As a child, Dilly Hunt attended powwows and the Strike at the Wind Festival in his hometown of Lumberton, North Caroline.  He enjoyed learning about his tribe, the Lumbees, who were originally from the Lost Colony on the Carolina coast. “My dad was an alcoholic,& I used to see him beat my mom. I thought it was normal to go to jail.  My older brother and sister are both in prison.  At least 10 people I knew in school have died from alcohol or drugs.”

In 1994, my parents divorced. I was extremely close to my father, & I was angry and bitter about his departure.  Soon after, when my mother was in a terrible car accident and suffered extensive burns,  I cussed God.  I sought solace in my girlfriend and drugs.  We got married. I worked at a car wash to support my wife and son.  Supplemented my meager income by selling crack cocaine and breaking open safes with a cousin.  A year later I was charged with 64 felonies in three counties.  I plea-bargained a 40-month sentence. I didn’t really mind the prison time but the fact that my wife and her sister testified against me burned into my soul.  When we divorced, the pain deepened. I was released on July 3, 1998, but 17 days after my release, I was caught breaking into a business with his brother. The hate and rage came back fast. I was mad at myself and I really lashed out, thinking I was tough & made plans to escape, until someone snitched. I was transferred to Raleigh, where I started a riot in the kitchen.  This earned me six weeks in lockup. After I got off lockup, I was summoned to the Captain’s Office.  There sat a man I hadn’t seen for years, my uncle Henry Lee Hunt, who was a notorious murderer assigned to death row. He didn’t look like the spiteful man I remembered, the one you just knew could kill you. Uncle Henry talked to me about God’s love and forgiveness; then he looked deep into my eyes.  “I’m going to die, he said quietly, but you’ve got a chance.” Back in my cell, I pondered my uncle’s words.  How could he talk about God and be so compassionate?  He’s a murderer.  Can God really love him?  The questions plagued me, but  three weeks after being transferred to a new facility, I assaulted another inmate and got sent to the hole for six months.

While in the hole, I slipped to my knees and cried out to God.  “I know I cursed You, and I’m sorry.  Mom says she knows You.  I want to  know You personally, like my Uncle.” Because of the assault, I was sent to yet another prison in North Carolina.  When I was finally allowed to go to chapel, I heard an ex-prisoner preach that “God didn’t put you in prison. You and the devil brought yourself.”  Those words offended me.  I ain’t  going back to that service! But when I prayed, I felt the Lord wanted me to return. I showed up at chapel the following Wednesday.  The preacher talked about God’s love for His children and His desire to bless them. For the first time, I realized that God loved me.  He wants to have an intimate relationship with me. Over the next two years, I returned weekly to the chapel service.  As I learned about giving back to God and trusting Him, I tithed 10 percent of my $2 a week paycheck. 

When I was released in May 2001, my mother threw a big homecoming party at her house.  At first I didn’t want to invite my old crowd, but it was a chance to tell folks how Jesus had changed my life.  “I let people know Dilly ain’t the same.”  I found clothes at Goodwill and a job at the same car wash where I worked years before.  I honored that job. I showed up on time, & worked in 100-degree heat.  I worked like it was a $200,000 job because I wanted to honor God.  After several months, I took a job at a factory for $9 an hour.  Because of my strong work ethic , I landed a management job with a good salary. I think people who have been to prison work harder than others. In 2002, I married Shelia, a family friend since childhood.  Together we are rearing her two sons and Dillon , whose mother is in prison.  I wrote to my  first wife, asking forgiveness for introducing her to drugs and leading her astray.

Last spring I left my job at the factory to be trained as a salesman for a funeral home.  Although I was honest about my criminal record, it came back to haunt me and I was denied my license.  The loss was demoralizing and painful, but I didn’t regret being forthright about my prison time. I still hugged my boss when I left. In fact, I recently returned to preach in prison.  I have a passion to help prisoners , especially Native Americans.  I have a burden to help my Native people, I hate to admit it, but we did not have the Gospel, so I thank God the Europeans did come and spread the Gospel.  We respected the earth and feared God, but we never had a personal relationship with God. I  know  firsthand the deadly lure of alcohol and drugs for Native Americans, who seem to have a genetic predisposition toward alcoholism. Alcoholics Anonymous is fine, but God is taken out.  He has to be first & He is in my life. Matthew 6:33 . May God bless you all.