From La Vida Loca to a Life of Service

When Albert LaQue’s mother dropped him off for his first day of first grade, he cried. Sitting at his desk sobbing, he was approached from behind by a group of boys who began beating him with their textbooks.

“That’s when La Vida Loca started for me,” he says.

LaQue went home, got his brother’s banana knife, and began carrying it. One day he sliced one of the boys in the arm. Later, he and the boys became friends. They ran around together and formed their own little gang.

At age nine, “Lucky,” as he was known, spent a year in juvenile detention for stealing a car. At 13, he used heroin for the first time. The addiction followed him into adulthood.

Then, in early July 1999, LaQue found himself sitting on a curb, stoned. He had been missing for ten days.

He decided he needed to turn his life over to the Lord.

It did not happen all at once. LaQue went to San Antonio for Christ, where the pastor allowed him to stay in a house open to anyone who needed a place. He left, got high, and came back. He did it twice.

Then he stopped.

LaQue made the decision that he was not going to live that way anymore and began attending the church’s worship services. By then, his family had not known where he was for about a month.

As his faith grew stronger, LaQue began telling his story. He completed The Miracle Center’s “School of Ministry." He witnessed to others, preached in prisons, and wherever he went told about the life he had lived and the God who had changed it. 

He has now been sober for 27 years.

LaQue left a successful career as a carpenter—“It was too hot outside,” he said—and went to work for Funeral Caring USA. Starting in maintenance, he worked his way up to office manager at the BT campus site. After the funeral director and others have completed their work, the responsibility for making sure the funeral runs smoothly falls to LaQue.

The families he meets are grieving. LaQue tries to make a difficult day a little easier.
He deals with death every day and sees nothing good about it. But he finds meaning in being able to reduce some of the burden families carry at one of the hardest moments of their lives.

LaQue remains embarrassed by his past. He also knows he is a living example of what God can do with a life. God can turn a hurt into a halo and transform tears into testimony.

From Isolation to Purpose

"I created my own cell," is how Ivan Laredo described his life before coming to Baptist Temple. He was not behind bars. He was living alone in an apartment, surrounded by people who still lived the lifestyle he was trying to leave behind. He had a television, a phone, Christian programming, and a Bible. What he did not have was fellowship. 

People in the neighborhood kept telling him about Baptist Temple. They talked about the Tuesday evening meal and encouraged him to come. These were not church members. They were people who knew where to find a hot meal and a friendly face. They all told him the same thing: "Go to Baptist Temple." 

One evening, after returning from donating plasma, Laredo had enough of the isolation. He looked at the clock. It was after 5:30. Instead of spending another evening alone, he walked into the cafeteria looking for company.

He found more than a meal. Someone told him there was a Bible study immediately afterward. That was exactly what he had been missing. Laredo knew from experience that it is difficult to walk away from an old life by yourself. He had spent years pursuing alcohol, drugs, and other destructive habits with everything he had. As he put it, he was "full steam ahead." He realized that if he was going to follow Christ, he needed to be just as intentional about surrounding himself with people who shared his faith. 

Laredo's journey has not been an easy one. He began drinking at thirteen and describes his life as a roller coaster. He was introduced to Christ as a teenager through the mother of his high school sweetheart, but his spiritual journey has included many starts and stops along the way. Today, however, he celebrates six years of sobriety. He speaks openly about his gratitude to God for bringing him this far.

What stands out most is not what Laredo has left behind but what he has found. He serves at the HP CAN food pantry on the BT Campus, helps with food distribution, and attends Bible studies. He works alongside people he once would not have imagined himself serving beside. Looking at his current life, he shakes his head and says, "This is not me, Pastor." Friends who knew him years ago would be shocked to see him serving others and investing his time in ministry. Yet that is often how God works. The people most surprised by a transformed life are the people who knew us before Christ began changing us. 

Laredo says serving gives him purpose. It helps him stay focused and grounded. More importantly, he sees it as service to God's Kingdom rather than simply volunteering. He talks about an urgency in his heart, a desire to stop "flip-flopping" and fully commit himself to following Christ. His heart is in it. He wants to be there. 

He said, "This church reaches out to the actual community," observing that churches can become so busy serving themselves that they forget the people living just beyond their walls. Laredo first encountered Baptist Temple because the community knew the church was there. Long before he joined a Bible study or helped distribute food, people in the neighborhood were already pointing him toward a place where he could find help, friendship, and hope.

The Tuesday meal brought him through the door. Fellowship kept him coming back. Service gave him purpose. You never know what God will do with an invitation to dinner. Sometimes it becomes a place at the table. Sometimes it becomes a ministry. Sometimes it changes a life.

A Familiar Gym, a Larger Purpose

The Baptist Temple Campus gym has long been a place where neighbors gather and build community. Recently, that space was used for a study connected to assistive technology and rehabilitation, giving researchers and participants a familiar setting in which to observe movement, communication, and access outside a clinic or classroom.

That setting matters. For people living with limb loss, access to care is often shaped by transportation, trust, and relationships. By making the gym available, the Highland Park Community Assistance Network (HP CAN) helped reduce those barriers and supported practical learning that can inform how assistive devices, therapies, and services are designed for everyday use.

The study also reflects a larger effort in South Texas to improve support for people with complex mobility and rehabilitation needs. At UT Health San Antonio, programs such as Project ASPIRE (Advancing Successful Preparation of Interprofessional Related Services in Education Settings) prepare future occupational therapy and speech-language pathology professionals to serve children with high-intensity needs. This work is strongest when it is connected to the places where people live, learn, and participate in community life.

For HP CAN, this connection is mission based. The gym served not only as a place for recreation and fellowship but also as a practical site for study activities tied to mobility and rehabilitation.

Assistive technology is most useful when it works in the normal conditions of daily life: walking across open floors, communicating in busy rooms, managing fatigue, and participating at home, at school, at church, and in the community. A community setting can help researchers see practical barriers and strengths that may not appear in more controlled environments.

The BT Campus gym has been part of the community from its beginning. Basketball and volleyball leagues, summer camps, and open recreation have all used the space for fellowship and physical fitness. Grants from the Baptist Health Foundation and the Charity Ball Association, along with contributions from individual donors, have helped create a community space that serves the spiritual and physical needs of our neighbors. By opening that space for this study, HP CAN used what it had—hospitality, trust, and a familiar gym—to support work aimed at improving mobility, participation, and independence.