eMe Soldier Changes His Allegiance from the Political Hierarchy of the Mexican Mafia--to the Heavenly Hierarchy of God.

We'd just finished praying, myself and five other brothers and soldiers for Christ in the Rescued Not Arrested Prison Ministry. We were breaking our prayer circle when we heard the chains rattling down the hall of the Maricopa County 4th Avenue Jail chapel.

We stood and watched as four, armed Detention officers led the shackled inmate, Miguel (Michael), in. The room was silent, only the sound of Michael's chains and the sloshing of water in the freshly-filled baptismal. First, I noticed the way the four-manacle handcuffs kept him tightly tethered to the belly-chain secured to his waist. Then I noticed one of his chained hands--tattooed to look like the dead-man's clutch of a skeleton, the corpse-like bones creeping upward into the needled masterwork splaying his forearms in image of the cape-shrouded skeleton Death--a hollow Grim Reaper--scythe and all. He was covered head to toe in such marks. They are badges...marks of political rank and accomplishment that earned him respect and stature in the Mexican Mafia (eMe). 

He'd be going back to prison in about a week. Under normal circumstances, he'd be returning to his throne of power—the power and prestige that he'd earned through death and violence as a loyal soldier in the Mexican Mafia: torpedo, assassin, yard leader. Power. Respect. Authority over life and death.

But not this time. This time, he'd be going back with a price on his head. Death threats not only to himself, but to his family had already come. For the rest of his stint in prison, he'd be on 24/7 lock-down. His life for his remaining time here on earth would be under constant jeopardy--all because he'd renounced his life of violence. This once-loyal soldier was now a deserter--a deserter of the eMe army. Penalty for such a crime against la familia: death.

He renounced his life of drawing blood, to a changed life covered in blood--covered in the saving blood of Jesus Christ.

He'd changed his allegiance from the political hierarchy of the Mexican Mafia--to the Heavenly hierarchy of God.

And today, I had the privilege of joining five other men and thousands of angels in Heaven cheer as he made his public proclamation to his loyalty to our Lord and Savior through baptism.

As he carefully stepped up into the baptismal, angels were cheering; Hell's gates were trembling. He shivered and laughed at the ice-cold jailhouse baptismal water. As Rescued Not Arrested Founder Roger Munchian got ready to dunk him under, he attempted to plug his nose, but the tether of the belly chain prevented him from reaching his face with his skeletal-tattooed hand. It was a touching moment, and typical of the love and compassion Roger has in his heart, as Roger gently held Michael's  nose for him, saying the words "I now baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

He came back up out of the water smiling from ear-to-ear. A changed life. A newly-commissioned soldier in the mighty army of Jesus Christ. Welcome to the ranks of righteousness, Michael. It is going to be an honor to serve alongside you.

God Shows His Love through the Creation of the Fire Fly, a Mitten-Shaped State—and the Coney Island Hot Dog Belch

God created the World in six days. In just six days, His creative genius conceptualized things like the blue depths of the Great Barrier Reef, splashing it in a fluorescent spectrum of colors that hadn’t been invented yet. Setting the northern skies alight with the Northern Lights before there was anyone around to even define the North from the South, East, from the West. Nurturing the Petrified Forest before it had a chance to get scared. Creating Silly String before the advent of the aerosol can. 

For God, it was a snap of the fingers. But for the operational and design crew, the task must’ve been brutal. Think about what the executive board room at Alpha-Omega Enterprises must’ve looked like: walls dotted with yellow Sticky Notes filled with ideas and design changes; the white board scrawled in Gantt Charts, production quotas, and flow charts to infinity; the long, oval table scattered in Styrofoam cups dripping black coffee, stale donuts in crumpled Dunkin Donuts boxes; empty bottles of Maalox; a motivational sign over the door saying: Day Seven: Vacation—One Week All-Expense Paid on Cloud Nine for Top Performers.
  

I’m sure God had a solid production crew in place. No doubt He had head honcho angel, Gabriel, installed as VP of Operations. Michael probably played a more hands-on role, perhaps down at the manufacturing plant level, making sure the extrusion and assembly machinery hummed along, pumping out the daily quota of trees, rocks, clouds, and cans of Silly String.
  

So how did it look when God got an inspirational idea in the middle of the night for something new like, oh, let’s say the Fire Fly?

