THREE

DOWN ON MY KNEES

LET ME BACK UP. The year before my lowest point led me to the railroad tracks, I was released from prison. I had served three years of a fifteen-year term for illegal possession of a firearm by a known felon. That was November of 2004, when I was released from the South Florida Reception Center in Miami-Dade County, the same county where my final appeal was heard, and the fifteen-year sentence I originally received was officially reversed and remanded to the time I had served so far.

Typically, when someone is released from prison, they are given a check or a money order for something like a hundred dollars, and they put you on a bus or a train to the city or station that’s closest to your last known address. In my case, I was taken to the metro rail station and put on a train to downtown Miami. The thing about this is, though, when they release people, it’s typically in the dead of the night. You’re putting people who have been on the inside for years back on the streets in the middle of the night.

I don’t know why they would do that. It’s a contrapositive. There’s nothing open but the bars and the drug holes. If you’re releasing someone who has struggles with addiction, what’s he going to do? Even if I wanted to do the right thing, there’s no one on the street but drug dealers. There’s no program you can go to because everything is closed. You’re just left to fend for yourself.

I had made up my mind that I wasn’t going to use drugs and instead was going to try to get into a homeless shelter as quickly as possible. I thought a beer wouldn’t hurt though, so I found an open restaurant and went in and ordered some chicken wings and a Presidente. I remembered that brand because the whole time I was incarcerated I would watch beer commercials during football season. They really knew how to make a beer look cold and refreshing.

I couldn’t even drink the whole bottle. I thought it was the nastiest-tasting thing I ever tasted, and maybe that meant I was on the right road. I hadn’t had a drink or used drugs in prison; it was like that overwhelming urge went dormant, even though it was easy to get on the inside. Some folks think it’s easier to get drugs in prison than when you’re out. But the minute I got out and life hit, my struggles resumed.

I went back into the streets and was able to flag down a police officer.

I told him, “Listen. I’m just released from prison. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to get in trouble. Could you help me get into a homeless shelter?”

And miraculously, he did. He took me to a place called The Hack, which is the nickname for Chapman Partnership. And that’s where I spent my first night after being released from prison.

The Community Partnership for the Prevention of Homelessness, now known as Chapman Partnership, didn’t look like a typical homeless shelter. It’s a really pretty building. I used to think that it was a technical building when I walked past it. In my mind, when I think of a homeless shelter, it usually is as it is depicted in the movies: a dark and dirty place where despondent people are hanging around the block. It’s a dangerous place to be.

Chapman Partnership was different, inside and out. The staff and the administration were really great people. They didn’t necessarily look down on you, and they had a sincere desire to help you overcome homelessness. They wanted to help you get yourself together. One thing I didn’t tell them when I went in was that I had a drug problem; I figured I didn’t have a drug problem anymore because when I was in prison I hadn’t used drugs. I think most people, when they get out, would be looking to get a place to live and a job. Those are the top two priorities. So that’s all I wanted from them, help with those two things. They were able to help me within thirty days, first to get some proper identification. Then they helped me get a job and find a place of my own to live.

I messed that up real quick, though, because as soon as I got a job and started getting my checks—as soon as I really had freedom—I went right back to using drugs. I would lose everything and then I would be right back at Chapman Partnership again, trying to start over. That’s the cycle that I remained in from the time I was released until the time I was in front of those railroad tracks in August of 2005. It was always have a job, get a check, end up using, maybe lose the job or not go to work, and have to just keep doing it over and over and over again.

I’d had more than one chance, right? I’d had multiple chances. But one thing I’ve learned is that when you’re battling addiction, sometimes you’re going to need multiple chances. Not too many people get it on the first go-round. It just took some time for me to get it, a whole lot of time in my case.

ONCE I COMPLETED MY FOUR-MONTH DRUG TREATMENT PROGRAM AFTER MY DAY AT THE railroad tracks, I came back to Chapman Partnership to live. When someone completes treatment they’re either going to a three-quarter-way house (more on that soon), or maybe they’re going back to their family, if they haven’t burned that bridge. I probably could’ve gone back to family, but I didn’t choose that route.

I always had the mindset that if I did something wrong, I would at least try to minimize the amount of suffering that my family would have to go through.

