Before Christ: Learning How to Survive
I grew up in a small coastal town in central California during a time when gang violence was at its peak. From a young age, I learned that not every street was safe and that simply walking to school could put you in danger. I was jumped and beaten on several occasions, often for no reason other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Survival meant memorizing which streets belonged to which gangs and constantly staying alert.
Home wasn’t a place of refuge either.
My parents divorced when I was around eight or nine years old. My father struggled with alcoholism and was abusive toward my mother. After he left, my mom became a single mother of four kids, doing her best to hold everything together. But affection, emotional safety, and guidance were largely absent. I often felt alone, unheard, and invisible—forced to grow up far too quickly.
The one constant I had early on was my grandmother.
From the time I was born, she grounded me in the words of the Bible. I didn’t fully understand faith back then, but I knew she loved me deeply. My grandparents were my safe place. They were the people who made me feel wanted and valued, and for a long time, they were the emotional rock in my life.
When my grandparents moved to Los Angeles while I was in fifth grade, something in me broke.
I was angry, hurt, and felt abandoned all over again. Losing them felt like losing the only people who truly saw me. Without that stability, I began drifting—emotionally and spiritually. The streets became louder, harsher, and more influential. Gangs, violence, drugs, and alcohol were everywhere, and it felt like those paths were waiting to claim me next.
Around that same time, my mother entered a relationship with the father of my two half-brothers. He was aggressive toward me and once threatened to bury me alive. Though he never physically hurt me, the fear was real and constant. I tried to protect my mother and nearly got into a physical altercation with him. At fifteen, I ran away from home and told my mom I wouldn’t return unless he left. She asked him to go—but he eventually came back. That moment cut deeply. It felt like I had been chosen against.
By then, anger had taken root in my heart.
I was angry at my parents. Angry at my circumstances. Angry at God. I felt like I had to fend for myself in a world that didn’t care whether I lived or died. I didn’t feel loved—I felt tolerated at best. And while the seeds of faith had been planted early on, they hadn’t yet taken root.
I was surviving—but I wasn’t living.
Encountering Christ: Rescue, Not Perfection
Not long after my grandparents moved away, God used something simple to begin changing the direction of my life—a friendship.
I became close with a friend from school, a friendship that has lasted to this day. One day, he asked me if I wanted to go with him to church. The hook wasn’t a sermon or an altar call—it was a youth group trip to Great America Amusement Park. I said yes, not knowing that this small invitation would become a turning point in my life.
Through that youth group, I started attending church regularly.
For the first time, I was around people who cared about me without asking anything in return. The youth pastors were different—they resembled Christ in ways I hadn’t seen before. They didn’t judge me, pressure me, or try to fix me. They loved me, listened to me, and taught me with patience. Their home became a place where I felt safe. I spent a lot of time there, and in many ways, they became the spiritual family I didn’t have at home.
At the same time, my life was still unstable.
Because of gang activity, I left my middle school, only to end up in another school facing the same issues. Fear followed me everywhere. I began ditching school, sometimes only attending one or two days a week throughout seventh and eighth grade. Even though I missed so much school, I was still promoted to high school.
On the very last day of eighth grade, I was jumped again.
This time, something was different. I told them I was no longer part of that life—that I now went to church. They left me alone after that encounter. While I was still surrounded by danger from other gangs in town, that moment marked a clear line in my heart: I didn’t belong to the streets anymore.
I was standing at a crossroads.
I was heading straight toward gangs, drugs, and alcohol—or I could walk a different path. On Easter Sunday in 1994, I made the most important decision of my life. I gave my life to Jesus Christ.
That moment didn’t magically fix everything. My circumstances didn’t instantly change. But I did. I had been rescued—not from consequences, but from a future without hope. I began to understand that Jesus didn’t save me because I was good, strong, or deserving. He saved me because He loved me.
And for the first time, I wasn’t alone anymore.
Walking With Christ: Brokenness, Grace, and Redemption
Following Christ didn’t mean my life suddenly became easy. In many ways, it became harder—but it became purposeful.