 

Ok. A bug with a butt that lights up. Think of the engineering challenge this presented. No electricity yet, right? Ben Franklin hadn’t been thunk up yet…let alone lighting…the key…the kite…string (except Silly String, of course). 
 

Follow me on this. 

Gabe’s got Michael out dealing with a plumbing issue at Niagara Falls, and half the crew is down with the flu, caught while working in the Rain Forest. Theraflu has not been invented yet. Gabe calls his Chief Design Engineer to give him the heads-up. The Big Guy’s got a new design idea that He wants implemented. It’s Day 5. The conversation may have gone something like this: 

The Chief Design Engineer (CDE) is sitting at his desk, gulping down a pink-and-white liquid goo of Maalox and Pepto-Bismol. He’s got a slew of problems today. Up North, he’s got reports that the refrigeration units aren’t pumping to full capacity, and glaciers are plopping into the Ocean. The plumbing issue up in Niagara is a mess. He’s got a severe thermostat issue with the furnace in Phoenix, and he’s staring at a new design concept from the Big Guy of a bug that looks like a ball of snot. His phone rings.   

 CDE

Engineering.   

GABRIEL

Just a heads up. Big Guy’s gonna be giving you a call. New concept. I think it’s in the Bug Department.  

CDE digs through his desk drawer and pulls up the production chart on bugs.  

CDE

You’re killing me, Gabsey! Do you realize He’s come up with exactly ten-quintillion species of bugs already!? That’s like, a 10 with, let’s see, one, two, three, four. . . eighteen zeros! Do you realize that! 

GABRIEL

Of course I do. I just Googled it.  

CDE

What’s Google? 

GABRIEL

Never mind. Plan on ten-quintillion-and-one. 

CDE

Swell.  

GABRIEL

Hey, you gonna do something about that big hole in the ground you left in Northern Arizona, you know, when you were building the Rockies? Could pose an OSHA issue.  

CDE

Big Guy says keep it.  

GABRIEL

What? It’s a hole in the ground!  

CDE

He says He likes the look. What do I know? I’m looking at a bug that is nothing more than a ball of snot! And I gotta figure out what to do about that thermostat issue in Phoenix. You can fry a Dodo egg on the sidewalk down there!  

GABRIEL

Oh, Big Guy says keep it.                        

CDE

What? Great. We’ll never get anyone to live down there—especially in July!  

GABRIEL

Hey, you have any idea what the Big Guy’s got planned for that Bermuda Triangle thing?  

CDE

Dunno. Right now, He’s got a bunch of single socks from dryers all over the place hiding there. He thinks that’s the funniest thing since the football team He gave to that state shaped like a mitten. I stopped trying to figure Him out long ago.  

GABRIEL

All Right. Just expect a call from Him today.  

CDE hangs up and is in the middle of a swig of his Maalox-Pepto concoction when the other phone on his desk rings. The red phone—the Hot Line. 

CDE

Uh, h-hello, Chief. Uh, yeah. Just got a call from him. Said you had a new concept in the Bug department. . .  

Uh, huh. Right. You know, Chief, it’s not for me to pry. . .what’s that? I pry a lot?  Yeah, well, you know, um, I was kinda thinking, another bug? Are you sure we need more in the Bug Department? I mean, according to my production schedule we’ve got ten-quintill—what’s that? I know, I know, never quote numbers to you. . . what with you being infinite and all. You’re not a numbers kinda guy. I get it. 

But, you know, Chief, the Bug Department, I think you’ve pretty much nailed it already. Right now, I’m looking at Your latest design concept of a bug that looks like that stuff that flew out of Gabby’s nose when Michael kept cracking those knock-knock jokes at the Christmas party last year. (Nervous chuckle) Yeah, that was a riot, especially after he had that mouth full of spaghetti.  

Also, I gotta tell ya, when you came up with that one bug, you know, the one who eats her mate after sex, I never really thought you’d top that one. 

(Pause) 

You want a bug with what that lights up? His butt? Uh, Huh. 

(Boisterous Laugh Through Phone) 

(Nervous chuckle) Yeah, Chief, that’s a good one. But don’t you think all the other bugs will make fun of him? You know, flying around with a little chain hanging from his belly. No chain? Light switch then? No light switch either, huh? Well, what about the plug outlets? I mean, we’re gonna have to either plan long extension cords or outlets every. . . what’s that? Oh, they’ll be solar activated? Will save on what? Greenhouse gases. Uhhhh, yeah. 

