Living in disobedience to God kept me chained to sin, drugs, and crime. Traumas taught me hate, but imagine having given your heart to God at twelve, then allowing life’s desires to lead you away from God. Exactly what Satan does, offers you the pleasures of the world, yet somehow fear creeps in, then loss and your destruction, as life falls apart.
In 1979, I found myself in jail awaiting trial for dealing drugs. It was Sunday morning, my heart ached for freedom, family. A call sounded over the PA for a Chapel service, so I went. I sat in the front row; I would not miss anything the Pastor said. He was not of the denomination that I had been brought up in, but that did not matter to me because I only hoped that my sick soul could hear the voice of the One who had once spoken to my heart years ago. The Preacher had a distinct, genuine, and sincere voice as he unveiled his message about Jesus. Each word he spoke was alive, somehow God was real and inside of this preacher, and this man’s sermon, every word spoke directly to me. His eyes seemed focused on me. I cried out to God to have mercy, forgive me Lord.
Suddenly, every burden I carried, my fear, the weight of the world, vanished, and I felt peace. I knew God could restore all that I longed for, so I asked God to set me free.
I sensed my freedom would come on Christmas day; what a perfect day! On Christmas Eve, I could not sleep. Morning came, I rushed from my cell to the Day Room in eagerness to await the wondrous miracle that God had prepared for me; I believed in my heart God would not fail me. One hour passed, then two, three. Why hadn’t God delivered me? Had I truly not trusted Him? Did I have doubt? I wandered out of the dayroom to return my cell to just be alone. I passed a friend’s cell; he called out to me. I looked at where he was sitting, but what I saw was unbelievable; my eyes saw something so amazing. The most beautiful, brilliant white light I’d ever seen completely obscured the view of my friend. I was astonished. I heard a voice, but didn’t believe it was Bruce speaking. I cannot recall a single word, but I knew God was answering prayers. My eyes saw a glorious light. My God was revealing his majesty, He gave me assurance, He had seen my faith, He had heard my prayers. Nope, my prison doors had not opened, but I had found real freedom, where love and faithfulness exist, and God is a place of refuge. Christmas Day, in 1979, was a real miracle; I will never forget it. God did set me free, in a way I did not expect. I went to prison, but I had found fulfillment in Jesus and was the happiest prisoner at the Lebanon Correctional Institution.
I worried about my precious daughter constantly, and I prayed her life and heart would survive my absence. Then one night in a dream, I saw my daughter standing before me, singing a song that I sang as a child: “He’s Got the Whole in His Hands.” As simple as the song is, I knew when I awoke that God had my little girl safe in His arms. Yes, it was a dream, but I knew God had just given me an answer to prayer. The dream was a beautiful dream beyond description. To me, this was another miracle and answer to my prayers. God is amazing when your faith is focused on Him and His Word. His Love is for you, and when He answers prayer, you’ll know it!
While at LCI, I experienced God speak directly to my heart, and He spoke the message twice! He told me that He needed me to go to prison for Him. I was terrified as I reminded God that I was already in prison, so why was he asking me to go to prison? I refused His request. In the spring of 1981, my eighteen-month drug sentence came to an end. Although I had continued to serve the Lord, I had buried God’s request, yet I could still faintly hear His whispering voice continue to call as I continued denying Him in fear. Surely, He could understand, I reasoned, and as time went by, it seemed that He had changed His mind. I was free, I had found a decent job at a company called NCR just a few miles down the road from the prison I’d just left, surely God was leading my life. I had enrolled in college, and met a Christian girl who stole my heart. In the beginning, I read the Bible to her, and I thought we’d love God forever. Somehow drugs and alcohol slipped into our lives. What harm could a little fun be, we convinced ourselves. It wasn’t long before my life began to fall apart. First, my job moved to a South American country. Then I had to drop out of school to manage support for my daughter and life, then my girlfriend left.
