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Ladies and Gentleman, please meet Sakira Beaz

"I grew up in a Christian home. My parents got divorced when I was two. My father remarried when I was 5 and my mom remarried when I was three. I was molested starting at the age of 3 by my mother’s second husband. And again at the age of 6-7 by male babysitter who happened to be the son of a pastor. Repeatedly told that I would be considered a bad child if I said anything. I became the keeper of secrets which already took the toll on my child’s mind to the point where I became known for angry outlandish outbursts that no one saw coming because I was so sweet. At the age of 8, I started my first outburst of anger by punching a brick wall until my knuckles were raw.

By 11, I was writing poetry about murder. Never disclosing the secrets that I held so deep inside. By 14, i was on diet pills and tried to commit suicide. My sense of myself was that I was not worthy of life and life was a pain. I would never be good because of the bad that had happened. I knew all the right things to say and do. I was very smart making A’s and very good at sports. I was defined by my performance and actions not who I truly was or how I thought. I had to become very good at masking and disguising even when my world was falling apart I managed to keep appearances up. At the age of 15, I began to really develop my relationship with God. I mean wholehearted abandon pursuit. 

I had been a seer since I was a child. I had seen the demonic and things that came out of my mouth often baffled people and because I was a child people often thought I was lying or just overly creative. I knew I was different and the God I had encountered when I attempted suicide was not the God I had been taught about in Sunday school. This God I encountered wanted a relationship. 

At 17, I became the youngest anointed prophet at my church and was baptized in the Holy Spirit. I ran with my anointing prophesying and giving Words of knowledge from the mic at my high school. It was mind-blowing to watch the school break out in revival. I decided to go to Bible school where I went through a lot of rejection as my spiritual gifts were magnified and I was told that I was crazy. I was told I was lying. I was told I needed deliverance. So again I wasn’t good enough.

 At 20, I became involved in a Wiccan circle. It was a gateway of trying to control my circumstances through casting spells. We experimented with Ouija boards. We often used hair but went as far as using blood. I got quite a bit of my material from Hot Topic at the mall. I learned about candles, crystals, and spell casting. It was all about pride and control.

It wasn’t long before I got pregnant with my oldest daughter. I was actively involved in witchcraft and had been doing candle spells for prosperity when I got pregnant. She is now 21. Her father was not excited about my getting pregnant. He was a very good friend that I had been hanging out with for almost a year. It was unexpected but not a curse by any sense of the word. It made me buckle down and really look at my life. While I was pregnant, I thought of her and what was best for her.

 I met a man, John, when I was 6 weeks pregnant that would have a substantial impact on my life for better or worse. He was 14 years older than I was and the son of a commercial real estate investor and realtor. I was 20 at the time and frankly tired of being poor. He was attractive and was very generous. I told him right away I was pregnant and it made no difference to him at the time.

He was smart and logical and began to talk to me about the future of my daughter. His sister was a counselor who had worked for an open adoption agency. I knew even though I wasn’t in God’s will at the time, the precious life that grew inside of me not just deserved life but an abundant life and I would do anything in my power to make sure she had it. I set up an appointment at just 3 months of pregnancy to begin the process of counseling and looking for parents. I knew under the circumstances that she needed stability and security, things I could not offer while I was going to school. I also knew I did not have the family support I would need to raise a child alone. I knew from my own experience the rejection, humility, and hurt I had experienced with divorce, remarriage, and living with different relatives for different seasons and reasons. I wanted so much more for her and I was willing to be rejected by my family to protect her from those situations that I knew would be inevitable if I kept her with me.

The couple I chose came down two to New Mexico two weeks before I was due. Baby girl was two weeks late, so I got to know them pretty well during that time period. They told me in the hospital they would understand if I wanted to keep her. I told them that there comes a time in your life when you know what you want and you know what is right. Of course, I wanted to keep her but I knew in my heart that she needed more than what I had to offer her. Her father and I signed away our parental rights a week later. Three months after I had her, I wondered what his infatuation was with this drug cocaine. He was a habitual user. I tried it and that began my downward spiral into the life of an addict.

 I graduated from beauty school and almost immediately started working for some of the best salons in the state. God’s favor never left me despite my bad choices. I had a corrective color specialist take me under her wing and teach me. I excelled at anything I put my mind to.

 Instead of turning to Jesus, I turned to drugs. Plus, it gave me a commonality with John, who I thought was going to save me from being common or average. At this time in my life, I wanted to be rich and I was ambitious. My mother had taught me it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. John knew a lot of wealthy, powerful people.. I never wanted to have to depend on anyone ever again. I saw John as my way to never have to worry about having enough money again. For him, I was arm candy. I lived a life of striving to be good enough to be seen and loved, thought of being worthy but feeling empty and pointless. I had stopped talking to my family because they just didn’t fit into this kind of drama. In a way, I was protecting them from my choices.

It didn’t take me long to figure out how the drug world worked and since I was spending close to $3000 a month on drugs, I began to see how I might be able to profit from it. I was an independent contractor as a corrective color specialist that had my business license. I reconnected with one of my friends that had been involved in the coven I had participated with from when I was pregnant with my daughter. She was now working for an escort service and connected me with a woman who worked for the escort service as a prostitute but could also get her hands on just about any drug imaginable and in quantity. I began to work with her regularly since she never seemed to be without.

We became friends so to speak. She had a little girl the same age as my daughter. I guess that was more of the draw for me. In the state of New Mexico you have to possess a business license to run ads. She asked if I would use my license to run some ads so she could make some extra money. You can easily see how this became a downward spiral for me. I had a heart for kids and was easily manipulated when it came to this particular little girl and providing for her.

I began to run the ads under my business license and got paid in drugs. Sometimes men would not want to pay the girls for their services or there would be a disagreement about the price. The girls not knowing who to contact, reached out to solicit my help. Next thing I know, always dressed to impress, no one ever suspected me of having a bat behind my back and they always opened the door. All I had to do what threatens them once inside the door and they always did what I wanted because they did not want the police called due to a disruption of a woman screaming and things crashing to the floor. After all, who were the police going to believe? Me or them…  

I craved the power that became an addiction for me. Seeing the fear and helplessness became my motivation and it didn’t help that cocaine had become secondary to meth. It made me feel like I was superman. I had now partnered in owning and running a sex trafficking business. What I wasn’t willing to do these girls were.   I had sunk to a new level but as long as the drugs and money kept coming in I felt like I was thriving even though my spirit was being squelched. I saw men I knew that were involved in the church, men of prestige and respect in the clutches of these women cheating and betraying their wives, families, and churches. 

