyes as I inscribed her copy.

I wanted to hug her, to tell her this is just a season, that it’s temporary, that this too shall pass. Instead, under the watchful eye of the correctional officer, I smiled and asked her about the scripture I had written in her book. “Do you know what Romans 8:28 says?” She shook her head.

“It says that God works all things out for good for those who love Him and are called according to His purposes. And that’s you. I inscribed this verse for you in my book. It’s my prayer over you, your family, and your life.”

It was my bold declaration of her worth, value, and purpose.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She nodded and mouthed an emotional, “Thank you.”

Twenty other women stood behind her, waiting to get their copies signed. They were hungry for Jesus. I had just fed them the Bread of Life from God’s Word in our time together, and Jesus had come alive for them. I spoke the same truth to each of them, all the while being completely in awe of a Savior who would use a cracked vessel like me to declare His love, passion, and protection over this sea of brokenhearted women.

I remember all too well my own dark days. Like those women who stare at me through sunken eyes, I am familiar with times of suffering. Mine spanned 18 painful years. During my journey, I begged God to somehow use my agony to help others. I didn’t want my pain to be wasted; I prayed for Him to use it for good. And here in this county jail, He is doing just that.

My adventure began almost twenty years ago when my first marriage deteriorated to a very scary place. Desperate to repair my marriage, I tried everything from counseling to submission, but nothing worked. Things only got worse.

Ultimately, I endured a painful divorce, countless court trials, and grueling custody exchanges at the state police barracks. I traversed the gauntlet of single motherhood, carried the burden of being the sole provider, and made parenting decisions alone. And I resisted the guilt my enemy, Satan, piled on, always telling me I hadn’t done enough.

Before my trials, I thought I knew God. I thought I was good enough to get into heaven on my good works. I attended church each week, prayed every day, and did my best to keep the Ten Commandments. I wasn’t Mother Teresa, but I wasn’t Attila the Hun, either. My viewpoint changed drastically the day I met Jesus.

Someone suggested that I start reading the Word of God. I had no idea what that was until they told me it was the Bible. In all my years of going to church, I had never read it, but now I started. I was shocked at what I found—tales of deceit, adultery, agony, and murder! I had wrongly assumed the Bible was one long, run-on, “thou-shalt-not” sentence. Instead, it was full of stories of real people—some of whom made my life look like a cakewalk! It was comforting to know that everyone was a big, hot mess, just like me!

Everyone, that is, except Jesus.

I learned that God was more powerful than I’d ever imagined. One night, as I prayed for God to save my marriage, I had a vision of Jesus. He stood before me; His entire being emulated holiness. Nothing I had ever seen before came close to His purity and goodness. He is Glory, in the flesh.

My eyes moved upward to His face, and I became transfixed on the love shining from His eyes. My world stopped. In His presence, I saw how every cell of my body was tainted by sin. I understood for the first time the precious price He had paid for me on the cross. Suddenly, I knew all my good works were dirty rags compared to Jesus’s holiness. And I knew I could only access God by accepting Jesus’s sacrifice for my sins and entering into a personal relationship with Him.

A loud voice permeated my living room, “Do you accept My Son as your Savior?”

Stunned, I nodded and croaked out a soft, “Y–y–yes.”

In that moment, I surrendered my life to Jesus, and everything changed. I became a true Christian—a follower of Jesus Christ, not a mere observer. I started living for Him and not for the world or myself. The entire trajectory of my life changed.

I wanted to know more about my Savior. I found godly Christian women and pastors to mentor me and help me understand the scriptures. My trials didn’t disappear, but they became easier to bear. I now had hope in the form of Jesus Christ, and I clung to Him. God protected me and brought me through every trial.

As I moved through this process, God richly blessed me by bringing me a wonderful husband and ending my pain of single parenting, giving me a protector for our family, and a spiritual covering. My husband is my Boaz, my kinsman-

redeemer. (See Ruth 2–4.) This man—whom I didn’t even like at first—is my perfect mate and father to our family.

