Addiction, violence and loss once defined Myles Lance. Prison became the place where he found faith, purpose and transformation, along with the desire to reach out to others battling the same demons.
Myles Lance had never experienced physical pain like this before. He was in prison—again—and a gang fight had resulted in a cracked jawbone. The injury left him in excruciating pain for days, unable to eat and only able to relieve his thirst by gingerly dribbling water into his swollen mouth. It would be nine days until he had surgery, followed by many more weeks of healing with his mouth wired shut. Lance admits it should have been the turning point in his life.
“I wanted to do better,” he said, “but I wasn’t willing to do better.”
Lance’s life story is a remarkable cycle of wrong choices, new opportunities and the pull of addiction constantly proving stronger. Born in Decatur in 1991, he was the youngest of four children. His father was an alcoholic, but he always provided for his family. “He was a good man,” Lance said, “but he didn’t know how to regulate his emotions.” Lance’s older brothers had a negative influence on him as a child, teaching him how to fight and taking him along to break into houses and cars. The family moved to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, during Lance’s elementary school years. School was a challenge. He stuttered, and kids called him “M-m-m-Myles.”
“God has shown us the purpose for our pain.”
Myles Lance
“I had a smart mouth,” Lance said. “I got kicked out of public school in fourth or fifth grade and went to a Christian academy through eighth grade.” That was where the first seeds of faith were planted in his young mind. However, it was also where he started selling drugs. The young skateboard fanatic eventually landed back in public school, befriending other skaters who also used drugs. “I started with weed and drinking, then we would steal cough medicine from stores. That led to bigger and harder things, like acid and ’shrooms,” he said. “That lasted until 11th grade, when my parents suddenly decided we were moving back to Georgia.”
Lance’s lawlessness increased. His first arrest was for stealing a car. He only received probation, and his family relocated to Covington. “I hated it. It was so country,” he said with a laugh. Lance missed his high school graduation because he was in jail. “I was running from my problems but starting to get caught,” he said. Lance got his GED and moved back to South Carolina. When he was 19, during a mushroom trip, Lance believes the Lord spoke to him. “He told me I had a calling, that I would be a preacher one day,” he said. “I said, ‘No way. Never me.’ I got into New Age spirituality and witchcraft instead.” After returning to Georgia, Lance got busted for drug and stolen gun possession. While fighting that case, his best friend was murdered when a gun purchase went wrong. “He died in my arms,” Lance said through tears. Survivor’s guilt followed.
“By the grace of God, I didn’t get shot,” Lance said. “My friends said it should’ve been me and abandoned me. I felt alone. It was like I was in a trance for months. I had a dream where Alex came to me and said it was OK, [that] it wasn’t my fault, [that] he loved me and to take care of my mother.” Lance was puzzled by the last part, until his father died the following year. A year later, his cousin committed suicide. “That’s when my heroin habit started,” Lance said. “I was young. I was angry. I didn’t understand. I fell out with my siblings. I became a mean, malicious person, and that led to a lot of risky behaviors: drunk driving [and] using heroin, meth and cocaine.”
Lance moved to Colorado, where his heroin habit worsened. He later returned to Georgia to live with his mother, but she had to put him out after a month. Lance’s addiction grew to the point that it was incompatible with steady employment, and he entered a years-long cycle of repeated drug sales, fights, arrests and jailtime. His mother secured a restraining order against him. “She said there was a new edge about me that was scary after being in prison, surrounded by evil,” Lance said. Rockdale County’s drug court tried to get him into a recovery program for months, but he would not commit.
“My interview for admission was on Aug. 2,” Lance said, “but on Aug. 1, I blew a bunch of money on fentanyl and crack and got busted.” He found himself back in prison. “I detoxed for two weeks,” Lance said. “I didn’t eat for 10 days, but I turned my back on God again and got caught with dope. I was sent to the hole and resentenced. But the Lord was with me. I wrote the judge a letter about my drug problem and needing help. I was very honest and apologized, and it had to be God. The judge suspended everything I had previously done and gave me three straight years in prison. When I went back, I did good for the first couple of days.” Prison, however, was rampant with gang and drug activity, and Lance fell back into his old ways.
“One night I sat down with all these drugs spread out before me to get high,” he said. “I prayed a prayer that I didn’t realize was one: ‘Lord, I can’t do this on my own. Can you please take this from me?’ The next day, I got stabbed bad in a gang fight.” Lance began earnestly seeking the Lord. He read a children’s Bible storybook from front to back and started picking up copies of “Our Daily Bread” and other devotionals. “I was like a sponge soaking up God. My eyes and ears were opened,” Lance said. “A Fugees song called ‘Ready or Not’ kept playing in my mind, and I kept writing ‘ready or not’ constantly. The more I decreased, the more God increased. I was born again, and prison was my refinery.”
Lance began leading prayer meetings and devotionals while incarcerated, earning unexpected respect from everyone, including gang members and people of other faiths. When Lance left prison for the last time, he thought about how his mother always called him “Jonah” in reference to his running from God. “I remembered a Bible verse, Jonah 2:1–2: ‘In my distress I called to the Lord, and he answered me. From deep in the realm of the dead I called for help, and you listened to my cry,’” Lance said. “I kept writing ‘Ready or Not’ because I realized, whether you’re ready or not, all you’ve got to do is make the first move.” He met Toni Tompkins, a woman with a similar story of struggle and redemption, and they started a Facebook page called Ready or Not Ministries. “It has grown into a full-blown ministry,” Lance said. “Through our ministry, we provide services for the homeless and the hopeless and can help people get into rehab and acquire insurance if they have none.” Lance and Tompkins are now engaged, and he considers her son, Kyran, his own. “We were dope dealers,” Tompkins said. “Now, we’re hope dealers.” The couple works at Twin Lakes Recovery Center in Monroe. They teach Sunday School to kids and teens at New Life Praise Center in Covington.
“In January,” Lance said, “we will be starting growth groups at New Life to help people grow through what they’re going through.” Tompkins elaborated further. “They are for anyone who’s been through any type of trauma who just needs a place to get the Word,” she said. “They can come as they are. We meet them where they’re at.” It represents another step in Lance’s recovery. “God has shown us the purpose for our pain,” he said. “I don’t believe in bad days. Even when I was incarcerated, I was free. Every day is a new chance to spread love.”
Click here to read more stories by Kari Apted.
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