Suddenly I was on my way back to prison for armed robbery, where I tortured a man’s mind. He believed he was going to die at my hand. I believed he deserved my hate and the fear I imposed on him; after all, he was an accused molester of children, the kind of person who had damaged my life when I was young. I received a 5–25-year sentence. How had I destroyed my world again? Why did God allow a believer, a child of His to wind up in prison? I was mad at God. Was this His idea, to go to prison for Him? I still told God no; I would not honor what He’d asked. I’d do my time alone. Drugs and education filled the space where God was not allowed. Eventually I was set free. Determined to rebuild life, I decided I’d quit using drugs, find a job, and pick up the
pieces. The word “I” is the most provocative word in our language, the very same word that Satan cried out in his fall as he proclaimed, “I shall be like the Most High.” I will, I will, I will, he said over and over. Sounds exactly like me; I had fallen into pride again. Isaiah 14:13-14 is a mirror image of what pride is and does to anyone. In my pride, I decided to find my happiness, so I’d replace everything I had lost in life.
First came pregnancy, so I got married to someone I really did not know. I believed she could sweep away my wounds. We began to accumulate possessions, land, a home, a new car, and a tractor. We launched a business; life was great, it seemed, but in an almost invisible way, our lives were beginning to fall apart once more. My wife and I were both blind to our own brokenness. We sacrificed five or six children to abortions — no time for more kids. Why had God not intervened to restore my dreams? We sought counseling at church, but the pastor seemed disinterested. Later, I discovered why this pastor didn’t care; he was busy living deep in his own sins. He was arrested and convicted of embezzlement. We had to give up our home and most of the things we had acquired. Everything that had once seemed so important just disappeared in the emptiness of the rear-view mirror as we drove away, leaving so much of my heart, my dreams, my life behind. Our next stop was in 2003 at a house on the beach in Virginia that had been named “Heaven Bound.” How ironic that we were beginning our new life in this house with an unearthly name. Was this a sign of something more than just a name?
In 2012, law enforcement again came into my life. Later the same day, as my heart sank in despair, I thought I heard God say to my heart, “Pick up the cross,” and like in 1990, He spoke twice. The next day, I traveled to an auto parts store, and the man at the counter spoke to me. He said, “Disciples need not fear!” Huh? “Why did you say that?” I asked, and he replied he felt led? Soon I was back in county jail, reading a Bible, and found myself in the book of Matthew, chapter 27. The soldiers compelled Simon to bear Christ’s cross. That’s what the voice I heard inside say to me just days ago! Pick up the cross! In 1979, I saw with my own eyes what God could do. I took a pen and wrote the numbers 2011 in the margin of my Bible, and under it I wrote 1979. I subtracted the amount and discovered it had been 32 years since God rescued my life, there it was; verse 32, to paraphrase, “Bear your cross, for Jesus!”
I met a Somali Pirate, and he asked if he could ask me some questions about my faith. He said he had dreams about Jesus. Within a couple of days of asking questions, he accepted Jesus as Savior. In excitement, he phoned home to Africa to tell his wife what Jesus now meant to him. She immediately scolded him, demanding that he renounce this evil thing he had brought into their lives. My Somali friend could not hold back tears as he refused her. She then insisted he call no more and hung up the phone. He next called his sister, who lived in the Midwest, and got much the same response. He had found the Savior but had already been abandoned by those he loved at a time in his life when he needed their love and support the most!
Transferred to a new facility, I met a guy who was apprehensive over the prospect of what the future held for him. Since I had been in the system before, I knew his anxiety and his fear. I set out to assure him that he would get through this experience without any real damage. We spent our time talking, playing cards, monopoly, and me sharing stories of my miserable past. So many years of backsliding, I was excited to share the Lord and stories of my life. I explained how disobedience to God had led me to federal prison, the history of my sins, my heartaches, my crimes, dealing drugs, and how I had fallen away as I sought independence, popularity, wealth,
and escape from the pains of life. I told him of how my hatred had destroyed everything dear to my heart, my marriages, and how my own pain had led me to hurt even those I loved. I told him about deeming myself worthy of being a judge and that I dished out whatever to whomever I chose, how my anger even led to the death of a friend; I killed him accidentally just trying to make him mad. I treated everyone cruelly, without any regard for how deeply my words and actions were wounding them or their souls. I was running and hiding from God in just the same way as Adam and Eve. I told him about my first experience with prison and how it had brought my life back to God, but how I had later allowed sin back into my life, and that it once again destroyed my life. The second prison sentence, I blamed God. I served the five years just staying high. I refused to share a single moment of my life with Jesus, nor did I share my belief in God with anyone. I will regret this for the remainder of my life because two people I had befriended while doing this time lost their lives in this prison. One was strangled in jealousy over his job, and the other was beaten to death for three packs of cigarettes he owed for prison hooch. I will always wonder where Ron and Buddy opened their eyes the moment life ended. I rattled on, but my new friend did not act shocked a single time as I unfolded my world, my miserable past before him, although much of my story was quite shocking, like how I despised certain classes of people, especially gays; I used those feelings to justify being cruel and unfair to them.
