Freed From Shame

Religion played no part in my life as a child. In our home, everything was about science. My father, a college professor, had a degree in biology, a master’s in microbiology, and a doctorate in zoology. He taught us to look to science for answers. I often heard, “There is no God. There is no Jesus. Heaven and hell are not real.”

In all those years, science never provided answers to my questions. It only left me with more questions and a sense of emptiness and confusion. It didn’t help that I was the last of nine children. Life was often chaotic.

Adding to my turmoil was an awful secret—two trusted family members had sexually abused me when I was eight. At first, I wasn’t sure if what had happened was normal. If it was, why did it feel wrong? And why did I feel so dirty? This experience left me with an unhealthy view of sex and women as well as a boatload of shame and confusion that I carried into adulthood.

In high school, I planned to become a cop. I let family and friends assume I was following in the footsteps of my brother, uncle, and cousin. The real reason was that I didn’t want any other kid to endure the same abuse and shame I’d experienced.

I moved from Pennsylvania to Oklahoma shortly out of high school. I attempted a year of college for my parents, but that was not for me. On my own, I noticed how some people were happy while others, like me, were angry and heartbroken. What caused those differing outlooks? I began to search for an answer.

At 24, I was hired as an officer at a state correctional facility. I’d always wanted to be a cop, but I’d never pictured myself working at a prison. I thought prisons were filthy, corrupt, and dangerous. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to be there—not the staff, not the incarcerated, and certainly not me. I took the job but didn’t plan to stay there long. I’m better than this, I thought.

That was the beginning of my 27-year career within the prison system.

It was easy to despise those paying for their misdeeds. Many were serving life and double-life sentences for horrific crimes. To me, they were the worst of the worst. My judgmental attitude toward this population, combined with the pain and anger of childhood trauma, made me a “tough guy.”

I firmly believed those who were incarcerated deserved nothing beyond what was required. If they were issued a certain amount of clothing, that was all they got. I would take away something as simple as an extra toothbrush to prove I was in charge. I was a real bully.

Over time, I realized many of the incarcerated were not all that different from me. But instead of showing compassion, I continued to look down on them.

After a couple of years, I was hired by the Federal Bureau of Prisons. Despite its high demands, I wanted the respect and pay the position offered, but the stress of the job further hardened my already hard heart.

In my late 20s, I married my first wife. She attended the Greek Orthodox church, which was interesting because she wasn’t Greek. I, however, was. I felt like my family tree had come full circle.

Soon after, I invited Jesus into my life, but it wasn’t until my late 40s that I began to understand what it meant to have a relationship with Him. Unfortunately, there are many believers like me who don’t understand what living for Him means.

I went to church with my wife when I could, but working odd shifts made regular attendance difficult. Since I had no church background or knowledge of the Bible, sitting through church wasn’t easy.

Usually, I walked out of the service feeling dumber than I had going in. “It was all Greek to me!” as the saying goes. I wasn’t motivated, though, to learn more. God was not my priority—work was my god, and I bowed to its demands.

Whatever it took to move up, I did it, and each promotion meant another move. Relocating across the nation was hard on my wife and our two boys. Our marriage came under much tension, and sadly, it ended in divorce just as I was obtaining the rank of lieutenant.

I remarried, but my second wife and I stayed together only four years. Once again, I allowed my job aspirations to impact my roles as a husband and father. The stress of the job, along with my anger and insecurities, did not make for a happy home. I finally recognized my need to change and knew that to do so, I’d need the Lord’s help. For my wife, however, the change came too late, and she asked me to leave.

Sitting alone in a rental house with most of my worldly goods in a cardboard box, I reached an all-time low. How would I tell my sons that I was divorcing again? I felt like such a failure. The job, the divorce, and my increasing sense of shame overcame me, and I decided it would be easier to die.

I crushed up and consumed an entire bottle of prescription pills and told God, “If You have a purpose for me to be alive, I’ll wake up in the morning. If not, oh well.” Thank God, I woke up. Please know that I do not recommend this test of God’s will.

After this, I got serious about my relationship with God. I began talking about Christianity and the Bible with a friend, a fellow lieutenant, who graciously took time to answer my questions. I also had a small network of believers I could lean on, including one of my sisters, her husband, and a few others I knew who were living for Jesus.

Then I met Amanda, also coming out of a failed marriage. Our relationship began strictly as friends. Like me, Amanda was seeking God’s will and healing. We found comfort in our companionship and conversations.

Eventually, we began to date, and she invited me to her enormous, nondenominational church. It was a new and, admittedly, scary experience, seeing all those people with their hands raised, praising and worshiping God. I quickly noticed, however, that these people seemed to enjoy being at church.

Something awakened within me as the pastor clearly shared the Word of God in context. My soul hungered and thirsted for more. At home, I began to read God’s Word daily. Its pages came alive, and I began to find the answers I had been seeking since my youth. God’s love restored the broken places in my heart.

True healing came as I released my childhood trauma by sharing it with others and forgiving my abusers, just as God through Christ had forgiven me (Ephesians 4:32). I thought I would feel humiliated if I told others about my past, but once I did, I immediately felt a sense of cleansing wash over me, and for the first time in 40 years, I felt free (Galatians 5:1). The shame, the hurt feelings, and the dirtiness I had held onto were gone. At 48, I finally felt whole.

I asked Amanda to marry me, and she agreed. God has blessed our marriage and redeemed our painful pasts as we continue to seek Him.

I wanted to learn more about God so I could help others find His healing. I enrolled in an evening program at Highlands College, a Bible college in Birmingham, Alabama, just as I was nearing retirement from the Federal Bureau of Prisons. The more I learned about God’s love for me, the more I began to love others. A burden grew in my heart for those living and working in corrections.

All those years of living apart from God, I had only cared about me and my promotion. But now, I saw people through the eyes of our Savior—including the incarcerated. I no longer saw them as prisoners but as people made in God’s image.

Many incarcerated men have told me how they’d seen me change. “You talk to us now,” they said. “You smile and say hello when we walk by, and you listen to us.” Because of Christ, I am not the same man I once was (Ephesians 4:22–24).

Contemplating my retirement and the completion of my college certificate, I considered many ministry options…none of which included returning to prison. But God has a great sense of humor, and He had other plans.

He used my instructors and classmates to direct me into prison ministry, and His Holy Spirit reminded me of what I’d seen while working in the system. How both those working and living in corrections needed the hope of Jesus and support.

God placed many burdens on my heart, including the attitudes that staff have toward the incarcerated and the attitudes the incarcerated have toward the staff. Understandably, there is much distrust and tension on both sides.

I became heavily burdened for the prison staff. Many live under a terrible weight of hopelessness with no release. They need to be encouraged to open up about their experiences and pain. But there’s an unspoken rule among prison staff: you don’t talk about your problems lest you appear weak. This expectation of self-reliance, however, leads to high rates of drug and alcohol misuse, domestic abuse, and divorce.

I shared my heart with Amanda, and she found a job opening posted with Prison Fellowship, a national nonprofit organization whose mission is “to encounter Jesus with those affected by crime and incarceration.” They were looking for a federal chaplain resource manager, or liaison, who would feel comfortable going into prisons and talking with the incarcerated and staff. It was like God had written out this job description specifically for me.

Three weeks later, I applied for and received the position. I thank God daily for my opportunities with Prison Fellowship to minister to those in corrections.

But most of all, I thank God for reaching into my darkness and saving me. He brought me out from under the heavy weight of sin, anger, confusion, shame, and regret. God truly brought this dead man back to life.

He can revive you, too. You don’t have to live under the weight of sin and shame. Let Jesus set you free.

JASON ZAHARIS, a retired lieutenant in the Federal Bureau of Prisons, is now a federal chaplain resource manager with Prison Fellowship (prisonfellowship.org). In 2021, he founded Reformation 319, a Facebook page that seeks to bring about cultural change in corrections by changing how staff view the incarcerated and how the incarcerated view correctional staff. He is currently pursuing a degree in Christian counseling through Liberty University Online.

Defeating Loneliness

I had many friends in high school and was involved in choir and the dance team. But when I went off to college, everything changed.

Suddenly, I didn’t know anyone. I spent most of my days in my room after class because my friend circle was nonexistent. There was no hanging out in the quad, chilling with friends.

I’m sure I suffered a mild case of depression during that time. I couldn’t wait for holiday breaks so I could go home, hang out, and be in my element again. College ended, and I went back to that circle of what I considered lifelong friends.