Ummm, speaking of gas. . .do you think we should re-evaluate this exhaust system concept? I mean, did you see what Michael did with that one at the Christmas party last year, with his “here, pull my finger” thing?

 (Boisterous laugh through phone) 

 Keep it. Ok. 

Um, before I go, just wanted to let you know about a production issue we’ve got in the Midwest. We’ve got a mold out there that stamped out a state in the shape of a mitten. What’s that? Keep it? People are going to do what to show where they live? 

(Another boisterous laugh) 

Well, I’m wondering, what kind of a person is going to live in a state who needs to use the back of his hand to figure out where he lives. Uh, huh. Same, same type of person who’ll live in Phoenix in July. Gotcha. Okay, Chief. Um, let me go to work on this Fire Fly thing.  

CDE hangs up and gulps down the rest of his Maalox-Pepto concoction. 

Unlike the Big Guy’s Chief Design Engineer, I do have access to Google. In addition to the ten-quintillion species of insects, there are over 15,000 species of mammals, 20,000 species of fish, some 6,000 species of reptiles, close to 1,000 species of amphibians, over 9,000 species of birds, and seven different colors of Silly String. 

Outside of humans, created in God’s image, which of these millions of species can appreciate God’s creation? Does the Fire Fly say, “cool---look at the way my butt lights up! The chicks are gonna dig this"? Outside of its ability to poop on windshields, does a bird appreciate the mountain ranges it soars over? And taste buds! All beings need to eat to survive, but God gave us taste buds enjoy the process of nourishment. Last time I checked, my Golden Retriever never asked for a side of Au Jus with his Purina One. And the cow, among the less-brainy members of the animal kingdom, hocks up its cud and chews it. And not just from one stomach, mind you—but four! I enjoy a good Coney Island hot dog belch, but when the chunks come up, not so much.  

I recently took my kids back to Michigan on summer vacation (I will not show you where on the back of my hand…but I will say we left the convention oven heat of Phoenix to join the swampy humidity swelter of summertime Michigan). My daughter let out a squeal of joy when she saw her first Fire Fly. In her Gen Z fashion, she whipped out her cell phone and chased after it, capturing it butt-glow brilliance to share on Snapchat. My son just wondered what kind of glow-in-the-dark superhero he could become if he smeared Fire-Fly juice all over his T-shirt. Having grown up in Michigan, the options of oozing Fire Fly butt juice are infinite to the limitless mind of an adventurous young boy. 

God made us to love, appreciate, and enjoy His creation. Of the billions of species He created—God chose to share His splendor with us. The joy of the blazing orange sky as the sun sets behind a mountain range; the salty smell of an ocean breeze; the wonder of a glowing bug; the after-taste of a good Coney Island hot dog belch (with mustard and onions).  

He also uses the wonder of His creation to teach how His great design operates gives us peace that He is in control. Think of the journey of the caterpillar. It spends its life crawling through dirt and grime, eating bitter leaves. After a period of cozy rest from its plight—it emerges transformed into a butterfly—soaring over the ground it once crawled across—now dining on sweet nectar. 

God’s love and awesomeness is all around us: in the glow of a Fire Fly, the mitten-shape of a Midwestern state, or in the after-taste of a good Coney Island hot dog belch. God created us to enjoy His creativity and wonders—and to remind us—He has a perfect design—and is in complete control.   

   

 

.

Lesson from 'Mater: Life's Dents Are Memorable Moments with Your Bestest Friend

Looking at my hand I'm seeing the slow scab healing of from the fresh chunks taken out from my efforts to fix a malfunctioning pool pump for a friend. Got the "bark knocked off my knuckles", as my Grandfather used to say. He was a genius mechanic, could fix anything, and always had the bark knocked off of some part of his hands from digging around the inside of an engine, or off the top of his head from whacking it on the open hood of a car.

My efforts failed as I realized the problem was way above my pay grade. It's tough for a guy to admit failure, especially in the attempts at a "gallant" act of chivalry, coming to rescue the damsel in distress, so to speak. I humbled myself and called in an expert, and, well, he (not me) got problem resolved. I went home that night with sliced up knuckles and a failure-broken spirit.

When I got home, my twelve-year-old son was watching Cars 2, and so I plopped down on the couch with him to watch it. In my mood of self-funk, there was one line in the movie that suddenly brought my spirits back to life. The dent-ridden, derelict rusted-heap Mater was about to get restored to a shiny new tow truck--his rust-ridden body Bondo-ed and painted, and his dents buffed smooth. As they reached to buff away his dents, Mater pulled away.