My relationship with John took me to dark places as well. He told me things that were wrong with my appearance and character. He cheated on me. 

Upon the arrest of the woman I was running the escort ads for and disappearance of several thousand dollars, the escort business closed. She was arrested in Las Vegas with a couple of million dollars in counterfeit money and several people looking for her for various reasons of corruption and theft that I knew I didn’t want a part of.

I saw how these men of the world were lost in their sin and how these women manipulated and controlled them through empty promises. I wasn’t selling my body but I definitely saw how I could manipulate and control through empty promises and false intentions. I saw how I didn’t have to give anybody anything but empty promises and get just about anything I wanted materialistically. So that became my path. I used men without a second thought. I got what I wanted whether it was dinner or my car fixed, and gave them nothing but a smile, a promise, and turned around and acted irately.

I started selling and using ecstasy in addition to meth, and cocaine. It became my new normal.  I would go to the bars at night to sell it and during the day I did hair. It made me feel “normal”. I was able to carry on and many would say my work was inspirational at the day spa I worked. My boss told me I did better hair when I was on drugs than when I wasn’t. 

MY first husband entered here with a wedding proposal in July of 2002. His ex-wife had me sold him cocaine at the bar I went to. He asked me out. He was very different from other guys I had dated. He was a smooth-talking cowboy that was an aspiring bull rider. 

Within weeks, I thought I had found a savior to rescue me from this madness and start the family I so desperately longed for. I just wanted to be a mother and a wife with someone who would take care of me rather than me running around trying to be a superhero constantly. He appeared to have similar dreams and was totally fine with me handling my business both legal and illegal. After a very brief courtship, I consented to marry him with the intention of retiring my illegal activity to pursue having a family. We were married 6 weeks after we met.

It didn’t take long for his true colors to come through. We went to church the weekend after getting married. We left the service early because the pastor was irritating his demons. You could clearly see him fidget his way through the service and how uncomfortable he was. We got in the car and began arguing as soon as we got in the car. He was telling me that the pastor was a liar. When I strongly disagreed, he grabbed the steering wheel out of my hands and pulled us into oncoming traffic. I slammed on the breaks and looked at him fiercely and told him he needed to get out of the car. He acted like I was crazy but I did not back down. I had zero tolerance for disrespect and because of the lifestyle I had led, I knew what I was capable of and just how crazy I could get. He reluctantly got out and I sped away. It was several blocks to my apartment but he called his mom. She came and got him. He was fine as long as he had money in his pocket, drugs to do, and alcohol to drink. Since I had legal and illegal work that provided a constant stream of cash, he burned through it very quickly. He went through three and a half grams of cocaine by himself in 15 minutes. As his wife, I expressed my concern and the dream of starting a family. I was willing to support us but the drugs had to stop for his own health. He agreed but that was short-lived. If we went out drinking, he wanted drugs period. If I would not get him drugs, violence ensued and I was not one to take the abuse of any kind.

The first time he ever pushed me; I rolled to the opposite side of the bed and stood on my feet with fists doubled up ready to go. He was 6’4” and 250 pounds; this was not intimidating to me by any sense of the word. I told him as I looked in his eyes, “Let’s do this!” He swore he saw the devil in my eyes at that moment. Whatever it was, it made him walk away.

It was in November, two months after we got married that I had had enough. We were staying at my mom’s house while she was out of town. He had asked me to get drugs the night before and I refused. The next day, he asked me again and again I refused. He took it very personally. I was getting ready to change and he violently swooped in and pushed me so hard, I flew back and hit my head on the frame of the bed. I think I may be one of the only people on the earth that pain is completely irrelevant, and this incident literally made me realize at that moment, I was capable of murder.

 

 I began dating a man who would open the door to my total commitment to the “game”. At least that’s what we called it, the drug world and all it encompasses. As everyone played their part in the drug world, he showed me it was set up like a chess game. That there were many pawns, there were bishops, knights, kings, and queens and all had their place and it was all about timing.  He introduced me to everyone he knew and did business with. That was his greatest mistake.

 Meanwhile, I was still married when in March of 2003, I received a phone call. My husband had had a massive heart attack. After his massive heart attack, we started to talk again. There is nothing like death knocking on your door to make you realize how short life can be, especially since he was just 32. He continued living at his moms, especially since I knew I couldn’t trust him, plus, I had a boyfriend and I was determined for everything to stay balanced. I was balancing my new found position in the drug world, a job as a corrective color specialist, a cocktail waitress, and a wife. It was bound to get out of control and so it did.

In April of 2003, one of my favorite aunts died. I lost my job as a cocktail waitress. By the next week, I got laid off from the day spa I was working at. The weekend before May 13, 2003 I had loaned my car to a “friend” in return for drugs and my car was not returned at the agreed time, so I had to go on a hunt for it and the person who had borrowed it. When I found him, I threw him against the wall. He had fallen asleep at the wheel and wrecked my car and knew I would be angry, so basically he was hiding, but not well enough. I came home after finding my car wrecked to my apartment having been robbed. It was Mother’s Day. I was livid. Caught up in my own choices, trusting the wrong people, feeling lost and betrayed, I went to my ex-boyfriend for consolation and he blew me off. The worst part is it was one of his friends that had taken my car and wrecked it. Then to make matters worse, I blew off my own mom. A mistake I would have to forgive myself for later. Locked up in my apartment, cleaning up the mess from it being robbed, I sulked. It was May 13th that became the worst day of my life. As if having my apartment broken into, my aunt dying, having lost both jobs, and my car wrecked wasn’t enough to bear on May 12th, I received a phone call. My mother had been in a tragic motorcycle accident and they weren’t sure if she was going to make it. I rushed to the hospital. I could hardly catch my breath. She had called earlier, left me a message about forgetting Mother’s Day that I hadn’t even listened to, and I blew it off.   I got to the hospital and felt like I got hit by a ton of bricks. She had been on the highway, no helmet, and riding her motorcycle. She was cut off and ended up losing half her skull as she hit the concrete barrier. They were hoping to stop the swelling in her brain so that they could put a metal plate in her head. They said her head was covered by a sheet, I just couldn’t go in to see her. I was in shock and so much pain emotionally, I felt wrecked. I was my mother’s only child and I was so wrapped up in myself and my selfishness that I couldn’t even make one phone call before the accident. My stepdad was there and he and I never really got along. Now, looking back I see why he didn’t like me. I didn’t appreciate my mom the way I should have.