They were everything to me, and our relationships were solid for years. We celebrated each other’s most important milestones—obtaining degrees, getting married, and becoming mothers. We supported each other when one of us experienced a death or hardship in our family.

It never occurred to me that our relational dynamics would change. Like I said, I had assumed these friends would be in my life forever. I was wrong.

Over time, our calls became fewer and sometimes seemed one-sided. When I realized the friends’ gatherings I used to enjoy were now happening without me, I felt rejected and as isolated as if I were on an island by myself with no support.

It took me years to acknowledge that I shared in the blame for those broken relationships. I had not taken the time to cultivate and nurture even the ones that mattered most to me. I had taken for granted that those people would be there for me whether I put effort into the relationship or not. My attitude and response in certain situations also contributed to those individuals distancing themselves from me.

The loss of these relationships hurt, and being lonely was difficult. However, I am grateful for the experience as it helped me mature spiritually and step into my calling. (See my story in Issue 2, 2024.)

Are you experiencing loneliness? It isn’t fun by any means. During those dark days, the enemy will try to convince you that there is no one in the world left in your corner. He will tell you that no one cares and that there isn’t anyone to call on, to console you, or to confide in regarding your deepest thoughts.

Praise God, that is the farthest thing from the truth. If you are a child of God, then you are never alone. The Lord promises to walk with you in the deepest and darkest valley (Psalm 23).

He will be there even when your family and friends are nowhere to be found. Psalm 27:10 says that God holds you close even when your family abandons you. People will give up on you. They’ll walk away. But God will never let you go.

I love how God reassures us in His Word that He will not only draw near to us but will also comfort us. Second Corinthians 1:3 says, “All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort” (NLT).

Psalm 68:5–6 says, “Father to the fatherless, defender of widows—this is God, whose dwelling is holy. God places the lonely in families; he sets the prisoners free and gives them joy” (NLT).

Understanding that God is with you will keep you from being overcome by loneliness. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed” (Psalm 34:18 NLT).

No matter where you are, God is there. Nothing—not sickness, divorce, a dead-end job, or even prison—can separate you from His love (Romans 8:35). Don’t lose hope; Your heavenly Father sees and loves you. He knows that, with Him, you’ll make it through.

So grab His hand and keep walking through that dark valley. God’s comfort will soon bring joy and defeat the spirit of loneliness.

NA’KEDRA RODGERS is a Southern belle with sass. She enjoys empowering women as a speaker, author, and podcaster. Her mission is to inspire, encourage, and point lost souls to Jesus. Connect with Na’Kedra at nakedrarodgers.com.

No Pain Goes Unnoticed

Not all grievers get a casserole.

Here in the South, we show up with food and tissues when a friend is grieving a death. We rally when there’s a cancer diagnosis, covering each update with prayer. We don’t always get it right, but we have well-established ways of recognizing the pain in these circumstances.

But no one shows up with lasagna when you’re grieving someone who’s still alive. There’s no online prayer group when you’re grieving a story that’s not yours to share. No one stops by with tissues when your child has hidden disabilities or it’s one more month with no pink lines or you’re watching the daily decline of an older parent.

Some of the most gut-wrenching grief comes from invisible loss.

Luke 8:40–56 tells the story of Jairus, the synagogue leader who fell at Jesus’s feet in front of an enormous crowd, begging Jesus to heal his dying daughter. Jairus was a prominent man, publicly grieving, who openly shared his need out loud. He was surrounded by servants, neighbors, and companions, all praying and offering help at home.

But in that same crowd was an unnamed woman, privately grieving, who didn’t dare share her need out loud.

For 12 years, she’d suffered a chronic flow of blood, spending everything she had on one doctor after another, only to get worse. Her bleeding made her unclean under Jewish law, so she’d lived as an outcast from family and community. Telling anyone about her suffering would have prevented her from even seeking Jesus that day.

Unlike Jairus, she didn’t publicly fall at Jesus’s feet. Instead, she came up behind Him, reached through the crowd, and discreetly brushed her fingers against the fringes of Jesus’s prayer shawl.

Just like that, she was healed as God gave her the miracle she’d been longing for.

Jesus could have let her slip back into the crowd, unnoticed. But our pain is never unnoticed by God.

Jesus stopped, turned, and asked, “Who touched me?” He wasn’t seeking an answer—He knew who’d touched Him. He was seeking this woman.

Jesus saw her when nobody else did. He knew precisely why she suffered and for how long she’d suffered. Neither she nor her pain were invisible to Him. Whether anyone else sees your pain or shows up in your suffering, Jesus does.

Our pain is never hidden from God. Our stories are never too tangled or too embarrassing; they’re never too much or too hard for Him. While no one around us may understand our circumstances, God does.

Not all grief gets a casserole in our communities. But all grief matters to God.

Jesus came to bind every wound. We can reach out to Him boldly, knowing He sees it all. And He cares.

Here are some verses to meditate upon in your time of grief (NLT):

“Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning.” (Psalm 30:5)

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed.” (Psalm 34:18)

“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” (Psalm 56:8)

“He heals the brokenhearted and bandages their wounds.” (Psalm 147:3)

“God blesses those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” (Matthew 5:4)

“Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you.” (1 Peter 5:7)

LISA APPELO is a speaker, writer, and Bible teacher who inspires others to deepen their faith in grief and find hope in the hard. Formerly a litigating attorney, her days are now filled with parenting seven children, ministering, writing, speaking, and running enough to justify lots of dark chocolate. Find encouragement for faith, grief, and hope at LisaAppelo.com.

Take God’s Hand

A police officer woke me up, trying to coax me out of my hiding place.

The sounds of screams, breaking glass, and violence had led me to hide in a tiny hole in the wall of our bathroom—my usual place of refuge when things got bad. There I could muffle the sounds and cry myself to sleep.

I refused to take the officer’s hand. Even at that young age, I knew the rules. My family had a strict code of silence, especially when it came to the police.

I was raised in Tucson, Arizona, the youngest of twelve kids. They all tried to shield me from the details of the family business, but it was impossible. Violence, partying, and drug deals were just how we rolled.

Our lives were full of danger and risks. Dad got busted for transporting drugs and went to federal prison for seven years. I grieved terribly for him. We were close despite the violence he often brought into our home.

His absence threw the family into chaos. When he went away, so did the drugs and money. With those things out of the picture, most people we thought cared about us disappeared too. Mom was left to raise us kids alone. She did her best under the circumstances, but she was lost without Dad. He’d provided the only stability she’d ever known, which is ironic because their relationship was so volatile.

Upon his release from prison, Dad was deported to Mexico. By this time, my siblings were grownups and on their own, so Mom and I moved to Mexico to be with him. It wasn’t long before they were fighting again though. When Mom finally had enough, she moved us back to Tucson.

Then my oldest brother committed suicide. I didn’t know how to deal with my emotions, and no one else could help me because they were hurting too. A few of my other siblings were in prison at this time, which added to the trauma. The pain in my heart was more than I could bear.

I had grown up watching everyone around me drink and do drugs, whether they were happy or sad. Naturally, I turned to those substances to help me through my grief. I also started hanging out with the gangs in my neighborhood to escape the pain and dysfunction of my home. The gang became my family.

My first arrest came at 13 for weed and fighting. From that point on, my teenage years are a blur. I was either locked up in juvenile detention, on probation, or on parole. I was in juvie when I found out I was pregnant. The excitement about being a mom kept me out of trouble for a while.

Gerard, the father of my first son, was also my best friend. We both came from broken homes and leaned on each other for support. He stood by me through the first pregnancy. Not long after that, we had a daughter together too.

We tried to raise our kids and be a family, but the baggage from our childhood put a lot of strain on our relationship. We broke up but remained best friends. He even treated my third child as his own, even though he wasn’t his.

One night, Gerard called and asked me to pick him up from a party. It was late and the kids were sleeping, so I told him I couldn’t come. Thirty minutes later, Gerard’s mom called, crying. A drive-by shooting had taken place at the party, and Gerard had been gunned down while helping others get to safety.

Before I made it to the hospital, Gerard passed away. Inside my head, a voice was screaming. You should have gone to get him. Now your kids don’t have a dad. This is all your fault!

