I was born in the Bronx, New York, to drug-addicted parents. Violence, instability, and fear fill my early memories.

As a young child, I witnessed my father stabbing my mother with a fork and hitting her with a baseball bat.

When I asked why she stayed, Mom said she loved my father. I remember thinking, If this is what love looks like, I want no part of it.

My older sister and younger brother were born with developmental disabilities because of drug exposure. My mother was incarcerated during her pregnancy with me, so I entered the world in a prison system.

Eventually, my parents abandoned my siblings and me at our grandmother’s house and disappeared. My grandmother tried to care for us, but the burden was overwhelming.

When I was 8 years old, my grandmother decided she could no longer manage and made plans to send us to foster care. I was terrified of losing what family I had left, especially my siblings.

Amid this looming crisis, we attended a midweek prayer service at church. The pastor asked if anyone had a prayer request. I stood up and poured out my heart about my family’s struggles.

I prayed, “God, if you are real and you heal my mom and dad, I promise to tell the world about you.”

Later that night, I noticed my grandmother’s eyes were red and swollen.

When I asked why she had been crying, Grandma said, “I’ve decided to cancel the foster care services.”

In that moment, I knew God was real, that He was listening, and He cared about the cries of a little boy with a broken family.

The following year, at Christmastime, there was an unexpected knock at the door. It was my father. Upon seeing him, my grandmother angrily closed the door in his face. But I reopened the door and clung to my father’s legs.

Dad told my grandmother, “I just want you to know I found faith and accepted the Lord in prison, and I am going to fight for custody of my children.”

When I asked why she stayed, Mom said she loved my father. I remember thinking, If this is what love looks like, I want no part of it.

My father did regain custody and regularly attended church with us. For me, this was another answered prayer. Although our lives were far from perfect, it was obvious God had transformed my father. Dad did his best to raise us as a single parent until his sudden death from a heart attack when I was 16.

While still a teenager, I accepted an invitation to share my story at a prison. As I spoke to approximately 300 women, there was a sudden commotion in the audience.

A woman was wailing loudly as guards rushed in, trying to calm her. To my utter shock, I realized it was my mother. That day, she accepted Christ as Savior.

Years of silence followed that encounter. Upon my mother’s release from prison, she reached out and asked to stay with me.

Initially, I resisted the idea. I still carried deep wounds and unanswered questions. But my wife reminded me of my childhood prayer. I had prayed for redemption, and now it was standing at my doorstep. So, I gave my mother a chance.

The first week Mom came to live with us, we fought. I became angry over her refusal to attend church. Years of pain came rushing to the surface, and I confronted my mother with the hurt I had carried for so long. I demanded to know why she wasn’t there when I needed her.

Tearfully, my mother said, “Do you want to know why I’m this way? If you only knew!”

Mom then shared her story, explaining that her father had repeatedly molested her, beginning when she was 8 years old. My mother spent her teen years in foster care, where she was groomed and coerced into a brief marriage with an adult.

Eventually, Mom met my father, a professional boxer, who at first seemed kind, but later became abusive.

As I listened to my mother’s story, everything changed for me. I sensed God speaking to my heart: Every man has failed her. Don’t be the next one.

Suddenly, I saw my mother not as the woman who had betrayed me, but as a wounded girl. I knew she needed compassion, not judgment.

One day, without prompting, Mom decided to attend church with us. During the service, she fully surrendered her life to the Lord and experienced delivery from addiction.

It has been 28 years since that turnaround. To this day, my mother is sober and serving God.

The Lord powerfully answered the prayers of an 8-year-old boy. He saved my father and mother, reunited me with my family, and healed our hearts.

As a pastor and chaplain, I now have the privilege of fulfilling the childhood promise I made by telling others about Him. My life is a testimony that no story is beyond the reach of God’s redemptive power.

This article appears in the Summer 2026 issue of Influence magazine.