Our Story
I didn’t come to Christ through addiction or dramatic rebellion. I came through quiet survival. I grew up in a home marked by alcoholism, absence, instability, and pain. By age 13, I was cooking my own meals, washing my own clothes, and learning to take care of myself — because no one else could. Most days, I didn’t know where my mother was or when she’d return.
She struggled deeply, and I share this not to cast blame, but to honor the truth of what shaped me — and the grace that carried me through. Part of her struggle came from trying to raise four children as a single parent, while battling alcoholism and the weight of her own pain. But my mother was a strong woman, and she made me the strong woman I am today. Before she passed away from lung cancer on June 11, 2006, she had sobered up and come to know Christ. I’ll never forget her words: “Don’t blame Jesus for my cancer — I did that to myself.” That was her testimony, and it lives in me.
I watched addiction destroy people I loved. I saw what it did to families, and I made a promise to my two sons: You will never see your mother drunk, strung out, or lost to the world. That promise became a pillar of my life.
I’ve battled depression for most of my adult years. But even in the struggle, I’ve held onto grace. My sons are now in their 30s, and they’ve never had to wonder where I was, or whether I’d come home whole. That’s not just a promise kept — it’s a testimony lived.