The grief and guilt were so heavy, I became severely depressed. Whenever I looked at my kids, I blamed myself for their not having a father. To numb the pain, I started drinking more heavily, taking pills, and doing whatever drugs I could get my hands on.

Child Protective Services stepped in, taking custody of the kids. I got them back for a while, but only because I managed to fool everyone into thinking I was sober. But people soon saw  through my mask. My mom and other family members had to take care of my kids because of my increasingly self-destructive behavior.

The final blow came when Dad died of a heart attack. Those close to me watched me go down for the count. I was the only one who couldn’t see it. Deep down, I blamed everyone for the wrong cards I’d been dealt. My life was like a bad horror film—the monsters of death, grief, and heartache chased me relentlessly.

I wanted to lock myself away somewhere, just like I had as a little girl. So I crawled into the numb, quiet cocoon that heroin and fentanyl provided. Its comfort came at a high price, however, and I did not realize until too late that I was trapped in addiction.

I begged God many times to let me die; I just wanted out of my misery. He didn’t give me what I asked for—thank goodness.

The more I used, the more careless I became. One day, while high, I got busted smuggling drugs across the border. I pretended that I had my act together, but the Border Patrol didn’t buy it. And once they searched my person, the game was over. I had enough drugs on me to wipe out a small army.

The US Marshals booked me into the federal detention facility in Florence, Arizona, and charged me with smuggling narcotics. The jail put me in isolation in the medical unit, where I began the horrific journey of heroin and fentanyl withdrawal. I became a caged, wild animal—crying, kicking the doors, and yelling at the officers. I hurled food trays, cussed, and called the officers names. I was unable to control my emotions, the worst of which was anger.

When it was time to go to court, my behavior earned me a trip in the restraint chair. I was quite a sight in front of the judge—a malnourished and deranged human being, spit mask and all. I didn’t get released that day, thank God. I wouldn’t have survived for long.

After detox and a two-week stay in the hole for the way I’d treated the officers, I was finally deemed stable enough to be housed with the general population. There, a detention officer approached me, asked my name, and told me she saw a light in me.

“Yeah, okay,” I replied, rolling my eyes. I was little more than a corpse—emaciated and pale from detoxing. How could she say that? Undeterred, the officer asked if she could pray with me. Well, why not?

Later, she introduced me to a group of girls studying the Bible. I was leery at first, but their love and kindness drew me in (John 13:34). These women were on fire about some man named Jesus. Their passion sparked something inside me, and I wanted to learn more.

I started reading the Bible, and the Holy Spirit went to work in my heart. I clung to the promise I found in Jeremiah 29:11—that God has a hope and future planned for His people. I wondered if those plans might be the reason I was still alive.

Looking back, I can see how God was reaching out His hand to me through this officer, inviting me out of the hole I had dug for myself (Psalm 18:16–19). It was strikingly similar to how the officer had extended his hand to me in my youth.

I couldn’t help but acknowledge that God had to be at work. Detention officers don’t usually tell inmates about Jesus and offer to pray with them. This woman had cared enough about me to boldly step out and encourage me when I was at my lowest.

After one year in that detention center, the judge granted me probation. I could not wait to get out of there, make up for lost time, and start making money. I forgot about Jesus and that kind officer before I even stepped out the door.

I searched eagerly for my friend’s car as the officers led me through the release gate. There he was, on the other side of a parked police car. I had barely stepped outside the gate when a cop approached, asked my name, and arrested me for a felony warrant.

You would think I’d have lost my mind and put up a fight, but I didn’t. Instead, I was filled with an odd peace. I had been just a moment away from returning to my old life, and I knew it.

God intervened that day and saved me from myself. I know this because those arrest charges had been dropped without prejudice in 2012, years before. Who but God had resurrected them? I spent the next two years tucked away in prison where I could learn about Him. The superficial relationship I’d had with Him was no longer enough.

I arrived at Perryville, Arizona’s state prison for women, on April 1, 2021. The Holy Spirit wasted no time going to work in my life. Through a Bible study, I learned about Alongside Ministries and met some of its volunteers.

Hearing testimonies from other incarcerated women about how Jesus and this faith-based program had changed their lives stirred something inside me. I decided to apply for the program, and Pastor Ken from Alongside came to interview me. He asked questions about my life and faith, including: “If you were to die today, do you think you would go to heaven?”

I told him I didn’t think so. I’d done too many bad things and hurt too many people.

Pastor Ken explained that Jesus had died on the cross so that I could be forgiven for all those things (Romans 8:1). He described the high price Jesus paid to free me from the guilt and shame I had been carrying. Then he shared how I could spend eternity in heaven instead of hell. Life and hope for the future were available. I just had to choose them.

After our interview, I was accepted into the program and received weekly visits from a mentor until my release from Perryville. The more I learned about Jesus, the closer I felt to Him. But trusting God with my future wasn’t easy.

In a last-ditch effort to control my future, I changed my release plans and applied for a program that wasn’t faith-based. It had a shorter commitment and seemed easier. But the decision tormented me with anxiety until, finally, I surrendered to God’s will. I let go of the controls and accepted Jesus as my Savior and the Lord of my life and resumed my original release plan. The Lord restored my peace.

I am comforted to know that the Holy Spirit was in the details of my life decisions. His peace guided me then and continues to guide me now (Colossians 3:15).

Since the day I grabbed His hand and chose Him, I’ve never had to walk alone—not in prison or free society. God has directed my every footstep (Proverbs 3:6), and has never once led me astray.

Not only that, but He has healed my heart, removed my shame, restored relationships, and resurrected my dreams. I am so glad I chose Him.

God says, “Today I have given you the choice between life and death, between blessings and curses.… Oh, that you would choose life, so that you and your descendants might live!” (Deuteronomy 30:19 NLT). I hope you will.

Patricia Guzman Gonzalez is a daughter, mother, wife, and grandmother of 9. She enjoys writing, reading, and animals. Her heart is dedicated to special needs and recovery ministries, and through them, she brings the love of Jesus to vulnerable people from all walks of life.

Facing and Embracing Emotions

Internal peace and quiet. If you’re like me, you just gave a big sigh and thought, Wouldn’t that be nice? Well, believe it or not, it’s attainable.

I read Kristi’s article on page 14 of this issue, and boy, could I relate. All that internal noise and confusion… For most of my life, I suppressed my emotions, numbing them with substances and attempting to outrun them with performance. I had zero understanding or guidance on navigating those often overwhelming feelings.

Emotions are our constant companion. They’re integral to our human experience. Some are pleasant and others are not, but all add vibrancy to our life experiences, shape our connections, and influence our decisions. Understanding and welcoming our emotions is vital to experiencing a healthy life. Otherwise, we continuously live in a deep well of discomfort, confusion, and fear.

The world often encourages us to suppress or ignore our feelings, telling us to pretend indifference to any emotion, whether pleasure or pain. How exhausting is that?

True freedom and healing come from facing and embracing our emotions. Doing so leads to more authentic and fulfilling lives and break the vicious cycle of denying, burying, compressing, and suppressing what we feel.

John 10:10 tells us the devil comes to steal, kill, and destroy us. The enemy torments us with our feelings, tricking us into believing we can do nothing, that we’re victims, and we have no power. Why? So that we don’t live in the light of our true identities as free and healed children of God.

God gave us emotions—the ability to feel—to help us navigate life. Emotions are signals from our inner self, like warning lights on a car’s dashboard. They provide insight and communicate depth within us. Ignoring or suppressing these signals can lead to emotional numbness, stress, and physical illness. Facing, embracing, and processing them leads to freedom and healing.

I have found five rhythms or practices that make this pathway to wholeness achievable:

• Name the emotion when it surfaces. Is it anger, sadness, fear, joy, or something deeper? Identification brings the feeling into the open and clarifies it, making it less overwhelming.
• Allow the emotion to be present. Recognize and permit your feelings to exist without passing judgment or removing or changing them. Remember, emotions are a natural part of the human experience. They signal to you and others that something is happening internally.
• Find healthy ways to express your emotions. Emotion is energy in motion; whether positive or negative, that energy must go somewhere. Healthy ways to release your emotions include talking with a trusted friend, journaling, creating art, or engaging in physical activity.
• Reflect on what the emotion is telling you. What is the underlying root cause? What triggered the emotion? Reflection leads to self-awareness and deeper insight into your patterns and behaviors.
• Invite God into this space. Pour your heart out to Him in prayer and seek His comfort and guidance. God cares deeply about you, and He desires to walk with you through your emotional journey. First Peter 5:7 says, “Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you” (NLT).

