From Facing 20 Years to Building a Future: Shekema King's Story of Redemption and Purpose

She Walked In to Say Goodbye

Shekema King did her hair that day. She picked out something nice to wear. Not because she was celebrating — but because she knew she wasn't coming home, and she refused to let her mugshot look a mess.

She was a young woman on the run, facing a fight that had landed her in the crosshairs of a 20-year sentence in the Department of Corrections. She had been living in survival mode since she was 16 — a teenage mother twice over, grieving the sudden loss of her own mother, and burning with a fury she directed squarely at the God her grandmother had introduced her to years before.

But her grandmother asked her to come to church one more time. And Shekema, who loved her grandmother, said yes — for all the wrong reasons.

What happened next changed everything.

The Moment Her Heart Softened

She sat in that sanctuary with no intention of receiving anything. She was present in body only, waiting for the service to end and the handcuffs to begin. But near the close of the sermon, the minister asked a question that cut through every wall she had built.

"He said, 'I know people are able to praise God after he works it out. Who is able to praise God before he works it out?' And immediately it was like a light bulb went through my heart. My heart was very hard before this moment. And I felt it soften."

She didn't plan it. She couldn't control it. Her arms went up. Her feet carried her to the altar. She confessed Jesus as Lord, was baptized on the spot, and stepped out of that water carrying something she hadn't felt in years — peace.

Then came the knock on the bathroom door.

The police were waiting. They walked her out of the building quietly, just as they'd promised. Over 300 people had gathered outside. She got into the police car. And when asked to make a statement at the station, she told them simply: she had just received Jesus into her life, and she had the most peace she had ever known. Whatever her fate would be, she accepted it.

Orchestrated from the Inside Out

What followed wasn't easy — but Shekema is quick to say it was anything but random. The 20-year sentence was reduced to four years at 50%. A warden who was a believer had placed prayer boxes in every pod and launched a program that became a gathering place for transformation. A chaplain followed Shekema from county jail to the penitentiary, pouring into her consistently. Ministers came in from every denomination — Catholic, Baptist, deliverance, recovery — and each one added another layer of healing.

"I began to be healed bit by bit, bit by bit, bit by bit. My time in the county was all orchestrated by the Lord. And my time in prison was all orchestrated by the Lord."

She left the Department of Corrections with six college credits, hard-won wisdom, and a faith that had been forged in fire. But she also left without a pastor, and the years that followed were marked by isolation, backsliding, and the ongoing weight of grief. Since losing her mother in 2002, there has not been a single year without the loss of someone she loved — a brother, a father, three uncles, an aunt, a grandmother, and more friends than she can count.

Still, she kept moving forward — until the right spiritual covering arrived. When her apostle, Pastor Jivel, came into her life through what she describes as divine timing, the growth accelerated in ways she hadn't anticipated.

"It's one thing to know of a God. It's another thing to know a God who is all powerful. And that's who he is."

Grief as a Catalyst

Last July, Shekema's father was rushed to the hospital. She sensed he wouldn't be coming home — and he wasn't a believer. Rather than rushing to the hospital, she stayed at his home, cleaned it, and then did the only thing she knew would matter most: she interceded. She called her apostle. Together with Pastor Andrew, the three of them prayed over his final moments, asking God to give him an encounter before he left this world.

Her grandmother later told her that as he was passing, he jumped up and looked around the room — as though he was seeing something no one else could see. Shekema believes she knows exactly what that was.

She also prayed something deeply personal that day — a prayer she's not yet ready to share fully — asking God to keep her from being pulled under by grief this time. He answered.

"Since losing my dad, and that prayer that I prayed, and the Lord confirming with me that I will see him again — I've been running forward ever since. I feel like I can't stop."

Building What She Once Needed

Today, Shekema King is the owner of Elevated Cleanliness LLC, a minister in training at JTM Ministry, a substance abuse counselor in training, an ambassador for the University of Lake County, and an ambassador for WWG Magazine — a Christian-based publication that spotlights marketplace ministry leaders around the world. She is also a mother of five and a grandmother of four.

But she will tell you the work that keeps her up at night is something still being built: a full wraparound re-entry and recovery center for people who have nothing and no one.

The need is urgent and personal. Her current clients include people sleeping on the streets. The city she serves has a homeless shelter with just 12 beds. She sits across from men and women whose stories sound like chapters from her own life — and she can't look away.

"It's almost as if I'm sitting across the room listening to me, and I'm sitting across the room looking at me. And I do feel limited in what I'm able to do. They need more."

Her vision isn't a halfway house. It isn't a meal and a cot. It's comprehensive restoration — from homelessness to homeownership, from high school dropout to college graduate. She wants people to begin dreaming again inside those walls. The name of the 501(c)(3) is already chosen. The startup funds are ready. But she is waiting — and waiting on purpose.

The Hardest Discipline for a Visionary

Here is where Shekema's advice to other faith-driven leaders gets quietly radical. She doesn't tell you to hustle harder. She doesn't hand you a framework or a five-step plan. She tells you to stop — and sit before God knowing absolutely nothing.

"I would encourage any believer: get before the Lord and know nothing. It's uncomfortable. It's not easy. But you have to."

For a woman with the money ready, the name chosen, and the urgency of real human need in front of her every single week, choosing stillness is not passive — it's one of the most courageous acts of leadership she's ever practiced. She knows the vision is from God. She also knows that the timing belongs to him.

That's the discipline. That's the surrender. And it might be the single most countercultural piece of wisdom available to faith-driven leaders who are wired to build.

A Life That Testifies

Shekema King gave up television. She gave up secular music. She walked away from relationships that competed with the voice she needs most. She describes her daily life with a simplicity that carries enormous weight: "It's just me and him. He's the rope and I'm walking."

She has lost more than most people will lose in a lifetime. She has also found something most people spend their whole lives searching for — identity rooted not in what happened to her, but in who God says she is.

Her story isn't finished. The re-entry center is still being built. The calling is still unfolding. But the woman who walked into a church planning to say goodbye is now running forward — and she shows no signs of slowing down.

If you're a leader sitting on a God-given vision, wrestling with the tension between urgency and obedience, Shekema's life is a living invitation: lay it down, get quiet, and trust the one who already knows the outcome. The work he's prepared for you will still be there when he releases you to build it.