When Joy Brings Strength

The Bible says, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (James 1:2–4 NIV).

Joy in trials? I used to think that was impossible, but the faithful love and goodness I’ve found in my relationship with Jesus Christ have proven otherwise.

Before I met Jesus, I didn’t know I could experience inexpressible joy in challenging times as well as in good (1 Peter 1:8).

My life has been filled with “trials of many kinds.” It started when I was 13 and my mother passed away. I later buried my father and then my sister, brother, and brother-in-law. I’ve also experienced significant physical illness, financial trials, and a failed marriage.

Admittedly, joy has not always been my first reaction to these situations. Many times, I wasn’t even sure I would make it through—the pain was just too severe, the losses too devastating.

Desperate, I drew close to Christ, trusting Him despite the pain and confusion. In doing so, I found that pure joy the Bible speaks of—the joy of the Lord. His joy gave me strength (Nehemiah 8:10), brought victory over the darkness (John 16:33), and revealed to me the path of life (Psalm 16:11).

I’ve learned an important truth through my many hardships—joy is not dependent on circumstances. Joy is a supernatural gift received in God’s presence. It’s an inner strength that comes when we turn our eyes from our troubles and focus instead on God and His Word.

Psalm 46:1 says, “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble” (NIV). That promise alone is a sure reason for joy. It has become the theme of my life. Every time I have called out to Him, the Lord has come to my aid and given me supernatural strength to keep going (Isaiah 40:29–31). God Himself has carried me like a father carries His child (Deuteronomy 1:31) through every trial, even before I recognized His presence.

I gave my life to Christ 25 years ago, and in that first moment of surrender, my joy—God’s joy in me—soared. But in June of 1999, just one year after I committed my life to Christ, things changed.

I found myself suddenly in pain as a slight rash on my neck quickly developed into blisters all over my body. My skin became raw and began to peel. People stared and were afraid to touch me. My rash wasn’t contagious, but I felt like a leper and saw no end to my suffering. And then the pain began attacking my joints, making even walking a chore.

Whatever was going on with me progressed, and soon, I was bedridden and physically wasting away. After a battery of examinations, prescriptions, and treatments, the doctors finally came to a diagnosis of von Zumbusch pustular psoriasis.

The treatments were almost worse than the disease itself. I couldn’t stand to be touched, yet three times a day, my entire body was slathered with a steroid cream and then wrapped in hot, wet towels, which stayed on for two hours at a time. With each pain-filled treatment, I felt my life draining out of me.

At times, I was too weak to even pray. Some days, I wanted to die rather than bear the torture of treatment. I’m telling you—joy was nowhere to be found. But there, on my back, crying out to God, I remembered and realized that He was my only source of help (Psalm 121:1–2).

Psalm 77 became my life’s song and the book of Job, my handbook. I drew inspiration from Job, a man who never lost faith in God’s mercy, love, and grace even though he lost everything else—his possessions, children, status, and health.

I felt God urging me to photograph my blistered body during this time. Taking those pictures gave me hope. I was sure they would soon testify to God’s goodness by proving how far I had come.

One day, while wrapped in my cocoon of wet towels, rocking back and forth in pain, God brought the words of Proverbs 18:21 to my mind: “The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit” (NIV). Something changed inside me that day as I thought about that verse. I determined to stop dwelling on the bad and to speak life over my situation. Right there, in the middle of that treatment, I began to thank the Lord for my body. I thanked Him for hours, with tears rolling down my face.

After several days, the sores, one by one, began to disappear. “Glory be to God!” I shouted. He was renewing my skin, from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet.

By mid-November, I returned to work. I was glad and ready to give testimony to God’s goodness. But I was only at work for four days when a pulled muscle sent me back home.

And then came the most shocking news—a lump revealed that I had breast cancer. I was 30 years old.

I couldn’t understand why this was happening to me. I was just getting ready to start a new life and now cancer?

On November 30, 1999, I had a lumpectomy, followed by rounds of chemotherapy and radiation. Because of pain and sickness, I missed work and soon lost my job. I now faced a significant financial struggle.

I fought a constant sinking feeling of helplessness until one day, I remembered the promise of Matthew 11:28, where Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (NIV). I grabbed hold of this promise, especially as I lost my hair from the chemo treatments. I was so tired from the battle of cancer, not to mention I felt less than womanly.

That’s when the Lord reminded me that “charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised” (Proverbs 31:30 NIV). Day after day, the Lord strengthened me through His Word.

I began to praise God even though things were hard. Doing so brought me into His presence, and there I found peace, healing, and that elusive, wonderful joy.

Four months later, in March of 2000, I was declared cancer free. Glory to God! I promised the Lord I would do whatever He wanted me to do and go wherever He wanted me to go. I felt Him calling me to tell others my story, and I did.

I thought my trials were over, but more were on the way. In 2002, I married a man I thought was the love of my life. Things were good for a while, and then they weren’t.

We experienced many disappointments together, one of which was my inability to conceive. I grieved not being able to be a mother. Working in an obstetrics/gynecology (OBGYN) office didn’t help. Expectant mothers surrounded me.

One night during my prayer time, I told God, “You have given me everything I’ve asked for and more. But I wanted more than anything to be a mother; I don’t understand why You haven’t granted me that request.”

God whispered to my spirit, just as clear as day, “You are a mother. The same way a woman births a child—through pain and travail—you have birthed your testimonies. I have called you to deliver your babies—your testimonies—to My people.”

With His words, I finally understood that through my many trials, God had been developing a testimony that He could use to help change lives. I found peace and joy in that understanding, and I found contentment even though my circumstances hadn’t changed.

In 2006, I wrote about my experiences in a book titled A Woman Called Job, wanting to encourage others going through difficult times. One lesson I shared is that God is not suddenly compassionate or merciful. He is always compassionate and merciful, despite our circumstances, and He is always present. No matter what we are going through, He is there. We need only to cry out to Him (Psalm 88:1).

It was a lesson I’d need to remember for myself.

In 2013, I found another lump. It was malignant. Since this was my second bout with breast cancer, the risk was higher for the cancer to spread, so I chose to have a double mastectomy.

Two years later, I had a total hysterectomy, which led to an emergency surgery and eight days in the hospital. I remember reciting the twenty–third Psalm while being wheeled down the hospital hallway. I told God, “If I survive this surgery, I will give You the glory. And if I don’t survive, I will still give You the glory.” It was a win-win situation.

The next few days did not feel like a win as I was extremely ill. But I knew that God was with me. He had not failed me. Not once in all those years of trials, tribulations, disappointments, depression, oppression, battles, and persecution had anything  separated me from His love (Romans 8:38).