Emotions are not obstacles to overcome. They are an essential part of your human experience. We honor God and how He designed and created us by making space for our emotions and facing and embracing them. Doing so will also enable us to receive an increased measure of His grace, paving the way for a more authentic, resilient, and fulfilling life.

This process won’t be easy. It requires courage, honesty, vulnerability, and the willingness to confront uncomfortable truths. But by embracing the journey and doing the work, you will ultimately discover the freedom and healing Jesus Christ died to give you (Isaiah 53:5–6).

SHERIDAN CORREA is a biblical counselor who is trained in trauma-informed care. She’s a wife, mother of two teenage boys, singer, and avid runner who has been radically changed by Jesus. She is VL’s director of content development.

Fatherless No More

Why would a person leave his comfortable Florida home to live in an RV in the parking lot of Rikers Island, a jail housing some of New York City’s most infamous criminals? Only one reason—the love of God. That love can lead a person to do some pretty radical things. It did me.

Becoming a pastor and ministering to people anywhere, much less in a notorious jail, was never a thought growing up. My focus was on sports. I started playing football in the streets, but when I heard about an organized Pop Warner league near our home in Sarasota, Florida, I begged Mom to sign me up. My friends played in that league, and I wanted to join them.

Mom wasn’t comfortable with the idea at first but finally agreed. I’m sure it wasn’t easy to put me in organized sports. She worked three jobs just to make ends meet. She was the sole provider of our family, and I’ll forever be grateful for her many sacrifices.

My father was never in the picture, but I decided early on not to let his absence bother me. What good would it do to need someone who wasn’t and never would be there?

I got what I thought I needed from my mom, uncles, and coaches. My coaches were like surrogate fathers to me and the guys on the team. Instead of crying over my plight, I kept my head down and worked hard.

If performance measures a man’s success, then my plan worked well. I became captain of my high school football team, prom king, and was voted Best All Around of my senior class. Then I received a full athletic scholarship to Penn State.

In college, I continued to excel outwardly, but inside me, a sense of emptiness and insignificance was growing. No matter how much I achieved, that void only got bigger. It didn’t help that I was far from my family and friends and the comforts of home.

I worked hard to fill the hole in my heart by accumulating more accolades and doing everything I could find to feel recognized, important, valued, and significant. But my efforts were like chasing the wind (Ecclesiastes 6:9 NLT).

I heard the gospel of Jesus Christ for the first time after my freshman year on campus. A campus minister told me I was a sinner, and that if I didn’t repent of my sin, I would go to hell. His message made me very uncomfortable.

My whole life, people had only said I was a good guy. The executive director of the local Boys and Girls Club said I was a role model. You could read it for yourself right there in the newspaper! But this guy was telling me I was a sinner? By whose standards?

But what if what he said was true? The performer in me immediately started searching for a solution. I had always done whatever was needed to win this scholarship, overcome that injury, or earn that position; surely this was the same. What could a person do to keep from going to hell? My panicking mind ran wild.

My fear increased when, one day, something like a set of wooden shutters opened before my eyes, and I saw a fearsome vision of hell.

The man had shared the good news that God had sent His Son, Jesus, to die for sinners like me so that I didn’t have to go to hell. (See John 3:16; Romans 3:23, 5:8, 6:23, 8:1, and 10:9.) He told me I didn’t have to do anything but receive what Jesus had done for me, but, terrified and not understanding, I walked away.

I searched for ways to silence my fears for months after this encounter. I didn’t turn to drugs and alcohol, but I hit life hard in other areas. I had one goal: to satisfy my flesh. I was a selfish person, and I manipulated people and situations to get what I wanted, offering nothing in exchange, especially when it came to the girls.

It wasn’t until I became gravely ill and ended up in the hospital with some mysterious illness that I started thinking about God again. Lying flat on my back, I looked upward and offered a deal I was sure God couldn’t refuse: “If You get me out of this mess, I’ll read my Bible.”

God graciously restored my health. He even gave me the strength to return to the field and become the co-MVP of spring practice my sophomore year. But it wasn’t long before I walked out on my end of the bargain.

I’d been serious when I told God I’d read the Bible, and I did try. But without someone to disciple me, I was soon overwhelmed and gave up. Thankfully, God didn’t give up on me.

He sent an NFL pro named Todd Blackledge to Penn State to help me understand God’s love and gift of salvation. I looked up to that man—I would have shown up in the woods at 6:00 a.m. if he’d asked.

Todd spoke boldly and passionately about Jesus, straight from his heart and the Bible. It was like he knew God personally. There was no doubt in my mind that what he shared was true, and I wanted what he had.

Todd’s words helped me trust God and to realize that Jesus wasn’t looking for activity; He wanted me. I decided I was ready to lay down my life for God, whatever that meant.

When Todd asked if anyone wanted to stand for Jesus and pray to receive eternal salvation, I got ready to stand and walk to the front of the room, but then I focused on the other guys. I condemned myself, “You can’t stand for Jesus in front of these guys; if you do, you’ll be a hypocrite.”

I had recently been to a weeknight Bible study on campus with teammates I thought professed faith in Jesus, only to go to a frat party the following weekend and find some of them there. They didn’t live any different than me. I didn’t want to be like them.

I had almost bought into the lie when God brought my focus back to Him and everyone else disappeared. Once again, there was only Jesus and me. I stood up, walked to the front of the room, and prayed to receive Him as my Lord and Savior. My power or cleverness had nothing to do with it—the Holy Spirit drew me into a relationship with Himself (John 6:44).

In the weeks that followed, I fought hard not to return to my old ways. I didn’t always win that fight. Desperate not to fall away from God, I memorized a prayer in the back of a book someone had given me and repeated it daily while walking to class. It’s all I knew to do.

God was so gracious. Seeing my heart and recognizing my struggle, He put people in my life who could teach me about Himself, including His spiritual gifts and His Son.

The more I studied the life of Jesus Christ, the more I realized that His ministry wasn’t just about being kind to people or having a steady character. His ministry was one of power (1 Corinthians 4:20), and His power transformed people. Jesus made people into new creations (2 Corinthians 5:17).

It’s been over 39 years since I made that commitment. With the help of the Lord, His Spirit, and other believers, I have built a solid foundation that has lasted through many trials (Matthew 7:24–27), including a ten-year career in the National Football League (NFL).

The Pittsburgh Steelers drafted me as a defensive lineman in 1987. I later moved to the Washington Redskins in 1991, where I played for Joe Gibbs and was blessed to win Super Bowl XXVI. I also played in the Pro Bowl in 1993 before retiring in 1996. I am grateful God revealed Himself before I entered the NFL.

I remember the day God reminded me not to attach myself to the identity of a professional athlete, whispering to my heart: “Build a life in My Son, not in the NFL.” I wasn’t to seek man’s applause or worldly offerings. I was to live for the audience of one above me—my heavenly Father—not the audience of thousands in front of me. I wasn’t to feel entitled to special treatment or privileges because of my success, nor should I be disrespectful.

The NFL wasn’t my golden ticket to a better life—it was a platform the Father was giving me to be a witness for Him. I was to humbly pursue excellence in all my dealings with players, coaches, fans, and my family.

My humility was tested when, in my second year in the NFL, a number-one draft pick joined the team and began aiming for my spot. I had a choice—I could be a Christlike example to this guy and treat him with kindness and respect, or I could seek to undermine him to secure my position. I chose the way of love.

From the minute he entered the program, I served him by helping him learn plays. I gave him all he needed to be successful, but I also gave my all to honor the talents the Father gave me on that field (Colossians 3:23).

I learned that you can push for someone else’s success while at the same time pursuing what the Father would have for you. I let go of the idea that I had to protect something and trusted the Father with the results and what He had for me. In the end, the position remained mine.

One day, I was in the gym preparing for an impending battle on the gridiron when this guy approached. He sat on a nearby weight bench and poured his life out to me, sharing how miserable and empty he felt despite having money, a wife, and a fancy car.

I was shocked. I mean, 70,000 people were waiting for us in the stands, and this was when he chose to bare his soul? I couldn’t ignore the opportunity God was giving me, though. The field could never be more important than a person’s life.

After speaking for a while, we prayed together, and this man received Jesus as His Lord and Savior. We experienced victory before we even stepped on the field that day.

