Experiencing God

A Testimony of God’s Grace and The Radical Redemption of an Unlikely Christian

Experiencing God

A Testimony of God’s Grace and The Radical Redemption of an Unlikely Christian

My Story

This is my story—raw, unfiltered, and filled with the darkness of a life far from God, illuminated by the overwhelming light of his grace. I’m not here to glorify the chaos—I'm here to show you how bright his light shines against the darkness. The gospel account always starts with the bad news before it moves to the good. My story is no different.

I was drowning in an ink-black ocean of sin, pulled under by waves of anger, fear, and regret. It felt like there was no way out, only the dark shadows of an eternity where no warmth or light could reach me. Scripture tells us, "he who is forgiven much, loves much" (Luke 7:47)—and so, I tell this story with all the gratitude of someone who’s been pulled out of the darkness.

Growing Up in LA’s Most Violent Decade

At thirteen, I ran in the streets of East LA during the deadliest year in Los Angeles County history—1992, with over 2,500 homicides.¹ A record that, to my knowledge, still stands. Gang violence, the LA riots, and the drug war all contributed to over seven murders a day, every day.

By the time I turned seventeen, I had lost six family members to addiction, including my father to a heroin overdose. Five friends were shot and killed, one committed suicide, and my cousin was gunned down in a drive-by shooting. Five other friends received lengthy prison sentences, some for life. And I had come close to death five times. 

My brother, Vince, and I raised ourselves from the time we were ten. Although my mother has a strong Christian faith today, she was struggling back then—fighting her way through alcoholism, the fast life, and a hard road to recovery. Vince and I learned early how to take care of ourselves.

Being tough and decisive wasn’t a choice in the streets of East LA—it’s an essential. We learned the rigors of Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape long before we knew SERE was a military acronym used to train warfighters for combat. However, the streets didn’t offer the safety of a training program. There were no timeouts or do-overs. Soldiers in war zones train for the worst; we lived it. We learned by doing, and the ones who were unsuccessful in situational awareness were the ones who died. It wasn’t training. It was real, and those who failed didn’t get to try again.

The Enemy Within

Street smarts mattered more than college acceptance letters. Young men in my neighborhood didn’t make it to their eighteenth birthday—friends like Larry, Gilbert, Michael, Eddie, Malo, and my cousin Barrios. That’s the sad reality of life growing up in gangland.

For young men like me, “normal” didn’t exist. We didn’t dream of college or careers—we dreamed of survival. It wasn’t until much later that I realized how far our world was from what most people would call normal.

The streets taught me about betrayal and survival, but they also led me to a deeper understanding—one I didn’t fully grasp at the time. I was learning that the true enemy wasn’t just out there on the streets. It was inside me—anger, hatred, rage, and a heart far from God.

God’s Relentless Love

I was seventeen, and my best friend Richie and I went to an East LA party on the other side of town. The neighborhood was notorious for its senseless violence. The LAPD avoided driving through this neighborhood because they often got shot at. A few weeks prior, a Catholic priest was gunned down for trying to bring a peaceful resolution to a gang dispute. I had a bad feeling about this. I told Richie I didn’t think it was a good idea, but he persisted, and we went anyway.

We walked up a long driveway, past a big blue tarp strung up to conceal the activity in the backyard, and entered absolute pandemonium. The party was wild. A ton of people showed up, the music was thumping, and it looked like everyone was having a good time. For a while, I forgot about my earlier apprehension and started enjoying myself—drinking, and watching two dance crews battle each other. The DJ’s pulsing lights, the beat of the music, and the deep-toned bass pounding through the massive speakers drowned everything out. My clothes were literally vibrating from the soundwaves bouncing off them—it was awesome.

But every now and then, that uneasy feeling crept back in. I tried to brush it off and went back to watching the dance crews. Then I heard something—faint at first, almost drowned out by the blaring music. I ignored it, blaming the noise. But there it was again, harder to make out over the thumping bass, but persistent. I glanced around but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Still, that strange, muffled sound kept coming, creeping under the pounding beat, refusing to be ignored.

I looked toward the blue tarp and couldn’t believe my eyes. The tarp seemed to dance to the music—moving in perfect sync with the beat, up and down, in and out, like it was alive. I blinked, confused, thinking, “Man, I must be on some good stuff!” The lights, the sounds, and the hypnotic movement blurred together, creating a surreal, dreamlike scene.

But then, reality came crashing back in, and my thoughts broke. Little did I know, my life was about to change forever.

