Roy's Testimony

Heavenly Father, thank you for this moment. Thank you for every person listening who is carrying pain, addiction, shame, or hopelessness. Lord, use my story, not for my glory, but yours. Holy Spirit, open hearts, bring conviction where it's needed, and pour out fresh hope and freedom. We surrender this time to you in the powerful, life-changing name of Jesus Christ, amen. I'm a grateful believer in Jesus Christ, celebrating recovery from drugs and alcohol while still working on lust. My name is Roy. Revelation 12.11 declares that we overcome the enemy by the blood of the lamb and the word of our testimony. So today, I'm not holding back. My hope isn't based on my strength, my willpower, or a program alone. My hope is built on the rock, Jesus Christ, the one who can take the most wrecked life and restore it completely. I have hope because God met me in my pit when I deserved nothing and gave me everything I never earned. Second Corinthians 5.17 says, therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come, the old is gone, the new is here. That's my story. I was born June 1st, 1986. My mom was 17, my dad was 24. Before I turned two, I already had an older sister and two baby brothers. My mom had four children before she turned 20. My parents' relationship was built on shaky ground, secrets, cheating, and revenge. My dad had broken his back in a work accident and used the settlement money to buy himself a brand new Monte Carlo. He was proud of that car. It represented something stable in a chaotic life. But when my mom found out he'd been cheating on her while she was pregnant, she planned

her revenge. After I was born, she left, then came back with a devastating offer. Give me everything you own, the Monte Carlo, the furniture, the dishes, everything, and you can keep Roy Jr. Heartbroken but desperate to raise his son, my dad agreed, and he watched as her and her new boyfriend packed up everything he owned and sighed over the title to his car. Days later, she returned with DCFS and the police, claiming that he was only supposed to have me for the weekend. Seeing the empty house with just a pallet on the floor, they took me away too. She left him with literally nothing. The following years were filled with fear and instability. My mom moved us from house to house, sometimes leaving my sister and I with complete strangers for days at a time. At three years old, I was sexually molested by a man named Harvey. The abuse continued until I was four. I still remember the terror of wire hangers being twisted around my necks and my sister's, forcing us face to face while he threatened to kill us. Desperate, my mom confided in another man. They lured Harvey to Otter Lake outside Burton, Illinois, planning to scare him into leaving the state. They had bought him a one-way ticket to Colorado where they knew he had family. Instead, there was a struggle, a gunshot, and Harvey was killed. They buried him in a shallow grave that day. My mom's conscience eventually won, and she turned herself in, was convicted of concealment of a homicide, and she served nine months in prison, but I still wouldn't see or hear from her again for eight years. The state split all four of us children up, and I went back to my dad. At four and a half, I was completely confused, broken, insecure, with serious trust issues. I acted out constantly in school, struggled to make friends, and carried deep fears of rejection, abandonment, and being alone.

My paternal grandmother was a steady light in that darkness. Every Sunday, she picked me up from Nazarene Church and Sunday school. She promised Dairy Queen if I behaved. Those mornings gave me my first real knowledge of who Jesus is. Psalm 2710 became personal later. Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me. At eight, I discovered my uncle's massive pornography collection, walls and ceiling covered, stacks of magazines everywhere. That addiction took deep root. At nine, my dad gave me my first beer. Instantly, the anxiety, the fear, the depression lifted, and I remember thinking to myself, this is what I've been missing. By twelve, I was stealing liquor from grocery stores and trading it for cigarettes and weed, smoking a pack a day and getting high with my dad. He wanted to be my friend instead of my father. I thought it was the best life ever until I realized how much I needed boundaries and real guidance. Just before I turned thirteen, my mom re-entered the picture. She dazzled my dad, inviting us to come live with her in Indiana. She owned a tanning and massage parlor at the time. Within weeks, she bought my dad a brand new Dodge Ram, paid cash, and put it in his name. He assumed she was making amends for the Monte Carlo he'd lost. About a month later, around 3 a.m., she woke me up, hurry up, we gotta go. We rushed to a motel where I quickly fell back asleep. While I slept, she went back to the house and told my dad, you're leaving, take your truck and go, Roy Jr. wants to stay here with me, and he believed her and left heartbroken once again. The real reason? Her husband was returning, and they were under heavy investigation. for running a brothel out of the massage parlor.

An undercover cop had them dead to rights. Her lawyer advised her that her best chance at avoiding another prison sentence was to appear as a struggling mother just trying to provide for her family. That's why she went to such great lengths to get me, Lair. Once the charges were reduced to misdemeanors and she won, her attitude toward me turned ice cold. I had served my purpose. They were material things, gaming consoles, go-karts, name-brand clothes, but no love, no acceptance. I felt like a burden, lonely and missing my dad. I called him one day and asked him to come get me. He drove through the night to pick me up and I left without telling my mom I was leaving. Back with my dad, the addictions accelerated. By 17, I had dropped out of high school and I was working at Sonic, using tips to buy daily weed and beer. I was deep in sex addiction, alcoholism, marijuana, and prescription painkillers. I tried the Army National Guard in 2005 hoping discipline would fix me, but it didn't touch the heart wounds. Less than honorably discharged two years later, my daughter was born in 2010, but by 2012, her mom left because I was drunk every day. I had several brushes with death, including a cocaine overdose where my heart stopped and I turned blue on a friend's floor,