That’s not to say we don’t have difficult times, but we have God. He has helped us navigate the perils of a blended family, negative external influences, and infertility. He has purified our hearts and minds in the fires of working together and combining our lives as older singles—we married in our forties. The Lord has held us as we’ve walked through the grief of losing a child through miscarriage and another child who, as a teenager, decided not to live in our home any longer. God helps us come together in prayer so we can take our eyes off our circumstances and lift our gaze to Him.

We’ve basked in the glory of forgiveness. We’ve seen the fruit of colaboring for God’s kingdom. We’ve been given another child. Yes, God has restored what the locusts had eaten (Joel 2:25) and has answered our petitions abundantly beyond anything we could ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20).

Through every season of suffering, God has been there. As 2 Corinthians 1:4 says: “He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.”

God hasn’t wasted one tear, one painful trial, or one battle in my life. Instead, He has used them to make me stronger in Him, an instrument of grace to comfort others. Who would’ve thought that He’d use my pain to minister to others, especially the incarcerated? Yet God has knit my heart with the afflicted to share His message of hope within the prison and jail systems.

Now, I want to encourage you.

God works all things out for good and for His glory. Whatever you’re going through right now—even if it’s the darkest, most faith-challenging, and isolated season of your life—you can remember, God is there! He will not leave you or forsake you (Hebrews 13:5). He will not abandon you, nor will He allow you journey through your pain alone.

Put your suffering on His altar and ask for His help. He will comfort you and give you the strength to take every next step.

You have access to a big God through the shed blood of Jesus Christ. Nothing is too hard for Him (Jeremiah 32:27). God makes all things new (Isaiah 43:18–19; Revelation 21:5; Isaiah 65:17). He can restore everything the enemy has taken from you and your family (Joel 2:25). And He does not waste anything—no matter how heinous.

If you haven’t already done so, now is the time to come to the God of comfort and share your pain. Tell Him you need Him. Confess your sins—He is faithful and just to forgive them, and He will cleanse you of all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9).

Then, ask Jesus to be your Lord and Savior. You’ll be amazed at how He will transform your hopeless situation into something amazing that provides hope and comfort to others.

You never know, God might have you start a ministry, an organization, or even write a book! I encourage you to “not despise these small beginnings” (Zechariah 4:10). Even in the hard times, when you feel like you’re living in a wasteland, remember that God is always at work. He is doing something you can’t see. Trust Him and remember “that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them” (Romans 8:28).

And that’s you!

A Broken Man Restored

I was blessed to discover my God-given writing talent at an early age. I wrote my first full-length novel before I was 16. It was a crime novel, steeped in gang violence, a subject that fascinated me as a boy.

God would later use my writing talents to create skits and productions for children’s ministry. Still, I preferred writing about crime. God brought my passions for Him and crime fiction together the day He brought a 12-time felon by the name of Roger Munchian into my life.

My wife and I participated in the same small-group Bible study that Roger was in. A week rarely went by that Roger did not share some part of his testimony as a former drug lord, living a fast and reckless life.

I was inspired by how God had used a speeding car, a sharp highway curve, and the resulting collision with a barrier wall to get Roger’s attention. It was the kind of swashbuckling intrigue that I loved to write about. Yet, with all the hundreds of thousands of thuggish words I had penned, Roger’s life story was one that I could not make up. (You can read Roger’s story on page 22.)

When our paths crossed, Roger was just beginning his prison ministry, mentoring a few inmates a week at the Maricopa County jails. But then he shared his testimony in a prison magazine, and hundreds of requests for mentorship poured in. During one group meeting, Roger shared his vision of having his story in a book. He could only imagine that an in-depth account would reach even more lives.

The Holy Spirit nudged me to offer my writing services. Roger’s was a powerful testimony that could reach thousands for God’s kingdom. Surprisingly, he did not already have a writer on the project. One woman had started writing his story but had abandoned the project when her marriage came under attack by the enemy. Roger gave me a copy of the unfinished manuscript and asked me to let him know if it was something I’d want to take on.