I saw the blue tarp ripped to the ground by a mob of angry gangbangers crashing the party. That’s when it hit me. The tarp wasn’t dancing to the rhythm of the music. The sounds I’d been hearing weren’t beats—they were gunshots. The tarp had been reacting to the impact of bullets.

Everything went into slow motion. Armed gang members walked up that narrow driveway, heading directly for us. As soon as they crossed the threshold from the driveway into the backyard, they simultaneously raised their weapons and opened fire.

The music stopped abruptly, replaced by the deafening roar of gunfire. Terrifying screams echoed through the yard, and people cried out in agony, hit indiscriminately by bullets. Chaos erupted. Some tried to run, but most froze, unsure where to go or how to escape the hail of bullets tearing through the air.

We ducked down and hit the floor, trying to avoid being hit. The bullets were so close you could hear them whiz by, cracking overhead. They slammed into the dirt, the tree, the block wall, each impact sending a jolt through the air. I pressed my body hard against the ground, every muscle tense, heart pounding in my ears.

You hold your breath and wait for the impact in a moment like that. I thought it was only a matter of time before I’d feel the white-hot pain of a bullet tear through me. It wasn’t a question of if—it was when. And all I could do was wait for it.

Things didn’t let up. Some guys from the party started shooting back, and I found myself stuck in the middle of an intense gun battle. There was nowhere to run, and if I stood up, I’d almost certainly be shot. The best I could hope for was a non-life-threatening wound or a quick death. I knew I was in a bad situation and might not make it out alive.

Quite Reflection Amidst the Deafening Chaos

What your mind thinks of, and how quickly it processes information in a life-or-death situation, is amazing. Amidst the chaos, with bullets tearing through the air, my mind drifted—not to survival, but to something far darker. I began to think about my life—about the things I had done, the people I had hurt. I felt sad and empty because I had nothing to show for my life. I hadn’t accomplished anything. I had done more bad than good, hated more than I had loved, and I knew, deep down, that heaven wasn’t a place for people like me. 

The sadness intensified as my mind drifted back to the Sunday school lessons I had learned as a kid. When I was younger, my mom took us to church, and I hated it. It was boring, and most of the time, I tuned out. But apparently, some of those simple Bible stories stuck, because I could remember them with vivid clarity now. I thought about King David crying out to God for help in times of trouble. I remembered the valley of the shadow of death. And I remembered the thief on the cross.

At this point in my life, I hadn’t been to church in years. I had no interest in God, church, or religion. I didn’t even know how to pray. But my reality was bleak, and I was hopeless. In that moment of hopelessness, when I had nothing left—no strength, no plan, no way out—I did the only thing I could. I said a simple prayer: “Jesus, save me. Give me another chance and I promise to give you my life.” That was it—a simple, child-like prayer. And as I lay there, unsure of what would happen next, I realized it was the most honest thing I’d said in a long time.

I felt something change inside me. A peace washed over me like nothing I had ever known before. There was no light shining from heaven. I didn’t hear angels singing, and the bullets didn’t miraculously stop flying. But I knew something was different. It was strange—although the gunfire continued around me, it didn’t seem to matter. Without thinking, I stood up. Richie yelled for me to “get down,” but I rose to my feet. I didn’t run, and I didn’t duck for cover. I calmly walked toward the block wall—the only exit from this nightmare. Part of me knew I shouldn’t have, but the fear was gone. I was no longer just trying to survive—I was on a mission for change.

I made it to the wall without one bullet touching me. And when people saw what I was doing, they followed. I jumped on the block wall, and about 20 other kids did the same thing. But before I could crest the top, the wall crumbled, as if it had been waiting for this moment. It threw us back into the line of fire, but something in me had already shifted. I got up without hesitation, walking over the rubble and out to the street. The wall that had kept us trapped now became an escape route for everyone else.

I reached the street, where kids were running in every direction. The gun battle was still raging in the backyard, and police sirens were getting closer. I felt completely numb, in shock, and just kept putting one foot in front of the other. I’d lost sight of Richie and the rest of my friends in the chaos, but there was no time to stop. I just kept moving, hoping they’d made it out.

I finally made it to the 1968 VW lowrider bug we came in. The silence in the car was heavy, almost suffocating. No one said a word, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind exhaustion, confusion, and a lingering sense of disbelief. We were safe now, but it didn’t feel real. By this time, it was probably 3 A.M. We didn’t care about anything except getting home and putting this night behind us.

When I got home, it was about 4:30 A.M. I sat there, overwhelmed. All my life I had been running—running from my guilt, sorrow, and God. But here, in my darkest moment, he had pursued me. I had done nothing to earn his grace, but he showed up anyway It didn’t make sense to me, but in that moment, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years: peace. Despite everything I had done, he was there, reaching into my darkest moment to pull me out. I sat on the edge of my bed in complete darkness, quietly reflecting on the worst and best night of my life. I was numb. I didn’t even feel the tears falling from my eyes. My shirt was soaked, but I couldn’t feel a thing.

