When I first started coming to JCBC, I didn’t enjoy it. It felt awkward—like we were on display, or being paraded around as projects. Growing up in church and being in ministry most of my life, I’ve seen how easy it can be to serve without really seeing people. So I assumed that’s what was happening here too.
Then one night, Ron stood up and spoke—not like someone fulfilling a church obligation, but like a father sharing his mother’s love. He talked about how she loved him, and how that’s how he loves us. Not as addicts. Not as problems. But as sons. And something in me broke open.
In that moment, the Holy Spirit whispered to my heart: “This is what unconditional love looks like. This is what I look like through My people.”
Everything changed after that.
“You didn’t see addicts—you saw sons, fathers, brothers, and husbands.”
Eight and a half months ago, I came to No Longer Bound empty. Not just struggling—ruined. I believed I had already destroyed everything that mattered. But week after week, you welcomed us with warm food, open arms, and prayers that didn’t feel religious or scripted. You didn’t serve us; you sat with us. You loved us like family.
That changed me.
Addiction teaches you that affection is transactional and that you are a burden. But your love was different. It was not conditional. It was Christ in the flesh. You didn’t see addicts when you looked at us—you saw sons, fathers, brothers, and husbands. And for many of us, it was the first time in a long time we had felt that.
The last eight months have held a lot of pain. I’ve grieved a marriage that is ending. I’ve had to face hard truths about myself, confront the ways I hurt those I loved, and stare down dark parts of my heart. Yet in the middle of all that, I met God in ways I never imagined—through your worship, your prayers, your conversations, your presence. Even in Ron’s cookies.
Those cookies—given in a season that is heavy, disciplined, and often filled with brokenness—reminded me that sweetness still exists in the world. That joy still exists. That small things still matter.
You have been the father in the story of the prodigal son—the one who doesn’t lecture, who doesn’t demand repentance first, who runs toward the broken and embraces them before a word can be spoken. You modeled that kind of love for us.
So I want you to know this:
Your faithfulness matters.
Your consistency matters.
Your prayers matter.
Your hugs matter.
Your presence matters.
You are changing lives—not just for a night or a season, but for eternity.
“Your love wasn’t transactional. It was Christ in the flesh. And it changed me.”
I pray God multiplies your impact. May He renew your strength when you grow tired. May He deepen your compassion when the work feels heavy. May He protect your families and children. And may you see the fruit of every seed you’ve planted—even the ones you may never see in this lifetime.
From the bottom of my heart: thank you for loving me when I didn’t know how to love myself.
I will carry you with me wherever God sends me next.
Amen.