Then the question came. If my mom survived, there was a good chance she would be a vegetable, my mother would never want to live like that. That wouldn’t be life to her.  My stepdad and I were given a choice which he quickly passed off to me. Keep her on life support and hope and pray for a vegetative state of life or let her go. She was brain dead.

 I left, I had to leave. I had to remember her the way she was. I never did go into her hospital room. She was strong, loving and full of life. She was honest about who she was and what she did. She had always been transparent with me. She told me there are some things I would never know about her experiences but if there was even a chance that I would find out, she was going to be the one to tell me. It was really at that moment that I wished I was tuned in with the Holy Spirit. I wish I hadn’t strayed so far from God. I knew God had the power to heal her, but how could I ask anything from God having fallen so far away.

I went out to get high, to numb the pain. I got a phone call saying the decision had been made. She died on May 13, 2003. I returned to the hospital on the morning of the 13th to say my last goodbye. She was swollen and no longer looked like the beautiful face I remembered. I cried but I was still shocked, no one else was at the hospital when I went. I had lost my greatest cheerleader, best friend, and my mother, it was devastating. How was I ever going to recover???

It wasn’t even 12 hours after my mother’s passing when I received another devastating phone call. My husband was going in for emergency heart surgery to have a pacemaker put in. I went to be by his side and when he woke up he was no longer the person I had started to have feelings for. He was rude and spiteful and crushed me with his words and attitude toward me. I honestly felt like a dead horse being kicked.

I kept looking for compassion, understanding, or even a kind word.I didn’t even know how to feel or what to feel. I started meeting with my stepdad to plan my mother’s memorial service. I knew she had told me she wanted everyone to celebrate her life and not mourn her death, so that is exactly what we had planned. She would be cremated. There would be a party after the memorial service to celebrate her life.

I have never seen so many people at a memorial service. I knew my mom had friends, but this was amazing. My daughter came down with her adoptive parents. My dad came but I was so numb to everything, I don’t really remember much.

 I do remember going to the party afterward and being met outside by one of my mom’s so-called friends and told I would no longer be welcome at her house and what exactly did I want of my mom’s. My response was that I would take whatever I was allowed to have and that I would leave. I felt so rejected and alone. My stepdad gave me a few pictures and some personal items my mom had kept of mine for safekeeping but I didn’t get one thing that belonged to my mom. He gave it all away to whoever wanted it. The only things I got were the few items I took the day she died. I was heartbroken.

I couldn’t even bear the thought of God because that meant admitting my pain. I became extremely vindictive, hateful, bitter and full of rage. If no one was going to justify me, I was going to justify myself. So deeper still, I sunk.

No job and no desire to get one, I turned to a life of hustling. I learned that when you have no desire to do right there are plenty who will help you do wrong. I became a full-fledged criminal. I had a very little conscience and found that I could make money by selling drugs and hustling whatever criminal activity came my way from stolen goods to fake identities to stolen vehicles. I was attractive and that gave me a leg up. I had a car and I had a place to live, house, and enable those committing crimes.

Two weeks after my mother died, a guy entered my life that would end up sending me down rabbit holes of addiction and crime, I never even fathomed. He borrowed my car and ran from the police. He abandoned my car because he had a backpack full of meth. Now I was without a vehicle because the car got impounded. I found out and went to the police station to talk to the officer. Since I had no knowledge of what had happened and I gave them a fake name to the person who had borrowed my car in order not to be called a snitch but still considered cooperating. They released the hold on my car after I threatened to blow the police station up. I was furious. I had no criminal record and went on about how traumatic life had been as of late. Thank God for grace. It was going to cost a couple hundred dollars to get out, money I didn’t have readily available.

I went to the bar, the one place I knew I wouldn’t have to pay anything because I was a regular and attractive and someone would be willing to buy my drinks. I was sulking. A man offered to buy me a drink and talk to me. He listened as I laid out my dilemma and said he had a friend who could help. I was hesitant to believe him but he was very insistent. I just knew there had to be a catch but I reluctantly consented meeting his friend.

We left the bar and went to a nice home on the other side of town. Being wise to the ways of the world, so I thought, I refused any food or alcohol that was offered to me. Upon arrival I met a much older man who insisted that he was very charitable. He had a girlfriend that was actually younger than I was. He had paintings of her on the wall and many pictures. I thought to myself maybe there really are some good people in the world who aren’t looking to use and abuse people. Maybe this guy was like me… I was so wrong.

Upon his insistence, I finally accepted a glass of chocolate milk. I don’t remember much after I downed that chocolate milk. I became very sleepy. He guided me to a room with a bed and I fell asleep. I remember waking up several times in nightmares but reality. I had no control over my body even though my mind was conscious for a few moments, I was physically paralyzed. I felt a man’s body on top of me. I couldn’t really see with my physical eyes. Spiritually, I saw I was in a church with stained glass windows. The stained glass had demons trapped in it. The walls of stained glass were pressing in so the demons got closer and closer until they suffocated me and I would pass out again. This happened numerous times before I regained control of my body and mind.

I don’t know how long I was out for but when I woke up I felt like I had been hit by a train. I saw the money I needed on the dresser by my head. I grabbed it, stuck it in my purse and immediately looked for a way out. The old man found me wondering around, I was so weak. He helped me to his car and took me home. He said if I needed anything I knew where he lived. I didn’t speak to him at all other than to get me home.