I continued to remind myself of this truth when, at 55, I experienced a divorce and found myself in yet another uncertain stage of life. Once again, I was starting over.

Proverbs 31:25 speaks of a woman of noble character who is “clothed with strength and dignity,” who can “laugh at the days to come” (NIV). That’s who I want to be—a person who can laugh with pure joy when trials come because I know that the end result will only bring me closer to Him.

If you are facing a difficult time, I encourage you to give your life and your trial to Christ. Look to Him and find the help and strength you need. Draw near to Him and experience the joy of His presence. That joy—His joy—will be your strength.

God can carry you through anything. There is always hope in Him. His ways are perfect, even when we don’t understand. Maybe you’ve been walking with Him for some time, but you’ve lost the joy of your salvation. Ask God, as David did, to return that joy to you (Psalm 51:12).

God inhabits the praise of His people. When we worship Him, He draws near. Take time today to remember all He has done for you in the past, praise Him for what He is doing in your current situation, and trust Him for what He will do in your future. In His presence, find joy.

LaDena Tilley ministers daily to women in the OBGYN office where she has worked as a phlebotomist for 23 years. She cowrote her memoir, A Woman Called Job, in 2006 with her mentor, Jacquelin Thomas. LaDena travels sharing her testimony with churches, organizations, and women’s conferences. She can be contacted through worthbyladena.com.

Revival of Hope

The moment I put my feet on the floor, a soft light from under the bed turned on and lit up the area. I’d never seen such a feature in all my hotel stays and was glad I wouldn’t have to grope through the darkness. My pinky toe was still recovering from a painful encounter with an unseen bedframe six months earlier.

As I took my first step toward the bathroom, Psalm 119:105 came to mind: “Your word is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path” (NLT).

Even in the wee hours of the night, the Holy Spirit was teaching me (Psalm 16:7), providing a beautiful example of how God’s written Word, complete with all its commands, lessons, and promises, as well as His spoken Word (revealed through His Holy Spirit), could light up any darkness and reveal the way to move forward.

What caught my attention was the softness of the light. It was comforting, not harsh. And it was close. It wouldn’t illuminate my entire day’s journey, but it did light the area around my feet. It gave me just enough light to safely move forward at that moment.

So often, I’ve wished God would pull out His holy floodlight and let me see all the details of a plan so I could feel better about taking the first step. But since committing to follow Him, I’ve learned He usually only gives me enough light to take the next steps of faith. He knows if I had too many details, I’d run ahead of Him or be paralyzed by fear.

There’ve been times when God has given me a glimpse of what the result will be; but He’s never revealed the journey to that result. I must take each step by faith, trusting that when I get to where the light ends, God will provide another to show me the remaining way.

Such was the case with our ministry’s recent Revival of Hope. The event idea came to me moments before I took the stage at our annual fundraiser in September 2023. Our worship leader was praising God when a vision of a white tent and the word revival dropped into my spirit.

It was confirmed seconds later when a teenage volunteer approached and said, “Kristi, next year, we need some bales of hay at the stage so people can come forward and pray. We need a revival.”

That God-given vision and word of confirmation was the lamp I needed to start the journey. I had no idea what a tent revival should look like, so I sought His will, and the Holy Spirit spoke a soft light for my feet with two words—simple and space. Surprisingly, these short words were perfect guidelines and guardrails for every decision we made over the next year.

Through prayer, I discerned that I was to create a simple space for God’s people to gather and for Him to move, hence the tent. And we were to gather for one purpose—to glorify Him.

None of the programs were to be elaborate, nor were they to be a place for racial, gender, or denominational lines. (As if there ever is a place for those things!) I also discerned the event was not to be a fundraiser for our ministry, as in past years. It was to be a simple service of worship and testimonies (Revelation 12:11).

The Lord promised if I lifted His name, He’d take care of all the other details, like finances for the revival and for our prison outreaches (Matthew 6:33). I also discerned that we were to go into the local Pitt County Detention Center and revive the hope of over 400 incarcerated men and women there with the simple Gospel of Jesus Christ.

So many people asked who we were bringing in to speak. They were hoping for a big name, and I’ll be honest—it took everything in me not to run out and hire a high-profile Christian speaker or musician. “Keep it simple, Kristi,” I kept reminding myself. “Jesus is the name you’re lifting.”

I knew that just as the Lord wanted a simple space, He wanted to use simple people too. And over time, He highlighted His speaker lineup. It included people like Tony Moore (see page 19), a 16-year-old boy living in the foster care system who struggled in school and with anger management. It included others like Melisha Johnson, Kory Gordon, Mike Taylor, Michael Dixon, Sheridan Correa, Robert Whitner, and Christina Kimbrel—all who have served time in jails and prisons.

Their testimonies would undeniably reveal the life-transforming power of Jesus Christ and prove the simplicity of the Gospel—for God so loved the world (John 3:16–17).

God also wanted to use people like Pat Avery, Cliff Godwin, Randy Claypoole, Kenny Munds, Jeff and Mitzi Byrd, April Raines, Deborah Jones, Matt Mollison, Cashae Edmonds, Denise San Miguel, Miguel Nunez, and myself. None of us had rap sheets, but we all had a sin sheet that God’s grace had pardoned. We’d faced and overcome difficulties and insecurities with God’s help. There would be people under that tent who needed to know they could overcome too.

Fear and doubt fought hard against me. I worried about what people in the community would think about our panel. Few church folks attending the event would have been ministered to by such a lot. But God reminded me that He uses the simple things (1 Corinthians 1:28–30)—and, boy, did He!

I was also a little nervous about what God might do. What if He let loose and things got lively under that tent? And what if people started rumors about me and the ministry? God graciously gave me another word of illumination: “Get over your reputation, Kristi.”

My whole life, I’ve worried about what people think of me. But God revealed to me long ago that I couldn’t worry about man’s opinions and serve Him well at the same time (Proverbs 29:25; Galatians 1:10). I’ve met many naysayers as the ministry has grown, and I’ve grown in Christ because of them. I’ve had to get over myself and man’s opinions many times, because until I did, the Lord couldn’t take me to where He wanted me to go. This endeavor was no different.

I was weary as we neared the September 19–21 event dates. Did anyone know how much work the team and I were doing? God graciously provided another soft light through Zechariah 4:10 (NLT): “Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin, to see the plumb line in [your] hand.”

Wow! From the moment the work had begun, the Lord had been rejoicing. Suddenly, it didn’t matter who saw the work; God saw it and was pleased. And that was all the light I needed to run to the finish line!

As I look back at this Revival of Hope experience, I see that it was never about the event—it was about the journey. It’s always about the journey. It’s about trusting God, renewing our minds with His truth (Romans 12:2), listening for His voice, and adjusting our steps to His. As we do, God will light our paths and lead us to where He wants us to be.

