My Story
There is no wrong kind of sinner.
"I was the wrong kind of sinner. The kind the church doesn't know what to do with. The kind they tell to come late and leave early."
I grew up poor. Bullied. Bruised. Hungry for someone to tell me I was good — and a predator fed me words dressed up as love before I was old enough to know the difference. That's where it started. The wires got crossed. Love and sex and approval tangled into a knot I didn't untie for thirty-four years.
I got married. Had children. Served in church. Mowed their grass, ran their cables, enrolled in Bible college. I was a man on the rise — and I was dying in the dark. Chat lines. Pornography. Affairs. A secret life I compartmentalized so thoroughly I actually believed it didn't hurt anyone.
Then the door came in. A raid. A felony charge. Sixty-four days in county jail while my life fell apart. My landlord put everything I owned on the street. I had nothing. I was nothing.
God reached down anyway. A credit card in the mail — activated, usable, for exactly $3,500. The exact bond amount. My mother's voice on the phone. A travel trailer to live in. A church that took me in — until they found out my charges. Then the pastor sat me down and said the words that broke me:
"Don't come early. Leave during the altar call."
I was unwanted by the unwanted. Not fit to minister to drug addicts and prostitutes in the bad part of town, because my sin was the wrong kind.
Then the indictment came. The judge tripled my bond. They moved me to protective custody — twenty-three hours a day in a single cell with one Book. I read the Bible seven times that year. Not because I was holy. Because I had nothing else to do and nowhere else to run.
And in that cell, God did what He'd been trying to do for thirty-four years. He showed me who I am. He showed me who He is. And He said, "I've got you where I can deal with you now. You can't run."
I stopped running. And I started building. From that cell, God gave me everything on this site — the music, the recovery program, the book, the devotionals. Not a single one of them was written from a pulpit. Every one of them was written from the pit.
There is more grace in the blood of Jesus than sin in you.