From Guns to Grace

My childhood is shrouded in mystery. I’m 41 years old, and I still don’t have answers, but this much I know: God wasn’t confused. He wasn’t absent. He’s always had a plan and purpose for my life (Jeremiah 29:11). I just had to come to the end of myself before I could receive them.

No one has ever explained why my biological mom didn’t raise me or why I lived with another family. I’ve always had more questions than answers. My mom battled something great; whatever it was, she ended her life when I was ten. Everyone worked hard to protect me—from what horrible truth, I’ll never know.

After my mom passed, the family I lived with adopted me. They let me choose my last name. I decided to use both surnames and joined them with a hyphen: Lightsey-Copeland.

Even though Mom wasn’t around much, she always made sure I knew she loved me. No matter what had happened, she would always be a part of me, so I wanted to honor her. But I also wanted to honor Mrs. Copeland, the woman who ensured I never wanted or needed anything. She was my mother now, and I even got three big brothers out of the deal!

In the Copeland home, I experienced love and positive male role models. But I took them for granted and became vulnerable to the world’s influences. My thoughts were quickly shaped by the lies of an enemy I was not even aware of, much less equipped to fight. Satan was prowling around like a roaring lion, and he was about to try to devour me (1 Peter 5:8).

I remember playing outside our apartment one day, when this guy walked by with sagging pants, a cocked baseball cap, and a gun in his pocket. I admired the confidence in his stride and thought, “Wow! He’s cool.”

I didn’t know who he was, but I wanted to be like him. I stopped playing with Legos and digging holes in the dirt and headed into high school with a new style and attitude.

My new look quickly attracted the wrong kind of attention. The colors I wore insulted gang members in my neighborhood, and I had to deal with them daily, even though I wasn’t in a gang. I was in their territory, and that’s all that mattered.

I couldn’t even walk to the bus stop without having to defend myself, but I didn’t back down, no matter how many fights I had to endure. I stood my ground and did what I wanted, and eventually, the bullying and the fighting stopped.

My rebellion grew rapidly, as did my ego. I started messing with drugs, using first and then selling. Once I tasted that fast money, I couldn’t walk away. It made me feel powerful, accepted, and like I was somebody.

I kept my grades up so my mom wouldn’t think things were off with me. Plus, I didn’t want to disappoint her. I followed the house rules, did my homework, and excelled in sports. After I graduated from high school, I went to college. But that didn’t last long.

I lived a double life, walking a tightrope between two opposing identities. My street ego grew and grew, and I felt invincible. Giving in to the lure of the fast life, I dropped out of college and hit the streets full time.

And then, one day a drive-by shooting happened in front of my mom’s house. No one was hurt, but it was quite the reality check. Those bullets had my name on them. I was ashamed as I realized the danger I’d brought to my family, not to mention the heartbreak.

But there was more disappointment ahead, and there was nothing I could do to prepare my family for it. I didn’t even see it coming until it was too late.

Something told me not to leave the house that day, but with full-blown arrogance, I ignored the warning and headed out, looking for trouble. I found it in a strip-club parking lot. Before the night was over, a man was dead, and his blood was on my hands.

I fled the scene and hid in a shed in the backyard of an abandoned house. Adrenaline pumped through my racing heart as I heard police sirens and a helicopter in the distance. I was twenty-eight years old and on the run for murder.

I’d never prayed before or even thought about God, but as reality sank in, I somehow knew He was my only hope.

“God, please help me.”

I didn’t expect an answer. At that moment, I felt as far away from God as a person could get. Why would He even listen to my prayer? I had just murdered a man!

But He heard it, and He didn’t waste any time responding.

“Are you ready to surrender your life to Me, Andre?”

It was a gentle but direct question, and I knew without a doubt that it was Him. I wasn’t one to hear voices.

What caught my attention was the use of my name. To think that God would know me by name! Suddenly, His presence was tangible, and I realized I wasn’t alone.

Frightened, I continued to run from the authorities and evaded capture for two weeks. But as I ran, that encounter never left my thoughts.

What could God possibly want with me? The thought was confusing. As far as I knew, my life was over.

When the cops finally caught up with me, I was relieved. They booked me into Pima County Jail and charged me with first-degree murder. The weight of what I’d done hit me with such force that I could barely breathe. I became numb and was unable to process what was happening.

Mom came to see me, utterly shocked by the charges against me. She had no idea the depths of my rebellion. “Son, I know you didn’t do this terrible thing,” she said. “Tell me what happened so we can straighten this all out.”

There was no fixing the situation. I had to tell her the truth. I was totally to blame for what had happened.

Alone in my cell, God’s question kept coming to mind, “Are you ready to surrender your life to Me, Andre?”

Fear. Shame. Guilt. Grief. Anger. Confusion. Waves of emotion washed over me. What did I have to give God?

“I don’t have anything to give you, God.” I finally told Him. “I’m a mess, and I’m probably in prison for the rest of my life.”

I knew nothing about the Bible, but when I picked one up, the Lord wasted no time speaking to my heart. He showed me Romans 5:8: “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (NIV).

I couldn’t wrap my head around what I was reading. Jesus died for me even though He knew I was a sinner? Why? I had never paid attention to Him. Why would He care about me? But that’s what it said.

Wow.

I kept reading the Bible and learned so much. Jesus was a perfect man and also God. He died a horrible death so that I could have my sins forgiven. That blew my mind. I became hungry to learn all I could about Jesus, the resurrected Savior. I was fascinated by His teachings and the people He chose to be His disciples. What a motley crew! Then I learned about King David and how God used him even though he was an adulterer and a murderer (2 Samuel 11–12; Psalm 51).

As soon as I could, I got baptized and committed my life to follow Jesus no matter what, even if I had to spend the rest of my life in prison.

My case dragged through the court system for two and a half years. As I awaited my sentence, I leaned into God’s Word for courage and comfort. I discovered who I was in God’s eyes. Satan had been feeding me lies about my identity since my youth.

I attended church with my Spanish-speaking cellie, who was also a Christian. I didn’t understand much because the service was in Spanish, but it didn’t matter. God’s presence was there as those men sought the Lord. I soaked it in like a plant that hadn’t been watered in years.

God showed me that He had pursued me since I was a kid. He revealed people He had used to sow seeds in my heart about Jesus. God knew that, eventually, I would turn to Him, and just like the father of the prodigal son, He waited patiently for me (Luke 15:11–32).

I remembered a picture my mom had hanging in her house. As a child, I wondered who all those people were sitting around a big table sharing a meal. Now I know it was a painting of the Last Supper with Jesus and His disciples (Matthew 26:26–29). Thinking of that picture now comforts my heart. I think maybe Mom knew Jesus too.

Waiting for trial was exhausting. I had no plea bargain, so when my court date arrived, I expected to get the maximum sentence. I thought I was dreaming when the jury found me guilty of a lesser charge, second-degree murder.

The judge’s voice was kind but firm on sentencing day. “Sir, I believe that you are a decent man who lost your way when you started hanging out with the wrong people.” She then handed me a 12-year sentence. It was nothing short of a miracle.

God’s hand touched my life that day in a way I will never forget, and I came to understand grace and mercy in a way many don’t. I was receiving a gift that I could never earn or deserve, and I knew it.

Within a week, I walked through the gates of Arizona State Prison to begin serving my time. I connected immediately with other men of faith. Wanting to be a true disciple of Jesus Christ, I surrounded myself with those whose lives were testimonies of His transforming power. God worked through them to help me change.

Before long, I felt God calling me deeper. My salvation, a reduced prison sentence, and this new life weren’t for me to keep to myself. God wanted to use me for His purpose and glory (Ephesians 2:8–10). He wanted me to tell others about His grace and to help them avoid the mistakes I’d made.

Helping others was something I’d never considered before giving my life to Christ. To better prepare, I took advantage of the education available behind bars and obtained an associate’s degree in alcohol and substance abuse disorders. I also worked as a peer support facilitator, helping to prepare men for their release.

It was a privilege to pray for them and introduce them to Jesus, the true Friend who would be there every step of the way (John 15:13–14). So many people want to leave prison, enter the world, and live right, but it isn’t easy to do. With Jesus, these men could succeed.

Still wanting to deepen my roots in Christ, I signed up for a discipleship training program offered by Alongside Ministries in Phoenix. A mentor journeyed with me while I was still in prison. He became my friend and prayer warrior and met me at the gate the day of my release. He even took me out for a delicious breakfast before dropping me off at the ministry’s residential program that I still call home.

It felt great to be out from behind those bars, but Jesus had already set me free long before I walked out of prison. He freed me from the wages of my sin and gave me eternal life the day I believed in Him (Romans 6:23).

And not only was I free, but I was rich beyond measure. I didn’t have any worldly possessions, but I had eternal life, joy, peace, worth, and purpose.

Today, I work with and encourage men coming out of prison who are learning to walk with the Lord. It’s only been a few years since I was where they are now. Only God could have rewritten my story.

Genesis 50:20 says that God can take what the enemy meant for our harm and use it for good. Romans 8:28 promises that God works all situations for good for those who love Him and are called to His purposes. God has kept these promises and more. His undeserved kindness will remain beyond my comprehension.

I’ll never forget that I took a life and brought pain to undeserving people. I wish I could go back and make it right, but I can’t. All I can do is live my life in thankfulness, serving others and sharing the hope of Jesus. I want to honor God so He can bring purpose out of the pain I caused.

God offers this same chance to you. I hope you’ll accept it.

If you’re like I was, you’re wondering what God could  possibly want with your life. And why would He bother? Let me tell you: God doesn’t look at what you’ve done. He looks at who He knows you can become.

He is calling you by name, inviting you to come, right now, just as you are. God loves you no matter what you’ve done. The blood He shed for you on the cross of Calvary can wash away the blood on your hands.

Brothers and sisters, the forgiveness of sin is a gift of true freedom that no one can ever take away from you, no matter where you find yourself (John 8:36).

ANDRE LIGHTSEY-COPELAND, having experienced God’s faithfulness and grace for himself, seeks to share that message of hope and victory to everyone he encounters. He enjoys the fellowship of his Alongside Ministries community and uses his testimony to encourage his family and students at St. Mary’s Skill Center in Phoenix.

Graced for Success

In the early 2000s, I began a long journey of redirection. It started with one step, then a series of steps until finally, I arrived in a spacious place where today, I am passionately living out my God-given purpose and helping others do the same (Psalm 18:19). God’s love and grace rescued me from the powers of darkness that had held me captive since my youth (Colossians 1:13).

Did I deserve His kindness? No. I had rebelled early in life and trampled His gifts, especially the gift of loving parents. After eighth grade, I ran away from home and dropped out of school. I wanted to do things my way.

My parents tried desperately to get me back on track, but I ignored them. My only focus was making money. I imagined it would give me the freedom to do whatever I wanted. So I found a place to live with a relative and got a job at the local Burger King.

