Growing up, I thought the world revolved around me. I was used to getting everything I wanted, when and how I wanted it. I had an addictive personality and loved anything that made me feel good or important.

I smoked my first joint at 13. I got so stoned that I ran into a wall and gave myself a shiner. I loved every minute of it. Drinking came next, and I was off to the races.

I intentionally got myself kicked out of Catholic school so I could go to public school with my partying buddies.

My big brother Randy worked in a youth ministry, and he tried to get me involved with Bible study and youth leadership. The whole God thing, though, cramped my party life, so I walked away.

I always had dope on hand, so I was the life of every party. After graduation, however, I started snorting coke, and like a wildfire, addiction ravaged my life. Party over! I was a dope fiend and an alcoholic, the guy who’d steal your stuff and then help you look for it. No one wanted me around.

When my mother passed away in 1996, grief sent this mama’s boy on a three-year bender. My habit cost me jobs and friends, ruined my first marriage, and took my freedom. I dried out for a year in the county jail.

In 2000, I was released on intensive probation (IPS). Determined to change my ways, I began attending recovery meetings, got a sponsor, and did all the right things. I stayed sober, worked hard, and made great money selling cars. And then, one day, I got a call that set me on a slippery slope.

“Hi, is this Darren?” a woman’s voice asked. “I’m Brenda. A friend gave me your number. I’m a single mom driving a minivan, and I can’t get a date.”

“I’ll take you out to dinner,” I offered, half-jokingly. She laughed and told me she was looking for a reliable car that didn’t scream single mom.

I was out on a test drive when this beautiful blonde drove her minivan into the dealership. I ditched the customer, jumped out of the car, and ran across four lanes of traffic to get to her. She didn’t buy a car that day, but we did go to dinner. Brenda was a perfect storm of what I loved—she made me feel good and important. Besides, she was drop-dead gorgeous. I was hooked.

With sparks flying between us, we were married in Las Vegas in the spring of 2002.

Brenda had five boys, ages two to thirteen, from previous marriages. Only three of them were living with her at the time. I knew nothing about being a father, but I was determined to figure it out. Only one problem—I was sober, but Brenda struggled with pills and alcohol.

I have since learned that you can’t want sobriety for someone more than they want it for themselves. But back then, I had a savior complex and thought I could fix whatever was broken in Brenda. I had yet to realize that two broken people can’t make each other whole.

Brenda stayed clean for two years, until one day, she decided she was done with sobriety.

“I’m getting drunk,” she declared. “You can either join me or leave me.” By the end of that night, we were both loaded. A week later, we were smoking meth together.

Drugs took our already unhealthy relationship to an extreme level of toxicity. My old monsters came back in force, now fueled with an insatiable addiction to meth, money, and power. The life we’d built together began to crumble.

I kept Brenda stuck at home with money and dope while I sought the nightlife. Greed and lust led me to chase after things no married family man should.

I didn’t see the devastating effect my behavior was having on the boys, especially our middle son, Nathan. He walked, talked, and dressed like me. I was a terrible influence on him, but my conscience was seared. All I cared about was fulfilling my flesh’s desires.

Brenda threw me out when she found out I was cheating. From then on, she called the cops on me every chance she got. I went from being a husband and a dad to a homeless tweaker, couch-surfing at friends’ houses. Our divorce was final in 2007.

I hung out with a rough crowd. We had one goal: stay high 24/7. I was involved in all kinds of mayhem, hitting licks, doing home invasions, and spending every day and every dollar chasing dope.

One day, a buddy pulled out a shotgun and asked me to go with him to sell it. I thought we’d make money, score some dope, and plot our next move. But once we got there, the plan changed into a robbery.

Things went off the rails, and I took four hits to the head with a baseball bat as I tried to exit the scene. I looked up just in time to see my friend grab the shotgun. I heard a blast and watched in horror as the guy with the bat fell to the ground. We jumped in the car and fled the scene. Everything was a blur after that.

Within hours, our faces were plastered all over the news. Being a drug addict and a fugitive was a level of insanity I had not experienced before. I was on the run for eight days, still trying to stay high while jumping out of moving vehicles, crawling through underground tunnels, and outrunning the cops.

In desperation, I called Brenda. She sounded concerned and shocked to learn of my troubles and offered to help me hide out. I told her where to find me and hung up. What was I thinking? Brenda always called the cops on me.