"Y' cain't touch m' dents!" Mater said. "Them dents is special--I got every one of them with my bestest buddy Lightning McQueen."

I suddenly looked at my cut-up, dented hand in new light. Maybe I failed, but I got the dents and scars in an effort to help one of my bestest friends.

And then I started thinking back at other the dents and scars of my life. Failures, hurts, hurtings, and those wounding moments in life that are better off left forgotten. However, many have made my relationships stronger, trials that bring two people together, bringing clarity and opportunities for healing. Other have sent relationships into the ashbin, or, to stick with the roadside collision analogy, off to the car crusher--compacted into a heap of crumpled metal and shattered glass.

My dents aren't pretty, but they've shaped who I have become today, and many represent relationship defining moments--especially moments with my "bestest" buddy. Them dents is "special", because you got them with someone special to your heart. They've tested and tried the relationship--and made it stronger.

But the most important thing about my dents is they remind me of all those moments that my bestest buddy of all--God--was always by my side. No matter how many times the dent, crash, or heaping moment left me feeling alone and stranded on the roadside, when I look back at each one, God was there. Sometimes with cables to jump start me back to life; sometimes to gently buff out the dents; other times to slip his gentle hook around my front bumper and carefully tow me back to the shop for major repairs.

I wouldn't trade a single dent in my life---because every one of them reminds me of moments with my bestest buddy--Jesus Christ.

Ain't God great? Can I get an Amen? Or, I guess as Lightning McQueen would say, how about a:

"Ka-Chow!"

Feel free to write me with any questions or comments at hgammagewrites@outlook.com

Faith is Counterfactural History: How Close Are You To Realizing God's Promises?

In the book, Think and Grow Rich, Napoleon Hill tells the story of R.U. Darby's uncle who left his home in Williamsburg, Maryland and ventured West during the Gold Rush to seek his fortune. After staking a claim in the mountains of Colorado, he started his digging, chipping away into the mountainside for weeks on end with a pick and shovel. His labor finally paid off when he stuck gold.

Taking a sample of his find, he covered up the mine and returned back to Willimasburg. Using his sample of gold to prove to family and friends that his strike was real, he secured enough investors to purchase the machinery necessary to to dig the mine and surface the ore.

After having the machinery shipped, he returned to the mine and started to work the mine. As the gold ore began pouring out of the ground by the cart full, it became evident that Darby's mine had the potential to be one of the richest gold veins in Colorado.

The drilling continued. The machinery was expensive. The mine still needed to pass the breakeven point before the dreamt-of profits could start rolling in.

As the mine was within a few carts of paying off the machinery, the unthinkable happened. The mine went dry. The drills hit solid dirt, and, as Darby and his crew drilled desperately on, it became evident that they'd reached the end of the gold vein.

Dispirited, Darby called it quits and sold his machinery, hoping to at least break even on his failed venture. The purchaser of the equipment had more faith. Although to the naked eye, the mine was empty. There was nothing there except worthless dirt. By analyzing the terrain, assessing the situation, he tried a different approach, shifting the drilling by just a few feet--and ended up striking a rich vein of gold! The original vein discovered by Darby had been broken by a simple fault line--a natural movement of the earth.

What if Darby had never called it quits? What if Darby had faith in what he did not see and if he'd just persisted with a different approach?

Counterfactual history theory asks 'what if' questions. What if the Soviets had never stopped Hitler at Leningrad? What if the U.S. had surrendered the South Pacific to the Japanese after Pearl Harbor? What if Edison had quit after his 999th attempt at inventing the light bulb? 

We can look in the Bible and ask the same what if questions. What if the Israelites had stopped circling Jericho on the sixth day? What if Elijah had stopped praying for rain after the sixth request? What if Joseph had become discouraged and joined a gang of reprobates in jail rather than continuing to serve God faithfully? Or what if Jesus and run away all the way back to Nazareth at the first drop of blood-sweat in the Garden of Gethsemane?

The basic premise of all of God's promises seems to be counter intuitive. What we see often is counter to what we are hearing God promising us. What in your life does not seem to be going your way? What are you hoping and dreaming for that evidence of what you see is telling you different? Faith is living in counterfactual history. Hebrews 11:6 says "...without faith it is impossible to please God" (NIV).  How far are you from striking the gold? One more prayer? One more little chip of the dirt? One more extra effort?