Whether you’re incarcerated or in the free world, you can watch the Revival of Hope through the Victorious Living Facebook page or on issued prison tablets on PANDO.

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

A Life Restored

As I approached my brother- and sister-in-law’s property, my heart grew heavy. All of Rodney and Mercy’s worldly possessions were heaped on their front lawn, waiting to be hauled away.

The week before, Hurricane Helene had sent a powerful surge of saltwater into thousands of homes along the Florida Gulf shoreline.

I had heard it from so many—“Kristi, we don’t even know where to start.” But I couldn’t comprehend the devastation until I saw it for myself. It looked like a warzone.

I found Mercy in the garage going through hundreds of wet photos, attempting to salvage precious memories. I expected her to be downcast, crying, maybe even angry. But she met me with a huge hug and thanked me for coming to help. I felt unworthy, as I could only be in town for 24 hours.

“It doesn’t look like it, but we’ve made a lot of progress.” Rodney added.

They were right. It was hard to see progress with the mounds of debris and the endless work ahead. But once inside their home, I could see the house had been emptied, pressure washed, and stripped to the studs.

I recalled their comment about not knowing where to start and realized that to move forward, a person doesn’t have to know exactly where to start—they just have to be willing to step into the mess and get started.

What made their efforts even more courageous was that Hurricane Milton, a category-five storm, was barreling down on them. It would have been easy to say, “What’s the use? This storm will undo anything we’ve done.” But they kept working, refusing to focus on what might happen.

More people stopped by to offer encouraging words, food, and helping hands. Eventually, though, every one of us left.

Rod and Mercy, however, didn’t have that luxury. To rebuild their lives, they had to keep coming back every day. They couldn’t wait for someone to come along and fix their problem. They had to take responsibility for their home and future.

It would’ve been easy to grow angry at those who hadn’t shown up, but growing bitter over someone else’s action or inaction wouldn’t fix their situation. It would only impede progress. Rod and Mercy chose to be thankful for who was there, regardless of how long they remained.

I was puzzled by some of the items in the mound—from a distance, they looked salvageable. But a closer look revealed fried electrical panels, corrosion, black mold, hairy mildew, and raw sewage. Rod and Mercy had to remove these items before their lives could be restored.

I was also amazed at how they embraced the process. They didn’t complain or point to the mound and say, “Look at what we’ve lost!” Instead, they celebrated items recovered, no matter how small. For Mercy, every salvaged photograph was a cause for celebration. She’d smile, laugh, and call out, “Come here, chica, look at this.” We’d stop the work and head down memory lane.

A few days before, a neighbor had scolded Mercy. “How can you laugh at a time like this,” she’d grumbled. She didn’t know that laughter and gratitude were what kept Mercy going and prevented her from becoming angry and cynical. That’s a great lesson for all of us.

Maybe you’re facing an unsurmountable task too. Maybe you don’t know where to start. Begin by asking the good Lord to help you; He will show you the way (Proverbs 3:5–6; Psalm 119:105). Then lay your emotions aside and face the mess with Him.

You’ll have to get your hands dirty as you remove your contaminated items (maybe even people). It can be disheartening. Just remember not to focus on the discarded pile; instead, look at the future set before you (Hebrews 12:1–2). Some days it might even seem you’re going backward, but you’re not. You are making progress, and you are not alone—God is in the mess with you.

Keep giving Him your doubts and fears, guard your heart, and refuse to quit. And like my in-laws, stop and rejoice over what you do have and celebrate how far you’ve come. Every day, you’re one step closer to a life restored.

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

Let God Heal and Refresh You

“I had a little accident. It’s no big deal,” my husband reassured me. He was home early from work with his forearm wrapped in white gauze. Beneath the bandage was an ugly, blistering burn.

I started to call his doctor, but my motorcycle-riding strong-man resisted. He wanted home care. We cleaned the wound daily, applied antibiotic cream, and tightly layered fresh bandages to keep germs out. But by the third day, it looked worse; the skin around it was red and warm.

A trip to the doctor confirmed an infection. As she cleaned the wound and applied a porous bandage, she told us the injury needed air to heal. This was a valuable lesson in wound care I would soon need for myself.

My wound came after a disagreement with a loved one. In her anger, she posted something hurtful and untrue about me on social media; it cut my heart deeply, triggering feelings of betrayal and shame. She took the post down, but the damage was done.

As with my husband’s injury, my first reaction was to cover up my pain. I put on a smile and went on with life. But underneath, I was devastated. I wrestled between anger and sadness, resisting the temptation to retaliate. The more I covered up my feelings, the worse I felt.

Infection of the heart set in, and bitterness took root (Hebrews 12:15). Everyone knew something was wrong. My words were angry, impatient, and sarcastic. I was edgy and suspicious, cried easily, and felt unmotivated to do things I once enjoyed. When my passion for writing and encouraging others faded, I knew I was in trouble.

One day, I couldn’t take it anymore. I collapsed in tears, my face buried in my Bible. I cried out to my heavenly Father like a little girl who had fallen and skinned her knees. Lord, please help me. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.

I remembered the doctor’s wisdom about caring for an open wound. I needed to give my heart some breathing room so the light of Jesus and a breeze from His Living Word could bring healing.

The Lord’s an expert in wound care (Psalm 147:3). Think about it. Those closest to Jesus had betrayed, wounded, and let Him down when He needed them most (Matthew 26). He was rejected and despised but still laid down His life for our sins (Isaiah 53:3). If anyone understands, it’s our Savior!

God wasted no time in revealing His truth to me. Though her actions were hurtful, my torment wasn’t the other person’s fault. Not really. The condition of my heart was the real problem. Pride and resentment were festering inside  of me, infecting every area of my life. And I had made it worse by shutting everyone out, including God.

Healing began when I opened my heart to God, confessed my sins, and repented (1 John 1:9). God’s soothing mercy washed over me while His Holy Spirit went to work tending to my heart. It was time for me to release the unforgiveness that had been gripping me so tightly.

Honestly, I still didn’t feel like forgiving my friend, but obedience to God wasn’t optional here. He’s forgiven me for so much. How can I not forgive others (Ephesians 4:32)?

God helped me to finally move past the offense, and as I did, His peace restored stability to my emotions (Philippians 4:6–8). I went from being angry to looking for ways to show kindness to my loved one. I prayed, earnestly asking God to bless her. The wound healed, and my heart mended. And eventually, so did the broken relationship.

Do you have a wounded heart? Is there someone you need to forgive? Take swift action to prevent infection of the heart. Surrender that person to the Lord. Ask the Lord to help you. Then open your Bible and let His Word heal and refresh you. He promises to “restore you to health and heal your wounds” (Jeremiah 30:17 NIV).