God blessed me abundantly since my time in the NFL. He gave me a beautiful wife, four children, and a successful career and ministry. I found that as I focused on serving God and others and living a life of excellence for His glory, God consistently gave me the desires of my heart and opened more doors of opportunity (Psalm 37:4; Matthew 6:33). He even gave me a gift I never knew I needed—a Father.

That happened one weekend in the off-season. My wife and I had made our usual 3.5 hour trip from Pittsburgh back to State College, Pennsylvania, to participate in leadership training with the pastor of the church we attended. As was our custom, we all gathered in a circle for prayer. Suddenly, I collapsed to the floor in a fetal position and began to cry uncontrollably.

I could feel the eyes of everyone around me, watching, and thought to myself, What are you doing down here? Why are you crying?

Concerned, my pastor leaned in and asked if I was okay. I struggled to regain my composure, but all I could do was wail, “I never had a father! I never had a father! I never had a father!”

The words caught me by surprise. As far as I knew, I’d never cared about not having a father. I’d learned early not to need one. But God knew otherwise, and He was about to break down the buffer of protection I had built around my heart with people’s attention and the distraction of places and things to reach the orphan within who longed to be loved.

“God says He will father you.” Pastor’s words got my attention. God wanted to father me? I had heard Him referred to as a father in the Bible, but it had never occurred to me that God wanted to father me in a personal way.

Since this revelation, my life has not been the same. Stepping into a relationship with God as my Father brought me into my destiny.

You see, I wasn’t created for the NFL or to have a successful ministry. I wasn’t designed to do great things or be active in the church or even lead others to Jesus. Those things are part of my life, and they are good. But they aren’t why I exist.

The Father created me so I could love Him and He could love me. His number one desire is to be a Father to His children.

Think about it. When God, who needed nothing, put His hands in the dirt and created humans, it was for one reason: relationship. God breathed life into Adam not because He needed an extra set of hands and feet. God needed nothing. He created Adam and Eve for the pleasure it would give God to love them. That’s why He created you too!

I now have the great privilege of sharing this love revelation with incarcerated men on Rikers Island. God first led me to minister there on June 13, 2022. Since then, I’ve commuted from Orlando to New York and lived in an RV in the jail parking lot to help young men discover their true identity. Only the Father could have led me there.

At first, it was hard for the guys to trust me, which is entirely understandable given the trauma they’ve been through. Most had never had a male visit them during their incarceration. None had ever had a man look them in the eye and say, I love you. It took courage for them to trust me, as they had all experienced abandonment, abuse, and neglect.

It’s been miraculous to watch the Father’s love unite these men from different blocks, gangs, and streets. He has made us family through our faith in the sacrifice of His Son. We have all found hope for a different life through relationship with God as our Father.

We don’t find freedom by suppressing the need for a father, nor can we find it by working hard to prove we can succeed without one. I accomplished at the highest level and still felt empty. The journey to freedom begins when we acknowledge our need for a father, confess how the lack of a father impacted us, and then forgive our fathers.

Here’s how that process played out for me. I had to admit that I needed a father to tell me he loved and cared for me, that I was worth it, and that he was proud of me. I had to confess that not having that father had led me to live, act, and treat people in specific ways. Then I had to release my father from the debt I felt he owed me. I had to forgive him.

Only through acknowledging, confessing, and forgiving could the orphan in me find healing and experience the abundant life my heavenly Father offered (John 10:10).

I don’t know what your relationship with your father is like. Maybe you’ve never seen his face. Maybe he was in the picture but his presence brought only pain. Either way, it’s okay—God wants to father you, too.

Having or not having a father isn’t the period in your life; it is a comma. Don’t let Satan torment you with the trauma of not having parents, and don’t let him trick you into making your father (or mother) your identity. Satan will try to convince you that all you need is a good set of parents to be okay. The problem with that is you can be a son or daughter of an earthly father or mother and still feel unloved or not good enough.

Your identity is not found in being the child of a human person; it is found in the love of your Father in heaven, in being His child. And, no matter what, your heavenly Father’s arms are open wide, ready to welcome you home (Luke 15:11–32).

Come to Him. Let the love of God break down the barriers of protection you’ve built around your heart so that the orphan in you can find healing. The One who created you wants to love and know you, and He wants to be loved and known by you too.

When you grasp this truth, you’ll discover your purpose in life, and everything will change.

TIM JOHNSON is the senior pastor of Orlando World Outreach Center and founder of Orlando Serve Foundation. Since retiring from the NFL, Pastor Tim has pioneered various ministries worldwide, connecting people to God and one another and equipping them to serve in their local communities. He has also led a life-transforming outreach at Rikers Island for incarcerated men ages 18 to 21.

Opinions

I immediately noticed the crushed look on my friend’s face when she walked through my door. Only a few hours earlier, she’d been excited to share her idea about writing a Bible study for parents of addicted and incarcerated children with a ministry leader she respected and admired. The subject was personal, and she was burdened to help other parents find hope and comfort in Jesus.

But now, she sat totally defeated at my kitchen table, with tears rolling down her cheeks and plopping into her coffee. “Maybe writing that Bible study was a dumb idea,” she sniffled.

I was confused. Where was the godly confidence I had seen hours before? There was only discouragement and doubt now.

It turned out that her lunch date hadn’t shared her enthusiasm, and that had opened the door for Satan to stir up confusion. He’s always looking for a way to lead us to question what we’ve heard from God. He’d used this one person’s opinion to lead my friend away from what the Lord was calling her to do—to put pen to paper and offer hope to those hurting parents.

Over our tear-infused coffee, I reminded my friend that her original motivation to write the study was in obedience to God. He had put that desire in her heart (Psalm 37:4), and the only opinion she needed to seek on this situation was His—full stop.

The setback was temporary. After spending time with the Lord, my friend quickly regained her confidence and started doing what God had put on her heart.

Opinions. Sometimes, they’re helpful—other times, not so much.

Sometimes, we’re on the receiving end of the cutting and unsolicited ones, but other times (cringe), we are guilty of wielding the naysayer sword. Either way, God has some wisdom in His Word to help us navigate opinions (Proverbs 29:25).

The story of Job offers a rich lesson on the negative impact of misguided opinions. Job had endured tremendous loss and sorrow. Initially, his friends offered comfort. However, as time went on, each one began presenting their opinions on why they believed Job was suffering.

That’s when things took a hurtful and damaging turn, so much so that the Lord stepped in and personally rebuked the carelessness of Job’s friends (Job 42:7–10).

So what should we do with those opinions? A good rule of thumb is to seek the Lord first, always, and in all matters (1 Chronicles 16:10–11; Proverbs 8:17; Psalm 119:10).

Understanding God’s position on an issue brings discernment and helps us receive opinions with grace and wisdom. We can’t stop people from giving an opinion, but we can choose whether we’ll let that opinion stop us from obeying the Lord. Sometimes, we must let it go in one ear and out the other, as the saying goes.

Likewise, when we feel compelled to give our take on something, we should stop and ask the Lord whether our input is necessary. When we speak, we need the Holy Spirit to guide our words so that we build one another up rather than discourage. Even Jesus said only what the Father gave Him to say (John 12:49).

Ephesians 4:29 says, “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen” (NIV). Tucking God’s Word into our hearts will help the overflow of our mouths be more encouraging and Christlike (Psalm 119:11; Luke 6:45).

The Lord doesn’t tell us to shut people and their input out altogether. Instead, wise King Solomon said: “Listen to advice and accept discipline, and at the end, you will be counted among the wise” (Proverbs 19:20 NIV).

We need people in our lives who will tell us the truth, even when we don’t want to hear it. Seeking opinions from people who aren’t wise and who tell us only what we want to hear is foolish and dangerous. (See Rehoboam’s story in 1 Kings 12:1–15.)

Opinions are never wasted if we let them drive us closer to Jesus to seek His face more fervently, as my friend did. God will show us the way as we filter all opinions—pleasant and unpleasant—through Him.

CHRISTINA KIMBREL serves as VL’s production manager. Once incarcerated, she now ministers hope to those held captive by their past and current circumstances while sharing the message of Christ.

Every Day is a Miracle

“We…glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope” (Romans 5:3–4 NIV).

The doctor’s call came after hours, and it wasn’t good news. A biopsy of the large fibroid tumor removed days before during my total hysterectomy had revealed cancer.