When I was arrested, I could have asked them for bail money or to post a bond for me. But I believe that everything that I’ve gotten into, I’ve had some role to play in it. I don’t think that there’s a case where I was just completely innocent. If I had to do time for doing something wrong, that should only be my burden. I never wanted to saddle my family with it. I had never been a person who called home every day. I would call every once in a while, just to let them know that I was okay. Maybe I would write a letter here and there. But I never asked for money for the commissary, for example. I didn’t think that my family should have to pay for whatever I’d done wrong or the situation I had put myself in. Of course, there is some shame involved, too, in not wanting them to see too clearly how far their Desmond had fallen. And there was another part that said that if they were not included in the spoils of my doings, then I should not include them in the misery either.

Another reason why I didn’t feel the need to go back home was that I had begun to discover my purpose. Throughout my entire life, I’ve always tried to fit in somewhere, to find my niche. As I’ve told you, I always wanted to be loved by my family. That grew into wanting to be a part of a team, a school, a community. I had such a yearning to find the place in life where I belonged. I was searching for something and I didn’t even know what it was. We all go through life wondering, Why am I here? What is it that I’m supposed to do? Isn’t there some special reason I was born? If not, why was I created?

At the end of my four-month drug treatment, I went to one final group therapy session. They brought in some folks who weren’t as far along as we were to hear our stories and what we had come to understand. I spoke about a number of the issues that related to my addiction. I don’t remember exactly what I said because, as would be true later when I led a convening or had the occasion to speak publicly to large groups, I never brought any notes with me. I always simply spoke from the heart.

After the session, we all stepped outside. And that was when a young man approached me. He told me that something I said had caused him to experience a significant shift in his thinking. Through my being so open, he felt like he had a much brighter outlook on life, and he just wanted to thank me. He now believed that when the time came for him to leave the program, he could live a better life.

I so wish I could remember the exact words he said to me. I can picture him: a young guy, with a scruffy little beard. I could help an artist draw a picture of where we were standing, the building we had just come out of, how we were four steps away from the building and he was smoking a cigarette. I may not be able to remember the specific words he spoke, but I can hear to this day how much hope there was in his voice, as clear as a bell ringing in the air.

And I remember when he told me that, something erupted inside of me. I had this strange feeling that I just couldn’t place my finger on at the time. I can tell you today what I felt was a joy that I never knew existed. It was a joy that I had been chasing all my life and did not know I was chasing it. And it came down to my purpose, to God’s plan for me, that I was finally starting to discover and stepping into.

Connecting with that man in that spot liberated me. I realized that if I want to be in alignment, that meant that I needed to be giving back. That even though I was a drug addict, in drug treatment, with no money and no job, even with all of those facts being stacked against me, I was in a state of being able to help somebody worse off than me.

And there would always be somebody who was worse off than me. There would always be a way for me to give back, no matter what station in life I found myself in. It didn’t matter what position I held or who was impressed with what I had achieved, somebody could benefit from getting something from me. It really blew my mind, but it also kind of relaxed me. I had the sense of, Oh, this is it. My purpose is to make a difference in this way. My purpose is to contribute. Not just take, take, take.

That led to an epiphany about nature for me. I started looking around at the sky, the trees, the animals, the insects, and I remember thinking about everything that God has created. Everything takes a little and everything gives a little back. This thought was so liberating that it filled up my whole heart. I can say that that was when I committed to a life of service, and that is true. But at the time it was just an indescribable joy I was following.

When I came to that full understanding, I realized I didn’t need the big funeral anymore to have a successful life. I didn’t need the packed house. Before, I was thinking about the celebrity-style memorial because I was yearning for someone to appreciate me in order to feel worthy. But when you stop and think about it, what was that huge stadium full of adoring fans going to mean to me? I would be dead. I would never have that feeling of knowing that people would mourn my loss. What I was looking for, I would never get.

After that young man came up and talked to me, however, it started a process that lasted a few days and then that stretched into weeks and months. While I was reveling in nature, one of the Bible verses that came back to me was the one that says, “If you love me, feed my sheep.” I understood that is what God wanted from me. Despite all the mistakes I’d made and everything I had been through, my time on earth became worthwhile because I had impacted just one life. If I could change just one life, that would be enough. By helping one person, I had met my quota.