He cares for you (Psalm 55:22), and He’ll care for your wound, too.

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 healing she’s found in Jesus.

Do You Stink?

By junior high, I was already nicknamed “Wolfie” because I had a full-grown beard. One day, after I helped my granddaddy on his farm, he handed me a small gift bag. I opened it eagerly to discover a shiny new razor, a tall can of shaving cream, and a beautiful green bottle of HAI Karate aftershave.

Excited, I rushed home, bathed, laid the gifted items out along the sink, and prepared to make my grand entrance into manhood. I lathered up, covered my face, and firmly grasped the razor as I began to eradicate the source of my nickname. No more “Wolfie” for me.

With the first shaving step complete, I reached for the aftershave lotion. No one had told me how much to use, so I figured the more, the better. When I left the bathroom, I was dripping with what I thought was the magnificent, manly aroma of HAI Karate aftershave. Boy, was I wrong.

That afternoon, when I walked into the fellowship hall of our local church to attend my Boy Scout meeting, you could have heard a pin drop. Everyone immediately stopped talking. Kids sniffed the air and even pinched their noses as they inquired, “What’s that smell?” Eyes turned my way.

Nope. More wasn’t better. I was stinking up the place! When I walked into that room, I brought in a fragrance that negatively impacted those around me.

It’s one thing to do that with aftershave lotion, but have you ever considered how your attitude and words impact others? In 2 Corinthians 2:15, we learn that Christians are to carry “the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing” (NIV). What scent are you carrying?

Consider your answers to these questions: When you walk into a room, are people drawn to you, or does the overflow of your life make them want to run the other way? Does your attitude bring a pleasant aroma of thankfulness, kindness, and encouragement, or the stench of complaints, criticism, judgment, and rudeness?

Do you light up the place with joy, peace, and love, or do you bring with you a dark cloud of self-centered arrogance and a prideful ego?

Each of us influences others for good or bad, whether we intend to or not. Interestingly, we can look good on the outside, be cleanly shaven and freshly showered, and still negatively influence others.

The Bible instructs us to be careful concerning how we live (Ephesians 5:15–17). According to Philippians 2:14–15, we are to shine like bright stars in a dark world. We do this by not complaining and arguing. Through our love, kindness, encouraging words, and generosity, we are to build each other up (Ephesians 4:29; 1 Thessalonians 5:11, 16–18). We pollute a room when we are critical and judgmental (Romans 14:13), speak harshly to people, or boast pridefully (Proverbs 8:13).

The kids who were hit by the over­abundance of the HAI Karate aftershave I had so generously applied recovered quickly that day. It’s far more difficult to overcome the hurts and pains that we inflict upon others through our stinking attitude or unforgiving spirit.

It’s not too late to change the smell your life carries. Ask the Lord and trusted friends to help you identify the source of your stench, to hold you accountable, and to help you make changes.

Let the overflow of your life be a pleasing aroma for all!

MICHAEL DIXON surrendered to God 35 years ago after childhood trauma and addiction nearly destroyed him. Changed by God, Michael became a pastor, author, licensed addiction specialist, and director of his nonprofit, L.I.F.E. (Living in Freedom Everyday) Ministries. His bilingual curriculum, L.I.F.E. Ministries, helps others find wholeness and freedom in Christ Jesus and can be purchased on Amazon. Videos can be viewed by the incarcerated on EDOVO and through VL’s platform on Pando.

The Wait Is Worth It

Have you ever come to a busy crosswalk, pressed the traffic button, and heard, “Wait!”? Hearing that word immediately makes me want to jump in the middle of traffic and pretend I’m in a Frogger arcade game.

Waiting is challenging. Whether it’s waiting for a job opportunity, a relationship to start or one to be restored, a release date, healing from injury or illness, or simply seeking direction in life, waiting often feels like a worthless, passive, and frustrating experience. But it doesn’t have to be.

The Bible teaches that waiting is not a period of inactivity. It’s a time when God is actively at work, shaping, teaching, maturing, and preparing us for what lies ahead.

A lack of understanding about the benefits of waiting often leads to impulsive behaviors—impatience, frustration, and anger. Understanding God’s timing is essential. Proverbs 3:5–6 says: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight” (NIV).

I clung to this scripture during the restoration process with my children. Because of my alcohol and drug addictions, I had lost custody and parental rights of my children. The shame within drove me further into my addiction, adding to it homelessness, criminal activity, drug dealing, stealing, and incarceration. But then I encountered Jesus. And when I gave my mess to Him, He began to transform my life.

Early on, I felt like a new woman, and a burning desire grew within to take back my motherhood. The Lord revealed that I would be with my boys again, but it took four years before His promise was fulfilled.

During the wait, I experienced boredom, doubt, and frustration. In fact, I tried to take matters into my own hands, but that led to more complications and setbacks. In His wisdom, God knew I wasn’t ready to be a mom. I needed time to learn about being a committed and consistent person first.

Putting the future of my motherhood in God’s hand wasn’t easy. But the more I came to know His love and His ways, the more I was able to trust Him with my heart’s desire (Psalm 37:4). I realized that the wait was not a sign of God’s absence or abandonment, but of His active involvement in my life.

In Acts 9, we read about Saul, also known as the apostle Paul. Saul encountered Jesus while traveling to Damascus to persecute Christians. Three days later, he received his call to proclaim the name of Jesus to both Gentiles and Jews. Now, you’d think that Paul, a man of action, would have headed straight into the nearest town to start preaching. But he didn’t.

He didn’t even consult with other people. Instead, he tucked himself away with God. And during the next eleven years, Jesus Himself revealed all that Paul would need to fulfill his calling (Galatians 1:11-24).

Like Paul, we need to learn to embrace the wait and trust God’s timing. His plans are always good, leading us toward Christlikeness and completeness (James 1:4), and they always have a purpose. God’s not trying to control us or be mean; He’s giving us His best.

Below are seven things that will help you embrace your wait:

Surrender daily. A surrendered life is a safe and supported life. Begin each day with a prayer of surrender, asking God to guide your steps as He fulfills His will for your life, not your own. Ask also for help to trust Him with the outcome.

Pray without ceasing. Develop a deeper relationship with your heavenly Father through persistent prayer (1 Thessalonians 5:16–18). Resist the temptation to give up or jump in, no matter how long it takes for your requests to be answered. As you pray, you will find strength and revelation.

Lean on scripture. Immerse yourself in God’s Word to deepen your relationship with your heavenly Father. Meditate and memorize scripture to remind you of His faithful love. You’ll discover wisdom, power, and peace. Focusing on God’s character and His promises will also keep you strong.