 I called a friend and we went and got my car. I didn’t talk about what had happened and secluded myself for 3 days to my apartment. I dismissed what happened and tried to move forward, even though I knew something happened. I just didn’t know exactly what.

I started to get pulled into working with some really unhealthy relationships. I was looking for a physical savior and kept dying in the process. My next relationship would be another level of death. It was like I was committing gradual suicide. The more intense the drama, the more I was inclined to jump in.

I soon found myself in a relationship with Johnny, a guy whose brother had died in a motorcycle accident. We connected instantly in our pain and grief. His mother would be a whole new level of oppression for me. 

She was CO at the prison in a nearby town and her husband did cremations. They were a pretty intimidating couple because of their line of work, but here I was falling in love with someone that could end up burying me and no one would be the wiser until it was too late.She was a thief and her husband would take certain things she had stolen like people’s cell phones and give them to me and I would return them(I did things like this quite often which gave me quite a bit of pull with people on the streets and in the game). She had no conscience. One day she got into my purse and found some cell phones she had stolen, that I was going to return to the proper owners. We were in a town I was not familiar with. I told her I did not steal them from her but I would not tell her how I got them either. Her son, my boyfriend, began to hit me in front of everyone. He dragged me to his motorcycle and I was forced to get on or keep getting hit. I complied. They said they were going to take me to a shed and keep me there until I told the truth.

I was officially kidnapped because I was in a strange town where no one knew me and no one back home knew where I was. I jumped off the back of the motorcycle at 35 mph. I used the momentum of the bike, lifted myself with my hands off and ran in forward motion. Amazingly, I landed on my feet. I had learned this technique when I had jumped out of the back of a moving truck a few weeks earlier under different circumstances but similarly just as desperate.

I waited a while, watching them search for me and call my name. I hid under whatever I could find. After they had appeared to have given up, I began to walk into town. It didn’t take but a few minutes for someone to pull over and ask me if I needed a ride. I asked them if I could use their phone.

It was at this time that a good friend of mine had gotten in trouble with the police. He was a meth cook. I didn’t know what had happened but I knew his apartment was open and that things didn’t look right. I should pause to say that whenever I was conducting business of any kind, I always dressed professionally. I didn’t want to look the part of a drug dealer or meth addict. I walked into the apartment with confidence, even though my heart was beating a million miles a minute. I saw an entire lab in the kitchen. I carefully boxed and bagged everything up. I left nothing.  I went to my car and loaded it. I cautiously drove away and promptly got on my phone. I made sure I wasn’t being followed. I called my friend and he wasn’t answering. I then called another friend that I knew would know what to do and how to get a hold of people so that we could get this put away. Sure enough, he was amazed at my call and what I had done. He had me come to where he was at. This would be my first encounter with a millionaire who pulled a lot of strings in the crime world.

Johnny and I got back together. I had to because of who his family was and who he was associated with. If you remember, I learned that this was all like a chess game and everyone had had their part. It was all about strategy and creating allies.

Two weeks after we had gotten back together again, he was in a motorcycle accident and was in ICU. Just a few days after he was in his accident unconscious, I was incarcerated for the first time.

Nothing could prepare me for what happened the first day I was incarcerated. I had been untouchable and walked away from so many situations that could have destroyed me. It had been less than 3 months since my mother had passed. I had been beat, kidnapped, raped and still I lived.

It was on this particular day in August, I was going to meet with an old friend who owed me money at the gas station. I was also taking a few men with me for backup to make sure I got what was owed. If there is one thing I had learned it was that there was power in numbers. I got to the gas station right as my friend pulled up. A police car pulled in at the same time, I was sure that they were there for him. I backed my car up and got in there way from pursuing them. I just knew I could talk myself out of the situation, especially since I had no prior criminal record. I knew the drugs in my car were fairly well hidden and since I had no priors there was no reason for them to search for it. What I didn’t count on was that one of my passengers would snitch me out to save their own hide.

 What I also was not counting on was that my husband had placed a false report with the police department.  He said I was a threat to him and had supposedly threatened to kill him and that he had requested a protective order. I knew nothing about any of this. The address he had given the courts was incorrect so I never received the court summons and I had a warrant out for my arrest.

So between those two things, I was taken in for jail. I was under the understanding at the time that it was just for the drugs they had found in my car. It took a few days for me to find out I was in there for my husband’s accusation as well. I cried and cried but people kept reassuring me that I would be released on my own recognizance. I was so overwhelmed with grief and betrayal. I kept having dreams of my mother’s death and all the things that had happened in the last few months. It was like torture having to center and think about everything that had happened with a clear mind. Not to mention the majority of the officers continually calling you a prostitute or a drug addict. I did not identify myself as a drug addict at that time. My addiction was more to the money and the drama, the drugs just helped numb the pain and my mind.

There is nothing more aggravating than being in jail for something you know you are not guilty of. I didn’t threaten to kill my husband but needless to say, now I certainly felt like it especially given all the things he had said and done to me.

 

So in four months, I had lost my mother, a very close aunt, my integrity, I was raped, beaten, and kidnapped, my husband and I had severed ties, and my boyfriend was still in ICU at the hospital. You would think God would have gotten my attention but my soul cried out for justice and revenge. The cry for revenge and justice drowned out everything else.

I left my grandparents with the promise that I would go to my court dates. I hit the streets with a vengeance determined to find my own way. I started using people to get what I wanted, I manipulated, and played dirty. I used my mind and my good looks to get information from people. I played the part of stupid until I got whatever it was that I was after. Whether, it was accessing information or people, or a new contact. People became pawns.

I went and saw my boyfriend in the hospital. He was still unconscious. There was nothing I could do. His condition was a constant reminder of what had happened to my mother and how she would have been, had she lived. It made me want to numb the pain. His mother hated my devotion so I would sneak into the hospital to see him.