Sure enough, unmarked cop cars quickly swarmed my hideout. I tried to get away but was tackled to the ground, cuffed, and hauled off to jail with a broken hand and a bruised ego.

They caught up with my buddy, too, and we were both charged with first-degree murder and a slew of other crimes. The storekeeper was dead.

It took three months to get my first legal visit. My lawyer was so excited. “I have some great news for you, Darren. They took the death penalty off the table. You’ll only do twenty-five to life.” Oh, yeah. Great news.

I hit rock bottom in solitary confinement. I did care that a man had lost his life, but I was also devastated by my dismal future. My life seemed meaningless.

I thought back to God and how I’d walked away from Him as a teenager. I got down on my knees and…well, I asked for His permission to end my life. The Lord’s response came swiftly: “Darren. You’ve been dead for years. I want to give you a new life.” (See Ephesians 2; 1 Peter 1:3.)

In early 2009, I surrendered my life to Jesus Christ. It was a significant date—Brenda’s and my wedding anniversary. But I wasn’t feeling too sentimental. I was still mad at her for turning me in.

I clung to Jesus while I fought my case, but I got mad at Him sometimes too. I was grateful for a plea bargain that carried a maximum sentence of only 10 years instead of life in prison. Of course, I got the maximum sentence, and away I went. But God knew exactly where I needed to be and for how long. I was under His discipline (Psalm 94:12; Proverbs 3:11–12).

Behind those prison bars, I met some amazing men of faith who loved Jesus and cared about me and each other. They taught me how to put other people’s needs before mine (Philippians 2:3–5). It was a relief to stop thinking about myself for a change. I learned what it meant to be a true Christ-follower by watching Him work in these men’s lives.

I got hired for a job that took a crew of guys to work outside the prison. This company gives second chances and helps the incarcerated learn a trade for success in the free world. I was even able to save up some money for my life after prison.

When it was time to make release plans, my family visited and set boundaries. “We love you, Darren, but we don’t trust you. It’s great you have Jesus now, but you’re not living with any of us.” They were used to empty words and promises from me. Trust had to be earned.

I left the visit upset but trusted God was in control. His answer was waiting for me in my dorm. On my table was an application to a discipleship program called Along Side Ministries. No one knew who put it there; Along Side hadn’t held any services in our yard.

I applied, got accepted, and worked with a mentor for a year. My mentor picked me up on my release date and took me to the program. At Along Side, I met new brothers who were learning to walk with Jesus on the outside. They greeted me with, “Welcome home, bro!”

Home? I no longer knew what that word meant and I sure didn’t deserve one. I’d destroyed so many homes. But the entire community at Along Side poured Jesus’s love into me until my cup overflowed.

The company I’d been working for hired me full-time the day I got out. It was a surreal and humbling experience to work at the same great company I had worked for while in prison.

I contacted Brenda on social media to see how she and the kids were. By then, God had helped me forgive her. She gave me a couple of one-word answers, sent me a picture of the kids, and blocked me.

Three months later, she texted me again. She’d seen pictures of me with homeless people on social media. She saw that I was a different man and wanted to know why.

“It’s Jesus,” I replied. “Want some?”

Brenda and I texted for a month, and during this time, I shared what God was doing in my life. She was interested and admitted that even though she was sober, she longed for something more. She wanted what was in me.

As you’ll read in Brenda’s story on page 16, she accepted Jesus as her Lord and Savior and received the living water He offered. Today, we continue to follow God and build our lives on His Word and the leading of His Spirit.

God has worked a miracle in our lives, redeeming and restoring what we had destroyed, including our marriage. He swept away our offenses (Isaiah 44:22), freed us from addiction, and gave us the power to stand even through the most difficult trials—including the death of our son.

I’m amazed at how God uses Brenda and me to help others discover their own new lives in Jesus. Our prayer is that through our story, you can find your pathway to a redeemed life through Jesus Christ. Put your life in His hands—He will do more than you can imagine (Ephesians 3:20).

DARREN COONEY is a husband, father, grandfather, and mentor. As Alumni President for Along Side Ministries, he helps formerly incarcerated men reentering society make Jesus their foundation for a new life. He enjoys spending time with family and friends, playing golf, watching football, and sharing the Gospel with the lost and hurting.