Remember God’s faithfulness. Reflect and recount past instances where God has come through for you and others. These testimonies and accounts will strengthen your faith. Keep records while you wait—write down your prayers, what you’re learning, and how you see God moving. When things get hard, return to those truths.

Practice gratitude. Make it a daily discipline to thank God for the blessings you have, even if they seem small. Gratitude reminds us that God is already at work in our lives. It also helps us remain hopeful and positive during the waiting period.

Connect to community. It’s tempting to isolate when waiting, but connection to a faith-filled community is critical life support. Share your struggles and uncertainties with trusted friends. Surround yourself with people who will encourage you, pray for you, and walk with you in the waiting. Their prayers and encouragement will help you stay focused on God’s promises. If you are in a season of forced isolation, read “Behind the Wire” on page 32 to discover ways to encourage yourself in the Lord.

Practice stillness. Resist the urge to rush ahead of God. Instead, surrender your timeline to Him. As you choose to be still (Psalm 46:10) and trust that God is working all things together for your good (Romans 8:28), you will find peace.

These seven practices helped me embrace the wait and mature in the process. As a result, I received God’s best for my life.

Today, I not only have my legal rights restored, but I have a relationship with my sons and am walking alongside them on their faith journeys. Had I forced my way back into their lives on my terms and timetable, I would have been nothing more to them than a name on a legal document.

God had something so much better in store for me. He wanted me to have a relationship with my sons, not just my legal rights restored as a mother. That gift wouldn’t have been possible without the maturing process of the wait.

Not only that, but the Lord also restored my relationship with my ex-husband and his wife. I could only praise God when they invited my husband, Nick, and me to coparent with them. It’s a beautiful thing that only He could have orchestrated.

Take it from me, God’s timing is perfect. If you will but trust Him, take your hands off the situation, and rest in His love for you, He will far exceed your expectations for the thing you so desperately desire (Ephesians 3:20).

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 digital content.

Pathway to a Redeemed Life

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.

Living Water for a Thirsty Soul

You’ve probably just read my husband’s story, starting on page 10. When I met Darren, I was a hot mess, thirsty for love and trying to wash my pain away in an endless river of alcohol. Darren was sober, but he, too, had many unresolved issues. He tried to help me find sobriety, but a person must want sobriety for themselves before real change can occur. I wasn’t ready for that—I just knew Darren could meet my most obvious needs. So we got married and things were good…until the pain of my past pulled me back into its grasp.

Growing up, I had no idea what a healthy relationship looked like. I’d never experienced true love from a man. As far as my biological father is concerned, I only remember him screaming and pulling my arm out of its socket when he was in a fit of rage. One day, he disappeared, my parents divorced, and that was that.

My mom remarried a man I’ve since called Dad. I was initially excited to have a new father and seven new siblings, but the novelty quickly wore off. Mom and Dad worked hard to love and provide for us, but my young self couldn’t see it. All I knew was that nobody seemed to have time for me anymore, and I grew resentful.

I started working a newspaper route at 11, delivering papers door to door and collecting money for subscriptions. Being young and vulnerable, I was easily coerced into the homes of grown men, where I was molested on three separate occasions. I had no idea I was being abused; I was just glad someone was paying attention to me.

I was furious when Mom made me quit the job after a young girl disappeared while collecting money on our route. Who would pay attention to me now?

I quickly set out to find a new source of attention. This time, I turned to the stoners. My new girlfriends and I smoked weed, drank, and partied with grown men who knew we were underage but didn’t care. We’d go so far as to put on our bikinis and hitchhike. We were 12! It’s only by God’s grace I’m alive.

It’s incredible how far the thirst for love and attention will take a person.

Other friends could get high and stop for a while, but not me. I was continually looking for more. I shoplifted booze, drank until I was sick, and did it all again the next day. It never occurred to me that my behavior was abnormal.

I was arrested for possession of marijuana at age 13. The judge didn’t appreciate my attitude and doubled the fine. “You’re out of control, young lady,” he said. “This should teach you!”

It didn’t. I was just getting started.

My quest for love and attention took me into countless unhealthy relationships. My promiscuity was out of control. I gave myself to anyone who wanted me. And I received nothing in return except more wounds in my soul.

At 15, I became pregnant by my boyfriend and had a son. We got married, and two years later, we had another son. Our marriage didn’t stand a chance. We were kids with nothing in common but two children and a crack habit. Domestic violence, homelessness, and addiction were the norm until I finally mustered up the courage to take our boys and leave. My husband died in a tragic car accident soon after.

I stopped drinking and getting high so I could move in with my mother, but I quickly grew bored with sobriety and moved back out to party. I got married again, had another son, and fell back into the familiar pattern of drinking, violence, and dysfunction. Five years later, I grew tired of the beatings and left.

I married a Christian man next, hoping to have a better outcome. Unfortunately, beyond sitting in a pew at church, our lives were not built on Christian values. Nor had I repented of my sinful ways. I wore many masks, constantly pretending I was something I wasn’t.

I had two sons with this husband, but after the second one, postpartum depression set in. I fought hard against the abnormal and frightening thoughts I had toward my kids and myself. I turned to alcohol and medicine to silence the noise.

I hit the bars, stayed out all night, and came home drunk. My husband wasn’t having it, though. One night, our argument grew violent. At 29, I was charged with domestic violence, served a restraining order, slapped with divorce papers, and lost custody of my two youngest sons.

You’d think that would wake me up, that I’d put the bottle down and search for help—but no. I grew more desperate to find love, attention, and much-needed provision. I had many mouths to feed.

I had trouble landing a man, though. I joked one day to a friend that my minivan was ruining my dating life. Every time a man saw my van, complete with car seats, he ran in the opposite direction. My friend laughed and connected me with his friend, Darren Cooney, who sold cars. Maybe he could set me up with a new ride.

Darren didn’t sell me a car the day I met him, but he did take me out to dinner. I quickly noticed his confidence, charisma, and kind heart. That was all attractive, but it was Darren’s big fat wallet that swept me off my feet. I was focused on that prize.

I know…but that’s the type of woman I’d become. I was incapable of loving anyone. How could I? I didn’t even like myself.

We got married in 2002. It was amazing—he loved and accepted all my kids from the start and provided much-needed stability. He also showered us with life’s finer things.

I felt safe with Darren, and he soon became my everything. He had recently found freedom from addiction and convinced me  that sobriety was the key to a better life. I got sober for him.

For the next two years, we experienced a wonderful life together. But in our bliss, we forgot to guard ourselves against relapse. We quit going to recovery meetings and having accountability partners, and worst of all, we ignored God and the power and wisdom of His Word. And since we weren’t anchored to anything but each other, we were swept away when the trials of life came (Matthew 7:24–27).

