Casey Diaz was a gang member as a teenager in South-Central Los Angeles. As a leader in the Rockwood Street Locos, he led his gang in home invasions, robbing convenience stores, and stabbing rival gang members.

He was eventually caught by LAPD and sentenced to nearly 13 years for second-degree murder. When he was transferred to New Folsom State Prison the guard said to him, “Listen closely, Diaz. We know that you’re a shot caller (a prison power-broker), so we’re putting you in solitary.” He was cooped up in an eight-by-ten-foot windowless box, with all his meals slipped in through a slot in the steel door.

The only source of illumination in his cell was a heavy Plexiglas light that couldn’t be turned off, which made it difficult to get any sleep. There was nothing to do—no TV, no radio, no books. He had been told by other prisoners that if a person is not strong-willed, then solitary confinement could absolutely break him.

He writes:

After about a year at New Folsom, as I was lying on my bed, I heard an older woman say, “Is there someone in that cell?” The guard said “Yes, ma’am, but you’re wasting your time.” She answered, “Well, Jesus came for him, too.”

She approached the cell: “How are you doing?” “I couldn’t be better,” was my sarcastic reply. She said “Young man, I’m going to pray for you. But there’s something else I want to tell you: Jesus is going to use you.”

A year later, he was lying down in his cell, daydreaming. When he looked at the wall, something strange was happening. A movie was playing, it was the crucifixion of Christ which he saw enacted in vivid detail.

He then writes:

What got to me most was when this man on the cross looked at me and said, “Darwin, I’m doing this for you.” I shuddered. Apart from the guards and my family, no one knew my real name. Everyone called me Casey. Then I heard the sound of breath leaving him. At that moment, I knew he had died.

That’s when I hit the floor in the middle of the cell. I started weeping because I knew, somehow, that this was Almighty God. I started confessing my sins: “God, I’m sorry for stabbing so many people. God, I’m sorry I robbed so many families.” With each new confession, I felt another weight come off my shoulders.

That was the start of my journey of faith. I was no longer a shot caller. I had found a new calling: telling other inmates about Jesus.

Editor’s Note: Casey Diaz lives in Los Angeles, where he serves as a part-time pastor.