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Photo by Bill Bilsley

I sat on the prison bunk, awaiting trial for murder. At 19 years old, it seemed my life was over—and I almost wanted it to be. The last four years had been an unending nightmare of domestic violence, drugs, and forced prostitution. The only thing that kept me going was my two-year-old son, Charlie. I knew I hadn't been a good mother to him, but now, the thought of never seeing him again filled me with deep despair.

Sitting there, I wondered how everything had gotten so out of control. I'd been raised in a loving home with two good parents. When I was 11, my dad died from a heart attack, and everything began falling apart in my life. Our family didn't go to church, so we didn't have any spiritual reassurance after Dad's death. I just wanted something—anything—to take the pain away.

Drugs and alcohol temporarily blurred the reality I wanted to escape. By age 12, I was abusing both and became sexually active. But nothing I tried offered the true comfort for which I longed. I thought about God occasionally, though I wasn't sure he existed. Mostly, I felt angry that he'd taken away my dad.

	He's going to murder my son, I thought. I had to protect Charlie. But how?

By 15, I'd dropped out of school and wanted to marry a man 12 years my senior. Since I was underage, my mom had to sign papers giving permission for me to marry. She did so, but with a heavy heart.

A year later, Charlie was born. But even though I loved my son, I didn't have the maturity or the skills to be a good mother. I smoked and drank alcohol while I was pregnant. After Charlie was born, I began using harder drugs again.

The marriage ended a year later. With no education or job skills, I had to rely on the welfare system to support my son.

A drug dealer who was known on the street as "Spike" offered us a place to live. Though I barely knew him, I accepted out of desperation. I soon discovered I'd made a huge mistake. He regularly gave me black eyes, and he broke my jaw once. Another time he choked me until I passed out.

But these physical injuries were nothing compared to the damage my spirit suffered when Spike forced me to become a prostitute. I hated it and ran away with my son twice. Spike always found us and brought us back, beating me for trying to leave.

One night Spike brought a woman home with him. Both of them were high. The powerful drugs they'd used had already caused the woman to pass out.

Spike was dangerous whenever he used drugs, and I was terrified he might try to hurt my son. I begged him to let Charlie and me leave, but he refused. Instead, he loaded his gun with four bullets and set it on the bed's headboard. "Tomorrow we're all going to die," he told me. Then he fell across his bed, asleep.

I stared at Spike and thought of my little child sleeping in the next room. He's going to murder my son, I thought. I had to protect Charlie. But how?

I walked into the bedroom where Spike was sleeping and reached for the gun. I didn't want to do it, but it seemed to be the only way to stop Spike from killing us. I picked it up, aimed it at Spike, and pulled the trigger. Then I phoned the police. "I've shot someone," I told the officer.

Thankfully, my son slept through it all. I called a friend, and she was able to come for Charlie. She'd tucked his little head against her chest so he wouldn't see the police escorting me away in handcuffs.

I was charged with first-degree murder. I figured I was going to spend the rest of my life in prison when something totally unexpected happened: The prosecutor offered me a plea bargain.

He told me that if I pled guilty to manslaughter, he'd recommend a reduced sentence of five years suspended with three years probation. I agreed to the offer and was released. Someone later told me the offer was made because Spike was a known drug dealer.

Charlie and I were joyfully reunited after our month of separation. But we were back to the same dire situation—dependent on welfare for our survival. Now that I had a criminal record, it seemed I couldn't get hired for even the lowliest job.

My emotions hit rock bottom. My son was growing up without a good father, I had no job prospects, and I still was using alcohol and drugs regularly. I wondered if there was any way out.

One night, a friend introduced me to Richard, a truck driver who was passing through town. I stayed in touch with him after he left. A few months later, he asked Charlie and me to come live with him. Richard and I married about a year later.

We both were using drugs, which didn't help our already rocky marriage. But Richard never threatened or hit me. To my twisted way of thinking, this was weakness in a man, and I told him so. After a year of trying to work through our problems, Richard reached the end of his patience and left me.

I pleaded with him to come back. Finally, he agreed—on one condition: We would go to church as a family. Richard had been raised in a godly home but had walked away from his faith. He now hoped it could bring us back together.

The idea of going to church terrified me. Those church people never would let me in the door if they knew about my past, I told myself. But my love for Richard was greater than my fear, so I agreed.

That first Sunday began better than I'd expected. The church congregation seemed warm and friendly. But I was still afraid of any interactions that might get too personal. I convinced Richard to sit in the back row of the church so we could slip out quickly.

I don't even remember what the sermon was about that day, but I'll never forget the way the pastor's words hit my heart. Suddenly, all the pain I'd carried over the years surfaced. Grief from Dad's death. Shame in being a prostitute. Failure as a mother. Guilt in taking a life.

Right then it felt as though God was speaking to me. "I love you, Maggie."

But I sold my body! I cried silently to him.

"I love you, Maggie."

But I haven't been a good mother.

"Maggie, I love you."

But I killed a man!

"I love you."

I sat through the rest of the service trying to understand what was happening. Was God really speaking to me? How could he love someone such as me?

Something had affected Richard that day, too. After we returned home, he went upstairs and quietly rededicated his life to Christ.

During the next week, I couldn't stop thinking about my relationship with God. I didn't understand why Jesus would die for me, but if he wanted me, I was willing. The following week, during an invitation to accept Jesus as my Savior, I raised my hand. With the help of a Christian counselor and my husband, I prayed, "Lord, forgive me for the mess I've made of my life. Please take it now and let it be yours. Thank you for loving me as I am."

The next few months were the beginning of an exciting time in my life. Richard and I began marital counseling. I started reading the Bible, sometimes for a whole day. We both gave up our drug and alcohol habits. Through much prayer, time, and effort, our marriage became strong.

Then we felt God calling us into ministry. I earned my GED and we moved to Fort Wayne, Indiana, where we enrolled at Fort Wayne Bible College (now Taylor University).

In 1992, we both graduated, Richard with a degree in Christian education, and I, at 36, with an associate's degree in early childhood and a bachelor's degree in elementary education. Woodburn Missionary Church in Woodburn, Indiana, hired Richard as their associate pastor, where we served for many years.

I also have a speaking ministry. Since 1998, I've traveled throughout the United States and Europe, telling the story of my life to thousands of people. I want everyone to know that no one can be too far from God's grace.

My latest challenge has been dealing with tumors on my lung and brain. I've undergone chemotherapy treatments and surgery. I pray for physical healing, but I know God answered my prayer for healing a long time ago when he healed my heart. That always will be most important.

My life has changed drastically since that day I sat in a prison cell. I no longer wonder if life is worth living. Now I view each day as a gift from God. I have a future and hope in him. That's everything to me. tcw

Kayleen Reusser lives with her family in Indiana. Maggie and her husband, Richard, are currently writing a book on their life story. For more information about Maggie's speaking ministry, e-mail SetOneFree@aol.com.

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