I don’t remember much of the conversation. I hung up the phone in shock. Cancer? That’s crazy. I’m only 43 years old. I’m healthy. There must be a mistake.

My husband, Sean, and I immediately started praying. We didn’t know what we were up against but were confident God had it under control. His divine intervention had already saved me from other bad situations in my life. Cancer would be just one more thing God would bring me through for His glory.

A second biopsy confirmed I had stage 4 high-grade endometrial stromal sarcoma, an aggressive and rare form of uterine cancer known to spread quickly. My head spun as I was whisked into a second surgery, this time to remove my ovaries.

Then came the grim prognosis: few patients with this grade and stage survived longer than a year. I dug in my faith heels and stubbornly refused to accept the news. I am not like most people—God is on my side.

I started chemotherapy, optimistic and determined to trust the Lord’s good plan for my life. How could I not trust Him? Six years before this cancer diagnosis, God had pulled my life out of the gutter. I had lost nearly two decades of my life to pills and alcohol while living in the fast lane in Las Vegas.

My addiction had consumed my life and stolen what I loved most: my two sons. I lost custody after failing court-ordered drug tests and was overwhelmed with guilt and shame. Still, I continued crawling through the muck, desperately scraping up enough money to support my daily habit. Apart from God’s intervention, I wouldn’t have survived.

When I finally decided to sober up, the Lord led me straight from a Vegas detox center to a bed at the Phoenix Rescue Mission (PRM), a faith-based, long-term recovery program near my mom and sister in Arizona. I entered the program on August 10, 2017, and began my journey with Jesus.

Being surrounded by people of faith was intimidating. Everyone seemed to understand the Bible and have their relationship with God figured out. I didn’t get the whole God thing yet. I had only been to church a handful of times.

Surrendering my life to God and trusting Him with the details was a slow process. I was stubborn and hard-hearted, but God was patient. I asked questions and prayed for understanding. I wanted to overcome my unbelief (Mark 9:23–24).

I also prayed for my boys, releasing them into the Lord’s care. I knew I needed to become a healthier version of myself if I ever wanted to have a relationship with them.

Over time, the Holy Spirit helped me find healing in my heart and mind and freedom from my addictions. In 2018, I graduated from PRM with some amazing, godly women who are still my best friends.

Living free from the power of drugs and alcohol opened a new world for me. I worked hard to earn back the privilege of being in my sons’ lives and trusted God to do what only He could.

Dating was the last thing on my mind, but God brought exactly who I needed into my life at exactly the right time. I saw my future husband’s face for the first time at a PRM alum barbecue. Sean was a graduate and staff member of the men’s program. His character and faith were strong. Dating Sean was easy because it wasn’t chaotic; I felt safe with him. When he proposed six months later, I said yes.

Then the pandemic hit. As the world plunged into fear and uncertainty, Sean and I took advantage of the quality time we had together as newlyweds and planned for our future.

I felt such freedom and contentment. I had a godly husband, a restored relationship with my kids and family, and a bright future. I thanked God daily for this beautiful life.

At the start of 2022, I noticed a small lump and went to the doctor. After an examination, the doctor told me there was nothing there. Feeling silly and embarrassed for wasting their time, I ignored the lump and its increasing size. Stop it! I scolded myself. You’ll make a fool of yourself if you go to the doctor. It’s a pulled muscle—nothing to worry about.

Sean and I were celebrating our third anniversary when horrible pains led me to the emergency room. Tests revealed a huge mass covering all my female organs, which is what led to my hysterectomy, the biopsy, and the grim diagnosis.

Confident that God would heal me, I approached Him boldly, asking for my miracle (Hebrews 4:16). Other people prayed too, but instead of getting better, I grew worse. Excruciating pain led to another surgery to remove more tumors.

When my condition didn’t improve, I felt betrayed and abandoned by God. My prayers turned into angry yelling sessions, and I demanded answers. Lord, I deserve to know why this is happening! How can Your will be for me to die? How am I supposed to be okay with that?

Weary of praying and full of anxiety, I stopped talking to God altogether. I didn’t think He was listening to me anyway.

That attitude made matters worse because then the guilt came. There I was, a Christian with not even half a mustard seed of faith (Matthew 17:20). I felt like a hypocrite.

I didn’t know how a person with cancer was supposed to feel or act, but I was sure I wasn’t doing it right. I didn’t want anyone to judge me for living like I was dying—but that’s exactly what I was doing. Negativity and dread pulled me into a dark place. I isolated myself, pushing away those who loved me. I stopped trying to enjoy life. And I was terribly worried about what would happen to my family if I died.

I was almost to the one-year mark—the point at which I was no longer supposed to be alive. I dreaded every doctor’s appointment, always expecting bad news.

And then it happened.

The doctor looked at me and said, “Misty, you are a walking miracle. After the year you’ve had, most people wouldn’t have made it.” He had never seen anyone survive more than a year with my diagnosis, but my tumors were shrinking. The cancer was responding to treatment! Still, he gave me no guarantees. He only told me that I needed to continue aggressive treatment and celebrate the time I had.

A spark of light ignited in my heart, dispelling the darkness. Neither the circumstances nor the diagnosis had changed, but I was still here. I would appreciate and enjoy whatever time I had left as best I could.

But I needed to work things out with God first. I quit shaking my fist at Him and demanding answers and started talking to Him like a friend. I brought my questions to Him humbly, asking Him to give me peace in my circumstances.

I just couldn’t understand why the Lord had saved me from a life in the gutter, only to let me face cancer. Why hadn’t He healed me yet? I still believed He could—after all, He had already removed my addiction, restored my relationships, and helped me overcome so much.

As I began rereading the Bible, the Lord reminded me of the suffering His Son endured on the cross for me (Hebrews 12:2–3). If Jesus suffered while He was on this earth, how could I expect to skate by unscathed? Jesus Himself told us that trouble is inevitable (John 16:33).

Now, quieter in my spirit and willing to listen to God, I grew more content. I wasn’t accepting death; I was choosing life. I was still breathing, which meant God wasn’t done with me yet.

Life wasn’t over. It was time I started living again.

The reality was, my life was full of miracles before and during my battle with cancer. It was time to look for those blessings and thank God for them.

That’s what keeps me going. It helps me overcome doubt and frustration, even as I continue fighting. So I want to share some of those blessings with you.

God’s presence is at the top of the list. The Lord was with me long before I knew Him, and He has never left me. He has comforted and strengthened me through every surgery, hospitalization, and round of chemotherapy. All I ever had to do was welcome Him into my situation, grab His hand, and walk through the darkness with Him.

His faithfulness is another blessing. Even when I ignored Him, yelled at Him, gave Him the silent treatment, or threw a tantrum, He never once turned His back on me. His love is never ending (Lamentations 3:22–23).

For added measure, He put wonderful and faithful people in my life to help me navigate the hills and valleys of cancer. No matter how hard I tried to push some of them away, they remained by my side, including my mom and my sister who have loved me through it all.

My wonderful husband has been the most patient and loving caregiver, encourager, and best friend anyone could ask for. God knew what was coming and gave me someone special to walk the journey with.

God’s provision is another blessing. Sean and I have not wanted or needed anything (Philippians 4:19). The Lord has provided excellent medical insurance and care, a roof over our heads, food in our tummies, and money to pay our bills. He hasn’t overlooked even the tiniest of details.

I don’t know what the future holds. I am still deep in the battle but have peace because I have God. He is the Prince of Peace (Isaiah 9:6). He holds the future, and I am grateful my life is in His hands. He has a firm grip on me, and He won’t let go until I make it safely to my eternal home. I trust His plan and His timing and look forward to meeting my Lord and Savior face to face. Only He knows when that will be.

The Lord is under no obligation to provide answers to my questions, and I’ve learned to be okay with that. He is God; I am not. Therefore, I will trust His faithfulness and His promise to fight for me (Exodus 14:14).

In the meantime, I refuse to waste another minute. I am determined to enjoy my life and the people in it as my strength permits, no matter how difficult. I will continue to thank the Lord for everything He has done for me. And I will no longer live like I’m dying. Until God takes me home, I will treat every day like the miracle it is.

MISTY MCGEE was a wife, mom, daughter, and a child of the Most High King who hoped that through sharing her story, others would look for daily blessings in their lives, even in the face of adversity.