Keep trusting God. Today just may be the day to tap that vein into the promises He has in store for you.

If you would like to comment or share your faith story with me, please feel free to write me at hgammagewrites@outlook.com

Jeremiah 33:3: God's Phone Number. Author Answers The Call, Accepts Invitation to Exciting Journey With Christ!

The Journey--Day 1,046

During my quiet time with God the other
morning, I started my routine, pulling out my journal, ready to start jotting my thoughts down. Being the type who loves to record history, I begin each journal entry by citing the date and time:

Wednesday, June 3, 1015 -- Day 1,046

7:20 a.m.

For some reason, when I recorded the "Day"--Day 1,046--I paused.  Day 1,046 marks the one-thousandth, forty-sixth Day of the Journey with Christ.

It  was 1,046 days ago yesterday that I'd hit bottom. Not in a literal sense as in lying in an alley somewhere, destitute and rummaging through garbage for food. I mean I spiritually bottomed out.

 I remember the day well. It was the end of May, 2012. The second anniversary of my divorce was just a few months away, and everything inside me was dead. My work in the prison ministry was rare and routine; I was drinking too much; I was struggling daily to work on the book, Rescued Not Arrested. The book didn't even have a title at the time. It was a blur; a concept; random files on a hard drive. Every morning I would drag myself to the keyboard, coffee cup in hand, and write in a hang-over haze. I could barely able make the words out on the screen as I typed, the clicking of the keyboard sounding like cannons exploding in my ears, reverberating the swollen blood vessels of my brain against the cranium walls.

I was a mess.

The Arizona summer was fast approaching, the weather tipping on the verge of triple digits. Mid-morning I was at the at the office, staring at the computer screen. My cubicle walls were closing in on me. The ringing phones roared in my head. I needed to get out.

The weather was nice enough to take a stroll to the park near the office.  I sat on a bench at the bend in the running track. Out on the track was a lone runner, finishing his jog, now stretching and finishing his exercise routine. I'd never seen him there before. The track is usually busy with people I recognize--fellow employees taking a mid-morning break to stroll or jog the track.

My Spirit was downcast. I sat there for a long time, trying to pray, but the words wouldn't come. Suddenly, over my shoulder I heard someone way, "You need prayer, don't you?"

I looked up and saw it was the jogger. I wasn't in the mood for company. Not from friends or  acquaintances--and certainly not from a complete stranger. But I heard myself say, "Yeah.".

He sat down on the bench and put his arm around me and prayed. He really didn't have much more to say after his prayer. He just bid me blessings in a perfunctory voice and left with a smile on his face.

I am certain he was an angel.

God's Word promises in Hebrews 13:2, "Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it". I have no hard evidence to confirm his angelic credentials, but I as I got up to head back to the office, I felt my Spirit slowly begin to rise. Also, I had never seen him there before--and have never seen him since.

God's Phone Number: "Call on Me and I will answer you..."

The next morning I felt a rejuvenation in my Spirit. My morning time with God led me to God's phone number, Jeremiah 33:33: "Call on Me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know."

I suddenly felt that this was not just a call to listen to Him. This was an invitation. An invitation to start a Journey with Him.

I felt a conviction from Him that morning. Jesus pointed out to me this was our 30th anniversary together. Thirty years ago in 2012, I had given my life to Him. But those 30 years had simply been a walk. Sometimes a stroll. Other times a snooze.

This time, He was revealing to me that life with Him is intended to be an exciting journey!

And so I marked in my Journal:

The Journey:

Day 1

And I wrote: "Life with Christ is an adventure--a journey. I am marking this date as a new phase in my life--titling the next series of journal entries, 'The Journey'."    

The Journey over the last 1,046 days has gone through many phases and at many times has been far from perfect. But the Journey marked my surrendering all of my battles to God.  I reinvigorated my jail ministry, set an aggressive writing schedule, and entered a recovery program. I now have a good measure of sobriety behind me, received a promotion at work, and am surrounded by awesome warriors in Christ's army. Most notably, on November 18, 2012, I sent the following text to my best friend:

The manuscript, Rescued Not Arrested, was finished. By Fall of 2014--October 22, 2014 to be exact--I reached my dream of becoming a published author! 

The good news is, after 1,046 days, the Journey is just beginning.The better news is--it's an eteral Journey.

