MY  STORY:

Connect Your Story to God’s Story

Your story matters at Compass Church of Monterey County. No matter where you’ve been, you belong here, and your journey is part of God’s bigger story. If you feel moved or want to talk with someone, we’re here for you.

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From Prison to PURPOSE

Life was chaotic from the very beginning. I grew up surrounded by domestic violence, gangs, drugs, and crime—it was just a lot for any kid to handle. I never wanted to be part of that world, but when my parents divorced at six, the violence and brokenness at home left me feeling shattered and alone. As I got older, I started drifting toward the streets. If my family couldn’t give me the love and acceptance I craved, I was determined to find it somewhere else. I told myself, “I’ll make my own family now, and we’ll take care of each other.”

I was living in Salinas, but my roots were tangled. My grandfather was a pastor, and I stayed with him for a while. Even then, I was living a double life—selling drugs, hiding guns and drugs right under his roof. My family had no idea. Before I left Paso Robles, my grandfather pleaded with me, “Don’t go back.” But I was stubborn and hard-headed. I left anyway, thinking I knew better.

The first week back, trouble found me fast. I got into a big fight, and one of my best friends was stabbed four times. In the confusion, I thought I knew who did it and went after them, but someone else ended up getting stabbed. I was about to leave the scene, but when I saw my friend bleeding out, something in me made me stay. I stayed by his side, and in the end, the doctors said that if I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have made it.

But chaos has a way of compounding. Within two months, I was arrested—charged with first-degree murder, gang enhancements, assault, weapons charges, you name it. I was just 17, a few days shy of my 18th birthday, staring down a possible 28 years to life.

On my 18th birthday, sitting in juvenile hall, a group called Many Broken Vessels came in. They were all ex-prisoners, sharing their testimonies. For some reason, their stories made more sense to me than anything I’d ever heard. I could see myself in them. When they gave an altar call, I found myself responding. I told God, “I don’t know how to change, and honestly, I’m not even sure I want to. But if I’m going to change, You’ll have to do it. You’ll have to fix this because I can’t.”

The legal battles dragged on. I was facing the possibility of being tried as an adult, and the weight of it all was crushing. My attorney told me that nobody with a life sentence gets out unless there’s a miracle. I wrestled with the plea deal, but eventually, I took it and ended up serving 12 years in prison.

Prison was its own world—a place where hope is hard to come by. But even there, God was working. I started praying for things I never thought I’d want: a good job, a chance to help people, a new start. I told God, “If You get me out of here, help me do something good with my life.”

I was released on June 26, 2011. Looking back, I can see how God was preparing the way for me long before I walked out those gates. Now, I get to help people break free from addiction—heroin, fentanyl, meth. I lead a team of 14 to 20 people, all with their own stories of struggle and redemption. The things I prayed for in prison—meaningful work, a chance to make a difference, a supportive community—God has answered every one.

There were dark moments, even at 17, when I thought about ending my life because I didn’t think anyone would believe I really wanted to change. But if I had given up, I would have missed out on everything God had planned for me.

No matter how bad things have been, or what you’ve done, God can flip your mess into a message. He can bring hope out of the darkest places and turn your pain into a purpose.