It’s quite interesting, really. I grew up in the church. My dad was a pastor. I played the drums in the band; I did it all. I know a lot—I know all that stuff about “doing unto others what you would have them do to you, I know not to cheat on my wife, all that. It was all shoved down my throat from the day I was born. That’s probably how I ended up here. I rebelled. I got on crack. I went all kinds of places I shouldn’t have, and I’m still there. I’m not in control of myself

I was in jail cell in Garvin county, Oklahoma when I received a letter from my lawyer. I had already been out of federal prison, and I had been on parole, but I caught another charge. I was stealing cars. I was a thief. It was an extremely small cell with four bunks and a toilet. There was no sunlight in that jail, the only way we had any indication that it was day time was through a small crack on a steel door around the corner at the end of the hall. I’ll never forget how

I knew deep in my heart that coming to know Jesus was the absolute best thing that could have happened to my life; however, it also made me depressed, scared. I was afraid of the expectations, of what it meant to be a believer. I didn’t want to let people down; I knew I would disappoint them. I wanted to run away. But a thought occurred to me, “What can I do so that people can see God in me?” Even beyond that, “What can I do to improve people’s view of God?” I began to rea