October 2003, I walked everywhere since I trusted very few anymore. I walked trying to find my next hustle and walked by a van that still had the keys in it. I had walked by this van that belonged to the Cheesecake Factory and the doors were unlocked. It became mine. What I didn’t know or hadn’t planned on, was that the police were watching. Not just any police but a special task force. It was a setup. I had gotten a hotel room and was comfortably staying in it when I heard a knock on the door. It was the police. James, the kid I had taken in under my wing, was with me and we were both arrested. We claimed no knowledge of where the vehicle had come from and having no idea it was stolen. The police were anything but nice and called me a prostitute and more derogatory words which was actually quite common in every arrest except one. They also found meth in the room which I denied any knowledge of as well. Here I was on my way to jail once again and unfortunately so was James.

I had violated my release terms and my bond was revoked on the case with my husband and threatening his life. My stolen car case was under investigation and I was released on my own recognizance. This time in jail would prove to be a lot longer of a stay and my grandparents were less likely to help. I was stuck. I still had the same case with my husband and knew the longer this dragged on the more I was prone to get a divorce. I remember showing up in domestic violence court and him telling the judge how afraid he was of me. He was 6’4” and 250 pounds. The judge sided with him. I had written him a letter while I was in jail telling him that if he wanted to work through this, I was willing to but that we needed counseling and God. I really did not want a divorce; I just wanted the happy ending. He never wrote back and I realized that there was no turning back and I needed a divorce. I filed for divorce while I was n jail.

During this time in jail, I was incarcerated with some friends from the streets. One of them was in a gang. We knew a lot of the same people. 

One of her brothers, Paul, who was also incarcerated, wrote her. He was talking about depression and how he had lost his kids and how he knew he needed God. I started writing him. We would pass notes through the lunch trays. Paul worked in the kitchen as an inmate to earn money on his books since he had no family to do so. Within a month, he proposed through the letters and we were engaged. 

I accepted his proposal even though I was still married and had a boyfriend, Johnny, who was in ICU for the past 3 months. I reasoned in my head that my marriage was over and I honestly didn’t know if my fiance was going to live. I was looking for a savior. I desperately wanted to get back to life. The way he and I conversed about God, I thought surely this was my ticket out. He had the heart to be a pastor.

I stuck to my guns about getting the divorce from my husband and pleading innocent to the charges against me from him, despite my public defenders urging to plead guilty. I knew I was innocent. I had my attorney hand him the divorce papers and to the judge as well. I was shocked that the judge that actually believed my husband’s lies and sided with him despite my initial protective order against him with the physical evidence of his abuse. He called a police officer as a witness to the allegations of my sending texts to him saying I was going to kill him. I knew these were all lies. I also knew the police department was corrupt. My husband had always bragged about having friends that were cops he knew from high school. He had told me that he would never catch a case because of the amount of friends he had within the police department. I guess he was right.

The judge set a day for trial. I knew they could not prove beyond a reasonable doubt that I was guilty of the charges.

I got into my first fight and did decently which won me respect.They placed me in another section of the jail rather than in segregation. It was right before Christmas. I called my grandparents and told them what had happened. Thank God for them! They bonded me out again. I stayed with them until after my court date this time.

I remember my court date was just a few days before Christmas and I showed up as a free woman this time rather than being in jail. I confidently told my public defender that we would pursue this jury trial. As I waited for my trial, he met with the district attorney to discuss the evidence which I had been waiting to see myself. Sure enough, there was no evidence and everything was here say so the case was dismissed and all charges were dropped. I asked about the divorce papers through my public defender and he said my husband had conveniently forgotten them but assured me it would get taken care of.

I was a hot mess. I had a husband still. I had a fiancé who was incarcerated. I had a boyfriend who before I went to jail was still in ICU. I was looking for a hero, a savior but one that could physically save me and more than anything I just wanted the house with the kids and the happily ever after. I still didn’t see God as being able to fill in those holes. My pride told me I could handle this and my fear of never being justified determined my path through this sinful, adulterous, idolatrous path.

 I didn’t stay at my grandparents even through Christmas. I was off to rip and run the streets again without any concern for my life or trying to get on the right track. I look back at my selfishness and it hurts my heart that I was in such bondage. I thought I was acting honorably by distancing myself from my family and not dragging them into this life I had created for myself.

I went and saw my fiancé in jail. We met face to face through the monitors at the jail. Juggling these relationships, I found out shortly thereafter that Johnny had been in the motorcycle accident was conscious. We rekindled the fire between us but it was short lived. He was still abusive and I had no time for that.

For the longest time, I did not take anything from individuals I knew unless it was stolen property of someone I respected or felt loyalty toward for whatever reason, only from large companies. I learned how to steal cars and get away with it, make identities, find any drug you could imagine, make drugs and sell them. I knew buyers and sellers in just about every market you could fathom or imagine. I had federal snitch lists, government laptops, hackers all at my disposal. I had even made contacts with people in the black market. It didn’t matter if they were thugs or government officials everyone had a price and in my line of criminal activity everyone could be bought with something whether it was cash, stash, or sex. I ran across people that I never imagined being involved in this world of criminal activity and it hardened my heart. The more I saw, the more calloused I became. The more calloused I became the more lies I told and the more crimes I committed. I became known as a psycho vindicator of street justice.

It wasn’t long before I got caught up again by the police. It would be easy to blame on snitches and, at the time, I totally blamed them. It stirred the revenge in me up. But one thing I learned is snitches usually get out the next day, the rest of us end up sitting it out for awhile but often the government lets you out to build a case against you. I learned a lot about not snitching and making sure not to mention names even in jail because everything can be recorded or listened to. This deepened my lack of trust. I was quick with my fist and spent a lot of time in segregation. 

Paul got out of jail and it seemed like everything was taking a turn for the better.In the drug world, procrastination rules and the ugliest part of human nature surfaces. September 13, 2004 I married my current husband Paul Baez. My marriage became a battleground of fist fights. Because of the abuse and trauma I had suffered prior to my second marriage, I was no longer a victim but an aggressor. If I didn’t like what my husband said, I swung.

  We had a saying on the street when you step up like a man; you get treated like a man. Long before I ever stepped up, I got treated like a man. So in my mind, I figured I would step before they had the opportunity and in most instances, this worked to my advantage because very few saw it coming and it left them in shock.

He was out of jail, that was all that mattered to me. He wanted to make money but he wanted to go with me. This was not conducive to doing good business because I had established trust and he had not. He said he wanted to protect me, and the people I dealt with saw him as a potential threat that they did not know where his loyalties lied.