TRIBUTE:

On August 31, 2024, Misty went home to be with the Lord. She praised God until her last breath while enjoying precious time with friends and family. Today, Misty is cheering us on from heaven, where she is whole and free. We honor you, Misty, and say “well done.” Thank you for encouraging us with your testimony of faith. We will see you soon!

A Peaceful, Quiet Mind

I learned the phrase “no pain, no gain” early in life. I was an athlete who aspired to be the best in the world in water-skiing. I experienced countless falls, rejections, crashes, and disappointments during my 35-year career.

Learning to navigate and quickly overcome disappointment and pain was a must. My schedule was jam-packed, so there was little time to recoup or cry over whatever had happened. There wasn’t much time to celebrate the wins either.

As a young girl, I learned many behaviors and coping skills to navigate my fast-paced, high-pressure life. For example, I learned to keep my emotions intact when facing disappointment or unjust results. I would not allow the fans, officials, or other athletes to see me upset. Instead, I smiled, signed autographs, and spoke kindly no matter how badly my heart was breaking. Only when I was alone—usually in a Porta Potty somewhere on site—would I let out a tear. And you can believe I didn’t stay in there for long!

I pushed through physical pain. Ignore and override was my way of life. I rarely listened to the wisdom of my body or other people, including doctors, who advised me to take a break. I remember being as young as seven, asking my parents to carry me to the dock so I could train. I sometimes couldn’t walk because my little feet were dry and cracked from the constant exposure to brackish (partly salty) water. I loved skiing that much, even as a child.

However, it wasn’t necessarily my love for the sport that kept me pushing down the pain and pressing on. Mostly, I couldn’t imagine not skiing; it was my identity. Once, I begged my husband, Tim, to sneak me out of the hospital and get me to the dock so I could compete at the US Open Championships.

Did I mention I was connected to a morphine pump at the time, 13 weeks pregnant, and experiencing a bowel obstruction? Minutes after I made that absurd request, the doctor informed us that, without intervention, I was just hours from death. Thank goodness Tim doesn’t always listen to me!

Around 2013, a friend told me, “Kristi, your greatest strength is your ability to press on and push through pain and obstacles. It made you a world champion, but those traits are also your greatest weakness. You don’t know when to stop.” It took me over a decade to understand his wisdom.

I spent years going from event to event, deadline to deadline, giving myself little space and zero grace. “Suck it up, Buttercup” has been my internal pep talk for years. “You can do this. Keep going. People are counting on you.” I even felt pride in my ability to keep going when others threw in the towel.

Recently, a pastor friend named Roger asked me how I was doing. Not buying into my generic “I’m fine” answer, he asked a follow-up question. “Tell me, Kristi, what’s the first thing that pops into your head when you wake up?”

Did I dare let Roger into that chaos? He seemed to care, so I told him about the tormenting voices and anxious thoughts that greeted me every morning and how they reminded me that I was behind, wrong, not enough, and needed to do more. I also shared my fear of disappointing God, of leading the Victorious Living ministry down the wrong path.

“What do you do with all this?” Roger asked.

“Well,” I began. “I used to kneel and wallow in those emotions for hours and beg God to take them away. But now, I fight them. I crank up praise music, sermons, and scriptures, filling my mind with God’s good things. I also speak aloud to the noise until I can’t hear it anymore. Then, I start my day.”

He asked how that was working out.

“Good,” I told him. “I always muster the strength to accomplish the task at hand and move on to the next one.” Wasn’t that all that mattered? Suddenly, I realized how crazy I sounded.

Roger offered a solution. “Tomorrow when you wake up, instead of trying to drown out the noise and ease the emotions, sit in them with your heavenly Father. Tell Him your struggle and how you feel so He can help you.” Okay. What did I have to lose?

So the next day, when I awoke to those familiar voices, I resisted the urge to fight noise with noise and quietly walked outside and headed for the community boat launch. Once there, I talked to my heavenly Father and invited Him into the mental and emotional chaos, as uncomfortable as it was. And I started to cry.

I’m not much of a crier unless I’m watching television, and when I do shed tears, it’s not for long. I usually tell myself to pull it together, just like I did on the shoreline of those ski tournaments, giving myself little space to feel pain or grieve loss.

But on that day, my spirit groaned aloud. Not having control over my emotions or putting forth a persona of having it all together felt strange. At the same time, though, allowing myself space and grace to be authentic was freeing.

In the middle of my messy cry, God made His presence known. The sky was dark and cloudy that morning, but suddenly, the clouds parted in the shape of a circle, and the brightest and warmest sunrays enveloped me.

It felt like God was wrapping His arms around me, saying, “I see and hear you, My daughter. I know everything you feel, and I’ve got you. You’re okay; you’re not alone. Keep giving Me your emotions, voices, and questions. You don’t have to bear them alone. Put them on My shoulders, and I’ll give you rest.”

For the first time, I encountered what I now call the comfort of sonship—it’s a supernatural peace that comes from knowing I am a child of the Most High God. Oh, how I long to live constantly in that revelation of knowledge and the peace it brings.

I wish I could say the negative thoughts and emotions didn’t return, but they did. Louder than ever. This time, however, I didn’t try to override them with external noise or activities. Instead, I took them to God, and He helped me sort through them and find relief.

As this becomes my habit, the tormentors are less noticeable.  I see now why my way of fighting my mental and emotional battle wasn’t working. I was trying to resist Satan’s onslaught with the right tools—God’s Word and prayer—but the focus and intention of my heart was not on the Lord; it was on the noise and my feelings. I wasn’t trusting God and relying on His strength. I was fighting in my own power.

I was pushing down, covering up, and pressing through the noise and discomfort instead of dealing with the underlying source.

In Matthew 11:28, Jesus invites all who are weary and burdened to come to Him and find rest. In the Greek, the word come has a sense of urgency. It is like Jesus is saying, “Come, right now! Bring Me all your mistakes, cares, and pain, plus those voices and the noise. Don’t push them down or run from them or try to cover them up. Give them to Me, and I will give you rest.” In the original Greek, rest means a sense of refreshing where you experience quiet calm.

Lasting rest is found only when you place your burdens in the loving care of Jesus. No pill, drink, religion, person, or activity can heal your pain. The best they can do is quiet them temporarily.

It takes courage to be vulnerable before God and others. It also requires self-control. It’s natural to want to remove the pain rather than move with it. But I am confident that if you dare to enter into this process with God, He will help you uncover the source of the noise and discomfort so you can be free, once and for all.

The process won’t be quick or painless, but it will be worth it. God’s peace, quiet, and comfort are available to all His children, and they are worth seeking.

KRISTI OVERTON JOHNSON encourages and equips people for victory through her writings, speaking engagements, and prison ministry. To learn more, go to kojministries.org.

Finding Strength in Weakness

If I wasn’t in the gym or on a field playing ball as a kid, I was helping my grandparents on their tobacco farm outside of Snow Hill, North Carolina. There, among those hot summer rows of sticky, leafy stalks, I got an education that in many ways surpasses the two degrees I’ve received from East Carolina University, where I am now head baseball coach. I got a PhD in hard work in those fields.

My granddad believed in hard work and finding solutions. If a problem arose, he’d ask, “Now, Cliff, how are you going to get that mule out of the ditch?” Granddad always left it up to me to solve whatever problem I faced. He taught me to think for myself.

I played football and baseball in high school, but basketball was my true love. Dad was the coach of my basketball team, and I constantly strove to make him proud.

My parents took me to church growing up, and in middle school, I got baptized. But once I entered high school, I left my faith in the dirt like an old glove that no longer fit. The only things on my mind were working out, eating, winning, and girls.

I worked hard and achieved much on and off the field. And each night, I went home to my parents, who loved me and supported my efforts. Life seemed good. I felt sad for my buddies whose parents were divorcing. “That’ll never happen to me,” I thought. But it did, and when my mom moved out the day I graduated from Greene Central High School, my world changed.

I love my mom and dad, and they have always loved and supported me. Having both my parents’ presence in our home brought me security. But now, that security was gone. The new situation angered and confused me, and resentment grew in my heart.

Only recently, however, nearly four decades later, have I been able to name these emotions and identify how my parents’ divorce impacted me. Through counseling, I’ve learned that my reaction to their divorce was to become distrustful of people and fiercely independent. Subconsciously, I began protecting my heart by not letting anyone get close to me, especially women. As you can imagine, this thinking wasn’t conducive to lasting and healthy relationships.