Every morning I rode my bike to a place that tells its customers to “have it your way.” Well, having it my way might have been desirable for a hamburger, but not in life. I needed God’s way, but it would take years of hardship for me to figure that out.

Selfish desires, irrational decisions, and a lack of direction carried me into dark places where I experienced much physical, emotional, and mental pain. It still hurts to revisit that time of my life.

By 17, I was pregnant with my first child. I had an on-and-off relationship with the baby’s father and gave birth to two more children with him in the next couple of years. As often happens to baby mamas, the father gave no support.

I did my best under the circumstances, but the weight of raising and providing for three children was a lot to carry. Not to mention I was far too emotionally immature to care for them properly. How thankful I am for immediate family members and community programs that provided support.

One day, a case worker knocked on my door and told me about a program that assisted parents with young children. This program would allow me to attend a local community college and obtain my GED while my children participated in a Head Start program.

The thought of getting my GED kindled new hope in me. For years, my educational status had prevented me from obtaining jobs outside of food service. I was only 19, but my future had already seemed set in stone. Suddenly, I could see a way to take a step toward something positive in my life. Maybe there was a future for me after all.

I entered the program excitedly and set what I thought was a reasonable goal to pass one test a month. Obtaining my GED took longer than expected, though, as I had trouble staying focused. I would get inspired, then fall away.

Math slowed me down. It took three attempts for me to pass that exam. I didn’t know it then, but depression was contributing to my inability to stay consistent. At the time, all I knew to do was push my feelings down and keep trying.

My teachers noticed my determination and asked me to be a guest speaker at the basic skills recognition ceremony. I was surprised when my speech and a picture of me in my cap and gown were published in the local newspaper. It was my birthday, and I couldn’t have received a better gift.

The newspaper article and picture proved that good things are possible to those who work hard and believe. I showed it to my children with pride and encouraged them those good things were possible for them, too.

From that day forward, I set more goals and entered the local community college to pursue my college education. Filled with newfound confidence, I refused to count myself out or be content with just getting by and relying on others. I wanted more out of life and was determined to defeat every challenge that came my way. My children were looking up to me, so giving up wasn’t an option.

I began pursuing a degree in human services technology. I wanted to help people, especially women like me who struggled to make ends meet. It felt good to take daily steps to better myself. But in 2005, I lost focus when the father of my children came back around. I got pregnant again and had to put my education goals on hold for nearly a decade to care for my four children.

Looking back, I see that continuing a relationship with a man who didn’t stay and didn’t care enough to provide for his family was unwise. But I couldn’t see past the moment. Insecurities and an unhealed heart led me to make many choices that resulted in hard consequences.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my children and would make every sacrifice again for them. But being a single mom and living in poverty was hard—for my kids and for me.

I often felt discouraged by my circumstances and would isolate myself as I fought depression and suicidal thoughts. Only by God’s grace were my kids and I able to survive that long, dark season.

The church was the only place I experienced a sense of relief. I started attending with the kids around the same time I got my GED. We’d walk down the street to church each Sunday, and there, I’d find the strength to make it through another week.

Being in the presence of God, His Word, powerful worship music, and fellowshipping with other believers lifted a heavy weight off my shoulders. I knew no matter what, I needed to cling to my faith. And I did. But I didn’t yet understand the importance of living in Christ daily.

God used my children to draw me closer to Him. My children have always been my motivation to live a better life. I wanted them to be proud of their mother and see that they could achieve their goals if they focused and worked hard.

But God showed me that it was even more important to teach them to live a life of faith daily. Worldly success is worthless if they don’t know Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior (Philippians 3:8).

I began to seek God daily through prayer and studying the Bible. I was determined to give Him more than church attendance. Soon, God’s Holy Spirit convicted me of my life choices. He showed me that my going to church and then hitting the clubs and hanging out was sending mixed messages to my kids.

Having one foot in the world was also causing me to be unstable. James 1:8 says that a person who divides their loyalty between God and the world is unstable in all they do.

Setting a bad example for my children was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to live a life of faith that honored God and exhibited character worth imitating—and God gave me the power to accomplish it (Philippians 2:13).

I returned to school again, and in 2014, I finally graduated with my college degree. My older self told my younger self, “Girl, you did it!” I thanked God for this joyous day. Later that year, I got married—something I never thought I’d experience. But the honeymoon didn’t last long as my kids and I tried to adjust to our new family unit. We all struggled, and soon, my children rebelled.

I kept pushing down my emotions and pressing through situations as I’d always done. It seemed to be paying off when in 2016, I started a job at East Carolina University in an administrative role. I could hardly contain myself when I sat down at my very own desk in a private office. I rejoiced in the Lord and thanked Him for bringing me so far in life. He had helped me overcome so many obstacles (Philippians 4:13).

But things fell apart in the fall of 2018. My husband and I separated, and my son, arrested for double homicide, was facing the death penalty. (Instead of death, he is now serving a 38-year sentence in prison.)

His arrest took a toll on my mental state. Life had thrown me many curves in the past, but I’d always managed to bob and weave and keep moving. This time, I was drowning in sorrow.

Satan had a heyday with me while I was down. He reminded me daily how I had missed the mark as a mother and wife. He told me God’s plan would never come to fruition for my kids or me and that I had experienced all the good I ever would. It didn’t take long before I was engulfed again in a hopeless pit of despair and self-pity. All I could see was an endless dark tunnel with no light, closing in on me. I lost sight of all the progress I’d made.

A good thing happened during this dark season though. For years, I had refused to talk to anyone about my mental health or seek medical help. I’d used God as an excuse, telling myself that He alone was my Healer; I didn’t need anyone else.

Don’t get me wrong—God is the Great Physician, and He can heal anyone of anything. But I wasn’t actually receptive to His help because I didn’t want to confront the painful issues of my past. Finally, I realized that unless I faced my past with God, I had no hope of breaking free from the darkness that held me captive.

It wasn’t easy, but I started sharing my pain, first with God and then with other trustworthy people. I took the cap off the place in my heart where I stored my emotions and painful traumas and let them rise to the surface. One by one, I gave them over to God.

First Peter 5:7 (NIV) invites us to “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” As I realized the depth of God’s love for me, I trusted Him more with my pain. As the old traumas, disappointments, emotions, and my sinful behavior came to light, I would write them down, pray, and then release them to God. It helped me to remember that God’s love was unconditional and that no matter what I shared, He would not reject or judge me (John 3:17).

With time, the light of His love overcame the darkness that had tormented me (Psalm 18:28; Matthew 4:16). The Lord also gave me strength and peace to seek professional help. I am grateful for those He put in my path to help me. God never gave up on me, even when I wanted to give up on myself.

Today, praise God, my mental and emotional health is more stable. In 2020, God graced me to launch a nonprofit called Striving with Vision. I now have the privilege of helping women discover their worth in Christ and encouraging them to strive toward a better future. My past victories with God have equipped me for this journey. In the process, I’ve found that serving others helps me avoid becoming consumed with my own struggles, especially my son’s incarceration.

There’s a saying, “Nothing worth having is easy.” I know this is true. My life has been one fight of faith after another. But the “good fight of faith” is what we must all face if we want to be victorious over our circumstances (1 Timothy 6:12).

Satan and this world are not just going to roll over and let you experience the goodness of God’s plan. You must be willing to face the fight! God will strengthen you for the journey and grace you for success.

It may not seem like it now, but there is hope for your tunnel’s end. Keep casting your cares over to God. Remind yourself daily of the victories you’ve already experienced and cling to your faith that more will come. And then rise, aim, and move forward with purpose (1 Corinthians 9:26).

In Christ, you are a conqueror over every situation (Romans 8:37). No circumstance or person has the power to stop what God has purposed for your life (Isaiah 54:17; Jeremiah 29:11). Well, no one except you. Your unbelief in God, refusal to believe in yourself, and unwillingness to keep going will stop you in your tracks every time.

Right now, maybe you’re fighting that good fight of faith. You’re taking steps with God toward a better future. I’m so glad. Keep going; you’re going to make it. You can be victorious.

But maybe, like I often did, you’ve gotten sidetracked, knocked down, or delayed. Friend, it’s time to get back up. It’s not too late. God’s love is big. Nothing you’ve done or experienced has disqualified you from the good things He has for you.

Get your eyes off your circumstances, your failures, and those deceitful emotions. Instead, give them to God. He will help you. Then rise and take the next step He has for you.

Don’t know which step to take next? Ask Him. He’ll show you the way (Proverbs 3:5–6; James 1:5). And when He does, move in faith and purpose with tightly secured boxing gloves.

You’ve got this because God’s got you!

LATOYA WILLIAMS is the founder of Striving with Vision, an empowerment support group, and an ordained minister. To find out more about her nonprofit or to invite Latoya to speak at your event, visit strivingwithvision.com.

God Can Change Your Future

“How you feelin’, Mike?”

Grandma asked me this question every time we were alone in her car. My behavior had grown increasingly dark, and she was convinced it was only a matter of time before I hurt myself or maybe someone else.

“It ain’t good to keep all those emotions bottled up inside you,” she’d warn.

But even if I’d wanted to answer her, I couldn’t. I didn’t feel anything. I wasn’t always that way. As a kid, I’d had lots of emotions…but few felt good. So I stuffed them deep inside and kept going.

My mom was 15 when she gave birth to me. She was young, single, poor, and severely addicted to crack cocaine. Our home was chaotic, and I didn’t have a safe space to express how I felt. Mom wasn’t emotionally, mentally, or physically able to hear me, much less help me sort through my pain.

If I told anyone else how I felt, I’d have to reveal the root of the problem, and that would break an unwritten code between Mom and me. Whatever happened in our house, stayed in our house.

Mom’s addiction and our life in the projects exposed me to many evils. Our neighborhood was full of evil, drugs, and crime. When I was five years old, I witnessed a drive-by shooting. Not long after, my best friend was shot and killed. Those traumatic experiences hurt my young heart. Mom ran with a tough crowd, and sometimes terrible things happened to her.

I was the most afraid and vulnerable at night. I would lie on my bed and listen to the noises from the street, neighboring apartments, and sometimes, my own home. Yelling. Screaming. Gunfire.

When Mom gave birth to my sister, I was the one who changed my sister’s diapers, warmed her bottle, and fed her in the middle of the night because Mom was incapacitated. And I was only seven years old.

Eventually, Mom moved us from the projects of Virginia to North Carolina to be near family. But her addiction and poverty moved with us.

Please understand: I love my mother. Today she is free from her addiction, and we have a good relationship. I share these details only to lay the foundation for my story and to testify to the goodness of God. He rescued my grandmother, mother, and me from destructive generational patterns and choices. But we went through a lot to get there.

With time, fear and loneliness turned into disappointment. Every time Mom chose crack over me, I felt let down. Her addiction resulted in countless broken promises and a lack of basic necessities. Disappointment eventually turned to resentment.