I spent about six days revealing these broken parts of my world, my life, my sins, and past to this guy. Six days that seemed unremarkable. Until a stand-up biker guy asked me directly, why was I hanging out with a queer? I laughed and asked him who he was talking about since I would never hang with someone like that. He pointed at my friend, whom I had spent six days with. I responded with confidence that he was not gay! This man retorted I must be blind. I walked to where my friend was and sat down. I looked into his eyes, then he spoke, but it was as if I were meeting him for the first time. I heard his voice, but it was not the one I was familiar with! He spoke in effeminate tones; he was obviously a homosexual. I noticed the tattoo on his wrist that I had not noticed for six days. It was a rainbow. How could I have not seen this, the mannerisms, the pitch of his voice? Recalling all the memories of hatred I had dished out on people like him throughout the course of my life brought emotions of remorse. Instantly, I felt so much guilt and shame. I had befriended this guy without judgment, ridicule, or my hatred. Over six days, God had blinded my eyes, deafened my ears, and given me the chance to see this man through eyes that only a Savior could have, a view that was unhindered, without hatred, judgment, or condemnation. I had offered this guy friendship, encouragement, a Savior’s love while revealing my heart, my faith, my sins, but most significantly, the cruel monster I had been to so many; yet he did not say a word or act offended in any way? My mind recalled a book by Max Lucado I was reading, “Six Hours One Friday, Living the Power of the Cross.” This book had just revealed more to me in a “moment” than I ever dreamed it could.
What a miserable Christian I had been in front of him! Would this gay man ever listen to any other Christian again after hearing the things I had told him? Had I condemned this man to an eternity separated from God? That night, I thanked God for teaching me that everyone was His and His alone to judge. A lifetime of bitterness, prejudice, and pain was removed from my heart on this sixth day, but I had failed God as His witness. In the morning, guards came and told me to report to the dayroom to prepare to be transferred to another institution. I was placed in a holding cell with about twenty others. My friend stated he was being transferred westward, somewhere in California. I muttered to him that I was heading to the East Coast; at that moment, I realized I would never see him again. Oh Lord, what had I done! Then my friend asked me how he could be saved. I led him to Jesus! God had forgiven me. I knew in my heart he would be fine because he was safe in our Savior’s arms and I would see him again in Heaven! Only God can blind a man’s eyes and ears, then heal two hearts at the same time while redeeming a man’s soul!
Transferred to a new prison, I asked the Chaplain for a King James Bible. I only expected a paperback, but instead he blessed me with a leather-bound KJV Ministers’ Bible with references! Their Christian library was well stocked; I read my heart out. I bought a radio and listened only to Christian stations. Eventually, a counselor told me about a program called RDAP, the Residential Drug and Alcohol Program. She asked if I would be interested in attending. Before I could say no, she made a few changes to my file, and I became eligible for this program. Transferred again, I waited for an opening into this in-house drug treatment program. Meanwhile, I began attending school for electrical work, and I took Industrial Wiring and later Residential Wiring. The courses were not accredited because society deemed that prisoners are not in need of a free education; They were jealous that prisoners could go to school for free while they had to pay for their children. Many in RDAP were present to just party and have their sentence reduced. I also discovered the program was more of a poster child for the prison system to tout its efforts at reducing recidivism. The staff seemed more interested in maintaining an excuse to justify their job rather than providing a healthy environment for recovering addicts or helping anyone.
