Awhile back my 6 year old grandson told his mom he wanted to be baptized twice like grandpa Rod. Maybe in his mind he thinks that I’m so cool that I earned a second baptism. He obviously doesn’t understand yet that if you get a 2nd baptism it’s usually an indication that the wheels fell off somewhere along the way. When I heard this it made me a little nervous and I thought maybe it was time to seal the records shut on my former life and wait until my grandkids are old enough that I can tell them the whole story. I decided to shut it down. No more serving in the jail, no more FaceTime live, no more podcasts and no more church talks like this. That was the plan. But as the great Mike Tyson once said, “everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face.”

Back in July I received a text from my stake presidents secretary saying the president would like to meet with me the following night. I didn’t answer him that day because honestly I needed to sleep on it. I racked my brain wondering what they could possibly want. The next morning I mentioned it to my wife and she said I had to go. I sent a text back in the affirmative that I would be there. About 2 hours before our scheduled meeting I received another text asking me to bring my wife as well. My response was quick, “not tonight.” I showed up alone with absolutely no idea what they wanted and I certainly didn’t want my wife, ( the fourth member of the godhead) applying the pressure that only she can. After a few minutes of small talk, Bret broke the ice on why I was there. He said, “I’m putting together stake conference, but before you say anything, I want to play a video of a song and then we’ll talk.” As I listened and read the words to the song (Truth be Told) my eyes filled with tears as the spirit punched me repeatedly and the plan I’d come up with changed. I’d be speaking in stake conference.

Back in 2003 before my second baptism, I walked into A block at the Utah state prison. I was given a 3 inch toothbrush, a 3 inch pencil, 5 pieces of paper and a couple of envelopes. I was suppose to get a pillow, a sheet and a blanket but the guards said they were out. Off I headed to my new home on the 2nd tier. Immediately I’m being asked by my new cell mate and everyone else within shouting distance for my “paperwork.” “Are you a child molester?” I quickly presented my paperwork and proudly exclaimed, “no just another drug addict!” I spent about 2 weeks in that 6X9 cell on the 2nd tier. I never got to know my cellmate very well but I did get to know the guy in the cell next to mine. This was no easy task as we were locked in our cells 23 hours a day. The cell was steel walled on the sides with bars in the front and a cinder block wall in the back. There was no way to see the person in the cell next to you but inmates have all day to figure out ways to communicate everywhere in the block. I was introduced to this underground form of communication almost immediately. That first night I heard/felt some distinct knocks on the steel wall above my head. I looked up to see a tightly rolled piece of paper sticking through the wall. Upon closer inspection as I removed the note I saw a small hole about the size of a pencil in the wall. I unrolled the note and read it. This guy I had yet to meet asked me if they had given me any bedding. I quickly messaged back no. He responded back something that surprised me, he said he’d work on getting me a bed roll. Over the course of the next couple weeks I got to know this guy next to me on our short time out of the cell but mostly through that tiny hole in the wall between us.

He was covered in tattoos on his face, neck, arms, everywhere. Prison life was all he knew. It sounded as if most of his relatives were living the same lifestyle, it truly was the only life he’d known. The guards never got me a blanket, he did. The guards never got me a sheet, he did. The guards never got me a pillow, he did. After 2 weeks I got moved down to the first tier and basically lost communication with him. You only get out with the people on your own tier and he was still on 2. I got to know a few more guys and I learned some valuable lessons. Most of the men I met in jail and prison along the way weren’t near as “privileged” as me. In fact I can’t think of one who was. Many of them were assigned by God to be born in a home with no love. Maybe Mom was on drugs, dad was dead or in prison or who the hell knows, but dad wasn’t home. Some had learning disabilities that many times came “factory installed”. They were all different colors. Some you could tell had zero chance of getting out and enjoying life like you and me do. One thing they all had in common, they hated cops, then in walks me. Have you heard the song, “one of these things is not like the others,” it played over and over in my head. In spite of all our differences these guys accepted me, sort of watched out for me, showed me the ropes. I remember a conversation with another inmate when I was in Draper. I’m not sure how it came up, but I came to a realization and I shared it with him. I told him I felt I was the biggest loser in the whole block. He didn’t know what I meant. I explained to him, “I was born into a solid family, I was given a multitude of talents by my creator, I was shown a better way by family and the whole community I was surrounded by and yet here I am, sitting with all you guys in 23 hour lockdown. God gave me every opportunity to avoid all this pain but I just couldn’t keep my nose clean.”