I was angry with Mom for not providing for us. I resented her because I had to care for my siblings, even though I loved them. While that responsibility probably saved my life by keeping me busy and off the streets, at the time, it felt my childhood had been stolen from me.

Mom’s addiction and eventual incarceration meant my siblings and I were bounced around between relatives in North and South Carolina. I’m thankful for the intervening love and security Grandma and her sister, Aunt Sarah, gave us, but moving meant new neighborhoods and schools. It seemed I was always the new kid and people were always sizing me up. My self-esteem was almost nonexistent. Mostly, I stayed to myself and kept my mouth closed.

Going from Mom’s house, where there were no rules, to Aunt Sarah’s, where there were rules and consequences, was not easy. I didn’t like being told what to do and became rebellious. My new elementary school had to develop an in-school suspension program just for me.

About that time, movies glorifying gang life became popular. Suddenly, my life experiences were right there on the big screen, and I realized how much power someone from the hood—like me—could have over others. Dark thoughts and ideas swirled through my head as I imagined what it’d be like to be a killer. Maybe I’d be a hitman.

By seventh grade, I was carrying knives, threatening classmates, and smoking weed. I liked being high. I owned my first handgun by eighth grade, and in ninth, I swung a machete at a man’s head. In my defense, he was trying to sexually assault me, but it’s only by God’s grace that I didn’t kill him or hurt others.

On a positive note, I joined the football team in junior high. I’d always been athletic but had never played organized sports because of my responsibilities at home. I did well, and the coach told me if I worked hard, I could attend college on a football scholarship. That was a foreign concept to me; I’d never considered the idea of me having a future.

It felt great to be a part of an organized team and to be good at something, but it was short-lived. Mom made me a grand promise of a summer vacation that turned into my having to care for my siblings long-term. Football practice was off the table. I resented her even more.

In eleventh grade, I moved to a relative’s house in Kinston, North Carolina, and made the football team. Amazingly, I was soon ranked number two in the state for sacks. I went from being a nobody to a somebody. The local “big homie” bought me expensive shoes; girls chased me; and people I didn’t even know talked to me.

I made plans to attend NC State University and crushed the football camp—but my confidence quickly became embarrassment when my grades didn’t make the cut. I walked on at Fayetteville State University instead. Still, I played well and worked hard, and the coach said I had what it took to make it to the pros.

I hadn’t been at school one month when my girlfriend told me she was pregnant. I didn’t take it well. I’d just gotten free from raising my siblings, and now I was supposed to raise another child? No.

I ran. Dropped out of school, abandoned the gridiron, and moved back to Aunt Sarah’s in South Carolina. I needed space to figure things out and more drugs to silence the confusing voices screaming in my head.

I took a miserable job in masonry that paid a lousy wage. My coworkers sat around and smoked their crack pipes every day after work. Was this my future? It didn’t look much different from growing up, and I resented Mom even more. I was still holding her responsible for my wretched life.

Sure, Mom’s lifestyle had impacted me and my siblings, but what about the things I’d done? I’d wielded guns and knives and sold drugs. I’d rebelled against authority and planned robberies. I’d gotten my girlfriend pregnant and then abandoned her and a potential future in football. None of that was on Mom, but I was harboring hate and unforgiveness in my heart.

Hebrews 12:15 (NLT) says, “Watch out that no poisonous root of bitterness grows up to trouble you, corrupting many.” For years, I had allowed a poisonous root of bitterness to grow unchecked in my heart and mind, and now, I was eating the fruit of it.

I soon left my brickmason job to be a drug dealer and bodyguard. I made $3,000 my first day and was hooked. But selling those drugs often filled me with guilt. I was destroying kids’ lives with the very drug that had destroyed my mother’s. It began to wear heavy on me.

There was a lot of tension between me and the guys who worked for my boss too. They had been with him longer than me, yet I was his righthand man.

I became so worried that someone would take me out that I actually had a nervous breakdown. I was at a bar doing a drug deal, and I started crying uncontrollably. I went to the bathroom to get myself together, but I couldn’t. So I called Grandma and told her what was happening.

“Mike, you need to get in church, and you need to see a mental health professional.” It was only the hundredth time she’d said it. Instead, I moved back to North Carolina. Grandma kept telling me to get help, but I wasn’t about to have my head examined by a doctor; I knew I had issues!

Finally, I decided I’d go to church, walk to the altar, and pretend to give my life to Jesus. I’d only have to go once, and then I could tell Grandma her plan didn’t work. Then I’d hit the streets with a vengeance. I’d learned much over the years; I was ready to run my own crew.

Sunday came, and I waited on the back pew for the pastor to do an altar call. I stepped into the aisle and took a step toward the front—but suddenly, tears flooded my eyes. The closer I got to the pastor, the harder I cried.

I had my plan. God had a different one.

After that day, I started going to church more consistently. It was the only place I could find peace from my dark thoughts. Sometimes, I’d walk out of church and light up a joint. The guys would tease me, “Mike, you ain’t even out of your suit, and you’re smoking weed!” I still had much to overcome, but I was headed in the right direction.

Since I was in North Carolina, I began spending more time with my son. I’d never experienced a healthy parent-child relationship myself, but I was trying. And God would use that kid to melt my hardened heart.

I’d take him to the park and tell him to go play while I sat in the car smoking weed. Over time, I noticed how other parents interacted with their kids. They played and talked with them. I wanted a relationship like that with my son. The day I saw some other kid’s father play with my son on the slide was the day I put out the weed and got out of the car. That was my son!

During this time, I was in and out of a relationship with his mother, Tanya. I ended up getting her pregnant again. I wish I could say I was trying to be good to her like I was our son, but I wasn’t. Seeing fear in her eyes gave me such a rush. It sickens me to think of the hell I put her through.

But when our daughter was stillborn, everything changed. The doctor said prenatal stress had caused her death. Tanya and I both knew I was the source of that stress. In her grief, she cut me out of her life, and I can’t blame her. I hated me too.

How ironic: for years I’d wanted to be a killer, and now I was one.

I’m grateful that God doesn’t waste anything, not even our sin. Through this experience, I came to a point of true surrender and got serious about my faith. I no longer attended church to feel better; I was there for God to teach, change, and use me.

Scripture began speaking directly to my heart, revealing the depths of God’s love for me (Ephesians 3:18) and declaring my identity as a child of God (1 John 3:1). It brought correction (2 Timothy 3:16–17) and showed me that to become a new person, I had to change the way I thought (Romans 12:2; 2 Corinthians 10:5, Colossians 3:1–3).

Retraining my thoughts was a full-time job. I had never thought of myself as anything more than a poor kid from the hood. An outcast. A son of a crack addict. A waster of talent. A destroyer of lives. But the Bible told me otherwise. In Christ, I was loved and accepted, and God had great plans for me.

Tanya noticed the change but didn’t believe it. Over time, however, she saw that it was real. We got back together, and I got her pregnant again. I hadn’t lined up my sex life with God’s Word yet.

After our son was born, Tanya gave her life to Jesus, and we were married. I worked as a janitor at a local church, served in the youth ministry, and tried to imitate the pastor—all the way down to his clothes! Tanya worked hard too.

A year later, Tanya and I had a daughter. Raising three kids was tough, but it got harder when family members descended on our home. Ten people were sharing a three-bedroom house with one bathroom!

I was about at my wit’s end when I heard a voice say, “Go to Rhema” (a Bible training college in Oklahoma). I was alone at work that day, and I knew it was the Lord speaking. I shared the experience with Tanya, and we obeyed God’s direction, even though everyone else thought we’d lost our minds.

God began a good work in us at Rhema that He continues to fulfill to this day (Philippians 1:6)—but I must admit, I often doubted Him.

Every week, I’d run to the altar and cry out to Him for provision. “Where are you God? Can’t You see our needs?” I’d make quite a scene praying, worshipping, dancing, and declaring His promises. I pointed out Mark 11:24 to Him so many times, but nothing got better. One day, I refused to go forward anymore.

“God, I’ve been ‘believing to receive’ for weeks. I’ve done everything I know to do, and it ain’t working! We obeyed You and came to Rhema, and now we’re about to be evicted from our home. We can’t even afford gas for our car.” I threw up my hands in the spiritual realm and told God if He wanted us to stay, then He would just have to provide. I was done worrying about it.

With the conclusion of those words, a rush of peace came over me. Turns out, my trust was all He wanted. God was calling me to believe, not perform; to be still and know that He is God (Psalm 46:10). From that moment on, God has shown up in the most unbelievable ways; He hasn’t failed us yet.

At Rhema, I began a journey of unravelling the pain of my childhood. I learned about grace, and God helped me forgive both my mother and myself. He revealed how He’d always been there for me. Saving me. Protecting me. Guiding me. Drawing me to Himself.

My faith grew by leaps and bounds. We knew God was with us as we prepared for yet another child. We’d planned to move back to North Carolina immediately after graduation, but Tanya went into labor twelve weeks early.

Our son was born dead. I’ll never forget his blue face and the panic on the faces of the nurses. Thank God, he was resuscitated, but he would spend the next two months in an incubator.

Tanya and I visited him every day, as did prayer teams from Rhema. God answered our prayers and healed our son, but our bank account was depleted. This was a true test of faith, and I was failing.

By the time we got back to North Carolina, we were not only broke, we were in a deep financial hole. We had nothing to our name, and I felt like a failure as we moved in with Tanya’s mother.

No matter how hard I worked, we consistently fell short. Depression overtook me, and I considered returning to the streets. I knew how to make money there—I could get us out of this mess! My friend Travis talked me down. He and I had run together in junior high until he was sent to prison for robbery.

“Mike,” he said, “I’m doing enough time for the both of us. Get another job. Don’t go back to the streets.” Travis had always been there for me.

I took his advice and picked up extra jobs. I worked at Chick-fil-A, coached football, was a teacher’s assistant, and drove the bus. But we still struggled.

“Where are You, God?” He seemed lost. Or maybe I was lost or had missed some direction from Him.

At Rhema, I had learned that when you feel you’ve lost connection to God, think back to the spot you left Him. God doesn’t go anywhere; He doesn’t abandon His children (Deuteronomy 31:6).

The last time I’d heard clearly from God was when He told me to go to Rhema. I wondered if I’d made a mistake coming back here. Maybe we should go back to Oklahoma. I asked God to forgive me and to give me direction. Not long after, a friend told me about a local position at Fellowship of Christian Athletes (FCA).

“Man, they ain’t gonna hire someone like me.” I was a guy from the hood who knew nothing about nonprofits or raising financial support. I didn’t have connections with successful and respectable business leaders in the community. My only connections were on the street, and those guys weren’t looking for a tax write-off!

But God showed me that I only needed Him. I didn’t need connections or special qualifications; I just needed a willing heart. He blessed me with a position as the FCA area rep. Within two years, I was overseeing more than a thousand kids who were drawn to the authenticity of my message and could identify with my upbringing and experiences.

