My earliest memories take back to a five year old child living with my mother and my big brother Gary. My biological father Gary Baker left us when I was three, for which I was blamed. My brother would always say it was my fault that my father left us. It got worse as he would say that I was adopted, that he left me hurt and confused as I felt unacceptable and lonely in this world.
Shortly after my dad left, my mother got a new boyfriend who is basically a monster and beat me and my mother. The first time I called 911 the police arrived at our house and did nothing. Admittedly left my mother‘s boyfriend turned his rage onto me. As he smacked me across the face he yelled at me and threaten to kill me and my mother if I ever snitched on him. I never called the police again however they abuse did not stop.
As a child I used to wet the bed. If he caught me in the morning, he would roll up a newspaper and put my face into the mattress and smack my nose saying I need to be trained like a dog.
Eventually Child Protective Services got involved as my mother’s boyfriend smacked me and drag me around by my shirt at McDonald’s in Azusa where I lived at the time. Nobody interfered, but at least the police were called and I was taken out of the situation. After that I was sent to live with my father in Pomona. This was in the midst of a crack era and where we lived was a hotbed for crime and gang violence. Vividly I can recall police and army tanks battering rams crashing into living rooms, helicopters, and gun shots at night.
During this time, I can recall my father ‘s preaching at church he was what was known as a fire and brimstone preacher. I was never told about the love of Christ, so my psychosocial construction of reality regarding God was that he was angry all the time and I was going to hell.
Death was so prevalent in my life I became numb to it. I witnessed my first murder at the age of six and several more thereafter. Whenever someone died I would hear my dad‘s voice you’re going to go to the lake of fire forever. Three years later I was sent back to my mother and I witnessed a double murder at the time the police and gang members with asked me repeatedly what I saw it was too much and I was glad to move back with my mom.
Eventually my mother left her boyfriend and we settled in West Covina which I consider to be my hometown. But prior to that I never had stability and I went to seven different schools by the time I reach the fifth grade. I was a serious problem for my mom and my little brother. The hurt that I internalize was projected on to them. Eventually I transitioned into a teenager and I projected that hate onto my peers. At the age of 13 I began running the streets and joined a gang that’s when things went from bad to worse. The gang lifestyle gave me a false sense of acceptance. I became a full-blown alcoholic at the age of 13 and was sent to juvenile hall before my 14th birthday. Going to juvenile hall solidified what I have been told my whole life nobody cared about me and I was worthless. So my life spiraled out of control I gave up on school and home I dedicated myself to the gang. Because I was involved in gangs my mom kicked me out of the house at the age of 15. I found myself homeless, sleeping on park benches, bus stops and even stealing cars just to sleep in the backseat. I would rob and drugs to make enough money to rent a motel once in a while.
I had the memory of my close friend lost I attempted suicide twice both times playing Russian roulette. I can see the hand of God working in my life however I couldn’t see it then all I envisioned was Dante in a lake of fire just like my dad used to say.
By the age of 18 I was a very violent person. I committed a home invasion and was sentenced to 75 years to life. I am truly remorseful and repented for this crime. I saw no reason in my life for redemption. I was sent to Folsom prison which was extremely violent. It was all about survival. The mindset that I had led to violence And I wound up in solitary confinement. During this time, I read a lot but not once did I pick up the Bible. My mother said that she was praying for me but it fell on deaf ears because my reality was a living hell. A decade later while I was in solitary confinement at another prison, I read my first verse which was Psalms 37:4.
My Nana Thelma used to send to me ‘The Daily Bread” and I would read it mostly out of the respect for her and I did admire her trust in God. However, It took 15 years into my incarceration for me to find God. It was miraculous how it happened. The worst day in my life became the best day of my life. It was Thanksgiving of 2015 I was going to kill myself that day. I was placed on C status which means you’re treated like you’re in the hole but you’re not in the hole. You have no appliances, no phone calls, no visits. Being without those things is bad enough but seeing others have them and you don’t leave you in a sense of depression was something I was acquainted with. At this time my mother was very ill I did not have long to live. I remember writing her a goodbye letter that basically was turning into a suicide note for myself. I bought 3 grams of heroin and overdose in prison. I never used hard drugs before But I thought these 3 grams in my veins were take me out of my misery. After dinner, something happened that interfered with those plans they were visitors and the tears a pastor his wife and also escorting them. We all couldn’t wait for them to leave so we could pass contraband. The pastor‘s wife said to me Jesus loves you and that caused me to laugh out loud. I told him I’m ready to die and you’re going to tell me that Jesus loves me what a bunch of BS. After that I walked away from the door. The pastor said to me God is with you and that Cell son he hears you suddenly I was interested. I asked them why you with your families since this is Thanksgiving Day. The pastor said Christ never forgets the prisoner and his wife said because we love you. I was puzzled how can you love me if you don’t know me I asked. She said I don’t have to know you I know God. As they walked away the warms that was in my heart went with him I was prepared to finish my plan. But they came back and the pastor said brother Bandon we forgot to pray for you. I don’t understand what he was saying when he prayed but it felt in my heart that’s something that I never felt before, tears were streaming down my face. The pastor said spend time with God Brandon, He hears you. I lost the words to say but I found more tears it was uncontrollable and all the demons of abuse, trauma, and pain rushed me at once and I thought about all the wrong things I did it made me cry even more. I was able to shout out three words I am sorry God I yelled and the tears stopped and peace fell upon me. I felt that I was no longer in prison I was in the presence of the living God and I hadn’t been cast away. Psalms 37:4 became a reality to me and God gave me a new heart and a desire to have a relationship with Him. I have no relationship with my biological father but I do have a relationship with my father in heaven and he doesn’t like the thoughts I had as a child. I’ve seen myself for the first time that God is good all the time and all the time God is good.
Prison ministry is important because true rehabilitation comes repentance and that comes from the Holy Spirit so I’m truly thankful for the love and support of all involved in the prison ministry as Jesus tells us in Matthew 25: 31–45. “If you did it for the least of these you, did it for Christ.”