As a light rain drizzles the Lanyang Plain, 30-odd young men in white T-shirts haul sound equipment into Yilan Prison, an odd sight for somewhere usually so strict. It is the final stop on Big Change’s round-the-island tour, and after 14 days the band members look tired, but nonetheless follow instructions and get the equipment set up and ready for the show.

Meanwhile inmates file into the venue stony faced, as if thinking to themselves, “What are these little punks doing here?”

The youngsters occasionally sneak peeks at the seating area, scanning the 300 men in the crowd, both hoping and fearing they’ll spot a familiar face.

After all, who wouldn’t want to be reunited with long-lost friends or family members? But then, who would want to see their own family in prison?

Then they take the stage, the curtains open, and their voices soar, telling story after story through their music.

Care and trust are crucial to helping young people find their own paths and bravely face their futures.

Juvenile halls specialize in looking after young inmates whose behavior has been particularly aberrant or who come from broken families. They provide their young wards with their daily necessities, while also working to rectify their behaviors and get them back on the straight and narrow, prepared to reintegrate into society.

Zhang Jinyi is executive secretary and founder of Taoyuan Adolescents’ Home. He and his wife opened the hall in 2001, looking after 12 young men in a cramped old house in an atmosphere of mutual support. While it has been hard work, with help from donations and governmental funding, they have been able to eke out a survival.

“We want to give the boys a home and give them a chance,” says Zhang, himself a reformed ex-convict. Having once lost his own way and experienced the pain of being unable to fit into society, Zhang has dedicated himself to giving guidance to these lost sheep.

But society’s general stereotype of juvenile delinquents is deeply rooted, and so when raising funds early in the hall’s life, Zhang faced no small number of rolled eyes and shaken heads. One person even called to say he wanted to donate money to “the underprivileged,” but on finding out that the hall’s inmates were “wayward youth,” he changed his mind about donating and promptly hung up.

And it isn’t just the man on the street that turns his nose up at these young men—even schools, usually tireless in their efforts to educate, want nothing to do with them. When Zhang took them to enroll at a junior high school, the principal said to their faces that he wouldn’t admit “this kind of child.” At another school, the principal called together the various department heads and teachers to jointly “interview” the children to see if they were up to standard.

In 2006, when the Ministry of the Interior conducted an evaluation of various detention facilities, the Adolescents’ Home received the lowest grade, a D. This, though, is because of Zhang’s comparatively different approach to managing the facility. As part of their efforts to create a home for the young men in their care, not only do the couple actually sleep at the home, Zhang’s wife even cooks their dinners herself. The evaluation team, though, declared that a detention facility must look like a detention center is expected to, and not have the kind of “ambiguity” of the Adolescents’ Home.

Unfazed, Zhang continued with his family-style approach, and thanks to the great results they’d shown since, in 2008 they received an A grade from the MOI, as well as getting assistance from social workers that enabled them to increase the number of boys under their care to 18. Since then, the MOI has become a major proponent of the family-style approach of the Zhangs, which is as good as a direct acknowledgement of Zhang’s efforts and ideas.

Through prayer and dialog with God, these young men learn to settle their spirits and change themselves for the better.

But as well as giving them emotional support, Zhang has helped these young men discover a power capable of taking them to new heights: music. What became the band started with one man and a guitar. Originally, after classes, the inmates could play music and sing for entertainment or as a hobby. In 2009, a judge from the Taoyuan Youth Court visited the Adolescents’ Home and saw the inmates playing guitar. He suggested they get some more instruments, and brought two second-hand saxophones from his friends. Thus the foundations of the band were laid.

Zhang invited Huang Shijia, a friend from church, to come and serve as the inmates’ music teacher, teaching them rock music and saxophone accompaniment. She also laid out goals for them both on and off stage, which inspired the children to work even harder in class.

However, the transition from playing for fun to formal class left some of the young men uncomfortable, leading to some skipping class. And then there were the performances. Performing music demands every­one be in sync, and so for those who had trouble keeping time or keeping up, things could feel frustrating and stressful. Fights broke out, some people skipped rehearsals, others refused to play together, and overall problems just kept arising. Zhang laughs, “It took every last ounce of my brainpower to think up some way to get them to keep going to class.” Da­ming (not his real name) had given up at one point, but was lured back by the promise of food. Now he’s one of the lead saxophonists.

We all find ourselves feeling lost from time to time along life’s path. Through the power of music and mission, these lost sheep are led back to the straight and narrow.

Each of these young men took different paths to go from social outcast to on-stage performer; some were thieves, some drunk drivers, others got into fights, and still others were into drugs. What they all share, though, is that they lacked the love and care of the adults around them. With no sense of security or belonging, they were easily led astray by bad influences.

A-hao (not his real name) remembers one day when his mother came to see him and his older brother at kindergarten; “Mama’s got to leave you tomorrow, so you’re going to have to take care of yourselves. Be good for your teachers, and don’t try and find me.” A-hao never saw his mother again. He began spending all day just goofing off with his friends, and eventually found himself in court charged with stealing motorcycles. After two years in a juvenile detention center, he was turned over to the Taoyuan County Social Welfare Bureau, and ultimately arrived in the Adolescents’ Home.