In 2022, the Lord allowed me to return to the gridiron at East Carolina University, not as a player, but as a character coach for the ECU football team under the umbrella of FCA. Today, I am connecting with young men who are looking for hope, stability, and a father figure, just as I was at their age. What a privilege I have, sharing what I’ve learned (and am still learning) as I help them navigate their emotions.

Right now, God is teaching me about humility and serving others. Before, I had freedom to do things my way. Now, I’m working under the authority of other coaches and leaders, and it’s a new experience. God is helping me lay down my pride.

A never-ending growth is part of the Christian journey. It’s not always easy or comfortable, but it’s worth it. If you’re willing to do the work with God, He will bless your life in ways you never dreamed (Ephesians 3:20).

You can’t change the past—no one can. But with God, you can change your future.

_____

MIKE JENKINS is the FCA character coach at East Carolina University. He is passionate about helping young men find their identity in Christ.

You Have Purpose

It was Christmas morning 1982, and my phone would not stop ringing. I snuggled up in my warm bed, willing the phone to hush. But it kept on until finally I gave in, grabbed the receiver, and muttered an irritated, “Hello?”

It was my mother, and she got straight to the point. “Can Charlie stay at your place for a few days? The cops are looking for him. They want to talk to him about some murders that happened last night.”

I was horrified and tried to clear my head. “Murders! What? Oh, Mom, I can’t.”

“Juliana, he didn’t hurt anyone.” She took a drag off her cigarette, but not even the nicotine could hide the shaking of her voice. I agreed to come over and meet with Charlie but committed to nothing more.

This was not my brother’s first brush with the cops. He had already been to prison twice. My gut was telling me which way to lean.

But we did what most families would do—we protected our own. Charlie came to stay with me while my parents arranged to send him away. We didn’t talk about what had happened; we couldn’t. The dark cloud hanging over us was too thick. Nothing would ever be the same again. Dad and I took Charlie to the airport, and he boarded a plane for Dallas. I took a train to the city.

I rode the entire day aimlessly. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I desperately needed to talk to someone. I thought about going to the church we’d attended growing up, but those people had not been part of our lives since Charlie’s first time down. Besides, all they’d do was tell me to pray. Forget that!

But then I remembered Father Baseheart. He had given me my first holy communion at St. Gregory’s Church. I bussed my way to the old neighborhood, walked to the parish, and knocked on the door.

Father Baseheart reached out and welcomed me. He led me to an office, and I sat down. “Now, how may I help you?” he asked gently.

Tears flowed as I passed him a tattered newspaper containing the story of the murders. “My brother did this, and I don’t know what to do.”

Father Baseheart read the article. “We need to pray,” he said.

I left the parish soon after, walked to the nearest bus stop, and rode home. “Pray?!” I yelled internally as the bus bumped along. “Did You not see what happened, God? Why didn’t You stop it? Where were You? Nowhere to be found, that’s where! And now, I’m supposed to pray to You? I don’t think so.”

I was so angry. My family had been falling apart for years, and I had asked God to step in more than once. He didn’t seem to care enough to intervene. And now this? I couldn’t wrap my head around the pain and horror of the murders and the hopeless reality of my life. And so, for the next 16 years, I cut off communication with God.

It didn’t matter that I hadn’t hurt anyone. My brother had, and he was family. We were the same. I deliberately set out to escape my reality. I was embarrassed and ashamed of my life, my family, and of what my brother had done. I had no one to talk to.

I tried to blend into society. I didn’t want to be identified as the sister of a murderer, yet I felt such remorse for Charlie’s victims. It was too much to bear, and I stepped into the fast lane. Men. Cash. Coke. Jack. I spun quickly out of control.

When Charlie was given a triple death sentence, I vowed I would never speak to him again. I was done with Charlie and Chicago, and I decided to move.

I set off to live with my older brother in Dallas. There I met his best friend, David. He was another bad boy—but boy, was he cute.

Daily life with David was one big party—until I found out I was pregnant. My maternal instincts kicked in, and I stopped doing drugs. I returned to Chicago. David followed me there, and we got married. Three months later, our daughter Jennifer was born.

We remained in Chicago for the next 13 years. During that time, I didn’t think once about God. I was doing just fine without Him. We had another little girl, Kelly, and set out to give our girls an incredible life.

When our oldest daughter was starting middle school, we decided to move to Phoenix. I was excited about this new adventure and proud of the family David and I had built.

But one day, as I mentally patted myself on the back for the incredible life we had given our girls, God spoke loud and clear. “But you have not given them the most important thing they need—Me!”

You could have heard a pin drop inside my head. I hadn’t spoken to God in decades, but I recognized His voice. Conviction gripped my heart. “You’re right,” I replied. It’s all I could say.

Reluctantly, I promised God I would take the girls to church. But I made it very clear that I wasn’t going. Drop off and pick up, that’s all He was getting from me. Of course, God knew better.

One night as I was preparing to pick the girls up from Wednesday night church, the telephone rang. It was the police. David had been in a head-on collision. He was okay, but they were holding him in custody. The victim, they said, had been hospitalized with injuries.

Custody? Victim? I was bewildered. The officer continued, “Ma’am, it appears Mr. McFadden may have been under the influence at the time of the crash. We need you to pick him up at the station.”

Turns out, David had fallen asleep at the wheel while under the influence of opiates and hit a Mercedes head-on. On May 16, 2000, just a year and a half after moving to our new home in Phoenix, David was charged with aggravated assault and given a two-and-a-half-year prison sentence.

Once again, a man I loved and trusted had turned my world upside down. First Charlie, and now my husband. Really, God? Still, I pressed on and tried to do the right thing. I kept my end of the bargain and kept taking the girls to church. But inside, I was devastated.

Week after week, I dropped them off, went home, and then back again. But I was a single mom now, and I was tired. So I began staying at the church with the girls. I thought it was a matter of convenience, but God knew it was a matter of connection.

One night, my friend Joanne invited me to go with her to hear someone named Anne Graham Lotz. I had no idea Mrs. Lotz was the daughter of the great evangelist Billy Graham until Joanne told me. I agreed to go.

Perhaps, I thought, if I went to the service, God would tell me whether I should stay with my husband or if He would give me the green light to walk away from my marriage. I was hurt, betrayed, exhausted, and emotionally done.

Funny thing, Anne Graham Lotz didn’t say one word about whether I should stay with David, but I still came away from the event with an answer. Can you believe God used a statement on a bookmark inserted in the event program to convey His message? On it were the words: “I have decided to _______.”

At the close of the event, we were each instructed to write down what God was leading us to do based on the evening’s experience. My eyes fell to the blank line, and I thought about my life. It was a mess.

For years I had sought comfort, hope, and peace but had always come up empty. I dropped my head to my hands and cried. I needed Jesus. And I knew it because I had once personally known Him.

I’d accepted Him long ago as my Savior. When I was little, Jesus had been my friend, and I’d loved Him. Then life happened, and I got angry and walked away from Him. But God had never walked away from me. Despite the wreckage of my life, I could feel His presence. He was still here.

I laid down my anger and prayed a true prayer of surrender. This was different. No longer was I acting like a spoiled little girl with arms folded defiantly across her chest. My arms and heart were open. I was ready to go wherever God would lead me. I had no hope without Him.

That night, in the blank spaces of the bookmark, I wrote, “I have decided to surrender my life to God—my will for His will. I commit myself to serve Christ.” This bookmark is still in my Bible today. Like in Joshua 4:21–24, it serves as a stone of remembrance of my commitment to the Lord.

Through spending time with the Lord, I knew I was to remain with David. I did, and God renewed my love for my husband and our marriage. He also led me to serve Him in a place I’d never dreamed—prison. It all happened because of my attending Al-Anon meetings.

Al-Anon provides support to people who have been affected by another person’s alcoholism. I started attending meetings after David was incarcerated. One night, about a year in, there was a request for volunteers to host Al-Anon meetings at Perryville Prison for women in Goodyear, Arizona. God poked my heart and would not relent about this new thing I could do to serve Him.

“But, God,” I protested. “There is no way I’m going to visit anyone in prison, especially people I don’t know!”

God shocked me with His reply. “But you love people who are in prison.”

“Actually,” I said, “I do not.” I hadn’t talked to Charlie in nearly 20 years, and I still wasn’t happy speaking with my incarcerated husband.

“Try it,” He said. “If you don’t like it, you can quit.”

I spent the next five years hosting Al-Anon meetings at Perryville. I loved the ladies and being able to serve God in this way.  In Al-Anon, you share your experience, strength, and hope. I wasn’t shy in telling the ladies that I’d found all these things in God alone—the great I Am (Exodus 3:14).

And then, it occurred to me, “How can I love these ladies and not even speak to my brother?” I felt a deep sense of guilt. God was preparing my heart for what was to come.

Not long after that, my younger sister called. “Juliana,” she said, “Charlie tried to commit suicide. He’s been transferred to Statesville.” Charlie’s death sentences had been commuted, but he would spend the rest of his life in prison. I had not seen him in 20 years, and I knew I had to change that. I could not live with myself if he took his life and I had not reconciled with him.

I had just finished reading The Purpose-Driven Life by Rick Warren (Zondervan, 2002). I was particularly inspired by these words, “God wants you to have a Christlike ministry on earth. That means other people are going to find healing in your wounds. Your greatest life messages and your most effective ministry will come out of your deepest hurts” (275).

Charlie needed to know that God had a purpose for his life. I immediately mailed the book to him, asked him to read it, and told him I would visit him in January. I booked a flight to Chicago and contacted the warden at Statesville with a request to allow me extra time with Charlie since I was traveling such a long distance.

God granted me much favor. I was allowed to visit two days in a row, two hours per visit. My heart leaped when I saw him. All I could think was that he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I couldn’t help but think that that is how Jesus sees us, no matter what we’ve done. We are beautiful and precious in His eyes, and His heart is full of love for us. (See John 3:16.)

Charlie and I hugged each other tightly. Neither of us wanted to let go. Afterward, we stared at each other with tear-filled eyes. We had so much to catch up on. I asked Charlie to forgive me for abandoning him for so long. I told him I loved him and begged him never to hurt himself again. He accepted my apology and jokingly apologized for beating me up when we were kids. We both had a good laugh.

On our second day’s visit, I asked Charlie if he had read the book I had sent. He was halfway through it. I encouraged him to keep reading. “Juliana, you don’t understand,” Charlie interjected, “I don’t have a purpose. I’m in prison. There is nothing here for me.”

“God gives everyone a purpose, no matter where they are or what they’ve done,” I told him. “God has a purpose for your life even in here.” He looked confused.

“You are an OG, Charlie, and God wants to use you. Imagine if some OG on your first time down had befriended you and taught you about Jesus. Think about how different things would be. Instead of wanting to fit in with a gang, you would have been a disciple for Christ. But you can do that for someone else now. You might be sentenced to prison for life, but that doesn’t prevent God from using you. Don’t cheat yourself, Charlie. Keep reading the book. God has a plan, and you’re about to discover it!”