At sixteen, I left home for good. The anger toward my mother and the fear of my stepbrothers’ father made staying impossible. For about a year, I lived out of my car. After that, I stayed briefly with a cousin, then with my close friend and his family—people I still love deeply. Later, another family from church took me in. During that season, I slept on couches and floors, moving wherever God opened a door.
The Church didn’t just preach the Gospel to me—it lived it.
I tried to stay in school, but survival took priority. I started working at fifteen and a half, and school slowly drifted to the background. Eventually, I was kicked out just three months before graduation. Wanting to join the military, I went back to adult school, finished my diploma, and enlisted. That decision gave me structure, purpose, and a sense of direction I desperately needed.
Two years into my military service, my girlfriend and I had a daughter. We got married because of our baby, and I also became a stepfather to her two children from a previous relationship. I was a husband and a father—but Christ was no longer at the center of my life. During that time, my wife came to faith, while I wrestled with intense spiritual battles of my own, compounded by the weight of military life and the realities of war during Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom.
Our marriage was filled with conflict and struggle.
Believing that slowing life down might help, I chose to leave the military. We moved in with my mother and stayed there for four years. We tried—imperfectly—to put Christ first, but after fourteen years of marriage, we divorced. It broke my heart. I never wanted my children to grow up in a broken home, and I never wanted to go against God’s design for marriage. I didn’t see how God could redeem the pain we had caused each other, and in that season, I lacked faith.
I took on all the debt from the marriage so my children’s mother wouldn’t have to carry that burden, which led me to declare bankruptcy. Financially and emotionally, I was drained. The pain of divorce, guilt, and loss weighed heavily on me.
But God wasn’t finished with me.
A few years later, I met my current wife. It took nearly two years to win her heart, and only by God’s patience and grace did that happen. I wish I could say everything was perfect after that—but it wasn’t. We blended families, navigated old wounds, learned how to share space and roles, and faced real struggles. At one point, we were separated and heading toward divorce ourselves.
Then God intervened.
During that separation, we found out we were expecting a child together. That moment stopped us in our tracks. Today, we are still together, committed to doing the hard work of strengthening our marriage and family with Christ at the center.
Looking back now, I can see something I couldn’t see then: God was with me every step of the way.
Every time I lost someone important, God placed someone else in my life—sometimes equally meaningful, sometimes even more so. Through every failure, every mistake, every season of doubt, God’s grace never left me. His love continues to soften my heart and tear down walls I didn’t even realize I had built.
I often ask myself, “Why does God continue to give to me when I don’t deserve it?”
I don’t have a perfect life—but I have a good life. When I look at my blessings, the love of Jesus hits me like a ton of bricks, and all I can do is say:
Thank you, Lord. I love You.
A Closing Invitation
If you’ve made it this far, I want you to know something important:
You are not here by accident.
If parts of my story sounded familiar—if you’ve known fear, abandonment, anger, failure, or regret—you are not alone. I once believed my past disqualified me from God’s love. I was wrong.
Jesus didn’t step into my life because I had it together. He stepped in because I didn’t.
Following Christ hasn’t meant a perfect life. It has meant a redeemed one. A life where grace is greater than my mistakes, and hope is stronger than my history.
If you’re searching, doubting, hurting, or wondering whether God still wants you—He does. Right where you are. Just as you are.
You don’t have to have all the answers. You don’t need to clean yourself up first. You only need to be willing to take one honest step toward Him.
And if you’re already walking with Christ but feel weary, broken, or discouraged—know this: God is not done with you yet.
A Prayer
Lord Jesus,
Thank You for meeting us in our brokenness.
Thank You for loving us when we feel unlovable, and for staying when we expect You to leave.
For anyone reading this who feels alone, scared, angry, or lost—I ask that You meet them right now. Remind them that they are seen, known, and deeply loved by You.
Heal wounds that have been carried for far too long.
Restore hope where it feels like all hope is gone.
Soften hearts weighed down by guilt, shame, or regret.
For those who know You but feel distant, draw them close again.
For those who don’t yet know You, reveal Yourself in a real and personal way.
Teach us to trust You—not just with our words, but with our lives.
Help us place You first, even when it’s hard.
And remind us daily that Your grace is sufficient, and Your love never fails.
We place everything in Your hands.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.