Growing up in a pastor’s home gave me a unique relationship with church. In fact, I often joked that I had a

drug problem—not the kind you're thinking of, but because I was “drug” to church every time the doors were

open, and sometimes even when they weren’t. At times, it felt like my life had been sacrificed to ministry. So

after high school, I walked away—from church and from Jesus—ready to pursue what I thought was freedom.

Moving to Troy for college felt like the fresh start I had been craving.

At first, that freedom felt exciting. Drinking, drugs, and partying quickly became my new priorities. I was

chasing the sense of acceptance, belonging, and purpose I hadn’t found in church. But the “freedom” I had

sought became a trap. The more I chased the high, the more I lost control. I told myself I was fine—but the truth

was, I was spiraling.

College was chaotic. What began as fun became a lifestyle that took everything from me. I flunked out of Troy,

transferred to Auburn, and flunked out again. My addiction deepened. To keep up with my habit, I started

selling drugs and even used a fake name—likely the only reason I avoided arrest. Eventually, I hit bottom: no

job, no car, and nowhere to live. I was crashing on couches and squatting in vacant frat houses during the

holidays just to stay off the streets. It was there, in that desperation, that I finally admitted—this couldn’t be my

life. Something had to change.

I made a hard call to my dad. I’ll never forget it. He agreed to let me come home, but with one condition: I had

three months to get my life together—find a job, a car, and a place to live. I knew he was serious, so I went to

work. Within that time, I had those things—but while my outside world looked more stable, the inside was still

broken. I was still chasing the high, still carrying the weight of addiction.

Soon after, I met my wife. We married and started a family. Having children slowed me down, but it didn’t set

me free. In 1991, we had our first child. In 1994, our second. We began attending church again, but I was living

a double life—active in church, but unchanged on the inside. Then, in March of 1995, everything shifted.

During a revival service, I couldn’t pretend anymore. I ran to the altar, grabbed a pastor’s hand, and cried out,

“I NEED JESUS.”

That moment changed my life. I experienced the grace of a God who loved me in spite of all my failures.

Shortly after, I surrendered to the call to ministry. My first full-time pastoral role was at Mt. Pleasant Baptist

Church in Gordo, Alabama. There, I met a man who had battled addiction for most of his life. Many had written

him off as beyond saving. But I knew better—because if there was no hope for him, there would have been no

hope for me. I walked with him through relapses and recovery, determined to believe that no one is ever too far

gone.

That journey introduced me to powerful, faith-based recovery tools, and something in me shifted. I realized that

helping those struggling with addiction wasn’t just part of my story—it was my calling. I began to see that no

one is beyond hope, and that Christ offers lasting transformation to those who feel lost, ashamed, or unlovable.

In April 2022, God opened the door for me to step into that calling full-time through Unforsaken Ministry—a

vision I had carried in my heart for nearly two decades. The name was inspired by three powerful encounters

with Jesus: the woman at the well (John 4), the woman caught in adultery (John 8), and the prodigal son (Luke

15). Each story reveals someone who felt forgotten, broken, and unworthy—until they met Jesus. In Him, they

were seen, restored, and never forsaken.

Today, I am humbled to walk alongside individuals who are battling addiction and searching for hope. It is the

greatest honor of my life to remind them that no matter where they’ve been or what they’ve done, they are

never outside the reach of God’s love.