Not long after, Charlie rededicated his life to Christ. He remembered the God of his youth just as I had done. And in March 2006, he was baptized. It’s been more than 16 years since that visit. Charlie has persistently pursued a relationship with Jesus, just like Jesus pursued him—with his life.

Charlie’s thirst for learning about Jesus has been unquenchable, and his heart is on fire. Though incarcerated, he has completed multiple Bible courses, three college degrees, and earned a doctorate in theology.

Through the power of Jesus in him, Charlie has turned his deepest hurt into his Christlike ministry on earth. Once low and despised, he submitted to Jesus, and as promised in 1 Corinthians 1:26–28, God has used what the world would call weak and foolish to teach righteousness, sanctification, and redemption.

Just days after my initial visit with Charlie, God brought a new friendship into my life. Cheryl lived in Tucson and hosted a weekly Bible study called SISTER (Spiritually in Step to Encourage Restoration) Connection, for women recently released from prison. I was intrigued for many reasons by this unique ministry.

First, I knew that if Charlie had had a Christian friend come alongside him the first time he was released from prison, he might have surrendered his life to Jesus sooner and experienced a different life outcome. And his victims would still be alive. Second, I realized that, while many programs existed behind prison walls, few existed that were willing to help formerly incarcerated people upon their release and in subsequent years. Interested to learn more, I visited Cheryl and observed her ministry in action.

Not long after, God opened doors for me to mirror Cheryl’s SISTER Connection in Phoenix. My friend graciously mentored me for nearly five years. In April 2012, I incorporated SISTER Ministries, Inc. as a 501(c)3 nonprofit outreach to formerly incarcerated women.

In addition to its weekly Bible study and support meetings, SISTER Ministries maintains a pen-pal ministry for currently incarcerated women and a gatekeeper program to assist with transportation upon release. In November 2022, SISTER Ministries celebrated 16 years of serving formerly incarcerated women.

I recently asked Charlie, “What did you feel when I told you that God has a purpose for your life?” He told me he was shocked. But then, I was surprised God had a purpose for my life, too. No, I hadn’t murdered anyone, but I had rebelled against God and rejected His love. There’s no difference.

How thankful we are that God is rich in mercy, and He pursued us. His goodness brought us to surrender (Romans 2:4). God loves to shock us with exceedingly more than we could ever hope or ask (Ephesians 3:14–20).

Does God really have a purpose for your life? Yes, He does.

God has a purpose, no matter what you’ve done or where you are. Don’t think that you’ve messed up God’s plans for a minute. You’re not that big. Surrender your life to Him—His will, His way. Jesus Christ is a restorer of hope. He gives purpose to anyone who will lay down their lives to Him.

Friend, what He did for me and for my brother Charlie, He can do for you, too.

Juliana McFadden lives out her life passion daily by ministering to formerly incarcerated women. To learn more about how she serves, go to sisterministries.org.

3 Truths About Intimacy With God

Intimacy. What is it? How can we be truly intimate with God and what does that look like? Psalms is a great place to dive into and learn about finding true intimacy with God. Believe it or not, when you surrender your life to Jesus, your work isn’t finished. In fact, it’s just begun. To discover intimacy, you have to put in the work. God wants to know you deeply – and He does. But there must be some effort on your part to make it a two-sided relationship and discover intimacy with the Lord. 

The truth is, intimacy with God sets us free. When we let him see, we are free. There is no freer feeling than letting God know every part of your heart – so why do we run from it? When we invite God in to our hearts and minds, we open the door to a truly intimate relationship with Him. Learning from Psalms, here are three truths about intimacy with God: 

Our Idols Keep Us From Being Intimate With God

When we hear the word “idol” our minds often go to a bad place. In reality, idols are anything we elevate above God, even good things. Things like your relationship with your spouse, work, and even your ministry can be an idol if it stands in the way of your relationship with God. Asking God to search our hearts, minds, motives, and emotions, He can identify any idols we may have and help us get rid of them.

We Put Up Walls to Keep God Out

One reason we don’t grow deeper in intimacy with the Lord is because we consciously and subconsciously put up walls. We guard our hearts and our minds in fear that our loving Father will love us any less. The good news is, He knows us better than anyone and He loves us more than anyone When we let our walls down and let God in, beautiful things can happen. 

Our Emotions Can Affect Us Physically

Studies show that around 85% of our physical pain can actually stem from emotional pain. Anxiety, fear, and stress can weigh on us so heavily that it starts to affect our bodies. If you’re experiencing physical pain, ask God to search you and know you. When we lay these at the feet of Jesus, we grow even closer to Him. Over time, He’ll reveal more and more of Himself to us as we trust Him more. 

Join us as we continue to learn more about intimacy with God together. Read more Christian resources here. 

5 Things to Do In a Storm

As followers of Jesus, we’re promised a fulfilling relationship with our Lord and Savior, eternal life, and so much more. What we’re not promised is an easy path getting there. Luckily, God’s purpose for us is bigger than any plan we could imagine. As Christians, we cannot afford to get bogged down in the storms of life. 

When we find ourselves in the midst of a storm, it’s easy to be shortsighted. Our days and weeks – sometimes even months and years – may be filled with rocky weather. Standing on a firm foundation of faith, we know there’s a rainbow at the end of every storm. If we take a step back, we find that opportunity is also in the forecast. Here are five things we can do as Christians to draw closer to God during life’s storms:

Forgive

Ah, forgiveness. Always easier said than done, right? The truth is, we often find ourselves in storms that are no fault of our own. When tough times fall on you because of someone else’s actions, it can be even harder to keep your head up high. Practicing forgiveness keeps us afloat in the inevitable storms we weather in life. 

Give Thanks

In every season and circumstance, we must give thanks. We learn in Acts 27 and 28 that Paul’s life was marked by a theme of thanksgiving – a great example for all Christians. When we stop and give thanks in the midst of chaos, we’re reminded of God’s goodness and see life through a new lens. 

Help and Serve Others

Some of life’s storms are so big that they tend to consume us completely. Aside from a bad case of tunnel vision, getting stuck in the middle of a storm can leave us with a negative and irritable mindset. Taking time, even if it’s just a small part of your day, to help and serve others will leave you in a better place and even take your mind off the troubles of your own life. 

Shake it Off

The best course of action sometimes is just to shake it off. When you don’t let the storm bog you down, you claim victory over the enemy! Every rejection is a redirection and every obstacle is another lesson learned. By shaking things off, you can keep the faith and press on toward the ultimate prize. 

Embrace the Journey

Whatever you do, don’t wish away or rush your journey just to get to the other side. In the eye of a storm, character is built and lessons are learned. God would not take you through a storm if He didn’t intend for you to learn something in it. Embracing God’s plan for you – in the good times and the bad – is what life is all about. 

By practicing these five things during life’s storms, we can step into victory with Jesus Christ. Learn more about the mission of Victorious Living here. 

Need A Good Father?