So I did what I had to do. I would slip sleeping pills into his Dr Pepper. After he had fallen asleep, I would go handle business. He thought I was acting more like a prostitute giving sexual favors and the reality was I was dealing with it like a man. 

 October 15, 2005, I turned to retail therapy or so I called it. For me that meant going to a large store, stealing as many things as I wanted or needed that could fit in my arms or bags. I was broke and broken. Christmas was coming, I reasoned, and I still liked to give gifts. 

 I was caught shoplifting at Folley’s in Albuquerque, New Mexico on October the 15th, 2015. It had been one week since I had a gun pulled on me and pointed at point blank range at my head, the trigger was pulled and the bullet miraculously hit the wall directly behind my skull. It had been two weeks since I was raped in another state.

Needless, to say I was at my breaking point that day in October. In a strange way, I think subconsciously, I wanted to get caught. I was tired of being on the run and all the drama and trauma that goes hand in hand with addiction. Mostly, I think I was tired of compromising my integrity.

 The police officer that was questioning me was an older man with white hair. He was very patient and kind. He was old enough to be my grandfather. I gave them several different identities that I had memorized but all of them had been used by someone else and picked up charges. If I was going to go to jail, I had at least wanted to go for my own stuff.

There were several things that happened, that looking back I see the hand and grace of God. They did not search my backpack extensively. There was fake money, blank titles, and 3 complete identities with checks, credit cards, social security cards and driver’s licenses, even an Indian tribe identification card. They turned my backpack over to my husband.

They did not pad me down well, and I asked to be excused to the restroom. I had meth, marijuana, heroine, oxycodones, and xani bars tucked in my bra and socks. I realized I could take these in to the jail or I could surrender to God because I knew He was relentlessly pursuing me. Once in the bathroom, I held the drugs up and began to cry. I told God I was done, I was finished, and I surrendered. I flushed each item down the toilet and told Him I was ready for whatever He had for me.

I came out and I went out and asked the cop if I could smoke a cigarette. He opened the door to let me go outside, no handcuffs, and told me to knock when I was done. He shut the door and there, freedom was staring me in the face. All I had to do was run. I told God, “This is a setup from the devil, himself.”I played it out in my head, devising, and planning but my feet didn’t move. I shook my head and chuckled out loud. Not today, Satan.

 It took three hours of questioning before I fully surrendered. I knocked on the door and the same police officer let me in. I told him I was ready to be honest. I could tell, he was expecting me to have no charges and be able to release me. I gave him my name, birthdate, and social security number. His face fell as he looked at my warrants and he shook his head in disappointment.

He said, “Young lady, I was going to release you with a warning. But with this many charges, I have to call it in.”

Each moment that went by seemed like a year. My thoughts turned to God and unlike all the other times, I knew He was with me. He spoke to me and told me as I waited that He knew my heart. That my path would not be easy but that He had never left me or forsaken me. I was the one who chose this life, that it was never His plan but that He would use it. I asked Him if I was going to prison and he told me not one day would be spent there. That He would honor me because of the choice to flush the drugs. That he would honor me for not running when I could have. That He would honor me for being honest about my identity and not drawing this out any further. Did I deserve this grace? Absolutely not! But it is the loving grace He extends when we open the door to trust and obey. He told me it would be about progress not perfection. That I just needed to make better decisions not perfect decisions. That it was His grace that would guide me if I would let it. He told me He would move heaven and earth because He had so much love for me that He had been waiting for this day.

Even though I turned myself in and I didn’t know what the journey ahead looked like. I knew in those moments a peace I hadn’t known in quite some time. The love of the Father didn’t force me but gently shepherded me back to His presence. I would never be the same. He promised me I would not spend one day in prison. Not because I didn’t deserve it but because He had more people on the outside of the prison walls for me to reach that had no idea they were in prison, that they were prisoners of their own choices, traditions, and rituals. That religion had blinded them and He was going to show me how to get free. I had no idea what this journey would consist of but I had an encounter with grace that day, I will never forget.

The police officer allowed me to call my husband and released my belongings to him including the unsearched backpack. I cried and let him know I loved him and begged him to come and see me. Visits and mail are precious commodities when you are in jail and worth more than gold. He said he would but the reality was that I was going to go to prison for quite some time. He promised me he would visit and that was what I needed to hear. I didn’t know that God had an even greater plan for me of restoration.

I was picked up by another police officer who escorted me to the detention center.  I sat in silence and prayed. I wondered what this time had in store for me. I wondered if this truly would be my last glance at freedom. I wondered if I did the right thing. I knew I had heard God but I didn’t know what the plan was. He had given me the vision and promise of freedom but when you are sitting in a cop car on your way to jail with so many valid charges resting on your head, it seemed so far out of reach. I just knew I needed to get my hands on a Bible. I wondered if my husband would come and see me. This was the beginning of something new and it felt incredibly awkward.

There, at least, I could go to Bible studies and sing praise and worship regularly. I got a Bible called Free on the Inside. I still have it to this day. I poured through it in my cell as I waited to be put in population. My turn came and as always, I was greeted with many familiar faces I knew from inside the jail and outside on the streets.

 Within 12 hours, I got into a fight with a girl. She was a skinny, crack prostitute who lost control over the use of the phones and tried to hit one of my close friends. I stepped in and socked her in the face. God still had a lot of work to do in me and this was proof. I liked it better there because there weren’t so many personalities to contend with, it was quiet, and I could read without interruption. The thing I missed the most in jail was paper and something to write with. I would write on paper towels and even toilet paper. I wrote letters and poetry that was on point and anointed

 I had been doing devotionals by Kenneth Copeland that was given to me. There I read a devotional that said that our words, our declarations have power; that we can transform things through obedience, faith, and our ability to declare and decree in faith. One of those declarations was, I am a candidate for a miracle! I remember reading that and vowing to wake up every day and declare those simple words. Honestly, most day I shouted it! I wanted it so badly to become a part of who I was. I didn’t care what anyone thought because everyone thought I was pretty psycho anyway. God showed me that that was a part of who He created me to be and so I figured why not test that boundary. Why not test Him with his own Word??? He began to take me on this crazy journey through His Word. SO in that moment of confession, the blood of Jesus is faithful and speaks justice over the sin or unrighteousness and put us in right standing with the Father. This redeems us from the curse of our sins which is death. It brings us into sonship with the Father in Heaven, in right standing in the courtroom of the judge. The blood of Jesus secures victory, redemption, fellowship, healing, protection and authority and as we pray:

With a God like this loving you, you can pray very simply. Like this: Our Father in heaven, Reveal who you are. Set the world right; Do what's best - as above, so below. Keep us alive with three square meals. Keep us forgiven with you and forgiving others. Keep us safe from ourselves and the Devil. You're in charge! You can do anything you want! You're ablaze in beauty! Yes. Yes. Yes.

