“The Lord . . . is patient with you, not wanting any to perish, but all to come to repentance.” 2 Peter 3:9 nrsv

I was involved with a lot of crime and drugs on the streets, in and out of Cook County Jail for about eleven years. Finally, while I was on several different probations, I got arrested for burglary in October of 1982. While fighting the case, I spent some more time at County Jail.

One of the things a prisoner could do to get out of his wing was get a pass to go to the chaplain’s office. Once or twice a week I would go up there to make phone calls and get whatever I could. I met two chaplains, Mark and Jim, who were from Jesus People. They told me a bit about the community. It wasn’t a hard sell. They were just like, “If you’re ever tired of what you’re doing you can come check us out.” I replied, “Yeah, man. That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

Finally I went to court and was sentenced to three years in Joliet State Prison. That following Saturday I prayed the prayer of salvation with the JPUSA chaplains. I said my good-byes to everybody and went down to Joliet to serve my time. For a while I did okay, but eventually I went back to the gangs and drugs. I was transferred to a medium security institution and finished my time there. When I got out, the first thing I did was get some heroin. I began stealing from stores again. I was only out of prison for seventeen days when I got arrested for another burglary. This was a violation of my parole, so I was sentenced to another three years. They sent me back through the system, back to the same prison.

The prison was connected to a mental health center, where I got hold of some tranquilizers. I took a bunch of them and brought them back to our dorm where we handed them out. Everybody got high. Then somebody snitched on us.

I had a disciplinary hearing. I was written up for being a threat to the security of the institution, and was sent down to Menard, a maximum security prison roughly five hundred miles away from Chicago. It was kind of a finishing school. When I was down there I was in a gang. I was in charge of “security.” That meant stashing all the weapons and knives whenever a guard showed up, or handing them out when needed. I don’t know if it was much of a position other than being the fall guy.

One day a guard came to my cell and said, “You have a visitor.” I thought, “This has got to be a joke!” My mother was dead, and I knew it wouldn’t be my sister. In fact, I didn’t know anyone who would travel that far to visit me. When I came down to the visiting room, it was Mark and Jim. They were down there to visit George DelVecchio, a longtime friend of the community who was on death row. They said, “Man, when you get out, we want you to come see us.” I said, “Man, I’ve got to do something. I’m at the end. I can’t live like this much longer.”

I finished doing my time January 17, 1985. I stepped off the bus and went right back to shooting up dope and stealing. I couldn’t have sunk any lower except to die. I was broken inside.

Walking in the bitter cold, I went over to the church in my neighborhood on the South Side. I knocked on the door and asked for the priest, but they said he was on vacation. I went in and sat in the church to warm up a bit. I began thinking, “This is bad. You’ve had your cars. You’ve had your money, drugs, and what you call friends.” I looked up at the cross, and it was like Jesus was saying, “But you haven’t really tried me yet.” The idea that God was talking to me was kind of scary. Then I took a Bible from a pew and opened it to Psalm 107:

Some sat in darkness and the deepest gloom, prisoners suffering in iron chains, for they had rebelled against the words of God and despised the counsel of the Most High. So He subjected them to bitter labor; they stumbled, and there was no one to help. Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and He saved them from their distress. He brought them the darkness and out of deepest gloom and broke away their chains. Let them give thanks to the Lord for His unfailing love and His wonderful deeds for men, for He breaks down gates of bronze and cuts through bars of iron. —Psalm 107: 10-16 niv

I definitely felt peace in that. When I left the church, I walked back up to the bar where I hung out, and went over to the laundromat next door. I was only out of prison for a day, and I had already spent $150 on dope and liquor. I knew that I couldn’t get clean on my own. I called Jesus People collect and asked for Mark.

“Mark, it’s Fred.”

“How are you doing?” he said.

“Not so good. Actually, I’m getting high again.”

He told me, “Come on down.”

I took a bus from the South Side in Chicago. I had finally reached my breaking point—I had nowhere else to turn. It takes different circumstances for each of us to be broken like that. It took me a little bit longer to be broken than most, I guess. When I arrived at the ministry I was still high for two or three days. But God and the Jesus People were both gracious to me. I’ve been here ever since. It’s become my home.

Fred has been a Christian for fifteen years, and now is purchasing manager for Lakefront Roofing Supply, a JPUSA business. He and his wife, Kathy, have two children: Ryan, four, and Quinn, one.

First published in Cornerstone (ISSN 0275-2743), Vol. 29, Issue 119 (2000), p. 19
© 2000 Cornerstone Communications, Inc.
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