My tattooed friend left about a month later when he got transferred to a county jail. Before he left he came down to my cell for one last visit through the bars. He said “Doc I’ve got a gift for you.” In his arms he had a pillow. This wasn’t a prison issued 2 inch thick plastic pillow, no, this pillow would have made Mike Lindell envious. It looked like the pillows I sleep on now at home, only it was cased in silk and appeared to be hand stitched all around the edge. I didn’t ask where or how he got it, you don’t do that in prison. I thanked him as he set it on the concrete in front of my cell. Before he left he said, “just make sure you pass it on when you leave.” What a blessing he was in the middle of all that darkness. The day I left, Randy got the pillow. He was in the cell next to me.

Sometimes when we feel broken it’s because we haven’t accepted our “humanness.” If we step back and look at the big picture we should remember that we were all spiritual beings first, who are now having a human or earthly experience. I think its critical to acknowledge our brokenness, its part of being human. It can be a vital perspective to build a more meaningful relationship with the savior. Understanding and embracing my own humanness opened the door to the most authentic relationship in my life, my love for and TOTAL dependence on Jesus. Please don’t misunderstand me when I profess my love for Jesus. If you know me at all, I am anything but “Christlike.” I have a temper, at times a foul mouth and I can be extremely self absorbed. My love for and dependence on Jesus stems from this understanding and acknowledgement that I CAN’T DO IT! He knows I can’t. That’s why he came. If I could do it myself I wouldn’t need him.

John 1:8 says, “If we say that we have no sin we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.” In verse 10 John clarifies what this “TRUTH” is that won’t be in us. He substitutes “Gods Word” in place of “Gods Truth.” So, to have Gods “WORD” in us and Gods “TRUTH” in us, we must admit that we are sinners. What is Gods WORD? “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God.” What is Gods Truth? “I am the way, the Truth and the life.” Gods “Word” and Gods “Truth” are manifest in the flesh through his son Jesus Christ. If we want Gods Word/Jesus and Gods Truth/Jesus, in us we are required to accept our own humanness, brokenness, sinfulness.

As I learned to accept my own brokenness, I then needed to learn to accept it in my fellowman. I remember once when I was complaining to my AA sponsor about something my Dad said or did. My wise friend told me, “next time you want to pass judgement on or condemn your dad or really anyone, imagine they are that special needs kids you went to high school with. You wouldn’t pass judgement on or condemn someone with special needs. We are all “special needs” when it comes to matters of the spirit and salvation.” We ALL operate from that common baseline, we are all special needs in the eyes of God and as such we are expected to show each other the grace that we hope he will in turn show each of us. If your reading this thinking to yourself, “I’m not spiritually stuck, I’m not special needs, my sins aren’t that bad,” I’d invite you to ask God to show you the weakness you may not see in yourself. Ask him to show you the hypocrisy you may not acknowledge in your own character, the pride, the sin, the areas where you too have “special needs.”

Sometimes we get caught up in transactional thinking with checklists of things we must do to get to God. This thinking is flawed and will always come up short. We must always remember, it’s less about what we can do to get to God and more about what God did to get to us. He sent his son. In Ephesians we are taught about the importance of putting on the “whole” armor of God. One of the pieces of that armor is the breastplate of righteousness. From the time I was a young man I tried repeatedly to create and wear a breastplate of righteousness. Time and time again it failed. Relying on the breastplate of righteousness I created eventually took me to prison. In time, I realized that my breastplate of righteousness would never be good enough for the protection I needed. Finally at my end and ready to give up I surrendered. It was at that time that the savior said to me, have you had enough? Do you want to keep battling with your homemade breastplate? Or would you like to wear mine. It’s HIS righteousness that saves us, not our own.

My testimony has changed a lot in the last ten years. It use to be like a tree with many branches. Now most of the branches have fallen to the ground. However, as one of my great uncles once advised me to do, I now “cling to the trunk.” The solid, unwavering trunk of Jesus Christ. The only thing that remains is Jesus.

I look back on my experiences on the road less traveled with gratitude. It was the absolute worst and best experience of my life. Life moves along but every now and then I see tattooed angels. Covered in the pain filled beauty of prison ink and I think, “he looks a lot like that guy who gave me his pillow.”