If you had met me at fifteen, you probably wouldn’t have believed I’d make it to twenty. I grew up in chaos — trauma, instability — and by twelve, drugs were already part of my life. Those next eight years were a bottom you don’t crawl out of. I was addicted to heroin. I wanted to die.
But God had other plans.
When I was twenty, I was arrested. And that very first night in jail, I had a dream. God spoke to me: “Don’t worry. Trust Me. It will get better.”
I didn’t even know the God of the Bible, so I woke up confused. But the words stuck with me.
That morning, standing before the judge, I begged for a high bond because I was terrified of getting out. Behind glass, the detective on my case told me: “Every addict I’ve arrested has gotten out, used again, and died.” His words stuck in my head. Later, I would see how prophetic they were — so many jailmates, rehab-mates, friends, even family have since overdosed and died.
Yet somehow, in the mess, things started to line up differently for me.
Jail and Rehab
I joined a drug rehab program in jail. I learned that almost 70% of people who go to jail return. The number haunted me. Not only was I afraid I would never stop using, but the idea that I’d be stuck in this cycle forever — if I lived at all — felt like a death sentence hanging over me.
For the first time, jail gave me a kind of safety I had never known. I had trays of food — I still remember loving their chili and coleslaw. I had health testing and even dental care, the stuff I had always run from. By then, every tooth in my mouth had cavities.
And somehow, I even found friendship there. At first, I was a lunatic, pacing laps 24/7. Later, I was leading Pilates classes, learning to play (and cheat at) euchre, and watching Locked Up with everyone else who was…locked up. Though honestly, part of me was terrified. One of the girls had murdered multiple people — angry at the world, with nothing left to lose.
My creativity came out in strange ways: melting Jolly Ranchers with conditioner for hair gel, smearing wet magazines for eye shadow, and one time — my crowning achievement — making a three-layer cake out of Twix bars in the microwave with caramel filling and melted chocolate on top. It was ridiculous — but it was all we had.
But even with food, friendships, and distractions, there was still a gnawing emptiness I couldn’t shake.
That’s when I met Conni.
The jail offered “Be a Friend” mentors. At first, I didn’t realize she was a Christian, even though she asked if we could read the Bible. (That should have been obvious, but I had no background — to me “the Bible” and “religion” were separate things.) Week after week, for three months, she met with me, patiently explaining verses, eventually walking me through the Romans Road — how Jesus offered forgiveness for sins.
I would take that Bible back to my cell and read Matthew. I wasn’t a believer yet, but one verse cut me to the core: “Small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it” (Matthew 7:14). I knew the wide road. I knew where it led. But this little gate — this narrow road — stirred something in me. Shortly after, I cried out to God, and His Spirit entered my life.
The Next Step
At that point, I didn’t have a church. Just the Bible, Conni, and my court-ordered programs. Thankfully the judge granted me intervention in lieu of conviction, and the county provided a six-month live-in rehab.
Rehab gave me structure — group counseling, personal counseling, and Narcotics Anonymous meetings every day. The structure I loved. But the crippling anxiety was brutal. I’d hide behind doors, afraid to enter rooms, afraid to speak, afraid of people seeing me.
Still, I kept moving forward. Even though I hadn’t finished high school, I earned my GED and I started community college. The county placed me in housing so I didn’t have to return to the same environment that fueled my addiction.
That’s when I ran into an old friend on campus. At first, I didn’t connect the dots. Years earlier, he had invited me to parties, but I was always locked in a bathroom stall shooting up, oblivious that he and his friends had actually been trying to share Jesus with me.
This time, God brought it back to mind: he believes in God. Before I could stop myself, the first words out of my mouth were: “I found God.”
He didn’t miss a beat. He invited me to his Bible study.
What I found there was something I hadn’t even realized I was starving for: the Bible, opened and taught book by book, and relationships that were messy but real. My soul and mind were so hungry. I couldn’t get enough. Those studies became the anchor of my week, the place where my faith began to take root and grow.
I had made a choice to believe in Jesus, but I had no idea there was so much more than forgiveness. God offered spiritual life, healing, power, meaning — an entirely new way to live.
Some of it was jarring. I didn’t understand how there were already strong marriages, why guys treated me like a sister instead of an object, why the girls wanted to actually be my friends. It was all foreign to me. But that first year became a crash course in God’s design for life.
I experienced patient love that didn’t give up on me, but also freeing challenges that pushed me to throw off old habits. If I had only known God’s mercy and words on paper, I would have still been forgiven — but so much of my life would have remained immature, stunted. It was God’s truth, lived out in a community of people, that helped me grow into the fuller life He was offering.
Ripple Effects
Grace didn’t stop with me. God kept bringing people across my path, and I got to play a small role in them discovering His love. Over time, six of my siblings came to faith. I was even able to forgive my mom, rebuild our relationship, and lead her to Christ.
And then came my wedding day.
This photo is a photo of me as a bride — one I used to hide in embarrassment. I wasn’t the carefree, laughing bride people expected to see. I walked down the aisle in tears — ugly, heaving tears. At one point, I had been so dirty, so far gone, stained crimson. But that day, I was dressed in white. Clean.
I married a godly man who had loved me with integrity from the start. His steady character undid me. Walking toward him was both recognition of my past and awe at what God had done.
Living From the Overflow
Now, more than twelve years later, we have two children, and I cannot count the ways God has rebuilt trust and worked His power in my life.
A few years ago, my husband and I felt called to move to Orlando, Florida to help start a new church. My longing has always been to help people find real community — one that loves God’s Word, walks through life together, and goes out of the way to love the stranger, the hungry, the lost.
The very first week, I prayed: “God, give me someone just as hungry as I was.”
And He did. That person became a close friend, really a part of our family. Our families now walk side by side — raising kids, growing in faith, keeping an open door so others can join. And more neighbors have.
Since then, I’ve met people weighed down by baggage, people who had walked away from faith, even people who weren’t searching but somehow found themselves curious again. I’ve seen breakthroughs at birthday parties, questions at school pick-ups, even glimpses of faith sparking in the deaf community.
Just last week, God reminded me of the depth of the need. Four single moms I know, each with heartbreaks of their own. One told me her child’s dad wants nothing to do with them, and her four-year-old daughter is devastated. Another shared how she lost her dad, her brother, and her job. Later she sought me back out, and told me “I never open up to people… But you are so level-headed.”
That still makes me shake my head. By nature, I am anything but level-headed. But I’ve experienced the patient, steady love of God. Because of that, I get to reflect His faithful pursuit to others.
It’s amazing what the Spirit of God reveals to those without hope: they see more than we are — they see Him.
That’s why I write. My logo says it simply: living from the overflow.
All of it flows from one place: what God has done, and continues to do, in me.
I started in chaos, but God met me there. And today, I live from the overflow of His grace. My prayer is that you don’t just hear my story — but that you see how God might want to rewrite yours.
This is my story.
What about you?
Where have you seen God show up in places you thought were hopeless?
Who has been your “Conni” — someone who showed up with steady faith in your darkest place?
And don’t worry — on my wedding day, it wasn’t all tears. There was plenty of laughter too.