This simple prayer found in Matthew 6:9-13 literally releases the judgments of heaven to earth. See the blood of Jesus doesn’t just promote forgiveness and protection, but it literally redeems us out of the hand of the enemy causing our lives to be whatever we discern as acceptable.So when God showed me his ability to overturn the system through my willingness to confess, humble myself, receive forgiveness, and release His word over my life. I knew I had hope.

So as I developed my relationship with God, my understanding of the Word through intimacy and time, my faith increased. I still had no idea how this act of faith and understanding would affect my case. I knew what God had said. He said not one day in prison. I didn’t get caught up in the anxiety of the how as much as I looked to the Word of why. See I knew what people kept telling me. I knew the facts. I also knew the Word of the Lord. I also knew that circumstances and facts are not necessarily truth. 

After two months in jail, my court date finally came at the end of January in 2006. Nervous, full of anxiety and fear, I headed towards my court date in shackles. It occurred to me this could be one of the last times or it could be the beginning of years to come, shackled in grace to what should be my expected end, 25 years in prison.

God spoke to me and asked if I was ready for one more outrageous act of faith and obedience. He explained to me the charges against me were nothing compared to what I knew I was guilty of. That I needed to not plea bargain but admit guilt in the presence of my earthly accusers just as I had done in the heavenly courts. This was huge because any criminal in their right mind, even with legal counsel never admits complete guilt, yet this is what the Father was asking of me.I walked into the courtroom and saw my parents and my sister there. I was relieved and ashamed at the same time. I met with my legal counsel and let them know my choice to plead guilty. Yes, I knew the potential consequences and I also knew what the Lord was asking of me. It was an act of faith and complete obedience that could seal my fate or open the windows of heaven. It was a test to see if I had actually witnessed the visions and dreams that became my source of hope. It became the testament to see if I was crazy, heard voices, and saw visions or if there truly was a God that moved on my behalf and that the Kingdom of heaven overruled the courts of earth.

You could see the excitement and gleam in the judge's eye as he heard my guilty plea to five first and second-degree felonies and eleven drug court violations with tears streaming down my face, literally shaking in fear but standing boldly. Although, as he began to flip through the papers, his excitement quickly faded to frustration and even anger. He explained that he had spent at least three hours combing over my case and had found my case solid enough to send me to prison. As he shook his head and explained further that as he was flipping through my paperwork just now, one more time before my official sentencing, there was a discrepancy in my paperwork that would not allow him to send me to prison that he had not seen before this moment...

The best he could do was sentence me to probation with a suspended sentence of 25 years with a stipulation of the maximum sentence imposed on any new crimes that I committed. He assured me I was a menace to society, that I never would change, and he was sure he would see me again.

With tears, still streaming down my face but with joy instead of fear and unshakeable faith, I boldly spoke and said, "Your honor, I know my word means nothing to you because I am just a criminal but on the streets, it's as good as gold. I give you my word, you will never see me again."

 

When you become comfortable in your relationship with Christ, you don’t need anyone else’s validation. In my addiction and on the street, I had the mentality that if you did not respect me, you would absolutely fear me. In all honesty, as I process this with God, as I write this, I see how this is very advantageous in Kingdom purpose. You may say that’s crazy and it might be. If the enemy thinks of me this way because of the power of the Holy Ghost in me and the knowledge of the authority I carry that I have acquired by walking with the Father, I am pretty sure that’s a good thing.

I had to learn that God was my avenger but he could not avenge me if I did not choose to be honest and transparent.  I had to learn to see them as the wounded, abused, child enslaved by the enemy than the monsters they portrayed themselves to be. You can’t identify with a monster unless you have been one.  I can see what I couldn’t before. I had become a predator based on the fact that I got tired of being a victim. Now, as I surrendered it all, I would no longer be either. I had to have an identity though and the only way to find out what that was, was through deliverance. Not a miracle, but layer upon layer of calcified lies and manifested declarations that I had fashioned into a cocoon of armor to keep my true self hidden. The encasement was like an impenetrable armor of calcification of lies I had believed as truth to protect myself. It was like a cocoon that kept me hidden so all that anyone saw was what I portrayed, but it was all an illusion.

 

I wish I could say that my husband and I were happily reunited but we still had sinful natures and there was still a lot of unforgiveness and resentment towards each other. This caused infidelity in our relationship on both of our parts.

I kept running into people I knew and the ones who were clean I partnered with in sobriety which ticked my husband off and he would run to his ex-girlfriend’s house which triggered me to run into the arms of ex-lovers to get back at him. 

I remember sitting in a church that he had been attending with both him and his ex-girlfriend who he had sworn they were just friends now and breaking down in tears, crying out to God for what seemed like quite some time. I couldn’t stop crying because I had this revelation of how broken I truly was and how badly I needed Jesus help in fixing me.

 

It didn’t matter what he chose, I was choosing God. This was not easy and would be tested to the fullest extent and I failed a few times but the conviction was there unlike in the past.