Are you ready to begin your journey with Christ? Are you ready to surrender your goals, desires, talents, and ambitions to the One who promises in Psalm 139:16 "all the days ordained for (you) were written in (His) book before one of them came to be"?

In his book, The Circle Maker, Pastor Mark Batterson quotes his grandmother who used to say, "You can't always sometimes tell."

The journey with God is full wonderful surprises--anything can happen! I hope you are ready to begin your journey today. Try it--you can't always sometimes tell...

And when you hit those mile markers and want to share your success text, feel free to share with us here on this blog or with my at joe@hjosephgammage.com

Enjoy the Journey--bon voyage!

Transformed by the Loving Hands of the Potter

As a badged volunteer with the Maricopa County Sheriff's Office, I have an opportunity to mentor inmates in the jails through the Rescued Not Arrested Prison Ministry. Requests for mentoring are made by the inmates through a "tank order", processed through the jail chaplain.

I never go into a mentoring session with a new mentee with a set script or message in mind because mentoring county jail inmates is much more dicey and unpredictable than department of corrections. The jail inmate's situation is fresh and raw. As the legal system's process unfolds around them, uncertainty looms--and the fear is palatable.

However, without fail, somewhere in my first session I deliver a message that their situation is an opportunity to hear God's voice. My aim is to help them realize, despite the darkness of their situation, that God really has rescued them from the certain destruction that their path was on prior to arrest. One message that I like to deliver comes from God's word in the Book of Jeremiah--the Potter's House. Recently,  I started using this message in Rescued Not Arrested's mail mentoring program as well. Below is a message that I shared in a recent letter to an inmate at the Arizona Department of Corrections:   

Hello, Brother Enrique, 

As I read your letter, I wanted to share with you something from God’s word that I found inspiring. If you open your Bible to Jeremiah 18:1-6, it says: “This is the word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: ‘Go down to the potter’s house, and there I will give you my message.’ So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him. Then the word of the Lord came to me. He said, ‘Can I not do with you, Israel as this potter does?’ declares the Lord. ‘Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, Israel.’

I like this message because it reminds me of how we are all like clay in the loving hands of God the creator. I imagine the potter’s workshop, surrounded by the most beautiful and lovingly created pots on display, each with its own special place on the shelf. The pot he is working on has a special spot already designated for it up among the pots, but it is not finished yet. The potter is shaping it and lovingly working on it, getting it ready for its place amongst his beautiful creations. Wherever the pot gets out of shape or sags, the potter carefully fixes its imperfections and re-shapes it according his plan. No matter how often the pot gets out of shape or marred, the potter can fix it and re-shape it as long as the clay stays soft in his hands. 

We are the same way. As long as we stay soft and willing to submit to the caring hands of God, He can re-shape and smooth out all of our defects. It is when we become hard—when our hearts are hardened—that it becomes impossible for God to shape us. When we do become hardened, God allows things to come into our lives to soften us so that we once again can become as clay in His loving hands.

I am looking forward to hearing back from you and continuing serving with you in God’s victorious army! 

Your brother in Christ,

--Joe

Is there a situation in your life that has hardened your heart to God? Is God trying to use it to soften you so that He can come in and lovingly shape you for the purpose that He has planned for you life? God allows us to break for a reason. Sometimes we have become so hardened that the only way God can soften us is to allow some heat to come into our lives so that we can once again become soft in his loving and transforming hands.

Trust your life in the loving hands of the Potter. He has promised to finish all things that He has started--and He has a spot designated just for you amongst all of the beautiful creations He has on display in His House.

God Bless.

Author's Testimony--Broken and Renewed by the Loving Hands of Christ

I was blessed to discover my God-given writing talent at an early age. Before the age of sixteen I had written my first full-length novel. It was a crime novel, steeped in gang violence, a subject that for some reason fascinated me as a young boy. When I heard my calling into ministry, God used my writing talents to write skits and productions for Children’s ministry. But my true passion continued to be writing about crime. My mystery-suspense novels were far from Christian-based—rooted in the values of a crooked and fallen world. Little did I know that the day I had met a twelve-time felon by the name of Roger Munchian how God was about to turn my talents for writing crime fiction from entertaining the world to serving His eternal Kingdom. 

