In a quiet corner of a prison unit, I asked Michael what brought him to prison.
He shared that he was raised in a family where both his mother and father worked outside the home. A nanny cared for the children in their absence. He told me she was religious, and the more she shared about Jesus, the more he pushed back against it.
He committed his crime thirty years before his arrest, and in the years that followed, he tried to dull the weight of what he had done through substance abuse, but it never helped. Eventually, he was arrested and held accountable for his actions.
As he spoke, he began to cry.
“The life I took did not have the opportunity to be saved if they weren’t, because I took that life.”
In the beginning, he told me his prayers were focused on asking God to place the victim’s sin on him. He wanted to take on that man’s sin because the victim could no longer ask God for forgiveness after he had taken his life. Over time, that understanding shifted. He came to see that each person is accountable for their own sin. He could no longer carry what belonged to someone else.
“So then, each of us will give an account of ourselves to God” (Romans 14:12).
Michael understood that God brings truth (John 8:31–32), desires honest confession (Romans 10:9), and gives us a perspective that moves us toward love rather than confusion or despair (Philippians 2:5).
“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind” (Romans 12:2).
This understanding became a driving force behind his decision to become a hospice caregiver. He said it gave him an opportunity to share Jesus, adding, “I don’t want them to be afraid to die.”
“Through my hospice experience, I learned what love is. It showed me how, before my incarceration, I should have loved my wife and children. What I was then was not love. Now, I understand what love is.”
Michael continued, “I’ve also learned that if we live long enough, we are going to need someone to care for us.”
The prison unit started to become busy around us, so we needed to end our time together. As I got up to leave, he said, “I don’t like where I’m at, but I do like who I am.”
As a volunteer mentor, you can share hope and encouragement with people like Michael. Learn more and sign up to become a Crossroads mentor.