Need a Good Father?
by Kristi Overton Johnson

I can’t share my life without talking about my parents. Their love and support positioned my brother, Michael, and me to walk incredible life paths. I thank the Lord daily for the gift of godly parents and their Christlike example.
Growing up, I never realized that not everyone’s home life was like mine. That’s not to say my parents are perfect, but they genuinely love the Lord, us kids, and others, well. I felt safe, valued, and loved.
It breaks my heart to know that so many people have grown up under abuse, belittlement, and rejection by those who should have protected them. If that was your experience, I’m so sorry. This was not God’s intention for your life.
My eyes were indeed opened to painful childhood experiences when I entered the world of prison ministry in 2013. I remember the first time I had to speak after the testimony of a woman who had been sexually abused by her father. I watched in disbelief as most of the female inmates nodded their heads as if they understood her painful upbringing through experience.
I felt so inadequate at that moment to speak into their lives—I hadn’t walked in their shoes, so how could my story possibly make a difference to them? Besides, it just felt wrong to share how good my parents were to me when others had been hurt so badly by theirs.
I felt God encouraging me, though, to lay aside my insecurities and share my story as He led. He had brought me to speak behind prison walls for a reason; it was time to trust Him with my story. God wanted to use lessons from my water-ski career and stories about my parents’ sacrificial and unconditional love to paint a beautiful picture of His love. For people who have been raised by harsh or absent fathers, it is difficult to imagine God being any different, especially since we call Him our heavenly Father.
I was reminded of this truth just the other day in our weekly Victorious Living team online meeting. Out of 9 team members, 5 had been abused, abandoned, rejected, and harshly disciplined by their fathers. And as a result, they have often struggled with insecurities, shame, unworthiness, anger, fear, distrust of authority, and a sense of being unwanted. Each admitted it was challenging not to put the face of their earthly fathers onto God. I was reminded of how blessed I am to have a loving father.
I find myself sharing many stories about my dad’s wisdom or actions when I’m speaking. That’s not because my mother’s influence in my life is any less significant. My mother, Becky Overton, is a precious jewel. Mom modeled the Proverbs 31 woman daily. She trusted the Lord and worked diligently to care for my father, brother, and me. For 15 years, she served as my daily water-ski coach and helped me become a world champion.
It’s just that Daddy is way more vocal than Mom. And his incredibly demonstrative, larger-than-life personality makes for some pretty lively stories. God has used Daddy’s strong voice and actions to provide me with direction, correction, and encouragement.
My father, Parker Overton, taught me how to live a God-honoring life. I must admit, I rolled my eyes at him a time or two, but his one-liner lessons sure have stuck in my mind.
Some of these lessons include: Leave a place and thing better than you found it. Say thank you. Share all you have with others. Be generous. Notice your surroundings. Be a person of your word. When you speak to people, look them in the eye. Make people feel important. Give a firm handshake.
“Protect your reputation,” Daddy would say, “because it’s hard to get it back once it’s gone.” I heard that one a lot. And you know, he’s still teaching me even though I’m in my fifties! That’s what good fathers do.
I can’t go anywhere without his voice playing in my head. If I’m in a parking lot, I’m alert because I remember, “a parking lot is a dangerous place.” When I fly, I hear his voice prompting me to pay attention to the flight attendant: “She deserves your respect, baby.” Last week, I put down my phone to give the lady my utmost attention even though I’ve flown hundreds of times and can quote the safety instructions and mimic every hand gesture from memory.
I’m thankful my father cared enough to teach me how to honor God, people, and places. And he didn’t just preach at me; Daddy practiced what he preached. Day in and day out, he lived a life of integrity and excellence in public and private. “People are watching you, baby,” he’d say. He didn’t realize that I was watching him, and what I witnessed taught me volumes.
For example, the way Daddy treated Mom showed me how my husband should treat me. Even after 56 years of marriage, he continues to open her car door, hold her hand, and speak well of her in front of others. He truly loves her as God intends. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t tell her how beautiful she is and how her beauty would make “a tadpole slap a whale,” “a bulldog break his chain,” and “a momma cat leave her kittens.”
The way he treats his friends taught me to generously share the blessings and opportunities God provides me, whether or not someone can (or will) return the gesture. Likewise, the way he treats his employees taught me to honor those under my authority. Daddy has always cared for those who work for him, whether at his business or our family’s property. He treats everyone like family.
And he is always at work behind the scenes trying to make people’s lives better. Like when he arranged for his dentist friend to give the girl at the Hardee’s drive-through a new smile. He’s never forgotten the pain of having buckteeth as a child and how he felt when he looked in the mirror or was taunted by other kids.
Growing up, my father experienced many painful things that he was determined to protect his family from experiencing. For example, Daddy told me every day that he loved me. He protected me from the harmful effects of alcohol and cigarette smoke. And he made sure that I knew there was a champion inside of me.
Daddy would come into my room every night, kneel by my bed, and tell me stories. “Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Kristi who became the best water-skier in the world…” Each night’s story led me on a water-ski adventure that always ended with victory.
Those nightly adventures laid a solid foundation for my future success in the sport and in life. Because of how those stories played out each night, I never saw myself any other way than a winner on those water skis and in life. This simple act and his constant reminders of “you can do it, baby” kept me motivated and helped me believe that anything was possible.
Those words encouraged me to get up after a disappointing fall at the 1999 World Championships in Milan, Italy. I had fallen short of my goal of winning that day and had landed myself in a three-way tie for first place.
I was discouraged and angry as I bobbed around in that lake where Mussolini once landed his seaplanes. I tell people all the time, Satan will find you anywhere. It doesn’t matter if you’re in a lake, a kitchen, or a prison cell. He’ll arrive on the scene at your weakest moment and remind you that you are a disappointment to others.
I almost believed his lies until I heard my daddy’s southern voice yelling out, “You can do it, baby!” from the shoreline. His words reminded me that I was a champion and capable of victory in that moment of uncertainty. With Daddy’s encouragement in my ears, I got up and skied myself into the World Championship title. I am so glad I chose to listen to my father’s voice and not the enemy’s.
Daddy would have still been right there on the shoreline, ready to welcome me even if I had lost that day. He would have helped me out of the water, given me a hug, and whispered in my ear, “It’s all right, baby. You’ll get it next time.” Then we would’ve walked over and congratulated the winner. Dad was a stickler about good sportsmanship. “You have to win and lose graciously.”
When I was 11, my father did something incredible. He built me a private lake where I could train without the disturbances of other boaters and pesky critters like snakes and jellyfish. He called it Lake Kristi. Crazy, I know!
I didn’t grasp the magnitude of what he’d done until I was much older. It’s incredible now to look back at pictures of that dry, dusty land. The property’s transformation shows the power of vision, hard work, and a spirit of excellence.
Daddy saw potential and purpose in that farmland when everyone else saw dirt. As a result, Lake Kristi has been a venue for world-class water-ski competitions, collegiate cross-country events, triathlons, weddings, ministry events, and a safe haven for abused animals for over forty years.
These are all great things I’ve told you about my dad. But I am most grateful for the foundation of faith he helped provide. Not a night went by that I didn’t see my daddy on his knees praying to “the Good Lord,” as he calls Him. He and Mom took Michael and me to church and taught us to respect God. They made sure we understood that everything we have is a blessing from above and intended for blessing others.
I’ve shared many examples of my father’s goodness in this story. But you know what? Daddy’s most generous gifts will always pale in comparison to what my heavenly Father has done for me—and what He’ll do for you. Jesus said, “So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him?” (Matthew 7:11 NLT).
Our heavenly Father is generous beyond our wildest dreams (Ephesians 3:20). He even sent His Son, Jesus, to die for our sin so that we could have a relationship with Him and eternal life (John 3:16). There is no greater demonstration of love.
Not only is He generous, but everything Daddy God gives to His children is good. James 1:17 says, “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows” (NIV).
That doesn’t mean everything we experience feels good. But God our Father will never send evil into our lives to hurt or tempt us (James 1:13). That’s Satan’s nature; he seeks to destroy the children of the Most High God (John 10:10).
God is a giver of life, not death. Peace, not chaos. Comfort, not fear. Love, not hate. Forgiveness, not chastisement. Hope, not despair. And His good nature and love will never shift based on our performance or His feelings. Thank goodness! Nothing can separate us from His love (Romans 8:31–39).
Every day, God invites His children to come boldly into His presence. We find grace, help, acceptance, contentment, rest, and wisdom there. All we have to do is approach Him and ask. Daddy God welcomes your requests and will never rebuke you. (See Philippians 4:6–8; Hebrews 4:16; James 1:5.)
Thinking back to my childhood, I never once needed permission to approach my daddy. I could walk past his assistant and enter his office anytime, and I never once felt like I was bothering him.
Likewise, you and I don’t need an appointment to approach our heavenly Father, nor do we need to go through another person. Through the name and blood of Jesus, we have unlimited and unhindered access to God (Ephesians 2:18).
You might be thinking, “There is no way God would want to have a relationship with me.” That is not true. Your heavenly Father fashioned you with His very hands (Psalm 119:73) because He wanted to have a relationship with you. Don’t listen to the enemy’s voice that says you are unworthy. Study the Bible and see what your heavenly Father says about you. And then listen to His voice and believe His truth.
I told you how my father had a vision for “little Kristi” to be a champion. Well, God has an even greater vision for your victory (Jeremiah 29:11). When your heavenly Father looks at you, he sees potential and purpose, just like my daddy saw potential in me and in that barren farmland. God is a restorer and fulfiller of dreams, and His vision for your life never fades. When you come to Him and lay your dry, barren life down at His feet, you’ll receive beauty for your ashes (Isaiah 61:3).
No matter who you are, God wants a relationship with you. Accept His invitation. Everything you’ve ever desired in an earthly father can be found in Him. Your heavenly Father will never abandon you.
Understanding God’s love for you and your identity as His son or daughter will determine your level of freedom and victory on this side of heaven. Whatever your past experience with your earthly father, set it aside. Don’t put the face of your earthly father on God. Get in the Bible and learn about His nature. Then, draw close to Him and experience His faithful loving-kindness for yourself. He promises to draw near to you (James 4:8).
No matter how many times you’ve fallen in life, God will always meet you with open arms (Luke 15:17–20). He will help you get up and move forward victoriously. He isn’t looking for perfection or performance. He simply wants you to desire a relationship with Him and trust His love. That’s what puts a smile on His face (Hebrews 11:6).
You may be wondering how a relationship with God is possible. It’s simple. A relationship with the Father happens through faith in His Son. According to John 14:6, it’s the only way. Jesus says: “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (NIV). The minute you express your faith and accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior, something incredible happens: God becomes your Father. He welcomes you just as you are (Ephesians 1:6).
If you don’t have a relationship with God as your Father, why not experience it now? Place your faith in Jesus. God will adopt you into His family and forgive you of all sin. Then, you can experience the love of a good Father today.

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

SIDEBAR:
Have you ever considered that, no matter who you are, it’s never too late to impact your child’s life positively like my dad impacted mine? You can set a godly example through your words and actions, even from behind a prison wall. Further, you can bring about effectual change in their life and yours through your prayers (James 5:16). God can produce a godly lineage through any willing person.
All you need is faith, determination, and a willingness to make God-honoring choices. As you draw close to God and allow Him to work in your life, others will notice, and they will desire the goodness of God to flow in their lives as well.

A Place To Belong

A Place to Belong
The Story of Sheridan Correa

I grew up in a large, religious family—the seventh of nine children. At first glance, you’d think we had it all. My father was a successful businessman who provided us with a large, beautiful home. My mother stayed home and managed the household. They raised kids who excelled in music, academics, and sports. We attended church together regularly.

But we were dysfunctional. Dad worked long, hard hours and was often away from home. Mom stayed home and was responsible for raising all of us—a stressful job to be sure. Our home felt unstable, and toxic stress brewed all around us.

Periods of separation created a great divide in our family. When they’d split, some of us kids would go with Dad and the rest with Mom. I never knew where I belonged or which “team” I was supposed to be on.

It didn’t take long for feelings of inadequacy to surface. As one of many kids, I felt like a number rather than an individual. It’s remarkable how alone and unloved you can feel, even in your own family. As far as I knew, I mattered to no one, and I was ready for life to end by the fourth grade.

One day at recess, I rushed to the top of the monkey bars, fully intending to throw myself to the ground, break my neck, and end my misery. Tears streamed down my face as I prepared to jump. Before I could, however, teachers managed to get hold of me. They took me to the school psychologist, but nothing ever came of the incident other than an assessment.

I coped as best I could with the dark emotions brewing inside me for the next eight years. Every day, I put a smile on my face and performed. Performance and achievement were my jams. God forbid anyone would discover my imperfections or insecurities. I became a master at wearing a mask, and no one knew a frightened little girl was hiding within. Two very different people were living inside me, and not even I knew which one was the real me.

I graduated high school and set out to experience a happier and more stable life. I attended university on both music and athletic scholarships. I achieved great success for the first few years and was emotionally sound. And then I went off the rails.

Desperately seeking happiness, security, and a solution for my miserable life, I turned to men. Marriage seemed to be the next milestone of accomplishment. I was young, vulnerable, and immature when I said “I do” for the first time, and within months, the relationship ended in divorce.

My failed marriage only added to my pervasive sense of inadequacy. I felt great shame and entered a deep emotional and mental darkness. I had experienced the lows of depression before and had even seen counselors, so I had coping mechanisms, but this time, nothing helped.

I finally sought psychiatric help. I recounted my life and the inner turmoil I had felt since a child. I told the doctor of the violent mood swings, recurring thoughts of suicide, how fear ruled my life, and our family’s history of mental disease. Before I left that office, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

Relief washed over me. I had always known something was “wrong” with me. Now I had the answer to all my problems. I eagerly accepted my diagnosis, along with numerous psych meds. There was hope for me after all.

I took my meds consistently and soon felt more stable. I returned to my comfort zones of performance and achievement, sure that my meds had fixed me for good. Three years later, I remarried. It didn’t take long for that marriage to unravel too.

I hadn’t felt loved as a child, so I didn’t know how to love others or myself, nor did I know how to receive love as an adult. A rejected, isolated little girl lived inside me, and until she was tended to, nothing would ever be right in my life. I had no idea how to help her, though, so I continued doing the only things I knew to do—perform, excel, achieve, and hide my brokenness.

For the next decade, I battled anxiety and severe depression. I experienced a short reprieve when I became a mom to two amazing little boys, but the cycle of hopelessness soon returned. I grew tired of trying to feel normal and be happy.

I called crisis hotlines, cycled in and out of psychiatric hospitals, and experimented with multiple psych medications. But nothing gave me lasting emotional and mental stability. Years of inner turmoil took their toll and began to manifest through my body: I experienced chronic debilitating pain. Old sports injuries were also now requiring surgeries.

