From Menace to Ministry

By Shala King

This book was written to embody the love of God for sinners like myself. I pray that it uplifts, inspires, and gives hope to the readers that nothing is impossible with God! May you seek His face in times of worry and confusion. May you look to Him who is forgiving of all your sins through the blood of Jesus and who is a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trilogy Christian Publishing
• Release date: May 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798890410207

Shala King

Shala King grew up in the projects of New Albany, Indiana. As a young adult, she began to dress as a male and to date women. Shala had created a new identity to cope with her unresolved feelings of rejection and witnessing abuse. But no matter how deep she went into the new identity, she was never satisfied. She dropped out of school and wound up in the streets, dealing and using drugs, keeping the wrong company, in and out of jail. By the unconditional love of God and her family, she has overcome tremendous odds to be the woman of God she is today.Facebook: Shala King Instagram: @Iamshalaking Email: [e-mail] www.SK-Ministries.com

Book preview

Chapter 1:

"Let the children come to me and do not

hinder them, for the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these" (Luke 18:16)

New Albany is an unassuming city in the state of Indiana, in the United States. As of the time of this writing, it has a population of about 38,000. A bridge separates New Albany, Indiana, from Louisville, Kentucky. It is literally a ten-minute drive from New Albany to Louisville. Folks in New Albany refer to Louisville as the City. There is more violence in the City; you could have your car stolen while running into the store for a quick grab. But if you cross the bridge and come over to Indiana, it’s more chill and country. It’s like you’ve gotten away from all the bad stuff in the City.

My name is Shala King. I was born to Teresa Shirley and James King on January 21, 1986. My Mom was a single mother of four girls. I am the second oldest. We were raised in the low-income housing projects in New Albany, IN.

My dad was just not present. Of us four girls, my sister Diamond and I had the same father. Growing up, he was battling his own demons: drugs, alcohol, being in the streets. He stayed in and out of jail, so we rarely saw him.

Mom did the best she could, under the circumstances. She was a single mother in her twenties, with four kids, in the 90’s. She was a great mother to us. She was raised by her mother in the same projects and grew up with even less money and fewer resources than she was able to give to us.

Even though we lived in the projects, we never lacked. I didn’t even realize that we were considered poor until I was in middle school, learning the value of a dollar. Looking back, I don’t even know how she pulled off raising all of us, but we always had food on the table and clothes on our backs. Christmas would be lit! We would have presents from the wall to the door of our apartment. I didn’t realize it at the time, but a lot of the gifts came from free programs that she would sign up for. Not letting us go without or feel as if we’re different, that’s just who she was.

I was a good kid growing up; I got great grades in elementary school. I was a teacher’s pet. My teachers adored me; they would take me into their homes and take me out to eat after I won a math contest or spelling bee or something. I was always doing something with the teachers after school.

From a really young age, like two or three, we would go to church as a family. Those are some of my earliest memories—my sisters and me, in our Sunday best, in church. There was a church right across the street from the projects we lived in. We would go along with some of the other kids who lived nearby. My grandmother (my dad’s mother) was really into church. When we stayed weekends at her house, that’s what we did. I also recall going to different churches in the neighborhood and staying with the pastors on the weekends, when they had slumber parties for the kids. Since we lived in the projects, church vans pulled up routinely. We were encouraged to climb aboard and have church inside the van. They always gave out candy and we would have such a good time singing and reading about Jesus, who died for our sins. The candy was all the incentive I needed to show up. Inside of those memories are the moments where nothing outside of that van mattered.

My sister Diamond and I shared a room. We’re two years apart; she was born after me. As roommates, we would say our prayers together right before bed:

"As I lay me down to sleep, I pray thee, Lord, my soul to keep.

If I shall die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take."

We’d pray over our family, for good health, for God to protect us, and that we make it to Heaven.

I feel like I’ve always had God with me. I’ve always had a relationship with Him. At that age, I didn’t know what that meant fully, but I knew there was something bigger than me, watching over me and my family. We were out in the projects, so there were bad things going on around us all the time, but my sisters and I were pretty good kids.

We witnessed the men Mom dated abusing her. We were terrified of her boyfriends and scared for her, but didn’t know how to help, exactly. On one occasion, when I was around five or six, my Mom was out of town and my sisters and I were at home with her boyfriend at the time. He was talking on the phone, furiously telling someone, When she gets here, I’m going to kill her! He was pacing and waiting for her to get home. I didn’t know what that was about, but I vividly remember being scared out of my mind. Oh my goodness, he’s going to kill my Mom!

When my Mom and her friends pulled up from their trip, I ran out. They were seated in the back of a truck chatting.

He’s going to kill you! I shrieked.

Apparently, my Mom was cheating on him and he’d found out about it. Now, they both cheated on each other, but on this occasion, he’d just found out that she was the one cheating, so he was about to pop off. My Mom kind of brushed off what I was saying and started to head into the house. At this point, my younger sister and I were begging her not to go in. She walked into the apartment and the door slammed behind her. We couldn’t even get in; it was locked from the inside. I put my ear to the door and heard this screaming! He was hitting her. I was panicked and frightened; I ran to a neighbor’s house and told her to call the police. He was hitting my Mom! He said he was going to kill her! As she called the police, I ran back to the apartment and put my ear to the door, hearing Mom screaming, begging