Addicts are often labeled as selfish, but the truth is, all of us play this same game. We could replace drugs with any number of self-serving idols—money, status, success, relationships, even ministry itself—and we’d see the same cycle play out. If we’re just trying to rearrange our circumstances, we’re still living for ourselves, and that will never lead to lasting transformation.

His final moments on earth have become legendary. As he stepped onto the execution platform, he smoked one last cigarette, fixed his hair, and then knelt in prayer. In the crowd, two priests secretly absolved him of his sins. And then, with courage, he met his fate—and ultimately, his Savior.

For me, it took the unraveling of my world to expose the truth. My ego didn’t collapse because of outside forces—it crumbled when I finally looked in the mirror and saw the real problem. It was me. Not my circumstances, not the people around me, not even the temptations I had fallen into. Just me. My pride. My desperate need to be seen as good, as worthy, as valuable.

Falling into the merciful arms of Jesus is not the end of the story—it’s the beginning of true restoration. From that place of surrender, a minister can begin to rediscover their ultimate calling: to be a minister of reconciliation. To reconcile others to God and to each other requires first embodying that reconciliation in your own life.

Mercy isn’t theoretical. It’s not something that exists at a distance, far removed from the messiness of real life. Mercy happens in the trenches, down where people are broken, hurting, and in desperate need of it.

When I was 20 years old, I left my parents’ home and moved to Florida. Hours away from my hometown, I began the journey of starting a family. Being the head of a household brought new revelations that I hadn’t fully understood as a child. The security my parents had provided all those years became clear to me in a way it never had before.

In my early teenage years, I became part of a Bible study in my hometown that was unlike anything I had experienced before. It was a small group of youth from multiple denominations, all seeking a deeper encounter with God. What began as an intimate gathering of passionate believers eventually evolved into The Ramp—a youth conference center, ministry school, and church that has gone on to influence thousands of people across the globe.

Luke 11:9 has long been one of my favorite scriptures, but it’s also one I’ve misquoted more times than I can count—mostly to myself. “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.” For years, I interpreted this as Jesus telling us to pray persistently and expectantly, and eventually, we’d get what we wanted. Not in a “name it, claim it” way, but perhaps leaning in that direction.

As someone who came of age during the charismatic renewal of the late 90s and early 2000s, I look back on that time with both gratitude and caution. It was a season marked by an intense focus on the gifts of the Holy Spirit, a deep hunger for God’s presence, and a sense of radical calling. I still believe in the gifts of the Spirit and the power they hold to build up the Church. However, there are important lessons I wish I had understood then—lessons I now want to share, especially with young people who may find themselves drawn to similar movements.

One of the most meaningful elements of my Catholic faith is the liturgy of the Mass. It has been a breath of fresh air compared to the Protestant traditions I experienced throughout my life. On one side, I encountered seeker-driven movements focused on entertainment to appeal to visitors: light shows, fog machines, catchy music, and even fireworks designed to wow people and drive growth. On the other side, I saw groups emphasizing the teaching ministry of the church, striving to be more intellectually rigorous than emotionally engaging.