While in ministry with our home church, CCV, my wife at the time and I had joined a CCV neighborhood group, the group to which Roger belonged. A week rarely went by when Roger would not share his testimony as a former drug lord living a fast and reckless life. I was inspired by how God used a speeding car, a sharp highway curve, and an 85 mph impact with a barrier wall to slow him down—and to get his attention. It was the kind of swashbuckling intrigue that I loved to write about. Wow, of all of the hundreds of crime-filled pages I had written, of all the hundreds-of-thousands of thuggish words I had penned—Roger’s life-story was one that I could not make up. The real life Roger had lived was one way beyond even this crime writer’s wildest imagination.  

When our paths crossed, Roger was just starting in his prison ministry. He was mentoring just a few inmates a week at the Maricopa County jails and had no volunteers. But when his testimony was published in Prison Living Magazine and circulated throughout the County system, hundreds of requests a week were pouring in for mentoring. During one neighborhood group meeting, he shared a vision that if God could reach hundreds of incarcerated lives through one magazine article circulating in the prison system—think of what He could do with a full-length story. God nudged me to approach him. This was a powerful testimony. Certainly he had dozens of authors vying to write his story. When I nervously asked him if he had a writer on the project he said no, then told me one woman had started writing his story, but abandoned the project after her marriage came under attack by the Enemy. He gave me a copy of the unfinished manuscript and told me that if this was something that I wanted to take on, to let him know.

On vacation, my wife and I went on a SCUBA diving trip down to the Turks and Caicos and I took the half-written manuscript with me to read. Dear Brother or Sister, I never had a more powerful vision as to what God wanted me to do as I had during that trip. See, I had run a very successful Executive Search business for over 17 years, but at the time we were on the cusp of the 2009 Financial Meltdown. We owned two homes—upside down on both, and investment property up in Northern Arizona that had plummeted in value. Deep down, I knew that my business was done. But I felt a rush of peace after getting the vision, God telling me, “I’ve blessed your career and your business all these years, and you’ve remained faithful in the gift of writing I gave you. This is what I want you doing now. Trust me. I will provide.”

My wife, sadly, did not get the memo on that. When I took on the project, I did not realize that in writing Roger’s story—my own story was about to become a testimony as well.

 

So this is where my story really begins.

In Matthew 14:22-32 Jesus sent the disciples ahead of Him across the Sea of Galilee—on their first mission trip, so to speak, without him physically there with them. They obeyed, and immediately came under Satan’s attack with a ferocious storm. I believe that’s what
happened to me. After I started the project, the storm hit: we lost both of our homes and my business flat-lined. But I pressed on, and not only did God have me writing Roger’s testimony, He also called me into prison ministry. I became a badged clergy volunteer for the Maricopa County Sheriff’s office in Arizona, and my faith, knowledge, and walk with Christ grew deeper by mentoring inmates in the dark places of the Maricopa County jail system.

After over fifteen years in Children’s ministry, the truth of Hebrews 5:12-14 was revealed to me: “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” (New International).  Fifteen years of ministry and I was still drinking the milk like an infant in Christ. God convicted me that if I was going to be reaching the lost in dark places like the county jails, I needed to learn to eat the solid food of the truth in Jesus Christ.    

But the storm intensified. My wife decided to leave the marriage.  Forced to move out, everything I owned, except what I could fit in a 5x8 storage unit and in the back of my truck, was hauled off by a St. Vincent DePaul truck. Just as Satan wanted to stop the disciples ministry, he wanted to stop mine—and he pretty much succeeded. When Satan attacked the disciples with the storm, Peter at least had the guts to jump out of the boat and run to Jesus. I chose to cower in the boat and fled to the bottle. Looking at single parenthood, financial bankruptcy, and an uncertain future, I found comfort in alcohol and a reckless life-style that I thought I could keep secret.

On the outside I was a devoted father, loyal employee, and a dedicated minister. Inside, I was crushed and dying, self-medicating with alcohol and out carousing in unhealthy, reckless relationships that I thought could fix my shattered heart and fill the excruciating void that divorce leaves deep in the soul. I remember leaving the barstool one evening to attend a prison ministry meeting, stuffing my mouth full of breath mints and peppermint candies, fooling myself, thinking I could mask the smell of booze. Roger was not fooled. The next day when he called call me out on my behavior, I thought he would be furious with

me. Instead, he simply said:

“Joe, I love you, brother. I am worried about you.”

“I am dead inside, Roger. I am sorry I let you down. I am so, so dead inside.”

“You did not let me down, Joe. I am here to talk if you need me.”

This is the genuine heart of Roger Munchian—full of the kind of unconditional love and compassion that can only come from an unwavering walk with Christ. 