Unfortunately, it was a turbulent season for my business. The 2009 financial meltdown was threatening to wipe out my executive search business. The pressure was so relentless and dizzying, my wife and I decided to take a vacation to recoup.

I had tucked that half-written manuscript into my suitcase. Finally able to breathe, I found a quiet spot under a palm tree on the beach and pulled the document from its tattered envelope. As I read, it was as if the Holy Spirit whacked me with His holy two-by-four—giving me a powerful vision of what He wanted me to do.

Despite the uncertainties of life facing me—my failing business, the plummeting value of our homes, and the risk of an upside-down investment property, I felt a rush of peace. And I heard God say, “I’ve blessed your family and business all these years. This book is what I want you to do now. Trust Me; I will provide.” My wife, sadly, did not receive the same vision.

I took on the project, unaware that as I was writing Roger’s story, my own story would become a testimony too. As soon as I stepped out in obedience, Satan waged war on my family, buffeting us with several storms at once. We lost both our homes, and my business flat-lined.

But I pressed on, writing Roger’s story. I even became a badged clergy volunteer for the Maricopa County Sheriff’s office in Arizona. I had seen the incredible impact Roger’s prison ministry was having, and I wanted to be part of it. God used the inmates there to challenge me in my faith.

Until that point, I had been in children’s ministry. Ministering in jail was uncharted waters, and I quickly discovered the truth of Hebrews 5:12–14. It says, “In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God’s word all over again. You need milk, not solid food! Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil” (NIV).

God revealed to me that, even after 15 years of ministry, I was still drinking the milk of God’s Word like an infant in Christ. He convicted me that if I wanted to reach His children in dark places like the prison system, I needed the solid food of God’s Word. I needed to push myself to know Him and His Word more deeply. So I did.

And then, the storm intensified. My wife decided to leave our marriage. Having already lost our home, everything else I owned, except for what I could fit in a small storage unit and in the back of my pickup, got loaded into a donation truck. I went from owning 5,000 square feet of living space with a complete family to living in a 700-square-foot apartment as a single father with joint custody.

I cracked. Instead of trusting God, I chose to cower down. Instead of taking strength from the Lord, I found comfort in alcohol and a foolhardy lifestyle that I thought I could keep secret.

On the outside, I was a devoted father, a loyal employee, and a dedicated minister. Inside, I was crushed and dying and using alcohol to self-medicate. I caroused around in unhealthy, reckless relationships that I thought would fix my shattered heart and fill the excruciating void that divorce had carved deep into my soul.

I remember leaving the barstool one evening to attend a prison meeting with Roger’s ministry, Rescued Not Arrested. I stuffed my mouth full of breath mints and peppermint candies, thinking I could mask the smell of booze. I was fooling only myself. The next day, Roger called me out on my behavior. I thought he would be furious; instead, he simply said, “I love you, brother, and I’m worried about you.”

I told Roger that I needed to step down from my place in his ministry, but I also told him that I didn’t want to quit writing his story. Something deep inside me—far below the deadness and decay—did not want to give up on the book. I simply could not bear the thought of another author pulling my tattered and unfinished manu­script out of a dusty envelope.

Finishing this book, however, would take an act of God. Between the hangovers and self-pity of the last several months, I’d typed only a few sentences. I had no energy to write this book, nor did I feel worthy. I’d lost my passion for writing. But neither  God nor Roger had given up on me.

Peeling open my hungover eyes one morning, I turned on the television. I found Joyce Meyers sharing a message on the pool of Bethesda in John 5. Jesus had looked at the invalid at the pool and told him, “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.” I felt the Holy Spirit say to me: “Get up! You’re acting like this thing has crippled you. Now get up—pick up your troubles and get to work!”

I picked up my mat, but the toxic grip of alcohol did not let me get very far. I eventually showed up at Roger’s home, ready to tell him that I was calling it quits. Before I could get the words out, however, he opened his Bible to Acts 22 and read verses 6–10 to me. This is Paul’s account of his encounter with Jesus on the Damascus Road. From his place in the dirt, Paul asked Jesus, “What shall I do?” Jesus simply answered, “Get up.”