I thought about where to go from here. What’s next? How do I change my life and keep my promise to God? So many thoughts flooded my mind. I had made a promise to God, but now the reality of keeping it weighed heavily on me. Where do I even start? Part of me was afraid I wouldn’t be able to follow through, that I’d fall right back into the same old patterns. But I knew I had to try. I was in awe of how God pursued me, even in my sin. He reached into my darkness, pulled me out of that ink-black ocean of sin, and rescued me. It was there—drunk, angry, and rebellious—that I encountered a real, trustworthy, and delivering God.

I had done nothing to earn or deserve his grace, but as I faced certain death and eternal separation from him, God showed up and saved me. Although I didn’t know where to start, I knew I couldn’t stay the same.

I know God is real. If he weren’t, I wouldn’t be here. I know you don’t have to be perfect to run to him. I wasn’t. I was riddled with sin, guilt, and brokenness, yet his grace poured over me like a river. The moment he showed up, something shifted inside me. All my chains—guilt, anger, defiance—were broken. Everything that had weighed me down for so long was shattered by his grace.

I wasn’t perfect, and you don’t have to be either. No matter how far you’ve gone, his grace is there, waiting for you, just like it was for me.

Set Your Heart on God

God is a people chaser. He pursues us even in our sin, uncertainty, and stupidity. He's a God of second chances. He wants you to turn to him in your time of need, right where you are. You don’t have to wait to clean yourself up—come as you are, flawed, damaged, and afraid. He will lift you up.

He pursues us in the quiet moments of doubt, in the people he sends our way, and in the still, small voice that reminds us we are never alone. Set your heart on God and experience his relentless love and exhaustive grace.

Then, you can weather the storms of life that will inevitably come—and even thrive in the messiness of life, finding peace in the chaos and strength in his love.

So, don’t wait. Bring him your fears, your uncertainties, your sorrows—and watch how his grace transforms your life. 

Before trusting in Jesus, I was lost, empty, and hopeless. This is where Jesus found me. I had given my heart and soul to a life far from God, and all I had to show for it was pain and a hopeless existence. In my mind, I thought I was beyond forgiveness, that there was no hope for a better life. I was full of anger, violence, and rage. I was a broken person with nothing to offer God—and yet, in my despair, Jesus saved me.

In that moment, something shifted. The weight of my sins didn’t feel so heavy anymore. I had no idea how to move forward, but I knew one thing for sure—Jesus had met me in my time of need, and from that moment on, I wasn’t alone. He gave me a second chance, even when I thought it was impossible.

After putting my full trust in Jesus Christ, I’m no longer lost, empty, or hopeless. I’m saved by grace through faith, filled with his Spirit, and have the hope of heaven in my heart. Every day is a new opportunity to experience his love and grace. I’m still growing, still learning, but now I walk with the assurance that I’m never alone.

Now, I get to tell people about Jesus—how they too can find peace with God, hope for a better life, and the assurance of heaven. If you’re feeling lost or hopeless, turn to him. Come as you are, and let his grace transform your life, just like it did for me.

Maybe you can relate to my story in some small way. Maybe you’re feeling the pain and disappointment of a broken life. Maybe you’re filled with anger, regret, or guilt like I was.

If so, I want you to know that Jesus extends the offer of forgiveness and transformation. In the Bible, Jesus says, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest for your souls” (Matt. 11:28–30). His promise is simple but powerful: no matter where you are in life, you don’t have to carry your burdens alone. Jesus is ready to give you peace and rest.

Jesus has made the terms for peace. He lived the life you couldn’t live and died the death you should’ve died. Jesus traded his life for yours—he died for your sins, paid your penalty, and took your death sentence so that you could live. He completely absorbed the righteous wrath of God, freeing you from condemnation, and made a way for you to be made right before a holy God.

This gift is available to you right now. Don’t wait. Turn from trusting yourself, and turn to Jesus. Trust in his sacrifice, and let today be the day you begin a new life in him.

Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life. A life filled with peace, freedom, and the joy of knowing you are loved and accepted by God.

1. Shawn Hubler, “Homicides in 1992 Set Record for L.A. County: Violence: 2,589 killings in 1992 represent an 8% rise over previous year. Cultural changes and accessibility of guns cited as factors,” Los Angeles Times, January 5, 1993, https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1993-01-05-me-819-story.html.