I would have lost hope if not for the Word of God.
I’m sure you’ve heard the expression, “Fall From Grace.” Five years ago, I thought my life was over. After more than 50 years in youth ministry, Christian education, and serving as lead pastor of a thriving church, my confession jeopardized everything, my livelihood, my marriage, and my relationship with my son and daughter, not to mention my standing with peers and friends. For the most part, my family, siblings, and parents stood by me. Even my attorney gave me hope, assuring me I wouldn’t spend a single day in jail. Yet here I am, about to be released after nearly four and a half years. I would have lost hope if not for the Word of God. Proverbs 13:12 says, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick.” I had a choice: wallow in self-pity or use my gifts to help others. The moment I landed in the holding cell in Riverside County, my eyes were opened to the need all around me. It felt like I had landed in hell and I was there to bring hope. Psalm 37:23–24 says, “The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord… Though he falls, he shall not be utterly cast down, for the Lord upholdeth him with His hand.” I didn’t fall from grace, I fell into grace. And that made all the difference. It wasn’t easy at first, but I accepted my fate. I saw myself like Joseph in the Bible: falsely accused, imprisoned, yet choosing to be useful in spite of his circumstances. A year later, after accepting a plea bargain, I was transferred from Southwest to the reception center in Wasco. Needless to say, I was upset. But I held on to the truth of Romans 8:28: “All things work together for good to those who love God and are called according to His purpose.” That verse has become my life motto. I want it engraved on my tombstone one day. A few months later, I was transferred to San Quentin State Prison. I feared the worst, going from the pot to the frying pan, but those fears were unfounded. I joined the Writer’s Guild with the newspaper, became an interpreter for the Garden Chapel, preached bilingually, and led small groups in our H-Unit dorm. Eventually, we opened the H-Unit chapel for Sunday services. Today, I serve as the un-official interim chaplain, preaching and leading worship every week. Going home is bittersweet. There is such a deep spiritual need behind these walls. I had visited jails and prisons in Mexico and Argentina before, but I never imagined this could become a calling. Once I complete parole, I plan to pursue chaplaincy full-time to serve those who are desperate for hope and, like me, have fallen into grace.