Once again, I sensed the Lord telling me, “Get up, Joe!”

This time I got up and, with God’s help, I’ve stayed up. I told Roger that I wanted to return to prison ministry. I was shocked to learn he’d never canceled my badge. He had faith in me, even though I had given up on myself.

With newfound hope, I forced myself to get up early to write. Each morning, between the insane hours of 4:30 and 6:00 a.m., I kept an appointment with God. I sat before my keyboard, revitalized only by the smell of coffee and a shot of God’s Word. I never knew what I was going to write, but the Holy Spirit never failed to take over the keyboard. Morning after morning, God filled the screen with words of His choosing, not mine.

After several incredible months of feeling God’s workmanship coursing through my fingertips, I wrote the two most cherished words any author can pen: The End. The book was finished.

Since then, God has restored much in my life; every day has been a new day of victory in Jesus Christ. He has renewed my career and revived my desire to write. He’s helped me purchase a home, despite bankruptcy. More importantly, I no longer crave alcohol or reckless relationships.

God led me from a dark and lonely road and directed me to His plans that are far better than anything I could have imagined. He rescued me, and I am grateful.

Perhaps today, your road seems dark and lonely. Like me, you may have lost much. I want to encourage you that life isn’t over. God is telling you too: Get up! This thing has not crippled you. Take hold of God’s hand and walk.

But as we move forward—both you and I—let’s remember to stay grateful, to seek His kingdom first, and to keep our feet firmly set on the path He has ordained for us. As we do, we can be assured that God will do amazing things, both in and through us.

Beauty For Ashes

Isaiah 61:3 NIV says, “To all who mourn…he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the Lord has planted for his own glory.” What a promise that is.

My life was incredibly broken, and I could see no chance of restoration. Even now, as I find myself enveloped in the reality of God fulfilling the promise of Isaiah 61 for me, I struggle to wrap my head around why He would love me so. I have done nothing to deserve it. It is purely a gift of God’s mercy and grace.

My life has been a fierce spiritual battle between God and Satan—one that it often    seemed Satan was winning. Before I even made it to kindergarten, the enemy had already worked through people to wound my heart, strip me of my innocence, and twist my mind.

At 13, as a matter of survival, I left home and took to the streets. It was the only choice I thought I had, but it led me to a very dark place. Like many girls, I ended up trafficked as a teenage prostitute. I became a crack and heroin addict, and by 18, I was in prison for the first time.

For almost 30 years, I stayed in a vicious cycle of addiction, heartache, homelessness, mental illness, domestic violence, and every darkness imaginable. I’ve been in and out of jails, prisons, and psychiatric hospitals more times than I can count. Through my own choices, I lost custody of my two young daughters to child protective services.

By 2015, I was overwhelmed with hopelessness. I’d had a chance to reunite with my daughters, but I let it slip through my fingers. I was trapped in my addiction and life on the streets, and I was running from an outstanding felony warrant.

One day I was at my 11th-floor apartment, and my sense of despair almost drove me to suicide. I’d been evicted from the apartment but had snuck back in to get high. While I was there, the cops came looking for me. When they knocked on my door, I panicked. I was not going to jail that day! Desperate, I went out on the balcony, climbed over the railing, and shimmied to the corner of the building. Cops on the ground saw me. They tried to reason with me; I begged them to shoot me, and I threatened to jump.

But there on that ledge, I started thinking about my daughters. What would happen to them? I’d made such a mess of things. I decided I needed a cigarette to calm my nerves, so I made my way back to the apartment. I was so high, it never dawned on me that police were in there hiding. As soon as I got inside, some burly cop tackled my 92-pound frame to the ground, and it was over.

The police arrested me for the felony warrant, and in the process, they found drugs in my pocket. In a matter of seconds, my troubles had multiplied. These new charges, added to my already lengthy criminal history, would leave the court no alternative but to sentence me to prison for the third time.

Once in jail, I was kept on a suicide watch. I was desperate to end the pain of this life. I was frail and malnourished because of my addiction and lifestyle, and I lay on the floor of my cell for days, going through severe heroin withdrawals. I just wanted to stop breathing.