Looking back, I realize my parents were doing the best they could. Everyone has struggles in life, but as a teen, I didn’t know how to process all those emotions. All I knew was that one of Granddad’s “mules” was in the ditch, and I had to find a solution. I threw myself into my college studies and sports.

When my dream of playing college basketball didn’t pan out, I accepted a scholarship to play baseball for East Carolina University (ECU) in the fall of 1996. This was the year before ECU hired the legendary Keith LeClair as head coach. When he arrived, he told the team he was taking us to the NCAA Men’s Collegiate World Series. I knew if I wanted to be a part of that winning team, I needed to up my game.

Coach LeClair worked us like we were training to become Navy SEALs. I met all his demands and strove to be first on the field and last to leave. I worked hard in class too. Being busy kept me from feeling the sadness over the breakup of my family.

My time as a player for ECU baseball and playing with my best friends were the best years of my life. The lasting memories of winning championships and spending time with my boys will never be forgotten. I graduated, and shifted my focus to coaching collegiately. I couldn’t imagine life without sports.

I’ve had an incredible coaching career with stops at Kinston High School, UNCW, Vanderbilt, Notre Dame, LSU, UCF, and Ole Miss. I spent the first ten years of my career assisting top coaches nationwide.

In 2014, I helped coach Ole Miss to the College World Series in Omaha. The head coaching position at ECU opened during that time, and they wanted me to interview at my alma mater. I made sure the ECU Athletic Department was committed to competing for a national championship before I accepted the job. I wasn’t planning on staying long, though.

My plan was to take ECU to Omaha for the World Series and then go on to a bigger job. It was all about climbing the ladder of success and making more money. But over time, my priorities changed. The shift occurred after I met a mule I couldn’t budge, no matter how hard I tried—the mule of depression.

This dark season began in 2020. Like many, the isolation of COVID and being forced out of my normal routine of coaching and winning games impacted my mental health. Suddenly, I wasn’t as active or engaged with the team and didn’t have the dopamine produced by winning pumping through my veins. Then I got COVID, and that virus took a toll on my body and mind.

In 2021, the father of two of my players, who was also my friend, suddenly passed away. The grief I felt led me further into darkness. I told no one about what I was experiencing, though. This was my problem to solve, so I pushed through the darkness. Still, that stubborn mule of depression refused to budge.

Things got worse again when, in the summer of 2022, several of my players were involved in a tragic boating accident. When Parker Byrd’s father called and told me the doctors were going to have to amputate Parker’s leg, I fell to my knees and wept. I felt responsible. (See Parker’s story in Issue 4, 2023.)

Over the next several months, I watched Parker and his family face incredible trials and an uncertain future with strength, dignity, and faith. As my players rallied around him, I saw that many of them had the same astonishing hope. I couldn’t see the light they saw at the end of the tunnel. I only saw darkness. When I got COVID a third time, I reached a new low. Life no longer felt worth living.

In September of that year, I was asked to introduce one of my baseball heroes, Darryl Strawberry, at a Victorious Living fundraiser called “A Night of Hope.”

How ironic—me, a man who felt no hope, on stage at a Night of Hope event. I remember being onsite just moments before the event started and trying to figure a way out of introducing Darryl. You know you are low when you’re trying to back out of an opportunity of a lifetime like this.

I somehow made it onto that stage. Looking out into the audience, I saw Parker Byrd with his freshly amputated leg and most of our baseball team. I wondered if they could see the broken, hopeless man standing before them. The crowd welcomed me—the coach of their beloved local team. I guess I pulled it off. None were the wiser.

And then I needed a knee replacement. The physical pain only added to the darkness. I hoped to recover before a much-needed vacation to the Bahamas with my friends. But then, an infection set in. I underwent another surgery and missed the trip. As I lay in that hospital bed, thinking about my friends going without me, I hit an all-time low.

I had no idea how to process my feelings. I also didn’t know how to ask for help as I was embarrassed to let anyone know I was depressed. I was Coach, the one with the answers, the tough guy who could solve anyone’s problem.

What would the other coaches and players think of me if they knew I had to lean on someone? I felt so weak.

I finally decided it didn’t matter what anyone thought because if I didn’t tell someone, I wasn’t going to survive. Humbling myself and admitting I needed help was the hardest thing ever, but it saved my life. Trusting people and leaning on my friends is why I am still here today. God used those men to lead me to Jesus, the light that shines without fail in the darkness (John 1:5).

My friends encouraged me to go to church. I wasn’t sure I wanted to retrieve that old glove from the dirt. I’d been in Greenville for ten years and hadn’t set foot in a church once.

I had many reasons—all selfish, of course. I had myself convinced that if I did go, I’d have to talk about baseball. We live in a small town, and I’m often recognized. I didn’t want to be “ECU Head Coach” at church; I just wanted to be Cliff Godwin. So I stayed home.

But there was a bigger reason too—I was afraid to walk into church alone. Isn’t that amazing? I’m a head baseball coach who lives in the spotlight and has walked out on a field alone, on camera, over a thousand times. But I was afraid to walk into a church by myself?

Finally, on Christmas Eve, I set my fears aside and went to church with a couple of friends. As soon as I walked through the doors, all I could do was cry. I was breaking all my rules— no crying in baseball or life. I was convinced people were staring and wondering what was wrong with me. I surprised myself by going back. Again, then again. By the third Sunday, I was walking in by myself.

As I sat in a community of believers weekly and under excellent biblical teaching, hope returned to my heart and mind. I began to see the light as I realized my purpose and identity was much more than being Coach Cliff Godwin.

As I learned about the goodness of God, I began to regret my past decisions, especially how I had treated women. But instead of confessing my mistakes, repenting of them to God, and receiving His forgiveness (1 John 1:9), I condemned myself and fell again under a heavy weight of shame and guilt.

But then God reminded me that we’re all sinners who fall short of His perfect standard (Romans 3:23). Every day, we make mistakes—we fall into a ditch of sin. God knew that would be our way—that’s why He sent His Son, Jesus, to die (John 3:16).

Through His death and resurrection from the dead, Jesus took care of my sin problem. He paid the heavy price of all my shortcomings and conquered the power of sin and the shame it brings. (See Romans 6:23; Colossians 1:13–14; 1 Peter 2:24.)

In the fall of 2022, I started going to Christian counseling. This was another challenging step for me to take. I had to get over the fear of what others might think, as well as the belief that talking about my past and facing my emotions meant I was weak or that something was wrong with me. Since our first session, God has been using my counselor to bring me into a place of freedom (2 Corinthians 3:17).

Through counseling, I have discovered many things about myself, including my need to forgive my parents for divorcing. I realized I needed to ask forgiveness for how I’d treated the women with whom I’d had relationships. I admitted to being a prideful tyrant for years, especially on the field as a coach. God has softened me in that area, but I still struggle with losses and not getting caught up in the wins.

God has blessed me with an incredible team of young men who help me grow as a man of God. Our entire baseball team has been going through a spiritual revival. In January of 2024, ten players who had recently given their lives to Jesus got baptized on our playing field in a horse trough. I’d been baptized in middle school but decided to step back into the water. I wanted to make a fresh and public profession of my renewed decision to follow Christ.

I texted my parents right before it happened, and Dad texted back, saying, “I’ve been praying for this since the day you were born.” He said he had seen a change in my life about a year ago but couldn’t put his finger on it. “Now it makes sense,” he told me. Hearing that God was changing me in a way others could see confirmed that He was at work in me.

I am excited about what God has in store and grateful He has freed me from the darkness. Because of Jesus, I am a man living in the light and with hope. God’s Spirit is helping me to be a new person on and off the field (2 Corinthians 5:17).

Today, my priority is no longer climbing the coaching ladder and making money. It is to be a godly role model who helps the young men God brings my way to become more than great baseball players.

I want to help them become men of character who depend on God and who aren’t afraid to ask for help. I want them to know that admitting that you have a need or are facing a problem isn’t a form of weakness because it is in our weakness that God can make us strong (2 Corinthians 12:9).

Don’t try to go through life alone and in your own strength. The moment you admit you need God is the day you’ll find the strength you need. God’s grace is all anyone needs, and His power works best in our weakness.

CLIFF GODWIN has been recognized as one of the top collegiate baseball coaches in the nation. As ECU’s head baseball coach, he aims to be a godly role model while leading his team to a World Series Championship.