I began using painkillers. At first, my use was legitimate, and I took them only as I needed them. But then I discovered that opioids numbed my emotional pain. I finally felt normal and could deal with life circumstances. And I liked it. Not only that, the constant emotional stress and all the voices in my head were gone.

Pain pills were controlling my inner monster. And although I knew I was developing an unhealthy dependence, I denied and ignored the problem.

My descent into addiction hell escalated after a traumatic motorcycle accident left me unable to walk for months. My injuries required major surgeries, and I experienced much pain. My addiction to opioids increased.

The next three years required the constant assistance of pills for me to tackle even the most mundane task. I began drinking daily as well, sometimes until I blacked out. Alcohol, drugs, and my sense of unworthiness were a deadly mixture. My mind became the darkest, scariest place I had ever known, and my memory was my worst enemy.

In the middle of this downward spiral, my husband filed for divorce and received temporary sole custody of our boys. I felt more rejected and abandoned than ever, and I became bitter and resentful.

With my identity as wife and mother stripped away, I felt I’d died, along with everybody I loved. If I wasn’t a mother and a wife, who was I? What reason did I have to live anymore?
Overwhelmed by those thoughts, I grabbed a month’s supply of muscle relaxers and washed them down with rubbing alcohol. But just like on that playground, my suicide attempt was unsuccessful. I was admitted to a psychiatric facility until I was stable.

Released from the hospital, I found myself homeless. I felt a weird camaraderie with all the other lost and broken people I encountered on the street. I deluded myself into thinking that I could help them.

It wasn’t long before I entered the world of hardcore drugs. Once I got a taste of that life, I turned completely away from my family, church, and community, and didn’t look back. I became an overachiever in addiction and crime. That worked…until it didn’t.

I was numb and ignorant of the damage I was doing to myself and the people I loved. My children were becoming memories that only haunted me.

I soon became a “frequent flyer” at the Maricopa County Jail in Phoenix, Arizona. At first, it was for minor things like shoplifting and outstanding warrants, but then came more severe crimes like criminal damage, domestic violence, and drug possession and sale charges.

After each arrest, I was confined to the psych ward. Emerging from my drug coma and facing the reality of my life was always more than I could bear. Knowing who and what I had become was terrifying.

Finally, stripped of everything, I hit rock bottom. Desperate to end the insanity and despite being in solitary confinement, I found a way to inflict serious harm. The guards, however, discovered my bloody self and placed me on suicide watch. Still, under their watchful eyes, I tried to end my life again, but to no avail.

I didn’t understand it then, but I now know God’s mercy was at work, and He was about to reveal Himself to me in the most beautiful way.

I had grown up hearing about God. But at the same time, I was taught to rely on my intellect and performance. I came from a long lineage of successful people; we didn’t need anyone’s help, not even God’s. I clung to the belief that I was in control and could achieve anything if I set my mind to it.

But in that ugly place, I finally had a life-changing revelation: I wasn’t in control of anything! My intellect, self-efforts, and awards couldn’t bring me happiness and stability, nor could they free me from my emotional and mental prison. I didn’t have a clue about how to manage life.

I was a homeless meth and heroin addict who had lost everything that mattered, including my freedom. It was time I moved aside and gave up the reins.

Once released to the jail’s general population, I began attending church and Narcotics Anonymous meetings. There, I learned that God was a loving and caring Father. This concept intrigued me, and I began to open my heart to Him.

New feelings, thoughts, and desires introduced themselves to me. They were foreign yet strangely familiar, and I felt I’d come home to where I always belonged. I found a new desire to live and love.

The morning I was to receive my prison plea, I knelt beside the jail toilet and surrendered my life to the care of God. “God, if You want to send me to prison, that’s okay. I’ll go wherever because I know You’re coming with me.”

Later that day, I learned that the state prosecutor had changed the plea deal. Instead of serving a three-and-a-half-year prison sentence, I was sent to the Phoenix Rescue Mission. I would remain there for one year with three years’ probation. I entered the Mission’s gates wanting, willing, and ready for whatever God had in store.

I knew God was inviting me to trust Him, but it’s hard to trust someone you don’t know. So I started studying His Word, the Bible. God lit a fire inside me for Himself, and as I learned more about Him, my mental illness, addictions, and hopelessness lost their holds on me. God began to change me from the inside out. I no longer felt like a counterfeit version of myself. I finally felt seen, heard, loved, and accepted.

But then, after seven months in the program, I was a witness and an accomplice to another person breaking the program’s rules. Initially, I didn’t think I would be affected because I wasn’t the one breaking the rules. But there were consequences, and I had a choice: either restart the program or defer to prison.

I stayed in the program, accepted the discipline (Hebrews 12:6), and learned from my mistake. Like David in Psalm 139:23–24, I asked the Lord to highlight anything preventing me from moving forward with Him.

The Lord soon revealed something critical—I needed a Savior. Although I had recognized my need for God, turned my life over to His care, learned lots of scripture, and even experienced a real-life change, I hadn’t come to know His Son, Jesus, as my Lord and Savior. I hadn’t accepted what He’d done for me on the cross. I was still relying on my good works.

My deceitful action at the Mission revealed the sinful nature I still carried. I needed to be born again in Christ to receive a new heart. I asked God to forgive me of my sin, and I put my faith in Jesus for salvation rather than my performance.

I reached out to God through His Son from that day forward, and He drew me close (James 4:8). In His presence, both I and that little girl living within me found freedom (2 Corinthians 3:17) as we journeyed through our traumas with His eyes of love, compassion, and forgiveness.

Healing came through understanding my worth. Knowing that God wanted to hang out with a super-sucky person like me changed everything. I had value now because I belonged to and was wanted by God, the Creator of the world. I could take off the mask and be my authentic self (Psalm 139:7–8) and still be loved.

The Lord got to work pruning me of my religious, performing, and conforming ways (Romans 12:2). He’s continually ridding me of the things that feed my independence and self-sufficiency. What a relief to know that I no longer have to rely on my limited strength, efforts, and achievements. I can stand tall in Christ. In His strength, I can do and overcome everything (Philippians 4:13).

I am five years into my recovery now. God’s love has given me a new life. All that was dead and lost has been restored (Ephesians 3:20). I now have a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7), am free from addiction and mental illness, and have the courage and the resilience to face life without drugs.

Not only that, but the Lord has reconciled and restored me to my family and my two sons. He has also blessed me with a godly husband; we were married earlier this year. I am still amazed at the goodness of God and thankful that He was willing to patiently bring me home to Him, where I’ve always belonged.

You can belong to Him too. Right now, He is beckoning you to Him, where you’ll find peace, contentment, and rest. Don’t give up. There is hope. Jesus Christ can set even the most traumatized heart and mind free. And His arms are open to you today.

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 joined the Victorious Living family in 2022 as social media manager.

That’s Not My Name Anymore

The Story of Thaddeus Bruce

The feeling of not measuring up started me on the long, hard road I have traveled.

As a pastor’s kid, I grew up in awe of my father. He was well respected in the community and had achieved remarkable things in ministry, but his approval eluded me. In fact, he had no interest in me at all and chose to be absent most of the time.

That rejection caused deep feelings of insecurity and insignificance. I didn’t fit anywhere, not even in my home. Thinking my dad would love me and want a relationship with me if I could achieve a certain status, I worked hard in school and exceled in many things.

I especially pushed myself in sports. I became a star basketball player and received many accolades, but my father never noticed. Our relationship never grew. And each rejection deepened the wound in my young heart.

I began looking for acceptance elsewhere. I started drinking and drugging with friends, never considering how harmful the choices were that I was making. They would eventually prove to be my undoing.

My basketball career took off despite my partying. I played college ball at Florida A & M University and had my sights set on the NBA. I didn’t make the cut, but I did play professionally for Mexico for three seasons.

Life was good. I had a beautiful wife and a lovely family. Everyone around me loved and accepted me, and I felt secure. But then an injury sidelined me, and my professional basketball career came crashing to an end.

Desperate to find a new identity and a place to belong, I joined the US Army. Being a part of something bigger than me felt good, and I rediscovered what I thought was security and worth. In 1985, I led the All Army basketball team to the Post Championship. I was a star again.

But behind the scenes, I was drinking heavily and smoking crack. I fooled myself into thinking I could function as an addict, but I wasn’t deceiving my family or the army officers. I was on a train running downhill at full speed with no brakes.

After many failed drug tests, the army slapped me with Article 15s for misconduct and eventually dismissed me. I was 29 and humiliated but unwilling to change. I continued down the same destructive path until I lost everything—my marriage, children, home, and conscience.

I ran to the streets and pawned everything I owned. I hustled and ran game. I even stole money from family and friends so I could keep smoking crack. Days would go by before I’d even think about bathing, changing clothes, or eating. All I cared about was my next hit.

My addiction led me through 21 treatment centers and kept me in chains for 23 years. And all that time, I imagined God must be very disappointed in me. My sin and regret blinded me to the truth of God’s love, and I believed all kinds of lies from the enemy.

Satan told me daily that I was a failure, a mistake, unwanted, and no good. He convinced me I would never be free from the bondage of addiction. He told me that God could never love me.

I begged God to deliver me hundreds of times, just like blind Bartimaeus, who lay by the side of the road crying out to Jesus (Mark 10:46–52). My cries emerged from the crack houses, “Take this addiction away, God, please, or take me away.”

I had no idea He was listening, but He was. God’s eye had never left me. Unlike my earthly father and despite all I had done, He wanted a relationship with me!

Thanks to the fervent prayers of my mother and aunt and their close prayer-warrior friends, I would soon come to understand my identity as a child of God. Their powerful, relentless prayers changed my life (James 5:16).

Those women gave Satan a run for his money, especially after they recruited Pastor Kimberly Daniels from Jacksonville, Florida. As a former addict, this mighty woman of God knew how to pursue me with God’s love. I could see His power at work in her life, and I started to think, “If God set her free, He might do the same for me.”

But crack still had a tight grip on me, and it continued to pull me down. I’d go from church to the dope house and back again. But Pastor Kim always came looking for me.

She’d stand outside the crack house, yelling in a bullhorn, “Thaddeus, we know you’re in there. Come out now!” She disturbed the other crackheads so much that they told me to leave. “Dude, get outta here. That crazy lady with the bullhorn is gonna bring the police in here!” She made quite the scene.

I’ll never forget the day I was coming off a binge and those ladies were praying and making a loud fuss about me going to church. I stood my ground until Pastor Kim’s four-year-old daughter, Faith, walked into the room. She put her tiny hand in mine and said, “Mr. Thaddeus, we need you to go with us. I’m going to pray for you, and then we’re leaving for church.” My heart melted, and I broke down sobbing as that little girl prayed for me.

The next thing I knew, I was in the car and headed to church. Faith held my hand the whole way there. God used that precious little girl to help me wake up to His relentless love for me.

Still, I was arrested and sent to jail for a paraphernalia charge. I’d never been locked up before, but there I was. In custody for 30 days and with nothing but time on my hands, I began taking a hard look at my life. Regret and shame overwhelmed me as I considered how selfishly I was living. All I cared about was dope and myself.