but God brought me back. In 2015, methamphetamine took control. By 2016, I was using needles, burglarizing garages and storage sheds at night, even stealing from my own family. No one wanted me around. My worst fears of rejection and abandonment became my daily reality. I was homeless, hopeless, and using just to function and stay alive. Every time I injected meth, I wondered if this was finally the last dose. The enemy's voice was loud. Just load up one more. Nobody wants you anyway. January 29, 2017, below zero temperatures, I lay on the floor of an abandoned mobile home trailer, busted out windows, no power, no water, huddled under a pile of my own dirty clothes, freezing and withdrawing, completely broken. I cried out to God with everything I had left. Lord, I'm sorry for wasting my life and blaming you, but I can't stop. I'd rather die than live like this. If you'll get me clean and give me another chance, I promise I will live for you for the rest of my life. I fell asleep believing I had truly placed it in his hands. The very next day, I was arrested for felony theft and meth possession. It was my second felony possession.

Sitting in the back of that police cruiser an overwhelming peace I'd never known washed over me. I knew God was rescuing me. Prison, which I once feared, became my place of salvation. They placed me in solitary confinement for the first six weeks, standard practice for known drug addicts who would likely have withdrawals. It was just me, my Bible, and Jesus. I read the entire Bible cover to cover. The cravings left. Joy replaced despair. God removed my self-destructive spirit and gave me a spirit of self-preservation. I began leading Bible studies, even leading men to salvation, and so started my prison ministry. At Vandalia, I discovered Celebrate Recovery inside. The honesty, the biblical comparisons to the 12 steps, and the respect in group felt like home. When the leader openly shared his struggles with sexual integrity and the freedom he was now walking in, I thought, I want that kind of victory. CR taught me that addiction was the fruit of deeper hurts, hangups, and habits. Later, court-mandated secular treatment felt empty. No mention of Jesus, no root issues addressed. I secretly left verses like Romans 10.9 in the desk until counselors told me to stop pushing religion, but I knew the truth of John 8.36.

So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed. Near release, I attended a reentry summit and heard about Jesus is the way prison ministry in Rantoul. I paroled there in June of 2018. Weekly Celebrate Recovery was required, and I jumped in fully, greeting, serving food, leading small groups, running tech. Those men became family. I rebuilt my relationship with my daughter, Ariana. God kept opening doors. I joined the Jesus is the way board of directors and became a Celebrate Recovery inside state rep in Illinois. I now help send teams into jails and prisons. I serve at reentry summits, representing Jesus is the way ministries, showing the guys coming out of prison that escape from that vicious cycle is possible when you lay it at the foot of the cross. I also lead in the landing for teens, providing a safe place for them that I never had. God has blessed me in practical ways too. A leader in my CR group, Chad, went to body shop. With zero experience, he took a chance on me as an apprentice, really more of a shop grunt at first. I worked hard and learned everything I could. After two years, I learned enough to qualify for Caliber Collisions Apprenticeship Program. And thanks to the foundation from Chad's shop,

it was smoother than expected. I graduated early and have now been a certified auto body technician for two years. Every day at work, I see a picture of what God does at CR, a wrecked, smashed, totaled car, comes in looking hopeless. We strip it down, repair the frame, replace damaged parts, sand away the rough spots, prime it, and paint it. until it looks better than new. That's exactly what Jesus does with our lives. He takes our crashes, addiction, trauma, shame, and restores us into something useful and beautiful again. Ephesians 2.10 says, for we are God's handiwork, created in Christ to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. I get to live that out both at the shop and in ministry. In the area of sexual integrity, I now lead the sexual integrity small group at my local CR. Not because I've arrived or have it all figured out, but because God has called me to show the guys that they don't have to live controlled by shame. It's a safe place where we live out James 5.16 together. Therefore, confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. Watching men find freedom and honesty is one of the greatest blessings in my recovery. In June of 24,

I married my beautiful God-fearing wife, Nelma, and together we're raising four amazing daughters. On January 30th, 2026, I celebrated nine years completely sober. The urges are gone. God has restored the years to locust date. Jeremiah 29.11 is no longer just a verse on the wall. It's my lived reality. For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future. To the newcomer, don't believe the lie that you're too far gone or that certain things can never be shared. Keep coming back, keep participating, bring everything into the light. The only thing that grows in the darkness is sin. Matthew 7, 7 and 8 promises that everyone who asks receives. One who seeks finds and the one who knocks has the door opened. Your breakthrough is coming. To every leader, volunteer and servant, thank you. Your willingness to show up and serve is changing lives and eternities. You are the hands and feet of Jesus. If you feel the call to prison ministry, writing letters, mentoring, coordinating, step up. Jesus said, when we visit those in prison, we visit him. I should be dead.

I should still be locked up. Instead I'm here, sober, restored, serving and full of hope. My life is living proof that no one is too far gone for God. He trades our wreckage for beauty, our ashes for joy. If he did it for me, he'll do it for you. Thank you for letting me share. God bless you all. Let's go out and watch him restore more wrecked lives together.