It was in this pitiful state that I cried out to God for help. Sure, I had called out to Him many times before, as many do in their time of need, but this time was different. Somehow, I knew God was real and that He was watching over me. It was the only possible way I was still alive after the abuse I’d both endured at the hands of others and inflicted on myself.

I didn’t have a specific “God encounter” to speak of, but I did experience a strange sense of peace. I had never experienced anything like this before—it was a peace that surpassed all understanding (Philippians 4:7). Despite my rough circumstances, the God of Peace met me, right there on the cold, dirty floor of my jail cell.

Eventually, I was taken off suicide watch and placed in general population. My cellmate ended up being someone I knew from the streets—and she kept asking me if I believed in God. Then, she talked to me about Jesus and read to me out of her Bible. That girl was on my last nerve!

I was still going through some pretty intense withdrawals and just wanted to be left alone. But God knew what He was doing when He trapped me in that room with her. He used her to bring the truth into my life that changed me forever.

I remember lying on my top bunk, trying to kick the effects of heroin, while she lay on her bunk below, reading God’s Word to me. Slowly but surely, the things she read began to sink in, and something deep inside of me began to realize God’s intense, unconditional love. He had rescued me from myself and my addiction, from imminent death, and from my enemies, both seen and unseen.

In that county jail cell, I asked Jesus to forgive me of my sins, and then I handed Him the broken, shattered pieces of my heart and my life. I surrendered everything to Him and began a journey of getting to know the Lord in a personal way. Shortly afterward, I was sent to prison.

There, while I was reading my Bible, I came across Psalm 18:16–19. This scripture leaped off the page and spoke directly to my heart, bringing me great comfort. It says: “He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters. He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me. They confronted me in the day of my disaster, but the Lord was my support. He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me” (NIV).

Suddenly, I felt seen by God, and I knew my life mattered to Him. At the sound of my cries, He had snatched me right out of Satan’s hand, even in my utterly broken state. And as the verse says, He brought me out into a spacious place, which happened to be Arizona State Prison, Perryville, so that He could begin to heal me.

The two-and-a-half years I served in that prison positioned me to see and learn the power of God as He stripped away the lies of the enemy from my heart and mind. He taught me that I am not an orphan, but instead, I am the daughter of the King, and I am worth everything to Him. He revealed the greatness of His presence and the power of His love—a love I had not earned.

Romans 5:8 taught me that, even while I was still a sinner and determined to destroy the life God had given me, Christ died for me. He had sacrificed His life—He died on a cross!—to pay the price for my sin, and He rose from the dead, all so that I could have not only eternal life, but abundant life here on earth as well.

God also taught me how to arm myself for the spiritual battle against my very real enemy, Satan, whose sole mission is to steal, kill, and destroy my joy, peace, and life. He exposed Satan’s methods of keeping me chained to my past hurts and mistakes. And He helped me overcome the victim mentality I had developed.

It took going to prison this third time to learn these truths, but praise God, I did! Behind a barbed-wire fence, the Son of God set me free. And since then, He has continued His work of healing in my heart, mind, and physical body. He is even restoring my relationship with my daughters.

My life is testimony that God can deliver anyone from the deepest depths of darkness. He pursues the lost and the broken because of His great love for them. And then, He chooses to use us—yes, the ones the world threw away—for His purpose and His glory.

God exchanges the burned-out ashes of our lives for beautiful things. He gives us joy instead of mourning and praise instead of despair. And in God’s hands, we can become like great oaks that the Lord displays before the world for His glory.

I know, because that’s my story. And it can be your life story too.

A Plane, a Prisoner, and God’s Plan

It was supposed to be a quick hour and a half flight to New York City. I was busy helping the teenagers I was traveling with get settled for the flight, so I took little notice of the three large guys seated at the back of the plane.

The plane taxied to the runway and stopped. The captain announced we’d be delayed due to construction at LaGuardia Airport. Two more delay announcements came over the intercom, and people began to get antsy and move around. It didn’t help that the plane was stuffy and hot.