Of course, that led to wanting to help more people. It feels nice being nice. It feels good doing good. But now I wanted to make a difference one person at a time, and not for my sake but for the sake of my community, and for society at large. That was very liberating, and to add to that, the impact I could make was directly related to the pain I had gone through in my life. All of that suffering, which I believed was negative, that experience helped me shift my understanding into realizing that my suffering was actually positive. Those issues that used to cause me to walk around with my head down, that burden I had gotten so used to that I didn’t even realize I was carrying it, of failures and disappointments and hurt and insufficiencies, it all became worthwhile because it led me to a place to be able to help someone else. Knowing there were no more bad things was empowering and led to a feeling of happiness. If I am doing something, if I am making someone smile, if I am inspiring someone to do great things, I could be content now. Only God knows where that’s going to lead, but today, that person has had a better day and I had a role in it.

AFTER THAT, I WOKE UP EVERY DAY AND GOT ON MY KNEES TO PRAY. I ASKED GOD TO continue to give me the strength, the wisdom, and the discernment to do his work. I wanted to make a difference today. I told folks who I met recently that I had been praying for them and I didn’t even know it. I was praying so I could have the stamina to do something to make my world a better place, and they were now in that world.

I never prayed for a nice house or nice cars or a great job or a beautiful wife and a lovely family. I never went into anything talking, thinking, or leading with money. Everything that I do have, I never prayed for. What I’ve found is that if you are doing God’s work, if you concentrate on taking care of God’s business, he’ll end up taking care of your business, and he’ll end up doing a much better job than you could ever do. I never had a need that wasn’t supplied. There were times when I didn’t know how I was going to pay a bill or whatever, and something popped up when it was supposed to. I stopped worrying about things like that, because I knew the needs would be supplied—maybe not the wants—but the needs would be supplied if there was a commitment to taking care of his business, so I just focused on doing what God wanted me to do. I prayed that I could have a positive impact on other people’s lives. That’s what I set out to do every single day. I was consumed with that because it was such a great feeling. I didn’t know how noble the cause would be; I wasn’t at that level yet. All I knew was that I found the purpose for Desmond.

I learned two things in drug treatment that helped me maintain that focus. The first was that the night before, I pick out the clothes I’m going to wear the next day. Then I take my shoes and put them far underneath my bed. That way, in the morning, when I have to get dressed, I have to get on my knees, and since I’m down there already I might as well pray.

The second thing was about the nature of how I prayed. In the church I grew up in, we were taught that God was a fiery God. God was going to cast you into hell and strike you down for sins great and small. You should be very afraid of God, and the more scared you were, the better. What I learned in drug treatment was, that was somebody else’s way of prayer. I don’t have to pray to God like somebody else prays to God, because that’s them, that’s their thing; it’s not me. If I try to emulate what other people are doing, I may not cover all the things I really need to discuss.

My church growing up made me think I had to be clean to come into the presence of God. What I understood now was that God took you however you were. He wasn’t raining down fiery damnation; he loved you exactly as you were.

My way of prayer now became just to have a conversation with God. I didn’t have to be perfect to be in a relationship with him. He was more my friend than my adversary—in fact, he was my best friend.

With a best friend, you can tell them anything. That was the mindset I had when I was on my knees. In the morning, I would talk to him like, Yo man, God, check this out. I’m messed up, and today, man, this is what’s going on. There was no need to get all flowery about it, to start, “Oh heavenly father . . .” Because then I would get lost in the formalities. I would rather focus on my real needs. I would ask him for wisdom regarding what he wanted me to do, and I would ask him for perseverance to carry out his will.

Simplifying the way I spoke to God also simplified my goals for the day. And if you don’t believe in God, that’s okay. You can believe in a higher power, or you can just believe in love. You can believe in the power of love, inside you and inside others, to drive you to do better things, to try to make the world better for others. I wanted maybe to learn something new and to make a difference in somebody’s life, to help them in some kind of way. That was it, and to not use any drugs. Those were my goals every single day, a basic formula. In the morning, have a conversation with your best friend, and then go out there and just try to do his will, with hopefully enough wisdom and perseverance to last throughout the day and not pick up any drugs. Then come home and call it a day.