My mother was three months pregnant with me when she boarded a boat and fled Cuba.

I grew up in a gang-infested Miami neighborhood, joining my first gang at age 8. My initiation took place in an empty parking lot, where I had to fight three kids simultaneously.

The beating left me with a badly swollen face, but I quickly learned to act tough. That same year, I was arrested twice and expelled from two schools.

By the time I was 16, I had served nine jail sentences and been kicked out of nearly every school I attended.

A man named Don regularly visited the juvenile detention center, preaching messages about Jesus. I sat through a few of his meetings, but only because Don brought cookies and soda pop.

My family practiced Santeria, a form of witchcraft, so I was used to hearing about the spiritual world. The spirits of my childhood were distant and frightening, but Don talked about a God who was personal and loving. This God offered hope and fresh starts — even for people like me.

Although my life had barely begun, I felt like it was over. Other kids my age were learning to drive, attending proms, and touring colleges. I was facing multiple felony charges, any of which could have resulted in a lengthy prison sentence.

With the specter of life behind bars hanging over me, I started reading the Bible and searching for this God whom Don seemed to know. In desperation, I called out to God, asking Him to rescue me.

To my surprise, I was soon released on probation. I wish I could say I served Jesus from that day forward. But with no church and no Christian friends, I was like a hot coal plucked from the fire. The small ember of faith in my heart quickly cooled and died out.

Gradually, I returned to a life of drugs, street crime, and sexual immorality. Even after my girlfriend and I became parents, I continued down a path of self-destruction.

At 19, I was incarcerated again. Once more, I pleaded with God to get me out. I thought a quick release would somehow fall into place, just as before. But this time, the judge presiding over my arraignment denied bond and enhanced my charges. The prosecutor offered a plea deal — of 90 years in prison.

Falling on my bed, I buried my face in the stiff, state-issued sheets and wept. In that moment, amid
the tears, I knew I needed to change.

As I returned to my prison dormitory, I thought about my 1-year-old son growing up without a dad. Falling on my bed, I buried my face in the stiff, state-issued sheets and wept. In that moment, amid the tears, I knew I needed to change.

Some Christian inmates were gathering in a nearby commons area for their nightly Bible study. I decided to join them.

That night, when I heard the gospel, I gave the message my full attention. And for the first time, I truly understood. I realized Jesus offered freedom from the sin that bound me spiritually. In response, I asked God to have mercy on me, forgive me, and change me.

As the peace of God enveloped me, I sensed my life would never be the same. As Jesus put it in John 8:36, I was “free indeed.” Gratefully, I thought of Don, who had planted the first gospel seed during my childhood.

I still hoped God would free me from my physical prison, but that did not immediately happen. I spent five more years behind bars. However, what I thought would be the darkest time of my life turned out to be the greatest.

During that season, as I fully surrendered every part of my life to Christ, I began growing and serving. I led Bible studies in English and Spanish, developing such a passion for ministry I dreamed of one day becoming a pastor.

I received a GED certificate, learned computer skills, and even took some Bible classes.

Finally, in November 2004, I completed my sentence and went home — free in every way. I connected with my son and finally became a father to him.

I met and married an amazing Christian woman, Lydia, and God blessed us with three more children. Together, we traveled the country, sharing my testimony and ministering through music. We also opened a car wash business, which helped fund our ministry.

In 2010, Lydia and I became staff members at Trinity Church, an Assemblies of God congregation in Miami led by Rich and Robyn Wilkerson. We completed ministry degrees through the church’s leadership school. Soon after graduating, I became a youth pastor at Trinity.

My family and I moved to Georgia during 2017 to start a life-giving church in the Atlanta metropolitan area. What began as a dream in the heart of a newly converted 19-year-old in jail became a reality as we launched Greater Church (AG) on Aug. 13 of that year.

Church planting hasn’t always been easy, but our calling to make disciples is clear. We are convinced the Church is the hope of the world.

My journey to the pulpit was far from conventional. Nevertheless, I am living proof the gospel we preach still changes lives.

This article appears in the Winter 2023 issue of Influence magazine.