On page 11, Darren shares the horrid details of how we both returned to the evil clutches of addiction. Our marriage didn’t survive the aftermath of drunkenness, infidelity, and crime. He went to prison for 10 years, and I drank my life away for another 7. Before Darren was released, I had remarried and divorced yet again.

Five marriages and five divorces—I had become like the Samaritan woman who met Jesus at the well. You’ll find her story in John 4. That woman, like me, thirsted for love. Her longings led her down difficult, shameful, and dead-end roads too, just like me. She was a hot, tired mess when she met Jesus.

I love how, at the well, Jesus didn’t condemn her for her past failures. He acknowledged that they’d happened, and then He offered what she had always needed—His living water. One drink from His well, and that woman never thirsted again.

I needed that water.

Interestingly, God used Darren to lead me there. It happened after he was released from prison in 2018.

I was a bit nervous when Darren first contacted me through social media. I had, after all, turned him in to the cops when he was on the run. What if he was holding a grudge? Not only that, but I’d been working hard the last three years to stay sober and keep my life together.

I’d faithfully attended recovery meetings, met with my sponsor, and had been dealing with the underlying issues that continually beckoned me down destructive paths. I didn’t want Darren to come along and sidetrack me, so I blocked him.

Being the nosy person I am, however, I also secretly kept tabs on him. I expected to see the charming car salesman with some floozy on his arm, but instead, I saw pictures of my former husband with a bunch of other guys in a Phoenix-based program called Along Side Ministries.

He looked so happy serving the community and hanging out with people from his church. He was smiling and laughing and filled with joy. What in the world?

I was sober, but I sure wasn’t that happy! Was there a new woman in his life? That was an annoying thought. Who cares? I scolded myself, but I couldn’t resist. I had to know what was going on. So I unblocked my social media and messaged him. I needed to understand why he was so happy.

“It’s Jesus,” he replied. “Want some?”

Yes, I did.

Over the next month, Darren shared with me how Jesus had transformed his life. Along Side had rules about relationships, and ours was growing, so Darren asked for guidance from the program’s pastor, Ken Sheets. Darren was determined to honor God and house rules.

We began meeting with Ken. It quickly became apparent that the many unresolved hurts I carried had led to wrong thinking and behavior. It didn’t take a genius to realize that I was the common denominator in every destructive relationship and circumstance.

I also had trust issues toward men, including Darren, due to his unfaithfulness during our marriage. Seeing my struggle, Pastor Ken slid his Bible across the table to me and said, “Your answer is in this book, Brenda.”

And then he told me about Jesus. He explained how I could have all my sins forgiven and receive eternal life. I wanted God’s gift of salvation, so I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. Shortly afterward, Darren asked me to marry him again.

In the five years since, as we continue to drink the living water from His well, the Lord has beautifully restored and redeemed what we so carelessly destroyed. This time, we are determined to keep ourselves anchored to Jesus, not to each other, and to turn to Him in trouble, not the bottle or drugs. We have found that our faith in God “is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls” (Hebrews 6:19 NLT).

Together with God, we’ve endured storms that would have destroyed us in the past, like the loss of our son, Nathan, to a fentanyl overdose in September 2022. Only through the security of God’s love and the support of our friends and church family have we not returned to alcohol and drugs.

Perhaps you, too, live with an unquenchable thirst for love that keeps you moving from one unhealthy relationship to another. Jesus wants to satisfy that need with His living water.

No matter how far you’ve gone in your quest or how many failed relationships you’ve had, the Lord still welcomes you.

“Come, drink,” He says. Through Jesus, you’ll experience rivers of living water flowing through your heart, and you will never thirst again (Isaiah 55:1; John 4:13-14; John 7:38).

BRENDA COONEY is a wife, mom, and grandma who helps others discover their worth through the eyes of their heavenly Father. She mentors women in recovery, advocates for overdose prevention, and offers support to parents of addicted children and those who have lost a child to addiction.

Get Back in the Race

Several NASCAR racetracks nationwide have tunnels under the track so fans can enter and leave the facility without interrupting on-track activities. Over time, the track over the tunnel tends to settle, causing a dip or bump in the racing surface.

Imagine driving a racecar at speeds close to 200 mph with mere inches separating you from 39 other cars. For every lap, you must prepare and adjust as you approach the tunnel turn and cross over that dip in the track.

Drivers describe what happens to the car as bottoming out, bouncing, or losing momentary traction. Most say it “upsets the car,” which is proven by the many accidents that result.

It’s one thing to hit that tunnel turn when the cars are all in a line, but it can be quite unsettling when they’re running in a pack. One mistake by any driver can lead to a crash involving many. A driver, completely focused and on their line, can be suddenly caught up in the error of another.

Life is that way—it’s rarely a smooth and easy track. We can be focused, heading in the right direction, when wham, we hit a bump in the road that upsets our life’s trajectory. Or we get knocked off the track by some other person’s mistake.

Bumps in life come in all forms—illness, job loss, death of a loved one, ending of a relationship, financial loss, addiction to drugs or alcohol, arrest, or even incarceration. The fallout from such situations can impact us for years.

The apostle Paul is an excellent example of someone who faced various trying bumps. Second Corinthians 11:23–28 says Paul was persecuted, beaten, whipped, stoned, lost at sea, shipwrecked, hungry, thirsty, and exposed to harsh elements, just to name a few. But no matter how painful or unsettling the bump, nothing and no one could hinder Paul from pressing toward the goal to which God was calling him (Philippians 3:14). He was determined to finish his race.

You can determine to be an overcomer just like Paul. Refuse to get angry or cast blame. Don’t be anxious, either. Instead, pray to God. He will give you the strength and peace to move forward (Philippians 4:4–7).

Often, the enemy, Satan, will try to take you out of the race. He sends various trials in the form of people and circumstances to distract and unsettle you so that he can steal your victory (John 10:10). But no matter what he sends, no matter how big the bump or crash, your race is not over.

God can produce something beneficial from even the most painful trials. If we let Him, He will use those bumps on the road of life to teach, mature, and strengthen us, as well as bring His work in us to completion (James 1:2–4).

Have you ever thought about what happens in heaven when you’ve been spun off track? According to Romans 8:26–27 and 8:34, the Holy Spirit and Jesus are praying to God the Father on your behalf. They are interceding, asking God to help you overcome. Hold on to that truth—Jesus and the Holy Spirit are your prayer partners!

Bumps in the road are complex, and they hurt. I know. But take a moment, be still, and remember that God is God (Psalm 46:10). Your race isn’t over unless you quit.

God will always be on your side, helping you and working everything out for your good (Romans 8:28). So go ahead—thank Him and then celebrate in advance what God is about to do.

