Read on to hear how another young man, “Dominic,” ran in the streets from a young age, yet still experiences God trying to reach him, find him, turn him around.
When I was a child, my grandmother and mother asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. Without hesitation, I said, “An astronaut or priest.” My family laughed and said “Priest? Do you know who your father is? He is a criminal genius and loved many women!” So priesthood was out of the question. I loved girls already at three years old. But I began to draw pictures of Jesus everywhere I went, all the time. I never thought much of it until my mother showed me stacks of drawings I did. 90% of them were of Jesus. Throughout my life in South Philly, I began to fight a lot. And anyone from the city knows you had to know how to fight growing up in these streets. I got chased home by a bunch of guys once, and I was so out of breath I said I would never run again. “I’d rather fight.” And that I did! I ran away from home at eleven to live with my father. (He was incarcerated when I was young). I ran the streets rampant. But for some reason I always felt protected. I felt safe at times when I shouldn’t have. I was critically wounded when I was sixteen. My daughter was born a few months earlier. I was stabbed multiple times and hit in the head with a bat, but never fell or stopped fighting. A man that I met once happened to be driving by and saved me. He drove me to the hospital. I was choking on my own blood and all I kept saying was, “I can’t die. I just had my daughter.”