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Having heard of the hellish conditions, I was terrified. As I walked through the patio (the Columbian term for prison block), I never expected to find a group of six prisoners singing. I drew near, and they opened their circle to me. One said, "Jesus loves you, Carlos." Those words penetrated deep, and I found myself returning to the group. I later discovered that Jeannine Brabon, an American missionary, had planted a powerful ministry in this dangerous prison a few years earlier in 1989. When I arrived at Bellavista there was a thriving community of Christian inmates.

In time I opened my heart to receive Jesus as my Lord and Savior. His love filled that void inside me, and I felt happier than I ever had  before.

On her visit two months later, I eagerly told Aleida how God had changed me. But my wife only shook her head. "Carlos, you cannot play with God. I know all too well your evil lifestyle. Don't be a hypocrite!" That night as I wept in my tiny bunk, God spoke to my heart. "Carlos, words won't convince Aleida. Living the life will draw her to Me."

That same night I dreamed I found an ugly block of wood and carved a beautiful clock with an eagle perched on top. To my surprise, when I awakened the next morning I found a block of wood. Determined to recreate the clock from my dream, I bought a small, black-market chisel—the blade made from the instep of a shoe and the handle from melted plastic cups—and began my masterpiece. When I finished, I was thrilled someone wanted to buy it. On Mother's Day I intended to surprise Aleida, who was expecting our third child, with $20 from the project.

But before I could make the sale, the chief ruler—the toughest inmate in the patio—came and took my clock. Heartbroken, I had nothing to give Aleida but my discouragement.

Jose Giraldo, another inmate, encouraged me, "God will provide." So I carved a second clock, only to have the ruler's second-in-command steal this one. I cried. Why was God letting this happen?

Again, Jose urged me not to give up. I made a third clock and sold it. But before I could give it to the buyer, it was stolen by the lowest criminal inside. "I've had it!" I cried to Jose, throwing my Bible to the ground. "The Christian life isn't for me. I turn my cheek only to be slapped again and again, and my wife is in great need."

"Let's pray," Jose suggested, but I angrily shook my head. "You pray. I can't." His prayer soothed my anger. Afterward he suggested, "We should report this theft."

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