“I never thought I’d get to go to senior high,” says A-hao. After all, he never really studied as a little kid, instead hanging around with his friends, so how could he possibly test into any high school? A-hao is a natural singer and took any opportunity to indulge his talent, whether the teacher was trying to teach or they were at morning assembly. Frustrated, a teacher sought Zhang’s help.

“If he wants to sing so badly, let’s let him sing,” Zhang said, signing him up for the school singing competition and inviting a music teacher from the local church to tutor A-hao. In the end, A-hao took first place in the competition three years running, and was one of the lead vocalists for the band’s tour of Taiwan.

Today, A-hao studies diligently by day and works as an apprentice mechanic at a Yamaha maintenance depot by night. Now the hands that once broke into cars work to repair them instead. He has also earned a Microsoft Office certification, and hopes one day to go into business for himself as a mechanic.

During the prison tour, A-hao was proud to stand on stage and share his story with the audience: “They say that when God closes a door, he opens a window. All you need to do is not give up—we never gave up on ourselves, and we hope you won’t give up on yourselves either.”

Zhang Jinyi, or “Papa Zhang,” often takes his charges out for trips into the beauty of nature.

Although he now helps these lost sheep become shepherds of men, at one point Zhang was one of them.

Now in his early 40s, as a child Zhang dropped out of junior high to take to the streets with his older brother, getting into fights and, eventually, getting into heroin. At age 20, he was incarcerated. After being released, he found himself unable to resist old habits, falling back into using barely a day later. Before even a year of freedom, he found himself once again behind bars.

While in prison, he learned of his brother’s passing. Thinking about his brother’s violent death at such a young age, Zhang became determined to turn his life around, swearing to get off the drugs for good. In his efforts to keep that promise, he searched high and low for help, trying Western medicine, Chinese herbal medicine, acupuncture, and hypnosis, and even turned to “mystical elixirs” supposed to have been blessed by the gods. Nothing worked.

“Drugs are terrifying. They can completely mess with your mind and make you delusional,” says Zhang. He remembers the feeling of invincibility heroin gave him: nothing could hurt him, he thought, not even getting hit by a car. Lost in these delusions, he would run out into the road, causing people on scooters and motorcycles to get hurt trying to dodge him, which only led to him being even more convinced he was divinely protected.

But the drugs had taken their toll, and withdrawal left him with a running nose, a persistent cough, and a physical pain that went right into his bones. “Even my guts hurt, and I felt like just tearing them out of me.” Just when he’d had enough of the torture of withdrawal, a friend recommended to Zhang that he try a Christian rehabilitation center. Instead of relying on pharmaceuticals to kick the habit, patients and staff there read scripture, prayed, and used the power of God to help the addicts recover. On the first day, says Zhang, “I was in so much pain and all they were doing was sing religious songs. It made me want to scream and curse. I couldn’t sleep for days.”

On the night of the seventh day, as he rolled around the floor shaking, he began to pray: “God, if you’re really out there, please, give me a new life, and I will dedicate it to your work.” That night he slept a peaceful sleep, and since then he has honored his promise, becoming a preacher and sharing his experience.

Today, as the band performs at Taichung Prison, Zhang looks out and sees the face of a man he did time with 21 years ago. Emotionally, he talks about how much things have changed, how once they used to be on the same side, but now he is up on stage and the other man is still down there, so near and yet so far away.

The tour has been full of hope and sunshine, but there have also been tears along the way.

When they performed at Hua­lien, Xiao-jie (not his real name) saw his cousin and close friend from his childhood that he hadn’t seen in six years. When Xiao-jie’s parents divorced, he went to live with his grandmother. He did well at elementary school, and no-one expected him to turn bad at junior high. When just in seventh grade, he was caught riding a scooter while drunk, at which point he was taken into custody. The next year he got caught drunk driving again, as well as getting busted for ketamine and fighting, ultimately resulting in his being sent to the Adolescents’ Home.

Now he is the drummer for the band and working part time. He’s even received a B-class restaurateur certification and earned acceptance to Kai­nan University.

“I never even thought going to university was a possibility,” says Xiao-jie, sharing his story and trying to encourage the cousin he was once so much like. “If I can do it, you can definitely do it!” Normally inmates aren’t allowed near the performers, but this time the warden makes a special exception, letting Xiao-jie’s cousin join him on stage. The two share a quick hug, and the whole place erupts in cheers.

“This trip has well and truly exceeded my expectations,” says Zhang. His children have bravely taken to the stage and shared their transformations, doing so with ease and confidence despite not being natural talkers. Along the way, they’ve become more optimistic about their futures, learned to cherish one another, and sworn to keep on doing such tours, providing encouragement to more inmates and bringing new members along with them on these journeys of growth.

The big finish for the concert is an original piece and Big Change’s theme song, “Turning Point,” with music by music teacher Huang Shi­jie and lyrics by the band members. By the time the song reaches the lines “When you fall, just start climbing again / Spread your wings and soar,” even the most hardened inmates are in tears; many prisons have even asked to make the song their “prison anthem,” keeping the band’s spirit of hope alive in the prison walls.

The story of Big Change is one of people who have become heroes to others in spite of their past circumstances, and shows us that with a little faith and love, we can change people’s lives. It also teaches us that no matter how dark things may get, there is always the light of dawn awaiting, ready to brighten even the cloudiest of hearts.