I noticed a tall man stand up and walk to the bathroom. He was dressed in a white jumpsuit, his feet were shackled, and his hands were handcuffed to his waist. The two men assisting him were dressed in plainclothes and armed.

When I saw this, I was afraid. What if the man tried to escape or hurt someone while we were all stuck on this plane? I tried to calm my fears.

During the three-hour delay, passengers chatted all around me. The flight attendants passed out water and crackers. The armed guards also talked, but the man they were escorting just stared blankly out the window. I wondered what he was thinking.

When we finally took off for New York, my heart was heavy. The man seemed so isolated, so lonely. The Holy Spirit stirred within me as the plane pushed through the midday cloud cover, urging me to talk to him. But what would I say?

As I wrestled with this prompting, I began to reflect on this magazine. Since 2015, I’ve encouraged people to reach out to Jesus and live for Him through my stories. People just like this shackled man.

God was stretching me outside my comfortable boundaries of writing stories for inmates. Now He wanted me to encourage one of His incarcerated children in person. I remembered 1 Chronicles 16:8, “Let the whole world know what [God] has done.” I asked the Lord to provide an opportunity to speak with the man. I trusted Him to guide me.

God answered my prayer through yet another delay when we arrived in New York. I quickly unbuckled my seatbelt and approached the guards. I asked to speak with the man.

My opening line was far from perfect and his response  was guarded, but I pressed on. I introduced myself, and asked him his name. He replied carefully. Then, I asked if it would be okay for me to pray for him. Robert smiled warmly.

“God is good,” he said as he lifted his gaze to meet my eyes. “I’m being transferred from North Carolina to a facility in New York. I’m glad to be heading home. I’ll finally get to see my family and friends again.”

We talked more about his situation and about God. It was a pleasant conversation that blessed my heart. Funny how I had gone back to encourage him, but found myself encouraged instead. I told Robert that he would remain in my prayers, and then I returned to my seat.

It wasn’t until we gathered our luggage that my daughter and her friend caught their first glimpse of the prisoner and his guards. They were shocked as Robert and I spoke one last time. I told him I’d be praying for him; he responded by straining his handcuffed hands together into a gesture of prayer before his guards led him away.

The girls peppered me with questions but soon became distracted. Robert, however, remains on my mind and in my heart. Even now, I still pray for him, asking God to infuse his spirit with hope as he faces the trials and obstacles ahead.

I had a plan for that day, but God redirected it. I’m glad He did, and I’m thankful I followed His promptings. If God changes your plans, just go with it. I’ve learned that obedience always leads to blessing—for others and for you.

I probably won’t meet Robert again until we get to heaven, but I take comfort in knowing that then, he will no longer be shackled.

Choose God

I grew up in church. I said the right words, followed the dress code, went on retreats, to church camp, and Christian school—but only because it was expected. I didn’t have a logical reason for doing those things, and I didn’t personally care about any of it—I just wanted to please the adults in my life.

I also knew there were other things out there—fun things that I was supposed to avoid because they were sinful. As I got older, I began questioning my beliefs. When I moved out of my parents’ home, I did not set foot in another church for five years.

I began to explore those other things that had fascinated me. I never got into any real trouble with the law or with drinking or drugs, but I did go through some hard times of deep financial stress, personal struggles, and grief. I experienced rock bottom in a variety of ways.

If people asked what I believed, I told them I didn’t know, that I was not religious, or that I was searching. In reality, I was confused.

I watched as people twisted the words of the Bible to suit their agenda. Christians who could not explain why they believed what they insisted was truth irritated me to no end.

I also found myself confused about the teachings of the Bible. What is right and what is wrong, based on the Bible? Why do people believe things their religious culture tells them if those things aren’t in the Bible? How does what was right or wrong in your generation line up to what’s right or wrong in mine?

I no longer knew what I was supposed to believe. The idea of Christianity became so overwhelming that I decided I would have no religion at all.