“The righteous person may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all” (Psalm 34:19 NIV). So don’t give up, and don’t give in. Like Paul, forget the past, look toward the future, and press on toward the heavenly prize that’s waiting for you (Philippians 3:12–14).

RANDY CLAYPOOLE’s career in auto racing spanned 26 years. During that time, he served as a NASCAR chaplain and public relations/media representative. He also owned and operated the ISCARS Dash Touring Series, a professional auto racing series. As a member of the Victorious Living prison event team, Randy helps those who feel disqualified for God’s race get back on track.

Where There’s Breath, There’s Hope

“What is wrong with you?”

Lots of folks asked me that question early in life. People stared, criticized, and judged, but no one was willing to look past my behavior to see the real me. I had to go through hell on earth before someone finally thought to ask what had happened to me.

I didn’t wake up one day and decide to be a drug addict and a prostitute. It doesn’t work that way. Now, I’m not making excuses for my many mistakes, but the hard truth is that life dealt me childhood circumstances that were too heavy for me to carry and too confusing to process.

With no voice or sense of self-worth, I lived as a victim of those circumstances. That is, until I learned there was a better way to live.

Growing up, my siblings and I shared one bed in my mother’s hot, dirty apartment in the projects. I was the oldest of eight, and by age nine, I was given the job of providing for and protecting my siblings. I’m not complaining; I loved my siblings. They were my only source of joy. But being their caretaker robbed me of my own childhood.

We were poor and neglected. We went to school hungry, dirty, and bruised. Our teachers never asked why or cared to intervene. Kids, however, took great notice of my condition—mocking me because I was unkempt and smelled like urine from wetting the bed. No one wanted to be my friend. But that didn’t matter—I loved attending school because it was better than being home.

My mother did nothing to stop the abuse I suffered at the hands of the men she brought home. Night after night, they did horrible things to me after she passed out from drinking. I never fought back or cried for fear they might harm my younger siblings next.

I had no idea how to handle the pain I felt and the shame I carried, until one day, I drank from the half-empty cups left in our home. Suddenly, I could temporarily forget I was being raped and abused. I drank up every drop, every chance I got.

Mom would disappear for days, leaving us kids to fend for ourselves without even the most basic of necessities. I would scrounge around for food scraps, but there were never enough.

I was 11 years old when social services arrived at our door for a welfare check. I remember screaming for my mother to save us as the police loaded my siblings and me into separate squad cars and took us away—but she was nowhere to be found.

I didn’t see my siblings again until we were all brought to the courtroom. My mother cried as the judge scolded her. I remember feeling angry at the judge for being mean to her and making her cry. Mom was forbidden by court order to have custody of us. That was the last time we were together as a family.

One of my aunts took me in and allowed me to experience a better, more normal life. She taught me many things I should have already known, like proper hygiene. We ate meals together as a family and celebrated holidays. The stability in her home helped me heal a little. I stopped wetting the bed and attended school regularly.

Aunt Ann took me to First Baptist Church every Sunday. I loved learning about God and Jesus, especially in Sunday school. I memorized Bible verses and learned to say the Lord’s Prayer.

At 12, I was baptized. I didn’t understand much, but I knew that the Bible said God loved the whole world (including me!) so much that He gave His Son, Jesus, to die for me so that I could have eternal life (John 3:16). I wanted God to love me, so in my childlike faith, I asked Him to forgive me for my sins and trusted that He would always be with me.

Being separated from my brothers and sisters left a massive hole in my heart. I also missed my mother. I loved her very much, even though she hadn’t protected me. I was sure that someday, she would love me back.

That’s why I was excited when, three years later, she came to take me home. “Where’s my girl? C’mon, Neen, I love you. You’re comin’ with me.” Neen was her nickname for me.

I was 14, and finally, I’d heard those three longed-for words—I love you.

Suddenly all those bad memories from my childhood disappeared. Thrilled, I packed up my things and left with Mom that day without a second thought.

But by nightfall, I’d realized her true motive for coming to get me.

“Neen, I’ll be back,” she said as she walked out the door, leaving me alone with the three small children she had brought into the world since our separation. Mom needed a babysitter; she hadn’t loved or missed me.

With that realization, I became one angry, defiant 14-year-old. I felt trapped and immediately started drinking more leftover alcohol to deal with life. “No one cares about you,” I told myself as I numbed my feelings. I dropped out of school and tried to work, but drinking was my main priority.

A year later, one of my mother’s drinking buddies took a liking to me. I didn’t care that he was seven years older, nor did I want to listen to what anyone said about him. I thought my Prince Charming had come to rescue me. We got married when I was 17 and had a son soon after.

I loved being a wife and mother. For the first time, I had dreams and felt like I had a purpose in life. But all that was short-lived when the beatings started. My happy life had again turned dark and ugly.

A friend introduced me to crack cocaine. Talk about a numbing agent! I took right to it. Not long after, my husband walked out on me, leaving me with a one-year-old toddler and a fast-growing addiction. I loved my son fiercely, but I wasn’t ready emotionally or financially to be a single mother.

My ex-husband dealt me a devastating blow when he took my son and left town with another woman. I crumbled in grief. Not knowing where my child was or when I would ever see him again hurt worse than anything. And by then, I had been through a lot.

I knew I needed to stop getting high, but the voice of my addiction drowned out the voice of reason. I convinced myself I could stop whenever I wanted, but I couldn’t.

My troubles multiplied, and I sank deeper into darkness. I no longer got high to feel better; I needed drugs to function. What had started as a monkey on my back grew into a gorilla that tried to take my life.

I got pregnant five more times over the next several years. One pregnancy ended in abortion, another a stillbirth. Three of my babies were snatched from my hands by social services as soon as I gave birth. I was deemed an unfit mother.

The loss of each child ripped away another piece of my heart, and shame overwhelmed me.

There I was, repeating the same cycle of abandonment and pain that had hurt younger me so badly. But as an addict, I felt powerless to help myself, much less my children. I despaired, knowing that they would grow up feeling as unloved and unwanted as I had.

The days blurred together. I couldn’t have told you the day of the week or when I last ate or showered. I snorted, smoked, and shot up drugs. I lied, cheated, and stole for my next hit. I sold my body to random tricks for money to get high. I used dirty needles and took other crazy risks with my life daily. I was utterly out of control.

During my 19-year run on those streets, I racked up 83 arrests and 66 convictions. Each time I was released to my old stomping grounds, the cycle of insanity started all over. I’d live wherever I could—abandoned houses, crack houses, and under bridges. I felt safest under the bridge.

But somehow, no matter where I went or how many drugs I did, the memories of what had been done and said to me as a child still haunted me. I wanted to forget, but I couldn’t. I wanted to die, but my body kept breathing.