I thought about my ex-wife and the devastation my addiction had caused her and my children. I had chosen drugs and abandoned them to face life alone. Memories of the crazy stories I had told my mother haunted me. I had repeatedly taken advantage of her to get money. I promised myself every time that that was the last time I’d do it, but there was always a next time.

Now, as I sat in my cell, face-to-face with reality, I finally came to my senses. I was ready to change. “God, if You’ll help me,” I said, “I will quit drugs and do right with my life.”

I promised my mom the same thing when I pleaded with her to make my bail. “Mama, please come get me. I’m ready to change. I’ll go back to church and get right with God. Something is different inside me.”

She had no reason to believe me, but she came. God showed me a full measure of mercy and forgiveness when He prompted her to pay the bail to get me out of jail.

True to my word, I surrendered my life to the Lord and faced my addiction with Him. I did have a relapse and got high, but it was for a short period of time. I haven’t had a drop of alcohol or used drugs since April 2004. To God be the glory.

It’s been 18 years since my surrender to the Lord. I still don’t know why God has chosen to use me for His kingdom’s work, but He did. And He does. After all the wrong I’ve done and the years I’d wasted living my life in opposition to Him, it doesn’t make sense.

But that’s the thing—God’s love truly is unconditional.

God has given me a new name and an identity that can’t be taken away. Because of Jesus, I’m no longer a lying, deceiving, hopeless drug addict. I’m not an unwanted son who doesn’t have a place in this world. I am a child of God—loved, accepted, forgiven, desired, redeemed, and able to conquer anything, even crack cocaine addiction (Philippians 4:13). The sacrificial blood of Jesus Christ has washed me clean of all my sins.

He has also given me a purpose in life. Psalm 107:2 says, “Has the Lord redeemed you? Then speak out! Tell others he has redeemed you from your enemies” (NLT). Man, do I have a story to tell.

One way God allows me to share His redeeming love is through writing and music. I’ve always loved music. As a boy, I tagged along with my mom as she traveled to different churches to sing in their gospel choirs. Those are beautiful memories. Somehow, despite all my trials and tribulations, my love for music never died.

With God’s help, I began creating powerful messages through poetry and song. I began performing under the artist’s name, Minister Redeemed. And then He had to deal with me about my resistance to rap music. I didn’t care one bit for that genre, but God would not leave me alone. “How do you expect to relate and minister to young people if you aren’t willing to engage with them in their taste in music,” He asked.

There was no point in wrestling with God over the matter. He’d already rescued me from the pit, why wouldn’t I let him put a new song in my heart, too (Psalm 40:1–3)? And I relented.

“Lord,” I said, “if you want me to rap, I will. But can I at least rap the scriptures?” And just like that, the Lord changed my perspective.

Powerful words poured out of me and formed into new songs. I knew they were from Him because they were effortless. He often woke me up in the middle of the night. I kept a notebook on my nightstand to capture the words as they flowed.

Writing and performing God’s message of redemption has been my passion ever since. One of my favorite and most popular songs has been “That’s Not My Name Anymore.” Its message is simple: God loves you and desires to give you a new name and purpose.

God changed people’s names and gave them new identities all through the Bible. He did it for the trickster Jacob, who became Israel (see Genesis 32:22–32). He did it for the murderer, Saul, who became the Apostle Paul (see Acts 9:1–19, 13:9). He’ll do it for you if you let Him.

Forget the labels and names that have been spoken over you. If you’re a believer in Jesus Christ, you are not those things anymore. You are a child of God, and in His eyes, you are forgiven and washed clean of all your sins by the sacrificial blood of Jesus (1 John 1:9).

That’s who you are: Loved. Accepted. Secure. And worthy.

Thaddeus Bruce combines his powerful testimony of redemption with his musical and writing talent to help others find direction, transformation, and a closer relationship with God. For more information, visit www.thaddeusbruce.com.

Prisoner of Hope

My name is Thomas Thibault, and this is my life story. I am also known as inmate #W04843; my friends call me T. Bo. Currently, my home is within the Florida Department of Corrections, where I am serving four life sentences without parole. I am a blessed man, a prisoner of hope (Zechariah 9:12).

You probably think I’m crazy. I know. How could someone say that being behind bars for the rest of their life is a blessing and that they have hope? I’ll explain. Let me start by telling you how I ended up here.

There’s nothing major or tragic that I can point to from my young life that helps explain my circumstances. My mother was loving, and she raised me right. I also had a great little sister and good friends. I enjoyed sports and worked hard in school.

In my eyes, the worst thing I did was occasionally experiment with marijuana and have sex with my girlfriend. Wasn’t that what most teens did?

At 17, I became a single father. But I took responsibility for my actions, and before my daughter’s first birthday, I had graduated from high school and received sole custody of her.

I went to work immediately and landed an excellent job with a nationwide company with good benefits. I enrolled my baby girl in a private daycare where she learned Spanish. We often went on trips to Disney and other amusement parks. We lived on a nice piece of property that I was renting to own. Life was good; we were good.

I continued experimenting with weed and even sold some on the side, but that didn’t seem like a big deal. Little did I know that this drug would be a gateway to a life of hell, with the devil himself as my guide.

Because I was selling weed, I often met people who did other drugs like cocaine. When they offered it to me, I thought, why not? I ignored the voice inside, telling me to walk away. I blocked the knowledge that several family members struggled with addiction and that I, too, could become an addict. I tried it.

At first, I used only on the weekends. I had to provide for my daughter, so I remained committed to my job, our home, and her. She had been my saving grace for years, but my love for my child was no match for my growing addiction.

Within eight months, I was a full-blown addict who used cocaine daily at work and home. I took my daughter with me to drug houses and left her in my work truck while I smoked crack. How low can you go?

My addiction led to paranoia, and I imagined the FBI was coming to get me. I lost everything—my job, car, home, and daughter. But that was okay—I wanted to be left alone with my new love, cocaine. I intentionally pushed my family and all responsibilities away. I sent my daughter off to live elsewhere and hit the streets with a vengeance.

I stayed up for days under the influence of cocaine, robbing, stealing, and sleeping with strange women. Kind, hardworking, lovable Tommy was gone, and a monster with no regard for anyone or anything had taken his place. All I cared about now was supporting my addiction, no matter what.

On Thanksgiving morning 1998, I did something only a monster can do. I entered the home of three innocent people and killed them during a robbery. I was arrested and booked in the Palm Beach County Jail five days later.

You would think that after committing such a horrific crime and facing such a dismal future, I would cry out to God. But I didn’t. Instead, I continued to get high and live a lie. I had never seen any need for God in my life; I always figured I could handle things on my own.

My mother had taken me to church when I was a kid, hoping I’d get to know the Lord, but that didn’t work. Besides, I knew I deserved to be locked up—why bring God into my situation? He wouldn’t want me anyway. I was a monster.

Two years later, in 2001, a judge gave me a death sentence for each murder and one life sentence for the robbery. I accepted his sentence as a fate well deserved for what I had done. On September 25, 2001, I moved to death row.

“You know you’re going to die here,” another prisoner called out to me not long after I arrived. But as I sat in my dark 6 x 9 cell, I couldn’t accept his words as truth. Deep down, I felt a strange stirring of hope. I had no idea where it was coming from.

Surprisingly, I remained on death row for only two years and two days, and then I was shipped off to the Palm Beach County Jail. My death sentences were overturned on a technicality.

While the attorneys fought my case, I joined a Faith and Character dorm run by a man named Gino. There, he told me how God had sent His Son, Jesus, to die for my sin (John 3:16).

God opened my spiritual eyes to understand the depth of His love for humanity—even murderers like me. And when He poured His love into my heart, I believed in Him (Romans 5:5). Through my faith in Jesus, I came to know God and felt the genuine presence of His Holy Spirit (John 14:6).

Not long after that, God gave me an incredible gift through the selfless act of the mother of one of my victims. She told me that God’s saving grace had enabled her to forgive me for killing her son. Her gracious act made the reality of God’s love sink even deeper into my heart. (Incredibly, this lady had approached my mother during my original court hearing and extended similar love, grace, and comfort. She had recognized that my mother was also a victim of my crimes.)

I stood firm in my faith for a while after returning to prison. But then I took my eyes off the Lord and focused on my surroundings. Ultimately, I returned to doing and selling drugs and drinking buck. Soon, I was living deep in the underworld of prison life.

I was often sent to confinement as punishment for my actions. After one 90-day confinement stay, my family came to visit me. My mom made it clear that she was upset by how I was living. “Tommy,” she said, “God has given you a second chance at life—something your victims never got. And here you are, throwing away His precious gift. And rather disrespectfully, I might add!” I could see that I was breaking her heart.

“I’m just doing what men do, Mom,” I replied. Then she proceeded to share her definition of a real man with me. Funny, it didn’t include any of the things I was doing.

Back in my cell, I contemplated what my mother had said. God had used her to get my attention. I grabbed my Bible and opened it. Matthew 6:26 (NIV) quickly caught my attention: “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than them?”

God used this simple verse to remind me of His love, provision, and care for me. And my heart responded, “Okay, God, enough is enough. If this verse is true, if You’ll really care for me for the rest of my life behind these bars, I will put down all this dumb stuff I’m holding on to and follow You. I’m all Yours, and I’m all-in.”

It’s been eight years since I committed to trust God with my future and get serious about my faith. And you know what? God has never failed me.

As I’ve made my home in Him and tried to glorify Him with my actions and words, He has given me a fruitful life, even behind bars. He’s also helped my behavior change. I have been free from a DR (disciplinary report) for four years and remained sober. It’s been a tough fight, but the closer I move toward God, the more I leave my old lifestyle and thoughts behind.

Nearly three years ago, I joined the Faith and Character Dorm at Taylor C.I. and began leading programs. There, I discovered God’s purpose for me.

He showed me that in prison, I have an incredible mission to share the goodness of God with others. Every day, I have the privilege of leading men away from a dead-end life and into the loving arms of Jesus. I get to help others become prisoners of hope too!

Now can you see why I feel so blessed?

Not once did God give up on me. Instead, He planted a seed of hope inside my heart on death row and drew me to Himself. He forgave my sin, gave me the promise of eternal life, and now helps me stand strong against my addiction. I’m not a perfect man, but because of Christ, I have hope despite serving four life sentences.

You can have hope in Christ, too.

Whatever you’re facing, you must know that it isn’t the end. It’s the beginning. If you’ll let Him, God will reveal His love, grace, and purpose to you in powerful ways. You don’t have to be a prisoner to your circumstances; you can choose to be a prisoner of hope.

Open your heart to God today. Let go of the dead-end ways of this world, and you’ll discover His blessings for yourself.

THOMAS THIBAULT helps incarcerated men discover freedom in Christ, even as he serves serving four life sentences in the Florida Department of Corrections.