Like most children growing up on the muddy streets of the industrial Donbas life for me was harsh and unhappy. Drunkenness, brawls and bad behavior were the order of the day. My own parents had divorced in 1964, when I was five. My stepfather was a poor replacement. In my opinion he was a very unpleasant person. He was a drunkard, unkind to my mother and indifferent to me. My dear mum was forced to work as a ganger on the railway tracks to keep my sister and me.

I used to hang out with other street kids and adopted the normal immorality and bad behaviour. Though I finished school and even distinguished myself at college I was often hauled before the police. After compulsory military service, I continued in my impious ways. One day in August 1982 I got into a fight and killed a young man.

“You’ll get it for this” – said the investigating officer. Mine was the forth murder in a short time span so the judge wanted a show trial to stop drunken brawls. It took the court two days to decide whether I should be executed or imprisoned. Even now I have nightmares that they are carrying the verdict. But I didn’t care then. I felt that life was over and the yawning dark abyss that lay in front of me led nowhere.

Many people came to the club where the trial was held, baying for justice. I was ready for anything but when they announced 15 years with the first five in solitary I just buried my face in my hat. At that moment I heard someone calling my name. There was my dad, standing in the aisle with tears on his cheeks.

My time in the cell was eventually shortened to 3 years and I was moved to Prison 62, Cherkassy. Unfortunately, my behavior still left much to be desired. With all my actions I showed I had nothing to loose, life was gone. I was often in the penalty insolation room and my picture was on a wall of men to be under special control.  There was no sense in life. I was on drugs and even tried to commit suicide.

One day, 7 years into my sentence, it was announced that Christians would visit. Many inmates were unfriendly toward them because they thought these believers couldn’t possibly understand our earthly hell. But I wanted to go and touch the forgotten life of freedom. I liked to listen to the Christians. I was amazed at their light and joy and deeply in my heart I decided to protect those “saints” when I am released.” I came back to the barracks with a little new testament in hand and a strange warmth in my heart. I realized there was a Living God but I didn’t know what to do. “He can forgive others but He can’t forgive my transgressions.”
Visitors were only able in those days to come every three months but I was ready to go again to listen. The preacher said that God would forgive all who repent before him but my proud heart wouldn’t allow me to do this in front of fellow prisoners. I would never kneel down in front of anyone. However, on the 10th March 1992 I did just that. I asked Him to forgive my sins. I was afraid to forget a single sin and tried to remember all the details from the childhood.

The second day I felt something unusual happened with me.  I was sorry for my friends being in den of sin. I realized God’s hand was upon me.

I said ‘no’ when they called me to drink or smoke. They were amazed and could hardly believe I had no such desire. My soul had the absolute peace of God’s presence. I stopped visiting their gatherings. They tried to bring me to my senses but after some attempts decided that I had gone mad. Unfortunately, many of them are not alive today, some died of overdose of drugs, some were killed in fights… Alexander (Sasha) Kirpichyov  ******* Next month Sasha talks about his final years in Prison 62.