This isn’t the fun time people assume it will be. All the stress is on you. You can’t put your worries on God if you’re denying He exists. You’re lonely and bored. Your social options include bars and parties and events you don’t really care about. The people you meet don’t care about you, and you can’t trust anyone because you can’t tell who’s trustworthy. The only smart thing is to distrust everyone. You can’t forgive. You can’t even have a deep conversation because you have nothing to believe in.

All those things I’d thought I wanted on the other side weren’t what I thought they would be.

Despite my best efforts, I never successfully stopped believing that God was there. I felt drawn to Him, but I didn’t think He’d want me because I’d done so many things wrong. I’d been a church kid, and now I wasn’t.

And then came a night when I finally gave in and talked to God. I told Him my confusion and my worries. An immense sense of peace filled my spirit, and all my worries went away. I felt Him forgive me. And I felt free.

I realized I had let the things man had done with religion keep me from God. For the first time, I understood that He’s a God of order, not confusion. Not fluff. People create the fluff.

I hadn’t been to church in five years, that night I accepted God for who He is. I couldn’t name the books of the Bible anymore. I’d forgotten all the stories I had learned. I had nothing. And yet, with my surrender, God began to use me, and He continues to use me today.

I’m finding that God is very different from who I thought He was. He’s not afraid of my questions. I’m no longer trying to understand Him from the religious teachings of my past. I’m looking to God for answers. And I’m doing it through His Word.

I’m starting my journey from scratch because anything I said or did before, I didn’t mean. Not because I was lying, but because I didn’t know why. But now I do—I’ve been on the other side, and I know there is nothing there. So I choose God. I hope you will too.

Learning to Be Still in an Overcommited World

“Be still, and know that I am God!”

– Psalm 46:10

That simple command often seems impossible these days, with all the tasks, demands, circumstances, technology, and relationships that pull us in so many directions. I find I have to fight to make time for God in my busy world. It’s so easy to let what seems urgent in the moment replace what’s most important—God!

Big things, little things—they all keep me from being still. My mind becomes clouded and my heart burdened when I focus my attention on what’s around me. How can I fit everything into ​my schedule, solve all my problems, and satisfy my desires?

It’s such a dilemma at times. I mean, we have to nurture relationships. We have to exercise. We have to take care of our homes and our vehicles. We have to do a lot of things, and hopefully, they’re things we want to do. But if we’re doing all that, how do we find time to be still and know that God is God?

I’ve been trying to find this balance for years. Being still doesn’t mean God always expects us to be physically still, however. That would be impossible. But He does call us to be spiritually, emotionally, and mentally still at all times. The truth is, we can be moving about yet remain still within. Here are some things that help me maintain stillness in an overcommitted society.

First of all, I found stillness by accepting Jesus’s invitation to come to Him. Matthew 11:28 says, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy loads, and I will give you rest.” Rest, or stillness, comes when we bring our concerns and commitments to Jesus.

If I lack a calm, still state in my spirit, then I am likely not drawing close to God. I must be intentional about this. I have to get up early, before my commitments begin, and spend time alone with Him. Then, as I go through my day, I reflect on His blessings. I thank Him, pray, and meditate on His Word. And sometimes, I sit silently and listen to what He has to say.

I enjoy finding creative ways to include God in my day. I sing praises in the shower. I talk to Him as I drive to work. I bring Him into my thoughts at work. Sometimes I grab fast food for dinner so I can spend the time I would’ve spent cooking, reading His Word instead. Sometimes I go for a walk, just so I can talk with God. He loves adventures as much as I do, and He points out beautiful things in His creation that I would’ve missed otherwise—things that remind me that He is God. Little moments like these add up, and God, in His grace, blesses my efforts.

When I quiet myself before Him, God refreshes my spirit, calms my heart and mind, and provides the answers I need. He promises to reveal wonderful things to those who will get still and draw close; to those who are eager to do His will.

I challenge you to ask God to search your heart and show you what’s on your mind or in your schedule that isn’t part of His best for your life (Psalm 139:23–24). Then follow His lead and trust Him. Let go of the things He shows you. As you change your life to include more of Him and less of the world, you will come to that place of stillness and quiet rest. You will get to know God in new and exciting ways.