I did take Roger up on his offer to talk. However, it was simply to tell him that I was stepping down from the prison ministry. But I did not want to quit writing his story. Something deep down inside me—deep below the deadness and decay I felt in my heart and soul—did not want to give up on the book, and I did not want Roger to find another author to pick up yet another failed attempt to write his story. Yet even though I told him I was still working on the book—I really wasn’t.  I’d type a few sentences here and there between hangovers and self-pity, but it really wasn’t going anywhere. 

But God never gave up on me. Pealing my hungover eyes open one morning, I watched Joyce Meyers preaching the message about the Bethesda pool in John 5:8 where Jesus looked at the invalid and said “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.” God telling me to “Get up! You’re acting like this thing has crippled you. Get up—pick up your troubles and get to work.” 

I picked up my mat, but the toxin of booze 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. But before I could get the words out, he opened up Acts 22:10 where Paul had just been knocked flat on his back. Paul asked Jesus “What shall I do?”  Jesus simply answered, “Get up, Paul.” Jesus again telling me, “GET UP!”  

This time I got up. When I told Roger that I wanted to get back into prison ministry, I thought I would have to go through the process of getting my volunteer badge renewed. To my surprise, Roger told me that he never cancelled my badge. 

He said, “I knew you would be coming back.” 

Typical Roger. He had faith in me even though I had given up on myself.

Finding a flash of hope, I started forcing myself to get up early every morning and pushed forward with the book. My appointment with God was the insane hours of 4:30 to 6:00 every morning. Each morning I woke up without a clue as to what I was going to write. Re-vitalized only with the smell of coffee and a shot from God’s Word, I sat down at the keyboard and let the Holy Spirit take over. To my
amazement, the words poured across my screen. Morning after morning God filled the pages with words of His choosing, not mine. I have never experienced such a presence of the Holy Spirit. After several incredible months of this—after day after day of feeling God’s workmanship through my finger-tips tapping the keyboard—I wrote the two most cherished words of any author: “The End”.

The book was finished, but my own journey to sobriety was only beginning. Every day is a new day of victory in Jesus Christ over alcohol. As with anyone with an addiction, it is a not an easy struggle, but as long as I take up my mat daily, He gives me the strength to make it through—reminding me that He has rescued me from the chains of my own making. He has also delivered me from my desire to seek recklessness relationships—delivered me and rescued me before I got arrested or faced the destruction that was the certain destination of the secret road I was traveling. Only He knew where that dark and lonely road was headed—and He chose to rescue me. I will stay rescued as long as I stay grateful, seek first His Kingdom, and keep my feet firmly planted on the path that He ordained for me. His path. Not my path. His will. Not my will. As God promises in Proverbs 16:9, “In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps” (New International Version). 

I’ve seen God do incredible things serving in jail ministry.  I’ve seen the bulkiest, tattoo-covered men who have seen nothing but blood and murder all their lives completely break down, shedding tears they have not likely shed since the doctor first smacked them on the behind at birth. I’ve seen prison gang leaders turn from the iron-fisted leadership of violence and brute intimidation to leading jail pods
of hundreds of chained men in prayer. I got to listen to a young inmate, barely in his twenties, saying “I can face the next twenty-eight years in prison. But what I can’t face is eternity in Hell, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I am going to Hell for what I have done.”  I got to see palpable fear and excruciation in his eyes dissipate to peace and joy when I told him, “Hell is not for you! You belong to Jesus Christ—He paid the price of His blood for you to be with Him. There is nothing you have done that cannot be forgiven by His blood.” I got to see the complete transformation—to literally feel the shroud of evil lift from him—as he accepted Christ that day. I will never forget the joy on his face, the new bounce in his step as he danced back to his cell, Bible in his hand, a new citizen of Christ’s Kingdom. 

Rescued—not arrested.

Outside I watch the evening news and see a broken and lost world. Behind the razor wire and cold cinderblock walls of the jails—I see true revival!  

Most importantly, I have seen my own life turn around. This ministry is reaching people on both sides of the prison walls. I am looking forward to seeing what Jesus Christ has next for me on this incredible journey, and I am looking forward to hearing from you, dear Brother or Sister in Christ. You can always reach me through www.rescuednotarrested.org or at on my contact page. I am eager to learn how our Lord and savior Jesus Christ has touched your life and has begun a permanent and eternal restoration that can only come from the one true Master.