Becoming Catholic: Convert is testament to power of change
This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2009, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

In candle-lit sanctuaries throughout Utah on Saturday, the beginning of the holiest day in Christendom, more than 300 men, women and children will be baptized into the Roman Catholic Church.

Among them will be Abel Escobedo, a man who marvels at the chasm he has crossed.

"I was the worst. I was a devil," says Escobedo, 39, who lives in Brigham City and works on construction crews laying water and storm drain pipes.

Escobedo is one of three who will baptized at St. Henry's Catholic Church, the culmination of an eight-month investigation into the church through the parish's Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults, RCIA.

He will receive two other sacraments as well: He'll be confirmed and will, for the first time, receive Communion.

His life, Escobedo says, is a testament to one thing: "If you really want to change, you can change."

That change, though, is impossible without help from above, he says. "I know I couldn't do it alone."

Escobedo is one of 15 children born to Mexican migrant workers. Originally Catholic, the family had become Jehovah's Witnesses by the time Escobedo came along in Montrose, Colo.

His parents first came to northern Utah to work in cherry and other fruit orchards. They settled in Ogden, where his father worked as a plumber.

Escobedo ran wild.

"I started getting locked up when I was 9," he says.

First it was truancy and minor vandalism. It escalated into major vandalism and theft by the time he was in his teens. Most every time he was sent to juvenile detention, Escobedo would run away.

At age 18, he was invited to a party in Tremonton, where a woman offered him $2,000 to beat up someone.

He and his friend kicked in the guy's door and threatened him, but didn't throw a punch, Escobedo says. Still, he was sentenced to five years in prison for burglary. His friend, who Escobedo says had a similar juvenile record and participated in the crime, was white. The judge set the friend free.

After a stint in prison, he was paroled and headed for Texas, breaking terms of his parole.

He still marvels that when he tried to turn himself into a police officer and a judge in Texas, both told him to keep his nose clean and stay put.

Eventually, he was introduced to Maria, who was 24, three years older. She lived across the street with her devout Catholic family and 7-year-old son.

Within two days, they knew they wanted to marry, but it took another five days to pull together the band and the food for a wedding party.

Her family warned against it because they knew Escobedo ran with a bad crowd.

Though she knew he had absconded parole in Utah, where her family often worked in the fields each summer, Maria trusted Escobedo because he didn't varnish the truth about his past.

"They told us 'You're not going to make it!' " Maria Escobedo recalls.

Within a couple months, it looked like they wouldn't.

Escobedo recalls that he was smoking hard and had two beers in his hands when she gave him the ultimatum: It was either her or his addictions.

"I said, 'Just let me finish these beers.' " And he did. He has never touched alcohol or cigarettes again. "I stopped everything."

Eventually, they returned to Utah and she pushed him to finish paying for his crime. Escobedo finished out the last of his five-year prison sentence.

Over the years, the couple had four more children and made stabs at a faith life. She, who had grown up saying the rosary with her grandmother, went with him to the Jehovah's Witness meetings.

"I just didn't feel it was helping me," Escobedo says. "I would just fall asleep there."

Eventually, the couple spent more time in Catholic churches, and Maria had a priest bless their marriage.

In late 2006, they returned to Texas because her father was sick, and began going to Catholic Mass regularly.

At about the same time, Escobedo went through a dark, angry period. When a stranger approached them and offered to pay for a weekend retreat through the ACTS Mission (a Texas-based ministry), Maria jumped at the chance.

Escobedo balked. "I said 'God can't reach me, I'm too far gone.' "

Nonetheless, he saw the joy his wife experienced at her retreat, and eventually agreed to go.

"When I came back, I had God in here," says Escobedo, pointing to his heart. "I finally met God."

Escobedo had been in the RCIA program in Texas, and resumed when they moved back to Brigham City last year.

Now, the whole family, including teenagers, attends Mass each Sunday and Escobedo hopes to begin new programs for the youth of the parish. The four children they have together range from age 7 to 16, and their oldest son, now in his 20s, is in college in Texas.

"It's a good feeling, going to church, getting to know God, knowing people," Escobedo says.

"The way I feel now, nobody can take that away from me."

kmoulton@sltrib.com

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