I continued going to my meetings for NA and classes, tolerating the ex-girlfriend, not knowing how to break the cycle without getting violent and outraged. I couldn’t trust him but I knew I could trust God. In a fit of outrage in December of 2006, we had an argument. I told him he made me feel like I would be better off dead. He half-heartedly told me I wouldn’t do it...those were the wrong words to say to someone who was continually pushing the limits. I grabbed every pharmaceutical drug I had, dumped them on my dresser, grabbed a glass of water and proceeded to take every pill, slamming handfuls of them into my mouth with a swig of water, until every one of them was gone. Seeing what I had done, he cussed me out, and threatened to call the police If I didn’t get in the car...My rule was no cops, I agreed to get in the car. He rushed me to the hospital and told them what I had done. Amazingly, I had complete peace about the situation. I was calm, not freaked out at all. 

They took me back, pumped my stomach with charcoal, while he anxiously awaited the outcome. I remember telling God, I can’t have a marriage with all this infidelity and double-mindedness. I wasn’t willing to let my marriage go and didn’t think to even ask God how to approach it a different way. My pride told me I was in this alone. I felt like I had to figure this out on my own. I did not want a divorce. In my mind, I had figured out how to kick my addiction to the curb with God’s help, why couldn’t I figure out how to fix my marriage. I knew he loved me to the greatest capacity he was able.

It was in March of that year that I was reunited with my now 10 year old daughter. She specifically asked me when we might have kids. I told her to pray about it. 

God had a plan. In April of 2007, I found out I was pregnant. This changed everything for me. It was like I was being given a second chance at life. I was elated and knew I was blessed. My faith would be tested by the end of the month in a way I never imagined possible.

I came home from work one day and my husband never came home. He had lost his regular job and was working landscaping side jobs. I didn’t know where, i just knew he was making money. He wasn’t answering his phone and never came home.I began making phone calls trying to figure out where he was. No one knew.  I continued going to work but by the second day of his disappearance and not answering my phone calls, I kicked into FBI mode. Calling the cops and reporting him missing was not an option, so I did what I did best which was began going to people’s houses.

I was 5 months pregnant and it was the middle of August. I wasn’t due until December. I didn’t have to go far or make hardly any phone calls. Information on people has always come easily for me, that’s the favor of God and following the promptings of the Holy Spirit. I had no idea what was going on because we had been getting along phenomenally well. For the first time, I had been comfortable with our life and felt like I really could spend forever with this man. His sudden disappearance and not answering his phone was mind-boggling to me. 

I asked my husband what his plans were. Obviously, this had been a well kept secret and I was outside the loop. He informed me that he intended on staying with his child and that he no longer wanted to be married to me, that he wanted to marry this other woman.I had heard and seen enough. I needed to leave this place immediately. I needed to leave this state and start a new life. I was so angry that tears were beyond me. I calmly got in my car and left.

 I went to my probation officer and explained very transparently what was going on. He understood very clearly. I told him that if he didn’t get me out of this state that things that were on my record were nothing compared to what I felt capable of doing at that moment. He agreed, took me very seriously, and we came up with a transfer plan that day. I had 12 weeks. My exit date out of that state would be November 1, 2007. I felt a certain peace in taking action and getting a plan in place.

 I had been talking to my parents about deliverance and I knew I needed it. They sent me a book to read on deliverance so that I had a basic understanding. I read it within three weeks. I filled out the necessary deliverance package paperwork and sent it to my parents so that they could set up an appointment for me once I arrived in Oklahoma. I desperately wanted a better life for my child and myself. I was willing to do anything for Jesus to walk in that freedom and cut any ties that might link my unborn child to that dark world that I was escaping from. 

Before I knew it was time to leave. This was my very own “Exodus”. I was leaving with the blessing of many. It seemed to be impossible but necessary. I had never fathomed or imagined moving to the state of Oklahoma and yet here I was. I had no idea what to expect in a new state or even what deliverance looked like, I just knew that this was  my answer to prayer and when God tells you to go, you do. My spiritual deliverance was coupled with my physical deliverance and God was going to set me free on every front. This had been an extended season of what seemed to be en extensive assignment of the enemy to take me out, but I knew God used it to refine me, to humble me, and to teach me things I could not have learned any other way. He used negative experiences to expand my spiritual authority when I chose to change my belief system.

Honestly, I knew all about dying and striving, but I didn’t know how to live. I didn’t know how to be loved not based on performance or judged by right or wrong but just based on being myself. Once, I understood that God just loved me for me, it was a lot easier to want to do better because even if I didn’t do better, he still loved me. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to give up on me. That is love. The love that just keeps pursuing and despite my choices is still protecting me and giving me life. 

Deliverance was not the end of the story but a fresh new beginning. It was drawing a line in the sands of time of my life saying from this moment forward I will fight to live and to make better choices. It was a moment by moment choice of taking my thoughts and actions, choices and decisions before God and processing to choose faith over fear.

I immediately started attending Church on the Rock and was embraced with such love that I had never known from a group of people.  Approximately two weeks after I arrived, I sat down with the head of the deliverance ministry through Church on the Rock at that time, Pat Legako, as well as other members of the ministry. They had a team of intercessors that prayed during the session. It took most of the day. They walked me through almost 40 pages of questions I had answered about my life. I renounced, repented, and broke agreement with things, people, and curses that had been in my past. It was so freeing and I am sure that it is the reason I was able to advance in faith at an accelerated rate. I was not only doing this for myself but also for my unborn daughter. It was necessary to overcome my dead past that I no longer wanted to be tied to. I just wanted God and to be in His presence.My daughter was born December 6, 2007, Indica Rose Baez. Surrounded by family, this was better than I could have asked or prayed for. God had reunited me with my family which I had been estranged from for 11 years. 

The next few weeks were a roller coaster of emotions as my husband decided that he had to be with his wife and beautiful baby girl. He asked me to send him a bus ticket and I did. I made it very clear that this would have to be a new beginning and there was no going back. The past had to be left behind and that meant great sacrifice on his part as he had to leave his other child in another state with her mother and stay with his wife and new daughter. He was willing and got on the bus exactly two weeks after our daughter was born. He could only take what would fit in a duffle bag. 

 

Clearly, this is not the end of the story...just a new beginning!!!"

 

Thank you for watching and reading the testimony of Sakira Baez.  A special thank you to our sponsors, Jimmy's Round Up Cafe, the world's best consulting firm Anton Jae, Vitamin Patch Club, and Hertz Rental Cars


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