But because I was still breathing, there was still hope for me!

It’s one thing to be down, but it’s another when you see no way of getting up. That was me when I finally reached my rock bottom.

I used to lie on the ground under that bridge and listen to the people passing by overhead. I wondered if they knew about the world beneath them. Did anyone know I existed? Would anyone ever be willing to help me find my way to a better life?

I remember the day I learned that Someone did know I existed. And He cared about me.

The day didn’t start well—out of nowhere, a guy I had ripped off earlier grabbed me and took me to a secluded area, where he proceeded to beat and rape me. I opened my eyes just in time to see him holding a giant boulder over his head.

Right before he could smash my head in, I screamed, “Jesus!”

Incredibly, the guy stopped his swing midair, threw the rock down, helped me up, and drove me back to the neighborhood without saying another word.

This unbelievable encounter shook me to my core. I knew Jesus was the only reason that man hadn’t killed me.

But why?

After that, I started wondering about new things. Did Jesus, the One who had loved me as a child, still love me after all I’d done and been through? Had He seen me under that bridge? Was He willing to help me? It was too incredible to imagine.

Yet even with that supernatural encounter and revelation, I didn’t stop doing drugs or running the streets. By the spring of 2004, I was pregnant again and running from the law on a parole violation. A bounty hunter found and arrested me, and soon, I was back in a prison cell.

A familiar feeling of defeat and hopelessness greeted me in that prison, as the memories of all my lost babies flooded my mind. I thought of the child I was carrying within. I’d already given her a name—Orlandra. I was sick with worry that I would lose her too.

Someone told me about a program called T.A.M.A.R.’s Children, which offers individual trauma treatment to incarcerated women. T.A.M.A.R. is an acronym for Trauma, Addiction, Mental Health, and Recovery. The name comes from the biblical story of King David’s daughter, Tamar, who was raped by her half brother.

This program was unique because it addressed the trauma participants had experienced. If accepted into the program, I would be allowed to keep Orlandra. That made the decision easy. I was determined to make up for my mistakes that had caused my other children to be taken away, and to care for and protect this baby. All I needed was for someone to teach me how.

I was a perfect candidate for the program, but the warden would not let me attend since I was in prison on a parole violation, an automatic disqualifier. Without this program, I would surely lose Orlandra to the foster care system just as soon as she was born.

Someone had once told me, “If all else fails, look up and ask God.” Now, I know that we should look to God at all times, not just in hard times, but God used that quote to remind me to look to Him.

On March 15, 2004, I went boldly before His throne of grace (Hebrews 4:16) and poured out my heart to the Lord. From a fetal position on the floor of my cell at Maryland Institution for Women in Jessup, I got honest with God and myself for the first time, knowing I needed more than help—I needed a Savior.

“God, if You’re listening, this is Tonier. I don’t know if You listen to people like me, but I want to change my life. Please help me. You are the only One who can. If You let me keep my baby, God, I will give her back to You.” With those words, I put all my cares, my life, and the life of my unborn child into His hands.

A new Tonier Cain was born that day. Before I got up off that floor, I knew something was different. I suddenly believed that Jesus Christ indeed loved me and that His love had washed away all the old stains of my former life.

I didn’t know how God would answer my prayer, but I believed He would. And that gave me enough strength to stand, put one foot in front of the other, and begin walking with the Lord.

Not long after, a therapist from T.A.M.A.R. went to the warden and pleaded my case. Whatever she said softened the warden’s heart, and the next thing I knew, she agreed to let me in the program, but I’d have to wait for a bed to open at T.A.M.A.R.

I was willing to do whatever it took to keep my baby.

I was released from prison and went straight to the program, where a woman greeted me with a smile. She took me to my room—a room that was filled with all I needed to provide a safe home for my child: a crib, bassinet, refrigerator, and more. God had undoubtedly prepared the way for me.

Once settled, I met with my trauma therapist, who helped me begin to sort through my past. In all my life, no one had ever asked what had happened to me as a child or why I had chosen drugs. But God, through this therapist, gave me a safe place to purge all the dark secrets I carried—secrets that had poisoned me from the inside out.

The therapist was kind and patient and listened for hours. Sometimes, I could only cry and not speak, but the tears were cleansing and God’s way of helping me heal. His Word reminded me that He was catching my tears and putting them in His bottle (Psalm 56:8). God was aware of my pain and loving me through it.

As I disclosed the shame I carried, my therapist set me straight. For years I had blamed myself for being raped and abused. She taught me that these things weren’t my fault. I was an innocent little girl, unable to defend herself. I had never known that, so I’d walked through life believing I was a bad person.

Session after session, I confronted my fears, learned to recognize my triggers, and began to trust people. I realized I have a valid voice and learned healthy ways to stand up for myself.

Being well enough to hold my baby and be a mother brought great healing, too. I was so used to social services taking my children away that when I held Orlandra in my arms, it took a minute for it to sink in. She was mine to keep.

God truly gave me beauty for ashes (Isaiah 61:3). The women at T.A.M.A.R.’s Children taught me how to care for and nurture my child. Through this journey, I learned that people can’t give away something they have not experienced. Unexpectedly,

I began to see my mother through the lens of compassion rather than rejection, as I realized she couldn’t have been who I needed or wanted her to be.

Day by day, I grew stronger in courage and faith, and my relationship with God flourished. As a child, I’d been told that God loved me, but now through experience, I knew it was true. God had given His only Son for a former drug-addicted, prostituting thief like me.

Through all those years when I was on the street, He was watching over and protecting me, despite my increasingly reckless actions.

After graduation, I was offered a job with the program and became an advocate for women who have been through trauma. I’ve had the opportunity to travel the US and abroad, telling my story in jails, prisons, rehabs, and charitable organizations and educating people on the importance of trauma-informed care. I encourage every woman I meet to fight for her healing.

It has been two decades since I cried out to the Lord from the floor of that prison cell. Since then, I have been free from addiction, mental illness, and shame.

This past year, Orlandra and I celebrated milestones together; she turned 20, and I celebrated 20 years of being set free by the Son of God (John 8:32, 36). Praise God!

I want you to know that God doesn’t play favorites. What He did for me, He wants to do for you. You do not have to be a victim of trauma anymore. God can help you rise from the ashes of your past and experience a life you never dared to dream of.

Don’t give up. Where there’s breath, there’s hope.

Tonier Cain is a trauma survivor and internationally known expert in trauma-informed care. She works tirelessly as an advocate and educator, speaking all over the world on trauma, addiction, incarceration, homelessness, and mental health. Tonier gives all the glory to Jesus Christ as she uses her experiences to make a difference in the lives of those who are often forgotten. For more information, visit toniercain.com.