The Chaplain was more a guard than a man of God. I sought his counsel and prayer when someone I loved dearly was critically ill, but he coldly asked me why should I care? I got up to leave, and he sternly blurted out, “I thought you wanted me to pray?” I told him no thanks, I didn’t think God would be listening to him. While in RDAP, I watched several videos on addiction and discovered some unbelievably valuable insight into my life and why drugs had such an impact on me. I reported my discovery. My counselor told me that I had watched too many videos; therefore, I was restricted from the addiction video resource room. The most peculiar thing: I only watched and reported on three videos. I got kicked out of the program for my convictions and the institution because no one wanted me telling anyone about the goings on in the RDAP program. I was transferred to another prison. One day, while in a TV room, I had left a coffee mug and a pocket King James New Testament lying on my seat. I later found the remnants of my cup smashed and thrown away. I awoke suddenly that night, remembering that I had also taken my Bible to the TV room. I went to look, and I found my tiny Bible torn into multiple pieces. A Spanish gang member asked me why I was digging in the trash; I pulled my hand out of the can with a fist full of the pieces and replied to him, “My King James Bible.” He said he had seen the Nazi guy toss something in the can and asked if I would like something done about it. I said no, God would make it right somehow, someday. I went to the Chapel the next day to get another pocket New Testament, but they had none. A couple of days passed and a Spanish gang member walked up and handed me a brand-new pocket King James New Testament. I felt blessed to have been shown respect from a gang member who held God in such high esteem. Where no Bible could be found in God’s House, God had provided one.
I read about Life Connections at the Chapel. It was a faith-based residential re-entry program preparing for your return to society. I suddenly realized that my faith was the most important thing in my life, so I went to apply for a chance to attend. When I arrived at the Chapel, I discovered that our Chaplain was out and that the old grouchy Chaplain from the other compound was filling in. My heart sank because I knew he just did not care, and I was not going to get any help from him. I turned to leave, walking past an associate Chaplain’s office, and he asked if he could help me. I told him of my desire to apply for Life Connections. He motioned me into his office and asked why I thought it would be good for me. Moments into my explanation, the Chaplain who hated his job and inmates, came bursting in. My heart sank into such a feeling of despair as I was ordered out. l sensed my biggest enemy might be at work, so I asked God to intervene. The assistant Chaplain finally motioned for me, and he asked if I would be willing to come back at 1:00pm. At 1:00 pm, I told the assistant Chaplain briefly about what God had done in my life. How He had saved me when I was young. I explained how I had finally heard God speak to my heart again after so many years of being the miserable master of my life. The Chaplain began to pull up pages on the internet and fill out the questions as I answered. It took nearly an hour to complete, print, staple together, and place in the appropriate files. When he finished, he leaned
back in his chair, smiled, and as he looked up at me, said, “No one else would have helped you complete this application. You could not have gotten in at all. Now we wait for official confirmation. It’ll take about ten days; I will notify you.” How could a Chaplain of a religion that normally despises a Christian have any desire to help or do anything for a believer in Jesus?
Within a few days, I was working on what was going to be my last assignment for the electrical shop. While installing some new circuits for a different Chaplain, he and I made small talk. I told him of my faith and that this was my last assignment; I was leaving for the Life Connections Program. His face and eyes lit up, and he said, “I am the previous Chaplain of that program. It is a good one!” He went on to give me the name of his friend and staff member at FCI Petersburg and told me that I should see him when I arrived there and let him know he was recommending me for a position in the Chapel if I wanted a job there. Now the amazing part of this story is that this Chaplain was not a Christian either, he was Hindu! It was so clear that God was paving a way for me. I felt so blessed!
Transferred to another prison, I was placed in the oldest, dreariest of buildings. It had rundown dormitories packed with inmates, and at the end of the building were dark, dank cells that were no longer being used. Layers of paint caked on rusty bars reminded you of some dark times long past, straight out of the movies. I got a job running a Heidelberg printing press. My knees only held up for several months until finally I had to resign. It seemed my best laid plans were not in God’s will for my life, and my knees were real persuasive. I applied at the Chapel using my referral, and he acknowledged their friendship and spoke briefly of the Chaplain’s prior leadership role in the Life Connections Program. He then referred me to another Chaplain within the Chapel who oversaw all the hiring for Chapel positions. I reported to her, a “lady Chaplain,” I spoke to her briefly about my faith, the recommendation, and she hired me.
Won’t you allow Him to come into your heart and life so you can know the wonder of His love, the forgiveness, the peace, the hope, the answers to life, the miracles that He longs to bless your life with? Allow God to open your heart and your eyes. God created all creatures to praise Him, even you. God came to redeem the lost, broken people of the world.
Heart of Flesh Literary Journal 